This Sun of York

by Susan Appleyard

  “As to news, there is talk everywhere about what happened at Ludlow after you’d gone. I must warn you that it doesn’t make pleasant hearing.” His voice had gone chillingly sombre, and Edward watched him with the wary eyes of a hunted animal, perceiving danger but not yet sure from which quarter it would come.

  “I consider myself duly warned,” he said calmly. “Say on.”

  “As I heard it, they stripped the castle to the bare walls and pillaged the town as if it were some conquered country. Even the church was looted. Four of the leading townsmen were hanged as an example to the rest. The Duchess and her children stood on the steps of the market cross and saw it all until the Duke of Buckingham came and ordered them to be escorted to the King’s camp.” John’s voice faltered to a stop.

  Edward was white when he had finished. He had expected some retribution but nothing like this. For all his apparent youthful cynicism and worldliness, he was shocked that Ludlow had been sacked as if it was on foreign soil. Their desertion now seemed such a terrible betrayal. He was sick with shame and grief.

  There was no news of the Duke of York and his second son, which was heartening because it meant they had made good their escape. Best of all, there wasn’t a whisper in the air about the three earls’ presence in Devon, although it was assumed that Warwick at least would return to Calais.

  “Which means that our enemies will make the same assumption. They’ll be watching the ports, and we can be damned sure they’ll do their best to seal Calais shut.” Warwick paused for just a moment and came to a characteristically swift decision. “If we do manage to put the Catherine to sea, I think we’d best put in at one of the Channel Islands and send word to my uncle of Fauconberg. Once we hear from him, we can decide whether to proceed or not.”

  Uncle or no, apparently even Warwick’s boundless confidence had wavered a little in these dire circumstances.

  While Warwick was still speaking, Edward rose from the bench he had been sitting on and, without a word to anyone, crossed the hall, snatching up his cloak from a window seat where he had flung it earlier, and went out. Everyone watched him go, and when the door had closed behind him, and no one made any reply to Warwick’s remarks, John said awkwardly, “I fear the news has caused my lord of March much grief.”

  “Understandably,” said Warwick. “Ludlow is the only home he’s ever known. Given his gregarious nature, he likely knew the poor fellows who were hanged personally.”

  “You should go after him, son,” Salisbury said. “Give the lad some words of comfort. He’ll listen to you.”

  But Warwick shook his head firmly. “No, I’ll not be a pillow for him to weep on. I’ll grant you what happened at Ludlow was a terrible thing, but he’ll suffer worse grief before his days are done. Let him learn to deal with it as we all must.”

  Chapter 33

  November-December 1459 – Calais

  The cannons roared in perfect unison, spitting flames and belching smoke, and the water in front of the squadron of ships erupted in spouts of spume. From all around the harbour came a cheer of unbridled delight, for the docks were crowded with people come to watch the show. They packed windows and doorways, perched on the roofs of warehouses like a flock of colourful birds, scrambled over the decks and up the rigging of vessels tied up at the wharves, and clambered upon the piled merchandise already unloaded from those same vessels. They climbed on anything that would give them a better vantage of the ships that were ploughing through the choppy gray waters, bringing the Duke of Somerset to claim his post as Captain of Calais; and they were as delighted as those who were his enemies at the reception that was accorded him.

  The guns of the Rysbank Tower, which guarded the harbour mouth, spat defiance again, and the people roared their approval. Edward’s stallion shied, skittering sideways. He was in no danger of losing his seat, but he cursed. He was fond of his white stallion, the gift his father had presented to him after St. Albans in a rare expression of parental approval; a beautiful animal with a crested mane and a tail that swept almost to the ground in a shining cascade. But of what use was it as a warhorse if it shied at the sound of gunfire? Tightening his grip on the reins, he brought the narrow head down and used the pressure of his knees to hold the animal still through another fusillade that left ears ringing and the air reverberating with the force of its passing.

  John Dyneham was beside him on a hackney too placid to heed either cannon shot or the crowd.

  Even from that distance Edward could see tiny figures scurrying over the decks, scuttling up the rigging like spiders in their webs, while the sea erupted around them sending jets of water over the decks. The cannonballs fell close now, and although they were warning shots the men on board weren’t to know that. Some of the ships were Warwick’s own, left at Sandwich when he marched his men to Ludlow and now seized by Somerset, to Warwick’s great fury. He wasn’t going to risk damage to them.

  Edward smiled at his companion. Raising his voice above the uproar, he said, “Now, these are real ships, John. See how they ride above the water instead of being submerged to the gunwales like that old tub of yours? More like a sieve than a ship.”

  Though she had stayed afloat, the Catherine had given her passengers some bad moments. Her bilge pumps had to be run continuously and even on the gentlest swells her ancient timbers creaked so ominously that her proud owner had spent much of the time offering up furtive prayers to St. Christopher and the Virgin. Try as he might, John could find no one to admit that thirty years wasn’t old for a ship of its kind. Edward teased him unmercifully.

  “At least she got us here. For all his fine ships, I doubt my lord of Somerset will be so lucky.” He slanted his eyes sideways and Edward conceded the point with a laugh.

  “Don’t look so furtively pleased with yourself. Your cursed Catherine deserves no credit and you know it.” He looked again at the ships and after a near miss, said gaily, “Holy Mother, I hope Somerset has the wit to comprehend our message. If he keeps coming, my cousin of Warwick’s ships may be blown apart by his own cannon!”

  “No, my lord, look. They’re coming about.”

  “Ah, there speaks the seasoned mariner.”

  The guns were silent now, their gaping muzzles emitting nothing more ominous than wisps of smoke. The lead ships advanced no further, but listed heavily as the helmsmen fought to bring them into the wind. Then they hove away to the south.

  Hearing a distant cheer, they looked over at the Rysbank Tower and saw that Warwick had emerged to the kind of reception that invariably greeted his public appearances. Now that it was over, Edward could admit to himself that he’d had some misgivings about Calais’ loyalty. In spite of Lord Fauconberg’s assurances that the town still held for Warwick, as he had stood on the Catherine’s heaving deck, watching the port come closer and closer, he had half expected to be met by the same thunderous welcome that had just been accorded Somerset. He needn’t have worried, though. In spite of Trollope’s defection the rest of the garrison was still loyal, as were the burghers and the townspeople. Henry of Lancaster was King of England, but there was no doubt that Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, was King of Calais. And why not, when the alternative was the unknown and untried Duke of Somerset.

  Walking his horse through the press of people, Edward reached Warwick on the mole that connected the tower to the docks. They smiled a greeting at one another.

  “It seems my lord of Somerset is forever doomed to arrive on your heels, Cousin,” Edward said, and even those who didn’t know how closely Warwick had come to a clash with Somerset at Colehill laughed.

  Warwick laughed loudest of all, a great jubilant shout, and turned so that they could both look out to sea. “It does, indeed. It must be that he didn’t know we were here, but I fear the secret is out now!” Everyone within earshot laughed again, thinking of the consternation that would beset their enemies once it was learned that not only had Warwick escaped but was once more holed up in his lair.

  “Having bee
n denied the coveted prize, what do you think he’ll do now?”

  Warwick shrugged as if the question were of no great consequence. “He might return to England, couch his failure in the most favourable terms… But he’ll probably make for Guines, try to establish a foothold there. That’s what I’d do. He’ll have no better success there, though, than he had here.”

  But two days later the news came that Guines had opened its gates to Somerset. By the simple expedient of promising to pay their wages, he persuaded the garrison to let him in.

  “Damn! I would have been happy to promise to pay their wages to keep him out, and the likelihood of their being paid would have been just as remote!” Warwick said that night at supper.

  Guines was one of two other towns within the area called the Pale and still controlled by the English. From there Somerset would be able to look across the marshes at the plum that had eluded him.

  “The gullible fools!” Lord Fauconberg snorted. “Did they really think he would pay their wages out of his own purse from the goodness of his heart, or perhaps that he would somehow coax the money from a bankrupt government?”

  Fauconberg had indeed received an order from Westminster to close the port to Warwick, but, as he said to Edward, the choice was an easy one. It was Warwick’s influence that had obtained the post of lieutenant for him, so he wasn’t about to obey any writ coming from a faction whose most illustrious member wasn’t fit to buckle his nephew’s shoe.

  “Is the government truly bankrupt?” Edward asked. “And how did such a thing come about?”

  “It is true enough and it’s not difficult to see how it happened,” Warwick replied, always patient with Edward’s questions. “To put it in the simplest terms the crown’s expenditures exceed its income. This is not at all unusual. Historically, few kings have been solvent. I think the last was Henry II, not fabulously rich by any means but comfortable. Which is why parliament, once it came into being, grew in importance. Kings cannot tax without parliament’s approval and parliament won’t grant that approval unless first there is good reason, such as a war, and second unless the King grants concessions in return. Of course, Henry has his own income from his estates and certain dues and tithes. The trouble is he’s too open-handed. Money means nothing to him. So he has reduced his income without decreasing his expenditures. And then there’s Wiltshire… a shark in a pool of carp. Many have managed to enrich themselves at Henry’s expense, but he’s the worst and, as treasurer, he’s in a position to take full advantage.”

  “If Henry wanted to increase revenue, what options are open to him?” Edward asked.

  “Ludlow springs to mind immediately. Here’s an opportunity for Henry to make some money,” Warwick went on dispassionately, as if this was a matter that touched him not at all. “Some of our men surrendered and were offered a pardon upon payment of a fine. Wiltshire is in charge of negotiating with them; Henry will have no idea what fines were assessed or what will happen to the money. Wiltshire and his toadies will enrich themselves and very little will go into the royal coffers. And do you know why, Edward? Because Henry doesn’t care. He just doesn’t care!”

  “In any case, I doubt Guines will see any of the money,” Salisbury interrupted. His son was too often disrespectful of the King, particularly among boon companions, but Salisbury didn’t like to hear it. “Given what happened at Ludlow, it would be a good thing if we were able to pay the wages of the garrison here, at least in part.”

  “I can’t disagree,” Fauconberg said, “though I can assure you there’s no sign of disaffection or disloyalty among the men. In fact, from what I understand, most were outraged at their comrades’ treachery at Ludlow.”

  “I just don’t see where the money will come from,” Warwick said. “In a push, I suppose we could borrow from the Staplers but we can’t presume on them too much and, frankly, we’re going to need their benevolence for our own maintenance.”

  “And to finance our return,” Edward pointed out.

  “Yes. Oh, yes, most certainly.” Warwick lifted his cup to his lips but put it down again untouched. “Upon reflection, I’m glad Somerset was admitted to Guines. Otherwise he would have sailed for England. I’d rather have him within my reach and where he can do no further mischief.”

  “Will there be any fighting?” Edward asked, too eagerly.

  “Probably, but not for you. Somerset won’t risk his valuable skin in such skirmishes and neither must you.” Warwick smiled at Edward’s evident disappointment. “But don’t worry. You’ll not be bored here. That I can promise you.”

  Somerset didn’t give up. Throughout the next months there were frequent skirmishes along the causeway that spanned the treacherous marshes between Calais and Guines. The three earls took no part in these fights, but occasionally they climbed one of the towers that overlooked the causeway to watch in grim satisfaction Somerset’s futile and doomed efforts to dislodge them from their stronghold. Edward chafed for action but it was a well-established tenet of the chivalric code that men of his rank could not engage unless men of equal rank took the field, and Somerset remained safely in the castle.

  What fighting needed to be done was handled without undue difficulty by the garrison, supplemented by the knights and commons who streamed over from England to offer their services to the Yorkist cause. They brought an invaluable commodity – news.

  It came as no surprise to anyone that almost the first news out of England concerned the business of parliament, convened in Coventry, the first to be summoned in three years. The elections had been manipulated to exclude all Yorkist sympathizers. To seat a sympathetic parliament was not a difficult thing to accomplish. A powerful man could manipulate the elections by writing to friends and acquaintances throughout the country and exhorting them to use their influence with the sheriffs and prospective electors to return candidates who would support his position.

  So in right short order, the Duke of York and his two eldest sons and the Earl of Salisbury and three of his sons – including the unfortunate Thomas and John, who were still being held for ransom in Chester Castle – along with many of their closest adherents, suffered attainder and the confiscation of goods and property. However the Duchess of York was found to be without blame for the actions of her menfolk and had been granted one thousand marks a year from her husband’s confiscated property for the maintenance of herself and her younger children.

  “Thank the Blessed Virgin that even our enemies have the decency not to persecute women,” Edward said to John.

  “Does it bother you – being declared a traitor?”

  “It’s a bit disconcerting. I hate the idea that someone else is administering Ludlow – even though it’s been sacked. But Warwick isn’t concerned. He says when we return in triumph to England we’ll just have the attainders reversed.”

  “Always very confident – my lord of Warwick,” John murmured

  “He doesn’t believe anything can stop him.” Edward poked a finger through the sole of one of his boots before pulling them on. “How are our finances, John?”

  John couldn’t help smiling. Our finances, indeed! All three earls had landed in Calais almost penniless and now they had been cut off from revenues generated by their estates. Friends crossing the Narrow Sea were sometimes able to help out with a small loan or outright gift, but these were not sufficient to maintain the earls in the dignity of their high estate, let alone finance an expedition to return to England. Although, when Edward had spoken to Warwick about where the means to launch an invasion were going to come from, Warwick, whose colossal confidence was unimpaired by the events at Ludlow, had assured him that the funds would be provided ‘like manna from heaven’ and they would be back in England next spring prepared for a summer campaign.

  Joanna was supplying John with money. His dignity wasn’t nearly so expensive to maintain as the earls’ – indeed, he spent more on Edward’s horse than on himself – but such was his open-handedness that within a few short weeks the mon
ey that he had been able to scrape together before boarding ship was entirely gone, and he was obliged to send to Joanna asking her to raise more. Edward, too, was open-handed – with John’s money – and such was his careless and carefree nature that John wondered if he could realistically expect repayment when – or if – the young earl came into his own again. Much to John’s continued astonishment, the earl and he were now on terms of great intimacy, having shared a bed, women, and confidences, but he could not bring himself to speak to his noble friend about repayment.

  To relieve the earls’ immediate needs, Warwick was able to obtain a loan from the powerful and wealthy merchants of the Staple. Another boon was a ship full of provisions intended for Guines. The sailors mutinied and sailed it to Calais instead.

  Another ship carrying reinforcements to Guines was blown off course by ill winds and forced into the harbor at Calais. Ever mindful of the value of magnanimity, especially after what had been done at Ludlow, Warwick exacted no more than a fine from most of those on board and gave them the choice of service with him or transport back to England. But for six of those men there were no choices. They were men of the Calais garrison and they had betrayed him. Warwick would be satisfied with nothing less than their deaths.

  As commoners, the Calais men should have been hanged, but as a mark of respect for their fellow comrades still serving under him, Warwick gave them the swifter and more honourable death by the axe. John Dyneham was not required to witness the executions, but once he learned that Edward would be there he decided to accompany him. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to prove his hardiness or if it was just a morbid curiosity about the whole business or some confused sense of duty. Edward had hardened his stomach in battle. Also, he was the most controlled person John had ever met, giving away nothing he didn’t want others to know either by voice or expression. He took his place beside Warwick and watched the proceedings through to their gory end with apparent impassivity.