In the warmth of the night the tent sides had to be looped up for air – and, no doubt, for the convenience of French spies – as some thirty of us heard the case for accepting a truce. Not that Edward himself put his case; except for brief introductory words, he left it to Doctor Morton. This Morton was Doctor of Laws, firmly Lancastrian, and last seen dragging Margaret of Anjou across the Severn to safety. Since then he had come to terms with Edward and was now highly placed in his service. He was Master of the Rolls and often used for diplomatic dealings with our foreign neighbours. And a slimy, shifty-eyed turd I always thought him. As Chaucer more elegantly put it, he was the smiler with the knife beneath the cloak.
Morton rose, smoothing his legal gown. Frankly, I didn’t listen with too much attention. Or not until he said, with a bow towards Richard, ‘Of course it is in the interests of martial young men to speak for war. Such men must be conscious that their fame rests on their prowess in the field.’ Princes of the blood royal, brothers of the King: Richard and George raised their eyebrows. Several men stirred angrily, and I heard the Duke of Suffolk mutter ‘Cheeky devil’. His face expressionless, Edward signed for Morton to go on. And on he went, and on. He said once, ‘Let us remember that Our Lord said “Blessed are the peacemakers.”’
George cut in, ‘And He also said, “I come bringing not peace but a sword.”’
Edward grinned, for quoting scripture is a two-edged weapon. Nettled, Morton bowed and went on. He broke into Latin, a long peroration that had men shuffling. ‘But I see some of our northern contingent looking at a loss,’ he said with an oily smile. ‘I shall therefore construe.’
Well, it’s not for a Lancastrian lawyer to call the King’s brother an illiterate yokel. Lord Howard growled, ‘It’s not your Latin we need translating, Doctor Morton, it’s some point to your argument we want. Get on, man, get on.’
Morton looked down his nose then turned to Edward with a bow. ‘Then hear me, gracious sovereign. In short I feel we would be wise to accept any French offer of peace that carries advantageous terms. We do not want a long campaign here in France, and we needs must think of the cost of maintaining lands won here, and of the cost in terms of human life. Doubtless we would win in battle, but need we pamper our pride at such a cost, when we can achieve the same by peaceful means?’ I think he would have continued but Edward’s look discouraged him.
‘Thank you, Doctor Morton,’ said the King. ‘You put the case well. But there is another side to the issue. Gloucester?’
‘Thank you, your Grace. While I cannot hope to emulate Doctor Morton’s eloquence, I will do my best in plain speech.’ I saw Morton smirk as Richard rose. I think the doctor expected a stumbling speech full of martial allusions and wild promises of victory. Why Morton disliked Richard so much I don’t know, unless it was on general principles, the Yorkist yoke sitting uneasily on the Lancastrian neck, and he thought Richard a safe target for jibes he dared not make against the King. Or perhaps, urban to the core, proud of his erudition, he thought Richard a petty provincial lordling who had gained his position by nepotism, barbarous as the men he ruled. How did he imagine Richard carried out his Constable’s and Admiral’s duties? His judicial duties? But no doubt to Morton such things did not exist outside London.
‘Your Grace, gentlemen, Doctor Morton has put the case for peace well. The cost of following a contrary course must be borne in mind – as indeed it is by any man who has seen battle at first hand. Yet I feel that other, less concrete, things must be considered. I feel that England’s honour is in the balance here. I admit the worth of the pragmatic solution, but would it not be best to treat with the French as victors? Because otherwise, Your Grace, King Louis will not hesitate to break any truce agreement when it suits him.’ With a swift smile he said, ‘You would be lucky, in fact, to see more than one instalment of any financial settlement. As for any agreement to support us against rebellion’ – no one looked at George – ‘or invasion, well, I think we all know Louis would hold such transgressors’ hats and egg them on. Also I think you should consider that Parliament granted money, and your subjects gave yet more money, for war, in expectation of a victory and glory for England, for Edward IV to live alongside Henry V in English memory. A purchased peace may be sensible, but it is neither honourable nor any guarantee of permanence. Will you have it all to do again in three years time? And find your people unwilling to finance another venture? Besides, what of Burgundy?’
‘Your Grace is very sure,’ Morton interrupted, ‘that his Majesty King Louis would break faith. Need we be so cynical?’
‘I bow to your greater knowledge of the French King.’ This shrewd hit brought mottled colour surging up Morton’s face, and I wasn’t alone in wondering if there was more in this for him than his King’s gratitude. In fact, just which King did Morton truly serve?
Louis de Bretaylle’s accented voice broke in, ‘I share his Grace of Gloucester’s view of King Louis. He is not to be trusted. He will bind us to support him against his enemies – by which we may understand, Burgundy.’ This brought a murmur of worried agreement.
Nodding acknowledgement to de Bretaylle Richard said, softly but very intensely, ‘Yes – Burgundy is Louis’s enemy and his bête noire. The ink will hardly be dry on any treaty before Louis turns on Burgundy. Will it be with England’s help?’ Edward’s eyes flickered. ‘If you bind us to such a treaty as we are discussing, then yes, we will have to help dismember Burgundy, or be at war with France for breach of treaty. I believe this is what Louis wants.’ By now the murmurs of agreement or indecision had turned to a swell of conviction. Edward’s face showed no expression, but I could tell he was angry. ‘By all means set aside personal considerations,’ Richard went on. ‘Our sister Margaret will understand the hard facts of political necessity – but pray consider that England’s trade depends on Burgundy. Pray consider the possibility of all the Channel ports being in French hands. England held them all once; now we hold only Calais. We need the Low Countries if we are not to be entirely isolated and helpless in the face of French aggression.
‘I do most earnestly beg Your Grace,’ Richard finished, ‘to consider the advantage of proving England’s strength. Frighten Louis, in short, into realising he cannot deal lightly with us. Do not let it be said that England’s honour can be so easily bought.’ He bowed and sat down.
Morton stared, lips pursed. George caught Richard’s eye and grinned.
Edward let a little time go by before he said, ‘Both cases are well argued. However, I incline toward accepting any proper offer of peace. My agreement depends, of course, on an advantageous offer with firm safeguards. But a good settlement would not only avoid all the costs of war but allow me to live with England’s finances steady for the first time in decades. Let us therefore take a provisional vote upon the matter. All those in favour of letting the French know we incline toward peace?’ Most hands went up. ‘Those against?’ Richard, of course, myself, de Bretaylle, a handful of others. ‘Does anyone wish to abstain?’ To general surprise George raised his hand. ‘You, Clarence?’
‘Yes.’ Flushing, he said, ‘Your Grace, I hope you are right, yet I fear Richard is. After all, I have had dealings with King Louis. And any vote of mine will be suspect. I therefore abstain.’ He looked appealingly at Richard, who after a moment smiled back, his genuine, sweet smile of affection.
‘Carried, then. Thank you, gentlemen. Let us await King Louis’s offer.’
The King swept out, Morton scurrying alongside.
‘I do not love thee, Doctor Morton,’ George said. ‘Nasty piece of work, isn’t he. You made an enemy there, Dickon. Why does Edward tolerate him?’
‘He’s clever. Experienced.’
‘And Lancastrian to the bone.’
‘Oh, of course. A time-server. And thick as thieves with old Louis.’
‘D’you think Edward trusts him?’
‘Not at all, would be my guess. Probably he thinks the man’s better right under his eye.’
> ‘Something in that, I daresay. That was a pithy little speech.’
‘Full of pith and vinegar,’ Richard agreed. ‘You do realise Edward knows exactly what the French are going to offer? And that it was a foregone conclusion from the start?’
‘Oh, yes. In fact, I wonder if Edward didn’t know before he left England that it would come to this. He’s nearly as devious as Louis. Well, let’s wait and see what Louis comes up with.’
~~~
We did not have to wait for long. Mid-August the French and English ambassadors met near Amiens, and the French offer was indeed attractive. Seventy-five thousand crowns to begin with and fifty thousand per annum – the Dauphin to marry Edward’s daughter Bess – seven years’ truce with lucrative trade agreements – each King bound to support the other against domestic rebellion. Not a bad day’s work in the marketplace. Of course the offer was immediately accepted.
Richard’s only comment was, ‘Wait until Charles hears.’
He heard at once, and the news brought him straight to Edward for a right royal tantrum. Edward said, All very well, but where was Charles when Edward led his army into France, where was all the promised support? To which Charles had no answer, which didn’t sweeten his temper. With a few barbed references to Henry the Fifth he flounced away.
And now all was amity and goodwill. Celebrations. Louis threw Amiens open to our army and laid on food and drink for all. A bridge was built across the Somme at Pecquigny, on which the agreement would be signed. And behold the King of England striding forth, glorious in cloth of gold lined with red satin, a diamond fleur-de-lis in his velvet cap. And behold the King of France shuffling forth, clad in a ragbag of garments he could have filched from his kennel-man. Beside him was his poor secretary Philippe de Commynes, identically dressed so as to confuse assassins. On a piece of the True Cross these two ill-matched monarchs signed the treaty.
Louis was generous, it was pensions all round for the English who had supported the peace. I remember Lord Hastings got two thousand crowns a year. De Bretaylle, who had been heard to say in disgust that Edward had won nine victories only to face this disgraceful defeat, was given dinner and invited to join Louis’s service. The offer was refused, but he was given a placatory present of a thousand crowns and Louis’s promise of favour for his brother – oh and by the way, would he work to see that the peace held?
What Doctor Morton got out of the deal, I have no idea.
Richard attended none of these junketings, and we were packing for home when an invitation came from Louis. Would His Grace of Gloucester delight His Majesty of France by coming to dinner? Impossible to refuse, and Richard came back well fed, thoughtful, and the proud possessor of some excellent horses and silver plate. Louis had sent the kindest compliments to Anne, remembering la pauvre petite from five years before, and they had discussed music and ordnance; a choice of subjects which tells you a good deal about both men.
~~~
And so, home again. I wonder if Edward had realised how unpopular his lovely truce would be in England? For make no mistake, it was unpopular. People had given money for victory, not this sneaking peace with the detested French, and the men of Edward’s army, returning home with none of the usual booty of war and with no outlet for war-fervour, turned to robbery and murder.
Edward dealt with it. He travelled about his kingdom, punishing anyone who committed breaches of the peace, and soon people came to think it wasn’t so bad: no war, and a French pension to relieve them of taxes. Edward, in fact, even traded Margaret of Anjou back to France for a fifty thousand crown ransom.
But it was Richard who had come home with the honour. People knew he had been against the peace, and they were proud of him. No welcher, he gave Innogen her diamond necklace. As he clasped it around her neck she said, ‘Coals of fire?’
‘Never. I was wrong.’
She took his face between her hands and kissed him. ‘But although I am grateful for peace, I think you were in the right of the matter.’
In bed that night she said, ‘And if the whole thing nibbles away at Richard’s hero-worship of Edward, all the better, don’t you think?’
‘Might not Richard need that? Always to admire and trust Edward? And don’t forget he has good cause.’
‘Mmm, but Edward knows that, and he relies upon it far too much. He knows Richard would always serve him loyally, but he likes having that loyalty well mortared by adoration. I think it is time Richard grows out of it and sees the King with clear eyes. Or one day when it’s too late he’ll suffer a disillusion he won’t recover from.’
‘As might I?’
‘Perhaps – or do you now see the canny, unscrupulous King instead of the glorious golden boy who won your heart when you were eight?’ I found I didn’t know. ‘What’s your opinion of this peace agreement?’
‘All the pragmatic arguments are on Edward’s side. But the heart says Richard was right.’
‘Mmm... So George of Clarence had the courage to abstain. I wonder why? After all his trouble-making you’d think he would be at pains to butter the King up.’
‘Perhaps,’ I said, neither convinced nor interested, and we made homecoming love with her clad only in the necklace of black pearls that was my present to her.
~~~
If ever I had repeated that conversation Innogen would have been hanged as a witch, for two years later Richard was pleading with one brother for the other’s life.
Ten
1476-78
It was a year of births and deaths, the year after the French expedition. We were returned a week or two from France when in the middle of breakfast Anne turned a peculiar colour and unceremoniously bolted from the hall. Concerned, Richard rose to follow her, but Lady Warwick gestured him back to his chair and went after her daughter. I recall that Northumberland was there, for he caught my eye in a glance combining speculation and amusement. Oblivious, Richard began wondering aloud if Anne had eaten tainted food, and drifted into talk of the French rations. Not daring raise false hopes, the rest of us at table let him maunder on.
But later that day I found him wandering through the courtyard with a disbelieving smile of pure joy on his face.
‘Martin,’ he said, clutching at my sleeve, ‘Anne thinks – she is sure – she is to have a baby! Deo gratias – a baby! After three years, when we had almost given up hope!’ Then, remembering all the listening ears, he lowered his voice. ‘There have been false hopes before, but now Anne is as sure as she can be. She wondered, before we went to France, but... well, you know how it is.’ Anxiously he wound his hand tighter in my sleeve. ‘Martin, you do know. Will she be safe? Is it wrong to hope, or wrong to doubt? But what if I were to lose Anne?’
I soothed him as best I could, though I knew those male fears all too well. But as it happened Anne was well throughout her pregnancy, although Richard kept a stream of doctors and midwives pouring into Middleham until Lady Warwick asked him in exasperation if he wanted to drive Anne mad with worry.
The birth was expected in the middle of March. All the usual preparations were made, and as the days went on the whole household, nay, the village and half Yorkshire, was walking on eggs. The night came, not long after the anniversary of Innogen’s and my wedding, when one of Anne’s waiting-women woke Innogen, who dressed and went away saying, ‘Look to Richard.’ I had no need to look for him: Lady Warwick marched him downstairs like a felon under guard and gave him into my keeping. He was new to all this, poor devil; he had kept me and our other friends company and given us drinks when our wives were in childbed, but his complete exclusion from the process was something he had never thought of. We sat around, sharing a jug of wine and later breakfast, Rob Percy and Francis Lovell helping me keep his spirits up. But a very long time passed without word, and it was after dinner when Innogen snatched a moment to warn me privily it would be longer yet.
‘For it is a first birth and they often take longer... and Anne is – is small. But don’t let Richard worry; after
all, I was much longer delivering the twins.’ She hurried away before I could give voice to my frightened questions.
Richard said, ‘Twenty hours! Anne began not long after midnight. Of course one hears of long labours...’
Naturally I said nothing to him of it possibly being longer, but longer it was. Twenty hours; a full day. A night, a day, another night. None of the women now came down to give us word. Once Richard could not prevent himself going upstairs and although I was quickly after him I was too late to stop him hearing the worst sound a man can hear: his wife screaming in the agony of child-birth. He went to the chapel then, his friends with him, and we waited on our knees in prayer. We had all seen mares birthing foals, or bitches their puppies, and I think we all wondered as we prayed why easy births should belong to the animal kingdom while our women have to suffer. The sin of Eve? – aye, tell that to a man who has never waited in that agony for his child to be born.
But born that child was. It was after dinner on the second day that Lady Warwick came downstairs, weak, haggard, exhausted yet triumphant, to tell Richard he had a son.
‘Alive?’ he said sharply, then, ‘And – and Anne?’
‘Both alive. A fine son, my dear. You may come to see him.’
Richard went away upstairs, and came down soon with that look I daresay I had worn when I looked at my firstborn. ‘A boy!’ he kept saying. ‘We shall call him Edward, of course. A boy! With pale hair like Anne’s, and blue eyes. Small, but well. A boy!’
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