Richard III

by Seward, Desmond

  ‘Clarence, beware; thou keep’st me from the light.’

  Shakespeare, King Henry VI, Part III

  Edward IV had made a triumphal return to London on 21 May 1471. With him rode the two Princes of the Blood – Clarence and Gloucester – three other Dukes, six Earls, sixteen Barons and a whole host of knights and gentlemen, their banners flying, trumpets and kettledrums sounding. Among the procession was the wretched Margaret of Anjou in an open chariot, adding an almost Roman note to what spectators remembered as the parade of a lifetime. Richard rode at the head of the cortège in his capacity as Constable of England. Even if small groups of Lancastrians still held out, their cause was plainly in ruins and seemed incapable of reviving.

  By now the Duke of Gloucester was a preciously mature eighteen-year-old. He had never had time to be young. There were those terrifying experiences as a little boy, when he heard of his father’s and brother’s horrible end and had to fly into exile, then the menacing conflict for his loyalty between Edward on the one hand and Warwick on the other, then the grim and bloody struggle for survival from which he had just emerged. He had seen dissimulation and treachery at close quarters, how ruthless determination could retrieve a seemingly hopeless cause. He had experienced war and killing at their most savage, finding himself to be both fierce and cruel. He was about to show himself no less ferociously acquisitive, greedy for wealth and possessions on a regal scale. But he would not yet reveal himself as equally greedy for power. Richard would never dare to antagonize his all-powerful eldest brother, whom – unlike Clarence – he rightly recognized and feared as a ruler without mercy.

  Gloucester was loaded with rewards. He was made Great Chamberlain of England, Steward of the Duchy of Lancaster beyond Trent – which gave him an official residence at Pontefract – Commissioner of Wales, Cornwall and Chester until the Prince of Wales should come of age, and, a little later, Warden of the Forests north of the Trent. He already included among his many great offices that of Warden of the West Marches against Scotland. King Edward was determined to make him Warwick’s successor in northern England, an area dangerous not only on account of its Nevill and Percy loyalties but also as a hotbed of Lancastrianism. Great offices were of little use unless accompanied by great estates. Accordingly in June Richard received Warwick’s castles of Middleham and Sheriff Hutton in Yorkshire and of Penrith in Cumberland, together with all their lands. At the end of 1471 he was granted the estates of the Earl of Oxford and of various other Lancastrian leaders in Essex – it has been estimated that this second grant of lands amounted to approximately eighty manors which increased his annual income by more than £1,000, an enormous sum for the period.

  Meanwhile, after he had captured the Bastard of Fauconberg in June he returned briefly to London. This was in order to attend an assembly of the Lords of the Realm in the Parliament chamber at Westminster, where he paid homage to Edward’s infant son, swearing allegiance. Almost at once he left London for his northern campaign, but came south again in September.

  There were important matters which made his return imperative. What was at stake was the rest of Warwick’s enormous inheritance. The northern lands which had belonged to the King-maker were easily disposable, but not the greater part in the South and Midlands and in the Welsh Marches, because legally they were still the property of his widow (who had taken sanctuary at Beaulieu Abbey in Hampshire). Clarence expected to inherit all her lands through his marriage of her eldest daughter, Isabel. However, Richard intended to dispute the inheritance by marrying the younger daughter, Anne, the sixteen-year-old widow of Edward of Lancaster.

  Anne had been captured with Margaret of Anjou after Tewkesbury. She had been taken first to Coventry and then to her brother-in-law’s London house – which was her father’s old mansion in Warwick Lane. It seems likely that Richard visited the Duchess of Clarence in June before going north, and declared his intention of making her sister his wife. He was obviously sincere, since Anne was one of the two richest heiresses in England. Clarence had no intention of sharing his mother-in-law’s estates and would not concede that Anne was entitled to half. When Gloucester came back to London, Clarence told him furiously that he could not marry her.

  Richard appealed to the King, who told Clarence to agree to the marriage. The latter then announced that he did not know where his sister-in-law was. In fact, he had hidden her, disguised as a kitchen maid, in one of his retainers’ houses in the City. The Croyland chronicler, who gives the only account of these events, tells us that ‘the craftiness of the Duke of Gloucester so far prevailed that he discovered the young lady’ and had her removed to the sanctuary at the church of St Martin-le-Grand. She had to spend several months there.

  Richard’s more imaginative biographers infer that he looked on Anne as a childhood sweetheart. Sir Clements Markham claims, characteristically, ‘Richard III was the only one of our kings who made a true love match. His cousin Anne, the playmate of his childhood, was his first love.’ There is no evidence about how he regarded her, or even to indicate if their marriage was happy or unhappy. All we can say about Anne, apart from the fact that she was a great heiress, is that she was probably tubercular and that she had had some terrifying experiences. We know also that her ruthlessly determined suitor was virile enough and had already fathered at least two bastards – John of Gloucester and Katherine Plantagenet (though we do not know much about them, let alone the identity of their mother, or mothers).1

  Edward IV was naturally anxious to avoid a bitter quarrel between his formidable brothers. In the winter of 1471–2 he ordered them to discuss their differences before the Royal Council. The Croyland chronicler, who may well have been present, says that even the lawyers there were astonished by the acuteness of Richard’s and George’s arguments and their ability to find precedents; he adds that the three brothers were so gifted that if only they could have remained loyal to each other, they would have been invincible. The Council withheld judgement.

  Clarence would not give way. In mid-February 1472 Sir John Paston writes that

  Yesterday the King, the Queen, My Lords of Clarence and Gloucester went to Sheen to pardon [i.e., to Confession], men say not in all charity; what will fall men cannot say. The King entreateth My Lord of Clarence for My Lord of Gloucester and, as it is said, he answereth that he may well have My Lady his sister-in-law, but they shall part no livelihood, as he saith. So what will fall cannot I say.

  So forceful and subtle a young man as Richard immediately seized the opportunity which George, perhaps in a fit of anger, had given him. He married Anne quickly. The wedding took place at Westminster, either at the end of February or in March 1472. Such was his haste that he did not wait for the Papal dispensation necessary for him to marry a cousin, though he negotiated a shrewd marriage settlement which gave him his wife’s lands should the marriage be annulled on grounds of consanguinity. He took Anne home to Middleham, which had by now become a favourite residence, and continued to bargain. He was clever enough to see that in the end Edward would have to decide the terms. He also knew that he must not show himself to be too greedy, like Clarence.

  There were more quarrels between the two brothers, especially in the late autumn of 1472. But nothing was decided. The unfortunate dowager Countess of Warwick – whose late husband’s titles had now been appropriated by George – petitioned Parliament from her sanctuary at Beaulieu, asking for her lands to be returned to her. She wrote in her own hand, ‘in the absence of clerks’, not only to the King but to the Queen, to the Duchess of York and to many other royal and noble ladies. The poor woman also complained about the Abbot of Beaulieu’s ‘guard or strait keeping of her person, which was and is to her heart’s grievance’. The following year she was lured out of Beaulieu and, escorted by one of Richard’s men – Sir James Tyrell, of whom more will be heard – was taken north to Middleham. Rous says she went hoping to find refuge with her son-in-law, but that he kept her a virtual prisoner for as long as she lived. It is likely that
he thought she really might recover her estates and planned to get his hands on them through her. There were certainly rumours that it was just what would happen – ‘and of this divers folks marvel greatly’.

  Duke George was infuriated. Probably ‘false, fleeting, perjured Clarence’ dabbled in treason yet again. That unconquerable Lancastrian, the Earl of Oxford, who had escaped from Barnet, seized St Michael’s Mount on the Cornish coast in the autumn of 1473 and raised his standard. There were rumours that George was in some way involved. About this time Sir John Paston noticed how members of Edward’s household were sending for their armour as if they expected trouble. He commented that the

  Duke of Clarence maketh himself big in that he can, showing as he would but deal with the Duke of Gloucester. But the King intendeth to be as big as they both and to be a stifler between them. And some think that under this there be some other thing intended, and some treason conspired.

  In the event Edward’s men quickly sealed off the Mount, starving Oxford into surrender and imprisonment by the following January. In itself it was not a particularly alarming episode. What was disturbing, however, was that Oxford was said to have shown Louis XI a list of names of those ready to support him and that it included a Duke’s. No doubt Richard was far from displeased by such insinuations about his brother of Clarence.

  Not content with Oxford’s estates, which he had received in 1471, he had also acquired those of the Earl’s aged mother, the dowager Countess. As he showed in Lady Warwick’s case, he was a young man with a gift for bullying old ladies, if we are to believe the evidence of depositions by witnesses which are contained in a Petition later presented to Parliament by her son. On Edward IV’s orders she had been confined in a nunnery at Stratford-le-Bow, Bromley Priory, where ‘in the Christmas season’ of 1472 Gloucester arrived without warning, announcing that the King had given him custody of her person and lands. Despite her tears she was forced to hand over her keys to Richard’s men, who searched her coffers. He then had her taken to a supporter’s house at Stepney where he threatened that, unless she gave him her estates, he would send her a prisoner to Yorkshire and shut her up in one of his castles.

  The dowager, records the Petition, ‘considering her great age, the great journey and the great cold which was then, of frost and snow, thought that she could not endure to be conveyed thither without great jeopardy of her life and [was] also sore fearing how she should be there entreated’. Terrified, she promised to do whatever Gloucester wanted, crying, ‘I thank God … I have those lands which shall now save my life.’ Then she was led through the snow by night to another house and forced to sign the necessary documents, after which she was taken back to confinement at Bromley Priory. Subsequently her trustees were browbeaten into accepting the transfer of her entire fortune to Richard.

  When the Duke tried to sell her London house to Sir John Risley, one of the King’s Esquires of the Body, even Edward admitted that his brother had acquired it unlawfully. ‘Risley, meddle not ye with the buying of the said place,’ he warned. Perhaps it would do for Gloucester or some other great magnate, but ‘it might well be dangerous to thee to buy it’. When the dowager died at the end of 1473, the Duke went decorously to her funeral at the Austin Friars’ church in Broad Street.2

  Edward IV may have suspected George, but he was not yet prepared to destroy him. He worked hard to reconcile him with Gloucester. In May 1474 an iniquitous Act of Parliament took away from Lady Warwick all rights to her own property, ordaining it should be treated as though she ‘were now naturally dead’. The wrangling continued for nearly another year and only in February 1475 was a settlement finally agreed. Details of it have not survived, but Richard appears to have done very well indeed. Besides the Nevill and Montagu estates in the North he secured the Salisbury lands and the Lordships in the Welsh Marches. Clarence kept the Beauchamp and Despenser estates, together with his late father-in-law’s splendid London mansion. Throughout, Gloucester had shown himself as flexible as he was determined, even surrendering the office of Great Chamberlain to George at the King’s request. He knew that Edward IV’s favour must be retained, whatever the cost.

  It was about this time that Richard Gloucester adopted his famous motto, ‘Loyauté me lie’ (loyalty binds me), of which he was obviously proud and which he sometimes wrote after his signature – even during the reign of his luckless nephew. There is no need to question his loyalty to Edward. He was far too astute not to realize that the Yorkish family simply could not afford to intrigue against its head – at any rate not while the King remained alive and formidable. He had seen how Edward was unbeatable, both as a soldier and as a politician, and that he was supremely ruthless. As Machiavelli observes, ‘It is necessary for a prince who wants to survive to know how to do wrong.’ It is worth emphasizing that it was the King who gave Gloucester his first lessons in political murder. Disloyalty to such a brother could lead only to disaster, while fidelity was sure to procure rich rewards.

  On the other hand, Richard’s brutally realistic loyalty is by no means a proof – as has often been argued – that he did not covet the crown. More says some discerning contemporaries suspected that ‘he long time forethought to be King in case that the King his brother (whose life he looked that evil diet should shorten) should happen to decease (as indeed he did) while his children were young’. Sir Thomas admits that this would never be known for certain, but plainly he considered it quite possible.

  Gloucester also adopted a badge, his famous device of a white boar with golden tusks and golden bristles. There is no record of the reason for his choice. If we knew, it might well explain how he saw himself. Admittedly members of the House of York had borne a boar before, but it had been blue and not white. Perhaps, in the symbolism so dear to the fifteenth century, the colour was intended to represent purity of heart and loyalty. As for the animal, it was pre-eminently an emblem of ferocity; Malory’s Sir Gawain was ‘as brim [fierce] as any boar’. The great seventeenth-century herald, Guillim, describes its significance in terms which might just possibly be thought to have been inspired by Richard’s reputation, but certainly reflect what late medieval Englishmen thought of the boar. He is ‘the most absolute champion among beasts’ and ‘so cruel and stomachful in his fight, that he foameth all the while for rage’. Guillim continues, ‘The bearing of the boar in arms betokeneth a man of a bold spirit, skilful, politic in warlike feats, and one of that high resolution that he will rather die valorously in the field, than he will secure himself by ignominious flight.’ These qualities were undoubtedly cultivated by the Duke.3

  The failure of Oxford had shown even Clarence that he had little to hope from Lancastrian intrigues. But by now his brother the King was setting on foot a ‘great enterprise’ which was so exciting that for a while even George seems to have forgotten his discontent. Edward IV intended to revive the traditions of Henry V and launch an invasion across the English Channel – after all, he styled himself King of France and had been born in Normandy. He was too practical to hope to reconquer the lost kingdom, but there was an excellent possibility that he might gain some territory and even win a little glory. At the very least he could stop Louis XI from supporting Lancastrian intrigues. Edward’s brother-in-law, Charles of Burgundy, was ready to revive the alliance with which Henry V had all but dispossessed the Valois, while the prospect of a lucrative raiding expedition into France had a deep appeal for most Englishmen – many of their forefathers, and even some still alive, had made their fortunes out of French plunder. When the King first discussed the matter with Parliament in 1472, he was immediately voted enough money to pay for 13,000 archers, though in the event it proved too difficult to levy these special taxes. However, Edward managed to obtain another grant from Parliament, besides obtaining certain ‘benevolences’, or more or less forced loans, which he solicited personally from his richer subjects – as Gairdner says, ‘Curious stories are told of his success with wealthy widows.’

  By the summer of 1475
the English expeditionary force was ready. It consisted of nearly 12,000 picked troops, including almost the entire English nobility. Richard brought 120 lancers and 1,000 archers – perhaps 1,360 men in all, since a ‘lance’ was a unit comprising a man-at-arms and two armed valets. He would also have taken a personal retinue of gentlemen and servants to wait on him during the campaign. Commynes undoubtedly reflects the opinion of his terrified master, Louis XI, when he tells us that the force was ‘the largest, best disciplined, best mounted and best equipped army with which any English King ever invaded France’. The Milanese ambassador reported that Louis was so appalled that he ‘has almost lost his wits’. On 4 July the English crossed to Calais. No doubt many of them looked forward to a second Agincourt.

  Edward IV had every intention of fighting a full-scale war. But, as the shrewd and extremely knowledgeable Commynes afterwards suspected, the English King had by now grown too self-indulgent – too fond of ‘ease and pleasure’ – to relish the prospect of a long-drawn-out conflict. Moreover, it was already after mid-summer, dangerously late to start campaigning. Most serious of all, the Duke of Burgundy was busy in Germany, fighting to install his candidate for the Archbishopric of Cologne; when Duke Charles joined the English at Calais on 14 July, he brought only his personal bodyguard, since the bulk of his troops were occupied in plundering Lorraine and hopelessly out of control – not quite a month later he said goodbye to Edward in order to go campaigning in Lorraine himself. Meanwhile, Louis was advancing to meet the invaders with a large army.

  Always at his wiliest when threatened, the French King had let Edward know that he was prepared to negotiate and would offer very attractive terms. Disheartened by the inadequacy of Burgundian assistance, the English King consulted his magnates as soon as Charles left and then decided to see what Louis XI had to offer. Among the few who are known to have opposed such a step was Richard Gloucester; the 23-year-old veteran of the campaign of 1471 plainly believed in war. But the French King was far too cunning not to be able to overcome all opposition when there was so much at stake. At Amiens a splendid entertainment was laid on for the entire English army – there were tables at the gates laden with wine and taverns where the troops could eat and drink free of charge. After three days most of them had got so drunk on free wine and gone on the rampage to such an extent that the infuriated Edward had to eject them from the town. This did nothing towards making him want to fight. On 29 August the two Kings met at Picquigny near Amiens, on a specially built bridge over the river. Commynes was present and says that Edward, who was accompanied by Clarence but not Gloucester, looked truly regal. ‘Indeed I do not remember ever having seen such a fine looking man, as he was when My Lord of Warwick made him flee from England,’ he observes, but adds ominously that by now ‘he was beginning to grow fat’. He also noted how the English King spoke ‘very good French’. An agreement was quickly reached. In return for 75,000 crowns paid down and further annual payments of 50,000, Edward would leave French soil peacefully, English merchants would no longer suffer from French trade restrictions, and the infant Dauphin was betrothed to his eldest daughter. The two monarchs pledged themselves to help one another against rebellious subjects, and the French were allowed to ransom Margaret of Anjou. By 18 September Edward had left Calais. Louis XI joked: ‘I chased the English out of France far more easily than my father did – he had to do so by force of arms, but I simply used meat pies and good wine.’