The Last Plantagenets (56 page)

The cavalry having borne the brunt of the fighting, they had sustained most of the losses. Richard being a considerate as well as wise leader (this is attested in all records), he would have his hands full after the battle was over. A list would have to be made of the losses the army had suffered. The wounded would be brought in for proper care. Clearly he would have to see that the wounded horses (casualties were generally greater among horses than riders) were put out of their sufferings. The armor and weapons of the dead soldiers and the accouterments of the chargers would have to be retrieved, a most necessary precaution because human birds of prey appear on battlefields as quickly as buzzards from the air. This would be followed by the need to find horse replacements (because the army would move the next day), and this would not be easy in a countryside denuded of supplies by the long wars.

The great task, however, would be securing rations for the men. The previous day the army had marched thirty-one miles
without food and with little water
. Some sporadic foraging brought in a little food during the night, but most of the Yorkist soldiers had fought the battle on empty stomachs. Richard’s main task, therefore, would be to get food for the hungry men.

It is not a matter of theory or guesswork that the first shafts of dawn would be appearing in the sky before the nineteen-year-old Richard would be free to throw himself down in his tent for a few minutes of rest. There would be no time for him to stand idly about in the king’s tent while prisoners were disposed of, as depicted by the Tudor propagandists.

“He slew with his own hands king Henry
Sixt
, being prisoner in the Tower,” declared the
History
, adding for good measure and to place the guilt more surely on one pair of shoulders, “without commandment or knowledge of the king,” meaning his brother Edward IV.

Here are the facts. On May 21, 1471, the Yorkist leaders arrived in London after their victory at Tewkesbury. That night they spent in the Tower with a large company, including many of the leading citizens. Both Edward and Richard were there, and the members of the council, as well as Lord Rivers, the constable of the Tower, because matters of first importance had to be dealt with at once. The king was sorely in need of money. The funds supplied by the French king had been exhausted and Edward had organized on promises the army which won the battles of Barnet and Tewkesbury. The wealthy citizens of London held plenty of Edward’s paper, dating back before his flight to the Netherlands, but it was from them that the new financing would have to come, until such time as Parliament could be summoned. One can imagine the long tussle there would be over terms, for the Londoners, although friendly to the Yorkist cause, were shrewd and demanding.

This much settled, there was a banquet. Then the council got down to the making of arrangements for summoning a new Parliament. This involved much discussion of detail, for the House had to be hand-picked. Finally there was the question of replacing all the ministers and high officials at Westminster, who were Lancastrian appointees. New men, of Yorkist selection, had to be appointed to fill the vacated places.

Undoubtedly this was one of the busiest and longest meetings the council ever held. Everything had to be done at once. The last of the Lancastrians under arms were operating in full force in Kent under the command of the Bastard of Fauconberg, after being repulsed in an attack on the Aldgate at London. No time was to be lost in meeting this final drive of the adherents of the Red Rose.

Now Edward placed the greatest reliance on the sound judgment of his young brother Richard, as he had made so evident when the Warwick rebellion began. Richard would be seated beside the king during the whole of this long and furious session on the night of their arrival. His opinion would be sought on all points.

The next morning, bright and early, Richard led the royal troops down into Kent to settle matters with Fauconberg. This he accomplished
decisively, taking the leader prisoner. He was engaged for four days and is next reported at Canterbury on May 25.

While he was engaged in these operations, the death of Henry VI was announced in London and the body was placed on display at St. Paul’s. The official version of his death, as told in the Fleetwood Chronicle, was that the king died of “pure displeasure and melancholy” on May 23. It seems more probable that he was killed, through Yorkist fears that the conflict would drag on as long as he was alive. But to accuse Richard of the crime is the most malicious and gratuitous of all the attacks from which he has suffered. To state that he committed the deed “without commandment or knowledge of the king,” as the
History
does, is sheer invention. Richard, although still not quite twenty, was Edward IV’s right-hand man, but he was not the assassin of the party. If Edward felt that the old king had to be removed from his path, he would not place the dagger in his young brother’s hand.

Even the
History
concedes this much, saying “which would, undoubtedly, if he [Edward IV] had intended that thing, have appointed that butcherly office to some other than his own born brother.” Determined, nevertheless, to fix the guilt on Richard, the
History
falls back on its declaration that Edward did not know what was happening; without citing a fact to back the statement, not a rumor, not a whisper; just the parson of Blokesworth (an early phase of Morton’s career) at his characteristic tricks.

When Richard became king, he had the body of Henry removed from its resting place at Chertsey and buried more fittingly at Windsor with the other kings. Many years after Richard’s death, those who had set themselves to detect treachery and dark design in everything he had done declared this mark of respect was in reality an act of expiation and that Richard, moreover, wanted to end the visits people were paying to the tomb of the murdered king. If he had allowed the body to remain where it was, he would have been attacked for refusing to accord Henry suitable burial. Alas, poor Richard! No matter which course he took, the whip of calumny was bound to curl about his shoulders!

It now becomes necessary to say something about Richard and the girl who became his wife.

The chief supporter of Richard of York in his bid for the throne was Richard Neville, the Earl of Warwick, called the Kingmaker. Warwick had two daughters, Isabel and Anne, the most fortunate girls in the
kingdom for not only did they have a full share of the Neville beauty but they would in course of time inherit huge estates. Richard of York’s wife had been a Neville and so the bond between the families became a close one.

This story begins late in 1460 when Warwick had come over from France with an army and had beaten Henry VI at Northampton, as a result of which a compromise had been reached; Henry was to remain king for the balance of his life and then the crown would pass to Richard of York. But Henry’s indomitable French queen would not agree to an arrangement which barred her son from the succession. She raised an army to keep up the struggle and York lost no time in marching north to meet this new threat. He arrived at his favorite castle of Sandal in Yorkshire the day before Christmas.

Sandal does not seem to have had much to recommend it except its strength. It was a place of last resort, a great strong castle on a high mound where a determined garrison could hold out indefinitely. To achieve this height a long slope began near the Calder River and ran on a gradual rise toward the northeast. The castle occupied the highest part of the slope. A strong barbican tower guarded the entrance and, to reach the keep, it was necessary to cross two drawbridges. The keep was tall and immeasurably strong, with walls fourteen feet thick and with a ring of towers almost equally massive.

Richard of York had heard reports of Queen Margaret’s unexpected strength (and later discovered this to be sadly true) and so be brought his men to Sandal to wait for his oldest son, Edward, to join him with a force he had raised in Wales, a resolution to which, unfortunately for him, he did not adhere. But that story has already been told.

There was much delight manifested when the owner rode in through the barbican and it was seen that he had brought the two Neville sisters with him. It had been decided they would be safer away from London, which was still in a turmoil and never seemed free of some taint of plague. The family of the duke consisted at this time of four sons, Edward, Edmund, George, and Richard, and three daughters. The word “glamorous” was the only one to describe these children of the White Rose. They were tall and dazzlingly fair, and endowed with charm and vivacity of manner—all save one, Richard, the youngest of the family. Richard was dark and somewhat plain, and hardly better than average in height. One of his shoulders was slightly higher than the other. A great deal has been said of this inequality, although it is not unusual by any means. He was not humpbacked and he did not have a withered arm, although later it would be asserted in histories that he had both deformities.

Little Richard, as he was called by the other members of the family, may have suffered from polio in his infancy but he was beginning to gain in health and strength at this time. He was eight years of age and there does not seem to have been any jealousy in him, certainly no tendency to repine or openly bewail his lack of the family stature. His handsome brothers and sisters returned his affection. The family had gathered in the courtyard in a group around their still beautiful mother.

Isabel Neville was nine years old and was proudly riding her own horse. Anne was just four. It is unlikely that Richard had paid any attention before to the younger of the sisters but, standing in his usual place in the rear, he watched the girl as she was helped down from her seat behind one of the Neville pursuivants, a tiny figure muffled in furs. When she ran forward to drop a deep curtsey to her aunt, she looked oddly grown-up, for her skirts were long enough to sweep the ground and her high-waisted bodice was in the latest fashion. It is probable that the heart of the plain boy with his dark and somber eyes began to beat a little faster than usual.

This was the beginning. Richard, in spite of what most historians have said, would retain his feeling for her and he could never have been satisfied with anyone else for his wife.

The head of the great Kingmaker was filled with schemes which he kept strictly to himself. Things came to a head later, as has been explained earlier, and his two delicately slender daughters were used as pawns in his ambitious plans. Isabel was married to Clarence as part of the bribe to take the latter over to the Lancastrian side. She must have been an unusually attractive girl, for Clarence, who had never before loved anyone but himself, was really attached to her. When she died, he was disconsolate, for a rather brief time. Anne, at the age of thirteen, was taken to France and was included in the strange deal which Warwick and Louis XI of France made with Queen Margaret. Warwick was to turn his coat and fight for the restoration of Henry VI to the throne. Margaret’s son, Edward, was to marry Anne.

Margaret was adamant against the plan at first. She received the Warwick family with marked coldness and at first refused to speak to Warwick himself. When she found that he was making a point of the marriage between his youngest daughter and her beloved son, she flew into one of her not infrequent rages. Edward, the real heir to the throne of England, to marry a little chit like this!

Her position, however, was a weak one. This was her last chance. She must either form an alliance with Warwick or give up all thought of gaining back the throne. Both Warwick and the shrewd King of France
knew she must come to their terms. And come to them she did, although she stipulated that the solemnization of the marriage must wait until Warwick had made good his promises.

Some historians say that the pair were married at once, young Edward being very much taken by the small Anne, but others contend it was never more than a betrothal. The latter explanation seems the more likely.

Warwick accomplished all that he had promised. He landed in England and took Edward IV so completely by surprise that the latter had to fly across the North Sea with a mere handful of followers. Richard was included in the party which found shelter in the Netherlands. But Margaret did not follow at once on the heels of the victorious Warwick. When she finally arrived in England with the feminine members of the Warwick family in her train (Anne still treated with particular coldness), Edward had returned with an army and had defeated and killed Warwick at the Battle of Barnet.

What had Richard’s feelings been when he learned that Anne’s father was marrying her to Margaret’s son? There can be no doubt that he was bitterly unhappy. It was bad enough to be in exile, to be living on the cold, hard bread of charity and waiting for a miracle which might never happen. To know that the one girl he had ever wanted was to marry the Lancastrian heir made his lot seem doubly hard. All was changed, of course, when he played such a brilliant part in the final victories at Barnet and at Tewkesbury, where his rival died.

George of Clarence, being Anne’s brother-in-law, took charge of her after Edward IV resumed his sway. He made it clear at once that he disapproved of Richard’s open desire to marry Anne, taking this stand because he did not want the huge Warwick estates divided. Even after Edward had interposed in Richard’s behalf, Clarence let it be known that if necessary he would hide the second sister from his brother. This would have been a simple matter because Clarence had castles in many parts of England and manor houses by the score. Anne, if she were willing, could have been hidden away in any of them. But, say the Tudor historians, following in line like so many sheep, “he had to conceal her by disguising her as a serving-maid and placing her in a kitchen in London.” Yes, most of the books on the subject still repeat this absurd statement!

When a girl has been kept under close surveillance and disappears, to be found later disguised as a servant, it can mean only one thing. She had run away! The role of serving maid had been adopted to enable her to make her escape. The little Anne was a young lady of rare spirit. She was
not running away from Richard, she was getting herself out of the clutches of her selfish brother-in-law.