Common Myths of the Wars of the Roses – Myth #3: Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, the ‘Kingmaker’? Part 3…

This is the third part of my exploration into the notion that Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, deserves the epithet of “kingmaker”. When I sat down to write Part 3, I quickly realised that, to avoid oversimplifying the story, I would need to deal with King Edward IV’s mid-reign crisis of 1468-71 in two separate posts. So basically this is now Part 3 of 4!

There are two stages to the crisis and the first involves Warwick’s attempt to hitch his wagon, or more accurately his elder daughter, to the runaway horse called George, Duke of Clarence – the king’s younger brother.

Much has been made by historians of Warwick’s growing frustration during the 1460s, especially over the king’s secret marriage to Elizabeth Woodville in 1464. We are told that Warwick was ‘disappointed’ that Edward did not give him the influence over policy that he believed he deserved. Yes, you’re right: he had an ego to die for – and sooner or later he would…

In his ‘disappointment’ Warwick began to consider an alternative to Edward. After all, if one powerful duke could seize the throne, why not another? His attentions were therefore focused on Edward’s younger brother, George, who seemed an obvious choice because his claim to the throne was as good as Edward’s – especially if Edward was without Warwick’s support. An obvious choice, except George was not the man Edward was and no-one would seek to supplant the king with his younger brother unless he was desperate.

Why then was Warwick beginning to feel desperate by 1468?

Well folks, it’s mainly about sons and daughters – Warwick had no sons and two daughters.

A favourable marriage was a major tool in noble advancement. Warwick himself made a spectacular one which added enormously to his power and wealth. At least one of his daughters would have to secure a great marriage and the best – perhaps the only – option amongst the nobility would have been Henry Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, since he had royal lineage and large landholdings. Buckingham, however, was swiftly married off to one of the new queen’s Woodville relatives and was thus unavailable. So, if the noble line of Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, was not to be subsumed into a lesser noble house, his daughters must marry up – i.e. into royalty.

George, Duke of Clarence [from Wikimedia]

Enter George, Duke of Clarence: available, eligible and royal. This would be the perfect match to secure the future of the Neville family.

King Edward, however, dismissed out of hand the idea of a Neville marriage to either of his brothers. Perhaps Warwick did have a genuine cause for complaint since, in his eyes, the king had denied him Buckingham and was now ruling out the two royal dukes as well. But from Edward’s point of view: by 1468 he, like Warwick, also had two daughters and no sons. How dangerous would it be if the heir presumptive, his brother George, married into the most powerful noble family in England while Edward still had no male heir of his own?  A further hurdle was that a papal dispensation would be required since George and Warwick’s daughters were cousins. In spite of the king’s opposition, Warwick persisted with the project through 1467 and at some point began secret negotiations with Rome for the necessary papal dispensation.

The summer of 1467 marks the first really low point in the relationship between the king and Warwick. By the end of that summer, Warwick’s favoured foreign policy of an alliance with France was demolished when Edward opted for a counter alliance with the enemy of France: Burgundy. Here is not the place to discuss the relative merits of the two policies but it was this humiliation of Warwick that set the earl on a collision course with the king.

Warwick went home to his estates to lick his wounds. That does not mean that he had already decided upon rebellion, but it does mean that he was considering his options. Apart from the French fiasco, he was also resentful of the rise of other men at court, notably the Queen’s father, Earl Rivers, and brother, Lord Scales, but especially William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke. Herbert was a rising star in the Yorkist firmament and his growing power in Wales set him against Warwick who had longstanding interests there. Herbert also appeared to be spreading rumours – also going around the French court at the time – that the disaffected Warwick was now in league with the deposed Lancastrian queen, Margaret of Anjou.

Privately, King Edward must have dismissed this notion as laughable but he could not completely ignore it. When he asked Warwick to come to answer the rumours, the earl was reluctant. In the end, early in 1468, he did so but only in the most grudging and unbending manner. Despite Warwick’s unhelpful attitude, the king continued to reward him with lands and income – as if he was short of such things!

It has been noted before that Edward preferred conciliation to confrontation with his leading subjects – sometimes at very great risk to himself. Here again we see the king trying hard to win over Warwick rather than drive him away, but it became increasingly obvious during 1468 that Warwick would not accept being merely one of a number of royal advisers. The earl did not really buy into the concept of ‘first among equals.’

Whilst his leading magnate was sulking, Edward had more pressing problems: there had been a notable increase in lawlessness during 1466, 1467 and into 1468. One of the most enduring planks of any Yorkist manifesto was to reduce corruption and restore law and order, but it appeared that Edward had failed to do so. Part of the renewed unrest was down to an increase in the activities of Lancastrian loyalists. It seemed that every time Edward thought he had restored control, new pockets of rebellion popped up. Whilst none of these was large-scale, taken together they were certainly worrying.

During 1468 Warwick returned to London and the documentary evidence tells us that he and his brothers, George – lately removed as Chancellor – and John, Lord Montagu, were all prominently involved in government. So, to judge from appearances, the Nevilles were back on board the good ship Edward. But all was not quite as it seemed…

By 1469, Warwick was actively pursuing two converging policies against Edward. The first was the  alliance with Clarence through marriage to his daughter, Isabel, for which Warwick still awaited a papal dispensation.

Why did Clarence go along with this? Basically because, whilst he was handsome and charming like his brother, he lacked several of Edward’s other, better, qualities. Despite the immense rewards showered upon him since the victory of 1461, Clarence was dissatisfied. He was ambitious and viewed a marriage to the elder Neville heiress as an excellent way of increasing his already large land holdings and power.

Warwick’s second policy was to exploit and focus the growing disaffection of the commons against Edward’s government. In the spring of 1469 he used his men in the north to encourage rebellion. Though it is certain that the commons had legitimate grievances, it is unlikely they would have risen in such numbers without the promise of support from some local members of the gentry committed to the earl. Warwick also promoted his own image through propaganda and his generosity to all and sundry. Then – as now – folk are easily swayed by rich men who promise the poor better times…

Between April and July 1469 there were several risings in the north. It’s almost unbelievable how little we know about these revolts, but we do know one thing: Warwick was behind the largest one and helped to direct its manifesto.

[See an earlier post on my blog for the complexities of these risings: http://bit.ly/2zAdpFq]

King Edward reacted very slowly to the threat of rebellion in the north, making a laboured progress to Nottingham to raise troops to counter the rebels. While he was doing that, Warwick was elsewhere. At the end of June the earl announced the Clarence-Neville marriage in a letter to his supporters in Coventry and almost at once, in early July, he departed with his brother Archbishop George Neville, along with Clarence and Isabel, to Calais where the marriage took place. After that, Warwick made his intentions crystal clear, directly associating himself with the northern rebels and issuing a statement which notably compared the ills of the present regime with the failures of Edward II, Richard II and Henry VI – all of whom had of course been deposed.

Warwick then returned to England as the northern rebels swept into the midlands opposed only by the armies of William Herbert and another upstart – from Warwick’s perspective – Humphrey Stafford, Earl of Devon.

Middleham Castle, Yorkshire

Warwick arrived in time to condemn the royal commanders and anyone else he cared to – notably a few of the Woodvilles. He then took possession of the king, moving him first to Warwick and then into the Neville heartland at Middleham. Next he summoned parliament – perhaps to garner support for his actions and perhaps also to legitimise the elevation of Clarence over his older brother.

By the middle of August 1469, Warwick appeared to be in command of both the king and the kingdom.At this critical moment in his reign, Edward was slow to grasp what was happening: perhaps the betrayal by Warwick, but also by his own brother, still seemed unthinkable. His inactivity did not help his allies, Herbert and Stafford; on the other hand these two bullish men did not help each other much either. They managed to snatch oblivion from the jaws of victory at the battle of Edgecote in July 1469.

Sadly for Warwick, it was all an illusion. The conundrum for us is that we don’t really know what Warwick intended. Surely he intended to be the ‘kingmaker’ here. Clarence must have been promised the throne; otherwise what was the point of drawing any comparison with previously deposed kings?

It is possible, of course, that the more Warwick got to know Clarence the less convinced he was that the king’s flawed brother was the answer to his problems. Hence the earl ended up trying to rule through Edward as a ‘puppet king’ and it just did not work.

Here’s why. Though Warwick had some popular support in the north, hardly any of the ruling classes supported his coup. He was almost completely isolated amongst the nobility and the king’s council. Plans for a parliament were quickly shelved amid governmental chaos and yet another Lancastrian rising. It did not help Warwick that there was even more disorder after he took over than before: local feuds abounded and the earl could offer no answer without the authority of the king. Ironically therefore, he was forced to release the king in order to suppress the Lancastrian rising and restore confidence in the government.

By October, King Edward was back in London in the bosom of his allies. Publicly, he declared his goodwill towards both Warwick and Clarence, but no-one was fooled. Though the king did not punish Warwick, he was unlikely to forget the earl’s savage execution of his rivals – especially since one of them was the queen’s father! He began to limit Neville power and influence whilst allowing them to retain some pride. Men such as Edward’s youngest brother, Richard, Duke of Gloucester, Thomas, Lord Stanley, and Henry Percy, newly restored to his earldom of Northumberland, were given more influence at Neville expense. Edward hoped for reconciliation, but did not expect it. His brother, George, might be forgiven but not the Earl of Warwick.

Over the winter of 1469-70, the earl chewed over his failure. True, he had achieved the marriage he intended and had removed some rivals, but his position in the state was now perilous. Yet, the king still had no son, so perhaps Warwick’s only way out was to think the unthinkable… as many desperate men do…

In the final part I shall look at Warwick’s final throw of the dice: the readeption of Henry VI.

[Note: This post was first published on the blog of the English Historical Fiction Authors]

If you have yet to read the earlier posts in this series, you can find them here:

Kingmaker? Part 1

Kingmaker? Part 2

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All you thought you knew about the Wars of the Roses, but didn’t… Episode Three: Warwick, the Kingmaker? Part Two…

A month or two ago, after a bit of a rant on Facebook, I started a series of posts to explode a few of the pervasive myths which surround the Wars of the Roses.

Here’s the second part of my exploration into the notion that Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, deserves the epithet of “kingmaker”.

We have seen in Part 1 how Warwick’s role in the events leading up to 1460 was that of a supporter of the Duke of York, but not one who was trying to unseat the lawful king, Henry VI. However, with the disastrous defeat at the battle of Wakefield in December 1460, the political landscape of England was changed utterly. As Christmas presents go, it was to say the least, disappointing for  York’s heir, Edward, Earl of March. The York-Neville alliance was in tatters and a new strategy was required. Now the decisions rested not with York and Salisbury but with their sons: Edward and Richard, Earl of Warwick.

Surely here then is the prime example of Warwick ‘making’ a king – but is it?

If Warwick himself had been writing the script, I have no doubt that it would have read thus:

The Earl of Warwick took the inexperienced 18 year old son of York under his wing and guided him to power. That Warwick believed this to be the case is almost certain, but that doesn’t make it true.

The ‘kingmaker’ version of events does not match what actually happened. 

Though Edward might not have succeeded in taking the throne, without Warwick’s resources, the pivotal events of 1461 were driven by Edward, not by Warwick.

Warwick was important because he drew support for Edward and had enormous resources of men and money, but in 1461 it was young Edward who pulled the strings – both on and off the battlefield. The traditional historical view of Edward was that he was lazy and indecisive – another colossal myth bequeathed to us by the Victorians, but that’s for another day! In fact, especially in his youth, Edward was very decisive indeed and it was his drive and energy which dictated the fast pace of events in the spring of 1461, whereas Warwick was very much on the back foot.

In February, whilst Queen Margaret headed for London with a large northern army, Edward destroyed Jasper and Owen Tudor’s Lancastrian army in the west at Mortimer’s Cross, before marching east to join Warwick. At the very same time, Warwick was making a complete pig’s ear of his attempt to stop Margaret’s advance on London.

The Earl of Warwick was not a great general – nor was he an especially lucky one. His chaotic performance at the second battle of St Albans could have destroyed the Yorkist cause. During the battle, he had no idea what was going on, with the result that most of his army was destroyed or fled. Then afterwards, he contrived to lose the one vital advantage he had which was possession of King Henry VI. Thus, when Warwick dragged the tattered remnant of his army to meet Edward at Chipping Norton, he brought very little to the table.

This, I think, was the moment when young Edward realised that if he was going to be king, he could not rely upon Warwick to deliver the crown to him. Had Margaret decided to unleash her unruly army against London in February 1461 then she might well have secured the throne for her husband, Henry VI. Fortunately for Edward – and Warwick – she did not. Instead, almost inexplicably, she retreated northwards and allowed Edward to enter London in triumph.

In London, often supportive of his father, Edward could use the machinery of government and raise merchant loans to recruit another army with which he would later defeat the queen’s forces at the bloody battle of Towton.

London was therefore vital and there is no doubt that it was Queen Margaret, not Warwick, who handed him the city and all its resources.

The vital occupation of London was thus achieved in spite of, not because of, Warwick’s efforts.

Becoming king in 1461 was not about diplomacy, or having the right policies, it was about winning a bitter and bloody struggle on the field of battle.

Edward IV, St Laurence’s Church, Ludlow

 

During his reign, as I have said, Edward IV is sometimes accused of lethargy but in 1461 it was his drive and fighting prowess which won the day.

Sometimes it’s as well to step outside the cosy narrative of the history books and see the man as he was perceived by others. Edward was a natural leader and in the heat of battle men saw this giant of a youth – well over six feet tall – always in the forefront of the fight, hacking down his enemies with his fearsome poll axe. Warwick was a brave soldier and indeed fought bravely at Towton, but he could not outshine Edward. It was a truly terrible battle and the outcome was still in doubt quite late on in the day. It was the arrival of reinforcements from the Duke of Norfolk which turned the tide of battle in Edward’s favour. So even then, victory owed little to Warwick.

 

Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, though he was very important to Edward’s success, did not make Edward king in 1461; Edward did. Warwick was not a king maker.

The earl is rather like a competitor in BBC’s The Apprentice claiming in the boardroom: “I negotiated that deal, or I got that special price, or I made that massive sale that won us the task.”

Warwick ‘talked a good game’ and after the throne was won, he saw himself – perhaps rightly – as the man who should be the king’s chief adviser.  But in the next four or five years, events did not quite follow Warwick’s plan. He hoped to be the guiding hand behind the crown and in his foreign diplomacy he projected exactly such an image.

One of the features of Edward’s kingship, throughout his disjointed reign, is his willingness to give his enemies a second chance. In most cases, this worked well for him and ensured that his government eventually included many who had supported the old king. Though at times this generosity backfired, it did gain him the respect and support of many who had not previously been his allies.

How irritating must Warwick have found it in the 1460s to see his place of prominence being threatened by some who had actually fought against him?

Thus by 1469, Warwick was a very disgruntled nobleman who began to see that his own best interests might lie with an alternative to Edward IV.

But more of that in Part 3…

[Note: This post was first published on the blog of the English Historical Fiction Authors]

All you thought you knew about the Wars of the Roses, but didn’t… Episode Two: Warwick, the Kingmaker?

Wars of the Roses Myth #3 – Was Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, really a ‘Kingmaker’? 

Part 1…

A month or two ago, I had a bit of a rant on Facebook about the common myths which persist about many aspects of the Wars of the Roses period. I vowed to do something about it, so here’s my second offering which seeks to explode the myth that Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, justified the epithet of “kingmaker”.

History likes important people to have nicknames: Alfred the Great, Ethelred the Unready, William the Conqueror, Edward ‘Longshanks’, or the ‘Hammer of the Scots’, ‘Good Queen Bess’ or ‘Gloriana’, ‘Bloody’ Mary and ‘Bluff’ King Hal. Such nicknames will be familiar but these names are not about history, they are about legend. They are useful handles for us to use to identify a particular figure and they have become part of our collective memory. Unfortunately, they are often wholly, or partly, inaccurate – and frequently based upon the opinions of a few influential early historians.

These nicknames are thus the judgement of one society or culture upon another that came before – and they sometimes come with a fierce perspective! Often it’s worth finding out, if you can, who first used the term and why.

So when was the name ‘Kingmaker’ first used about the Earl of Warwick?

Well, Shakespeare – who else? – gives us a place to start with the character of Warwick in his play Henry VI Part 3. [Please note: Shakespeare wrote fiction!]

In Act 2, scene 3, Warwick is described by the bard as: “thou setter up and plucker down of kings.”

Courtesy of Wikipedia

But the term ‘kingmaker’ actually predates Shakespeare. A Scottish philosopher and intellectual, John Major (or Mair), wrote in 1521 of Warwick in his History of Greater Britain: ‘Of him, it was said that he made kings and at his pleasure cast them down’ and Major used the Latin phrase ‘regum creator’ to describe the earl.

The first known English reference is: ‘That brave Kingmaker, Warwick’ which appears in Samuel Daniel’s poem, The History of the Civil War written in the reign of Elizabeth I.

However, it was not a term in common use for several hundred years until the eighteenth century historian, David Hume, made it more well-known. And of course, for good or ill, the epithet stuck fast.

I have no trouble with using such a tag as an easy handle for recognition purposes. People mostly have some clue to whom you are referring if you say Warwick, the ‘Kingmaker’, to distinguish him from all other Earls of Warwick that existed before or since – and there have been many! That’s fair enough, but when it comes to whether the term is justified, then that’s another matter entirely.

There are probably three distinct occasions when it has been claimed that the Earl of Warwick was a kingmaker:

1) for Richard, Duke of York, in 1455 (or 1460 – take your pick!)

2) for Edward, Earl of March, in 1461

3) for Henry VI upon his readeption in 1470.

Like most things in the Wars of the Roses, these claims are controversial, but the short answer is that Warwick didn’t actually make anyone king!

In Part 1, I shall deal with the myth that he intended to replace Henry VI with Richard, Duke of York.

 

From the Rous Roll, “Warwick the Kingmaker”, Oman, 1899

Just how powerful and influential was Warwick?

Warwick had immense wealth – he was a ‘billionaire’ for his time by virtue of his massive land holdings which were the fruits of a succession of advantageous Neville marriages. His large family had intermarried with many other noble families and he could thus build alliances to gain the support of other powerful men.

His wealth gave him a sizeable retinue of men at arms, archers, etc. from these vast estates. He was keen to use the latest technology in warfare such as cannons and firearms – and he understood the importance of such new weapons. In the field he was a courageous warrior, capable of inspiring great loyalty amongst his supporters. Unlike many, he understood the value of sea power and was something of a pioneer in its use.

As well as his martial prowess, he had the charm of a smooth-talking diplomat who was able to win many to his banner. Add to that the drive and ruthless determination to succeed and you have a man capable of achieving a great deal.

The historian, Michael Hicks, in his recent authoritative book, Warwick the Kingmaker, concludes: “For twenty years he shaped events, his own career, and indeed history itself.”

So Warwick probably had the means to ‘make’ a king, but did he try to put the Duke of  York on  the throne?

The Duke of York possessed an ancient claim to the throne and he was, in the absence of an heir to Henry VI up to 1453, the heir presumptive – the man most likely to succeed. Nevertheless in the early 1450s Richard of York felt slighted and ill-treated, perhaps with some justification, by Henry VI’s regime. York ended up with almost no major political allies. Then, during the period 1452 to 1455, he began to form an alliance with the powerful Neville family.

Was the alliance with York the work of Warwick? 

Perhaps, but only in part, since his father, the ageing Earl of Salisbury, whose sister, Cicely Neville, was married to York, was the true architect, just as he was the architect of the marriage years earlier that gave Warwick himself such wealth.

How then did Warwick come to support Richard of York against King Henry VI?

Warwick believed that, as a key figure in the realm, he should position himself and his family as close to the centre of power as possible. Since the source of all patronage and advancement was the king, Warwick expected to serve the king in a major capacity and be amply rewarded for doing so. Nothing unusual about that since it was the aspiration of most noblemen in England.

Unfortunately for Warwick, he, and the Neville family in general, had influential rivals at court, notably Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset. They were also embroiled in a bitter feud with the Percy family in their own backyard in the north of England. The usual way to eclipse one’s enemies was to harness more power and wealth from the king, for example: grants of more land, appointment to important offices of state or lucrative customs contracts. Such things were the bread and butter of all noble families at that time. The problem was that there was only so much largesse that a king had to give. A prudent king might spread it around a little to create some balance amongst his most powerful subjects, but sadly, Henry VI was not so discriminating.

Thus, by the mid-1450s, the Earl of Warwick, despite all his power and wealth, did not have the pre-eminent position in the state that he coveted. But on two occasions in the 1450s, Warwick was given a glimpse of an alternative reality – a world where England was ruled by a Protector of the Realm because of the king’s temporary incapacity. That protector was Richard, Duke of York and York did a fair job of ruling. He also rewarded his friends, such as the Nevilles, and punished his enemies, such as Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset.

York gave Warwick the prominent seat at the table of state which he wanted. But, after the king’s recovery, York had to relinquish his role of protector with the result that the York-Neville faction was once again starved of influence over the king and thus out of power. For a time they tried persuasion but then in 1455, at the first Battle of St Albans, they resorted to force.

So, was St Albans in 1455 the first act of the ‘kingmaker’ to replace Henry VI?

Definitely not and any such suggestion is pure fantasy. What Warwick wanted to do in 1455 was forcibly remove the king’s closest advisers such as Somerset. It was no surprise that the chief casualties at St Albans were the leading noblemen against York and Warwick: dead men can’t rule.

York and Warwick also wanted to limit the influence of the Queen, Margaret of Anjou, who was fiercely supportive of her husband and wanted to protect the legacy of her recently born male heir.

But St. Albans was a dangerous gamble that sent shock waves through the English nobility. Because some prominent men were killed, several new and bitter feuds were started which would last for decades. The use of violence was condemned by many, and if York was testing the strength of commitment to Henry VI, he found that, despite his brief and bloody victory, the vast majority of nobles and others saw Henry VI as their lawful king, anointed by God and thus to be obeyed.

Even York’s own supporters, including the Earl of Warwick, accepted that this was so.

When in 1460, York aimed for the throne, Warwick seemed as surprised as most other lords – few of whom showed any enthusiasm for the idea. The best they would accept was the so-called Act of Accord, whereby Henry would live out his life as king but then York would succeed him.

If Warwick played any part at all in this whole episode it was a conciliatory one. 

After all, it did not help Warwick’s aim of political power to become embroiled in a bloody civil war, the outcome of which was by no means certain. A desperate man might do that but Warwick was not so desperate – at least not yet…

Nevertheless, the Act of Accord disinherited the king’s legitimate male offspring and Queen Margaret, for one, was unlikely ever to accept that. Her opposition to York and the Nevilles, once born out of suspicion about their motives, became implacable enmity. And she was not going to give up. Marshalling the loyal nobles, who were still the overwhelming majority, she conjured up, at the Battle of Wakefield in late December 1460, the one thing which could put an end to the struggle: the deaths of both Richard, Duke of York and Richard Neville, Earl of Salisbury – Warwick’s father.

Warwick had never intended Richard, Duke of York, to actually take the throne from Henry VI, yet the would-be king and Warwick’s father were now dead and, as a result, the York-Neville alliance lay in tatters. York’s death was a body blow because Warwick had invested so much in the duke’s political success. Not only was Warwick out of power, but he was now at risk of losing everything he had.

Thus early in 1461, Warwick had to decide how he would deal with the fallout from the disaster at Wakefield. But that’s the second part of the myth – and a whole other story…

[N.B. This post first appeared on the English Historical Fiction Authors’ Blog]

All you thought you knew about the Wars of the Roses, but didn’t… Episode One: Henry VI: the mad king?

A few weeks ago, I had a bit of a rant on Facebook about the common myths which persist about many aspects of the Wars of the Roses period. I vowed to do something about it, so to start with, I’m looking at Henry VI himself.

There are two commonly held beliefs about Henry VI: either he was a simpleton or he was mad – not a great choice really… and of course, neither charge is actually supported by the evidence.

Myth #1: Henry VI was a simpleton; he was just plain stupid.

Like most myths of history, this claim is so often repeated that it seems to be regarded by many as truth, despite the fact that there’s no real evidence of it at all.

Henry was not a fool. There is enough evidence, however, to suggest that he was naïve.
For example, he put far too much trust in several of the powerful and ambitious men around him at court – men like Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset. But let’s bear in mind that Henry spent the whole of his long royal minority surrounded by noble advisers. He had grown up accepting advice and the habit, for a young man who was not particularly assertive, was probably quite difficult to break.

Was Somerset, or his rival for influence at court, Richard, Duke of York, especially greedy or corrupt? No, not really by the standards of the time, but they did have their own personal agendas – along with every other nobleman, lord or gentleman in the land!

A strong-willed king, who understood such men, might have managed them rather better. Henry was undoubtedly a poor manager of men.

Henry VI, courtesy of wikipedia

Henry VI, courtesy of wikipedia

Henry was more concerned with spiritual matters than political ones – but that doesn’t make him a fool. His piety and his concern for men’s souls is somehow easily dismissed in our very secular age, but such matters were very important to all in the later middle ages and certainly not a sign of folly.
Is it so hard to believe that Henry was simply a peace loving man in an age that valued more martial virtues?

Their king was so different from his warlike father, Henry V, that his subjects felt undermined and confused by his approach. He wanted to bring to an end the long French wars with a peace agreement. In that respect, he was out of step with the majority of his subjects for whom a successful conclusion of the war meant a military victory. Jack Cade’s Rebellion in 1450 showed the anger and distrust stirred up by Henry’s government but the rebel targets were his councillors not the king himself.

Judge him by what he did: for example, Henry wrote a letter to the French king suggesting peace and offering him some English-held lands in France. That was certainly unwise since such lands were currently held by Henry’s own subjects. Giving them up was not likely to be popular. So he was naïve, but – and here’s why he was no fool – he kept the letter secret.

Why? Because he understood how alarmed his leading subjects would be if they knew about his offer. If he understood that, then he had more about him than your average simpleton.
Naïve then maybe, but not an idiot.

Myth #2: Henry VI was ‘mad’.

Now madness is a very general term and the public perception of madness is therefore quite broad and vague. Consequently, using the word at all is unhelpful in trying to describe or understand anyone.

So what basis is there for this claim? There’s no question that from 1453 – a year traumatic enough for the average king – Henry VI succumbed to bouts of mental illness. Schizophrenia has been suggested – amongst other diagnoses. The first of these rendered him incapable of speech or recognition of those around him.

This was not a ‘mad’ king flinging out commands such as “Off with his head!” or something! It was simply as if the throne was vacant.

This first occurrence was the most significant because no-one was prepared for it and it led to the emergence of the Duke of York as the de-facto political leader of the country. In 1453 York saw himself as rightly restored to a position of great influence. But even York’s closest supporters only ever saw him as a caretaker – whether for the ailing King Henry, or for his very young son, Edward, when he ultimately came of age.

When the King recovered his capacity in December 1454, York’s role as protector was once more unnecessary and his supremacy at court waned. This was not a result of ‘madness’ on the king’s part but further evidence of his inability to manage political factions. Thus it resulted in the victory of one faction – that of the Duke of Somerset – over another.

In the turbulent years which followed, it suited the Yorkists to blacken Henry’s name by emphasising his incapacity to rule: either by promoting the idea of his stupidity or his madness. Either of these slurs might help to undermine public confidence.

Yet, even after the Yorkists had taken up arms against the king and seized the throne in 1461, most of the nobility still sided with Henry VI, their anointed king. A king who inspired such loyalty had clearly earned a great deal of support from many of those closest to him. If he had truly been an imbecile or a mad man, I cannot believe he would have retained such genuine goodwill.

Two key elements of Henry VI’s kingship were:

1. he was unable to control his leading subjects
2. he aspired to resolve problems by peaceful means.

These two factors combined to make him an ineffectual king but neither of these factors made him mad or stupid. It’s high time we stopped perpetuating these myths.

Next up, I shall examine the myth of Warwick, the so-called ‘Kingmaker’.

[N.B. This post first appeared in August 2017 on the English Historical Fiction Authors’ Blog.]

Faction and Politics at the Outbreak of the Wars of the Roses – Part 4: Cat Among the Pigeons!

In the fourth, and final, post on this subject I shall have a look at how Richard, Duke of York’s apparently impregnable position deteriorated after the battle of St Albans and brought about civil war.

 The Fallout from St Albans 1455

The bloodshed at St Albans left the York/Neville faction unchallenged. The victory of the Duke of York meant that civil war was averted because there were no longer two sides. How was it then that four years later a civil war began?

The short answer is that the skirmish at St Albans, though it removed several of York’s enemies, actually settled nothing. It did, however, have several key consequences:

1. York had cleared out some of his enemies, but there was nothing to stop King Henry appointing anyone he liked to his government. So unless York was prepared to limit or remove the king, then sooner or later he was likely to face a similar set of circumstances again.

2. The ‘court’ party had been destroyed but the person at the heart of it, the queen, remained and she felt vindicated that her warnings about York had proven corrrect. She remained York’s implacable enemy and could be relied upon to work steadfastly against him in the future.

3. Humphrey Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, like York and Warwick, was one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the kingdom and he had not enjoyed St Albans at all. Not only had he taken several wounds during the fighting but he had then been forced to seek sanctuary. In addition,  by 1458 his own son had died from the wounds he received there.  He also realised that his counsel of trusting York had backfired badly. When, a little later, he was forced to choose sides again, he was not prepared to trust York a second time.

4. Whilst Somerset, Northumberland and Clifford were dead, their sons were very much alive and thirsty for revenge.

York in Power

During the periods when York ruled there can be little doubt that he was a good deal more effective than his rivals yet the nobility as a whole never really warmed to him. He was a difficult man to like; he had integrity and gravitas but neither charm nor charisma. Some did not trust him and, rather like the queen, they found it difficult to believe that York did not want more than the position of ‘chief councillor’.

In the aftermath of St Albans, all was far from well. At the centre of power the important offices were given to York’s allies – the usual suspects: Salisbury, Warwick and also the Bourchier brothers. Warwick became Captain of Calais which was the main prize.

It is difficult from our vantage point in 2017 to grasp the significance of Calais in the fifteenth century. It was by no means the fag end of the English empire in France after the 100 Years’ War. Calais was crucial: it was the only part of England that had a standing army – though the size of army available for use on the English mainland probably numbered in hundreds rather than thousands. Nevertheless, it had significant resources for war and shipping – both of which were necessary for its defence and it was a major centre of English trade.

When Warwick eventually took up his post there in the summer of 1456, it gave him a strong base from which to operate. In 1457 Warwick was given the responsibility of protecting the sea routes around Calais and he used that power to carve out a reputation for himself – largely through piracy and partly through diplomacy. Warwick’s activities as a pirate greatly enhanced his popularity, wealth and stature witiin England.

Beneath the surface there were seismic tensions following St Albans. It has sometimes been underestimated because it involved fewer numbers than some of the later battles but it was not just a back alley scuffle. It was a full on skirmish fought with serious intent. Important men had been killed and someone had to take the blame. York had won, so it was not going to be him. Though it was York who had pressed for a fight, he ensured that it was recorded in parliament that Somerset was to blame and York’s forces were exonerated for all the actions they took at St Albans.

York’s Second Protectorate

York knew that no matter how many pardons were awarded, he was not yet secure. As a result, he decided to get himself appointed as Protector again in November 1455. This was proposed by one of York’s own clients in the House of Commons. The pretext was the king’s poor health and the need to deal with a renewed outbreak of a feud between the Courtenays and the Bonvilles in Devon. It would certainly need a firm hand to control these two aggressive families and the council, despite any misgivings it might have had, acquiesced in York’s appointment – as did King Henry.

The second Protectorate, however, only lasted 3 months at which point Henry resumed control. After that York had to try to work with the rest of the council and hope to counteract the queen’s hostility. In fact, the period 1456-7 saw a good degree of compromise and good sense in the measures the council undertook on the king’s behalf.

The Queen Builds Her Power

At the same time as Warwick was taking up his position in Calais, Queen Margaret was beginning to work on creating a new court power base. She took the young Prince Edward out of London and toured the north and the west, setting up her headquarters at Kenilworth. From there she cemented her ties with key men such as Jasper Tudor, Earl of Pembroke. Jasper was the king’s half-brother and became the linchpin of royal power in much of Wales and the west. The disgruntled Duke of Buckingham was also wooed into the royal fold and the Earls of Shrewsbury and Wiltshire too.

Critically, by August 1456, Margaret had moved King Henry himself to Kenilworth as well and that enabled her to influence appointments once again. The result was a new chancellor and Shrewsbury became the new treasurer – though shortly to be replaced by the decidedly dodgy Earl of Wiltshire. Her previous allies, the Percies, re-established their influence: the young Earl of Northumberland came to court and his younger brother, Egremont, escaped from gaol. Their ally, the unreliable Duke of Exeter, was released from prison and the heirs of Somerset and Clifford, who were killed at St Albans, were encouraged in their hostility to York.

The queen has often been portrayed as the aggressor in all this but, as she saw it, she was trying to protect her husband and son from the growing threat of an ‘overmighty subject’. Although the queen’s direct involvement in factional politics was calculated to destroy York, there were still lords who were attempting to unify the two increasingly distinct sides. Even Buckingham, despite his closer connections to the queen’s supporters, was still a force for moderation.

It would have been obvious to all in 1457 that the York-Neville axis was in decline but not that the decline was permanent. The exact situation would not have been clear, especially when in August that year a French raid on the south east coast showed how vital York – and especially Warwick – were in the defence of the realm.

Loveday

In March 1458 came the remarkable Loveday event where the king attempted to encourage a show of unity by getting members of the two sides to pair off as they processed to St Paul’s: the queen alongside York, Warwick with Northumberland, and young Henry Beaufort, Duke of Somerset, with Salisbury. This was papering over the cracks with gossamer for even within London both sides had hundreds of armed retainers.

Loveday, of course, changed nothing – in fact it only served to demonstrate the deep chasm of division between two rival factions. It was only a matter of who would blink first: the queen or York?

Anything at all could have fired this barrel of powder but in the event it was the queen’s fear of Warwick which did the trick. Because he held the pivotal base at Calais, Warwick was the queen’s prime target in hte late 1450s. He was the most potent threat to her success, so in July 1458 he was summoned to London and a train of events quickly got out of hand. Fighting broke out between supporters of Warwick and the queen. Warwick returned to Calais but when he came to London again in the autumn there was more trouble. He escaped to Calais but now he knew that he was no longer safe in England. The opening shots had been fired in the civil war.

From this point onwards war could only have been avoided by the utter capitulation of one side or the other because both sides were now heavily committed.

By May 1459 it was clear that the queen’s party were preparing for war and in June she went for the jugular at a Great Council summoned to meet at Coventry. York, the Nevilles and the Bourchiers were not invited. The Great Council indicted York and his allies and a line was drawn in the sand. The likes of Buckingham now had to choose a side. He chose the queen and his support gave her party added momentum for many others amongst the nobility followed suit.

York had a clear choice: he must surrender or give a sufficient show of force to capture the king’s attention once more. In September 1459, he arranged to meet his allies at Ludlow, close to his power base in the Welsh Marches. Warwick sailed from Calais with some of the garrison from there while Salisbury set out from his northern stronghold of Middleham Castle with an army of several thousand. The Wars of the Roses were about to begin in earnest.

Faction and Politics at the Outbreak of the Wars of the Roses – Part 3

Part 3: Picking Sides

Today I’m continuing my sequence of short posts on the outbreak of the Wars of the Roses. Now I know that some folk suggest that the wars did not start in 1455 but earlier – or later, depending on who’s saying it. My contention would be that there were many factors, both long term and short term which led to the outbreak of the Wars of the Roses but what made a civil war of such magnitude possible at all was the emergence of two sides and the inability of those two sides to reconcile their differences without warfare. You can’t have a long-lasting war without two sides and it was not until 1455 that there were  two sides both willing and able to take action.

Whilst Henry VI was in full possession of his faculties and Richard, Duke of York was in disgrace, there was only one side: the court ‘party’ which was heavily influenced by Queen Margaret and Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset. York appeared to have neither the inclination nor the support to return to the centre of power but during 1453 several developments radically altered the political landscape.

One of these concerned the rumbling hostility in the north between the two most powerful families of Percy and Neville.

The Neville family in fact had two arterial branches and they were as much rivals as allies. In recent decades the junior branch had made two of the most advantageous marriages of the period and, as a result, two Richard Nevilles, father and son, had each amassed much land and wealth. At the same time, the senior branch of the family had gradually diminished in power and influence.

The Percies too were no longer the force they had been when they had attempted rebellion at the start of the fifteenth century and they never really recovered from its aftermath. Nevertheless, even if they were not dominant players on the national stage, they were still a force to be reckoned with in the north.

Both families could draw on considerable resources: Richard Neville, Earl of Salisbury, was Warden of the West March and Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland, was Warden of the East March. These positions of power, with shared responsibility for defending the border against the Scots, enabled the rivals to raise men at the crown’s expense. With such military resources at hand, the scope for arguments to turn into skirmishes was always a genuine possibility. By the end of 1453 it seemed clear that the local rivalry was likely to turn into something more serious.

Richard Neville, 16th Earl of Warwick – from the Rous Roll.

Another dispute involving one of the Nevilles also occurred in 1453. Salisbury’s son, Richard, Earl of Warwick, [ubiquitously referred to later – and rather generously in my view – as the Kingmaker] fell out with the Duke of Somerset over land. The Beaufort family, despite their close relationship to the king, had very limited land holdings and thus Somerset was always keen to extend his lands whenever he could. Unfortunately in the summer of 1453 he acquired some lands in Glamorgan which had belonged to the Earl of Warwick and Warwick was not of a forgiving nature where such matters were concerned. This alone would not cause a war but it was a factor in persuading Warwick that Somerset was not the ally he needed against the Percies.

 

The final ingredient for change was the sudden incapacity of the king and the eventual decision of the council to bring back York from the political wilderness. By March 1454 York had been named Protector and we are now back where we started in the first post on this subject: Richard of York as protector with the power to reward his allies, principally the Nevilles, with the fruits of royal patronage.

Days after his elevation to the Protectorate, York appointed his chief ally, the Earl of Salisbury, to the vacant and key post of chancellor. Salisbury, the effective head of the Neville family, was an influential councillor who had been frustrated by Somerset’s reluctance to act against what he regarded as Percy aggression in Yorkshire. He needed the crown to help him control the Percies and this fitted in with the Duke of York’s desire to show how strong central government could ensure that law and order prevailed. York was determined to take action against the Percies and demonstrate the improvement he could bring after what he regarded as Somerset’s misrule.

Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland, had remained aloof from the affairs of government for many years, preferring instead to consolidate his northern affinity. His second son, Lord Egremont, however, was hardly a shrinking violet – in fact he was one of the more antagonistic members of the family. Quite early in 1454 Egremont had made an alliance with Henry Holland, Duke of Exeter. Holland was a close relative of the king and harboured the somewhat optimistic notion that he might be declared protector himself – though he was far less suitable for the task than York. His power and resources did not come close to matching York’s but he was a duke nonetheless.

For a time in May 1454, Holland and Egremont held the city of York and then created havoc in the area around the city until the protector brought up sufficient men to oust them. Holland fled to Westminster Abbey, claiming sanctuary, but he was eventually dragged out and imprisoned. Meanwhile in the north, despite York’s firm intervention, Egremont remained a problem and so late in the autumn of 1454 the Nevilles took matters into their own hands. At a skirmish near Stamford Bridge, Egremont was captured and fined so heavily he ended up in Newgate gaol for debt.

By the end of 1454, therefore, we have the makings of two sides but several of the key players of one side: Somerset, Holland and Egremont, are all in prison. There is peace and equilibrium, but it is on York’s terms.

Unfortunately Henry VI’s unerring sense of tragic timing meant that in December 1454 his recovery managed to snatch chaos from the jaws of stability. This was a Christmas present the nation could have done without. York was no longer needed as protector and by February 1455 Somerset was released from the Tower. Soon Salisbury gave up the office of chancellor in a council now once more dominated by Somerset, Northumberland and his northern ally, Lord Thomas Clifford. So, those who were the ‘have-nots’ once again become the ‘haves.’ York, Salisbury and Warwick left London soon afterwards – clearly unwilling to risk their destruction at the hands of the queen and Somerset.

But now they had a decision to make: they had tasted great power in the state; were they prepared to relinquish it? Even now we can see that it was a no brainer, as it must have been for them. They had little choice but to resort to arms if they were to counter the restoration of Somerset. Yet, at this point there is no suggestion at all that the Nevilles aimed to overthrow the king and even York did not seem to be heading in that direction. This is something that tends to get lost in the broad brushstrokes of popular history.

However, the malcontents moved swiftly, knowing that Somerset was trying to arrange a Great Council to condemn York. By May they had put together an armed force which they hoped would demonstrate their power and enable them to overthrow Somerset’s government. Somerset seemed singularly unprepared for this resort to force and only started to raise an army when York was already on his way south.

Somerset, mindful of York’s traditional support from London, decided to move to St Albans with Henry and the leading councillors. This group were not all enemies of York by any means. Northumberland, Clifford and other close allies of Somerset were prominent but so were others well disposed towards York and the Nevilles, notably the Earl of Devon and Salisbury’s own brother William Neville, Lord Fauconberg, and too there were some ‘neutrals’ like the Duke of Buckingham who was loyal to the king but would not gladly take up arms to support Somerset.

The odd thing about the sequence of events that followed is that all the urgency and sense of crisis seems to have come from York’s side. On several occasions he sent letters to the king in the middle of the night protesting his loyalty and asking for a council composed of those of whom the York faction approved. The letters bore no fruit because Somerset and the queen had already convinced the king that York intended to seize the throne.

York and his allies followed close behind his messengers so that when the king arrived at St Albans on the morning of 22nd May he found York there already. York’s forces outnumbered the king’s and the council’s advice to Henry was conflicting. Buckingham advised the king that York was only trying to exert pressure and would not press matters to a fight. Somerset, perhaps understanding his old opponent rather better, insisted that York would use force if the king did not accept his terms. Perhaps it is important to remember that York had been there before in 1452. On that occasion he had backed down and trusted that he would be dealt with fairly. He wasn’t, so this time he was not inclined to back down.

Buckingham got it wrong: York risked everything in a skirmish that took place that morning in the streets of St Albans. Overall the casualties were very low but the so-called first battle of St Albans had far reaching consequences. On the face of it, York’s victory was absolute: Somerset, Northumberland and Clifford were all killed – how fortuitous that those particular men died! The king was forced to pardon York and accept him as his leading councillor. With York’s enemies dead, his allies were rewarded with high office and more besides. It seemed that York was in an unassailable position: there was now only one side again and the prospect of civil war appeared unlikely. The king was also still king because all that York and the Nevilles had set out to do so far was remove councillors who opposed them.

Next week in the fourth, and final, post on this subject I shall have a look at how York’s apparently impregnable position after the battle of St Albans deteriorated  and brought about civil war.