Shakespeare's Kings (88 page)

The King, predictably enough, accepted the arrangement without a murmur; his wife, on the other hand, had no intention of standing by while her young son was disinherited. Taking ship to
Scotland
, she sought allies at the court of the eight-year-old James III - who had succeeded his father some three months before — simultaneously summoning her adherents from all parts of the country to a general meeting in the north. The outraged Lancastrians rallied to her standard. Jasper Tudor, Earl of Pembroke, set out with his men from Wales; the Duke of Somerset and the Earl of Devon marched up from the south-west; in the north, the Earl of Northumberland with Lords Clifford and Roos set to work raising forces of their own. Finally on
9
December, York and Salisbury, together with their respective sons Edmund Earl of Rutland and Sir Thomas Nevill, led the Yorkist army against them. Near Worksop they were attacked by Somerset and lost a number of men; but the remainder reached York's own
castle
of Sandal, just outside Wakefield, on the
21st.
There they spent Christmas, while the Lancastrians closed in; and from there on
30
December, realizing that the only alternative was a siege which he was ill-equipped to withstand, Richard of York led his men out to meet his enemies.

It was a disastrous decision: the Yorkists were heavily outnumbered. Richard himself was killed; his severed head - adorned, the Nevill chronicler reports, with a paper crown - was impaled on a pike and raised above the walls of York. Among the countless other casualties were his son, th
e seventeen-year-old Earl of Rutl
and - dispatc
hed by
Clifford
in cold blood on the bridge at Wakefield-and Sir Thomas Nevill, whose father the Earl of Salisbury was captured, only to be executed at Pontefract on the following day. On receipt of the news Queen Margaret hurried south from Scotland, met her victorious captains at York and joined them in mid-January on their triumphal march to the capital - the rough northern soldiers wreaking, we are told, unspeakable havoc in the towns and villages through which they passed.

Reports of the battle of Wakefield soon reached Wales, where Richard's eldest son Edward, Earl of March, had been enjoying his first independent command. Now himself Duke of York, he at once set out with his locally engaged forces for London, but on hearing of the approach of Pembroke and the Earl of Wiltshire - who had recently landed in south Wales with an army of Frenchmen, Irishmen and Bretons - turned to intercept them and, in the first days of February
1
46
1,
defeated them soundly at Mortimer's Cross in Herefordshire. Pembroke's father, Owen Tudor - stepfather to the King, since he had married Queen Katherine after the death of Henry V — was executed at Hereford, in the market square; Pembroke himself, however, managed to escape, as did Wiltshire; and it was probably the knowledge that these two dangerous men were still at liberty that caused Edward to remain after all in the west.

The Yorkist army in the capital was thus in the hands of the Earl of Warwick, who had remained behind to supervise the government and keep a watchful eye on King Henry in the Tower. Setting out in mid-February with the King himself, the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, the Earl of Arundel and his own brother John Nevill, Marquis of Montagu, he marched his considerable force - it included a formidable contingent of hand-gunners sent by Philip of Burgundy — to St Albans, scene of his and York's victory nearly six years before. That victory, however, was not repeated. The details of the second
Battle
are as usual unclear, but much of the blame lay with Warwick himself. His reconnaissance, first of all, was hopelessly inadequate: Queen Margaret and her army arrived before he was ready for them, and by a different road. And his generalship, when the battle began, proved very little better. On being driven back from the market place by a hail of Yorkist arrows, the Lancastrians wheeled round to Barnet Heath a few miles to the north-east, where they came upon Warwick's vanguard — still in a state of hopeless disarray - and after a desperate struggle put them to flight. The remainder of the divided army, unsupported and outnumbered, took to its heels, as did its commander. King Henry, left alone, bewildered and frightened — here at least history seems to have repeated itself - was eventually picked up by his wife and son, who carried him off to the now familiar abbey.

After so humiliating a defeat, the Yorkists could not have prevented the King and Queen entering the capital, their jubilant army behind them. But Margaret had advanced no further than Barnet when she called her army to a halt. Why she did so we shall never know; perhaps she intended only a temporary delay while she negotiated with the city authorities. At all events the hesitation proved her undoing. Suddenly the people of London - among whom the stories of the northerners' barbarity, assiduously spread by Warwick, had lost nothing in the telling - rose up in violent opposition to the Lancastrians; Margaret, seriously alarmed, retreated to Dunstable. Young Edward of York, having made a rendezvous with Warwick at Burford in Oxfordshire, saw his chance: hurrying with his vast following of Welshmen to London, he entered the capital in triumph on
26
February and claimed the crown. Six days later on
3
March it was agreed by the Council, meeting at Baynard's Castle, that he was indeed the rightful ruler, Henry and Margaret having clearly acted in breach of the recent parliamentary settlement; and on the following day, seated on the royal throne in Westminster Hall and to the loud acclamation of all present, Edward declared himself King before moving across to the abbey to pray at the shrine
of his
namesake the Confessor. Finally, on
5
March, the royal proclamations were issued in his name: Edward IV, King of England.

Edward was King; but, significa
ntly
, he - or perhaps the bishops - had baulked at the idea of a formal coronation. The ceremony would surely have strengthened his hand; one is left with an uncomfortable feeling that he himself was not yet fully confident of his position. Besides, as he well knew, the war was by no means over. Queen Margaret, disappointed but undefeated, had withdrawn once again to her loyal fastness in the north, where she could still command the allegiance of well over half the country's nobility; there could be no peace in the land while she remained under arms, with Henry - ineffectual as he might be - at her side. After his proclamation Edward remained only ten more days in London before taking the road again, marching
slowly
northward
via
Cambridge
to
allow
time
for
the
hastily
gathered contingents
from
East
Anglia
and
the
Midlands
to
rally
to
his
standard. As
he
headed
towards
York
the
numbers
of
his
army
steadily
increased; by
the
time
he
reached
Pontefract
he
probably
had
as
many
as
50,000 men
under
his
command.

But
Margaret
had
also
been
raising
forces.
Her
own
army
was
every bit
as
formidable;
and
the
Battle
of
Towton,
which
was
fought
in
bitterly cold
weather
on
Saturday
and
Palm
Sunday,
28
and
29
March
1461, proved
to
be
on
a
dramatically
different
scale
from
any
previous
engagement.
The
first
day
saw
a
furious
encounter
as
the
Yorkist
troops attempted
to
cross
the
river
Aire
at
Ferrybridge,
between
Pontefract and
York.
The
Lancastrians
resisted
with
all
their
strength
but
were finally
obliged
to
fall
back.
Warwick
was
wounded
by
an
arrow
in
the leg,
while
the
icy
water
claimed
many
victims
on
both
sides.
Shivering with
cold
—
many
of
them
were
also
soaked
to
the
skin
-
and
with practically
no
food
to
sustain
them,
Edward's
men
spent
an
agonizing night
in
the
open,
their
leaders
wondering
how
long
the
army
would manage
to
hold
together
in
such
nightmare
conditions;
but
Margaret's soldiers
too
were
suffering,
and
by
morning
both
sides
were
eager
to come
to
grips
as
soon
as
possible.

It
was
Edward
who
attacked
first.
The
He
of
the
land
was
against him,
the
Queen's
army
having
occupied
the
higher
ground
on
the
road between
Ferrybridge
and
Tadcaster.
On
the
other
hand
the
appalling weather
was
in
his
favour:
it
was
blowing
a
blizzard
but
the
wind
was at
his
back,
driving
the
snow
straight
into
the
eyes
of
Margaret's archers,
slowing
their
arrows
while
speeding
those
of
the
Yorkists.
The Lancastrians
had
no
choice
but
to
charge
-
perhaps
20,000
of
them
under Somerset,
Lord
Rivers
and
Sir
Andrew
Trollope,
flinging
themselves forward
down
the
slope
until
it
seemed
that
Edward's
army
must
take flight
or
perish;
yet
somehow
it
stood
its
ground,
and
the
next
six
hours saw
one
of
the
bloodiest
and
most
ruthless
battles
ever
fought
on
English soil.
Edward
himself
remained
in
the
thick
of
the
fray,
fighting
on foot
with
immense
courage,
wielding
in
turn
sword,
axe
and
mace, encouraging
and
inspiring
all
those
around
him.
Seeing
his
magnificent figure
-
he
was
six
foot
three
inches
tall,
and
his
helmet
probably
added at
least
another
six
inches
—
Yorkists
and
Lancastrians
alike
could
hardly fail
to
contrast
him
with
the
feeble,
feckless
Henry,
cowering
behind his
wife
in
the
rear.