Anne Neville: Richard III's Tragic Queen

by Licence, Amy

  That October, the triumphant Yorkists occupied Worcester and headed for the cathedral. Overlooking the River Severn, there had been a place of worship on the site since the seventh century and, by the accession of Henry VI, it had been developed and extended as a home to a community of Benedictine monks. Warwick would recognise the green limestone and yellow sandstone details still standing today, the crypt and circular chapter house as well as the newer additions of the central spire and cloisters. In 1459, it was to play host to a symbolic display of loyalty. Kneeling before the altar, the Duke of York and Earls of Warwick and Salisbury swore an oath of loyalty to the king. It was a move designed to repudiate the charges levelled against them and reinforce the stance they had taken over St Albans. Once again, they stated their dispute was not with the person of the king himself but the influence of his ‘evil councillors’. Their words were written down and handed to the king in person by the Bishop of Worcester: Henry VI, however, or rather Queen Margaret, was not impressed. She was still convinced that York intended to supplant her son Edward, then days short of his sixth birthday, correctly as it turned out. As the royal armies approached Worcester, the trio headed back towards Ludlow but were pursued. Again, they attempted to offer their loyalties in a letter addressed to Henry lamenting the complaints of his true subjects; this was intercepted by Margaret’s men, who forged a reply, inviting them to meet the king on the battlefield. This was the challenge they had anticipated, so the Yorkists decided to take a stand at nearby Ludford Bridge. On 12 October, they set up their guns and awaited reinforcements.

  Those reinforcements did not come. Unexpectedly, the Yorkists were seriously outnumbered, almost two to one, and morale plummeted. At Blore Heath they had fought against the troops of ‘unpopular favourites’ while Henry was elsewhere. It did not help now that the royal standard was visible in the Lancastrian camp, indicating the presence of the king himself, which meant that to engage with his armies was a different act entirely. Much has been made by modern historians of Henry’s absence during key battles or the stories of him wandering about dazed, to be discovered sitting under trees, but the view of Henry VI as completely ineffectual has not gone unchallenged. No doubt his presence in full armour was a significant factor here, regardless of the role he played in the fighting; it may well have contributed to the overnight defection of 600 men Warwick had brought from Calais. York tried to counter their fears by putting out a rumour that the king had died but as Henry himself remained visible, this only cost him further support. As news of further desertions arrived, the Yorkist leaders envisioned a crushing defeat and recognised this was the moment to withdraw rather than engage. At midnight, they feigned a visit to Ludlow for supplies, leaving their armies in the field and did not return. It was a low point in their command. York and his second son, Edmund, Earl of Rutland, fled to Wales then on to Ireland. Warwick, Salisbury and York’s eldest son, Edward, Earl of March, headed to the West Country where a supporter, Sir John Dynham, provided them with a boat for Calais. The armies they left behind were pardoned but Cecily, Duchess of York, and her two youngest sons, George and Richard, were left at Ludlow to become Lancastrian prisoners under the care of their aunt, Anne, Duchess of Buckingham. This was the seven-year-old Richard’s first experience of the changing fortunes that battle could bring.

  The king’s troops then went on to plunder Ludlow, described by the chronicler Gregory as a terrible act of misrule; they were ‘wetshod in wine’, as the town was looted and women ‘defouled’.10 York Castle was robbed and the properties and estates of Yorkist lords were desecrated. According to the Davies chronicle, the king’s advisers then began to gather ‘riches innumerable’ from the poor and ‘rightful heirs’; for which ‘the hearts of the people were turned away from them that had the governance of the land, and their blessings were turned to cursings’.11 Not only was England no longer safe for the Yorkists, it was becoming a dangerous, lawless place for many of the king’s subjects. The failure to curb these destructive activities would seriously damage the Lancastrian cause in the next few years.

  The whereabouts of Warwick’s family is unclear during this period. It is possible that he left them in the safety of Calais Castle during the upheavals of 1458–9, but there is also the chance that, at some point, they crossed the Channel with him and were for a short time resident again in Warwick Castle. If this was the case, the eight-year-old Isabel would certainly have been aware that her father was in danger, even if her younger sister was not; perhaps the family prayed together in the chapel for his safe return. At this point, the Warwicks were still hoping to conceive a male heir, so it is likely that husband and wife took every opportunity to be together. The dynastic imperative among the aristocracy was strong: it was engrained in them from their early years, so Richard and Anne may not have wished to have wasted valuable months or years, as both were now in their thirties and considered comparatively middle-aged by the standards of the day. Records of births indicate that many noblewomen of the era experienced their menopause in their mid- to late thirties, so time was running out if the countess was to produce a son. Cecily of York frequently travelled with her husband through England and France, as the birthplaces of her children in Rouen, Dublin and Fotheringhay indicate. Wherever the family had been during this episode, they were reunited in Calais that autumn, along with Anne’s paternal grandparents, Earl Richard and Alice, Countess of Salisbury, Warwick’s uncle, Lord Fauconberg, and the seventeen-year-old Earl of March, York’s son, Edward. He was a tall, handsome young man of athletic build, already skilled on the battlefield and a lover of good company, women and entertainment. In the years ahead, the Neville girls would come to know him better, as their king and as brother-in-law to them both.

  That November, a royal council was summoned to Coventry, which came to be known as the Parliament of Devils. Led by the Lancastrian Dr John Morton, later Archbishop of Canterbury under Henry VII, it passed Acts of Attainder against York and his sons, Warwick and Salisbury. York’s wife Cecily and young sons were brought into the chamber to witness his disgrace in his absence and hear the lords swear a new oath of allegiance to Margaret and Edward. Such Acts represented serious capital crimes, the penalties of which extended to the families and heirs of those on whom they were passed: their lands, income and titles were confiscated, making their heirs legally ‘dead’. A large proportion of the confiscated estates were given to Owen Tudor, father-in-law to Margaret Beaufort. This attainder was the final straw which put aside all pretence of reconciliation and incited open attack. And none were more willing to attack than the young Duke of Somerset, Henry Beaufort, whose personal vendetta against Warwick now led him to plan an invasion of Calais. Following Warwick’s disgrace, Beaufort had been appointed to the position of Captain of Calais, but holding the theoretical title and taking possession of the town were two different things entirely. Hearing of this, Warwick made a pre-emptive strike on Sandwich, where Somerset had been gathering his forces; a number of distinguished prisoners were taken and the entire enemy fleet was captured. Having also been deprived of his position as Admiral, to which Exeter had been reappointed, Warwick’s best means of attack was surprise. Six months later, he was planning an invasion.

  In July 1460, Francesco Coppini, the papal legate to England, wrote to King Henry VI explaining his recent actions. Coppini had been appointed by Pope Pius II to try to end the civil conflicts and involve the Lancastrians in a crusade against the Turks; he was successful in neither but his record of the mounting insurgence in Calais remains. First, Warwick had attempted to find a peaceful solution – ‘The lords of Calais had called me, requesting me to mediate for the conclusion of peace and extinction of civil discord in your realm’ – after which Coppini ‘besought [Henry] piously to ponder these matters’. His efforts were rejected by Margaret of Anjou, after which the legate ‘found everything in confusion, in consequence of a new state of things and fresh accidents, and that the lords were on the point of crossing over to England, s
aying they could wait no longer by reason of emergencies’. To Henry, he wrote that Warwick and his men were still ‘disposed to be devoted and obedient to your Majesty, and desirous to maintain and augment the commonweal of the kingdom’ but wished to be ‘restored to favour’, which the ‘envy of their rivals’ had cost them. Warwick implored Coppini to mediate for him with the king in order to avoid bloodshed and offered to ‘accept whatever was fair and just’, making their pledges in writing.12 Soon after this, the earl launched his invasion with about 2,000 men, using the already reconnoitred Sandwich as his foothold. From there, he marched to Canterbury and on to London. By the time he reached the capital in early July, he had amassed between 20,000 and 30,000 men. With Margaret attempting to establish a royal power-base further north, the city willingly opened the gates and not only welcomed the Yorkists but advanced them a loan of £1,000. Warwick headed to St Paul’s to give thanks. Coppini had travelled to England in support of the ‘lords of Calais’ and witnessed the next three battles of the wars, leaving his own record in letters. It would cost him his job: two years later, he would be dismissed in disgrace for taking sides.

  Two battles, fought over the next six months, were to prove decisive in the struggle between the cousins and turn the wheel of fortune decisively against Anne’s family again. The first came in July 1460, when Warwick’s army met that of the king at Northampton, resulting in a significant victory for the Yorkists. Much had changed since the royal standard had waved proudly at Ludford Bridge; the plunder following the battle had shifted the mood of the people against the king and many were now willing to take up arms against him as he sheltered from the rain in his tent. Later, the behaviour of the Lancastrians and their armies at Ludlow would be described in Parliament as tyrannical and remorseless. They were accused of ‘destroying and despoiling the realm on their way, not sparing God’s church or refraining from its violation, and that of his ministers; ravishing and seducing nuns, maidens, widows and men’s wives; shedding innocent blood like tyrants’, which was enough to strike fear into the heart of the realm and allow Yorkist support to spread out of the capital and further north.13 In contrast, Warwick had learned from the mistakes made at St Albans in 1455 and gave orders that his men should not show violence towards ordinary soldiers once the day was won.

  Mirroring the dismal national mood, the armies faced each other amid terrible weather. The heavy downpour turned the field into a marsh and rendered the carefully prepared Lancastrian cannon useless. Now Warwick, Salisbury and Edward, Earl of March, easily had the upper hand. Part of the king’s forces defected, allowing Warwick to march into the enemy camp and take Henry into his custody; after only about half an hour, all was over. Around 300 Lancastrians lay dead in the field and the queen fled west to the Welsh stronghold of Harlech Castle with Prince Edward. Warwick returned to London, making public displays of loyalty to the king, in whose name a new Parliament was summoned that October. Henry VI was present when Warwick’s brother, George Neville, Bishop of Exeter, preached a humiliating sermon on the failings of his reign. However, none of the assembled lords had any idea just how dramatic the occasion would become.

  More than one influential player was absent. Margaret and Prince Edward remained in Wales, attempting to raise troops to liberate Henry, but also, Richard, Duke of York, had been in exile in Ireland during the battle. Now he was on his way back to Westminster and was planning an extraordinary entrance. His arrival in the city must have been impressive, heralded by trumpeters, followed by an army dressed in his livery of blue and white, with his great sword carried before his horse, in the custom of kings. Over his head flew the royal standard, a reminder of his superior descent from Edward III. Abbot Whethamstede recorded the well-known story of the duke marching into the palace with more trumpeters and armed men, crossing the great hall and entering the chamber ‘where the king usually holds his Parliament with the commons’, where he put his hand on the king’s throne, ‘like a man taking possession’.14 However, the necessary audience was missing. An anonymous correspondent, describing the scene to John Tiptoft in a letter, confirms that when York arrived at 10 a.m., the lords were in the Parliament chamber ‘except the kyng’ and the commons were in session in their ‘place acustumed’, which at this period was the monks’ refectory. In a highly symbolic gesture, York went to stand under the cloth of estate to assert his hereditary claim to the throne over that of Henry VI, announcing that ‘he purposed nat to ley daune his swerde but to challenge his right’.15 Word quickly spread along the corridors of Westminster and people hurried to witness his declaration. However, York had misjudged the mood. Shuffling in embarrassment, they did not react as the duke had hoped, prompting his son Edward to act as messenger between those assembled that day. First, Warwick warned him that the people would turn against him if he tried to strip Henry of his crown and then, even Henry himself reminded them they had all sworn loyalty to him. Technically, although York’s right was strong, the declaration was made in a time of peace, when Henry VI was under Yorkist control and very much alive.

  Parliament hastily withdrew to Blackfriars to discuss how to deal with this insistent and overmighty subject. The more the lords explained to York the awkwardness of the situation, the more the duke insisted on his right and began to make plans for his Coronation, which Waurin claims he had planned as early as 13 October, although others cite 1 November. Ever keen to interpret the symbolic or superstitious, one record related how the Commons’ discussions were interrupted when the crown, which hung in the middle of the house, suddenly fell down, ‘which was take for a prodige or token that the reign of King Henry was ended’.16 According to Vergil, the falling crown incident had happened earlier, when it rolled off Henry’s head as he took his seat in Parliament: either way, it was taken as a ‘signe prodigious’. Finally, a compromise was reached in the Act of Accord. Henry was to continue to reign, with York resuming his role as Lord Protector and being named his formal heir. It gave the duke a degree of protection: ‘If any person or persons scheme or plot the death of the said duke, and are provenly convicted of overt action taken against him by their peers, that it be deemed and adjudged high treason.’ At a stroke, Henry VI’s own son, Edward of Westminster, was removed from the line of succession: ‘The heirs of the body of the same King Henry IV, did or do possess a hereditary right to the said crowns and realms, or to the heritage or inheritance of the same, shall be annulled, repealed, revoked, negated, cancelled, void and of no force or effect.’17 Perhaps Henry had little choice but to agree; perhaps he had listened to the rumours about the boy’s paternity: in any case, the Act was passed. It was to be expected, though, that the boy’s mother would not accept this: if nothing else, Margaret was tireless in her fight to protect her son’s rights and immediately sent a letter to London written in her son’s name, asserting his right to the throne. It was clear to the queen that there would no longer be a peaceful solution; her enemy, York, had to be permanently removed.

  Prince Edward’s disinheritance swung a little public sympathy back in his family’s favour but Margaret needed to act decisively. In Wales and Yorkshire she was able to recruit large numbers of troops under Henry VI’s half-uncle, Jasper Tudor, while she sailed north to attempt to draw the Scots into her cause. York and Salisbury knew they had to strike back before they were outnumbered, so leaving Warwick in charge of Henry VI in London, they marched north to meet her challenge.

  It has been suggested that the children’s nursery rhyme ‘The Grand Old Duke of York’, marching his 10,000 men up and down the hill, might date from the encounter that followed, or even the colourful mnemonic ‘Richard of York gave battle in vain’. The rout that led to the Battle of Wakefield certainly entered the history of the conflict as memorable and decisive. York, along with his second son, Edmund, and Salisbury, kept the Christmas of 1460 at Sandal Castle. An impregnable stronghold close to the city of Wakefield, it was an old Norman motte-and-bailey settlement, built on a natural ridge. The keep was circul
ar, with towers rising four stories high, surrounded by a 6-foot wall and deep moat. Here, York and his family and their troops, numbering between 3,000 and 8,000 men, were surrounded by a Lancastrian army from Pontefract. The anticipated support from Warwick or Edward, Earl of March, who was then in Wales, had not yet arrived but York decided not to wait. If his men had remained within the castle walls, they would have been safe, but for some reason, they ventured outside to confront their enemies: Hall and Waurin suggest half the enemy force was concealed in the woods, or that they displayed false colours or lured the inhabitants out under promise of a ceasefire. At a loss to explain the lapse in York’s usual military abilities, historians have suggested that Salisbury’s nephew, John Neville, may have betrayed them or else they were caught out when foraging for food after a long siege. Hall described York’s position as ‘like a fish in a net or a deer in a buckstall’, although when cornered, he fought ‘manfully’. Perhaps it was trickery, perhaps bravery. The result was the same. York was killed in battle, as was his brother Thomas; his sixteen-year-old son Edmund, Earl of Rutland, was cut down as he fled and Anne’s grandfather, Salisbury, was taken prisoner to Pontefract Castle where he was beheaded. The heads were displayed on the Micklebar Gate, the traditional entry point for monarchs into York, as a ‘terror to the rest of thadversaryes’,18 with the duke’s dressed in a paper crown.