by Amy Licence
Early that December, ‘the right high and myghty Prynce Richard Plantagenet Duke of York’ swore that
I, Richard, Duc of York, promise and swear by the faith and truth that I owe to almighty God, that I shall never doo, consent, procure or stir … anything that may be to the abriggement of the natural lyfe of Kyng Henry the Sixth or to the hurt of his reign or dignity royal.33
His two eldest sons, Edward and Edmund, now next in line to the throne after their father, swore a similar oath. For Cecily, this act was the final vindication she and her husband had longed for and seemed to guarantee that the inheritance would pass intact to her children. It was a dramatic improvement on the situation she had found herself in exactly twelve months before – alone, disinherited and stripped of all her titles and lands. All that stood between her and the throne was the life of the fragile Henry, now aged thirty-nine, patently unstable and within her husband’s control. There must have been celebrations at Baynard’s Castle that month.
Parliament passed the necessary legislation that
it is appointed that the said Richard Duke of York … be entitled, called and reputed from henceforth very and rightful heir to the Corones, Royal Estate, Dignity and Lordship aforesaid and after the decease of the said King Henry … the said Duke and his heirs, shall immediately succeed to the said Corones, Royal Estate, Dignity and Lordship.34
Yet, just at the pinnacle of her success, Cecily must have known that there were some who would never accept her husband and sons as kings. In November 1460, the Lancastrian Earl of Northumberland, Lords Clifford, Dacre and Neville met in the city of York and ‘destroyed’ the tenants of York and Salisbury.35 The queen summoned all those loyal to the crown to join her in Hull, whereupon 15,000 Northerners rallied to her side, making a huge, ominous force that could only portend a coming battle. In December she travelled to Scotland to ask for assistance, knowing that she would receive a welcome from the new king, James III, who had already denounced York for supposedly sending him letters inciting rebellion against Henry.36
The early days of December were spent planning the Yorkist attack, with York, Edward, Edmund, Warwick, Salisbury and their allies meeting at Baynard’s Castle. Cecily may have been involved as an active participant in the discussions, or at least may have overheard the men’s business as her husband, sons and brother sat up late into the night debating what the queen’s next move might be and how they could best meet the challenge she posed. In the end, it was decided that Warwick would remain in London to guard the king and Edward would head into Wales to drum up more support and prevent the queen’s armies joining with those of Jasper Tudor. The plan was to meet at Wakefield, once a sufficient army had been raised, and face the queen’s forces together. Then the time came to say goodbye. Cecily watched as her husband and son Edmund climbed into the saddle and rode out of the gates of Baynard’s Castle. She would never see them again.
On 9 December, York left London with Edmund, Salisbury and a few hundred men. They headed north, gathering troops as they went, although a minor skirmish with Somerset’s men at Worksop depleted their forces. According to Whethamsted, ‘they gathered a great force of people as they went, by authority of a royal commission, as a protection for their own persons, to put down and repress the multitude of their adversaries’, but assistance from Edward’s Welsh army was still required. On 21 December, York reached Sandal Castle, set high on a ridge overlooking the River Calder, 2 miles from the town of Wakefield. Recent studies and excavations have established that it was surrounded by cultivated fields and a paled deer park, with good views for miles around.37 The Lancastrian army was not too far off, based in and around Pontefract, 10 miles to the east.
At Baynard’s Castle, Cecily spent Christmas with her younger children, Margaret, George and Richard. Her sister-in-law, Alice, Countess of Salisbury, may have kept her company, having recently returned from exile with the rest of her son Warwick’s family – his wife and two small daughters, Isabel and Anne, who were Cecily’s great-nieces. Perhaps Cecily was also joined by her eldest daughter, Anne, seeking respite from her difficult marriage to the Duke of Exeter along with Cecily’s five-year-old granddaughter? They may have waited together at Coldharbour House, but it is more likely to have been Baynard’s Castle, which was considered impregnable. The family party may even have included the newly married Elizabeth and her husband John, Duke of Suffolk, who were gathered in the capital to celebrate York’s recent success. For Cecily, there would have been some entertainment – feasting, singing, disguisings, tumblers, players and the reading of romances – but there would have been much prayer and religious devotion. The day of 28 December was traditionally held as Holy Innocents’ Day and spent in fasting and penance.
They passed Christmas safely inside Sandal Castle too, in planning and prayer, anticipating the coming battle. Keith Dockray suggests that a brief peace may have been negotiated for the season, which usually extended for the twelve days through to Twelfth Night, on 6 January. This would go some way to explaining why the Yorkist lords took the decision to emerge from the solid walls of Sandal on 30 December and render themselves vulnerable, a theory found in several chronicles of the time and the report of a Milanese visitor to London soon afterwards. After almost ten days inside engaging in the seasonal festivities, they must have been running low on supplies. A letter written on 9 January by Antonio de la Torre to Francesco Sforza, Duke of Milan, includes the foraging story:
Although they were three times stronger [più forti tretanti], yet from lack of discipline, because they allowed a large part of the force to go pillaging and searching for victuals, their adversaries, who are desperate, attacked the duke and his followers. Ultimately they routed them, slaying the duke and his younger son, the Earl of Rutland, Warwick’s father and many others.38
The fact that the battle was fought, unusually, in the afternoon, suggests it was a surprise attack, unplanned and opportunistic. The Short English Chronicle describes it as an ambush, while the English Chronicle and Jean de Waurin believed that York was lured out by Somerset’s men wearing the livery of Warwick’s bear and ragged staff. The usual suspects include Anthony Trollope (who deserted at Ludford Bridge), but this theory originated only in Waurin, who does make other errors, and it is not corroborated elsewhere. The Davies Chronicle places the blame on Cecily’s uncle, George Neville. The timing also suggests that the attack may well have been a planned assassination of York. The Milanese ambassador wrote that ‘the Duke of York seems rather to have been slain out of hatred for having claimed the kingdom than anything else’. Coming so soon after the Act of Accord, which confirmed his position as Henry’s heir to the exclusion of Prince Edward, this disregard of the usual codes of battle, coupled with the many ambush attempts the Yorkists had survived in recent years, presents a convincing case for the deliberate targeting of York.
It might seem a rash act to venture out from the safety of Sandal Castle. Sir Davy Hall, an ancestor of Tudor writer Edward Hall, was present with York in 1460 and advised York to remain put until Edward arrived with reinforcements from Wales, but the Duke ‘would not be counselled’ and went into a ‘great fury,’ saying ‘their great number shall not appal my spirits but encourage them’.39 It appears, from several sources, that York went out to support a foraging party which had come under attack. Whethamsted wrote that the Lancastrians attacked on the day before the Christmas truce was due to expire. York was cut down in the midst of the fighting. Although Whethamsted’s Register states explicitly that York was taken alive, his is the only source to state this; most others place his death on the field of battle. Salisbury was captured and beheaded at Pontefract the following day, while his seventeen-year-old son Thomas Neville also died, along with Salisbury’s eighteen-year-old son-in-law William, Lord Harrington, who left behind a newborn daughter named Cecily. That left Edmund, Duke of Rutland, Cecily’s own seventeen-year-old son, described by Gregory’s Chronicle as ‘one of the best-disposed Lords of the land’.
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br /> Initially, York may have believed he had saved his son’s life. Edward Hall suggested that Richard had put Edmund in the care of his tutor, Sir Robert Aspall, who hurried him away from the scene but not before Lord Clifford had spotted them and given chase. Hall does get Edmund’s age incorrect, stating that he was only twelve at the time, but local legend supports the location of his death, so it may well have happened in this way. The Annales relates that Edmund was killed by Lord Clifford on the bridge at Wakefield, perhaps in revenge for the death of his own father at St Albans. This was a long, nine-arched bridge, already a century old, a mile away from the battle site. If this report is true, Edmund may have been attempting to reach the sanctuary of the Chantry Chapel of St Mary the Virgin, located on the south side, when his enemies seized him. According to Hall, Robert Aspall was spared in order to ‘bere the earles mother and brother worde what he had done’.40
The severed heads of York, Edmund, Salisbury, Neville, Harrington and others were displayed on Micklegate Bar in the city of York, York’s reputedly dressed in a paper crown. The bodies were buried in Pontefract. Whether it was brought by Aspall or some other messenger, the terrible news reached London on 2 January,41 so, if Cecily was at Baynard’s Castle, she would have soon been apprised of her husband’s fate. It was the start of a new year, 1461, but the life she had known was over.
11
In the Name of the Father
1461–1464
Now is the Winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York1
It must have been difficult for Cecily to stomach the Lancastrian justification for the death of her husband. Her one-time friend, Margaret of Anjou, announced to the city of London that York had ‘of extreme malice long hid under colours, plotted by many ways and means the destruction of [the King’s] good grace’.2 Even amid her grief, Cecily’s first thought was for the safety of her remaining sons. Edward was still in the Welsh Marches and was now old enough to defend himself but George and Richard could prove potential targets for Lancastrian attack. With the assistance of Warwick, who was Admiral of England and, until lately, Captain of Calais, she sent them away into the care of Philip, Duke of Burgundy, at Utrecht. Presumably she entrusted them to some loyal servants but it was a considerable act of trust, sending her two boys, aged eleven and eight, across the perilous North Sea in winter. It speaks volumes about the level of danger she believed her family to be in and her ability to act quickly and decisively. She must have spent much of January and February in prayer for their safety, as well as that of Edward, and for the soul of her husband.
Cecily was then alone except for her daughter Margaret. Their location early in 1461 is unclear, although she was back in the capital by the start of April. She may have remained in London, in the familiar safety of Baynard’s Castle, retreated to the family home at Fotheringhay or gone to stay with relatives. Grief must have mingled with the desire for revenge; Cecily and her nephew Warwick might have met, or exchanged letters, to share the burden of their loss. The execution of Cecily’s brother, Salisbury, at Pontefract only added to the horror of the reports that reached them from the battlefield. Grieving for his father’s loss, Warwick marched north to confront the queen’s army. He was optimistic about his chances, writing to Pope Pius II from London on 11 January that ‘with the help of God and the King, who is excellently disposed, all will end well’.3 However, before it could be said that all did, indeed, end well, the earl was to be thoroughly beaten and the Yorkist cause was saved instead by the military prowess of Cecily’s eighteen-year-old son Edward.
Edward had grown into a tall and impressive youth, strong and commanding, standing at almost 6 feet 4 inches. Croyland described him as being ‘of vigorous age, and well fitted to endure the conflict of battle, while, at the same time, he was fully equal to the management of the affairs of the state’.4 He may well have still been at Gloucester, where he spent Christmas, when the news arrived from Wakefield. He acted quickly, allowing himself little time to grieve, and, like Warwick, sprang instead to action, keen to avenge his father’s death. Edward marched his army south, having amassed a significant number of Welsh lords, although others had joined the Lancastrian forces under the leadership of the Tudors. One of these armies, led by the king’s half-brother Jasper, was close to Wigmore Castle, where Edward was then staying. Instead of heading to join Warwick, he decided to engage with Tudor instead and prevent him from swelling the ranks of the main Lancastrian forces. On 2 or 3 February, he won a decisive victory at Mortimer’s Cross, after having witnessed the phenomenon of a parhelion or sundog – three suns in the morning sky. This was taken to be a portentous omen by Edward’s men, until he convinced them that it was a manifestation of divine approval, representing the Holy Trinity. They went on to scatter the Lancastrian army, who were pursued all the way to Hereford. Jasper Tudor escaped but his father, Owen, widower of Catherine of Valois, was beheaded either in the marketplace or on the steps of the cathedral.
Meanwhile, Warwick was left to meet the approaching queen’s army as best he could. Two weeks after Edward’s victory, he encountered Margaret’s forces at St Albans, and a lengthy battle was fought, from dawn to dusk. As darkness fell, Warwick realised he was outnumbered and withdrew his men. He lost custody of Henry VI, who was reunited with Margaret; she now had a clear march ahead to London, to retake the capital and reinstate the royal family. However, incredibly, she turned her army north again to Dunstable. This may have been because London was terrified of her approach, having heard stories of the Lancastrian troops looting and rioting through towns like Grantham and Stanford5 without restraint, and was preparing to close its gates against her. The terrified city formed a very unusual delegation to approach its queen. Cecily’s sister and former gaoler, Anne, Duchess of Buckingham, along with the newly widowed Lady Scales and Jacquetta, Duchess of Bedford, travelled with a group of clergymen to plead with the queen for mercy. Under other circumstances, Cecily might have been among them. She was in London, at Baynard’s Castle, throughout this dangerous time, grateful for the building’s solid walls and 40-foot great hall, capable of accommodating 400 men easily. Perhaps Cecily was asked to lend her support, but the role the queen had played in the path to York’s death, coupled with her hopes for Edward, would have made it unthinkable. The women met with some success, returning to the city on 20 February. However, London was still wary. When a party sent to supply the queen’s army returned home, the gates were barred to them. According to the Croyland Chronicle, they were thrown open in rapturous welcome and ‘unbounded joy’ a week later, as Edward and Warwick approached. The poem ‘The Rose of Rouen’ gave Edward credit for saving England from the queen and the lords of the North. For the first time since their bereavement, Cecily was reunited with her eldest son.
Edward now took on his father’s title and rights, declaring himself ‘by the grace of God of England, France and Ireland, vrai [true] and just heir’.6 The Great Chronicle of London relates how he mustered his troops in St John’s Fields, where he outlined the various failings of Henry VI and asked the people whether the Lancastrian was fit to rule them, ‘whereunto the people cried hugely and said “nay nay”’. The Milanese ambassador estimated that 5,000 people were in attendance when Edward and Warwick celebrated that day by ‘going in procession through the place amid great festivities’. Edward was fortunate to have the city on his side; even York’s misjudged attempt at the throne in December 1460 had not wiped away his good rule during his two protectorates and this, coupled with the looting of the queen’s army and the actions of Lord Scales, ensured that London welcomed their new king ‘joyously’.7 On 3 March, Cecily witnessed a delegation of the Great Council arrive at Baynard’s Castle, to formally invite Edward to take the throne, in line with the Act of Accord made for his father the previous December. The following day, Cecily attended a service in St Paul’s with Edward and possibly her younger children. Shortly afterwards, Edward went to Westminster and, after swearing an
oath in the Great Hall, was declared king. Then he took his seat on the marble bench and the sceptre was placed in his hand. It must have been a bittersweet moment for his mother, witnessing the fulfilment of her long-cherished ambitions, albeit through her son rather than her husband. But it was not yet over. The Lancastrian threat had to be destroyed.
That March, amid the driving snow, the bloodiest of all the battles of the fifteenth century was fought. It was Palm Sunday, usually devoted to fasting and religious observance. Cecily was probably still in London, as a letter by the Bishop of Elphin claims he was ‘in the house of the Duchess of York’. As she made her devotions, with the snow falling thickly and quietly across the city, she must have offered prayers for her eldest son. Despite Edward’s military successes at Northampton and Mortimer’s Cross, victory was by no means guaranteed. His mother knew his strength and capabilities but, mindful of the loss of her second son, she also knew he was a mere mortal, capable of defeat and death, and still comparatively young and inexperienced beside his many enemies.
Early that morning, Edward had drawn up his battle lines in opposition to the forces of Henry Beaufort, the young Duke of Somerset. With the memories of his rapturous reception in London still fresh in his mind, he knew this was the battle that would prove the most decisive of all if he was to keep a hold on the throne and his life. Yet the conditions were favourable. His army had the wind behind them and their bodkin arrowheads were capable of piercing chain metal. The weather remained atrocious throughout, with terrible blizzard conditions driving snow and ice into the faces of the Lancastrian troops, whose arrows were beaten back by the wind. Through the morning the struggle continued, with bodies piling up on the frozen fields. The Great Chronicle of London described it as ‘a sore and long and unkindly fight, for there was the son against the father, brother against brother, the nephew against nephew’. Croyland related how the blood ‘of the slain mingled with the snow which at this time covered the whole surface of the earth’.