His thirteen-year-old countess was left at nearby Lamphey Castle in a potentially perilous situation; a widowed heiress, alone in a lawless country and six months pregnant, she needed urgent protection. Jasper Tudor had been at Kenilworth in attendance on the king and queen but as soon as he heard of his brother’s death he galloped back to South Wales and took his young sister-in-law to the safety of Pembroke Castle. This sad sequence of events spelled the end of any hope there might have been for a marriage between our Elizabeth and Jasper, who blamed York retainers for his brother’s death. Besides he now had responsibility for his brother’s very young widow and her baby. For a thirteen-year-old girl to give birth in any circumstances was a dangerous and traumatic business and it was only many years later that I learned from Margaret Beaufort just how nearly it proved fatal for both herself and her baby. They called him Henry, not a name any of my children would ever call theirs, I was certain, except perhaps Anne, who would have no choice.
On a visit to London I had finally managed to see Anne, hearing that she had brought her two-year-old daughter to Coldharbour Inn. Had her unstable and criminally-minded husband been there I would never have managed to gain admission but he was away in the north somewhere, creating havoc with his Percy and Clifford cronies. My heart was in my mouth when I was shown to a sparsely furnished chamber where a meagre fire was burning in the grate but there was no one there and after many minutes I thought I was destined to depart disappointed. When the door opened to admit a tall woman leading a small girl I did not recognize my daughter.
Anne had, at eighteen, become the beautiful woman I had longed for her to be. All trace of her plumpness and blemishes had vanished and her deportment was superb. Tears sprang to my eyes when I beheld her long, patrician face with its noble forehead and Plantagenet green eyes set off by high cheekbones. She wore a simple white linen veil held by a circlet and a pretty grey gown trimmed with pale minerva. I held out my hands to her. ‘Anne,’ I said, my voice cracking with emotion. ‘How wonderful!’
She took one of my hands coolly, keeping hold of her child with the other, and leaned forward to place her lips briefly on my cheek. ‘My lady mother,’ she murmured, then pushed the little girl forward. ‘This is your granddaughter Anne. I call her Annette.’
I crouched down to the infant’s level and offered her my hand but she did not take it. Instead she stood staring at me with her bright-blue eyes – my eyes, or perhaps her father’s, though I did not like to think so. ‘God’s greeting, Annette. It is a pretty name for a pretty girl.’
She shrank back into her mother’s skirts.
‘Normally she is quite talkative,’ said Anne. ‘But she does not know you. Shall we sit?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ I took the chair she indicated and she took another. We faced each other across the fireplace. ‘I was not sure if I would be admitted.’
‘All callers are admitted when Harry is not here, as long as they leave their arms at the gatehouse.’ Her tone was flat, as if she addressed a stranger. ‘He is away. I do not know where and I do not care.’
‘Things are not good between you, then?’
She made a dismissive noise, pushing out air. ‘Things are not good between Harry and anyone. Even his cronies only put up with him because he brings them fighting men to swell their raiding parties. Harry hates the world and the world hates Harry.’
‘And do you hate him too?’ I simply had to ask.
This time the puffing noise was louder. ‘Of course I do! Nothing has changed as far as that is concerned but he hates me back so that is fine. He wanted a son and he got a daughter. Bad luck. He will not get another. Not on me anyway.’
I looked from her to Annette, my heart in my mouth. ‘But she is lovely, Anne.’
Her face softened. ‘Yes. She is my one compensation for the disaster you landed me in.’
I said nothing. I no longer tried to justify Anne’s marriage even to myself. I would have fought Richard far more forcefully over it had I not at the time cherished my own marriage and still hoped there might be a chance for hers. Now I could sense that while she had not made the marriage, the marriage may have made her. This Anne was a much stronger person than the tearful girl I had watched ride away across the Lincolnshire stubble.
‘I gather you are planning to marry Elizabeth to another Lancastrian family. Have you learned nothing from my experience?’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘How do you know that?’
Anne smiled for the first time. ‘I am on Queen Margaret’s guest-list. She cannot abide Harry any more than anyone else but she needs him and his followers so she uses me as a means to deal with him. I talk to Alice de la Pole. I like her. She is a clever woman.’
‘Yes, I like her too,’ I said.
‘Of course you do, my lady mother. You are a clever woman too. If you were Duke of York our house would not be on the cusp of war with Lancaster.’
‘You still think of yourself as being of York?’ I was amazed.
‘More of the white rose affinity than of York. I could not support Lancaster, even though the queen thinks I do, and I will never wear the wheatear. No, I am definitely one of the white roses; what are you?’
Little Annette had let go of her mother’s skirts and edged her way in my direction, still gazing at me curiously. I smiled encouragingly at her, thinking how wonderful it was that I was her grandmother. I found myself hoping that this little girl would have children of her own and them after her. I thought of John and his decision to marry at last and I understood why.
‘Well of course I wear the white rose but if I had my choice I would not wear white or red. I would find one of those pink hedgerow roses and wear that.’
This time my daughter’s smile was genuinely warm. ‘There, you see – I said you were clever.’
She had been well informed about the marriage plans for Elizabeth and young John de la Pole. Richard changed his tune once Jasper Tudor ceased to be a contender and I had completed my tentative arrangements with Alice. By so doing Richard sealed an alliance not only with the former Duke of Suffolk’s chief tenants but also, crucially, with the Duke of Norfolk and his affinity. Elizabeth had not been pleased, having expected to be a countess at least. However, soon after the wedding the king had been persuaded by the queen, encouraged by Alice of course, to at least restore the Suffolk heir to the earldom. I had already concluded that John de la Pole would never be the brightest star in the political firmament but his mother made up for that and he was obviously quite smitten by his lovely bride. I had accompanied Elizabeth to Wingfield to live with her new mother-in-law but John, her pleasant and placid bridegroom, was to remain as a squire at Fotheringhay for a year or so until they were both old enough to be bedded. I was sure that Elizabeth had every chance of making a successful marriage, in contrast to her sister Anne’s disastrous experiences.
By the following spring the queen had succeeded in acquiring the king’s agreement to remove all York appointees from their administrative positions and even persuaded her royal husband to sign an order sending Richard back to his post as Lieutenant of Ireland. With Hal of Salisbury tied up subduing the Scots on the northern march, Dick of Warwick busy in Calais and Richard back in Dublin, Queen Margaret could congratulate herself on having split the Yorkist affinity asunder.
However, the queen had not counted on the military skill and political cunning of Warwick whose rapidly-acquired fleet of ships now based in Calais raced to and fro across the Channel, efficiently routing the pirates who had been terrorizing shipping in the Narrow Sea and thus gained the further adulation of London merchants. The pirate loot confiscated also financed lavish entertainments at his London house on his frequent visits there, when he wooed the leaders of the guilds. The city increasingly scorned King Henry’s weak rule and loathed his French queen and now they had a dashing and capable champion who was restoring their vital trade links with the Low Countries. Thanks to Warwick, the Yorkist cause was now assured support in London.
I had refused to accompany Richard back to Dublin, which I remembered with much loathing and, to be fair, he had not encouraged me to go, agreeing that the delicate health of our two youngest children, Richard and Ursula, should not be put at risk in the damp Irish climate. So I kept an eye on our English estates, travelling regularly between Fotheringhay and Ludlow, where I observed with great pride the transformation of my two eldest boys into well-educated young noblemen, able administrators and knights of considerable skill. Their governor Sir Richard Croft told me he was particularly impressed with Edward’s progress and recommended that Richard should give some thought to his eldest son’s dubbing.
‘Certainly he should be knighted if there is any question of him taking part in a military confrontation,’ Sir Richard added. ‘I mentioned it to the duke the last time he was here.’
‘And what was his reaction?’ I asked, annoyed that Richard had not spoken of this to me before leaving for Dublin.
‘He seemed to think there was no immediate danger of conflict,’ had been the reply, and in January of 1458 King Henry tried to prove Richard right on that score by calling a peace conference in London to which all Yorkist and Lancastrian magnates were summoned. It might have worked if the three young heirs of St Albans dead had not marched a large army of retainers up to the city gates and stormed the meeting demanding compensation for the killing of their fathers.
Richard, back from Dublin, ordered the portcullis at Baynard’s lowered and the battlements manned with archers when he returned from the meeting at Blackfriars Abbey. ‘I am taking precautions,’ he explained. ‘Those impertinent puppy lords have intimidated the king. Apparently we are ordered to endow a chantry at St Albans and I am to pay his widow five thousand marks in compensation for Somerset’s death. It was not I who killed Somerset, it was your nephew Warwick but he is commanded to pay only one thousand marks to the Clifford family. But that is of no consequence because these are spurious awards. It was a battle, which Somerset caused and their fathers chose to fight! We owe them nothing, least of all a chantry in perpetuity for the soul of Somerset, a man who rots in hell without a doubt.’
‘But will you pay, Richard, for the sake of peace?’ I put the question gently, moved for once to offer physical consolation by placing my hand on his shoulder.
He turned to face me and I could see fierce determination in his hooded green eyes but to my surprise he nodded. ‘I will agree to pay for the king’s sake but I will simply assign five thousand marks of the debt the exchequer owes me to young Somerset. I have never received it and nor will he. Henry may be a peace-loving soul but his queen is a termagant and her followers feed her rage. There is no hope for peace in this kingdom while she leads her husband by the nose.’
‘So what will you do now?’ I asked, realizing with a heavy heart that the results of this so-called peace conference could affect our whole family. ‘I hope you are thinking of our children’s futures, Richard.’
‘Tomorrow is Lady Day, the Feast of the Annunciation, but the king is calling it a Love Day. I am to hold the queen’s hand and she and I are to walk behind Henry, and the Nevilles and the Percys are to follow us, also hand in hand; he wants us all to walk in procession to St Paul’s for a service of reconciliation. To show the people that the royals and nobility of England are all friends.’
He paced impatiently away, his hands clasped under his forked beard and his eyes lowered as if in prayer. When he raised his head and walked back to me his expression was militant. ‘But poor Henry is woefully misguided. We are not friends. Our joined hands will burn with enmity. Afterwards we shall go to Ludlow, all of us, and gather the forces of York around us. That is the only way we will be safe from Henry’s scheming queen and her new favourites.’
35
Ludlow Castle, Spring 1459
Cicely
Of all the York strongholds, Ludlow Castle had the largest outer bailey, therefore when loyal retainers from the Welsh marches began to answer York’s call to arms, as spring warmed the air they were able to set up camp within the security of the perimeter wall. Richard was in his element, deploying scouts, ordering supplies of weapons and arrows, touring the tented village to check on welfare, briefing his captains and above all honing his own fighting skills against the best of his knights. To his delight he was most evenly matched against his son and heir but their sparring caused an argument between Richard and Edward’s governor.
‘Croft does not approve of me sparring with my son, saying that only knights may challenge other knights. That may be a tournament rule but Edward needs to train for the battlefield and he will not do that by simply crashing around with the other squires,’ he told me as we broke our fast together in our chamber one morning, away from the bustle of the great hall.
‘When I was last here, Sir Richard recommended that Edward be dubbed, perhaps that was his meaning,’ I remarked.
‘Edward may be tall but he is too young,’ Richard said with finality. ‘I am sending Croft on a recruiting drive through my Mortimer lands. He has taught Edward all that is within his power and the lad has lost patience with his pedantry. Edward has far outstripped his fellow henchmen and needs to test himself against the best fighters but Croft holds him back. I had thought of sending Edward to Warwick but now there is no need.’
Richard looked at me seriously before he went on. ‘I wrote to Dick yesterday asking him to bring men here. The king and queen have taken Prince Edward on a tour of the Midlands to raise a Lancastrian army. I believe the queen has even had the cheek to suggest that Henry abdicate in favour of their son. Yes, really – in favour of a five-year-old! I suppose she thinks to rule through him and at least Henry had the wisdom to refuse. But she has also issued commissions of array, ordering every town and village to send their young men to support the Lancastrian cause. England has never forced men into the field involuntarily, especially not into an English field. Conscription is a French custom and a bad one. Men who fight under constraint fight badly. She of all people should know that.’
‘But I suppose it will boost their numbers,’ I remarked. ‘No general likes to be outnumbered, even by conscripts. Are you seriously thinking of confronting a royal army, Richard? You did it once before and only just escaped a charge of treason. You would not get away with it a second time.’ I could see his anger building. He did not like to be questioned over tactics but I was past playing the passive wife.
‘A Lancastrian army,’ he snapped. ‘And only if we can combine our forces without loss. Hal needs to avoid ambush getting here from Middleham and Dick will need fair winds across the Channel and a clear march all the way from the south coast. But I had good news from an unexpected source yesterday. John Neville has come over to our side and will bring men down from Durham.’
I nearly choked on the fine white manchet bread supplied by the castle bakery. I reached for my cup of ale and hoped Richard had not noticed the blood drain from my face. I was shocked and thrilled at the same time. It was true that since our meeting in Coverdale John had stood aloof from conflict with my brother Salisbury, restricting his military activities to confronting the Scots on the northern march, but it had never occurred to me that he would actually turn coat and throw in his lot with York, whose greatest allies – Salisbury and his son Warwick – still occupied the very Yorkshire lands that John had demanded as ransom for my release over twenty five years ago. Nor was he the only Neville to change his allegiance. After fighting with the Lancastrians at St Albans, my brother Will, Lord Fauconberg, had accepted a post as Warwick’s deputy in Calais and it was mainly his nautical command which had secured the freedom of the Channel for the English merchant fleet. Affable Will was the conciliator in the family. Perhaps he had been working on John.
Richard was unaware of my distraction. His mind was too full of schemes and strategies and he began rehearsing them out loud, moving his knife, cup and trencher about the board to illustrate his planned manoeuvres. ‘Dick will dock at Sandwich then mar
ch north through London, where he will pick up more men. His suggestion was to rendezvous at Warwick where Hal and I could march our armies to join him and take our combined grievances to the king at Kenilworth but I have warned him that the queen has put her Cheshire recruits under the command of Lord Audley, who is a shrewd general and would be in a good position to cut any of us off from the others. Somerset has also been gathering a sizeable force to bring up from the West Country and could do the same but if Warwick and Salisbury both bring their forces safely here to Ludlow we have a good chance of confronting the Lancastrians man for man. In those circumstances I believe we can negotiate and avoid a battle.’
I had managed to swallow my bread with the help of the ale but his last words made my heart sink. How many times had I heard that strategy from him? And it had never worked. ‘Have you told Edward all this?’ I asked. ‘Does he even know you have mobilized Salisbury and Warwick?’
Richard stopped moving objects around and gave me a puzzled look. ‘No. Why would I tell him?’
I stared back in astonishment. ‘Because if anything happens to you, he will be Duke of York and command your forces. He has a right to know your mind.’
‘Edward is still only a squire.’
‘He is far from being “only a squire”, Richard! He is the Earl of March and your heir. He is regarded by the people of his manors as their lord and he should be treated like the man he is. He is a squire only because you refuse to make him a knight.’
Red Rose, White Rose Page 34