The Last Plantagenet

by Thomas B. Costain

  But Louis had surmounted greater obstacles than the opposition of an angry woman. He made it clear to the ex-queen that this was her last chance. She could never hope to regain the ascendant with foreign levies, particularly as he had no intention of providing the funds or the men for another ill-planned foray. There was only one way left. Let Warwick, who had made Edward king, unmake him.

  It was a bitter pill for the queen to swallow. “Her heart,” she told the French king, “would bleed till the day of judgment with the wounds that he,” meaning Warwick, “had inflicted.” She had answers for every point that the wily monarch raised. “It is true there is dissension in England,” she declared. “But they do not wear the red rose. They march under the bear and ragged staff of Warwick.” When he proposed among the terms to be arranged that her son wed Anne Neville, a younger daughter of Warwick, she burst into a fury of dissent. “What!” she cried. “Will he indeed give his daughter to my son, whom he has so often branded as the offspring of adultery?”

  Louis was a master of diplomacy and he gradually wore her down. Perhaps she had realized from the first that this was in truth the last chance and had debated the points only to give a needed vent to her pent-up emotions. In the end she gave in to this extent: she agreed to see Warwick.

  There was a dip in the divisions of France between the borders of Normandy and Brittany, running south through country which in summer was rich with the yellow bloom of the planta genesta and ending close to the western reaches of the Loire River. Here lay the capital of the province of Maine, the romantic city of Angers, famous for its impregnable castle of eight round, grim towers. Angers had played a continuous part earlier in the English-French wars, but now it was far removed from the scene of strife. Far enough at any rate from the sharp eyes of English espionage, Angers seemed a safe place for Queen Margaret and Warwick to have their meeting. Here they could thresh out their differences and Edward in London would be none the wiser.

  Margaret came to Angers in a far from receptive mood. She made one point clear to the agile Louis, who was on hand to act as entrepreneur: Warwick must come to her and beg for her pardon.

  It was some time before the Kingmaker agreed to this, but finally he gave in and accompanied the French ruler into the presence of the militant queen. Margaret sat on a chair high enough to suggest a throne, her face clouded, her figure tense. She neither moved nor spoke in response to the suave speeches of Louis and the first efforts of Warwick to bridge the hatreds of the past.

  Finally Warwick realized he would not be met halfway. He went down on his knees before her and, if there was nothing humble in the lines of his back, there was a hint of it in what he said. He conceded that he had wronged her in the past and for this he begged her forgiveness. He promised that what he could accomplish for her in the future would erase from her mind all animosities.

  Margaret listened in an unbroken silence. Warwick, taken aback, had to bridge her silence with more assurances of what he planned to do. For fifteen minutes the resentful queen kept him on his knees before giving in to the extent of permitting him to rise. This was most humiliating for the proud baron who believed himself capable of overturning the English government and dominating any monarchial arrangements which might result. But he was a thorough diplomat and so was prepared to accept such rebuffs as the present might offer in order to gain his way in the end.

  In time, with the aid of that master of guile, Louis XI, an agreement was reached. Warwick promised to land in force in England and proceed against the Yorkist king with an army which, he asserted, would not be less than 50,000 men. King Henry was to be restored to the throne, and Warwick swore on a splinter of the True Cross, called the Cross of St. Laud d’Angers, to be a true and faithful subject. The Cross of St. Laud was believed to possess the power to cause the death within a year of anyone who perjured himself thereon.

  The French king then came to the fore and promised 2000 men and a subsidy of 46,000 crowns. It was due to the stand taken by Margaret’s son, Edward, called the Prince of Wales in the little threadbare court they maintained, that a binding agreement was finally reached. This youth is presented in various lights by commentators of the day, some depicting him as tall and handsome and the most accomplished prince in Europe, others as the inevitable product of his mother’s resentful spirit, a gloomy youth who was most concerned with the swing of the executioner’s ax and the rolling of heads from the block. One point seems clear: he saw Anne Neville, who had accompanied her father to Angers, and told his mother at once that he desired to marry her. The queen’s objections to the match ran very deep, but what could she do in the light of this unexpected preference? She agreed, reluctantly and bitterly.

  Those two skilled manipulators, Louis and Warwick, moved at once to make the agreement binding. Clarence and his wife had been summoned to attend and arrived in time for the betrothal. It must have been apparent to the fickle Clarence that things had taken an unfavorable turn as far as his chances were concerned. What price now the promises made to him by his father-in-law? Certainly his future looked poorer than it had before he turned his coat. There is no way of knowing what things Warwick whispered in his ear, but it seems that his suspicions and fears, for the time being at least, were allayed. It may have been that Warwick hinted at dark schemes which ran counter to the oath he had sworn on the True Cross.

  4

  King Edward was in the north of England when Warwick and his relatively small party landed. It is hard to conceive why he allowed himself to be caught off-guard in this way. Had he disregarded the rumors which must have reached him of Warwick’s activities in France? Had his low esteem of the latter as a general lulled him into a false sense of security? Or was it another proof of the young king’s tendency to indolence?

  Whatever the reason, Edward had gone far up into Yorkshire on the strength of a feint arranged by Warwick, who must be conceded a touch of genius in all of his early planning. A little uprising had been headed by the earl’s brother-in-law, Lord Fitzhugh. This disappeared like a soap bubble or a faint puff of air as soon as the royal forces appeared, but it had served its purpose well. Warwick, accompanied by Clarence (a sorely unsettled young man by this time), the Earl of Oxford, and Jasper Tudor, landed on September 16, 1470, at Dartmoor and Plymouth. Edward was caught flat-footed. He had no army, either with him or in process of assembling. He had left London wide open to hostile entry. When he learned that Warwick was moving east on London with every semblance of furious haste and proclaiming his new adherence to the Lancastrians, he realized that his cause was lost. Nothing remained but to make his escape to the continent and wait for a favorable turn of events.

  Whatever Warwick had of greatness was demonstrated in this easy victory. His daring had been shown in landing with a small force in a country where his opponent sat solidly on the throne. Few men would have made such a bold venture. Immediately following the success of his first move, the Kingmaker swung over to the other extreme and showed an excess of caution in his march on London. Flushed with the results he had achieved, and buoyed up by the way in which his army grew with each mile, the triumphant commoner still felt his way with great care.

  He had the best of reasons for not rushing boldly ahead with the occupation of London Town. It was well known to him that the sentiment there favored the Yorkist cause. The young king had made himself popular with the Londoners, who admired him personally and delighted in his hail-fellow way of dealing with them. Wherever he went in the city he had been followed by admiring throngs and the loud cheers which bespoke their high regard. In addition, Edward had borrowed large sums from the Londoners. What chance would they have of getting their money back if Warwick put the glum old king, now subsisting in the Tower, back on the throne? They had no illusions about Queen Margaret. She disliked and feared London and all its ways; and they were aware that she never forgot and never changed her mind.

  Warwick had learned much, moreover, about English sentiment in the course of his sl
owly conducted march through southern England. “A Warwick! A Warwick!” had been the cry which greeted him most often. There had been a few scattered calls of “A Henry! A Henry!” and even a very few and very faint “A Clarence! A Clarence!” He had seen little showing of the Red Rose, but had been greeted everywhere by the Bear and Ragged Staff. Did this mean that national sentiment would favor him if he reached for the highest reward?

  It was not until he learned of the hasty departure of Edward for the continent that he entered London on October 6. He was not surprised to find the leading citizens cool in their reception and much too anxious to discuss the possibility of having their loans repaid under a new regime. Warwick seems to have seen from the start that he could not hope to win over these men of business, with their intent eyes and firm jaws, by any means other than a promise to pay. This posed a great difficulty, for the loans had been heavy and he could not see any way of meeting them without help from Parliament.

  His path was easier as far as the “mob” was concerned, the term commonly used to describe the lesser citizens—the clerks, the artisans, and the apprentices. They had always admired the Kingmaker and they were still willing to cheer for him. They had no financial axes to grind. Warwick proceeded with undercover plans to keep their support. His agents, organized by one Sir Geoffrey Gate, circulated among them and spread promises of better days to come. They were fed on occasion and provided with free beer. The extreme step was taken of opening the prisons and granting pardons to all but the worst offenders.

  Sentiment outside the city was running strongly for the Kingmaker. He had always been popular in the Cinque Ports and along the Channel coast because of his vigorous handling of naval operations (he was an able admiral, even though an indifferent general), and his new success was loudly acclaimed. Promises of armed support came in from all quarters.

  Despite the reservations in the mind of Warwick on the score of his ultimate stand, the next step clearly was to proclaim Henry king. The gentle old man had been held in the Tower of London since his betrayal into Edward’s hands. Little attention or kindness had been shown him, save allowing him to live, and he had by this time fallen into the seediness of neglect. When led out from his uncomfortable quarters, he found it hard to believe in this unexpected good fortune. He made no complaints of the treatment he had suffered but did not conceal his pleasure in clean linen and unpatched clothes. The food set before him was clearly a change, for he plied his knife and drained his wine cup with an artless gusto.

  Clothed again in warm and rich apparel, he was taken out into the city streets with a train headed by Warwick and the Archbishop of Canterbury and lodged temporarily with the Bishop of London. If the cheers for him were neither very loud nor spontaneous, his mild eyes lighted up and he acknowledged them with a nervous fluttering of his hands. A few days later he was taken with full pomp to Westminster and lodged again in the state apartments where he had spent most of his life.

  A session of Parliament was hastily arranged. The House met on November 26 and, needless to state, perhaps, it had been most carefully hand-picked. There was no delay in confirming the measures laid before it. The terms reached at Angers were approved. Warwick and Clarence were appointed joint lieutenants of the realm. This step, clearly, was a sop intended to ease the mind of Edward’s turncoat brother, who had been showing open sulkiness and an unwillingness to co-operate.

  5

  Warwick was well aware that two pairs of daring and even desperate eyes were watching him from across the Channel. The closeness of the alliance between England and France, as evidenced by the Te Deum sung in Paris, was apparent to all Europe. Charles the Bold of Burgundy, who was aggressive and in all things decisive, began to take steps to break the tie. His plan was a sound and obvious one. Edward must be placed back on the English throne and the Lancastrian pretensions demolished for all time. Edward, living in Holland in a state of bitter regret over his own carelessness, welcomed the opportunity to co-operate with the far-seeing Burgundian. As a preliminary step the Burgundian fleet began to harry the eastern and southern coasts of England.

  The Kingmaker was fully awake to the danger. He knew that the English people, and, in particular, the Londoners, had always preferred an alliance with Burgundy, which would protect and foster their profitable trade in wool with the great textile merchants of Flanders. There was as well a feeling that France was the hereditary enemy and that some day, somehow, another Henry V would arise to beat the French so decisively that he would wear permanently the fleur-de-lis crown.

  Being a shrewd student of international affairs, Warwick realized that the administration he had established was purely temporary. The people would never be held in full loyalty to the daft old king, no matter how much they liked him. Henry, moreover, had not long to live. What concerned the people above everything else was their lack of security with the present arrangements. What would happen, they were asking, when the throne became vacant? Without a doubt, Warwick, in that proud, aloof mind of his, entertained the hope that the people would come to realize how great a king he could be if given the chance. He believed a sentiment was growing in his favor, that the whisper was spreading: “This man is a winner. He turns things upside down with the twirl of a finger. Why take a weakling prince because he is his father’s son when we can choose for ourselves this monumental figure?”

  But he saw no prospect at once of such a sudden reversal on the part of the people. The sentiment would need time to grow and plenty of skilled direction would be needed behind it. In the meantime he had to have something more satisfactory to offer than the doddering old figurehead at Westminster. He knew the questions that people were asking. Where is this Prince Edward who will succeed to the throne? Why is he dawdling at his ease in France? Is he a coward? Is he another, the saints forfend, of these princely war haters?

  Being completely realistic, Warwick saw that, for a time at least, he must use Margaret and her son, and that they must be brought over at once. Irritated by their non-appearance, which ran counter to the arrangements reached at Angers, he paced about the chancellery offices in Westminster, plucking with angry fingers at his beard and striving to find the answer. He even rode down to Dover and scanned the bounding strait for a glimpse of their sails. What was the queen doing? Why this incredible, this perhaps fatal delay?

  Margaret was not delaying because of any reluctance to participate in the stirring events which were shaking England. She wanted to be there and to have a voice in all decisions. She did not place full faith in Warwick. In fact she believed him as capable of turning his coat whenever necessary as that false loon Clarence. But it was taking time to organize the forces she intended to bring with her and to assemble the necessary ships. Margaret was a perfectionist, to use a modern term. She wanted to have everything done to her complete satisfaction—every last archer equipped with his well-oiled crossbow (the French could never, never see what a poor weapon this was) and every horse curried and sent aboard. But time seldom waits on perfection.

  When she had all details arranged at last and was ready to start, the weather turned fiercely against her. Three efforts to set sail were balked by the winds and waves. Finally on March 24 she insisted on starting even though the portents were still unfavorable. The voyage took sixteen days (an indication of how clumsy and helpless the ships of that day really were), and it was not until April 13 that they were able to effect a landing at Weymouth, a fishing town and seaport on the Dorset coast, a full 140 miles from London.

  This delay was to have fatal consequences. Edward, acting now with furious energy, had landed on the Yorkshire coast several weeks before. He had made perhaps the shortest turnabout in history. Little more than five months had elapsed since the young king had taken ship at Lynn and fled to the Netherlands; and here he was back. A large part of the country was very glad to welcome him.

  6

  In the last half of the Wars of the Roses a radical change in military methods was introduced with the
active use of cannon. It was true that guns had been employed in a somewhat experimental way long before. The story that the English had artillery at Crécy is without foundation, although Edward III did have a primitive form of mitrailleuse called a ribaudequin in some of his French campaigns, which he employed mostly in sieges. A ballad written about the siege of Calais contains lines which indicate a lack of effectiveness in the guns of the day.

  Thanked be God and Mary mild,

  They harmed neither woman nor child.

  To the houses though they did great harm.

  Edward IV, always alert to new ideas, was helped in winning the Battle of “Lose-coat” Field in 1461 very largely by using cannon. But, as will be told, it remained for Warwick in his last battle to use artillery as an important arm of his large forces.

  Edward’s flight to Holland had been so precipitous that he had landed in a state of destitution. He had not delayed, in fact, to finish his dinner when word of Warwick’s success had reached him. Charles the Bold had many Lancastrians about his court and had to play a cautious hand in assisting the refugee monarch. He did send finally the sum of 50,000 florins to aid in the preparations for a return to England. He also assembled a fleet for the use of the landing party.

  Edward’s men came ashore at various points near the mouth of the Humber, but at first no warmth was to be detected in the reception accorded them. The country had grown tired of the incessant fighting. White or Red, what did it matter? The determined Edward might never have succeeded in landing at all in the face of Warwick’s elaborate preparations to guard the coasts if it had not been for the lukewarmness of his somewhat less than valiant brother, the Marquis of Montague, who had been assigned to watch. Montague remained at Pontefract Castle and did not stir himself to drive the party back to their ships. Before anything could be done about it, therefore, the Snow Rose was beginning to sprout again in helmets and on lance tips. When Edward got as far as Nottingham he was joined by his allies in considerable strength and from that moment on his forces accelerated rapidly.