The Red Rose of Anjou (36 page)

Warwick, now the seasoned warrior and constantly on the alert to seize the advantage, spread out his forces facing the enemy. Salisbury was in London. York had not yet arrived, so he appointed Edward to lead one wing and Thomas Fauconberg the other. He trusted Fauconberg entirely. He was connected by blood being the bastard of Warwick’s kinsman William Neville. Even at this stage Warwick sent messages into the enemy’s lines exhorting them to parley rather than fight. Let the King come forward to speak with Warwick. That was all he asked, but he was determined to speak with the King or die.

He was very much aware that if this battle ensued he would be fighting the King and he wanted no charges of treachery against him.

The battle was short. The rain began to pelt down and the King’s cannon was useless. Warwick’s instructions were always: ‘Attack the leaders and the lords, leave the commoners.’ It had proved wise on other occasions and it did now on this one. Buckingham, Egremont and Shrewsbury all lay dead on the field.

It was victory for Warwick.

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The first action Warwick took when he knew that the battle was won was to seek out the King.

Henry was found sitting passively in his tent. He was not so concerned by the fact that he had lost the battle as that so much blood had been shed.

Warwick with March and the Bastard of Fauconberg went on to their knees and swore allegiance to him. They wanted to assure him that he was still their King.

‘It would not seem you regard me as such,’ said Henry mildly, ‘when you bring a force of arms against me.’

‘My lord,’ said Warwick, ‘not against you. Never against you.’

‘To be against my armies is to be against me.’

‘My lord, all we seek is justice. The people know that. Give us a chance to state our views to the Parliament.’

‘Every man should be permitted to state his view and so shall he in my kingdom if my will be done.’

Warwick was not displeased. Here was another puppet for the master to handle.

For three days he kept Henry at Northampton and then took him to London, treating him all the time with the respect which was due to his rank.

Through the streets of London they paraded, Warwick going before the King bareheaded and carrying the sword of state.

All was well, said the people. Warwick was in command as they all knew he must be and at the same time he was the King’s very good subject. It was a happy compromise.

The Queen had disappeared. Some said she had fled to Scotland. Good riddance was the general comment. Now the King, helped by Warwick and the Duke of York, could rule wisely.

Henry stayed at Eltham and then went to Greenwich. He spent his time waiting for the Parliament to be called in hunting for exercise, reading and listening to music. Secretly he was rather pleased that Margaret was not with him. He loved her of course, as a man should his wife; she was beautiful and eager for his welfare—he knew all that, but he wished she were a little less eager for it. He wished she would leave him alone to go his own way. It was pleasant enough when he had strong men to help him govern. He was rather fond of York who was after all a kinsman, and it was quite true that he was descended from both branches of the family and one of them was in fact nearer to the crown than Henry’s own.

Then York arrived in England and for the first time actually claimed the throne.

That caused something of a turmoil and many of the lords were indignant. But Henry could see the point of the argument. He had always been a King for as long as he could remember and could not imagine anything else, and oddly he would be loth to give up the crown, burdensome as it was. On the other hand it was true that York had a claim...

When it was suggested that he should continue to wear the crown throughout his lifetime and then let it go to York he agreed.

Margaret would have been furious. What of their son? she would have wanted to know.

Poor boy, he would be happier without a crown. Crowns were no guarantee of happiness. Rather they were the source of sorrow and heartbreak.

Yes, he would agree that York was to take the throne on his death. That was the solution which would put an end to these senseless sheddings of blood.

News came that Margaret who had fled to the North had gathered an army and was marching south.

The King shook his head in sorrow. York, taking Rutland with him, marched north to meet the Queen; and Warwick with Edward stayed on in London, intending to spend Christmas with Henry.

THE PAPER CROWN

When Margaret heard of the defeat at Northampton she ground her teeth with rage. If she could only get York in her power – and most of all Warwick – she would not hesitate to have their heads. That was what she longed for more than anything.

But there was much to be done; she must not waste her energies on fruitless fantasies of what she would do with her enemies. She had her boy to consider. Edward was seven years old. He had been constantly in her care and she would not let him escape from it. She was going to be sure that he did not grow up to be like his father.

There had been a time when she had asked Somerset if it would be possible to have Henry deposed and his son crowned King. Somerset had advised her not to mention such a matter to anyone else. It might be construed as treason.

Treason! When she made a reasonable suggestion that her poor ineffectual husband – who was capable of madness in any case – should stand aside for her young and beautiful son who would one day inherit the throne?

But she did recognize that fact that she ought to take care, so that matter had gone no farther.

She had said goodbye to Henry at Coventry and left him to join the army at Northampton while she went on to Eccleshill in Staffordshire. As soon as he had defeated the Yorkists she would join the King.

It was to Eccleshill that the messengers came.

Defeat. Debacle. A battle which was almost over before it had begun.

And what of her? Here she was not far off and she was the one they hated. She was the one they wanted to get into their power. She, the Queen...and her precious son the Prince of Wales.

‘There is no time to be lost,’ she said. ‘We must leave at once.’

She sent for Edward and told him.

‘But where shall we go, my dear lady?’ asked Edward.

‘We shall go to our true friends. I know there are some in this country we can trust. And if there are not enough of them, we shall go to our country’s enemies. They will assist us for their own sake.’

Edward looked bewildered. Poor child, he was too young to understand what a world he had been born into. But he was a Prince, the heir to the throne and Margaret was going to fight with all the strength of which she was capable to make sure that he was not cheated out of that.

Summoning her servants she prepared to leave at once and they were soon on the road to Malpas. Margaret failed completely to understand the effect her arrogance had on her followers. Interested as she was in her women’s love affairs and having a genuine concern for their welfare, she could never forget that she was the Queen; and she would be amazed if they did not immediately fall in with her wishes. There had been two main influences in her youth and they were the domination of her mother and grandmother and the feckless poverty of her father. She had seen the power of feminine rule. She was determined to emulate her grandmother and mother and equally determined to cling to the high position she had acquired; if she could prevent it, she was never going to live as she had in her childhood with poverty and the fear that everything the family had would be lost to them.

Now that the King had suffered a major defeat and was in the hands of his enemies who would assuredly bend him to their will, her servants asked themselves why they should have to be treated as being so inferior by a woman who first of all could well find her power cut off and secondly was a foreigner who did not understand English ways.

So on the flight from Eccleshill there was a certain amount of murmuring of which Margaret was oblivious—but if she had been aware of it would have taken little heed.

They had come to a wood and as she entered it Margaret felt a shudder of apprehension. It was merely because it was late afternoon, the wood seemed so quiet and the trees made it dark.

She looked with concern at the saddle horses which carried her precious belongings, the jewels which represented so much money, the fine garments which she loved. They were a small band and a lonely one.

She had just turned to give an order to hurry when out of the woods came a band of men. She recognized the livery of one of the nobles and with sinking heart she believed that these were Lord Stanley’s men and he was a firm Yorkist supporter.

The men stood a little distance from her.

Margaret, fearless as ever, rode ahead of the company.

‘Good day to you,’ she said. ‘You are not attempting to impede our progress, I hope.’

The arrogant tone betrayed her.

‘You are the Queen,’ said the leader of the men.

‘You appear to have forgotten that,’ she answered coolly.

‘Nay, we were expecting you to come this way. We had news of your arrival.’

‘You have come to join me?’

The men laughed.

‘Go to it,’ shouted their leader.

‘Ay, John Cleger, we will!’ shouted the others.

To Margaret’s horror she saw that they were making for the saddle horses and some of them had begun to unstrap the baggage.

‘Stop them!’ she cried. ‘Why are you standing there, you oafs?’

It was a fearsome moment for her own men were standing by not attempting to stop the robbers. Then she saw a few of them go over to the saddle horses.

‘Do your duty,’ she cried. ‘Kill these robbers.’

One of the robbers came over to her and the Prince who was beside her.

‘We want the horses,’ he said. ‘Better dismount, lady. You and the boy.’

‘How dare you talk to your Queen in such a way!’

‘I reckon you’re not that now, lady, or if you are it won’t be for much longer. Get down, boy.’

Edward watching his mother, remembering her instructions that he must be brave, sat his horse looking straight ahead of him.

The robber seized him and dragged him to the ground.

Margaret cried out, and leaping out of the saddle went immediately to her son.

‘It’s all right, lady. I wanted your horses, that’s all. As fine a pair as I ever saw.’

This was nightmare. She gripped her son’s shoulder and held him close to her. The robbers and her own servants were quarrelling over the contents of the saddle bags.

Her jewels! Her beautiful clothes! All lost!

One of them turned and looked in her direction. She did not Like what she saw. What would they do when they had everything she had? She knew. Instinct told her. She had identified them as Stanley’s men. Her own had deserted her for the sake of getting a share in the booty. Every one of them should die the traitor’s death if they were ever brought to justice and they knew it.

They would prevent that at all costs and there was one way of doing it.

She knew that these men would have no compunction in killing her and the Prince.

She drew her son closer to her. It was characteristic of Margaret that she should think of his safety before her own. In her turbulent heart this boy had first place. He was her beloved son for whom she had waited so long; she would fight for him with every spark of strength she possessed. She would die for him if need be. She was fond of the King but she despised him. She wanted to care for him and govern him. It was possible that she wanted to govern this boy too. But she wanted him to grow up strong, not like his father. And now he was in acute danger. She knew that neither of them would be allowed to leave this scene alive if those wicked men could help it.

Keeping her eyes on them she withdrew a little into the trees. She must not go too openly. She must tread cautiously. If she could get one of the horses...but that was impossible, they would see her mounting.

Edward was looking at her with eyes that were full of hope. She was there. The mother who seemed to him invincible. He knew they were in danger but he believed that no one could ever stand up for long against his mother.

The men were still wrangling over the jewels. How long would it last? The moment of doom was getting nearer and nearer.

‘Lady...’ It was a soft voice in the trees.

She was alert. A young boy looked at her from behind the trunk of a tree.

‘I have a horse here. I know a way through the woods...a special way. I could take you and the Prince...’

Who was this boy? She did not know. In any case he looked very young and could not do her the harm these men could.

‘How...’ she began.

‘Let the Prince come first,’ he said.

‘Edward,’ she whispered. ‘Go!’

She could stand there watching the robbers while Edward might well slip into the trees unseen. He went, accustomed to obeying his mother without question.

Her heart was beating wildly. She kept her eyes on the men. They were not watching her. They thought it would be quite impossible for her to leave without a horse and if she attempted to mount and her son with her they would immediately be aware of it.

‘Now, lady...’

She was in the trees. Edward was already mounted. Hastily the boy helped her to get up beside him. Then he was up and they were off.

They had gone a little way through the trees when she heard the shout.

She clung to the boy and Edward clung to her; her lips were moving in prayer.

The boy was right. He knew the woods far better than the robbers or her own servants could. In any case those men would rather lose the Queen and the Prince than the contents of the saddle bags.

So they rode on, all through the rest of the day and the night.

The boy told her that he was fourteen years old, and had always wanted to serve the King and the Queen. His name was John Combe and he lived in Amesbury. He had been riding through the woods when he saw the robbers and realized what was happening.

His eyes shone with devotion and loyalty. ‘It was my chance, my lady, to do you good service. I thank God for it.’