The Red Rose of Anjou

by Jean Plaidy

  ‘I think you could have been said to have done that, Margaret,’ replied the King.

  ‘They are good boys. If Edmund had lived they would have been married by now.’

  ‘I daresay they will in due course.’

  ‘They should have the best possible matches and I think I have found the answer. The King of Scotland has two daughters. I thought it would be a good idea if they were married to Henry and his brother Edmund.’

  ‘King’s daughters!’

  ‘Well, why not? The Beauforts are royal are they not? The family has been legitimized and they are in a direct line from John of Gaunt.’

  ‘Yes, but what will James say...?’

  ‘James of Scotland could, I am sure, be persuaded. We owe it to Edmund, Henry, to look after his sons.’

  ‘My dear Margaret, if this were acceptable to the King of Scotland I would raise no objection.’

  ‘I should think not,’ cried Margaret. ‘Such marriages could bring us nothing but good.’

  ‘I do not think the King of Scotland would agree.’

  ‘He certainly cannot if he does not know what is proposed.’

  ‘My dear, if it is your wish...’

  ‘It is and it should be yours. Have you thought what these marriages could mean to us? There is always trouble on the Border’ With Henry Beaufort up there and his brother with him, we should have friends, not enemies, in the Scots.’

  ‘If it would mean peace, my dear lady, I would give every encouragement to it.’

  Margaret was pleased. The King’s approval was not necessary to her but she always felt that she liked to have it.

  She set negotiations in motion. It was a disappointment that there was a lukewarm response from the King of Scots which might well mean ‘Don’t meddle in these matters and keep your matchmaking schemes within the bounds of your own country.’ If she was proposing a match with the Prince of Wales that would be another matter.

  Margaret was obliged temporarily to shelve the matter. There was something of great importance with which to occupy herself, and this she determined to carry on without consultation with Henry.

  She had always kept in touch with her uncle the King of France and her father the titular King of Sicily and Naples. If René was rather frivolous, the King of France was far from that. Margaret was eager to make the throne safe for Henry and she felt it could never be that while York lived. She would not be happy until she saw York’s head displayed on some prominent edifice for all to witness his defeat and humiliation. Vengeance was like a burning fire within her which could only be doused by horrible death. It did not occur to her that for the Queen of England to indulge in correspondence with an enemy of England was more than incongruous. It could be construed as treachery and in view of her unpopularity, which was already overpowering, Margaret was playing a very dangerous game.

  There was one whom Margaret hated almost as intensely as she did the Duke of York and that was the Earl of Warwick. It was Warwick’s tactics which had achieved victory at St. Albans for the Yorkists. He was as dangerous as York. The only difference was that he laid no claim to the throne.

  Warwick—with characteristic shrewdness—had taken over the governorship of Calais, which some said was the most important port in Europe, and if it had not been quite that before, Warwick was certainly making it so now. He was turning himself into a kind of pirate king of the Channel, and making it impossible for French ships to pass through with safety.

  Margaret had already written to her uncle explaining that she did not want Warwick back in England. He was too clever, too important to the Yorkist cause and while he was in Calais he was kept out of the way. Would the King harry the port a little, making Warwick’s presence in Calais absolutely necessary to its safety. Threaten it. Make a determined set at it. At all costs keep Warwick out of England.

  Again it did not occur to her that to ask an enemy of her country to attack one of its possessions was treachery of the worst |l kind. Margaret was single-minded. She wanted Henry safe on the throne and that could only be brought about by the death of York and she did not care what means she employed to bring that about.

  Charles VII had changed since those days when as Dauphin he has listlessly allowed his country to slip out of his grasp. He was now reckoned to be the most astute monarch in Europe. He wanted to help his dear niece, he wrote, and he was authorizing Pierre de Brézé, the Seneschal of Normandy, who had always been one of Margaret’s devoted admirers, to prepare a fleet for the purpose of destroying Warwick’s fleet and immobilizing the port of Calais so that—so said the King of France—Warwick would be unable to use it for attacks on Margaret and Henry. He did not add that Calais was the town he most desired to get his hands on.

  Margaret was delighted. Warwick would never be able to stand out against a French fleet.

  It was summer when the fleet was ready. De Brézé sailed along the coast looking for Warwick’s fleet. But a heavy mist fell and visibility was poor and there was no sign of Warwick and his ships. It was a pity, thought de Brézé, for he had sixty ships manned to the strength of four thousand and he contemplated an easy victory.

  Land came into sight. He was puzzled. It could only be England. He lay off the shore for a while and when the mist lifted a little he knew with certainty that he was close to the English coast.

  He landed some of his men in a quiet bay and then sailed along until he came to the town of Sandwich.

  He then set the rest ashore. The people of Sandwich were taken unaware. When they had first seen the ships they had thought they were Warwick’s and were prepared to give them a good welcome, for Warwick was regarded as a hero in Kent.

  The raid was successful—from the French point of view, and de Brézé sailed away with booty and prisoners from whose families he hoped to collect considerable ransoms.

  When it was discovered that the Queen had actually requested the help of the French—for there were spies in the royal household and Margaret, who was impulsive in her actions was also careless and some of the correspondence between her and the King of France had been intercepted—the hatred towards her intensified. She was a traitor. She was fighting for the French against the English. Their own Queen. They had never liked her. Now a wave of hatred spread through the country and nowhere was this stronger than in the county of Kent and the city of London. They blamed her for the raid on Sandwich. They blamed her for loss of trade which upset the Londoners particularly.

  Margaret’s little scheme to immobilize Calais had failed dismally and had moreover harmed her reputation irreparably.

  Henry was most upset and realized that Margaret, in her enthusiasm, had done a great deal of harm. He tried to explain to her and for the first time she understood that he could be firm.

  He was after all the King; there were times when his royalty seemed important to him. ‘I am the King,’ he would gently remind those who sought to override him—even Margaret.

  ‘This warring can bring us no good,’ he declared with a certain strength. ‘I am eager to put an end to it.’

  ‘You never will while York lives,’ said Margaret grimly.

  ‘Margaret, I want no more killing, no more strife. York has a right to his opinions. He never wanted to take my place. He has said so.’

  ‘Said so,’ cried Margaret. ‘You would heed the word of a traitor.’

  ‘He is no traitor! Think of his conduct after St. Albans. He came to me, wounded as I was, and knelt before me. He could easily have killed me then.’

  Margaret covered her face with her hands in exasperation.

  Henry gently withdrew them. She looked into his face and saw a purpose there.

  He will have to have his way, she thought; he is the King and now he is remembering it.

  She listened to what he had to propose. He was going to call all the nobles to London; York, Warwick, Salisbury and with them lords like Northumberland, Egremont and Clifford who held grievances agains
t them for the blood that was shed at St. Albans.

  ‘Do you want fighting in the streets of London?’

  ‘No,’ said Henry sternly. ‘That I shall forbid. These men are going to take each other’s hands in friendship. I shall command them to do so. I am the King.’

  Margaret was astounded. She had never seen Henry look like that before.

  ###

  Henry had realized that the path Margaret was taking would lead to civil war. She had made herself very unpopular and here were no cheers in the streets for her though they came readily enough for the Prince and Henry himself. But there was uneasy silence in the crowd when Margaret appeared. Henry feared that it could well develop into something very unpleasant and even Margaret’s life might be in danger.

  He must put a stop to this conflict. He must bring about some understanding with the Yorkists. He believed in his heart that they did not want war any more than he did. It was only people who thought as Margaret did who were so thirsting for revenge that they would plunge the country into bloodshed to get it.

  He decided in a desperate effort to make peace between them to summon all the leading nobles to Westminster. When they arrived they caused great consternation to the Londoners who wanted no battles fought on their precious territory. If the rival factions wanted to fight, they said, let them go somewhere else to do it.

  The Yorkists were arriving in strength. Salisbury had with him five hundred men and he lodged with them in Fleet Street, and it was not long afterwards when the Duke of York came in to Baynard’s Castle with some four or five hundred.

  Sir Geoffrey Boleyn, the Lord Mayor of London, was disturbed and ordered the city’s guards to watch over the property of the London merchants; he set patrols to march through the streets after dark and there was an air of tension throughout the city.

  Margaret thought the King should never have attempted to call the nobles together; they would never agree; moreover the promises of the Yorkists she was sure could not be relied on. Secretly she did not want peace. She wanted revenge on York and she could not get that very easily unless there was war.

  Then the loyal Lancastrians began to arrive. There were the young lords sporting their red roses led by three, all of whom had lost their fathers in the battle of St. Albans—Clifford, Egremont and Northumberland, every one of them seeking an eye for an eye. Bloodshed in their eyes could only satisfy for bloodshed.

  The tension increased when Warwick, the hero of Calais, arrived in the city with six hundred trained soldiers.

  Henry arranged a meeting which was to be presided over by Bishop Waynflete and Thomas Bourchier, the Archbishop of Canterbury.

  The King had previously had a meeting with York, Salisbury and Warwick and was pleased to find how conciliatory they were. York insisted that civil war was the last thing he wanted. He had felt it necessary that the late Duke of Somerset should be removed from his post and it was for this reason that he had been marching to London when the affray at St. Albans had broken out. It was unfortunate that the King had been wounded and that Somerset had been killed. He was sorry too for those young lords whose fathers had been slain and could understand their grief and anger at their losses.

  ‘Perhaps it would be well if you showed that you truly regretted this affray,’ suggested Henry. ‘How would you feel about building a chapel at St. Albans...on the site of the battle. Masses could be said there for the souls of those men who had died there.’

  The three men considered this and said they would be delighted to build a chapel for such purpose.

  ‘Then I think we are making some progress,’ said Henry delightedly. ‘But a little more may be demanded.’

  ‘What do you suggest, my lord?’ asked York.

  ‘I think if there was financial recompense to those families who have suffered we might get them to agree to keep the peace. Certain sums are due to you—to you, my lord Warwick, for the governorship of Calais and to you, my lord Duke, for your services as Protector. Suppose these sums were diverted to the Duchess of Somerset, to young Clifford and Egremont and others who have suffered losses.’

  York, Warwick and Salisbury said that they would like a little time to consider this.

  ‘Not too long,’ Henry warned them. ‘The people are restive and want a declaration of peace between you all as soon as it can be arranged.’

  York laughed when he was alone with his friends.

  ‘The chapel...yes, we can do that,’ he said. ‘That is a small matter. The money...? Well, when were you last paid, Warwick?’

  ‘I never have received a groat.’

  ‘Nor have I. So let us most magnanimously offer to these families that which would most likely never have come to us. Let us have our wages diverted to them. They can wait for them...just as we did...and I doubt they ever see the colour of the money.’

  Henry was delighted. ‘You see,’ he said to Margaret, ‘how simple it is when you make the right approach. People are at heart good, but they get carried away by their passions. If only they would pause and commune with God.’

  With the Yorkists being so ready to agree to a peace there was nothing the Lancastrians could do but accept.

  ‘There shall be a thanksgiving service at St. Paul’s,’ announced Henry with gratification.

  ‘And do you believe these Yorkists?’ asked Margaret with scorn in her voice.

  ‘I believe they want peace. York is a good man. I know him well. He is a close kinsman, remember. He really wants what is best for this country.’

  ‘Not forgetting the House of York,’ added Margaret.

  ‘We all want to see our families well cared for.’

  ‘But fortunately all do not want to wear the crown.’

  ‘York does not think of that. He is a good man, I swear, Margaret.’

  ‘Oh, Henry, you are so easily deceived. And Warwick. He is the most dangerous of them all. He is the sly one. He has wormed his way into the people’s affections. They cheer him wherever he goes. They think he is wonderful because he performs piracy on the high seas.’

  ‘He attacks only the French who are making things uncomfortable for him in Calais.’

  ‘He should never be at Calais. He should be removed from that post. Henry, you could give it to young Somerset. It would show how sorry we are that his father was killed in our service.’

  ‘Somerset is too young for the task.’

  ‘How old is Warwick?’

  ‘He must be nearly thirty.’

  ‘Not so much older than Somerset.’

  ‘It is not only a question of age, my dear. Warwick has shown himself to be a great leader.’

  ‘He has shown himself to be a pirate. But I know the English love pirates.’

  ‘The English love law and order as do all sensible people. No, it would be wrong to take the governorship of Calais away from Warwick. The people would be angry. They idolize him in the south-east. They say when he rides up from Sandwich to London they run out to cheer him and throw flowers at him.’

  ‘All the more reason why he should be deprived of that post.’

  ‘But he has excelled in it, and you know how the people feel about de Brézé’s raid on Sandwich.’

  It was dangerous ground. She had erred badly over that, they said. They blamed her, although she had never asked that the English mainland should be attacked.

  However, with unaccustomed firmness Henry made it clear that the governorship of Calais should not be taken away from Warwick, and the citizens of London, who shortly before had been apprehensive, were delighted that there was to be a ceremony. The King had decided on the Feast of the Annunciation and it was to be a day of public thanksgiving. Enemies would enter the cathedral as friends—hand in hand—and they would all give thanks to God for this day.

  There was a grand procession through the streets. The Duke of Somerset and the Earl of Salisbury—sworn enemies until this day—headed the procession; and behind them came the Duke
of Exeter with Warwick. Henry followed in all his royal robes which he so hated to wear but he had his hair shirt underneath them and hoped that the discomfort would offset the extravagant splendour in the eyes of the Almighty. Behind the King was Margaret with the Duke of York. They held hands as they walked. She found it very hard to hide her disgust at the procedure. To walk thus with her greatest enemy, holding his hand when it was his head she wanted and that on a pike—was nauseating. She had almost refused to do it but remembering what had happened at Sandwich and the new mood of the King, she felt she could hardly refuse. But she was not York’s friend and never would be.

  York however was pretending to be on terms of great friendship. Could he really want peace? Had he really given up his ambitions to wear the crown?

  She could not believe it.

  The whole thing was a farce.

  It pleased Henry, though. Poor simple soul, he believed these people when they said there should be peace. He used himself as a pattern and seemed to think that everyone had the same motives, and was as direct and honest as himself. Poor foolish Henry! How he needed a woman to look after him. And this new mood was faintly alarming.

  So they went into the cathedral and the service began.

  Afterwards there were bonfires in the streets and the people danced merrily round them. Troubles were all over, they believed. The enemies were now friends. Recompense had been made to those who had suffered.

  It was called Love Day. The day when the wearers of the red and white roses became friends.

  THE KING-MAKER

  Henry was delighted to receive Jasper Tudor, the Earl of Pembroke, who was in good spirits. His brother Edmund, Earl of Richmond – a title, like that of Jasper, owed to the goodwill of the King, for if he had not recognized them they would have no titles and very few possessions – was unable to attend.

  He had not been well of late. If he had he would have hastened to tell the King of his good fortune. His wife, Margaret Beaufort, whom the King had so obligingly arranged for him to marry, was pregnant and there was great joy in the family.