by Tony Riches
‘I understand you saw it as your duty to ensure your men were paid what was due to them.’ He looked the commander in the eye. ‘I’d have done the same myself.’
The commander relaxed a little. ‘Thank you, Earl Warwick, these have been difficult times for us.’
‘Well, it will be different from now on. I plan to restore the garrison of Calais to its former glory. I’ll pay the men out of my own pocket if I have to.’ Richard realised the guards at attention behind the commander were listening. He was confident his words would be shared with the whole garrison before nightfall.
As word of Richard’s arrival spread through the town, crowds of people came out to see him. He was approached by an officious looking man he recognised as the Mayor of Calais by his chain of office. The Mayor introduced a delegation of merchants who managed the wool trade through the Company of the Staple, which had a legal monopoly on all wool exported from England. Richard shook hands with each of them and noted they looked genuinely relieved to see him, particularly when he introduced the men he had brought to help him develop and improve the wool trade.
The people of Calais lined the narrow, cobbled streets and cheered as Richard marched with his men behind the garrison commander to the castle, where Lord Rivers formally handed over Calais to Richard. Rivers looked much younger than his fifty years and was an experienced commander who had fought in France at the side of his uncle, Richard of York. If only he had been loyal to their cause, he would have been a real asset to Richard in Calais.
‘You will need to keep a close eye on the French, Earl Warwick.’ Lord Rivers studied Richard’s brightly dressed guards with disdain. ‘We’ve had a couple of serious attacks in the last few weeks.’
‘My first priority is to build up the strength of the garrison. I’ve brought experienced men with me and intend to recruit as many more as are needed to ensure the safety of the town.’
‘I commend Lord Welles to your service. He has served well for many years.’
Richard had already planned to rid Calais of the Lancastrian supporters as soon as he could. He turned to the garrison commander. ‘I’m sure you are looking forward to returning to England?’
Lord Welles looked relieved. ‘Yes, I am my lord. My work here is done.’ He glanced at Richard Woodville as if seeking reassurance. ‘There is a ship waiting in the harbour to take me and Lord Rivers home.’
With the formalities over, Richard was taken on a tour of the town. He had many questions and was rarely content with the answers he was given. Calais had been allowed to decline, despite the obvious wealth and potential he saw everywhere. He was also surprised at how cosmopolitan the town was, and although the main language he heard was English, there were merchants and traders from all over the continent talking in French, Italian and Spanish.
He called a meeting of the wealthy and influential merchants of the staple. They had enjoyed a monopoly over the export of English wool for almost a hundred years and were keen to be reassured they would be allowed to continue. Richard knew the workings of the wool trade from his northern estate managers. Now he planned to use it to fund the running of the garrison as well as the changes he needed to make in Calais. The merchants were men of business and were happy to support his planned improvements, agreeing loans so that work could start straight away.
Richard was disappointed with the condition of the castle. A sprawling, untidy place, it had been extended and added to by various owners over the years. Its elevated position gave impressive views over the shallow waters of the estuary to the sea, although he could see cracks in the walls wide enough to fit his finger in places. The once elegant wooden shutters were missing from many of the windows and the rooms were gloomy and cold. He immediately commissioned builders and craftsmen to begin restoring it to a home fit for his family to live in, opening up the marble fireplaces and painting the walls with a fresh coat of whitewash.
He chose a spacious wood-panelled room overlooking the estuary as his new study. One wall was decorated with an aggressive looking falcon and gilded fetterlock badge. No one could be in any doubt the room had once belonged to his uncle the Duke of York, before he had been forced to hand it over to the ill-fated Duke of Somerset. Richard hoped his new home would bring him better luck than either of them. He spent his first night in Calais alone, looking out to sea, with a goblet of fine French brandy and wondered what the future held for him there.
Chapter 11 - Summer 1457
Richard listened to his informant’s news with a sense of growing concern. The Belgian merchant had been on a ship calling at Dieppe, where he learned that four thousand heavily armed Frenchmen were preparing to sail in a fleet of warships. Their intended destination had been a secret, although the merchant was certain they were under the command of Marshal Pierre de Breze, Grand Seneschal of Anjou and Normandy and supporter of Queen Margaret.
Since his arrival in Calais Richard expanded his own fleet of ships, buying and converting the best he could find. His plan to take control of the Channel angered the French and he had been wondering when they would do something about it. Calais was not yet an impregnable stronghold. He visited the wool trading ports of Dover and Sandwich, Lydd and Romney for supplies and raised funds for new ships. Despite all this there was still work to do on the outdated defences.
Richard had spent long hours out at sea learning how to navigate the Channel and use a lead and line to check safe depths. He had also been learning how to fight from the deck of a ship. The techniques of ramming and boarding were well tried and tested and they had found that the heavy stone cannon balls of his deck mounted guns needed to be used at close range. This meant his crews had to practice holding fire until the last moment. They practiced the art of sailing close alongside an enemy ship without them having the chance to open fire first.
He was visiting the harbour defences when he was approached by his gunnery captain, a shrewd man who was well respected. He was also one of the few captains who had chosen to remain in post after the handover.
‘If I can speak frankly, my lord, we are not yet ready to intercept the French fleet, despite all the training we’ve done.’
Richard looked at the gunnery captain with interest. ‘What do you suggest we do?’
‘There’s no need to risk your ships yet, my lord.’ The gunnery captain had lost his right hand fighting the French and had a habit of waving the stump of his forearm in the air as he spoke. He gestured with it now towards the row of heavy cannons pointing out to sea.
‘We should use our shore based artillery?’
The gunnery captain agreed. ‘Your ships can remain safely in the harbour.’
‘The French will have to come to us.’ Richard liked the idea. ‘Are you sure we have enough artillery to take on the entire French fleet?’
The captain gestured again with his stump. ‘If you bring every gun you have up here we could blast them out of the water.’
For the rest of the day the place was a hive of activity, as the great bronze cannons were moved into place. Hawsers as thick as a man’s arm were tied round the barrels, then huge A-frames made from whole tree trunks were used to lift them onto specially strengthened wagons for the long haul up to the gunnery battlements. Teams of oxen strained as they pulled their heavy loads and the sun set in a flame-red sky before the last of the cannons was in place.
The lookouts reported French ships on the horizon the next morning and Richard joined the gunnery captain on the battlements. He had filled the ramparts of the Rysbank Tower with the most extensive artillery defences Calais had ever seen. Great lengths of heavy chain stretched across the harbour entrance as a precaution and the outer row of ships also had their deck mounted guns trained out to sea. Rows of archers and crossbowmen took their places on the decks, quivers full of arrows and crossbow bolts.
If the French succeeded in breaking through, they were going to have to have another surprise on the road from the harbour. Richard had remembered how effective the hastily
erected barricade at St. Albans had been in the narrow streets. His men had barricaded the main streets leading from the harbour and the rest of the garrison were waiting behind them to defend the town. The air was tense with anticipation. The men were in high spirits and keen to see action.
There were so many ships in the French fleet that Richard found it hard to count them. Visibility was good on the clear summer morning and from his high position he had an excellent view. To the untrained eye it looked as if the French were sailing right past. Richard knew better. His long hours at sea meant he knew what they were doing. As he expected, on some signal the French fleet turned so that the wind was with them as they headed in his direction. He guessed the navigator was probably taking a bearing on the Rysbank Tower.
The French sailed line astern, so they presented his gunners with the smallest possible target. The manoeuvre meant there was no doubt. The French had decided to teach him a lesson and, if the merchant’s information was correct, could outnumber his garrison by two to one. He was grateful for the warning. If they had been caught unprepared it would have been a different battle. Richard was also glad he had decided not to face the huge fleet on the water. His men were ready and waiting.
Glancing up at the castle, he hoped his wife and daughters had taken his advice to barricade themselves into one of the rooms with heavy oak doors. He had tasked Luke Tully to oversee the men of his personal guard defending the castle. He knew Tully would much rather have been at his side, rather than guarding his family. Richard had missed them, despite his frequent visits back across the Channel to Warwick. They had sailed as soon as their rooms in the castle were ready. Anne didn’t like Calais, although she had helped him win over the important families of the town, who only knew the Lancastrian version of events in England. It had been important for Richard to build the support of the townspeople as well as the men of the garrison. She had overseen their first grand banquet at the newly restored castle, which had been a great success.
Richard had earned the respect of the garrison soldiers by leading raids into the French territory to the south of Calais. His daring harassment turned the tables on the French and established him as something of a hero to the men. They respected his word that they would no longer have to worry about their pay, and the new commander of the garrison was turning them into a respectable fighting force.
His thoughts were interrupted by the gun captain shouting the order for his crews to make ready. Richard watched the team closest to him. One man swabbed out the barrel of their cannon and the loader placed a new parchment cartridge of gunpowder inside, followed by a wad of cloth and rammed it home. The heavy ball was then carefully rolled in and packed in place with some extra wadding, a tradition from experience at sea where the cannon ball could roll out in a swell. The men stood back and waited for his order. They had a dozen cannon balls waiting to be fired, as did each of the heavy guns pointing out to sea.
Richard looked down the teams of men crouching by each gun and saw they were all prepared and waiting for his signal. ‘Hold your fire until I say!’
The French ships were so close now he could clearly make out the figures of sailors moving around on the decks, preparing for action. He had worried that Calais was full of French spies and his plan would have been known. Now he was certain the French captains clearly didn’t have any idea what was going to happen.
‘Ready!’ He raised his sword, watching the approaching ships as they began to navigate towards the harbour entrance. ‘Fire!’
Matches were put to touch-holes. For a second there was an eerie silence and it seemed nothing was going to happen.
All the guns fired in an ear splitting salvo, sending several tons of cannon balls and heavy shot towards the French fleet. Great splashes in the water showed many had missed their mark, then the closest ship heeled over hard in a sudden turn. The stone balls smashed into its masts and rigging, shredding the sails and splintering wood. Richard smelt the sulphur in the gunpowder and felt the ground under his feet vibrate as his guns fired again. He could hardly see the French fleet through the drifting smoke as the guns roared continuously.
Richard raised his sword again and shouted. ‘Cease fire!’
The French were turning away. The men on the ramparts watched as one by one the ships disappeared into the distance, several of them with torn sails and broken masts, with smoke drifting behind. A cheer went up from the gun crews as they realised the plan had worked. The little town of Calais had taken on the pride of France and won without a single man even leaving his post. Richard’s ears were still ringing as he went over to shake the hand of the gun captain who suggested the idea.
Richard shouted to make himself heard. ‘Double brandy rations for all the men!’
The cheering was picked up by the men on board the ships in the harbour, then the people in the town. The celebrations went on long into the night.
Richard stared at the young captain in disbelief. After abandoning their attempted assault on Calais, the French had sailed on to the English coast where they attacked Sandwich at dawn and burned the town to the ground. The captain’s clothes were blackened with soot and he had a bandage wrapped around his hand which looked as if it had been bleeding. Richard poured them both a goblet of his best brandy and handed one to the captain, who accepted it gratefully.
‘Tell me what happened?’
‘We were sailing back from Dover when our lookout spotted the smoke, my lord.’ He took a sip of the brandy and collected his thoughts. ‘As we got closer we could see the French fleet sailing away. I ordered the crew to head for Sandwich to see if there was anything we could do.’ His face looked haunted by the memory. ‘We were too late.’
Richard couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘Do you know how many were killed?’
The captain shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t think we will ever know the number, my lord. I was told a lot of people fled as soon as they realised what was happening. The town was completely destroyed. One of the men from Sandwich told me the French appeared without any warning and began killing and burning. The people did their best to defend the town.’
Richard shook his head and waited while the young captain took a sip of brandy.
‘The French ran for their ships once reinforcements arrived from Dover.’
‘What were they trying to achieve?’ The question was as much to himself as he tried to make sense of it.
The captain seemed unsure. ‘They looted anything of value. I heard they took some of the Kentish men as prisoners.’
Richard understood. ‘What about the French losses.’
‘I would guess that over a hundred were drowned trying to make it back to their ships, my lord. The sea was getting rough by that time. Many of their boats were swamped.’ He looked at Richard. ’We were in no mood to rescue them, my lord, although we did take a few survivors prisoner.’
Richard stood. ‘Well done, captain. We might be able to exchange them to get our people freed. This is all worrying news.’ He shook the captain by the hand. ‘I am grateful to you for bringing it to me first.’
He watched the captain leave, then sent one of his men to find Anne and ask her to join him in his study. When Anne joined him Richard told her the captain’s news, interested to learn what she would make of it.
She looked worried. ‘They were under the command of a personal friend of the queen?’
Richard frowned. ‘I understand the fleet was commanded by Pierre de Breze. He represented her father the Duke of Anjou in the negotiations for her marriage to the king. I have no proof she was in contact with him, of course.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t need any.’
Anne knew what he meant. ‘People will work it out for themselves.’
‘Exactly.’
‘And now you will make sure that everyone blames this on the queen?’
‘Of course.’
Anne sat down to consider what it all meant. ‘It’s a dangerous game you are playing, Richard.’
She frowned at him. ‘Are we ready to take on the whole of France?’
‘We might have to, whatever I do or don’t do. My informants tell me the queen is secretly negotiating through her family connections in France. She is trying to prepare an alliance with King Louis that will make it impossible for our supporters to ever gain the upper hand again.’
‘This invasion of Sandwich will possibly change all that.’
‘It seems incredible that the Queen of England could in any way condone such a thing. The people would never forgive her for it, especially the men of Kent.’ He looked at Anne. ‘You know Queen Margaret has been appointing her favourites to key positions in the name of the king?’
‘Does that mean she will try to have you replaced, Richard?’
He saw the concern in her eyes and took her hand in his. ‘Now it will be much easier to persuade the council of the need to invest in more ships. New ones, not converted old hulks. They should also now appreciate that I’m the man who should be commanding them, not the Duke of Essex.’
Richard took the opportunity of his brother John’s wedding to see his parents. He arranged for John to be married by Archbishop Thomas Bourchier in Canterbury Cathedral and the entire family had made the long journey south from Middleham Castle for the occasion. Anne got on well with John’s new wife Isabel, an attractive heiress of fifteen from a respected family.
More than a year had passed since he’d last seen his mother. He noticed her lustrous black hair was tinged with silvery grey. She looked at him proudly when he hugged her in greeting.
‘I’ve missed you, Richard. It seems longer each time between your visits.’
‘You must come and see us in Calais, Mother. The sea air will be invigorating for you.’