The Last Knight Errant: Sir Edward Woodville & the Age of Chivalry (15 page)

In any event the young Duchess had followed her father’s choice and selected the hook-nosed Maximilian,44 son of the Habsburg emperor Frederick III, whom she married in August despite his lack of funds. The Duke of Bavaria stood proxy for Maximilian and ‘entered the nuptial bed clad in steel from head to foot and separated from the Princess by a naked sword’.

Also in that year William Caxton, the English merchant from Bruges in Burgundy who had been learning about printing, arrived in London with his new wooden printing press. He had letters of commendation from the Duchess Margaret and was looking for patronage. It was Anthony Woodville who provided it. He commissioned Caxton to print and publish his translation of
Dits Moraulx
 as 
The Dictes and Sayings of the Philosophers
.

Much to his amusement Caxton discovered that Anthony had omitted the aspersions of Socrates against women. How could this be? ‘I suppose that some fair lady hath desired him to leave it out of his book, or he was amorous on some noble lady for whose love that he would not set it in his book.’ In any case, Caxton observed, Socrates’s strictures were hardly applicable to English women, for whatever ‘condition women be in Greece, the women of this country be right good, wise, pleasant, humble, discreet, sober, chaste etc. etc...and virtuous in all their works, 
or at least should be so
.’ (My emphasis; Caxton’s wife, Maud, may well have had a word to say about this.) It is inconceivable that Caxton would have dared to involve his patron in such a joke without first obtaining his full permission. In fact he translated the offending passage himself and included it at the end of his epilogue with the plea to his readers, ‘if they find any fault to arrest it to Socrates and not to me’ (the piece is rather an anticlimax).45

On 18 November 1477 the first book was printed in England. A manuscript in Lambeth Palace library shows Anthony, his face intelligent and amusing, giving the King a copy. In the preface he wrote that recent ‘vicissitudes of fortune’ had made a great impression on him and ‘having been relieved by the goodness of God he was exhorted to dedicate his recovered life to His service’. Anthony also wrote that his translation of the manuscript was intended for the education of the young Prince of Wales, who is on the King’s left in the illustration.

One of the popular books of the time was 
The Wise and Holsom Proverbs
 by Christine de Pisan, an early fifteenth-century (lady) intellectual. Anthony’s mother had given him a copy which he had translated; this was published in February.46 That was followed the next month by his version of the 
Cordyale
where, in the printer’s epilogue, Caxton writes of Anthony’s devotion to works of piety and concludes: ‘It seemeth that he conceiveth wel the mutabilite and the unstableness of this present lyf, and that he desireth, with a great zele and spirituel love, our goostlye help and perpetual salvacion and that we shal abhorre and uttely forsake the abominable and dampnable synnes.’ 47

Separately Caxton refers to other translations by Anthony and to his ‘diverse Balades against the Seven deadly sins’. There is something rather mystical about his faith; it was clearly absolute and all-encompassing and would have been a major influence on Edward. Anthony with his devotions and writing, together with the work of his several offices as well as politics, weapon exercising, hunting, entertainment and constant travelling around the country, would certainly have been kept busy. In all the travellings, his entourage of squires, pages, chaplains, clerks and assorted retainers would accompany him. Edward was probably there as well.

Anthony kept close to events in London through his lawyer and confidential man of affairs, one Andrew Dymmock, who also dealt with Anthony’s business interests, ranging from the detail of legal agreements to the preferment of people. Both the management of his estates and building work on his houses were carefully supervised by Anthony in person. For instance, ‘Daniell mastermason’ was sent architectural instructions such as ‘the turret may rise 14 feet from the lead’, ‘the stairs of my haght passé [dais] should be 6 foot’ and ‘you will leave a place over the entrance gate in the new wall, where you think it may best be seen, for an escutchon of the arms of Wodevile and Scalis with a Garter about them’.48

Anthony also built – or rebuilt – the chapel of Our Lady of Pewe at Westminster Abbey after it had been ‘burnt to ashes by the negligence of a scholar’.49 In addition to all this he was an agricultural improver, as reported by a bailiff to John Paston: ‘My lord Rivers in his own person hath been at Hickling and his counsel learned...it meanth my lord is set sore to approvement and husbandry.’

There is no doubt that Anthony was an intelligent nobleman with wide range of interests and highly regarded for his integrity. He was also head of his family, and, while we do not actually know what young Edward was doing, being squire and companion to his elder brother would be conventional.50

What was to happen next was – initially – predictable.

The full range of experience running from diplomacy to architecture, from campaigns on land to battles at sea, it would all come from squiring Anthony. Edward listened to powerful men discussing affairs of state, intelligent men discussing humanism and God. The erudite Anthony would have ensured his young brother was educated well enough to enjoy intellectual exercise and be able to hold his own in debate. He had strong religious convictions and so Edward would have assimilated at least some of those. Their clerical brother, Lionel, who became Chancellor of Oxford University in 1479 and Bishop of Salisbury three years later, may also have taken an interest in Edward’s relationship with God.

He could speak and read French, which would be normal for the time, and there is the signature ‘E Wydevyll’, probably dating from 1482 or 1483, on the flyleaf of a collection of romances written in French. He probably read and spoke Latin as well. Apart from this, we know little of his learning or beliefs.

On the practical side, we know that he shared extreme discomfort with people ranging from the common archer to the King himself, but on occasions lived luxuriously. He learned to fight in structured tournaments and bitter mêlées. His father and brothers were great tournament fighters and champions. They had also made good money with spoil and ransom. Edward came from that stock and there would be pride in being the best in the field. But that also meant being a target; others would try to lay a Woodville low and it would have been very competitive. To understand such a man we need to have an idea about his training and the risks.

While Edward seems to have had a natural talent for combat it would still be essential for him to have daily exercise in armour, with a variety of weapons both on and off his horse. Gymnastic exercises were important; one of those required of boys was to ride at full tilt against a quintain (a horizontal bar pivoted in the centre with a wooden figure holding a small round shield or ‘buckler’ on one side and a wooden club on the other). The quintain turned on an axis so that the young horseman, if he did not manage his horse and weapon with dexterity, would receive a wallop when the shock of his charge made the quintain spring round.1

Edward was being brought up to fight and to win his fights; losing could mean death, as happened to the young Thomas de Scales who was killed in single combat at the age of 15. There is a vivid description of mortal combat in
Tirant Lo Blanc
, the fifteenth-century novel written by a man who had fought such duels. It gives a real sense of the fight and helps us understand the fear and excitement:

It was a most cruel combat, for Thomas was so mighty and smote such terrible blows that every time he swung, Tirant was forced to duck. Just when everyone thought Tirant was getting the worst of it, he began to fight back himself. Thomas struck his helmet and knocked him to one knee, but while he was kneeling, Tirant wounded his opponent in the groin, for Thomas had no chain mail beneath his armour. Tirant quickly rose and the battle waxed very fierce. Feeling himself bleeding, Thomas sought to end it quickly and hit Tirant’s visor [covering the upper part of the face] with such force that his axe stuck in the beaver [covering the lower part of the face]. The blade touched Tirant’s neck and, wounded though he was, Thomas dragged him across the field and pinned his body against the stands…[If] your arm, hand or foot goes outside the boundaries and the judge is asked to cut it off – under French rules – he is obliged to and at that point I would have given little for Tirant’s life.

But as long as they stayed as they were, Thomas could not knock him to the ground, so Thomas shifted his axe to his left hand and lifted Tirant’s visor, keeping him pinned with his left hand and body.

Then he slapped Tirant’s face, crying: ‘Confess your treachery, rascal!’ Hearing no reply, Thomas tossed aside his gauntlet and reached into Tirant’s helmet. He dropped his axe and other gauntlet and gripped Tirant’s neck. When Tirant saw his hands free, though he still could not move his body, he raised his axe and struck Thomas’s hands twice. Finding himself with neither axe nor gauntlets, Thomas drew his sword, but it availed him little against Tirant’s mighty buffets.

There is much more of this and eventually: ‘seeing Thomas’s weakened state, Tirant raised his axe and brought it crashing down on Thomas’s helmet, just above the ear. While his head was still spinning, Tirant struck him again and felled him with the blow.’ 2

That was what young Edward was being trained for and, up to this point, records hardly refer to him, but then why should they? He was a young man and insignificant in political terms; nevertheless as brother and companion to a great nobleman he had witnessed the achievements and trials of the last few years. He had watched the story unfold, but in December 1478, when he was about 20 years old, he joined the cast of major players.

His first proper – recorded – job was to take an embassy to King James III of Scotland who had come up with another marriage plan: Anthony should marry the King’s sister, Princess Margaret. Edward’s task was to negotiate a treaty centred on that; however, it was not only down to Edward, as his fellow ambassador was John Russell, Bishop of Lincoln, an experienced diplomat and civil servant, but one who would later be an adversary. (For good results, the idea of balancing a nobleman with a bureaucrat, or a politician with a civil servant was – and is – a well-established arrangement.)

The treaty was agreed with a dower of 4,000 marks but as King James had no money to pay that dowry, it would be deducted from the dowry agreed for Princess Cecilia’s marriage. The idea of such a marriage again demonstrates that the King trusted Anthony. Arrangements were made for the wedding in October, but later the plan was abandoned because Scots cross-border raiding remained unchecked and King James prevaricated on dates.

In one sense it is surprising that after these two proposals for foreign-policy marriages, Anthony’s second marriage was to Mary Lewis, a well-connected teenager with estates in Essex. Perhaps Gwentlian had died and Anthony did not want a foreign bride or had fallen in love. However, politics did play a part, for Mary had the blood royal and was Buckingham’s half-sister. Her mother was a Beaufort, descended from John of Gaunt, and she was the daughter of Duke Edmund of Somerset, sister of the last two dukes and so first cousin to Margaret Beaufort, Henry Tudor’s mother (whose father was Duke John, Edmund’s elder brother). Her first marriage had been to Humphrey, Earl of Stafford, and Buckingham was the child of that union. Mary was the child of her second marriage. If Mary married Anthony then she would pose no political threat and was a good age for child bearing. All the Woodvilles would be hoping for an heir to the earldom.

The next time young Sir Edward features in the records is when he was one of those who sailed to Burgundy to collect the Dowager Duchess Margaret, the King’s sister, for a holiday and foreign-policy discussions in England. They sailed in
The Falcon
, a tub-like ship under the command of ‘trusty’ Captain William Fetherston.

Edward took 12 servants of his own who were given ‘jakettes of wollen cloth’ in the York livery colours of ‘murrey and blue’, while Edward himself, for his jacket, received the ‘yift [gift of] a yerde of velvet purpulle and a yerde of blue velvet’.3 (Purple velvet cost £2 per yard and blue £1, so the gift was the equivalent to a standard suit of armour.) The voyage should have taken around three days each way, subject to wind and weather.4

They must have been a fine sight dressed in their finery under the fluttering pennants and streamers as they welcomed the Duchess aboard. For the festivities in England Anthony had a predictably grander role for which he was given three yards of ‘white tisshue cloth of gold for one short gown’. On her return journey both Margaret and King Edward were entertained by Anthony at the Mote, his house near Maidstone in Kent.

While there are only occasional glimpses of Edward in the records, the people, events and prevailing political climate provide a good backcloth, even if there is not always an obvious connection. William Caxton is a good example. Under Anthony’s patronage he was busy with his printing press, turning out a range of books such as
The Canterbury Tales
,
Chronicles of England
,
Mirror of the World
,
Reynard the Fox
,
Of Friendship
,
Declamation of Nobility
and many others. As for the last two, Caxton attributes their translation to the late – beheaded in 1470 – Earl of Worcester and gives him a panegyric. Interestingly it was probably Anthony Woodville who arranged this publication, as it fitted with his political agenda of emphasizing integrity, intelligence and commitment to the Yorkist establishment.5 In
The Canterbury Tales
there are woodcuts that so graphically illustrate much of the period and it is probable that the printing of
Le Morte d’Arthur
was also due to Anthony; however, he was not acknowledged, as the book was printed after his execution in King Richard’s reign.6