Rebellion (8 page)

‘What about provisions?' one of his captains
had said, while another objected that at least the besieged were under shelter. The rain
was turning rapidly to snow and the wind blowing so hard that it ripped through the
tents and lifted the pegs clear out of the ground.

‘Our supplies are better than theirs,' was
all Warwick would say. The Duke of Norfolk was sending a stream of provisions from
Newcastle, which was why Warwick made the arduous sixty-mile circuit each day, through
hostile terrain, to ensure that the supplies reached all his men at each castle.

And it
was
hostile, though it had a kind of forbidding, melancholy beauty, sky and sea the same wet
grey colour as the cliffs. As he rode through the desolate landscape there were no
attacks, but the people were full of complaint. The queen had sent out raiding parties
from her garrisons to all the farms, manors and priories, demanding money, livestock and
food. The abbots of Durham and Hexham had gone so far as to demand the return of the
money the queen had taken from them. Margaret of Anjou did not help her own cause; the
earl had observed this before. The people had forgotten neither Towton, nor the queen's
long march south when they had been forcibly conscripted to her army. Now she had upset
them again.

This was another reason for Warwick's daily
circuit, so that his men did not have to raid.

Meanwhile, he'd heard that the Scottish army
was coming to relieve the besieged. He had already written to King Edward, who was laid
low with measles, of all things, at Durham, telling him they had neither the power nor
resources to resist the Scots. Certainly they could not invade Scotland.

The question was whether the Lancastrians
would give in before the Scots arrived. They did not know the Scots were coming; he'd
taken good care to prevent that news from penetrating the walls of the castles. Any
siege was a question of balance: hope, nerve and will against circumstance. And
judgement, of course, though in his experience, intelligence was dependent on hope.
Uncertainty alone could lead to despair. So the real question was how long it would take
for hope to die.

And then who would give in first: Lord Roos?
The Earl of Pembroke? The Duke of Somerset?

It was the kind of question he always
enjoyed; a calculated risk. He made sure that generous offers were sent through to the
captains of the besieged garrisons: free pardons for those who yielded, safe passage for
those who wished to return to their old lands or to their old allegiance to King Henry;
pensions and
other rewards for those who would give up this allegiance
and enter the service of the true king, Edward. Although he could not guess who would
yield first he felt an underlying serenity, like a presiding angel gently spreading its
wings, that assured him someone would.

So he toured indefatigably, offering words
of comfort to the men in these comfortless camps, where the rain and snow beat down
intermingled, turning all the land to mire. Victory was certain, he told them, and they
would be amply rewarded for their pains. He made sure that food and blankets were
distributed as equally as possible, and listened when men complained, as men will, of
cold and hunger and the aches and pains that troubled them; the chest and ear
infections, the chilblains and infected feet from the long march north, the twitching
nerves in their legs that kept them from sleep.

It should not take long now, he told
them.

Even so, he was surprised; he felt a small
prickle of astonishment and pleasure when, two days before Christmas, a message was
conveyed to him from the Duke of Somerset. If Warwick would grant certain conditions –
that custody of Bamburgh Castle would be granted to Sir Ralph Percy and that the lives
of his garrison would be spared – he would hand over the castle and swear allegiance to
King Edward.

Warwick stood at once, pleasure warming him
like a flame.

‘Well then,' he said, ‘we must go to meet
him.'

He rode through the night, and in the
morning saw the great doors of Bamburgh open and the young duke emerge with a small
party of men, looking gaunt and grim.

Warwick rode forward to meet him, taking in
the somewhat tattered appearance of the Lancastrian flag, the worn, hunted look on the
young duke's face. It was on the tip of his tongue to say, ‘My lord, you seem less of a
man than you were,' but he suppressed it. Somerset looked hostile and would not meet his
eye.

‘My lord,' Warwick said, ‘you are welcome
indeed.'

Sir Ralph Percy and
Sir Harry Beaufort were sworn to be true and faithful as true liege men to our king
and sovereign Edward IV. And they came to Durham and were sworn before him. And the
king gave them his livery and great rewards.

Gregory's Chronicle

The queen … fled back into
Scottish territory, whence she was so sharply pursued that she was forced to take a
carvel and, with a small number of supporters, sail to some coast for her safeguard.
Not long after such a tempest arose that she had to abandon her carvel and take a
fishing boat: by this means she was preserved and able to land at Berwick.

Great Chronicle of London

Then after that came King Henry that
was and the queen and the King of Scots, [and] Sir Pierre de Brézé with 4,000
Scotsmen and laid siege to the castle of Norham, for eighteen days [in June 1463].
And then my Lord of Norham and his brother Lord Montague rescued the said castle of
Norham and put both King Harry and the Scots to flight. And Queen Margaret with all
her council fled away.

Gregory's Chronicle

They went into a forest, to avoid
being seen, where there was nothing but trees in all directions …

Georges Chastellain

The little prince had asked her a dozen times
where they were going. She did not like to say she did not know. She'd given up calling
out to the guards and attendants who had been with them when they entered the forest; it
was as though a thick blanket muffled her words. Or as though something ancient and
primitive might be listening.

It must, by now, be evening, but it was
impossible to tell. The overhanging branches were so dense that no light penetrated, but
they tried to look where they were putting their feet, for the ground was not what it
seemed to be. It was covered by twisted roots and vines, concealing ruts and holes in
the ground.

She had concentrated at first on trying to
distract them both, but gradually her voice had failed, and the little prince too had
fallen into silence. He clung to her closely, taking in the shapes and shadows of the
forest with wide, intent eyes.

But the forest wasn't silent. A rustle
through the undergrowth here; bats flitting and swooping overhead; a withered branch
creaking as they approached. There was something in the forest
that
seemed alive, watching and waiting. It breathed when she did, with its stale and loamy
breath; its heart beat with her own.

She did not want to stop; there was nowhere
she felt was safe enough to rest. So they pressed on cautiously, without knowing whether
or not they were going in circles, their breathing audible in the dense air.

She had to remind herself that she was queen
of this inhuman world; she was queen and she had the prince in her keeping. The muscles
in her legs trembled and her breath seemed unnaturally loud, as if the forest was
breathing through her open mouth.

There was a sudden
crack
followed
by a lesser one, then a great shape swung down suddenly, horribly, from the nearest tree
and another stepped out from behind a different tree, and then another, until they were
surrounded. She wanted to cry out, but her throat was paralysed. She heard the sharp cry
of her son, ‘
Maman!
' as he was taken, but something seized her from behind and
propelled her forward, her knees bumping over the rough ground, and all the breath was
knocked out of her so that she could not cry out in response. Just as suddenly, it
stopped, and her head was pushed forward so that she was staring at the ground, then she
was yanked upwards, into a standing position, by the hair.

She was taken and seized, robbed of
all her royal jewels and robes … and when there was nothing left they seized
her body and subjected her to a search and threatened her with various torments and
cruelties, and then at swordpoint she was taken to the chief of robbers who would
have cut off her head, but she, falling to her knees with hands conjoined and
weeping, prayed that for the sake of divine and human honour he would have
compassion upon her … that she was the daughter and wife of a king and in
other circumstances they would have recognized her as their queen and if they
sullied their hands with her blood their cruelty would be remembered by men
throughout the ages, and saying these words she wept so profoundly that there was no
thing in either
heaven or earth that would not have taken pity upon
her … At this the robbers began to quarrel and fight with one another
…

Georges Chastellain

She fell to her knees as the first
blow was struck, then pandemonium broke out and she crawled as fast as she could over
jagged roots and stones to where she believed her son was, because in the darkness she
could not see. With every move she expected to be struck, or hauled back over the rough
ground, but in the chaos and darkness no one noticed a fallen queen, crawling about in
her ripped clothing.

A glimmer of light from the dwindling fire
briefly illuminated her son. He had his back to her and had pressed himself into the
stump of a tree, shrinking away from the fight. She clasped a hand round his mouth and
whispered, ‘
C'est Maman!
' And pulled him down beside her.

Together they crawled through the
undergrowth, crouching behind shrubs, moving with torturous slowness away from the
fighting men. After a little distance she rose to her feet, pulling her son upwards, and
they picked their way carefully between the intertwined roots until they emerged into a
different clearing. But some branches rustled, then parted, and a man stepped out.

A brigand of hideous and horrible
aspect approached the queen with intention to … do all evil. This noble queen
… seeing that she could not escape the danger except by the grace of God
Himself, said that her own death meant nothing to her, she cared only for her son
the prince, saying ‘save your king's son' …

Georges Chastellain

This seemed to mean something to him;
he took them to a cave by a stream and indicated that they should go in. The queen's
fear flared again, for surely here, in this hidden place, he could kill them himself;
cut their throats or hold them to ransom. Her
mind was working
furiously but she could not think what to do. It seemed to her that they had no choice
but to step forward, stooping into the narrow cave. As soon as she could she turned
round to face him, holding her son. She intended to plead with him but the man himself
began to speak:

Saying that he would die a thousand
deaths before he would abandon her or her royal son, and he would deliver her to a
safe place … and he asked for pardon from the queen for his misdeeds as if she
had her sceptre in London, and swore to God that he would amend his life …

Georges Chastellain

The queen understood very little of
this; the man's accent was so strange and he spoke in such a low, rapid voice that she
could hardly hear what he was saying. But she understood that he was kneeling.

It came to him as he sat in his room, in the
convent of Kircudbright, that it was a strange thing, made by man to dominate man. He
could see it shining before him in the fire and knew that the bright flames outweighed
in worth any number of golden crowns. And he saw that to give it up would be a glorious
thing.