by Tony Riches
She pulled a face. ‘You know I won’t set foot on a ship. As for sea air, there is more than I will ever need at Whitby. I don’t need to go all the way to France.’
‘Calais isn’t France. It’s English.’ He realised he’d fallen for her taunt. ‘Calais is where I live now and you know it’s perfectly safe. The girls are growing up and I want them to get to know their grandmother.’
His father intervened. He looked older and had put on a little weight. ‘I must congratulate you, Richard. Who would have thought a son of mine would become Lord High Admiral before he was thirty?’
Richard was pleased at his father’s words. ‘Essex is furious, I’ve been told. Although he had only one ship, the Grace Dieu, to defend the whole coast of England, so he has brought it on himself.’
His father looked serious. ‘You need to watch him though, he makes a dangerous enemy.’
‘I need to watch everyone who supports the queen, which is one of the reasons I now live in Calais.’
‘I heard you were granted a thousand pounds from the Duchy of Lancaster with your new position as Admiral?’
Richard nodded. ‘I insisted on it as a condition of the agreement.’
‘They’ll never pay, you know?’
‘They will, Father. One way or another, I’ll make them pay.’
Richard’s mother interrupted them. ‘When are you going to have another child, Richard?’ She looked at him questioningly. ‘We’re still waiting for a grandson.’
His father chided her. ‘Leave the boy alone, Alice. There is plenty of time for him to have a son.’
Richard laughed it off. It secretly bothered him that Anne showed no sign of becoming pregnant again. ‘I am happy for now with my beautiful daughters.’
His father looked at him. ‘Have you found suitable husbands for them?’
‘No, not yet. Anne is still a baby of course. Isabel is turning into a fine young lady.’
‘You should discuss the matter with your uncle. The Duke of York has four healthy sons. Your daughters could do a lot worse.’
Richard needed to find out more about his uncle’s plans for his sons. Edward was already taller than him and was a skilled jouster. The others were younger, although if they inherited a little of their father’s courage and determination they would make worthy husbands.
As he rode back to his ship in Sandwich he thought about his father’s words. The king could suffer a relapse at any time or even die from the strange illness that plagued him for so many years. His uncle had sworn he had no wish to claim the throne, and then there was the young Prince to consider. His father was right and had given him something interesting to think about.
Chapter 12 - Summer 1458
‘Twenty-eight, my lord!’ Luke Tully had climbed high up the rigging to count the size of the distant Spanish fleet, barely discernible through the sea mists of the early dawn. He nimbly dropped the last few feet to the deck and crossed to join Richard at the forecastle. ‘No sign they’ve seen us yet. Looks like they’re hove to, fast asleep.’
‘That’s a lot more than we thought.’ Richard was torn. ‘There is still time to make it back to Calais yet it would be a great prize.’
The Spanish fleet had been spotted the previous day, heading up the Channel. He had a warrant from the king, which gave him sole authority to ensure the safety of the seas. Victory over this fleet would establish his reputation not only in Calais. It would be the talk of the whole continent if he could pull it off. It would mean risking everything, though. If he failed the best he could hope for was to be held for ransom in some distant Castilian jail. That was if he wasn’t killed.
Richard acted decisively as soon as the fleet was sighted, ordering his ships to be ready to sail at two in the morning, to catch the Spanish before dawn. His best archers and men-at-arms lined the decks as they set out from Calais with great enthusiasm and dreams of Spanish booty. Under the terms of his commission, Richard was allowed to keep any ships and share the goods he seized with his men at his own discretion.
Now he saw at least sixteen warships ahead, surrounded by a dozen smaller vessels. All flew the flag of Castile, allies of the French and were a potential threat to the security of England. He looked back at his own fleet, which had now grown to five warships, three heavy carvels with several cannons on the decks and four pinnaces, their decks crammed with his archers and crossbowmen. His crews had gained useful experience of manoeuvring their ships in the sometimes unpredictable waters of the English Channel. A few had engaged with pirates, although most were untested in a real battle at sea.
‘The wind is in our favour.’ Richard studied the sails and his banner of the bear and ragged staff flying proudly from the mast. ‘If we sail back to Calais now I’ll always wonder how it would have turned out.’
‘The men are all behind you, my lord.’ Tully grinned.’
Richard glanced up at the sky and guessed they still had a couple of hours before the sunrise. ‘Let’s hope the Spanish are in their hammocks. Our best chance is to take them by surprise.’
‘Captain!’
The captain of his flagship Trinity was a likeable veteran of many sea battles and had led the training of the less experienced men. He wore a heavy iron breastplate and helmet and had a sword at his belt. Richard had known him for many years and respected his judgement.
‘My lord?’
‘Set a course to intercept the Spanish, if you will. We need to reach them before they raise the alarm.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
Richard watched the captain as he ordered his crew to set the sails and make ready their guns. He hadn’t hesitated for a moment at the prospect of taking on a force twice their size. He had chosen his men well. Now he hoped he wasn’t leading them to a watery grave. He scanned the Spanish ships for any sign of movement. They were under sail in a loose formation. The early hour meant their captains and most of the crew would still be sleeping. He also knew they would be keeping a lookout and trained to be ready to defend themselves at short notice.
The horizon was showing the first glimmering light of dawn as they approached the Spanish fleet. Now the months of practice would be put to the test. Each of the warships was to choose a target and be ready to fire across the decks once close alongside. Richard hoped to capture as many of the massive Spanish warships as he could and had given orders to fire at the rigging, only trying to sink them as a last resort.
The rest of his small fleet were to take on the dangerous task of distracting the remaining Spanish ships and do their best to keep them occupied. Archers climbed high onto the yard-arms and braced their feet in loops of rope. Crossbowmen protected the gunnery crews, who had to work on the open decks, while the men-at-arms stayed out of sight in the relative safety of the holds, waiting with their hooks and ropes for the call to board the enemy ships.
‘Steady now, men.’ Richard felt a moment of anxiety mixed with excitement as he realised they were past the point of no return. He could see the black shapes of the cannons of their chosen ship were still unmanned. His captain had made their approach on a close reach and now eased the main to cut their speed of approach as they prepared to draw alongside.
‘Fire at will!’
The cannons boomed and the flash of gunpowder lit up the early dawn. Instead of stone balls, the cannons were loaded with the round shot linked with lengths of chain, which slashed through the rigging and sails of the enemy ship so it could no longer manoeuvre. Anyone unfortunate enough to be in the path of these weapons didn’t stand a chance.
Richard’s advantage of surprise was short lived. Spanish crewmen poured out onto the decks, readying cannon to return fire with startling efficiency. As the alarm was raised, the entire Spanish fleet went to battle stations. His archers in the rigging and forecastle began choosing their targets with deadly accuracy, arrows thumping into the bodies of the enemy gun crews and keeping them from firing.
Tully and his hand-picked crossbowmen were standing ready
to fire if any Spaniards tried to board. They were all armed with the latest windlass crossbows, designed to be redrawn faster than the old stirrup model. Richard scanned the ships to either side of him and could see they were in much the same position as himself.
‘Brace yourselves!’
There was a dull booming crunch of timber as they rammed the enemy hull and men began throwing grappling hooks on ropes to pull the enemy close enough to board.
This was the moment Richard had been waiting for. ‘Sound the trumpets!’
The shrill note carried well over the noise of battle and was the signal for the waiting men-at-arms to leap across to the Spanish ship. A slip would mean being crushed to death, as though the sea was calm the gap between the two ships widened and closed with the rise and fall of the swell. The Spanish were ready with swords and knives and had archers of their own. A man next to Richard yelled out as an arrow struck him hard in the chest.
Richard drew his sword and joined the rush of men onto the enemy deck. Although his men had tried to pull the two ships as close together as they could, he still had to leap over the gap of dark swirling water. There was no time to dwell on the consequences. As soon as his feet landed on the Spanish deck he was fighting for his life, hacking and slashing at the Spanish, who fought back with unexpected determination.
He felt the deck was slippery underfoot and glancing down, he realised he was standing in a pool of fresh blood. He looked up in time to see a Spanish sailor armed with a long handled battle axe, which he swung viciously. Swiftly sidestepping, Richard took a glancing blow on his shoulder. His plate armour buckled under the heavy blade and he felt searing pain. Momentarily stunned by the shock of the impact he fell to his knees and saw his attacker raise the sharp bladed axe for a second blow.
The man cried out in alarm as a bolt from a crossbow thumped into his chest, ripping through his thick leather breastplate. The Spaniard fell over backwards and crashed to the deck. Looking behind, Richard saw Tully’s crossbowmen now lined the deck of their ship, firing carefully aimed shots across at the Spanish. At such short range the effect was deadly, every bolt counting, shifting the balance in their favour.
‘Find the captain!’ Richard yelled as they started to take control of the ship.
‘Here, my lord!’ One of his men-at-arms had his knife at the throat of a man too well dressed to be a common sailor. It looked as if he had put on his ornate armour in a hurry and he was protesting angrily in Spanish.
‘Are you the captain of this ship? Richard shouted, trying to ignore the agonising pain from his injured shoulder.
The Spaniard stopped his protest. ‘Soy el Capitan.’
Richard didn’t speak any Spanish although he was confident he could make himself understood. ‘Tell your men to surrender the ship or they will all die.’
The Spanish captain seemed to understand as his shouted orders soon had the Spanish crew dropping their weapons.
Richard turned to one of his garrison lieutenants. ‘Lock them up in the hold and take care of this ship. We’ll come back. We’ve work to do first.’ Richard gestured to where two Spanish warships were attacking one of his carracks.
‘Back to the ship, men.’
They climbed back on board and cast the captured Spanish ship adrift, heading for the next closest. One of his warships had been boarded by the Spanish and he saw his men on board were fighting bravely despite being heavily outnumbered. Many were already dead or dying so he needed to act fast.
He pointed to the Spanish warship. ‘Fire at her hull. We need to try to sink her if we can!’
His gun crews had trained for months and had already loaded the heavy stone cannon balls. The deafening sound of them all firing at once was followed by the sight of several jagged holes in the side of the Spanish ship. They fired again, at closer range now. The hull planking shattered at the water line in a shower of sharp splinters and the sea began pouring in.
The cheer from the men soon died as they came under attack from the other direction. Another Spanish warship rammed them hard on the port side, sending a judder through the whole ship. Richard knew what was about to follow. He stood with his back to the forecastle, surrounded by Tully’s crossbowmen. They held their fire until the first grappling hooks flew over the rail, then unleashed a salvo of bolts into the men attempting to board. The men-at-arms charged, hacking down the Spanish who had bravely jumped across the gap between the ships, fighting as soon as they landed on the deck.
Richard called to the archers.
‘We’ll have to burn this one, fire into the rigging!’
The archers were ready and touched a flame to their fire arrows, which flashed through the dawn light into the tarred rigging and set the sails of the Spanish ship aflame. Fires took hold with surprising speed and acrid smoke was soon billowing across the deck, making Richard cough.
‘Disengage!’
The captain was already turning them away from the blazing Spanish warship and the crew watched as men desperately worked to douse the flames. Richard turned as a scream cut sharply through the noise, in time to witness one of the Spanish archers fall to his death from the burning rigging.
The whole area was now a confusing mass of ships engaged in ramming and boarding. Richard looked around, unsure which of the warships to tackle next. The sunrise was tinged with red, warning of worsening weather and the once calm sea was starting to build into a swell.
‘Over there!’ He caught the helmsman’s eye and pointed.
They manoeuvred alongside and managed to rope the two ships together, quickly boarding to join in the hand-to-hand fighting. Richard joined Tully and his crossbowmen in the forecastle.
‘Aim for the soldiers, spare the sailors.’
Tully’s men were steadily working their way through hundreds of crossbow bolts, making each count, then pulling back the windlass lever and dropping another bolt into the firing mechanism. Unlike the archers, who were firing from high in the rigging, the crossbowmen shot at close range across the deck, once again with devastating effect.
The Spaniards surrendered under the onslaught, throwing up their hands and letting Richard’s men collect their swords. He looked across at the dead and dying men and realised this was no victory. They had been lucky that several of the Spanish fleet had chosen to escape rather than fight. At least one had sunk and another was still burning. Although he had now captured six of the grand warships, his men were exhausted with many wounded. Worst of all, the Spanish had been able to recapture one of their ships back, along with the men he had left aboard. He wasn’t going to abandon them.
Richard found the captain. ‘I’m minded to see if we can parley with the Spanish commander. How do we go about it?’ Richard was realising there was much more to fighting at sea than ramming and boarding.
‘We should ask for an exchange of prisoners, my lord. We don’t want to be taking a load of Spaniards back to Calais with us.’
It took much longer than Richard expected to agree terms and transfer the prisoners and injured men, as well as burying the less fortunate at sea. The flotilla returned to Calais in the late afternoon and Richard looked back at the ships following in his wake. Despite the loss of some good men, all his fleet were returning home. The ship’s surgeon thought he had a broken collarbone which would take a long time to heal. He also had six fine Spanish warships, his reward for a hard day’s fighting.
The Duke of York arrived in Calais unannounced. It had once been his home and he wanted to see what Richard had made of it. After a tour of the city he inspected the fleet in the harbour and the new defences. He now sat in Richard’s grand study enjoying a goblet of his best brandy and seemed pleased with what he’d seen.
‘You know the people are all talking about how you beat the Spanish? The stories are more outlandish every time they are retold.’ His uncle studied him, taking in the canvas sling the ship’s surgeon had made to help his wounded shoulder heal. He seemed to be reassessing Richard’s potential. ‘
You deserve their admiration for your bloody recklessness!’
‘We had a bit of luck that day. My men fought well. So did the Spanish.’
‘The people needed some good news, Richard. You’ve given them something of their pride back and it doesn’t hurt our cause at all.’
‘Despite the queen’s attempts to have me indicted for piracy?’
The duke looked at him sternly. ‘You did push it a bit far with the Germans, Richard. You know there are some in the Council who are only waiting for an excuse.’
‘How much support do we have in the council these days?’
His uncle shook his head. ‘Almost none. They are all far too busy feathering their own nests.’
Richard knew exactly what he was referring to. His successes in Calais meant he had become wealthier than his uncle and father combined. A lot of his new wealth had been invested in the town of Calais, building up his private navy and paying all the extra men he had recruited. He was the richest man in England now and hardly spared a thought for their troubled King or his troublesome Queen and her self-serving advisors.
He looked at his uncle. The duke was starting to look old now and perhaps a little drunk on the fine brandy. His hair was thinning and he seemed to have lost some of the iron determination that Richard had admired. He wondered if he should raise the delicate question of what he had planned for the marriage of his four sons.
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘That’s what I like about you, Richard. You get straight to the point. He crossed to the table where a large map of the area surrounding Calais was spread out. ‘I hear you’ve not been limiting your harassment to the Spanish, the Germans and the French?’
‘I had to show Burgundy we are not to be underestimated. We regularly patrol the border and sometimes they like to try our patience.’
‘Well, you asked what you can do. You can make an alliance with Philip of Burgundy. Meet him. Make sure we can rely on him if the queen does a deal with the French.’