Warwick: The Man Behind The Wars of the Roses

by Tony Riches

  ‘Ready to go about, Captain!’ Richard shouted at the top of his voice.

  Their ship began to turn with painful slowness. Richard watched as more cannons fired with deadly effectiveness at such short range. Men were in the water, some jumping, others blasted to a certain drowning as few were able to swim. There was an enormous splash in the waves dangerously close to the stern of Richard’s ship. He took one last look. There was nothing he could do for his men without endangering himself and his family.

  Then he saw the longboat, men heaving on the oars as if their lives depended on it. Tully and some of his guards had realised there was no hope of saving the flagship. Richard felt the deck heel under his feet as the wind caught the sails, taking them away from the danger and also out of reach of the men in the longboat.

  ‘Heave to, Captain!’ Richard shouted, pointing to the rowing men.

  More thunderous booms sounded on the shore and a plume of water rose into the air close by, narrowly missing the longboat. The rowers pulled with renewed energy. The captain had realised what was happening and continued the slow turn, closing the gap in the water between them. Richard shouted to his crewmen.

  ‘Have some ropes over the side, we’ll leave the longboat!’

  He could now clearly make out the faces of the rowers and was relieved to see Tully amongst them. There was a thump as the longboat struck the hull of the ship and the men scrambled up the side, finding handholds wherever they could. Luke Tully was bleeding from a cut on his head and looked totally exhausted with the effort of their escape.

  ‘I’m sorry, my lord.’ He wiped the blood from his brow. ‘There were too many of them. I think they were expecting us.’ He sounded breathless.

  ‘I’m glad you made it back, Tully. Get someone to take a look at that wound.’ Richard stared back at the harbour. One of their ships was on fire, with smoke billowing into the sky.

  He called to the captain. ‘We need to get underway. Quick as we can. They might pursue us in the Trinity. She’s a much faster ship than this and can out gun anything in our fleet.’

  They were not pursued and he assumed the men defending Southampton were fully occupied by the ships he had been forced to sacrifice. Richard gave the order to set a course for Calais and went below. George was waiting for him in his cabin. Before he could say anything an anguished cry of agony came from the adjacent cabin.

  ‘Isabel.’ George scowled at him with bitter accusation in his eyes. ‘The baby is coming.’

  ‘My wife is with her?’

  ‘And your daughter. We need to get her ashore, Richard.’

  ‘We can’t turn back. I just hope the baby can wait until we get to Calais.’

  He went back on deck to find the weather had worsened. A sheet of sea water sluiced over the deck as the bows crashed through a high wave. Richard gripped tightly to the handrail as he made his way to the captain.

  ‘Can we sail any faster?’

  The captain frowned as he studied the taut canvas sails. ‘The wind is veering. If it stays in our favour, we should reach Calais by nightfall, my lord.’

  ‘Do your best, Captain.’ Salty spray lashed at Richard’s face as he looked at the unsettled waves ahead. ‘We need to get to Calais as soon as we can.’ He was talking as much to himself as to the captain. They had lost valuable time in the attempt to retrieve his flagship, as well as many of his best men and several of his largest ships.

  The ship heeled as a freshening breeze filled the sails. Richard clung to the wooden rail and wondered how his daughter was coping below decks. He knew he should stay out of the way, as Anne would know what to do. The life of the baby was in God’s hands now, as was his own future.

  He reached inside his spray-soaked tunic and felt the polished surface of the crucifix he wore around his neck. The fine detail was worn smooth. The silver felt warm to his touch, an amulet for a better future. As the ship ploughed through the heavy dark seas, Richard’s lips moved in prayer. He prayed for the life of his grandchild. He prayed for them all.

  Night had fallen when the lights of Calais finally appeared on the horizon. The winds had not been kind to them and the old ship was forced to tack up the English Channel, every mile hard won against the angry black sea. Richard sent Tully down below with a message for Isabel, telling her there was not much longer to wait. He stayed on deck, personally overseeing their navigation and keeping watch for Edward’s fleet, which would surely come after them from Kent at first light.

  Tully returned with a fresh bandage on his head. He was careful to find handholds as he made his way across the wet deck. The ship was still heeled over and lurched violently as they crashed through another heavy wave.

  ‘How is my daughter?’ Richard continued looking out to sea, knowing what his wife must be thinking of his actions.

  ‘I could only speak to the countess, my lord. She says we must make haste.’ He looked concerned. ‘There are complications.’

  Richard looked ahead to the lights which were now drawing closer. He’d made this journey many times and knew it wouldn’t take long. He was looking forward to getting back to the safety of Calais, the ideal base from which to regroup his forces and plan his next steps with George. The weather was continuing to worsen, with the wind strengthening and rain now adding to the soaking of his clothes from the constant spray, so he was unsurprised to hear the rumble of thunder.

  Tully pointed to the shore. ‘They’re firing at us! Our own cannons are firing at us!’

  Richard looked again. He was tired and wet and finding it hard to make sense of Tully’s words. Then there was another boom, louder this time and matched with a flash from the guns he had mounted on the high defensive walls. It all made sense in an instant. While he had been sailing around the south coast, Edward’s ships had sailed straight across the shortest width of the Channel. Calais was lost.

  ‘Captain, heave to!’ Richard shouted at the top of his voice, aware they must stay out of range of the guns. ‘Signal the fleet to stand off!’

  He turned to Tully. ‘I left Baron Wenlock in charge. I persuaded him to switch his loyalty to Edward. It’s a fair bet he’s responsible for this.’

  The guns fired another deafening salvo, as if to confirm he was right. It angered Richard to know he was still paying the men who now fired at them.

  Tully agreed. ‘We’ll have to send a ship under a flag of truce. I’ll go with them.’ He peered through the rain into the darkness. ‘There must still be men loyal to you in our garrison.’

  ‘You’d be risking capture?’

  ‘We don’t have time to wait until daylight, my lord.’

  Richard knew he had no choice. ‘Tell them about my daughter. See if you can find a midwife and will you ask for something to ease her suffering?’

  Tully disappeared into the night, already picking the men to go with him. Richard went back below decks. Sea water had found its way through the hatch and was swilling around his ankles as the ship rolled. He hammered on the door of his daughter’s cabin.

  ‘Anne?’ He could hear Isabel sobbing, even over the noise of the wind howling overhead.

  He tried again. ‘Anne. It’s Richard. We need to talk.’

  The door to the cabin opened and Anne appeared, wiping her hands on a cloth. Richard recognised it as one of her petticoats, ripped up for rags. She was cleaning blood from her hands. His daughter’s blood. Behind her he saw Isabel crying on the bunk with his other daughter kneeling at her side. The ship lurched again and Anne grabbed his arm to steady herself. He could see all he needed to know in her eyes. He pulled her into the companionway.

  Anne closed the cabin door behind her. ‘How much longer?’

  Richard hardly knew what to say. ‘Calais is lost, Anne.’ He looked into her tear-stained face. ‘I’m sorry it has come to this.’

  ‘Then we must get ashore somewhere else. Now, Richard.’ There was a hardness in her voice. ‘Do what you can. Before it’s too late.’ With that she returned to the cabin, c
losing the door behind her and leaving him standing alone.

  Richard went to his own cabin and found George sleeping in his bunk. An empty bottle clattered back and forth on the cabin floor with the roll of the ship. Richard picked it up, then uncorked a bottle from his sea chest and swigged a mouthful of the strong brandy. He took it back to Isabel’s cabin and knocked. He could hear groaning from inside as his wife answered and he handed her the bottle. She took it without speaking and closed the door. He had done all he could now, there was nothing to do but wait.

  The rain eventually stopped and the wind eased. The guns of Calais had stopped firing once they realised the fleet was staying out of range, their silence strangely adding to the tension. Richard went back to his daughter’s cabin. There was no sound from inside and he pushed the door open. Anne was sitting at the end of the bunk holding a small bundle wrapped in white cloth. He realised the cloth was covering the baby’s face.

  There were tears in her eyes and Anne’s dress was smeared with blood. She looked up at him. ‘A boy.’

  Richard felt overwhelmed with sadness. He didn’t know what to say. He looked at his daughters. For a moment he thought Isabel was dead. Her face was so pale and her eyes closed. Then she began sobbing. His daughter Anne just sat with her back against the cabin wall, her eyes wide, looking in horror at her blood-covered hands.

  A new dawn lit up the sky as the entire ship’s crew stood reverently on the deck. A simple funeral. George stood impassively holding the little body of his son while Richard said a prayer, his voice failing him with emotion. They carefully lowered the weighted bundle into the cold dark waters of the English Channel. Richard didn’t look into Anne’s eyes, or those of his daughters. He wondered if they would ever forgive him, if all he had put them through could ever be worth the life of his grandson.

  Another hour passed before Tully’s ship appeared through the early morning sea mist and came alongside, the wooden hulls crunching together as he made the risky transfer. Richard was tired and soaked to the skin. He wiped a wet cloth across his face and tried to focus on what they needed to do.

  Tully carried a leather bag. ‘You were right, my lord.’ He took off his hat and wiped his brow. ‘Baron Wenlock asks for your surrender, in the name of the king.’ He reached into the bag and produced a small bottle. ‘I couldn’t find a midwife. They gave me this for your daughter. He also asked me to give you this. He was most insistent I was to make sure that you alone must read it, my lord.’

  ‘Thank you, Tully.’ Richard took the note, unfolded it and held it to the light. John Wenlock was warning him. Calais was a trap. The army of Charles of Burgundy was poised to capture him once he was ashore. Wenlock promised he would prove himself loyal when he could. For now he cautioned them most strongly against entering the harbour.

  The captain joined them, ready for instructions. Richard turned to him. ‘Set a course for Honfleur, Captain. We are going to France.’

  Tully looked surprised. He waited until the captain was out of earshot. ‘What is there for us in France, my lord?’

  Richard carefully folded the letter and tucked it inside his tunic. ‘We don’t have many options, Tully. I have to speak with King Louis. When we return to England it will be with an army.’

  ‘To put George of Clarence on the throne?’ He sounded incredulous.

  Richard hesitated before answering. ‘Let us see what King Louis has to say.’

  He knew Tully wouldn’t be the only one to question George’s right to rule England. George may be Edward’s brother, yet he would never be a leader, could never hold his own against those who would challenge him in parliament. Worst of all, he had already proved he didn’t like to take advice. Richard had another plan. He had shared it with no one, not even Anne, as he wasn’t even sure he could pull it off.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a shout from the lookout. ‘Sails ahoy!’

  Richard cursed his failing eyesight. He could barely make out the sails of the distant ships and called for Tully to see if they were English. The ships were still too far off to identify. Richard ordered the captain to hold his course and for the men-at-arms to stand by as they closed on the distant ships.

  At last Tully was able to make them out. ‘It’s the king’s fleet, my lord.’

  Richard cursed his luck. ‘Call our men to arms!’

  He looked back at his fleet and realised some would make easy targets for Edward’s experienced commanders. Worse still, having his family on board meant Richard could not afford to take any risks. The one saving grace of not being able to rescue his flagship meant it would be harder for the enemy to know which ship to find him on.

  Cannons were dragged into position and archers climbed high into the rigging, finding good vantage-points. Men-at-arms began strapping on armour and preparing weapons. Gunnery crews carried the heavy cannon balls from below decks and Tully’s crossbowmen formed a guard around the access to the cabins. All they could do now was wait.

  The wind was in their enemy’s favour so he held back to watch as the two fleets closed, hulls ramming hard and cannons immediately firing as soon as targets came in range. Despite their disadvantage of numbers, Edward’s ships were attacking with savage determination. One of the square-rigged caravels in Richard’s fleet was hit with a shot which brought the main mast crashing to the deck in a splintering of wood. Richard could hear his men yelling as another began billowing smoke and flames as fire arrows found their mark in tar-covered rigging.

  Tully stood at Richard’s side and pointed to the enemy flagship. ‘That’s the banner of Sir Anthony Woodville, Earl Rivers.’

  Richard cursed again. He’d had his chance to deal with the young earl and now he would pay the price for his outdated sense of chivalry. He decided to throw caution to the wind. ‘Captain, bring our guns to bear on the closest ship!’

  The deck tilted as the massive canvas sails responded to the change of course and Richard grabbed the handrail. Despite the danger they were in he was not going to let Edward’s less experienced fleet pick them off one by one. The breeze freshened and he could taste the salty tang of sea spray. ‘Gunners! Fire at will!’

  They sailed alongside a sturdy looking carrack flying the royal standard from its mast. Richard’s archers and crossbowmen began firing at anyone they could see on deck. Sailors fell dead as arrows and bolts struck them at viciously close range. Then his cannons began booming. The first shot struck the carrack broadside, smashing the heavy timbers and leaving a gaping hole. The second blast was iron shot which shredded the sails. The enemy ship veered away, crippled and no longer part of the battle. Richard looked behind and saw one of his ships being boarded, another on fire and at least one looking as if it was sinking. There was no time to worry about rescuing the survivors.

  Then there was a cheer from his men as the Yorkist fleet began to pull back. They had carved his fleet in two and were taking as many ships back to England as they could. Richard was relieved his ship was not among them, although he wondered what fate would befall his captured crews at the hands of Lord Rivers.

  Tully was assessing the damage, counting the remaining ships aloud. ‘We’ve lost more than a dozen ships, my lord.’

  Richard watched the departing fleet and realised they would return as soon as they could. He called to his captain. ‘Put some sea between us while we have the chance.’

  As the French coast began to appear on the horizon, so did more masts in the distance. Richard felt a sense of foreboding. The English Channel had always been his element. Now it seemed they would be hunted down before they even had the chance to make landfall. The men on his remaining ships had been at sea too long. They were already running low on fresh water and had only brought food and supplies for a much shorter voyage. Richard needed rest. He called to Tully once more, to identify the approaching fleet.

  Tully studied them. ‘Merchantmen. I can count at least twenty. They fly the flag of Burgundy, my lord.’

  Richard was relieved
. ‘I’ll not have them report our position to Burgundy. We’ll take them as a prize.’

  It was worth the risk and could solve his problem of how to pay his crews and purchase new supplies during their enforced stay in France. There was no contest as Richard’s fleet surrounded the two dozen merchant ships and a couple of unlucky Breton fishing boats. Their crews surrendered without a shot being fired, to suffer the fate of being escorted to Honfleur as booty. Richard sent a fast rider to alert the king of his arrival and changed into dry clothes. He told his crews to sell what they could of the Burgundian cargo, then found a house in the town for his family and had the first uninterrupted sleep since he had left Exmouth.

  It had taken nearly four days to reach the king’s chateau at Amboise, so Richard was relieved to find the king was still in residence and expecting him.

  King Louis greeted him with his usual ebullience. ‘Earl Warwick!’ The king hugged him like a long lost friend. ‘It is so good to see you, safe and well.’

  Richard knew his whole future depended on this meeting. ‘I am thankful to Your Grace for agreeing to meet at such short notice.’ He smiled. ‘Events have moved a little faster than expected.’

  The king looked behind Richard at his small entourage. ‘Your wife, the countess, and your daughters?’

  ‘Safe in Honfleur, together with my fleet.’

  The king pulled a face. ‘That will never do, I understand the town is full of pirates?’

  ‘You have heard we met some Burgundian merchantmen?’

  The king’s smile vanished. ‘You must release the ships you have seized, Earl Warwick. It would harm our reputation if we are seen to be allowing piracy.’ He frowned. ‘Matters are difficult enough between France and Burgundy. I must insist!’

  Richard was surprised by the unexpected outburst. ‘I will send orders to have the ships released, Your Grace, although I fear their cargo has long gone by now.’