Anne of Warwick The Last Plantagenet Queen

by Paula Simonds Zabka

  With Warwick at Coventry to the west, Oxford was satisfied with the deterrence to Edward on the southern flank, but was uncertain about any threat that may come from the north. “What forces do we have in Yorkshire should Edward land that far north?”

  “The armies of Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland, and my brother John, Marquess of Montagu, stand ready in the north. You would best join your forces with the Duke of Exeter and Viscount Beaumount at Newark to the east. If Edward does manage to land on the northern shores and then move south, we will have him trapped on all sides. He will never succeed.”

  What Warwick did not know, was that Edward had already crossed the Channel and sailed up the coast of East Anglia, off the North Sea, with some two thousand English and Flemish men. Although beaten back to their boats in an attempt at a landing at Cromer near Norfolk, they continued north to the coast of Yorkshire. The violent North Sea was hostile once again and storms came upon them. They were driven ashore close to Ravenspur on the eastern shore of Yorkshire near the mouth of the Humber River.

  Narrowly escaping drowning, they gathered their forces and daringly marched northwest to York across enemy lands. Feigning an alliance with the Lancastrians, Richard and Edward were allowed to enter York with their armies, under the pretense that King Edward was only claiming his title as Duchy of York as he had planned. They were home. Now the formidable march to London lay before them.

  Richard was particularly elated at their success and embraced Edward with joy. “You truly have a charmed life, my brother. You have persuaded Duke Charles to part with his gold; you defeat the stormy North Sea again, and are received openly by the city of York. Men flock to your banner daily.”

  Edward was generous in his humble reply. “It is because I have you at my side, Richard, and together we will march our forces into London.”

  It was gratitude such as that which secured the love and loyalty of Richard toward Edward. “That will be no mean feat, Edward. Our scouts have informed me that Warwick has fortified himself within the walls of Coventry. Percy and John Neville stand nearby with armies larger than our own. Oxford is ready to attack us from the east, and our brother George is moving north with a large force of Lancastrians. We will be set upon from all sides when we leave York.”

  Edward once again demonstrated his leadership and keen military sense. “Be not dismayed, Richard. I am certain Percy will hold back in gratitude for my transfer to him of the Earldom of Northumberland he now holds. He has more selfish interests of his own. John Neville, the Marquess, undoubtedly regrets his defection, and surely holds a degree of loyalty to me. He will let us pass. Oxford is weak and needs strong support before his attacks. We will move on him quickly and give him thought to choose battle or not. As for George, we must wait and see. It will grieve me to attack him.”

  Edward’s predictions were borne out. As he moved south out of York for Coventry, Percy and John Neville blocked him. But Percy did indeed hold back his forces and John Neville recalled his old loyalties to Edward and was content to hold his attack and just follow closely behind Richard’s forces. Edward then continued south to Nottingham, gathering more support along the way. As planned, he feigned an attack on Oxford to the east. Oxford hastily retreated, as predicted. Edward then converged on Leicester just north of Coventry. His army continued to swell with more men and arms.

  At Coventry, Warwick was dismayed when he learned that Edward and his growing army had reached so far south. One of his captains, too, was disturbed by the seemingly impossible advance that should have been challenged by Percy, Neville and Oxford. “Should we not move on his army Sire?”

  Warwick was clever enough to remember the invincible reputation held by Edward. “We will wait within these walls for a time longer. Queen Margaret and the Prince will surely land soon, and George of Clarence is coming north to join us with a formidable force of Lancastrians. Together we can prevail.”

  But in a brilliant military move, Edward chose to detour around Coventry and move directly on London with an aim to a victory before Margaret arrived from France with her armies. Only brother Clarence lay before him, and that posed a paradox for him and Richard. They would soon know whether their appeals to his family loyalties, through their sister Margaret, were successful.

  CHAPTER 18

  For the Duke of Clarence and his wife Isabel, the Christmas season of 1470 was miserable. England was wrapped in a cold, damp fog. From cots to castles, people huddled in front of fires while the wind howled and blew thick, gray mists about. Rain and sleet washed over the land, stabbing like knives, turning the roads into sucking mud morasses between washed out bridges and icicle-hung trees. Gray clouds chased each other across the sky, trapping the smoke of hearth fires and making the air malodorous and stinging. People held scarves over their mouths, often coughing when they inhaled.

  Housed at The Erber, the former residence of Warwick’s father, Clarence was in a dreary mood. Although he had recovered his estates, he was given no important role or responsibilities in Warwick’s scheme of things. He conveyed his misery to Isabel. “If I were King instead of Henry, I would be in a more festive disposition.” He paced angrily in his purple and ermine velvets and furs. “What am I to your father, Isabel, but a royal appendage. I was to have positions of authority and important commissions. Instead I am bound to my estates while others are put ahead of me.”

  Isabel lifted a glass of warm wassail to her lips. Their private solar smelled of evergreen and spicy Christmas herbs. The Duchess had recovered her health completely with more color and vitality. Ankarette had seen to this. “My father is very busy with the governance of London and affairs of State, George. Your time will come.”

  Clarence also sipped wassail that he’d been drinking all through the day. “Isabel, my hopes run short. Warwick has nothing to offer me. He assures me a crown someday should Anne have no heirs with Prince Edward, but now I believe those were hollow promises.” Waving his arms in anger, he hurled his glass of wassail across the room. He began thinking about the visits and messages from his mother and sisters. Through his drunken stupor he was having second thoughts about his alliance with Warwick.

  In the following spring, a semblance of importance and promise arose for the Duke. Expediency and desperation had given Warwick cause to seek the assistance of Clarence in confronting the return of King Edward. Clarence was given command to organize an army of Lancastrians in the south and move north to join him at Coventry with the promise, of course, of great rewards.

  So in a mood of exhilaration and high expectations, Clarence gathered a contingent of Lancastrian men and armor and marched northward. His plan was to meet up with the Earl of Warwick at Coventry and then press onward together to engage Edward’s forces. He was elated when he observed what he believed to be Warwick’s men arrayed in the field near the city of Warwick south of Coventry.

  As Clarence came nearer, he was shocked to see two armored men riding toward his forces carrying the banner of the Sun in Splendor, King Edward’s banner. His mind became muddled with confused thoughts and decisions he must make quickly. With Warwick at Conventry to Edward’s rear, he could surely mount a successful attack and count on Warwick’s assistance. But then the pleas of his sisters and mother to rejoin the family flooded his mind. A host of memories with Richard, Edward, Margaret and Anne at Fotheringhay and Middleham flashed before him. Was his destiny with Warwick who only recently gave him any real hope of a promising role in his Enterprise, or would he and Isabel be more fairly treated and genuinely welcome in the Royal family? Clarence bade his men hold back, and rode forward to meet his brothers.

  When they came near to each other, all three dismounted. Edward hailed Clarence in happy recognition. “Greetings, brother. My heart warms to see you again. Is it to be handshakes or battle?”

  Clarence had already made his choices. Approaching Edward, his voice choked as he responded. “Dear brother, my hand and my heart go out to you.” As they came closer, Clarence fel
l on one knee before Edward in supplication. “I pledge you my person and my forces.”

  Edward quickly raised Clarence up and embraced him fondly. “Arise my brother. I give you my full grace and pardon. We are most happy to have you back with us once again. We have long hoped for this moment. I will also give full pardon to your men at arms and will offer the same to Warwick if he agrees to a truce.”

  While Edward addressed Clarence’s forces, Richard embraced Clarence and conveyed his gratitude for his decision to return to the Royal family. “We have worried for the well-being of you and Isabel these past months. I hope Isabel is well again after the sad loss of her babe.”

  “She has indeed returned to good health and speaks even now of another child.” Clarence was still numb at his sudden change of fortune.

  “And what of her mother and Anne.” While he was pleased with Clarence’s return, Richard’s main concern was obviously for his love, Anne.

  “The Countess is well but has aged with worry. Anne has wed Prince Edward and is recovering from a grave illness. They will arrive shortly from France with Queen Margaret and her forces. Edward must move quickly if he is to take advantage of Margaret’s delay in sailing.” Richard was dismayed at the confirmation of Edward’s prediction that Anne would marry, and was deeply worried about the news of her illness.

  After making an eloquent speech to Clarence’s army and asking their support for the march to London behind his banner, Edward declared himself King and sent messengers to London ordering the magistrates to arrest King Henry and the Archbishop. Warwick refused his offer of a complete pardon and preferred to wait within the walls of Coventry for the arrival of the Earl of Oxford and his brother, John Neville. Without Warwick to be concerned about for the moment, Edward began the march south to London with his brothers Richard and Clarence proudly at his side once again.

  Edward’s entry into London was unopposed and wildly cheered. The London subjects had always accepted him as their true King. They were also aware that Warwick would be no match for Edward in any future battles. Edward’s forces were joined with those of Lord Howard, brother of Lord Hastings, and a large troop of Kentishmen. He would be well prepared to move north against Warwick who, Edward learned, had finally left Coventry and had taken the road south to Barnet toward London. The events of the next few days would be decisive.

  CHAPTER 19

  In Paris, above the Palace of Des Trounelles, the dark sky of winter was powdered with gold, blue and red lights shot forth with a roar of powder. King Louis flaunted another of his special enthusiasms, fireworks. Watching from the window, Anne thought each burst more beautiful than the last. It must be that the King and Royal family had arrived at Des Trounelles; every citizen within the old walls of Paris would surely see the display and know its significance. Reluctantly, she left the window and returned to a glowing brazier, trying to warm herself.

  Anne and her mother had already been in Paris three nights after five plodding days on the road from Amboise. On the trip, the icy wind of winter had torn at them. It moaned like a dirge; the hoof beats of the horses a dull, persistent counterpoint. Several of the group had fallen sick, their bowels loosened by coarse journey food. They had crouched, groaning behind bushes while the stinking brown fluid stained the snow.

  The first day, the jolts of the road spread through Anne’s loins into her stomach. Now, in the evenings, she could hardly move. The sore throat and fever that developed on the final day of the journey had not diminished. She could not define her illness except in terms of exhaustion, some of which still lingered from her stressful days with Edward. Let him demand as he would; let the road be endless and the winds forever blow. What did it matter now? Indifference had become her escape.

  Anne closed her eyes, too tired to prepare herself for bed. Time blurred and became a wilderness of distortion. How hot the brazier burned. She felt dizzy and found it difficult to breathe. A new pain developed in her right side, shooting through her body. She must get to the bed somehow. She stood up, swaying and dragged herself across the room, her feet tangling in her gown. The pain made her gasp and she pressed her hand against her side in an effort to suppress the ache. Carefully, inching along, she finally reached the bed and collapsed across it.

  For ten days Anne lay in a feverish, nightmarish stupor cared for by her mother and the hunchback Olivier who worked his secret cures. Over those ten days, Anne’s mother prayed for her daughter, the rosary clutched in her hands moving constantly through her fingers. It was after the Countess placed a crucifix in Anne’s hand that she seemed to make a miraculous recovery. When her mother mentioned this, Anne was certain that God still had a purpose for her.

  Three weeks later, Prince Edward, who had visited Anne but once during her ten-day ordeal, surveyed his wife, propped up in bed listening to her mother read. The Countess was in the midst of Chaucer’s whimsy of Chanticleer and Perlelote, which had been secured for them in English. Anne had laughed over it many times the past weeks but now Edward’s presence brought silence.

  “Nom de dieu, you look so thin.” Edward spoke with a sense of distaste rather than concern.

  “Not near as thin as I was.” Anne thought of the constant stream of savory foods, prepared especially for her. “My appetite is greatly improved.”

  Edward glanced about the room. “This is a mousehole of a chamber.”

  “But easy to keep warm.”

  “You must get well soon,” he said, uncaring for her feelings. “We are eager to leave for England.”

  “Be patient, Edward. I too wish to be in England once again.”

  “Warwick writes that we should come with all possible speed. Your uncle, the Bastard of Fauconberg, with the aid of King Louis, has now established control over the Channel waters. It is time. Each day matters. We will go to Honfleur and then depart for England. The French hold Amiens, and Duke Charles, for all his Burgundian pride and temper, dare not bother us.” He strode to the door and departed with nary a get-well wish.

  Anne watched him leave. Her sickness had stretched the gulf between them. He was too busy talking politics and planning battles to bother with her. She felt cleansed by the fever’s fire. Her body healed. Her mind became more resolute. The thought of returning to England raised her spirits.

  The day to take leave of Paris in February of 1472 had arrived. King Louis believed in taking all possible precautions. Though his cap already sagged with medals, he stuck a medal of St. George among the others. He would remove it as soon as England was safely won.

  For each of the departing English, Louis had ordered medals of St. Christopher, the Patron Saint of Travelers. He handed them out as they waited, huddled in the cobble-stoned courtyard. He talked rapidly, as always. “May the fog clear and the crossing be quick and easy? With my support you will see that your alliance with France is justified.” He took hold of Margaret’s arm. “Godspeed,” he whispered. “When you’re in England, remember all that I have done for your cause.”

  Margaret shrugged. “I’ll follow my own counsel.”

  Louis shuddered. Her own counsel had led from one disaster to another. Women were fools, he said to himself.

  He turned to the Countess and Anne. “I understand Sir John Wenlock has joined your cause. Did he not refuse you sanctuary at Calais?”

  “Wenlock is a true friend.” Anne Beauchamp was quietly happy. “He actually kept us from being trapped at Calais by his action. Once we were in the harbor, the Yorkist fleet would have encircled us.”

  Louis continued. “So then. We must proceed. All the omens are good. This February day is mild and even the sky is clear. A good day to set sail.” He pressed a jewel into Anne’s hand. “For you, Lady Anne. Remember me to your lord father when you are once again in England.”

  Queen Charlotte presented Anne with a small, perfumed ball. “Ships smell like fish and rotting timbers, or so I’m told. So you must have sweet essences for the journey. God willing, it will be a quick and safe one.”
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br />   Slowly, Anne felt the stirring of hope. No longer will the days stretch in endless emptiness. The uncertainties of tomorrow were replaced by fresh promises for happiness in her beloved England. Anne climbed into a horse-supported sedan chair and waved goodbye. “Au revoir, Your Graces. Merci. Merci beaucoup.” She knew she would never see any of them again. She was going home.

  Pennants and banners were raised. Trumpets sounded. The soldiers began to file out. Margaret gave shrill orders to her retinue. A cannon fired to hail their departure.

  Riding toward Honfleur in comfort, Anne imagined a spring day in England. The pillows in the chair were scented with dried flower petals, warming pans nestled at her feet. She thought of Olivier. Such concern was surely his parting gift.

  The weather at Honfleur was stormy, so the departure for England was delayed. Margaret would not put out to sea to be buffeted by violent winds. It was not until April that Uncle Fauconberg and a season of mild weather finally coaxed Margaret to sail for England. There had been no certain news for a month. Wenlock had heard the rumor that Edward of York and his men were back in England but knew no more.

  Anne stood on the deck as the Lancastrian ships slipped out of the harbor. Once in the Channel there was ample time for conjecture. Anne thought of that tall Plantagenet King who, for all his faults was much loved throughout England. Edward called the citizens of London by name; traded along with the merchants. He seemed invincible in battle. But her father, too, had his own legend and a great many cannon for the coming battles.

  Would it be enough? She could talk to no one. A Lancastrian victory was all that was discussed among the crew. She was alone. Her mother’s thoughts centered on her reunion with her husband.