Rebellion

by Livi Michael

  Margaret did not want to cry; not here, not now. ‘Thank you,’ she managed to say.

  And then Lord Ferrers was ushering Lady Herbert away and Henry was saying goodbye to the lawyers. He took her arm and steered her into the unclean air of the street.

  She tried not to guess what he was thinking. All he would say, when prompted, was that he too should probably write to the king.

  ‘But if Lady Herbert is prepared to give him back to me –’

  ‘It’s what the king thinks that matters.’

  He did not say that the king would not be predisposed to grant her any favours since she had visited Clarence. The consciousness of what she had done overwhelmed her now. How terrible it would be if she herself had cut the lifeline held out to her! Terrible and cruel. She had not known what she was doing. Lord, forgive them, for they know not what they do.

  ‘But – she is willing –’

  ‘The king has no money,’ Henry said shortly. ‘This is one of his more lucrative wardships.’

  ‘But we can pay.’

  ‘He will want to reward those who have supported him,’ Henry said. ‘It would not be beyond him to take your son from one guardian and give him to another.’

  She could feel the actual sensation of falling, of nausea, from so much mutton and ale.

  Henry would be better off staying with Lady Herbert rather than being removed to anyone else. Someone she did not know, where she would have to begin the great business of establishing communication with him all over again.

  Once more, it seemed, she had made matters worse.

  Henry did write a long letter to the king, wishing him well, assuring him of their support, then raising the more delicate matter of Margaret’s son. But in the next few days events moved so swiftly that it seemed unlikely the king would find the time to read it, let alone answer.

  The great council was summoned to meet on 6 November. Henry Percy, senior, was released from the Tower to attend it. Nothing was said about whether he would rejoin his family afterwards, or reclaim the wardship of his son from Lady Herbert, or what that might mean for Margaret’s own son if he did.

  Then they heard that the king had betrothed his eldest daughter, Elizabeth, to the eldest son of John Neville, who was Warwick’s brother. This was because, Henry said, John Neville would now be required to give up the earldom of Northumberland. The king did not want to alienate the only Neville who had remained loyal to him through Warwick’s coup, and so his son was created Duke of Bedford, given all the lands of the Earl of Devon, who had failed to come to the aid of Lord Herbert, and was betrothed to the Princess Elizabeth.

  Margaret said nothing of her cherished desire that her son might marry the king’s daughter. Had he not almost agreed to this, when he had visited them at Woking? At least he had given her reason to hope. Now there was no reason to hope. They could only wait for Henry’s summons to the council, which did not arrive.

  When at last a letter did come it said only that Henry was not required immediately but should wait and make himself available at the king’s command. Nothing was said in response to the letter he’d sent.

  ‘I will stay in London,’ Henry said. ‘You should go.’

  She didn’t want to go back to Woking where there would be no news. But Henry said he would stay close to Westminster and send news as regularly as possible by their receiver, Reginald Bray.

  He was doing this for her, of course. He had not said one word of reproach to her for the situation they were in. So, after only minor protests, she returned to her house in Woking. Which was close enough for her to return in an emergency, but far enough away to seem insular and uninvolved, existing in its own separate reality.

  It was so quiet. All the hectic disturbance of the city, all the uncertainty and anticipation had gone; she was left in this somnolent world. The servants had managed efficiently in her absence, there was nothing for her to do. Except to think about her son and the damage she might have done. For the first time she wondered how he would feel about being transplanted from the only family he had ever known. She had taken it for granted that he would want to return to her; now she wondered whether he would ever adjust, or forgive her, if he was sent somewhere else.

  Henry, true to his word, sent messages every other day, conveying news from the council. The king had issued a general pardon, he wrote, to all those who had taken part in the insurrections against him. But at the same time he had announced that there would be two further taxes, in November and March, of a fifteenth of all men’s goods, so that the people did not know whether they were pardoned or punished.

  The following day he wrote that the king had sent for his brother, the Duke of Clarence, and the Earl of Warwick; all London hummed with the news of their arrival, and with speculation as to what the king would do to them when they got there.

  But when they arrived the king greeted them peaceably enough. He was determined, he said, to abandon all disagreements. Everything should be as it was before.

  Warwick sat in council from that time on. He was there when the king dispatched his brother Richard to Wales with Lord Ferrers to reclaim all the castles, lands and offices that Warwick had bestowed upon himself during the king’s captivity; he was there when his most hated rival, Anthony Woodville, was made Lord Rivers after the death of his father (no one said murder or execution) and, it was said, would soon be made governor of Calais in Warwick’s stead; he was there when Duke Charles of Burgundy received the Order of the Garter. He sat through all of this impassively, and rose and thanked the king formally when the council closed for Christmas, because the king had announced there would be no further retribution. The king received his thanks graciously and said that from now on he and the Earl of Warwick and the Duke of Clarence would be on the best of terms once more.Then the council closed and Henry returned to Woking for the Christmas season. He had not heard whether Lord Ferrers had managed to speak to the king before he left, nor had he had any response to his letter. He had heard that he was finally summoned to the council on 5 January, when it reopened.

  They spent a sober Christmas; quiet, visiting no one, preparing for Henry’s return.

  And on the first day of council his younger brother John was made Earl of Wiltshire for his support to the king.

  There was no mention of any award or honour for Henry. The council moved on swiftly to the matter of the queen’s mother, Jacquetta, who had been accused of witchcraft. She was found to have been falsely accused and all charges against her were dropped.

  The Earl of Warwick sat through all of this, and the transfer of his lands to the Earl of Northumberland, and was even observed to smile on occasion. Clarence did not smile, but looked mutinous throughout. At the end of the council, in early February, they were allowed to go their own way, without hindrance. Separately they rode out of the city and headed north.

  And the mood of the people changed from anticipation to agitation. There was almost the sense that they had been cheated. Betrayed, even. For now something would surely happen.

  And, sure enough, soon after the two lords had left the city, news came of a rising in the north.

  Sir Thomas Burgh, the king’s Master of Horse, was attacked, his house pulled down and all his goods and cattle taken, by Margaret’s stepbrother, Lord Welles, and his son. The attack had occurred on land belonging to Clarence and the instigators were all in some way connected to Warwick. So the king had to act. On 9 February he issued a proclamation calling for all loyal men to muster at Grantham on 12 March, well armed and measurably arrayed.

  ‘What will you do?’ she asked Henry. He did not answer. ‘You don’t have to go.’

  They both knew that he did. Lord Welles was the eldest son of Lionel, Lord Welles, who had been the third husband of Margaret’s mother. Richard, Lord Welles, was his oldest son, and Sir Robert was his oldest son, and Sir Thomas Delaland and Sir Thomas Dymmock were his two brothers-in-law.

  Someone had spread rumours all over Lincolnshire and
Yorkshire that the king was marching north to exact retribution for the rebellion of the previous year. Bills had been posted on church doors and inns all over the counties to say that the general pardon would not be honoured; the king’s judges had been instructed to hang and draw a great number of commons.

  It was widely supposed that Warwick and Clarence had started these rumours, yet at the same time it was said that Warwick was mustering his own troops to aid the king.

  One thing was clear: Margaret’s husband would have to make a conspicuous display of loyalty to his king because her family was so involved in the rebellion. And because she had made the calamitous mistake of visiting Clarence after he had imprisoned the king.

  Henry was still holding the summons, but his eyes had a fixed and inward expression as though gazing at some intractable conundrum. She sat down in front of him and put her hand over his. ‘Henry,’ she said, ‘don’t go. I will write to the king and tell him you are ill.’

  He stirred, as though she had recalled to his mind the fact that he had a wife. ‘The roads are not good,’ he said.

  ‘No, exactly –’

  ‘So I will need to set off soon.’

  ‘Henry –’

  ‘I will take a few men with me,’ he said. ‘They will need to be armed.’

  And he turned away.

  Neither of them mentioned Towton, that terrible battle after which he had been so ill in mind and body that she’d thought he would never recover. They did not speak of it in the same way that they did not speak of his younger brother being made earl. The fact that he didn’t reproach her for any of this did not make her feel better. She almost wished he would accuse her so that she could justify herself. But he wouldn’t say anything. Because it was all her fault.

  As the day for his departure drew closer she saw him getting more distracted, the frown between his eyes deepening, as if he was looking not at the things around him, the table, the hearth, but at the perpetual mystery of life itself. She found herself hoping that he would suffer one of his outbreaks of illness, so that he couldn’t go; then knew that he would go anyway.

  She feared for him. He was not a young man any more and he was no warrior. She feared that he would get on to the battlefield and forget what his sword was for, how to ride his horse.

  Still they said nothing, because there was nothing to be said.

  On the last night she heard him crying out from his room and knew he was having the nightmare again. The one where he was trampling over dead bodies in the snow.

  She didn’t get up immediately because he did not like it to be known that nine years after Towton he still suffered the same dream. But when he cried out a third, then a fourth time, she pushed the covers back and hurried to his room. He was shifting and muttering in his bed, one arm was flung out and the coverlet was on the floor. As she drew closer she could see that his eyes were open. ‘Henry,’ she said, then she sat on his bed and put her hand on his arm, and he recoiled from her in a convulsive movement. But he was awake, breathing hard. In the glimmer of light from the window she could see his eyes coming slowly into focus.

  ‘Henry,’ she said again. ‘I heard – I thought you were dreaming.’

  Henry closed his eyes. His face was covered in a sheen of sweat. ‘Dreaming,’ he said.

  ‘You cried out,’ she said, but he didn’t respond. Another man might have wanted her to get into bed with him and offer such comfort as she could. She knew he didn’t want this.

  ‘Henry,’ she said, and there was a catch in her voice. She put a hand to his forehead and reflexively he moved away. He didn’t want that either. ‘Is it a fever?’ she said, half hopefully. ‘Do you want a drink?’

  Silence. She could hear the ruckle of his breathing. ‘Can I get you anything?’ she asked, wondering if she sounded as desperate as she felt.

  ‘I’m all right.’

  ‘What about your medicine?’

  ‘I’ll be fine. Go back to sleep.’

  She knew that she would not go back to sleep. She expelled a long breath. ‘Henry,’ she said, ‘I’m sorry.’

  When there was no answer she turned away from him slightly and said, ‘It’s my fault that you have to go – and I’m sorry.’

  Still with his eyes closed, he said, ‘It’s not your fault.’

  She was crying now, as silently as possible. Only her breathing had changed. ‘I – went to Clarence. When you told me not to.’ She meant to say something about her stepfather’s family but could not speak through her tears.

  He didn’t turn to her, but neither did he turn away. After a moment he said, ‘It’s not your fault that kings go to war. It is what they do.’

  She shook her head. Although she could see that in a sense it was true. As long as there were kings there would be war.

  It was not her fault in the first place that her son had been taken away from her.

  She didn’t know if she was comforted by this, but what did she expect from him – absolution? She’d gone to comfort him, but he didn’t want the comfort she could give. She sat so close to him on the bed, but they were absolutely alone. She knew that he wanted her to leave.

  Alone in the dark, she nodded to herself. She wasn’t crying any more. She murmured something to the effect that she hoped he would sleep better now, got up swiftly and left the room, closing the door behind her.

  The next day he rode north with a small retinue of thirty men, each of them equipped with new sallets and arrows. She stood by a window and watched as she had watched Edmund so many times. It had rained all night and the trees were drenched; the sky had barely lightened since dawn. She had woken with a sensation of heaviness that had barely lightened either, now she stood reflecting on the futility of all her efforts, her prayers and fasting. It seemed to her, as she watched the small party leave, that she was doomed always to be swept further away from her goal, and to injure those close to her in her pursuit of it.

  She watched them until they disappeared then retired to her chapel to pray. Because there was nothing else she could do.

  When King Edward heard [of the uprising in Lincolnshire] he chose his captains and gathered a great crowd of men …

  Warkworth’s Chronicle

  The rebels advancing themselves, their cry was A Clarence! A Clarence! There being in the field divers persons of the Duke of Clarence’s livery, especially Sir Robert Welles himself and a man of the duke’s own that after was slain in the chase and his casket taken wherein was found many marvellous documents containing the most abominable treason that ever was seen … At Grantham there were brought unto [the king] all the captains [including] Sir Robert Welles, who severally examined of their free wills uncompelled … acknowledged and confessed the duke and earl to be partners and chief provokers of all their treasons.

  Chronicle of the Rebellion in Lincolnshire

  The king came to Grantham and there … beheaded Sir Thomas Delaland and John Neile … and upon the Monday next at Doncaster there was beheaded Sir Robert Welles and another captain. And then the king had word that the Duke of Clarence and the Earl of Warwick were at Chesterfield … and upon the Tuesday the king took the field and mustered his people and it was said that never in England were seen so many goodly people so well arrayed … And when the Duke of Clarence and the Earl of Warwick heard that the king was coming toward them, they departed and went to Manchester, hoping to have help and succour of Lord Stanley, but they had little favour … so men say they went westward.

  Newsletter from London, March 1470

  They fled west to the coast, boarded ships there and went towards Southampton … However Anthony, the queen’s brother, was sent there on the king’s orders. He fought with the duke and earl and captured their ships with many men on them and the duke and earl were forced to flee … King Edward then came to Southampton and commanded the Earl of Worcester to sit in judgement of the men who had been captured in the ships; and so twenty gentlemen and yeomen were hanged, drawn and quartered and then behea
ded, after which they were hung up by their legs and a stake was sharpened at both ends; one end of this stake was pushed in between their buttocks and their heads were stuck on the other.

  Warkworth’s Chronicle

  The Earl of Warwick put out to sea with the Duke of Clarence who had married his daughter … They took their wives and children and a number of people … and appeared before Calais [on 16 April 1470]. In the town was Warwick’s lieutenant Lord Wenlock and several of his servants. Instead of welcoming him they fired several cannon shots at him. Whilst they lay at anchor before the town the Duchess of Clarence, the Earl of Warwick’s daughter, gave birth to a son.

  Philippe de Commines

  34

  The Earl of Warwick Suffers a Setback

  By the time the great guns were fired from Calais, at about ten in the morning, Isabel’s labour was already well established. For a while they continued to advance, hoping that the gunfire would cease. But in the end they were forced to retreat. They put down their anchor just out of reach of cannon fire and waited, but no boat came out to them.

  ‘We had better sail on,’ his captain said. ‘They will kill us if they can.’

  ‘They have to let us in,’ his wife said. She had been attending her daughter in the cabin and already looked haggard. ‘Isabel cannot give birth here. She needs a proper bed, and clean water. And I am no midwife.’

  After some dispute it was agreed to send out the little boat with a messenger to Lord Wenlock, entreating him to let them land, because his daughter’s time had come.

  The messenger departed with some reluctance, unarmed, bearing emblems of peace.

  When no shots were fired the earl began to think it had all been some terrible mistake. Some fool had mistaken their ships for an enemy fleet and opened fire. Once Wenlock had realized the mistake they would be welcomed ashore.

  He remained on the upper deck, where his daughter’s cries were drowned out by the calling of the gulls.

  More than two hours later the little boat returned. It dodged and bobbed in the water and had some difficulty approaching. Warwick helped to haul the messenger on board.