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  ‘My lady mother, I don’t want to take up arms against the King. Arms are out of the question.’

  ‘Quarrels like this always end in arms!’ snapped his mother, before he could finish speaking.

  He gazed huntedly around the room, searching for excuse or escape. His mother walked to the window, the familiar beads at her waist swinging as she walked. George had never seen her without that rosary, the gold beads and cross with the scallop shell of jet hanging from it. That dangling black lump had fascinated all her babies in turn, indeed, he had probably tried to cut his teeth on it himself. The Duchess rapped suddenly on the window with her knuckles, hard enough to make a diamond in one of her rings mark it. ‘Look out there,’ she said.

  The windows looked over the harbour. The Trinity lay there, her poop high as a tower above the houses. She was still garlanded and decked from her blessing. Embroidered banners of the Trinity and Our Lady hung from her masts. Her deck had been scoured so white it looked floured. She could carry four hundred archers and men-at-arms. ‘It is entirely my nephew Warwick’s decision whether the biggest ship in the King’s fleet does battle for him or against him.’

  ‘We only want to persuade him,’ Clarence’s arguments had begun to sound thin even to himself.

  ‘Don’t play the innocent with me, my son! You are in your twentieth year now, George, and know the world. Persuasion is a double-edged blade.’ She had an extraordinary ability to brush aside circumlocution.

  ‘To make him shake off the Woodville influence. It is they whom we quarrel with!’

  ‘You cannot make the King do anything.’

  ‘You favour Edward above the rest of us.’

  The Duchess made no immediate reply. Whether this was because George had hit upon the truth, or because she thought the jibe too contemptible to answer, he was not sure. It was in fact the truth, but George never had enough perception to realize he had seldom done anything to recommend himself as his mother’s favourite son.

  ‘You even favour Richard above me!’

  ‘Nonsense. He may be younger, but his behaviour is more responsible than yours. Thank God, he worries me less than you do — can’t you see Dickon needs less of my attention? I have not had to chase him over half the kingdom. And if you cannot see that he suffers even more hurt from those you choose to call the King’s enemies than you do, then you cannot see beyond the end of your own nose. Don’t forget where Richard was brought up — do you think he has made an easy choice? It would be easier for you, yet you persist in this wilful disobedience. It will end in treason, and then I shall not know how to defend you.’ Suddenly the Duchess became less of a judge and more of a mother. ‘George,’ she said, kissing him on one angry red cheek, ‘you will not go against me in this?’

  He, overcome as he often was by sudden softening emotion, seized this opportunity and put his arms round his mother, promising again that he would never commit treason against his brother.

  The Duchess did not have much faith in his protestations but felt unable to do more. She could scarcely put George under lock and key in Sandwich town in the King’s name. Cecily, having tried her son, over whom she did have some influence, went to her Neville nephews, over whom she had very little.

  Warwick, after receiving her with utmost courtesy, shrugged his shoulders and admitted that there was going to be no change in his plans. Clarence was to be married to Isabel — the Papal dispensation had been obtained. They were going over to Calais in a week or two, where the Archbishop of York would officiate at the ceremony.

  ‘Your money in the Pope’s coffers, Richard,’ scoffed his aunt, ‘or King Louis’ money!’

  Warwick cast a rueful glance at his brother the Archbishop. He had no intention of weakening under this female onslaught, but he was not enjoying it. He had been the friend of the Duke of York for so long, and of the Duchess, his youngest aunt; he could not easily shrug off her censure. If her husband the Duke of York had lived, Warwick would have made this formidable woman Queen.

  Archbishop George Neville said soothingly, ‘My dear lady, when we come back from Calais, we fully intend to join King Edward in the north. Then we can set about resolving the matters which are at variance between us.’

  ‘In fact,’ said Cecily, unappeased, ‘you intend to twist my son’s arm. I do not know what means you will employ. Your father Salisbury, who was my brother, your brother Thomas, my husband, my son — all were claimed by civil strife. Twenty thousand men died at Towton to put my son upon his throne. Their lives will have been wasted if you threaten him, and you will be traitors to the realm you have made. I only pray that the end will not be war.’

  The Earl and the Archbishop both crossed themselves. ‘There will be no war,’ said Warwick, and he was perfectly sincere.

  ‘If it should begin again,’ the Duchess went on relentlessly, ‘the time will have come for me to retire from the world, and leave what family shall remain to me. They bring me too much sorrow.’

  3

  The Maker of Kings

  July 1469 – March 1470

  Than sette I from my ryalte

  As angell dede from hevyn to helle;

  All crystyn kynges be war me —

  God amend wikkyd cownsel!

  Many a man for me hath be slayn

  With bowe and axe and swerde I-drawe;

  And that I wite myn own brayn

  I-helde nowth my lordys under awe.

  God Amend Wicked Counsel (c. 1464)

  3

  ‘Crimson velvet of Montpellier in Gascony. Two qualities: fourteen and twenty shillings per yard. That’s all very well.

  ‘Blue cloth of silver upon satin, twenty-four shillings. Hmm.

  ‘Black velvet upon velvet cloth of gold, a long gown of ten and a half yards — forty shillings per yard! Not to mention the ermine skins, the three and four pence to the tailor, and the six and eight pence for a lined satin doublet!’

  King Edward looked up from this entry in the accounts and let out a pained whistle.

  ‘I’ll find out who supplied that. Forty shillings! No more than thirty-three to the trade, I’m certain, or thirty-five to noble customers. Why should the King pay well above the market price for allowing foreign merchants — not even his subjects — the privilege of his custom?’

  Lord Hastings, who was Chamberlain of the royal household, said, ‘A natural hazard of monarchy, your Grace, which I know you’re astute enough to overcome. They should know better than to swindle you.’

  The two men were sitting on either side of a table drawn up in front of an open window looking out over the inner courtyard of Nottingham Castle. In spite of this the room was stuffy, and dust floated in the slanting bars of July sunshine which fell across their work. Outside, there was a great deal of noise from the builders. An ungreased pulley squeaked without intermission against a background of shovelling, as the bricklayers mixed mortar. Blasphemous shouts soared up from the foreman, some so astonishing that the King and Hastings exchanged grins. The King was glad to see his new building progressing. The old royal apartments were cramped and low ceilinged, and the windows were too small. The King, Hastings and several other household officers were sitting like merchants in a counting house, looking over the books, which they did regularly every quarter. Hastings, a man a dozen years older than the King, had recognized in his master the qualities of a successful merchant even in the first years of their friendship, when Edward had been no more than seventeen. These qualities were most useful to a king.

  ‘Hmm,’ King Edward pursued his point. ‘Baudekyn of silk, thirty-three and four pence a piece — I’ll let that pass. Fringe of Venice gold at six shillings the ounce. Could be got cheaper, but not worth quibbling this time. Ostrich feathers ten shillings each…!’ The King groaned, yawned, and stretched his arms above his head until the bones creaked.

  ‘If I told you what Anthony Popagay charged me for a hat with a feather when I was last in his shop…’ Hastings had to break off in mid-senten
ce.

  The painted leather curtain which hung across the door was thrust aside, and the Duke of Gloucester was hurriedly announced before he burst into the room. Richard was one of the few persons who could burst into the King’s presence without reprimand. He had run all the way across the big outer courtyard from the castle main gate, through the inner court and up the stairs. He could run a good distance without panting, but this time he had to catch his breath before speaking.

  ‘You’ll excuse the intrusion, your Grace — Lord Hastings…’

  He laid the letter he was carrying on the table in front of his brother.

  ‘Dick, you very seldom intrude on me; there’s only one situation in which I’m not pleased to see you!’ King Edward grinned across at his friend Lord Hastings. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Something I’d wish was anything but what it is. I was at the main gate when it was brought in. Warwick’s man. You’d better be forewarned. I’ve heard the news already. This is from Warwick and his brother the Archbishop. When they were in Calais, they sent this letter out to all the principal towns in the kingdom.’

  ‘I’d better read it.’ The King broke the seals and opened the letter.

  ‘George is married!’ Richard blurted out. This was the least part of the bad news he had collected from Warwick’s man.

  ‘What!?’ As Richard let drop this remark, his brother had discovered the contents of the letter. King Edward let out a sudden roar, like a baited beast.

  ‘Clarence has dared to go this far against me? Trying to make out he’s been kept from my council because he’s been supplanted by Rivers’ family. I’ll tell you why he’s been kept from my council — it’s because he has persistently refused to make useful contribution to it! So he’s got himself married to Warwick’s daughter, after I forbade it. To spite me, I suppose.’

  As he unfolded the second part of his unwelcome missive, King Edward realized that the flouting of his commands by Clarence was only a small part of his present trouble — indeed, danger.

  ‘So my mighty lord Warwick has been pulling the strings of all these dancing rebel Robins in the north, who’ve been sent to plague me. Robin Mend All! Amend everything so that King Neville can be crowned!’ he raved.

  Richard winced. Lord Hastings sat staring, aghast. There were those who thought the King should have realized the truth of this months ago, instead of dismissing much evidence as prejudice.

  ‘Do they think they can lead me by the nose? Does my brother of Clarence imagine Warwick will set him up as King of England in my place? No, I can’t believe that. It’s too much.

  ‘So my lord of Warwick is calling on my subjects to join him in arms — to march against me, the King! I tell you, his brains have been addled by spleen and pride. His venom against Rivers and the Queen has poisoned his mind. Well, if he wants a fight, I’ll give it to him, by God!’

  Lord Hastings, when he had read the Earl’s proclamation of intent, said, ‘So they are coming to present their grievances to your Grace in person — for discussion. I’ve heard of that ploy before. My lord Archbishop of York takes a prominent place, no doubt to show their methods are peaceful — at first. I don’t trust George Neville; he fancies himself playing St Michael in a morality of his own drafting.’

  ‘They were at Canterbury last Tuesday, and in London by the end of the week,’ Richard said, reluctantly, not relishing his role as bearer of ill news. ‘The City lent them a thousand pounds.’

  ‘Did they now?’ King Edward’s angry shouts had subsided to growls. ‘I’ll find out who subscribed to that loan — down to the last penny, before God, I will! If they’re so full of money there must be plenty more they can lend to me.’ He laughed grimly.

  ‘We must go south to put a stop to all this, before my brother Clarence indulges any further in his play acting, and before Richard Neville thinks he has the ordering of my kingdom.’

  King Edward looked both angry and rueful, unwilling to admit his dilatoriness. He had been caught, so to speak, with his feet up on the table. Richard noted his determination on instant action with relief, and a feeling that all was somehow now under control.

  But it took a few days to raise even a small number of troops. A week had passed before the King left Nottingham to go south. He relied upon his friends the Earls of Pembroke and Devonshire to join him with their army of Welsh archers and west countrymen, so that they might cut off the northern rebels before Warwick came from London and met up with his mob of unruly Neville supporters.

  On the road a tiny band of Pembroke’s men met the King. He had seen enough of battles to know at once that these soldiers were beaten and on the run.

  ‘My lord of Pembroke is taken!’ a man shouted as soon as they were in earshot. ‘They took him to Northampton — to the lord Warwick.’

  ‘Taken! But how? Where? What’s become of Devonshire?’

  ‘Fled to the west country. Your Grace, we do not know what happened, we were parted — our men and my lord Devonshire’s. There was some reason — I do not know — we heard our lord had some quarrel. Near Banbury, we were. Your Grace, do not go near Northampton, for my lord Pembroke’s head will be taken from him by now, and Sir Richard’s, his brother. Highness, we have lost two good lords, for what seems to have been an error.’

  ‘So Warwick has sunk to this — taking the lives of Herbert and Stafford to spite me — to show the little boy his uncle can smack his hand and take his toys away. He goes too far. William Herbert was a good friend, too good to lose. God rest his soul, I grieve for him.

  ‘There’s only one thing to be done,’ King Edward said, pulling himself together. ‘I’ll skirt around Northampton and cross the river at Olney ford, and go towards London.’

  But the news of the defeat of Pembroke and Devonshire meant disaster. Not only had the King lost two of his most effective servants and closest friends, but the few soldiers still with him took fright and during the night fled quietly away, back to their homes. There was nothing left for King Edward to do but ride for London. The only lords of importance left with him were his friend Lord Hastings, and his brother Richard. Neither of them would have left him, even if all three had been destitute and alone on the road.

  But the King had forgotten that the manor of Olney in Buckinghamshire belonged to Warwick. The Archbishop of York lay in wait for him, knowing that he would have to cross the river Ouse there. Men in the scarlet livery of Warwick lined either side of the wide ford. Since there were now less than fifty persons with the King, resistance was useless. Richard reined in his horse, staring at them, unable to believe what was happening. The King looked round at his followers, then shrugged and spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. ‘No sense in shedding blood,’ he said, ‘in case it should be mine.’

  The Archbishop himself rode forward on his dazzlingly white horse to meet the King. Richard watched this third Neville brother. The Archbishop had not, of course, donned armour to perform this almost military manoeuvre — he knew the King had too much sense to fight his way out of the encounter — but he would probably have looked well in it. He was tall, elegant and when on foot walked with a long-legged, easy stride in his flowing scarlet gowns. Now thirty-four, he had been made Chancellor of England at twenty-five, a bishop two years later, and Archbishop of York at thirty. He was both erudite and astute; some speculated that one day he might become the second English Pope. Glass painters gave the younger, more warlike saints in their windows the same sort of blond, smooth hair on their tonsured heads, the same smooth features. All that was missing, his enemies said, was the nimbus of holiness; Neville had tried hard to remedy this deficiency by acquiring the wide scarlet brim of a Cardinal’s hat, but this had gone to his venerable Grace of Canterbury instead. Richard had previously admired his many gifts.

  Neville said, ‘Your Grace, it is fortunate that I am able to meet you here without any misunderstanding or violence. My brother and myself would deeply deplore any brawling between our more unruly servants, while
we are in fact the best of friends.’ He looked at the King’s sullen, milling servants and knew the anger of Gloucester and Hastings.

  ‘My lord of York,’ King Edward said, shortly, ‘it is clear that I have no choice but to be at your disposal, if I do not wish to suffer the fate of my friends Herbert and Stafford. I would be grateful if you would allow my brother and my friends here to depart, since they intend no brawling.’

  ‘Your Grace, if I may accompany you to my brother of Warwick, I am sure that the problems which have arisen between us can be quickly resolved, and we can all begin to work together again on the affairs of this realm.’ Neville was not in the least abashed. He was the politest of gaolers.

  Richard turned his horse away from the scene at Olney ford undecided as to where he should go, or what he should do. He had been dismissed as too young and of no importance by the Archbishop and told that he might go away. The King was being taken to Warwick Castle; there was no question of accompanying him.

  Lord Hastings, who had been treated in the same way, thought himself exceedingly fortunate to be Warwick’s brother-in-law. He was the only one of King Edward’s intimates not censured in the Neville petition. This was partly on account of the family relationship, and partly because Hastings’ influence with the King was thought honest, and because he was known to dislike the Queen’s family nearly as much as the Nevilles themselves did.

  The first face that Richard looked for among the King’s dismayed companions was Lord Hastings’. For all his easy-going, womanizing ways, Hastings was a calm, dependable man, who had always shown himself friendly to Richard.

  ‘Your Grace must regard my castle of Ashby as always open to you. Probably the King will be taken to Warwick; we would do well not to be too far away.’

  ‘I should go to my brother Clarence,’ Richard said, ‘though I doubt if I can influence him.’