The Red Rose of Anjou - Plaidy Jean - Страница 59

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Warwick would be at Westminster. He was coming to explain to the Council the position at Calais; to tell them what a fine fellow he was, of course, thought Margaret. Well, while he was at Westminster Hall there should be a quarrel between Warwick’s retainers and those of the royal household. Warwick should be brought hurrying from the council chamber and there must be those waiting for him. They must fall upon him, kill him and then mingle in the general affray.

It seemed comparatively simple to Margaret. Then with Warwick out of the way York would have lost his most powerful friend. York without Warwick was far less formidable than he was at the moment. Warwick had the south east of the country with him and he was fast becoming known as a hero, one of those men who went into battle carrying the certainty of victory with them like a flag.

The day was set. Margaret was waiting in an atmosphere of increasing tension for news to reach her of her enemy’s death.

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Warwick arrived at Westminster Hall with his retinue prominently displaying his badge of the Ragged Staff which was recognized all over the country and being applauded wherever it was seen.

He left his men in the hall while he went along into the council chamber. He had not been there for more than five or six minutes when the fighting broke out in the hall. One of the King’s men had jostled a bearer of the Ragged Staff; muttering disparaging remarks against Warwick.

Warwick’s men hit out at the King’s man who immediately brought out a dagger. It was the cue. The royal servants were prepared to do the Queen’s bidding and in a matter of seconds the brawl had started. Warwick’s men were taken a little by surprise. Although they were prepared for insults they had not thought it would be as deadly as it was proving to be. They rushed at the assailants crying ‘A Warwick! A Warwick!’

Warwick himself hearing the turmoil came rushing out of the council chamber as Margaret had guessed he would.

It was the sign. Those who were ready to kill him dashed forward. But he was too quick for them and while he parried the blow he was surrounded by his own men, for they had realized almost at once that this was no ordinary brawl. This was an attempt to assassinate their leader. They would defend him with their lives and this they proceeded to do.

Warwick, bold adventurer that he was, saw at once that he was in a very dangerous position. His men were outnumbered and the purpose of this affray was to kill him. His only hope lay in escape. His well-trained men grasped the situation immediately. They cut a path through the shouting royalists and Warwick hurried through it. Several of his men guarded him while he with a few friends made his way out of the hall.

There was not a moment to lose. Even the gallant men of the Ragged Staff could not hold the royalists off indefinitely. Warwick’s barges were at the river’s edge and he and a few friends rushed to them and were on their way up river when their pursuers howling with frustrated rage came dashing down to the water’s edge.

‘We must make for Sandwich with all speed,’ said the Earl. ‘I shall return to Calais at once. I see I am unsafe here. The Queen has decided to murder me.’

Before he crossed, however, he sent messengers to his father Salisbury and to his uncle-in-law, the Duke of York, telling them of the assassination attempt and that he believed the Queen was responsible for it.

Warwick also sent messages to the Council which he had so hastily been forced to leave.

The Parliament had appointed him to Calais, he said. He would not give it up. He would abandon his estates in England rather.

Margaret was frustrated. Her scheme had failed; perhaps it had been clumsy, not well enough thought out; and now Warwick knew that there had been a plot to assassinate him and he would suspect the Queen was at the bottom of it.

Letters came to Calais from Salisbury and York telling Warwick that the Queen was preparing to attack. They believed that the plot against Warwick was the first step in her campaign. They would very soon be going into battle, for York had discovered that Margaret believed the King was popular enough to rally the people to his cause.

Warwick must return to England. They needed him.

Warwick considered this. Henry was useless in the role of King; more and more the real ruler would become Margaret. That would be disaster for England...and Warwick.

It was men such as Warwick who made Kings and Warwick had decided that York was the man to be King...York guided by Warwick.

He must leave Calais. He would take with him his trained men of the Ragged Staff to seek victory in the war against the Lancastrians.

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Warwick rode through England from Sandwich to London in the style of a king. Everywhere the people of Kent came out to cheer him. They called him the Captain of Calais and he reminded them of the old days when England had kings worthy to lead them, when victory was the order of the day. Warwick was of that kind.

He knew it. He revelled in it. He thought: when the time comes I will make York a king.

His captains were led by Andrew Trollope and John Blount— two of the finest soldiers one could wish to meet who would serve him well, he believed, but they had implied with the utmost firmness that they would not take up arms against the King.

This was no conflict with the King, he had pointed out. This was a battle between certain noblemen. Henry was King—all accepted that. But the Queen chose his ministers; the Queen worked with the French against the English. What they had to do was to prevent that, to set up a council of ministers who would make sure that the best men ruled and the Queen was not allowed to pursue her treacherous way. All the captains saw the point of that and they were proud to march through the country flourishing the badge of the Ragged Staff.

Even so the people did not flock to march under his banner. They had had enough of war. They wanted no more, least of all civil war. Peace was what they wanted, peace and prosperity.

Sensing the mood of the Londoners, Warwick skirted the city and made for his home ground of Warwick. There he heard a sorry story. There had been raids by the Lancastrians. All over the country the people were taking sides and as a well-known supporter of his uncle-in-law York, his lands were considered fair game by the Lancastrians.

He was convinced that it was time to march against the Queen, and decided to make his way immediately to Ludlow where he would join York.

His father, the Earl of Salisbury, was in the meantime on the road to Ludlow and with him were his two sons. Sir John and Thomas Neville. As they were approaching Blore Heath to their great consternation they saw in the distance an armed force advancing towards them. It was too late to turn back. They had been seen, and within a very short time it became clear that they were about to encounter Lancastrians on the march.

Salisbury was greatly outnumbered.

‘We’ll beat them, never fear,’ said John Neville. ‘One of us is as good as three of them.’

It was the old cry of those who were going into battle against great odds. Salisbury did not like it. But there was no help for it. They must stand and fight.

The battle was swift and bloody. Men were dying all around. The Yorkists fought so fiercely that they were able to hold their ground against superior numbers until nightfall and then there was such confusion that Salisbury and those of his men who had come through the encounter were able to get away, which they thought the wisest course of action. It was with great sorrow that Salisbury learned that his two sons had been captured. They had been over bold, it seemed, in pursuing the enemy.

The fortunes of war, thought Salisbury ruefully; but at least he had escaped to ride on to Ludlow.

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