by Tony Riches
Richard was concerned. They could not surrender to the queen. To do so would be madness. At best they could expect to be attainted, their lands taken from them. At worst, they could face charges of treason and incarceration in the Tower. The threat to his father meant the queen knew they would not surrender. It was a trap. They were being forced to fight against the king.
His uncle turned to the bishop. ‘You can tell the king he’ll have his answer soon enough.’
The bishop was unsurprised. ‘God be with you all.’ He crossed himself and returned to the king’s encampment.
Richard’s father said what they were all thinking. ‘We’ve had a wasted journey. We should withdraw and dig in. Barricade the road and make them come to us.’
They took the Tewkesbury road and marched the men to Ludford Bridge, by the wide and fast flowing river Tern outside Ludlow. The men had lost much of their enthusiasm for the task so Richard personally led the work of digging defensive earthworks. Their few cannons were positioned to fire down the road and long sharpened stakes were cut and set into the earth banks. The work was hot and dirty and the sun was setting before he was satisfied.
The duke’s son Edward rode up to them as Richard made his final inspection of their readiness, shouting words of encouragement to the men on guard duty who were watching for the first sign of the approaching army. Edward was popular with the men and seemed much older than his nineteen years and reminded Richard a little of himself at the same age.
‘Do you think they have more than fifty thousand men, or was that a ruse?’
‘I wish I knew, Edward.’ Richard looked around at their defences. ‘We must rely on our wits in the morning. They definitely have the advantage of numbers.’
Richard was woken at dawn by Tully. ‘Bad news, my lord. Trollope has gone to the enemy with as many men who will follow him.’
Richard cursed and began strapping on his armour. ‘How many? How long ago?’ He wished he had dealt with Trollope at Calais, when he had the chance.
Tully helped him with the straps. ‘At least an hour ago. A good few men have followed, my lord.’
The significance of the news hit Richard. ‘He knows our strength, our positions, everything. He even knows most of our men won’t fight against the king.’
Tully looked concerned. ‘We can’t fight them now, my lord.’
‘Let’s find my father and uncle. We don’t have much time.’
Richard’s father was already awake and waiting for him. ‘The duke has left for Ireland, Richard. He had no choice.’
Richard was still coming to terms with the rapid turn of events. ‘What about his family, his sons?’
‘Edmund has ridden with him. Edward is going to stay and protect his mother and younger brothers.’
Richard looked at the sky. ‘We’d best get away while we can. They’ll be coming for us soon and we won’t stand a chance in daylight.’
His father agreed. ‘Who would have thought it would come to this? You must get away to your estates in the west, as soon as you can.’
‘I’m not going to leave you here. You heard what the bishop said. They will pardon the men if they surrender.’ He looked directly at his father. ‘They won’t pardon you.’
‘You’re right, Richard. We need to get going. We must take young Edward with us.’
‘Edward?’
His father nodded. ‘The king won’t harm my sister or the boys. I imagine Edward will want to put up a fight. He’ll take on fifty thousand men if we let him!’
Richard reluctantly agreed with his father and went in search of the young Edward, Earl of March.
They were joined by Sir John Wenlock and Luke Tully. A tall, pragmatic, sometimes outspoken man, Sir John was a veteran of the wars in France. Formerly Queen Margaret’s Chamberlain, like several of those who defended King Henry at the first battle of St. Albans, he turned his coat to the York cause and was appointed Speaker of the House by the Duke of York. Sir John now feared for his life if he was captured by the Lancastrians.
The five of them rode hard through the night with only what they could carry. Before they left they exchanged their plate armour for rough woollen tunics, although they all carried swords and Tully had his crossbow slung over his shoulder with a full quiver of bolts. Edward had reluctantly seen the wisdom of leaving his mother and younger brothers to the king’s mercy. He also carried a heavy purse of gold coins rather than leave it to the looters.
Tully had told his men to give them a head start, then spread the word that Richard had ordered them to lay down their arms and accept the king’s pardon. Those who were able to find their way back to Calais would be well rewarded for their loyalty when he could join them.
By the time the sun was turning the sky a dusty pink they had put enough distance behind them to slow down a little. They rode to the house of one of his father’s loyal retainers, to recover their strength and agree a plan. The owner of the house served them a hot meal and produced an old mariner’s map, which they spread on the table. Richard studied the map with interest. It showed the Bristol Channel and southern coast of England. Faded and crudely drawn, it had clearly been used for navigation at sea. Someone had plotted lines on the map and marked way points with crosses, to show the route they had sailed.
‘They’ll expect us to head east.’ He looked at the others. ‘I’ll bet they’ve already realised we’re not in Ludlow. They’ll be sending men to cover the Kentish ports.’
Edward knew the area well and traced his finger down the Bristol Channel. ’We could take the long way round to Calais, by ship?’
Richard was impressed at his suggestion. ‘If we can find a ship to take us and the weather holds.’
His father agreed. ‘I’d rather take my chances at sea. Once we are at sea they won’t be able to find us.’
They thanked their host and rode to the north Devon coast in search of a suitable ship. The long ride was made more difficult by the need to keep out of sight and constantly check they weren’t being followed. An orange sun was setting on the western horizon by the time they reached the coast. Even though they were tired and hungry, they couldn’t rest until they found a ship and put to sea.
The harbours were full of small boats that reeked of fish. They could only see one that looked fit to make the long journey, a three-masted carrack named Kismet, similar to several they sailed in Calais. Richard made a quick inspection with Sir John, who knew what to look for in a ship. The carrack was a merchant trader from Bristol, past its best and the bilges needed pumping. Otherwise she seemed watertight and the rigging was functional. Large enough to be stable in heavy seas, it had a high rounded stern and a cabin in the aftcastle, with a long bowsprit and bunks for the crew in a forecastle.
The owner was reluctant to sell it although his attitude soon changed when he saw gold coins. He was also rewarded with their horses in return for his silence. They were all tired and the hour was too late to start looking for a crew, so they spent a fairly comfortable night moored to the quayside, taking turns to keep a watch in case anyone came looking for them.
In the morning Richard and Edward went in search of provisions for their voyage and Tully accompanied Sir John in search of the crew, with silver coins to pay them. Richard and his father went to the cabin and began plotting their course on the old map. Although Richard had sailed the length of the English Channel many times, this was a new experience for him. He would have liked to sail to his own port of Cardiff. The problem was he was too well known there and word of his presence could soon reach the queen’s informers. Their only option was to sail the long way, around the dangerous rocks of Land’s End.
The tide was rising by the time they had tracked down a crew and the supplies were loaded. They cast off, unnoticed by anyone and headed out into the muddy grey waters of the Bristol Channel. Richard was pleased to see the old canvas sails fill with a strong north-easterly breeze, which soon had them speeding to safety.
Edward was enjoying t
heir adventure, his first sea voyage. He got on well with Tully and was helping him to improve his sword hand in return for lessons with the crossbow.
‘You know what Kismet means, Tully?’
‘Good luck, my lord?’
‘Good enough. It’s one of the words brought back from the East by the crusaders. It means destiny, providence. God's will and what is written in the stars.’
Richard heard their conversation and joined them on the deck. ‘A good omen. We could use some luck after being betrayed by our own men.’
Tully looked thoughtful. ‘I’ll bet a week’s wages, my lord, that we haven’t seen the last of Andrew Trollope.’
‘He’ll be an obvious choice to help whoever they send to winkle us out from Calais. We’ll be ready for him.’
It took most of the day to reach the fishing village of Padstow on the Cornish coast, where they navigated the tricky sand bar and entered the busy harbour. Their ship blended perfectly with the others moored close alongside fishing boats. Although there were some soldiers in the town they seemed more interested in the taverns than the ships moored at the quayside. They decided to send Tully for fresh supplies, as no one would recognise him and they could stay out of sight.
They woke next morning to the tempting aroma of bacon frying and found Tully making breakfast from freshly baked bread, which they washed down with a mug of strong, dark Cornish ale. Richard checked the tide and plotted their course to Lands End. He knew many ships had been wrecked on the rocks rounding the tip of Cornwall and planned to give it a wide berth.
Heading out to sea they soon found the wind had veered and increased in force, making the ship heel over uncomfortably. The sky turned a brooding slate grey and the wind speed began to increase. Choppy waves started hitting them on the side, sluicing the deck with seawater. Edward joined Richard and his father in the cabin, steadying himself as the ship lurched heavily.
‘Tully told me the crew want to put in at St. Ives.’ Edward peered out of the open porthole. ‘They say there’s a storm coming.’
‘We have to get around Lands End before any storm hits.’ Richard braced himself as the ship lurched again in the swell. ‘I’ll have a word with the crew.’
It didn’t take long for him to find out that none of the crew had ever sailed further than St. Ives. They admitted they were fishermen, not used to being out in heavy seas. Richard took charge.
‘I’ll take the helm.’ He looked up at the towering mast, with its complicated system of ropes and pulleys. ‘I’ll need help with the sails. Do you know how to take in a reef?’
The men set to work and reduced the size of the mainsail, heaving on the ropes and tying the spare canvas to stop it flapping in the fresh breeze, slowing their speed a little and making the ship more manageable.
Richard could taste the salt in the air as he set a course to sail them clear of the rocky cliffs of Cornwall. The waves were higher now and Richard had to use all his strength as he braced against the wheel. He kept checking their course as they ploughed through the worsening seas.
His father looked worried as a huge wave crashed over the bows and flooded into the hatch.
‘We can’t take too many like that!’
‘Have one of the men secure that hatch, Tully!’ Richard had to shout now to make himself heard. ‘They need to pump the bilges and get the water back out or the weight will slow us down!’
The bows of their ship lifted high into the air as they rode up a huge wave, then plunged down the other side into the deepest troughs Richard had ever seen. He looked up at the mast and guessed the waves must be twenty or thirty feet high. They were caught in a storm and there was no going back.
The next wave flooded over the deck, washing away anything not tied down and flooding into the open hatch. One of the crew struggled his way across the deck and began securing the hatch covering the access to the hold. The wind was howling now and the sea was strangely dark against the foaming white crests.
Another huge wave crashed over them. Richard was soaked through to the skin and he shivered in the cold wind. His concern was for the crewman who had been washed up against the side of the deck and nearly into the sea. Luke Tully had also seen him and emerged from the cabin with a coil of rope. He tied one end firmly around his middle and threw the other to the crewman, who was clinging on for his life. The man caught it before the next wave crashed across the deck. Somehow the crewman still held the rope and Richard watched as Tully pulled him to safety.
For several hours Richard worked to keep them clear of the dark shape of the high cliffs, until the muscles in his arms ached with the strain. The cold was making his hands feel numb. He found it difficult to see through the misty spray, which soaked his hair and clothes, chilling him to the bone.
He realised the storm was easing as they were rounding the tip of Land’s End. Now they faced a new danger, as the old chart had shown rocks offshore and someone had written the name of the largest, the Runnel Stone. Richard heaved the wheel to starboard and looked up at the flapping sails. The wind was still in their favour so he kept on course, giving the rocky headland a wide berth.
Now the storm had passed Sir John took a turn at the helm and Richard was finally able to rest. Wet and exhausted, he plotted a course for the island of Guernsey, the furthermost part of his Warwick estates.
Richard woke to find they had sailed through the night and the island could be seen on the far horizon. He felt a huge sense of relief as they finally dropped anchor in the sheltered harbour. The disaster at Ludlow still weighed heavily on their minds. At least they were now safely out of the reach of Queen Margaret’s army.
Richard’s father and Sir John set off for the shore with Tully and one of the crewmen in the longboat to find fresh water and supplies for the final trip to Calais. Richard looked out at the island through the open cabin door. The sun was shining and flocks of hungry gulls pecked for crabs on the seashore. A few small fishing boats were tied up at the quay and some fishermen were busily loading their nets.
Edward sat down on the bunk. ‘Well done, Richard. There was a moment when I thought we weren’t going to make it.’
Richard rubbed his eyes. ‘She’s a seaworthy little ship. I think I’ll have her refitted as part of my fleet when we get back to Calais.’
Edward was concerned. ‘I wish I knew how my father is. He’s either on his way to Ireland now or locked up in the Tower.’ A look of regret showed in his eyes. ‘I shouldn’t have left my mother and brothers to take their chances.’
‘We couldn’t save them all.’
Edward stood up. ‘Perhaps we can.’
Richard was confused. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ll come back with you to Calais. We’ll raise an army of loyal men and put my father on the throne.’
Chapter 14 - Summer 1460
Richard Earl of Warwick felt an overwhelming sense of pride as he rode into London at the head of his riding retinue of five hundred mounted knights and an army of more than ten thousand men-at-arms and archers. His father, the Earl of Salisbury, rode on one side and Edward, Earl of March the other, all three wearing armour with their banners held high behind them. His men were in good spirits and cheering crowds welcomed them, despite the steady summer rain.
An old woman shouted to them excitedly as they rode past. ‘God bless you, my lord, God bless you all!’
Her shrill voice caught Richard’s attention. He raised a gauntleted hand in acknowledgement of her support and felt a surge of pride as the crowd cheered even more loudly. He knew some of them were there simply for the spectacle and others out of curiosity. Most, though, were there to show their support for the new order. They were tired of the Lancastrians, with their mad king and French Queen. The time was now right to establish the House of York as the legal and military power in the land.
As he rode towards the towering cathedral of St. Paul’s, Richard reflected on the unexpected events of the past few months. They had been expecting a figh
t when they sailed into the shallow harbour at Sandwich yet many of the king’s men mutinied to join the York cause. The rest dropped their weapons and ran for their lives. Richard’s growing army marched triumphantly to Canterbury, with fanfares of trumpets and the steady beat of his drummers, cheered on by the Kentish men who had followed Jack Cade and were tired of Lancastrian misrule.
He remembered his relief when they finally reached the safety of Calais and had news that the Duke of York was safe in Ireland. Richard was proud of how he’d been able to take the helm himself when the crew were too frightened to continue. In the spring he had taken to the sea again in his flagship and sailed all the way to Waterford harbour in Ireland to meet the Duke of York and discuss plans for their revenge.
His uncle was scathing about the Lancastrians and told him how he had been sent an envoy from the king to inform him he was charged with high treason. He’d ordered the unfortunate messenger to be hanged, drawn and quartered in the market square, a clear message to the Lancastrians that there was now no going back.
On his long return journey Richard collected a surprise for his father. His mother always refused to set foot on a ship, yet was finally persuaded to sail with him to Calais. She was terrified at first, despite Richard’s reassurances, as she had suffered nightmares of drowning at sea and was unable to swim. Her desire to see her family helped her to overcome her fear and it had been good to see her finally reunited with her granddaughters.
Soon after they arrived the clanging of the alarm bell interrupted their lunch when a fleet of ships were spotted by the lookout. Richard was unsurprised. He knew the young Duke of Somerset had been given the Captaincy of Calais as a reward by the queen and was expecting him. The duke was welcomed by a salvo from Richard’s cannons and was forced to turn back and land at Guines Castle in the marshes to the south. Unluckily for the duke, his captains were loyal to Richard and delivered his ships back to Calais. With them were some of the soldiers who had been disloyal to Richard at Ludford Bridge. He had them executed on the spot. Andrew Trollope had wisely stayed at Guines with the duke.