“There is no question that you will make a better king than Henry and that you deserve to be king, both by birth and ability, but I do wonder if the people are ready to reject him and accept another. I have always been somewhat mystified by their devotion to him, given that his rule is so abominable. I suppose they view him as the nearest they will ever come to a living saint.”
“Yes, I believe so, too. And it is a concern – the gravest concern I have. But I’m counting on London and Kent in particular, where I think the people have had enough of Henry and are most likely to support me. Oh, there’ll be those who criticise and censure, no doubt, but I believe they’ll come to accept once it’s fait accompli. If I have misjudged the situation –” he shrugged fatalistically “– I’ll spend the first years of my reign mopping up pockets of resistance.”
“Not an agreeable prospect,” acknowledged Cecily, whose skin had begun to tingle at the words ‘the first years of my reign’ in a most pleasurable way. For the first time, it occurred to her that she would be queen! While there was no doubt that her husband would make a better king than Henry, so too was it beyond dispute that as queen she would shine all the more brightly in comparison to the terrible Margaret. But this was something she must think about later. There were more pressing concerns.
“Did you speak of this to Warwick when he came to visit you in Ireland?”
York looked down at his feet. His mouth pursed. “No,” he said briefly.
“But why not, dearest?”
“Because you were right about him,” he said, setting aside his own empty wine cup and appropriating hers. “He wants to supplant me. He always had great conceit and now the fame and adulation he has accrued while in Calais have quite gone to his head and he believes he can lead better than I. He’s starting to develop a following of his own, too, which means I must reassert myself. My bones tell me he won’t want me to be king; he’d rather supplant me and rule through Henry. It’s the only chance he has of attaining the power he craves. So he’ll find out when everyone else does, when it’s too late for him to do anything about it. Not that he’ll fail to support me – he has no option – but if I made him privy to my plans, I’m afraid he’d do something to thwart them.”
“Oh, I hope that doesn’t prove to be a mistake. He has tremendous pride. He may well take offence.”
“Let him,” said the Duke, tight-lipped.
Cecily sighed. A breach between her husband and Warwick had been a long time coming. She only hoped it could be put off until her husband had achieved his aims. Then Warwick could do his worst.
“So how do you intend to proceed?” she wondered.
“As to that, I intend to take a leaf from Warwick’s book,” said the Duke with another smile. “It will be unexpected and very dramatic.”
Chapter 46
October 1460 – Westminster
How such rumours began Edward didn’t know, but long before his father reached London word had spread that with the Yorkist victory and King Henry once again in their hands, York meant to use this opportunity to seize the throne. Warwick denied it vigorously, pointing out that during the weeks he had spent in Ireland earlier in the year, the Duke had said nothing of the sort to him and he expected to be the first to know.
The King had returned to the city from Eltham to open parliament and was permitted to reside in his palace of Westminster. Three days later, the Duke arrived in London after a slow progress across the kingdom, and the manner of his entrance into the capital only seemed to confirm the rumours.
With his uncle and cousin, Edward was in Westminster Hall, where the two houses were in session, the Lords occupying the benches on each side, while the Commons had only standing room behind a bar at the opposite end of the chamber from the throne. The word was that his father had entered the city with trumpeters blaring a fanfare, the banners of England displayed without quarterings and his sword borne upright before him – all prerogatives of royalty. Pausing only long enough to be formally welcomed by the mayor and aldermen, he proceeded on to Westminster still in regal state. Although the citizens received him with cheers, as was to be expected, they were bewildered as to what it all meant. Warwick was no longer bewildered.
“He’s going to make a grab for the crown,” he hissed at his father. “Why would he take such a monumental step without consulting us first? Why?” He was coiled like a spring with the tension, his lips thin, winged brows swooping down over the brown eyes in a scowl that was an infrequent visitor these days.
Edward didn’t want to believe it, but some awful thing writhing around in his belly told him it was true. It seemed so grossly ungrateful after everything Warwick had done for him.
“Let’s keep our heads and see what happens,” Salisbury advised.
They had not long to wait before the truth was revealed. Edward craned his neck as ushers threw the doors open and in strode his father, wearing a doublet of cloth of gold, slashed with scarlet, two golden chains spanning his shoulders, one a pendant cross the other interlinked roses. His hair was much greyer than it had been when Edward had last seen him a year ago. His face was entirely blank. Looking neither to the right nor left, he strode down the aisle between the packed benches, his spurs ringing against the tiled floor the only sound in the silent chamber. Upon reaching the dais where the throne stood alone, he turned to face the assembly and very deliberately put one foot on the footrest and a hand on the cushioned seat. Nobody had any doubt what it signified.
On this occasion, no deliberate attempt had been made to pack either the lower or upper house with Yorkist supporters; there was no need. The elections had been held without undue interference from those in power, and the summons to the Lords had gone out to both factions impartially; however, few of the Lancastrian lords had responded. York’s friends, adherents and kin crowded the benches. Yet no one raised a cheer. No one spoke out in support. The silence was absolute as if everyone had frozen. Searching the sea of faces around him Edward saw embarrassment, astonishment, disapproval, blankness and, in Warwick’s case, a black and dangerous fury, but no smiles, no approbation.
Warwick’s fury seemed to cause the very air around him to vibrate with its force. A skilled manipulator, he could have told York that such an attempt, unless carefully orchestrated, was doomed to failure, if he’d been asked. But he hadn’t been asked. That’s what made him so furious. Not just that York had plunged head first into a cesspit and would drag all his supporters down with him; not just that he had so misread the attitude of the people, who loved the King as much as they despised his wife and her advisers. No, the greatest offence was that Warwick, who had done more than any other to bring about their victory, had not even been consulted before York took this crucial and irrevocable step. Edward understood all this. He wanted to be the one to end his father’s misery, but while he felt embarrassed by the predicament his father was in, his greater sympathy was with Warwick, and he, too, remained silent.
The silence stretched on, except that now the members were shuffling, fidgeting, glancing at one another. York didn’t know how to end it. He hadn’t anticipated this… this shocking, censorious, humiliating silence. His mouth slumped dismally.
At last, the Archbishop of Canterbury stepped forward and, putting on the best face possible, said: “Your Grace, is it your wish to go see the King?”
Removing his hand from the throne, York replied bitterly, “I know of no one in the kingdom who ought not to come to me, rather than I go to him.”
Stepping down from the dais, the Duke strode to the door as fast as dignity would permit, with Warwick’s eyes burning holes in the back of his cloth of gold doublet. At his departure, the chamber erupted in uproar. Wordlessly, Warwick pushed his way through the throng that surrounded him shouting questions and comments, but by the time he had made his way out into the square outside York had disappeared.
As he emerged from the archway into the open, Edward saw, just in time to avoid it, the foot that was thrust out to
trip him. It was something they had been doing to each other for years. With a shout of laughter, they fell into each other’s arms.
“Oh, I missed you,” Edmund said, releasing him. “And I missed England. It’s good to be home. How was Calais?”
“Busy, thrilling and instructive. How was Ireland?”
“Boring, boring and boring.”
Edward was too distracted to laugh. “Did you see what happened inside?”
Edmund sobered at once. “I’m not sure I believe my own eyes! What happened was not supposed to happen! Edward, why didn’t you acclaim him, for God’s sake?”
“Never mind that now,” said Edward, drawing Edmund after him with an arm about his shoulders. “It does my heart good to see you again. But let’s keep up with Warwick. I’m afraid what might happen when he and Father come together.”
Under the autumn leaves of the chestnut trees that lined the King’s path from the palace to the abbey, they were at the tail end of a crowd following Warwick who hadn’t taken any time to cool off. As soon as they entered the palace, they came upon William Hastings who informed them that their father had broken into the King’s chambers.
“Broken in!” Edward echoed incredulously, without pausing in his stride.
Hastings hurried along at his side, explaining, “After hearing what happened in Westminster Hall, the guards feared for the King’s safety and barred the door to his chamber. But the Duke ordered his men to break it down, and they did. The Duke then ordered the King’s servants to remove him and his belongings to the Queen’s chambers.”
“He’s surely taken leave of his senses,” Edward muttered. He was almost running now, forcing his way through a crowd of the curious, some of whom had come from Westminster Hall. Another crowd of excited people was outside the King’s chambers, and his servants were having difficulty struggling through them carrying his belongings from one suite of rooms to another. Roughly shoving aside those in his way, Edward made it to the threshold where he paused to survey the damage to the door and the wooden bar that had fastened it, broken in half. It must have been done by an axe, he thought. This was evidence enough that Hastings hadn’t exaggerated; his father really had broken in. They strode through the two outer rooms into the bedchamber, followed by the crowd, where they paused again. There was no sign of Henry. Amid a crowd that had already gathered, Salisbury was shoving people toward the door. York stood by one of the windows, his mouth drawn tightly in an inverted ‘U’. Warwick was shouting at the servants to drop everything and get out. When one didn’t respond quickly enough, he received a kick on the buttocks. Seeing the two young earls, he yelled: “My lords, get rid of these people. All of them. Out.”
As he was about to move toward York, Edward put a hand on his shoulder and said in a low but urgent voice, “I will, Cousin. But I ask you to be calm. A rift between your house and mine is to the advantage only of our enemies.”
There was no response; it was as if Warwick hadn’t heard a word. Edward detained him there, increasing the pressure on his shoulder until he tore his gaze from the Duke and looked at his cousin, frowning. He might not have heard the words, so intent was he on York, but he understood the message he read in Edward’s eyes, and at his grudging nod the pressure on his shoulder was released. The brothers quickly cleared the room and closed the door, leaving only themselves, Warwick, and Salisbury with York.
Before anyone else could speak, Edward provided a further respite by going to his father and kneeling. “My love and duty to my lord father. I trust you are well, sir.”
The words were formal, lacking in warmth or even inflexion, but the Duke seemed to be genuinely pleased to see him and broadly smiled as he raised him to his feet.
“Is my lady mother with you?” Edward asked. “And the children? Are they well?”
“Enough, by God!” Warwick cut in roughly. “My lord of York, you owe us an explanation. I want to hear it now.”
Where is the delicacy he used to pick the pockets of the Staplers? Edward wondered
Characteristically, his father took umbrage at once, if not at the words, at the manner in which they were spoken. “Remember to whom you speak, my lord of Warwick. I’m not one of your lackeys. I owe you nothing.”
Tactless and inflammatory. Edward returned to his brother’s side and exchanged rueful glances with him. There was going to be a blazing row, and nothing he might do would prevent it. In fact, he supposed it had been simmering for some time: the greater Warwick grew, the more he diminished York. Edward’s was an easygoing nature; it would always be his way to avoid confrontation if he could, and right now he fervently wished himself elsewhere.
“I speak not to the King, no matter your vaunted pretensions, but to the man my father and I have given our loyalty and service to for eight years, and which we now have good reason to regret! Do you dare to say you owe us nothing? Jesus God! Where would you be now but for us?”
“Whoa, now, young stallion! Don’t bolt with me on your back,” Salisbury said. “Edward has it right. A breach in our ranks will only benefit our enemies, and I don’t want to see that happen. I wish you two would bear that in mind.”
Even before he’d finished speaking York, red-faced and as angry as his nephew, was responding to Warwick as if Salisbury hadn’t spoken. “Rather it is you who owes me an explanation. Why did none of you speak out for me? How differently things would have gone if you had.” He swung round on his eldest son. “Why didn’t self-interest motivate you, at least?”
“I was struck dumb with astonishment,” Edward said flippantly, and immediately regretted it.
“Because you acted like a rash fool!” Warwick said with such biting contempt that Salisbury growled a warning. But Warwick was no green boy to be silenced by a father’s displeasure. His anger was like a river in full spate, impossible to dam or divert, unstoppable. “And, Christ Jesus, when I think of the number of times you have reproached me for being rash and impetuous! What possessed you? What made you think you could succeed?”
“Tell us,” Salisbury said. “We deserve that much at least.”
It was possible to see the anger draining from York’s face, along with the high colour. He sank onto the window seat behind him with a huge sigh and after a few moments to gather himself, said, “I felt I had no choice. Surely you can see that it was inevitable.” He held out his hand palm up to his old friend as if imploring his understanding. “It has been a see-saw struggle. Victory never came easy and was always fleeting. Failure brought suffering and death to my people. I speak not only of those dead in battle, but the weak and defenceless such as those in Ludlow and Newbury. I could see no end to it. All my life I’ve lived with the knowledge that I have a better claim to the throne than Henry. Aye, and that I’d make a better king than he has, though most of us could make that assertion. I served him faithfully and to the best of my ability, and would be content to serve him still if I were allowed to do so. But we all know that’s not going to happen. Henry no longer trusts me, and my enemies will not rest until they have destroyed me and mine.”
In a less heated moment, even Warwick would have agreed with that, but he was in no mood to concede anything and kept silent, glaring. It was Salisbury who tried to be conciliatory. “I’ll grant you that if you will grant that your timing was bad. One day perhaps the people might be so disillusioned with Henry’s ineptness that they’ll gladly set him aside, but that day hasn’t dawned yet.”
“Bad?” Warwick roared. “Rotten! Stinking to high heaven! What you don’t understand, Uncle, is that while the people despise Margaret and her creatures, they still love Henry and want him for their king. All they want from you is the good government you’ve always promised them. But how could you know that,” he added bitterly, “immured as you were in the fastness of Ireland, while we three defeated your enemies and made the kingdom safe for your return?”
“How arrogant you are!” That was Edmund, unable to keep silent any longer even though he knew he should.
But Warwick had no interest in the opinions of his younger cousin and ignored him. “I’ve never made any secret of my belief that Henry is unfit to rule. I would be happy to replace him with another. But the deposition of a king cannot be accomplished without careful planning. It could have been done. We could have spent the last three months preparing the way by persuading Henry to abdicate, which, being Henry, he probably would have agreed to; and then a decree to disinherit Margaret’s son – his alleged bastardy would have been sufficient excuse, as no one wants to see a child on the throne. Once parliament had been brought to accept all this, then the crown should have been offered to you. Offered, not seized. That’s the constitutional way; that’s the way Bolingbroke disposed of Richard the Second.” Warwick paused to take a breath. “But do you know what sticks in my craw? What I find hardest to accept? We are your close friends and kin, yet you said not one word to us before embarking on this hare-brained scheme. Not even the King takes important steps without consulting his advisors!”
This Sun of York Page 41