by Tony Riches
He had sworn his brothers to secrecy about their real plans, making each responsible for the conduct of their own retainers. The chain of command meant they had good communication, despite the enormous numbers of soldiers. Richard had also taken the precaution of posting scouts to report back on the movements of the Percy family. As expected, they were rallying, with all their supporters and retainers marching to meet at Topcliffe. The latest news had proved he was right to summon men all the way from Warwick, as Baron Clifford had been sighted leading a sizeable army of men towards the Percy stronghold.
The sound of a horn called the men to muster. Richard and his father rode over to where his brothers were talking with the barons. Richard had never thought about it before. His trained eye could tell immediately that neither of his brothers had ever been involved in any real fighting, although both of them were wearing full suits of shiny new armour.
Richard looked out across the fields. They were empty for as far as he could see to the distant woodlands and that was how he wanted it to stay. He was sure their numbers and position had also been reported by Percy supporters. He was less certain about whether they would have the nerve to march from Topcliffe and attack such a large army. This was a show of strength so they had made no secret of their location, openly parading along the main roads to the cheers of the local people.
He turned to his brothers. ‘We have sent a message to Sir Henry Percy proposing a meeting in York to discuss the reinstatement of the truce between our families. The Archbishop of York has agreed to oversee our talks and I will accompany father. The two of you have to keep these men busy with drill and make sure they stay sober and ready if we need them. Remember they are here to keep the peace, not to fight.’
John looked at the huge army of men and back at Richard. ‘We could be attacked while you are in York.’
Richard’s father replied. ‘If we are attacked, we can fight back. You must be certain before you give the order though. The men are not to march from here. Keep them busy digging in. If the Percy family want a fight they will have to come to us.’
Richard agreed. ‘You will have plenty of time to see them coming. Keep lookouts posted to be sure. If there is any trouble send a fast rider to York to let us know.’ He turned to John, aware of the need to restore their relationship. ‘I’d be grateful if you will take personal command of my Warwick infantry, John. They are experienced men. The best of them have recently returned from France, so will be useful if there is any trouble.’
John thanked him and went to inspect his new troops. Richard made a mental note to arrange for both his brothers to have some military experience at the Scottish border. He had always been the one to ride at his father’s side. Someone else had to look after the family name now he was away at Warwick Castle and Wales so much. It could make the difference between life and death for them at some point in the future.
Tully joined Richard and his father with an escort of twenty hand-picked men for the short ride to York. There was no guarantee Sir Henry Percy or his brother Thomas would even come to the meeting. At least his father would then be able to show the Royal Council he had acted honourably and in the spirit of their letter. As they rode off he took one last look at the thousands of men preparing for battle. Whatever the outcome of the next few days, he knew it marked a turning-point in his life.
Chapter 8 - Spring 1454
Richard felt in high spirits as he rode with Tully through the noise and dirt of the London streets to Westminster. Ahead rode fifty armed cavalrymen, with fifty more following behind, wearing the bright scarlet Warwick livery and his badge of the bear and ragged staff. They were an impressive sight and people moved out of their path and stopped to watch as they passed. Some cheered, as Richard’s support of his uncle was popular with many, although he was well aware London was still a dangerous place.
Every noble within the city travelled with a bodyguard of armed retainers, a sign of the lingering fear of unrest. Even the church had paid for soldiers guarding places of worship, both as a precaution against opportunist looters and as a safeguard to protect the clergy.
As they neared the more heavily populated streets a shout rang out from the crowd as someone recognised his badge.
‘A Warwick! A Warwick!’
The call was picked up by others in the crowd, who joined in chanting and cheering enthusiastically.
‘A Warwick! A Warwick!’
Richard appreciated the show of loyalty and turned to Tully. ‘I suspect your hand in this?’
Tully shook his head. ‘Not me, my lord.’ He raised a hand to wave to the crowd and leaned across in the saddle so Richard could hear. ‘Good to see we have some supporters though.’
Their procession reached the Palace of Westminster. The towering shapes of Westminster Abbey and the great hall came into view. Richard recalled that same journey they had made when he was knighted by the king. So much had happened since that memorable day. He was now a leading and influential member of the Royal Council and owned one of the finest mansion houses in the heart of the city. Through Anne’s inheritance he had more castles and estates than any other man alive.
His private army of several thousand men included hundreds of the best archers in the country, armed with deadly longbows and experience of using them in many battles in France. Instead of the soft deerskin jackets padded with tow archers usually wore, Richard equipped every man with a sallet helmet and a brigandine coat, with protective metal plates, which kept them warm in winter and provided more protection.
Luke Tully had formed a personal guard from the best of Richard’s soldiers. These loyal hand-picked soldiers were trained to use the crossbow with deadly accuracy. Every man had his own plate armour, which they called their harness. Wherever Richard went these men were never far behind.
Tully had also become a man of some wealth. He took care of himself and had the lithe physique of a fighting man. Richard had helped him invest his pay wisely and presented him with an expensive suit of heavy, well-fitting mail armour, as well as a fine sword and dagger. As Richard’s squire and companion he had learned to blend unnoticed into the background, to be Richard’s eyes and ears, always vigilant and observant. Richard had rewarded him generously for his loyal service and relied on him for his personal security.
Richard’s gamble with the fortunes of his family in the fields north of York had paid off handsomely. Sir Henry Percy was forced to honour the uneasy truce while his father emerged with his reputation as a peacemaker and upholder of the law enhanced, now appointed by the Royal Council as Chancellor of England. None of the Nevilles had forgotten the insult to their name. Slowly and surely the power and influence of the Percy family was being reduced.
The king remained in his strange stupor at Windsor with the queen. Richard’s informants told him the royal physicians had no clue of how to cure his illness and he had yet to acknowledge his own son. It suited Richard that people were saying Edmund Beaufort was the father of the infant Prince. Although he had publicly drawn attention to this allegation, secretly he refused to believe it.
He recalled his reaction to the look Queen Margaret had given him at her coronation. He regretted her poor choice in siding with the self-serving Beaufort, which put them in opposing camps. Whatever anyone said about her, Margaret of Anjou was an intriguing woman with great courage. Richard remembered that her motto was ‘humble and loyal.’ He would have enjoyed acting as her guide and confidante, to earn her loyalty. It now seemed that was not to be.
Richard’s long standing feud over his lands in South Wales with Edmund Beaufort had ended in triumph. He had finally regained his coveted Lordship of Glamorgan, which the king had foolishly granted to Beaufort. He had taken Anne and Isabel to visit his castle in Cardiff, a growing town in a strategic position on the Bristol Channel. Although planned as a private celebration of his victory, their visit had turned almost into a royal progress, with what seemed like the entire population of the town turning out to cheer t
heir arrival. Even now he could hardly believe he had won.
Edmund Beaufort’s reputation was in ruins. The duke had other things on his mind now Richard of York was Protector and Defender of the Realm of England, as well as the Chief Councillor. He also had plenty of time to consider them, safely locked up as he was in the Tower of London, awaiting trial by his peers, who held him responsible for the losses in France.
They arrived at the grand palace of Westminster and Richard found his way down the narrow corridors to join his father in his uncle’s private apartments. Tully and half a dozen men of Richard’s personal guard were stationed outside the door to ensure their conversation would not be overheard. London was full of spies and there were still many supporters of the court faction in Westminster.
The high ceilinged room was flooded with light from massive, leaded glass windows. Richard noted how the falcon and gilded fetterlock badge of Richard of York had already been colourfully re-created in the stained glass of the central panel. The impressive window was his uncle’s way of making his mark on the place and showing he was going to be around for a long time.
‘Welcome, Richard,’ his uncle crossed the room to greet him and shook him warmly by the hand. ‘Your father and I have been reminiscing about the old days in France.’
His uncle had an undeniable presence despite his stout build. Clean shaven and expensively dressed in a black tunic and fine black leather boots, he wore his heavy gold chain of office with obvious pride. Richard thought his uncle looked older now, with his deeply lined face and thinning, grey, shoulder-length hair. He had a trace of a West Country accent and a habit of hesitating before he spoke, as if he was always evaluating what people were saying.
Richard joined them and sat down. ‘I fear that France is lost for ever now, thanks to our friend Somerset.’
His uncle looked at him, his steel-blue eyes missing nothing. ‘That is why we have to make sure we hang on to Calais. I plan to return there as soon as we’ve sorted out this mess.’
Richard was interested. He hoped for command of Calais when the time was right. ‘What’s going to happen to Somerset now?’
Richard’s father answered. ‘We have to set up a commission. It will take time. There’s no hurry, Somerset’s not going anywhere.’
‘What if someone tries to get him released? I’ve heard the queen has been visiting him regularly. Can we be sure of the loyalty of the men guarding him?’ It bothered Richard he was unable to tell who was more loyal to them or to the king. The guards at the Tower weren’t paid a great deal and could easily be bribed, or men loyal to the queen might even be persuaded that Somerset should be set free.
His uncle shook his head. ‘Don’t worry about that. I’m not going to let him slip through my fingers again.’ He sat back in his richly upholstered chair. Richard saw an ambitious gleam in his eye. His uncle had waited a long time to be in this position and he realised the three of them sitting round that table were now in control of England. ‘Let’s forget about that bastard Beaufort. I want to hear the latest news of the king.’
‘Our plan seems to be working.’ Richard looked at his uncle. ‘I arranged for the priests to exorcise his demons as you suggested.’
‘Good. It won’t be long before word of that gets out.’ His uncle looked pleased. ‘People are superstitious. They didn’t seem too concerned to learn that the king is ill. We can make sure word of this gets out now.’
His father laughed. ‘They won’t like the idea he has the Devil in him!’
Richard’s informants in the queen’s household at Windsor Castle confirmed what he already suspected. Queen Margaret was engaging every physician she could find in her desperation to restore the king’s health. They were trying out all manner of treatments on him. They purged him, shaved his head, bled him and made him drink potions of all kinds. It would have been easy to arrange for his medicine to be poisoned. The problem was the finger of suspicion would immediately point to Richard of York. His uncle’s plan could achieve the same result with almost no risk.
‘What if the king recovers his health?’
His uncle was scornful. ‘You’ve seen him. Even when he was well he wasn’t much of a king.’
Richard agreed. ‘When our deputation went to Windsor to enquire after the king's condition we couldn’t get a single word or sign from him. I don’t think he even knew we were there.’
His uncle looked pleased. ‘I’ve banished Queen Margaret to Windsor. I’ve also cut her allowance and reduced her staff as much as I can. I’m sure the people would agree it’s only right she should live within her means.’
Another thought occurred to Richard. ‘What about the Prince of Wales?’
His uncle frowned at Richard’s use of the new title for the king’s infant son. He had been outmanoeuvred by the court faction on the Council and forced into publicly recognising the young Edward as the new heir. Queen Margaret had surprised them all by giving birth to a strong and healthy boy and at a stroke had ended any plans to claim the throne.
Richard’s father had a practical way of seeing it. ‘We will do what we can to prepare the country for the new king. We have at least fourteen years until he reaches his majority. That’s a long time.’
Warwick Castle had become Richard’s family home, where he returned after visiting his estates which ranged from Yorkshire to Cornwall. Anne’s father had kept it well maintained, although Richard enjoyed making it into one of the finest residences in the country. Anne had grown up there and Isabel was born in Warwick Castle. Conveniently situated in the midlands, it suited them to live within equal reach of his furthest estates in the north and as far west as Cornwall.
He also made it one of the best defended castles in the country. It had been built on a bend in the River Avon, on a sandstone cliff which provided natural defences. Richard added to these new bronze cannons and gun crews trained to use them. He also employed an army of labourers to dig the moat wider and deeper, and strengthen the walls to withstand a siege.
He regularly visited London and was now an infrequent visitor to his old home at Middleham Castle, so relied on his brothers Thomas and John to protect his interests in the north. He had paid for them both to raise and train a sizeable army of retainers, on the condition they were to remain within the law and not attack the Percy family without justifiable cause.
The ancient oak trees in Warwick forest were beginning to turn an autumnal golden brown when his brother Thomas came to visit with important news. He arrived dusty and exhausted, having raced from the north to Warwick so he could personally tell Richard what had happened.
Richard met him in the private rooms he had built as his study. He never had much time for art, although this room was dominated by an impressive and colourful tapestry of the English victory at Agincourt. It had once graced the study of Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, brother of King Henry V and had cost Richard a great deal. He thought it money well spent, as the scene reminded him of the time when kings led by personal example.
Parchment maps of the English Channel were spread out on his heavy oak desk, half hidden under the plans for a new sailing ship he had commissioned, his latest obsession. He enjoyed his regular visits to the shipbuilders to inspect progress with its construction. On his last visit he had seen the first of the heavy oak planks of the hull being formed in a great steamer, before being fitted into position, giving him his first glimpse of her graceful lines.
He called a servant to bring them both a tankard of cool ale and watched as Thomas drank most of his straight down before Richard had even taken a sip. Richard’s brother had changed a lot since they last met. He was tanned and now had a well-trimmed beard that made him look older. The fashionably ornamental dagger he used to wear on his belt was replaced by one similar to Richard’s, a fighting weapon ready to use in an instant.
The greatest change Richard noted was in his brother’s manner. He had always been courteous if a little restrained. Now he spoke with the confidence that co
mes from being in command.
Thomas placed the now empty silver tankard on the table. ‘You look well. This is a fine place you have.’
‘Thank you, Thomas. It’s good to see you.’ He noticed Thomas was looking at the nautical maps and shipwright’s drawings and picked one up to show it to him. ‘My new ship. She will be finished soon. I have decided to name her Trinity, after the great flagship of King Henry, La Trinity Royal.’
‘A ship fit for a king?’
Richard was momentarily conscious of the huge difference in their standing, as well as their financial circumstances. ‘Is that how you see it, Thomas?’
‘It is how a great many people see it, Richard. You know they are talking of you as the new hope for our country.’ He picked up one of the charts from the table, a detailed map of the section of the English Channel between Sandwich and Calais. It had hand written notes of depths, submerged rocks and shipwrecks. ‘It looks like you are already planning her maiden voyage?’
‘I’ve learned the skills of navigation and plan to ask for the Captaincy of Calais as soon as the time is right. The Duke of York relieved Somerset and appointed himself to the post in July. Since then he’s had nothing but trouble with Somerset’s garrison.’
‘I’d have thought there was more than enough to keep you busy here?’
Richard shook his head. ‘I have experienced men to tend to my estates and I am tired of the stench of London. Calais would be an ideal base to start building new alliances with the French.’ He looked at his brother questioningly. ‘I don’t think you rode here to discuss my career plans?’
‘We’ve arrested John and Thomas Percy and sent them both off to the debtor’s prison in Newgate!’