by Licence, Amy
However, the rebels missed the king, clashing instead with the royal reinforcements which were coming up from the South. In a brief skirmish, Warwick’s cousin, Henry Neville, was killed and the armies regrouped to meet again to force a decisive victory the following day. Having taken the initial advantage, Pembroke and Devon then disagreed and separated, fatally dividing their troops and leaving Pembroke without the essential archers that often played such a significant part in defending foot soldiers during battle. The following day, 26 July 1469, the rebels won a decisive victory at the shambolic Battle of Edgecote, before the king could arrive at the scene. Pembroke’s decision to take the initiative and advance without cover proved disastrous and, although he put up a brave defence, Devon’s forces did not arrive until after midday. Seeing a part of Warwick’s troops arrive, the royal army panicked and many fled the scene. Around 4,000 Yorkists were killed and Warwick was now in an unprecedented position of power. Shortly afterwards, Edward himself was taken prisoner, along with his queen’s unpopular father and brother, Richard Wydeville, and his son, John.
Finally Warwick had his enemies in his hands. Now, however, he had to decide what to do with them. He had no compunction in sentencing the Wydevilles to death, executing them in Coventry and placing their heads on spikes on the city walls. Edward, however, was another matter and he temporarily imprisoned his former friend in Warwick Castle while deciding what to do. Commines asserted that Warwick thought Edward ‘a little simple’ and had behaved ‘like a father’ towards him, surrounding him now with new servants ‘to make him forget’ the old ones. Rumours flew around Europe predicting Edward’s fate, many of which were wildly exaggerated. Sforza di Bettini of Florence, the Milanese Ambassador in France, wrote to the Duke of Milan that, following a huge battle, Edward himself was dead and ‘everything remains in the hands of the said Earl of Warwick, the conqueror’. He had apparently been told this news ‘very joyfully’ by King Louis XI himself, which he thought would give the duke ‘exceptional pleasure’, as the English ‘tart would be divided’ between the ‘masters of the country’, Warwick and Clarence.2 Louis and Bettini were wrong about the king’s fate but right about the position of power Warwick had assumed. The current state of affairs was neatly summarised in a comment made by Governor of Abbeville to Louis that the English ‘have two rulers, M de Warwick and another, whose name I have forgotten’.
The outcome of Edgecote proved significant for another of the children born in the 1450s. The Earl of Pembroke, William Herbert, known as ‘Black William’, had been a long-term ally of Warwick and Richard, Duke of York, but now found himself on the opposing side. He had been the guardian of the young Henry Tudor for the past eight years, raising him in his Marches home at Raglan Castle and intending to marry him to his daughter Maude. Herbert’s wife, Anne Devereux, had been particularly kind to the young boy, to the extent that Henry would send for her to come to London when he took the throne in 1485. After Henry’s mother, Margaret Beaufort, married Henry Stafford in 1462, Anne was the closest thing he had had to a constant maternal presence. Pembroke was executed after Edgecote and the family unit was broken up. Anne then took the twelve-year-old Henry, and her own children, to her family home, the Devereux manor in Bodenham, Herefordshire. Thus, the young Henry Tudor spent the summer of 1469 in the countryside of the Welsh borders, watching to see how the national picture unfolded. Henry was certainly old enough to understand his situation but perhaps still young enough to make the most of his bucolic surroundings. The manor was recorded in the Domesday Book of 1086 as being in possession of a large number of ploughs and, perhaps, on its bend of the River Lugg, a particularly large and fertile location. The river was navigable and particularly good for fishing, joining the Wye at Hereford. Perhaps he attended the Assumption Day fair, held at the manor every 15 August after a grant was issued to the Devereux family by Richard II in 1378. Yet it was a tense time. Henry could only wait and see what would follow: as the half-nephew of his namesake, Henry VI, his future was dependent on the next move of the Kingmaker.
The battle also proved significant for Anne Neville. Her father’s success may have prompted Warwick to summon his countess and daughters to return to England. Only two weeks had elapsed since Isabel’s wedding but the political scenery in England looked set to favour a change in the regime, either with the restoration of Henry VI or the accession of Clarence: as his new wife, Isabel had taken a step closer to the throne. Assuming the match had been consummated in France, she already conceived the child she would deliver the following April; if not, she and Clarence must have been reunited pretty promptly, perhaps as her father and husband debated their futures and that of their royal prisoner. Edward was in their power. For a moment, they could shape the future of English history. Yet Warwick failed to push his advantage. Rarely one to hesitate, a number of issues now stayed his hand. He may have reconsidered his former friendship with Edward, or the consequences of treason, or Clarence’s mutability under the influences of his mother and younger brother, Richard. He may have been reluctant take the decisive step of ordering the imprisoned king’s death. Something caused the earl to pause and release his prisoner, or at least to turn a blind eye when he escaped on a hunting trip that October. The momentum was lost and Warwick had failed to capitalise on his position. Clarence was forgiven by his brother after a show of contrition orchestrated by the Yorkist women. Now the earl was left embarrassed, out in the cold, as Edward headed back into his capital for a temporary family reconciliation.
Apparently ‘pardoned’, Warwick retreated from court to one of his northern properties, either Middleham or Warwick Castle itself, with the countess and Anne. The pregnant eighteen-year-old Isabel and Clarence set up home together, with ordinances dating from December that year, outlining provisions for their household at the monastery in Waltham, Essex. It is unclear whether they inhabited part of a religious house or another property within the complex, which stood on the edge of Epping Forest. They are likely to have divided their time between several rural properties and their town house in central London. This may have been the old Warwick property, the Erber, just to the north-east of St Paul’s and below Newgate, which went with the title Clarence had inherited, or else Coldharbour House, which they were known to use later. Isabel and Clarence may have been present when Edward celebrated Christmas with his family at Westminster but Warwick stayed away.
The reconciliation came slowly. In January, Edward’s eldest daughter, the three-year-old Princess Elizabeth of York, was engaged to George Neville, the young son of the Earl of Northumberland, Warwick’s brother, as a reward for his continuing support for the Yorkists. Temporary peace settled over the country while each side waited to see what the other would do next; Warwick was fuming at his son-in-law’s desertion and the failure of their plans, while Edward watched his brother cautiously, wanting to believe in his declarations of loyalty. As the daughter of a traitor, even a forgiven one, Anne’s position was again uncertain, but soon a powerful new match would bring her closer to the throne than her sister had come. Warwick may have failed to capitalise on his alliance with the Lancastrian rebels but, in the year to come, he set his sights higher, on another royal family.
With Henry VI in captivity since July 1465, Queen Margaret and her son were still in exile in France. She had originally fled to the court of her father René, living ‘in great poverty’ as her loyal Chief Justice, Sir John Fortescue, described, ‘but yet the queen sustaineth us in meat and drink, so as we beeth not in extreme necessity’. Through the 1450s, Margaret had seen the Duke of York and Warwick as her bitter enemies. They, in turn, had fought against her warlike influence on the docile Henry VI and the undue power wielded by her favourites, Suffolk and Somerset. Gradually, though, the earl was coming to the realisation that Clarence was too unreliable a figure to prove a trustworthy replacement for Edward and that a union with his former enemies and the restoration of the Lancastrian line may represent his best chance. After all, Margaret had
a son and the earl still had another daughter. Her poverty and their combined need might make them necessary bedfellows. Through the disturbances of 1470, it is likely that he considered France and Margaret as his safety-net in the eventuality of defeat, which was to prove fortuitous for him and decisive for his daughter Anne. Convincing Margaret of the value of this alliance would not be easy, though.
In the New Year, Warwick used his previous method of inciting rebellion in the North in order to draw the king out of London. Once again, Edward reacted promptly to the threat and Warwick was able to reconnect with his son-in-law. Although Clarence had been forgiven, the political landscape had changed little in the last twelve months and the unpopular Wydevilles were as dominant as ever. Chafing under his dislike of them, Clarence listened to the earl’s persuasion and defected to his side. Hearing rumours of their intentions, Edward summoned them both to refute the allegations but neither attended. Finally convinced of their duplicity, Edward moved swiftly against them, summoning troops to deal with the combined threat once and for all. The sides clashed at the Battle of Empingham, on 12 March 1470, in an encounter which also came to be known as Losecoat Field. As the rebel armies fled, they shed their coats of Warwick and Clarence’s liveries, leaving no doubt about who lay behind the uprising. This time the victorious Edward denied their request for a pardon and their open treachery left little option but flight.
The obvious haven was Calais. As they had on his appointment as Constable, Anne and the countess would accompany the earl. Warwick probably went via Middleham to collect them on his way south, while Isabel was with Clarence in Exeter. Heavily pregnant, she must have already been making plans for her imminent lying-in, even though the future looked uncertain. Now a frantic dash followed to pack and escape, with Edward’s troops in hot pursuit. Warwick attempted to reach his newest ship, the Trinity, which was expected to arrive shortly at Southampton and could carry them across the Channel. The ship never managed to dock, though, being repelled by Earl Rivers. An alternative ship and port were needed. The family then travelled down to Dartmouth, from whence they embarked on 7 April in a ship offered to them by a supporter. As they pulled away from land and watched the coast recede, Warwick and his family must have breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps Isabel, approaching her due date, went below deck to rest from the journey. Anne may have gone with her for company or else stood on deck, watching England disappear and wondering when, or if, she would ever return. The women would have anticipated Isabel giving birth to her child in her old childhood home at Calais, which they sighted on 16 April. However, Edward’s orders had travelled faster than the earl. Having crossed the Channel safely, in sight of the harbour and castle, Warwick’s ship was unexpectedly denied entry to Calais by his deputy, Lord Wenlock, acting under express royal orders which had arrived only shortly before the rebels.
It was at this point that Isabel went into labour. Nine months after her marriage, she may well have reached the natural point of delivery, or else her labour was brought on prematurely through stress and the rigours of the journey. As the ship plunged and rolled, her screams reached the sailors awaiting their orders. Childbirth during the late fifteenth century could be perilous at the best of times on dry land, with the benefit of herbal remedies and the wisdom of local midwives. The countess was experienced in the delivery room, according to John Rous, but there was little else to offer the expectant mother in terms of relief or support. Warwick pleaded for permission to land and, although sympathetic enough to send the party two flagons of wine and suggest they land further round the coast, Wenlock dared not openly disobey the king. Not even the family’s own domestic servants, still resident at the castle, could help them. Sources disagree about the gender of the child Isabel bore on board ship but there is no doubt about its fate: the mother survived but the baby was lost. It was either taken ashore at Calais or buried at sea. For the family this was a personal tragedy borne out of political conflict. Isabel may well have delivered a stillborn or weak child had she followed the usual protocol for delivery in the comfort of her own home, yet the circumstances of the death of her first child must have been a particularly bitter blow for herself, her mother and Anne. No doubt they recognised the necessity for their exile but it must have flown in the face of long-established oral traditions of female wisdom regarding childbirth, which provided a month of retirement and inactivity for the expectant mother. Nothing suggests that they resented Warwick or Clarence; as products of their class and time, a belief in the divine order and the existence of fate would have encouraged a pragmatic response. The exhausted and bereaved party finally landed safely in Normandy on 1 May.
Edward IV reacted swiftly. The Milan archives contain information from an ‘English Knight, on his way to Jerusalem’ that the king had ‘publicly outlawed’ Warwick and Clarence. According to this traveller, Edward sent his retainers to seize the property and lands of the traitors but ‘the people rose and would not receive them’; an interesting indicator of the loyalty felt towards the Neville family, if it is true. It was also rumoured that one of Henry’s half-brothers, which at this date would have been Jasper Tudor, was preparing lodgings in Champagne for the use of Edward, Prince of Wales.3 Tudor was also uncle to Margaret Beaufort’s son, Henry, now aged thirteen, who was now the strongest Lancastrian claimant left in England. His mother had attempted to regain custody of him, through letters and visits, but Edward had blocked her application. After Warwick’s execution of his guardian, Henry Tudor had little cause to love either side in the conflict now and he probably remained in Herefordshire for the time being.
Now in exile, Warwick sought assistance from his old ally. Louis XI of France was known as the ‘universal spider’ for his many dealings, including any way of undermining any regime which favoured his enemies in Burgundy. Commines relates how he had ordered the Bastard of Bourbon, Admiral of France, to protect the fugitive’s fleet against attacks from the Low Countries, whose navy was much feared. He received Warwick and Clarence in ‘honourable and distinguished manner’ at Dengen, near Torsi, riding three or four leagues to meet them. He was accompanied by all his principal lords, who approached the fugitives honourably on foot and embraced them ‘in the most friendly way’, according to Bettini. Louis then took them to be greeted by his queen, Charlotte of Savoy, before proceeding to his chambers in the castle, where they remained for two hours ‘most privately and great familiarity’, engaged in ‘long discussions’. Louis entertained his guests with feasts, ‘tournaments and dancing and everything else that distinguishes’. A few weeks later, Bettini wrote that Louis was still ‘closeted and in secret councils … about these affairs of Warwick’. According to the ambassador, Louis was trying ‘by every means in his power, to get him to return to England’, even offering ships and troops for the fight against Edward. A new Lancastrian leader was now suggested, young though he was. One rumour claimed the earl would cross the Channel with the sixteen-year-old ‘Prince of Wales, son of King Henry, and will take the part of that king to see if, in that way, he will enjoy better success than he did in the other’.4 It was Louis who officially proposed an alliance between the old enemies. While Warwick awaited Margaret at Vandoma, Clarence and the ladies went to Normandy: Anne was mentioned specifically among them as the ‘other daughter, the future princess’.5 By 8 July, they were at Valognes, near Barfleur, a fortified stronghold dating back to Roman times, which had been occupied during the second half of the Hundred Years’ War by the English.
As defeated traitors, Warwick and his family were now reduced to the same penurial exile as the ex-queen Margaret and her son Edward of Westminster. Reputedly a bloodthirsty young man who spoke constantly of beheadings,6 the Prince of Wales had been at his mother’s side for the duration of the civil war. Now he was being named as a suitable husband for Anne. If the idea had originated with Warwick, he needed Louis to be his ambassador with his former enemy, so the French king now formally made the suggestion. It is unlikely Anne knew about the propos
al at this stage, being removed from the scene at Barfleur, but her compliance was assumed. This does not mean she was forced into a match against her will, or that she was the manipulated pawn of legend. As a scion of the greatest noble family, she had been raised for this and her destiny went hand in hand with her father’s.
Languishing at the bottom of the wheel of fortune, neither side had much to lose now, except their pride. To join forces might represent a significant threat to the English throne, no matter how great a U-turn this represented in their previous allegiances. The ex-queen did not embrace the connection easily at first but Warwick was a clever diplomat who recognised that his future depended upon whatever he could make of the current situation. It has been suggested that such a match had previously been mooted, as early as 1468, through Margaret’s exiled chancellor, Sir John Fortescue. If this is true, it predates the earl’s breach with Edward IV and was unlikely to have come to fruition. It also implies Margaret’s approval, possibly her instigation. By 1470, though, matters had changed. Louis arranged the reconciliation and offered to fund an invasion, inviting both parties to visit him separately, where Warwick made the proposal to Margaret, in exchange for her pardon. According to The Maner and Guyding of the Earl of Warwick, the ex-queen was furious and ‘right difficult’ at the prospect of an alliance with her bitter enemies, until Louis persuaded her it was the best chance she had of restoring her husband’s throne and securing a future for her son. Margaret also claimed she was anticipating a match between the prince and Edward IV’s four-year-old daughter, Elizabeth of York. It was to be expected that she would not capitulate at once and, after famously keeping Warwick on bended knee for a full quarter of an hour, she allowed him to present a mutually beneficial arrangement, once he had retracted all his previous ‘slanders’. As Vergil wrote, the discussions were lengthy: ‘Many moe condytions wer entreatyd upon emongst them, which both the reason and weyght of the cause requyryd.’ So much history had passed between the two, and each held the other personally responsible for various losses they had suffered, that they would never be easy bedfellows. Their children, though, could be.