Anne of Warwick The Last Plantagenet Queen

by Paula Simonds Zabka

  Anne was disappointed at the pending disturbance of their peaceful life. “Why does not the King put an end to George’s meddling?”

  “I am certain it is because George has some hold on the King which I cannot fathom. Also, perhaps the King feels he needs Clarence in his plans to move against the French King.”

  Anne was visibly upset. “Why would the King go to war with France at this time?”

  “The King wants to distract the people from the civil strife we have known these past years, and he wants to unite them behind a glorious war to recover the French lands that were won by Henry V at Agincourt. He feels that since we are at peace with Scotland and have Burgundy as an ally, we should strike while the stars are with us.”

  Anne was aware of such an advantage. “Charles of Burgundy has always been an enemy of King Louis. It would suit him well to side with King Edward in this venture. But must you go, Richard? The King will surely need someone to keep the peace here in the North. And I will be so alone with Ned.”

  “I will have to go. The King bids me and his wish is my command. You will not be completely alone. I forgot to tell you that, at the council with the King, he agreed to release your mother from sanctuary. I am sending Sir James Tyrell to escort her here from Beaulieu Abbey. But let us put these matters aside. The Yuletide season will soon be upon us. Let us enjoy it fully with our new son. Perhaps by next spring, Edward will have a new mistress and will forget his war.”

  III. CHAPTER 2

  However, spring of 1475 came early, and the King was determined to have his war with France. Richard was to gather a force and join him in London immediately. Neither Richard nor Anne anticipated the number of men who would flock to Middleham. Both lords and tenants asked to serve under the aegis of the White Boar. Simon Mitford, a carpenter, gathered together his carpenter tools and sold them for a horse and equipment. Miles Metcalfe rode over to Middleham to ask to serve directly under Richard. Shortly thereafter, the same request came from Francis Lovell and John Howard. However, from Henry Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, there was only a silver hanap and belated congratulations on Ned’s birth. The goblet had come all the way from Brecon. Obviously, Buckingham was not rushing to join the Royal expedition.

  In mid-May, some of the men left for Barham Downs, near Canterbury, the rendezvous point. Anne watched the first troops march off. So proud. The dogs yapped. The commanders shouted above the high whinny of the nervous horses. Middleham was packed, for those with stallions would not leave for a few days. The odor was so familiar: dust, leather, horse turds. She wondered why men found it exciting to go to war. Even if they had a measure of success, they would come home with fevers, the bloody flux, and wounds that would never heal. Apparently women weren’t meant to understand all this. So it had been with her father. And she remembered how her mother had always waved a brave good-bye when he would march off to some adventure.

  The night before he was to leave, she waited for him, her body soft with creams. Jasmine scented her hair, spread out on the pillow. Richard was late. As always, he must see to everything. Those who marched under his banner, marched under his care. How slowly the minutes passed. It seemed she was dreaming when she heard his voice, almost teasing.

  “And did you think I’d let you sleep alone tonight, Anne?”

  “I knew you would come.”

  Richard was warm beside her. “I’m sorry. I had to billet over two dozen more men.” He drew Anne to him. “But there is enough war talk. We seem to have so little time together.”

  After a moment he said, “Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?”

  “Often, but I never tire for you to say so.”

  “I thought you were beautiful as a child, you know. You were four when I first saw you. Today I feel I must memorize your face, the fall of your hair, the blue depths of your eyes, the arch of your brows,” he whispered.

  Anne swallowed and smiled. “And memorize my thin waist, for I will surely be great with child again when you see me next.”

  Tomorrow was the King’s day, but the night was theirs and they took full pleasure of the hours that were left before they must part.

  After they awoke at dawn, Richard comforted Anne. “My Love, I won’t be more than a few months. Louis, for all his wiles, is no match for Burgundy and England.” He arose to begin preparing for the day.

  “I am not so sure, Richard.” Anne, too, got out of bed and began dressing. “Louis is so crafty. England and Burgundy will march boldly forward in martial splendor, trumpets blaring, and Louis will find some way to evade the conflict.”

  Richard nodded. “Perhaps, but I know you are right in one thing. No glory lies ahead. Still, I must go forward. My men depend on me.” He held her for a moment. “Yet how can I say farewell?”

  “There is one way I like that is French, Richard. It’s their word au revoir. It means ‘we part to meet again soon’.”

  It was but an hour later when Richard was ready to depart with his troops. The Cistercian monk had blessed Richard and the other lords as they had knelt bareheaded in the chapel. At the close of the service, the monk set the bells a’ringing, and the bells of the village church took up a dissonant clanging. Many of the villagers gathered around the walls of Middleham, most with May flowers to shower the soldiers. Many of the faces were familiar. Some of the families had served at Middleham for generations. Now astride his horse, Richard bent down and took Ned in his arms. The child squirmed in delight, as he was allowed to hold the reins of the great steed. “We will have to get him a pony of his own, Anne.” Richard grinned proudly at his son whose tiny legs stuck straight out on the heavy saddle.

  “He will be a horseman soon like his father,” Anne replied.

  Richard handed Ned down to her where she stood on the mounting block, and then she beckoned a squire, who brought the silver stirrup cup.

  “To your safe return, my Love.”

  Richard drank from the cup. “May the days go quickly.” She wanted Richard to take the memory of her smile to France, so no tears must flow.

  She took his hand and pressed it to her cheek. “Adieu and au revoir.”

  Richard looked at his wife and at his small son beside her. “I’ll be back, Anne. I promise.”

  With a flourish of trumpets, the banners were raised and the drawbridge cleared of spectators. Richard’s horse pawed the earth, setting the little brass bells of the harness jingling. A trumpet sounded again and a drummer beat a lively roll. The men began to move through the northeast gate, across the drawbridge and down the sloping entranceway. The banners of St. George’s, the White Boar, and the Sun in Splendor glistened in the bright morning sun. Huzzahs from the townfolk and castle retainers enhanced the metallic clamor.

  Anne picked up Ned and stood back, gazing at Richard. All the panoply of his power and rank blazed about him. The blue, red, and gold of his Plantagenet birth were emblazoned on his silvered shield; the White Boar insignia decorated his helmet; silk threads of green and purple repeated the device on his jupon, which he’d already put over his armor to deflect the sun’s rays. His face was tanned, his chin firm; yet his eyes showed that he remembered their night of loving.

  Anne watched Richard ride through the courtyard to the gate, a magnificent figure. At the gatehouse arch he turned and waved, and she waved back, though her arm felt too heavy to lift. Then she smiled for the village folk, massed at the entrance, gaily flinging flowers at Richard. A small girl handed him a bouquet of golden daffodils and spring lilies. He fastened a daffodil in the jointure of his helmet, and they cheered him. It was all over in a moment. Richard was across the drawbridge, the remainder of the rear guard with him. The bells stopped ringing, and Anne, standing with Ned in the trampled dust, turned quickly toward the Keep. Pulling Ned along, she hurried up the stairs. From the heights of the Keep, she would be able to see him a little longer. She watched with straining eyes until the figures blurred in the distance. Then the tears came.

  III. CHAPTER 3
r />   That summer of 1475, the vast army of King Edward, including the contingents of Richard and Clarence, landed at Calais, France, supported by archers, artillery and surgeons. Edward’s forces were to be joined by the army of Duke Charles of Burgundy. His Duchess, Margaret, who explained that the Duke and his army were besieging the city of Neuss to the east, greeted them instead.

  Edward was furious. “Richard, you and George escort our sister back to St. Omer and I will remain to await the Duke and prepare our forces for the march into France.”

  Duke Charles arrived in Calais a few days later, and then only with a modest bodyguard. Edward immediately expressed his displeasure and demanded an explanation at such a rash action.

  “While waiting for your arrival, I began the campaign by besieging the city of Neuss. I have just broken off the siege, and my forces are presently pillaging the region of Lorraine.”

  Edward was stupefied. “We need our combined forces to march against King Louis who, even now, is marching north from Paris with a formidable army.”

  “He will be no match for your superior numbers and artillery. You could march clear to Rome with little loss.”

  “I do not march to conquer Rome, Charles.” Edward felt a hollowness in his stomach. Any victory would be meaningless without Burgundy to maintain it. “I plan to march south to St. Quentin to set up my base. Will the Count of St. Pol, the commander of the city, welcome us?”

  “Most definitely. He has assured me of his cooperation. After all, he is the Queen’s cousin. When you have secured your forces at St. Quentin, march south to Campiegne, and I will join you there.” To the dismay and disgust of Edward, and without further adieu, the Duke spurred his horse and rode out to rejoin his army in Lorraine.

  Edward and his army were fired upon from the walls of St. Quentin and so they turned away. St. Pol had once again changed his mind. Edward decided to concentrate his forces on King Louis, and learned that he had already reached the city of Campiégne, to the west, with his army. He summoned his brothers and his captains, John Howard and the Stanleys. “St. Quentin denies us and Duke Charles has abandoned us to another of his impossible exploits. King Louis moves quickly from Campiégne. We have the forces to defeat him but at a great cost, and we are not assured now, that Burgundy will be able to maintain a victory for any length of time. Once we depart France, Louis will undo it all. However, I have been informed that Louis does not really want a war. Perhaps we should test his intentions.”

  Richard was the first to respond. “I am not for war for its own sake, but I am for a peace that’s won on the battlefield. You taxed your people heavily to pay for this venture. And promises were made.”

  “The Frenchman might pay gold for peace,” Henry Percy suggested. His bushy eyebrows came together. “Gold is gold even it comes from a spider like King Louis.”

  Both the Stanleys nodded. “We should talk,” William much preferred money to fighting. “At least find out,” Thomas smirked at his brother. Their minds always worked in unison.

  John Howard, Duke of Norfolk, chose his words carefully. “I think we are selling ourselves out. That’s how the men will see it. And it will cause much bitterness in England. The men came to fight.” He looked from Edward to Richard. “I know glory and honor are hollow words. Yet, they still mean something.” He was sure Edward would forever regret foregoing a victory in France.

  George thought only of his new armor, made just for this venture. Edward might be killed in battle, he thought. One life less between him and the crown. He remembered how Edward chastised him over his recent collusion with John de Vere, Earl of Oxford, now a Lancastrian exile. “Whatever you think best, Edward. You can lead us to victory.” George was sincere as a toad.

  “Then we march to Amiens.” Edward stood, towering over them. “My astrologer says Jupiter enters its first house. Leo rules and the sun is our sign. All excellent omens.”

  But food supplies failed them. Louis’ men had ravaged the countryside. Rotting vegetables lay in heaps. The few animals they found were dead, semi-decayed, and encrusted with flies. Half-wild dogs circled them, snapping at their heels. These they killed and ate, for abandoned huts were empty of food. In one, they found the bloated body of a cow, hanging by the neck. Someone had written “English dogs” in blood on the hide. The letters stretched misshapen over the animal’s swollen body. Creeks were polluted. The men saw gutted animal remains, dead chickens and food wastes floating by in the water, brown and reeking with excrement. Hungry and thirsty, the men cursed the French and longed for a fight to avenge their plight.

  King Edward was becoming distraught. He had not anticipated the lack of Burgundian support or the depletion of his supplies. The prize of France seemed less important to him each passing day, and his resolve diminished as he thought more of a possible negotiated peace. He decided to send an ambassador to a meeting in Amiens on the matter, along with one of King Louis’ own representatives. He was amazed at the response from King Louis.

  “The terms are incredible.” Edward smiled, then revealed the terms to Richard. “Louis agrees to pay me seventy-five thousand gold crowns now, and fifty thousand crowns a year. I would agree to have his son marry my daughter, Elizabeth.” Edward flung his arms wide. “How can I refuse, Richard? Why should we go to war when Louis is so agreeable?”

  “And the men? The soldiers who made the march?” Richard watched his brother’s face. “Is a shower of gold blinding your purpose? Are you selling England for a price?”

  “Everyone of account gets something.” Edward explained. “All the nobles. We’re going to call it ‘tribute’. Will Hastings has already been promised two thousand crowns a year because he’s my friend.” Edward looked uneasily at his youngest brother. “And Louis suspects that you will oppose our truce. He’s got a special gift for you of some fine horses. He loves animals, you know.”

  “You’ve made up your mind, Edward?”

  “Yes. Are you with me?”

  “No. Not in this.”

  “Richard, it’s only a treaty. A victory with honor.”

  “It’s really a defeat, Edward. And you will be the one to pay eventually.” Richard couldn’t look at Edward. “You will always wonder what might have been. This is your best chance, probably final chance, to prove yourself the King you believed yourself to be when you took the crown. A great victory. Another Agincourt, to restore the glory and greatness of England.”

  Edward was moved but was adamant. “Richard, the land is ravaged, Duke Charles is nowhere to be found, I am running out of supplies as well as money to pay the men. We can have victory with honor if we exact the right price.”

  Richard knew then that he had to face the reality of his idol’s fading image. Edward had lost his vision of greatness, and the Woodville Court had eroded the drive and decisiveness with which he inspired his followers to so many victories. Expediency replaced valor, and greed sapped his sense of duty and honor. Or perhaps Edward really believed that what he was doing was right in his own mind, putting himself in complete denial of the truth of his actions.

  This was the first time Richard faltered in his respect for his King, and it saddened him to even question his own loyalty. Question though he may, he would remain steadfast in support of his King for the sake of the Kingdom, for England.

  III. CHAPTER 4

  In Richard’s absence, Anne concentrated on Ned who had become frail in the past months. Sometimes he looked as though the Yorkshire winds would blow him away like chaff in a mild breeze. He had not fully recovered from the scarlet fever epidemic, which struck the whole of Yorkshire in the autumn of 1475. Many children turned red as lobsters and died screaming in their mad dreaming. Her Ned became weak and listless but at least he survived. Anne’s mother, finally released from Beaulieu Abbey and settled in Middleham, worked with her grandson. She coaxed him to eat. She tried games. Ned just smiled at her and sat quietly content. He only talked when he had enough energy. “I want a horse,” he announced one morni
ng, and Anne hoped it was a portent of growing strength.

  The following summer Ankarette arrived. The family servant appeared much the same as when Anne had been a child. A little wider now, with ruddier cheeks and neck. She came, as usual, right to the point. “Isabel hears that your son is frail so she bid me come to help you. What have you been giving him for his illness?”

  Anne hugged her. “Thank you for coming, Ankarette, I’ve tried everything. Egg morteux, savoury stews, dishes flavored with pepper, ginger, cinnamon, saffron, even sugar, and still Ned hardly eats.” She paused. “But doesn’t Isabel need you? She is not well herself. I wish she would get stronger and come north to recover her health.”

  Ankarette had always cared for Isabel, especially since the loss of her child at Calais. “With Clarence off to France, she seems to get better. Consider me a loan.” Ankarette picked up Ned. “You should eat more yourself, my Lady. As for this little one, he needs to be outside. Let the sun warm him. You’ve a Pleasance?”

  “Yes, Richard built a new one.”

  “So he must play outside more. Dig in the dirt. Develop an appetite. And let’s light a candle to St. Nicholas for deliverance from his malady.”

  A great relief flooded Anne to have help from someone like Ankarette. With new respect, she looked at her. “You never had a child yourself. Yet you were married?”

  “Aye, my Roger Twynyho was a handsome man. Tall, with a way with the meat axe. No better man during butchering time.” Ankarette sighed and cuddled Ned. “But Roger cut himself one day and soon died from the infected wound. Less than a year together we had. Never lived long enough to do much sinning though. He was only nineteen. I light a candle for him as often I can.”

  “I never knew, Ankarette. Does Isabel have any idea of your bad fortune?”

  Ankarette blinked and wiped her nose with her sleeve. “Nay, I could not burden her. Isabel has more problems than ever now.”