Marguerite of Anjou - A woman scorned...

by Judith Arnopp

I first came across Marguerite while I was at university where I was struck by her unjust legacy. I spent many years researching and writing about Marguerite’s contemporary, Margaret Beaufort, who similarly fought for her son. The similarities only diverge when Margaret Beaufort triumphs and Marguerite’s hopes perish on Tewkesbury field.

Yorkist propaganda against Marguerite of Anjou begins early in her story and continues to affect our perception of her today. Polydore Vergil’s assessment of her character, taken from widespread Yorkist propaganda, echoes loudly in Shakespeare’s malevolent portrayal of the queen in his play ‘The True Tragedy of Richard Duke of York and the Good King Henry the Sixth’

‘She wolf of France but worse than the wolves of France,

whose tongue more poisons than the adder’s tooth!

How ill be-seeming is it in thy sex

To triumph like an Amazonian trull

Upon their woes who Fortune captivates!

But that thy face is vizard like, unchanging,

Made impudent with use of evil deeds,

I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush.

To tell thee whence thy cam’st, of whom derived,

Were shame enough to shame thee, wert not shameless.’ (Act 1.4.112)

Sounds like a nice lady but my research revealed no monster but simply a queen determined to maintain her husband’s throne and to secure the inheritance of her son.  But Marguerite was a foreigner, unhampered by the political restraint placed upon English women and that fact cast the first shadow over her life in England.

Marguerite came from a line of determined women; both her paternal grandmother Yolande of Aragon, and her mother, Isabelle of Lorraine were deeply involved in politics and championed the rights of their absent husbands, raised taxes and armies, administered the duchies and laid down policies. Both women impacted on Marguerite’s own experience after she became Queen of England. To Marguerite, on finding her crown at risk, there was only one thing she could do and that was fight.

During her early years as queen, Marguerite acted as a supporting, conciliatory presence behind the king, mainly confining her activities to matchmaking and obtaining positions at court for friends and servants. She used her influence to secure the surrender of Maine and Anjou and, although the pressure on her to comply is obvious to us now, the act did not endear her to her new subjects.  

Her first real intercession into politics was during the Jack Cade rebellion when at her instigation Henry agreed to show leniency and issue a pardon to the rebels.  The king’s preamble to the pardon illustrates Marguerite’s role in the matter.

‘Nevertheless, recalling to the reflection and consideration of our mind that among those virtues fitting and proper to the royal person and dignity, none befits him more than clemency, which is apt to bring about and put the shame of sinning in the minds of his subject people, and considering as well that it is fitting to show himself such a prince to his subjects as he wishes and desires God to be supreme and high Lord him, persuaded and moved by these and many other pious considerations, among others by the most humble and persistent supplications, prayers and requests of our most serene and beloved wife and consort the queen…we have pardoned…’

The lure of a pardon undermined Cade’s force and mention of Marguerite’s intercession allowed Henry to show leniency without appearing weak. 

It is quite possible that had Henry not fallen ill, Marguerite’s supporting role would have continued but as his condition worsened and the threat from the Yorkist faction grew stronger, she had little option but to assume a more prominent position. The fluctuating health of the king meant that increasingly she governed beneath the cloak of Henry’s kingship, continuing to represent herself as subordinate to the king’s authority whilst, in fact, assuming increasing power.

During a lull in Henry’s illness Marguerite produced the king with an heir Edward, securing Lancaster’s position and dealing a blow to the ambitious Duke of York who was previously Henry’s heir. It is no coincidence that around this time propaganda against the queen increased, and York’s attempts to undermine Margaret’s authority picked up pace.

Some contemporary reports accuse the queen of sexual misconduct and her son, Edward, is described as a ‘changeling,’ a term which infers he was base born.  Two days before York was removed from office on 23 February 1456 a John Helton was executed for distributing bills that alleged the prince was not the queen’s son.  

As the enmity between York and Lancaster increased, the battle for power descended into military combat obliging Marguerite to step further and further from the expected feminine role. The nobles of England and their adherents were killed in skirmishes and battles, the reins of government passing from York to Henry (or Marguerite)  but it was not until the Battle of Towton that the reign of Lancaster was all but ended and the new Yorkist dynasty arose.

York was dead and Edward IV was firmly on the throne, Marguerite could have faded into gentile retirement. The House of York’s vendetta against the deposed queen could have ceased. But poetry and pamphlets continued to be issued, denigrating both Marguerite and her claim to the throne. She was blamed for the fall of the Lancastrian dynasty and stereotyped as ‘an angry woman driven by malice, spreading sorrow, disorder and confusion in her wake.’  

Marguerite, still refusing to admit defeat, spent the next ten years in exile, plotting to reinstate her son Edward. Her determination strong enough that when Warwick fell out with Edward IV, she formed an alliance with her great enemy and consented to a marriage between her son and Warwick’s youngest daughter, Anne.  

It was a short lived alliance that ended for Warwick at Barnet, and for Marguerite at Tewkesbury where her seventeen year old son was killed, along with her ambition for the English throne.

But Yorkist propaganda continued, using a wide range of devices to defame Marguerite, making it difficult, even now, to obtain a clear view of her. Early historians picked up the Yorkist banner and continued to dehumanise her, subverting her female instinct to nurture into an unnatural lust for murder.

               By the time Shakespeare wrote his Wars of the Roses plays Marguerite’s had already come to epitomise unrelieved lust for power possessing a ‘tigers heart wrapped in a woman’s hide.’   Her strength is undermined by her female flaws and she ‘lacks the true qualities of royalty...the queen’s character is also tainted by immorality: she is an adulteress. But it is power rather than lust which dominates her character, and vengefulness which becomes its most terrible flaw.’  

In Henry VI part III her feminine weaknesses are replaced by the most ignoble of male attributes; she is masculine but akin to the worst of men. Shakespeare’s Marguerite is an arch-villainess whose femininity is inverted to encompass the direst human traits; her assumption of a male role and her lust for blood and revenge reverses the natural order and creates chaos in the realm. 

In the hands of the bard, Marguerite is a marvellous authorial depiction of twisted humanity and as a playwright Shakespeare remains unchallenged but a historian he was not.  Unfortunately, Shakespeare’s history plays came to be utilised not as examples of literary genius but as factual documents of history.

In the 1840’s Agnes Strickland published her Lives of the Queens of England and viewed Marguerite’s story ‘...of more powerful of interest than are to be found in the imaginary career of any heroine of romance; for the creations of fiction, however forcibly they may appeal to our imagination, fade into insignificance before the simple majesty of truth.’

Like other Victorian moralists, Strickland provides a highly romanticised picture of an unfortunate queen who unwisely meddled in the concerns of men. Marguerite becomes pitiful in her defeat but Strickland, by illustrating her utter personal defeat and regret, upholds the medieval opinion of a woman’s proper place.

‘There is something touching in the very simplicity of the Latin sentence with which the deed begins, that was wrung from the broken-hearted heroine who had, through so many storms of adversity, defended the rights of her royal consort and son.  While they remained in life, she would have died a thousand deaths rather than relinquish even the most shadowy of their claims; but the dear ones were no more,

‘Ambition, pride, the rival names

of York and Lancaster,

with all their long contested claims

what were they then to her?

Passively and almost with indifference, Margaret subscribed the instrument commencing ‘Ego, Margarita dum in regno Anglia maritata etc. I, Margaret, formerly in England married, renounce all that I could pretend to in England by the conditions of my marriage, with all other things there, to Edward, now king of England.’

J. J. Bagley in his biography of Marguerite written in 1948 provides a less romantic presentation. Bagley admits that Marguerite ‘did not cause the Wars of the Roses, but her intense, bitter feeling, her refusal to compromise, and her disregard of any other factor than the inheritance of her only son were reflected in the brutal, callous nature of the prolonged struggle.  For the sake of its own cause and for the welfare of the English people, the house of Lancaster might have wished for a wiser and more understanding leader, but nowhere could it have found a braver and more determined champion. Queen Margaret’s life was more than a sad story. It was a true tragedy, for the root cause of her failure lay, not in the fickle fate of battles, but in her own character and philosophy.’

In Bagley’s opinion, the Lancastrian cause could not have wished for a braver leader but perhaps one less swayed by dangerous female characteristics such as loyalty to her son and a determination to maintain a hold on his birthright.  

Richard, Duke of York was equally ambitious for his sons and fought just as fiercely for what he saw as his own rights and, moreover, he fought against an anointed king. 

Marguerite was trying to defend the throne of England against attack, as was her duty.

Historical research in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries has focused on the study of women and how women have exercised power; gendered analysis has allowed historians to move away from the traditional perception of queens.  Modern scholars look at the restrictions placed upon them and how those limitations impinged upon their political lives.  Marguerite pushed the boundaries of her engendered position; faced with the insurmountable problem of an inefficient consort she was forced to take unpopular actions and has since been judged accordingly. 

Other people have campaigned for thrones, overthrown kings and taken power from weak or incompetent rulers and (with the exception of Richard III) have not been recorded historically as unnatural monsters; the only difference is that they were men. 

Marguerite posed a threat to male rule that the medieval world was unprepared to accept.   A woman out of her prescribed place was deemed ‘unnatural’ and any divergence from the norm considered suspect and therefore dangerous.  Rosaldo clarifies the point in his book Women, Culture and Society,

‘Societies that define woman as lacking legitimate authority have no way of acknowledging the reality of female power.  This difference between rule and reality is reflected in our own society when we speak of powerful women as ‘bitches.’’

Marguerite’s determination and indefatigable resolve to win back her son’s throne was only exhausted by his death. In a man such tenacity would be heroic.  She has been labelled a violent and vengeful woman but surely she was no more so than her male opponents.  The unique circumstances in which she found herself made it impossible to follow prescribed gender boundaries while her opponents remained unfettered.  

Hostile propaganda, perpetuated by male playwrights and Victorian moralists, remains in our consciousness today.  Every day on social media I hear derogatory comments against Marguerite and her contemporary, Margaret Beaufort, but medieval history cannot be judged from a modern perspective and it does nobody any favours to perpetuate the misogyny of the past. 

As was my intention in The Beaufort Chronicle which traces the life of Margaret Beaufort, my novel, Marguerite: Hell Hath No Fury is my own poor attempt to rectify the flawed perception of a brave woman. 

~~~~~

Judith Arnopp – Author Biography

A lifelong history enthusiast and avid reader, Judith holds a BA in English/Creative writing and a Masters in Medieval Studies. She lives on the coast of West Wales where she writes both fiction and non-fiction. She is best known for her novels set in the Medieval and Tudor period, focussing on the perspective of historical women but recently she has written a trilogy from the perspective of Henry VIII himself.

 Judith is also a founder member of a re-enactment group called The Fyne Companye of Cambria which is when and why she began to experiment with sewing historical garments. She now makes clothes and accessories both for the group and others. She is not a professionally trained sewer but through trial, error and determination has learned how to make authentic looking, if not strictly historically accurate clothing. A non-fiction book about Tudor clothing, How to Dress like a Tudor, was published in 2023 by Pen and Sword.

 She runs a small seaside holiday let in Aberporth and when she has time for fun, likes to garden and restore antique doll’s houses. You can find her on most social media platforms.

 Her novels include:

A Song of Sixpence: the story of Elizabeth of York

The Beaufort Chronicle: the life of Lady Margaret Beaufort (three book series)

The Henrician Chronicle: comprising of:

A Matter of Conscience: Henry VIII, the Aragon Years (Book One of The Henrician Chronicle)

A Matter of Faith: Henry VIII, the Days of the Phoenix (Book Two of The Henrician Chronicle)

A Matter of Time: Henry VIII, the Dying of the Light (Book Three of The Henrician Chronicle)

The Kiss of the Concubine: a story of Anne Boleyn

The Winchester Goose: at the court of Henry VIII

Intractable Heart: the story of Katheryn Parr

Sisters of Arden: on the Pilgrimage of Grace

The Heretic Wind: the life of Mary Tudor, Queen of England

Peaceweaver

The Forest Dwellers

The Song of Heledd

The Book of Thornhold

A Daughter of Warwick: the story of Anne Neville, Queen of Richard III

Marguerite: Hell Hath No Fury! 

Webpage: http://www.judithmarnopp.com

Amazon Author Page: author.to/juditharnoppbooks

Blog: www.juditharnoppnovelist.blogspot.co.uk/

Social media links

https://www.facebook.com/thetudorworldofjuditharnopp

https://x.com/JudithArnopp

https://www.threads.net/@tudor_juditharnopp 

Illustrations via WikimediaCommons

Fig 1 - John Talbot, 1st Earl of Shrewsbury, presents the Book of Romances to Margaret of Anjou, Queen to Henry VI 

Fig 2 - Portrait of Marguerite of Anjou (1430 -1482) Queen Consort of England

Fig 3 - John Gilbert - Margaret of Anjou taken prisoner after the battle of Tewkesbury (1875)

Fig 4 - Richard Burchett (1815-1875) - Sanctuary (Edward IV and Lancastrian Fugitives at Tewkesbury Abbey) - 600 - Guildhall Art Gallery

The Duchess and the Necromancers

By Nancy Bilyeau

On Monday, November 19th, 1441, the people of London lined the streets to observe an act of public penance. That morning a woman, perhaps forty years of age, bare-headed, plainly dressed, was rowed in a barge to Temple Stairs off the Thames. She stepped off the barge and proceeded to walk all the way to St. Paul's Cathedral, carrying before her a wax taper of two pounds. Once she made it to St. Paul's, she offered the taper to the High Altar.

The woman was Eleanor Cobham, mistress-turned-wife to Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, only surviving uncle to the childless Henry VI and thus the heir to the throne. The duchess had been tried and condemned for heresy and witchcraft. This was the first of three days of ordered pilgrimages to churches, showing a "meke and a demure countenance." Afterward, she would be forced to separate from her husband and live in genteel prison for the rest of her life.

The Penance of Eleanor, painted in 1900

The downfall of Eleanor Cobham was a shocking event in the 15th century, and it's disturbing today. Certain elements of her life echo Katherine Swynford's, the longtime mistress of John of Gaunt who eventually became his third wife. A bold beauty marries a royal--it's a maneuver seen again, and much more famously, in the following century with Elizabeth Woodville and Anne Boleyn. But while rumors of witchcraft swirled around both of those queens, they are, historians now agree, not based in reality. While Eleanor Cobham most probably did traffic in what were called the black arts. And the most serious of such crimes was to seek to know--or perhaps even alter--the future, through the practice of necromancy.

Ever since the age of Homer, necromancers have flitted in the darkest shadows of society. They were believed to possess the secrets to unlocking the power of the underworld to divine the future. (See my earlier blog post, From Homer to The Hobbit: The History of the Necromancer.) No matter the results—or lack thereof—necromancers did a brisk business in the Greek and Roman world. It was only by following their secret and ornate rituals, they said, could the boundaries be dissolved between the living and the dead.

Page from the Munich Manual

After Rome fell, the early Christian popes struggled to extinguish the pagan practices of not only necromancy but witchcraft, astrology and alchemy. But these practices survived through the Middle Ages, in one form or another, and in the Renaissance, as scholars pored through ancient texts, experienced something of a rebirth. Some popes employed their own astrologers. The Munich Manual of Demonic Magic, a textbook in Latin, was compiled in the 15th century. Necromancy became, if anything, more far-reaching. After drawing a series of magic circles, saying conjurings, and making sacrifices, necromancers claim a demon would appear to assist: see the future, drive a man to love or hatred, discern where secret things were hidden, such as treasure.

During the 15th century, England was an orthodox kingdom of devout Catholics--and yet superstition ran amok. In 1456, 12 men petitioned Henry VI for permission to practice alchemy, among them two of the king's own physicians. Some courtiers owned astrological books. What was heresy and what was knowledge linked to the fashionable pursuit of ancient texts? It was not always possible to know what was forbidden--until you made a mistake.

The stage was set for Eleanor Cobham and her ambitious play for love, power and glory.

The daughter of Sir Reginald Cobham, Eleanor in her early twenties entered the service of the highborn and illustrious Jacqueline, Countess of Hanault. Jacqueline repudiated her husband, John of Brabant, and fled to England in search of champions, marrying the youngest brother of Henry V: Humphrey, duke of Gloucester.

At some point over the next five years, Eleanor herself became the mistress of the duke. After a failed war in Hainault, Humphrey abandoned his wife; the pope annulled the marriage because of legalities to do with her first husband. Later, when John of Brabant died, Humphrey could have remarried Jacqueline. But instead he married her lady in waiting, Eleanor.

His nickname of "Good Duke Humphrey" notwithstanding, Gloucester was a complex figure. Well educated, he supported learning more than most aristocrats and was a devoted patron of the arts. An enthusiastic soldier, devoted to his oldest brother, Henry V, he was a champion of the people. But Humphrey was also impulsive, vengeful, and unable to sustain a political policy. There is little doubt he was, in addition, a womanizer. After the death of his brother the king, he claimed the right to be regent for his infant nephew. His claims were supported in the dead king's will. But Cardinal Henry Beaufort and the rest of the Beauforts opposed Gloucester. The two branches of the Lancaster family fought for power for the rest of Humphrey's life.

Humphrey, youngest son of Henry IV

Eleanor did not make Humphrey more popular. She was criticized for her immoral history with Gloucester and for her ostentation. Historian Ralph Griffiths says, "One chronicler noted how she flaunted her pride and her position by riding through the streets of London, glitteringly dressed and suitably escorted by men of noble birth." She is thought to have shared her husband's sophisticated tastes in literature.

The unmarried Henry VI, passive and easily led, was fond of his aunt and uncle. He gave Eleanor beautiful presents. Historians believe a decision was made in the Beaufort camp to permanently weaken the duke of Gloucester, and the key to this was his wife.

A young Henry VI

In late June 1441, word spread through London that two men had been arrested for conspiring against the king--divining the king's future through the use of necromancy and concluding that he would soon suffer a serious illness. The accused were two clerks, Roger Bolingbroke, an Oxford priest, and Thomas Southwell, a canon. (Those who practiced necromancy were often low-level clericals, because they possessed the knowledge of Latin necessary to read forbidden books and learn the rites.) The men were sent to the Tower of London and possibly tortured. Bolingbroke told his interrogators that he had been prompted to look into the future of the king by the duchess of Gloucester.

Eleanor did not behave like someone innocent of all crime. She fled to Westminster, seeking sanctuary. Later, when she was set to appear before an ecclesiastical court, she tried to escape onto the Thames river, but was caught. The investigation went deeper. A witch was produced, Marjorie Jourdemayne, who said she procured love potions for the duchess to make Gloucester marry her. In her trial, Eleanor denied seeking to know the future of the king through necromancy, but she "did acknowledge recourse to the Black Art." It is believed she turned to the necromancers and witch to try to bear a child. Eventually, Eleanor abjured her heresies.

Eleanor's co-conspirators were condemned and executed--Margaret Jourdemayne was burned at Smithfield. One of the clerks was hanged, drawn, and quartered. Eleanor spent the rest of her life confined in various castles: Kenilworth, the Isle of Man, and in 1449, Beaumaris Castle, where she died in 1452. Her husband Humphrey, who, to the puzzlement of many, had done little publicly to free her—he "said little"—died five years before Eleanor. His wife's disgrace had finished him as an important man of the kingdom.

Did Eleanor turn to the dark arts to try to bring about the death of Henry VI so that her husband could become king and she become queen? Most historians doubt she went that far; more likely, she dabbled in the same forbidden practices that other court ladies did. But in the tense and treacherous political climate of the Lancastrian court, where rivalries were soon to explode into the War of the Roses, a mistake in judgment could cost one everything. As was learned by Eleanor Cobham.

This article is part of my series of necromancy. To read more, see From Homer to the Hobbit: The History of the Necromancer, Conversations with Angels: The Strange Life of Edward Kelley, and Henry VII and the Curse of Prophesy.

This is an Editor's Choice and was originally published January 29, 2013. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Nancy Bilyeau is a historical novelist and magazine editor based in New York. She wrote the Joanna Stafford trilogy, a trio of thrillers set in Henry VIII’s England, for Simon & Schuster. Her fourth novel is The Blue, an 18th century thriller revolving around the art & porcelain world. Her latest novel is Dreamland, set in Coney Island of 1911, is published by Endeavour Quill. A former staff editor at Rolling Stone, Entertainment Weekly, and InStyle, Nancy is currently the deputy editor at the Center on Media, Crime and Justice at John Jay College and contributes to Town & Country, CrimeReads, and Mystery Scene magazine.

For more information, visit www.nancybilyeau.com.

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

by Derek Birks

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 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.

...............................

Derek was born in Hampshire in England but spent his teenage years in Auckland, New Zealand, where he still has strong family ties.

For many years he taught history in a secondary school but took early retirement to concentrate on writing. Apart from his writing, he spends his time gardening, travelling, walking and taking part in archaeological digs at a Roman villa.

Derek is interested in a wide range of historical themes but his particular favourite is the late medieval period. He writes action-packed fiction which is rooted in accurate history.
His debut historical novel was Feud, which is set in the period of the Wars of the Roses. Feud is the first of a now complete four-book series, entitled Rebels & Brothers, which follows the fortunes of the fictional Elder family from 1459 to 1471.
A new series, The Craft of Kings, picks up the story of the Elders in 1481 in its first book, Scars From The Past. Later this year, the violent events of 1483 are played out in the sequel, The Blood of Princes.

Website: www.derekbirks.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/Feud_writer
Amazon author sites: amazon.co.uk; amazon.com

Henry VI: Part Two

by Derek Birks

Henry VI

At the end of my first post about Henry VI (click here for Part One), I posed the question: would Henry VI learn from his mistakes? 

I think you might already suspect the answer but let’s give him the benefit of the doubt and see what he does after 1450.

King's College, Cambridge: Endowed by Henry VI

After the failure of Cade’s rebellion in 1450, Henry was given another chance to get it right. Up to 1450 his rule was characterised by the three Ps: prayer, piety and peace which underpinned not only his spiritual life but also his kingship. There is nothing wrong with the three Ps at all, except that a successful king had to consider other aspects of life too. Most medieval kings thought prayer and piety very important, but they also knew they must understand what their subjects – especially their leading subjects – wanted from them.

I don’t believe Henry was a fool but I do think he was an idealist. In fact, the influence of his ideals on his policies meant that at times of crisis he sometimes made the wrong call. I see this as perhaps the most important failure of his disastrous reign.

What factors dominated politics after 1450?

By 1450 Henry had been married to Margaret of Anjou for five years without producing an heir to the throne. A male heir is what every king needed. Though it has been suggested that Henry’s apparent awkwardness with the naked body made his marital relations difficult, it seems to me that Henry took his royal duties seriously enough.

Of course, if Henry did not have a child then the crown would most likely pass to Richard, Duke of York. When, in the troubled summer of 1450, most of Henry’s inner circle of advisers were killed, rebel manifestos already argued that the Duke of York should play a greater role in advising the king. Yet York had been recalled from France in 1447 and sent to Ireland where he was very far indeed from the political epicentre.

Clearly Henry mistrusted or feared the Duke of York but, up to 1447, York appears to have been a loyal crown servant. Supplanting York as a commander in France was Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset – a man with modest qualifications as a military leader. After the rebellion in 1450, Somerset was brought home and became a close royal confidant.

Beaufort was not just any old peer. His family, like those of the king and York, was descended from Edward III. He was closer in blood to Henry than York was, though barred from the succession by letters patent of Henry IV. We do not know whether Henry wanted to restore the Beaufort line to the succession, but he must have considered the possibility and York saw Somerset as a clear rival. No, not just a rival; he was the enemy, for he was receiving the very rewards that York believed his status warranted, whilst York had acquired only debts from his government service.

How did the Rivalry between York and Somerset cause Henry problems?

Henry probably thought it best to leave York in Ireland – out of sight, if not entirely out of mind – but I fear he should have paid attention to the maxim: ‘Keep your friends close but your enemies closer.’

As I’ve pointed out in a previous post, Richard, Duke of York, took his position in the state very seriously indeed and whilst he remained loyal to the king, he did not wish to see his status eroded by the presence of Edmund Beaufort at court. He must have been spitting blood in Ireland, looking on during Cade’s rebellion as Henry’s government floundered.

So, in September 1450 York returned to England without Henry’s permission and arrived at Westminster with a large retinue. He had come, he said, to proclaim his loyalty and offer himself publicly as the man to lead the king’s government and remove corruption. This was a popular, if rather elusive - and illusory - aim. York waged a propaganda war against Somerset, posing as the champion of justice. He called in favours from his many clients, raising their hopes of gaining advancement in a ‘new order’ with York at the helm. His influence in parliament was especially strong but sadly parliaments were called only at the bidding of the king.

How did Henry respond to York’s Challenge?

Henry, not unreasonably I would suggest, issued a response which declined York’s kind offer and emphasised that he preferred the collective advice of a council to that of one man.

Whilst this sounds laudable enough, it did not stop Somerset’s rise and his appointment in 1451 as Captain of Calais gave him access to a powerful military garrison. Yet, at the same time, the war with France went from bad to worse and soon Gascony was lost.

By February 1452, York had had enough. Action was required and he launched another propaganda campaign to muster support. A surviving letter from the Duke of York to the folk of Shrewsbury shows us clearly his attitude to both the king and Somerset. He cited the: “envy, malice and untruth of the Duke of Somerset” and stressed: “it not being my intent to displease my sovereign lord, but seeing that the said duke ever prevaileth and ruleth about the king’s person and that by this means the land is likely to be destroyed, I am fully determined to proceed in all haste against him with the help of my kinsmen and friends.”

However you dress it up, York was talking rebellion. He raised an army and camped at Dartford. The king also raised an army and camped at Blackheath. This is 1452 remember – before the first battle at St Albans in 1455 which is often regarded as the start of the Wars of the Roses. Two armed camps then, with cannons and so on, but no battle. Why not? Well mainly because York’s support amongst those who mattered – i.e. lords – was minimal. Those we know as the great Yorkist supporters of a few years later, the earls of Salisbury and Warwick, were firmly in the king’s camp. Besides, no-one really had the stomach for a fight. The councillors talked York out of it in the end and, on a promise that Somerset would be arrested and put on trial, York capitulated. However, having disbanded his army, he found that Somerset was neither arrested nor tried.

Whether by luck, good judgement or the diplomacy of the Neville lords, Henry had averted rebellion. Yet, had the Duke of York not committed open treason and escaped unpunished?

Herein lay a critical failure of Henry VI: he did not have a ruthless bone in his body. York walked free having brought the kingdom to the brink of chaos. Was this because Henry was a simpleton? No. Was it because he was in the thrall of Somerset? Hardly! It was the three Ps again. Henry wanted peace between his warring factions. A more ruthless man, a more pragmatic king, would have realised that York had overstepped too far and had to go. One could say it was admirable on Henry’s part, but it was a genuine political risk to leave such a powerful man at large. For the time being York went away to lick his wounds, whilst Somerset found ways of punishing his followers if not the man himself.

If York was humiliated and rebellion averted, what went wrong?

Margaret of Anjou from the Talbot Shrewsbury Book

In the latter part of 1452, things were actually looking up for Henry with victories in France and then in the spring of 1453 came the news that Queen Margaret was finally pregnant. It seemed Henry’s fortunes had turned, but it was not to be. In July the English army in France was annihilated at Castillon and its heroic general, the Earl of Shrewsbury, killed.

Shortly after this catastrophe, the king himself suffered a breakdown. Perhaps it was prompted by news of the defeat, or perhaps by the reality of his wife’s pregnancy, but in truth we’ll never know. It may just have been lying in wait in his genes ready to pop out and cause maximum disaster – well it certainly did that!

Henry was incapable of movement, let alone thought. In a personal monarchy this meant there was a vacuum at the centre of power. Nothing important could be done without the king’s approval, so effectively nothing important could be done… For two months the king’s condition was kept secret but that could not go on forever. It’s ironic in a way that despite all the frequent criticisms of Henry’s weakness or folly, it is his absence that propels the government of England into the abyss.

In mid-October 1453 the queen gave birth to a son, the heir Henry so desperately needed. But later in October the King’s Council met to discuss what to do about Henry’s condition. Somerset clearly intended to rule as some sort of regent, hoping that the council would be swayed in his favour by York’s previous misdemeanours. If York was allowed to return to the council, there would not be room for both of them.

In 1452 York was isolated but in the year since then, far away from the royal court, something very important had happened: York had found some powerful friends.

This new development will be the focus of my next post in this series, which will focus on Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick.

Previous posts in the series, see The Magnificent Seven...in the War of the Roses, and Henry VI: Part One.

Media:
Henry VI: By Unknown - National Portrait Gallery: NPG 2457 [Public Domain]
King's College Chapel, Cambridge: By Dmitry Tonkonog (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0], via Wikimedia Commons
Margaret of Anjou: By Talbot Master (fl. in Rouen, c. 1430–60) - Cropped image of File:Presentation of the Book of Romances.jpg, a scan of the manuscript illuminated by the Talbot Master (British Library, Royal 15 E VI, f. 2v), Public Domain

~~~~~~~~~~

Derek Birks was born in Hampshire in England but spent his teenage years in Auckland, New Zealand, where he still has strong family ties. For many years he taught history in a secondary school but took early retirement to concentrate on writing. Apart from his writing, he spends his time gardening, travelling, walking and taking part in archaeological digs at a Roman villa.

Derek is interested in a wide range of historical themes but his particular favourite is the late medieval period. He writes action-packed fiction which is rooted in accurate history. His debut historical novel, Feud, is set in the period of the Wars of the Roses and is the first of a series entitled Rebels & Brothers which follows the fortunes of the fictional Elder family. The fourth and final book of the series, The Last Shroud, was published in the summer of 2015.

The Elders will return in Scars from the Past, the first of a new series, in November 2016.

Connect with Derek through his Website, Blog, and Twitter (@Feud_writer). The Rebels & Brothers series is available on Amazon UK and Amazon.com. 

Henry VI: Part One

by Derek Birks

In choosing a title for my first look at Henry VI, I found it convenient to take a leaf out of Shakespeare. Henry is, of course, the king in whose reign the Wars of the Roses began – a subject close to my heart. This post focuses on Henry before his illness and the crisis years after 1453.

Like many figures in history, Henry VI has become almost a caricature, so I think the place to start is: when you think of Henry VI, what thought first pops into your head?

By Unknown - National Portrait Gallery:
NPG 2457
[Public Domain] Wikimedia Commons

 Perhaps that he was a poor king? Or that he was a weak man? Or that he went mad? Or that he recovered from his illness? Or perhaps that he was a saintly figure? Or was a man of peace? Whatever your first impression of him, this king’s personality and policies had a profound impact on the nation’s history.

What difficulties did Henry face as king?

The greatest of Henry’s problems, the war with France, was not of his own making; he inherited it. But most kings inherited problems and a judgement of his kingship requires us to consider whether he made those problems easier to combat, or more difficult. The most obvious fact about his accession is that at the time of his father’s death, Henry VI was very young – scarcely nine months old. This meant that he would not actually be in control of his government for at least fifteen years, perhaps longer. We should not forget either that this infant had inherited the crown not only of England, but also of France.

His minority lasted until 1437, and during that time government policy was largely determined by his uncles or other leading noblemen and churchmen. A royal minority is expected to lead to factional differences, and Henry’s minority was no exception. Having said that, such disputes were generally settled within the council - by stark contrast with those that arose later in 1450s. 

By unknown scribe: [Public Domain]
Wikimedia Commons

Henry’s long minority is worthy of several posts on its own, but suffice to say here: when Henry actually began to rule, his government was already set on courses which he would find very difficult to change. 

Henry’s difficulties were twofold: there were the problems which arose from governing the kingdom of England and there were those associated with his own personality and attributes.

What sort of a person was Henry VI?

Henry was clearly not a martial figure like many kings. He provided a stark – and to the late medieval eye - an unfortunate contrast with his father, Henry V, whose military exploits were almost legendary. The son was not a warlike figure and his unwillingness, or inability, to play the role of war leader confused and disturbed his leading subjects.

Those closest to him were churchmen such as his chaplain, John Blackman. If we are to believe Blackman, then the young king was a very pious, chaste and honest man. Perhaps then, as Shakespeare put it, “fitter for heaven than earth.”

Blackman should have known Henry better than anyone and his description made him appear most respectful of God in his daily life and in his outlook. However, this account was written to support an application to make Henry a saint and thus it might be treated as rather suspect.

By contrast, some popular opinions expressed about the king in the 1440s and 1450s suggest that he was regarded as either a simpleton or a madman. Some of these statements were taken seriously enough to be contested in the courts. Clearly it was in the interests of Henry’s later political opponents, led by Richard, Duke of York, to convince people that Henry was so foolish that someone else needed to rule in his stead.

Both sides of the argument might therefore be treated as propaganda, but if we dismiss both then we are left with nothing! Only by considering what he actually did, can we make any sort of a judgement.

How far did Henry rule rather than simply reign?

This is an important question because if Henry was more concerned with his own spiritual wellbeing than matters of state, then we might draw the conclusion that his neglect allowed others to take control. On the other hand, if he did intervene in policy, and it proved disastrous, then it was not neglect but poor decision making that characterised his kingship. 

The marriage of Henry VI shown in an illustrated
manuscript of Vigilles de Charles VII
by Martial d'Auvergne

For a long time Henry was regarded by historians as merely a cipher who was unable to control some of his most influential advisers. Years of deferring to his councillors during the long minority had apparently made it hard for him to break free from them. It has become clear though, that there were times when Henry specifically intervened in policy. An early, and telling, example of this is his handling of peace negotiations with the French.

The leading councillor in Henry’s government during much of the 1440s was William de la Pole, Duke of Suffolk. Rightly or wrongly, Suffolk was credited, or blamed, for what Henry’s government did during that time, but it seems that he disagreed with Henry over peace with France.

In 1445, England still held much of France and thus could negotiate to end the war from a position of strength. Suffolk believed that this strong position should make an honourable peace possible, though many of Henry’s leading subjects would actually have preferred to press the war effort harder rather than contemplate any sort of peace.

Henry, however, had his own agenda and it was completely at odds with both Suffolk and the rest of the ruling classes: he wanted peace because he believed that peace was always the best policy. He thought that he and the French king, Charles VII, being Christian kings who both desired peace, could settle affairs justly between them. No doubt encouraged – though not coerced - by his newly-acquired young French wife, Margaret of Anjou, Henry decided to extend the olive branch to Charles VII by means of a secret letter. The olive branch amounted to the surrender to France of two of the most important areas held in France by the English: Maine and Anjou.

The fact that Henry kept the contents of this letter secret for some time suggests that he was by no means a fool! He clearly knew very well that his councillors would be very hostile indeed to its contents. So it was, because in the wake of the revelation of the king’s intentions, English policy descended into a chaotic farce culminating in humiliation by the early 1450s. By that time France had gained, one way or another, vast swathes of territory which England had held in 1445. Henry was not solely to blame for all this, but his intervention had prompted it. You could say he was idealistic in seeking peace. He was not a simpleton, but one could argue that his policy was foolish since he was out of step with the views of many of his most powerful contemporaries. I suppose it depends where you draw the line between idealism and folly.

How can we assess the effectiveness of Henry’s policies up to 1450?

England in Henry’s reign up to 1450 was a relatively peaceful and wealthy kingdom. We are often presented with the view that the fifteenth century was a century of disorder and lawlessness – it wasn’t. There were, however, moments when an outbreak of violence occurred – as was the case in both the previous and following centuries. Such outbreaks were evidence not of a warlike society but simply that some elements of society were so outraged by the government’s policies that they resorted to violence.

By 1450, not only had the expensive French war been going on for some time, but worse than that, the English appeared to be losing it. The inevitable conclusion drawn by many folk was that a corrupt and incompetent government was to blame. In that year there was increasing unrest in Kent directed against the government. It reached such a point in February 1450 that Henry ordered that all his household servants should be equipped with bows and then he declared that no man was to carry arms anywhere in London and the south east. This of course was nonsense, but it showed the level of alarm that existed in the government.

In July 1450 a rebellion occurred in Kent led by Jack Cade and it touched a nerve with folk in other areas of the country: for example in Sussex, Wiltshire and Essex. If we consider that about 2000 people were pardoned for their involvement in the revolt, we can see that many more must have participated. King Henry fled to Kenilworth and Jack Cade actually entered London. By July 1450, several key members of Henry’s government, including Suffolk, had been brutally killed.

Yet, after it all, Henry’s government survived, though no doubt somewhat chastened by the experience. Henry had been given a warning – all his closest advisers had paid for their policies with their lives. The question was: would this gentle, peace-loving king learn from his mistakes?

This is the second in a series of posts, entitled: The Magnificent Seven… in the Wars of the Roses. In these posts I am examining the actions and fortunes of seven people without whom, in my view, the Wars of the Roses either would not have happened at all – or would not have lasted so long.

Will Henry learn from his mistakes? We’ll see in the next post of the series: Henry VI: Part 2.

You can see here the first post of the series, on Richard Duke of York, on my blog: Dodging Arrows.

~~~~~~~~~~

Derek Birks was born in Hampshire, England, but spent his teenage years in Auckland, New Zealand, where he still has strong family ties.

For many years he taught history in a secondary school but took early retirement to concentrate on writing. Apart from his writing, he spends his time gardening, travelling, walking and taking part in archaeological digs at a Roman villa.

Derek is interested in a wide range of historical themes but his particular favourite is the late medieval period. He writes action-packed fiction which is rooted in accurate history.

His debut historical novel Feud is set in the period of the Wars of the Roses and is the first of a series entitled Rebels & Brothers which follows the fortunes of the fictional Elder family.

The fourth and final book of the series The Last Shroud was published in the summer of 2015.

The Elders will return in Scars from the Past, the first of a new series in December 2016.

Connect with Derek through his website (derekbirks.com), blog (Dodging Arrows), and on Twitter (@Feud_writer).

Feud is available on Amazon and Amazon UK.

Edmund Beaufort, a mover and shaker in the Wars of the Roses

by Derek Birks

First of all, it is important to remember that there were at least four Beaufort Dukes of Somerset populating the period and two of them were called Edmund. Get over it. This is the Wars of the Roses and it was never simple.

The Edmund Beaufort I’m writing about here was the grandson of John of Gaunt, one of the many sons of Edward III.  Both Edmund and his king, Henry VI, therefore had Lancastrian royal blood in their veins, but the Beauforts by law could not inherit the throne. Their line of descent came from an illegitimate liaison between John and Katherine Swynford. Though they were later legitimised, Henry IV barred them from the succession by letters patent.

Edmund was the younger brother of John Beaufort and became Duke of Somerset after his brother’s death.

Alright, so why do we care? What part does he play in all the carnage?

Well, if you were to regard the Wars of the Roses as a barrel of gunpowder, Edmund Beaufort was the fuse – completely harmless of course, until…

Why Did Somerset Become a Problem?

King Henry VI was well-disposed towards the Beauforts in the 1440s at a time when Henry’s government was dominated by William de la Pole, Duke of Suffolk.

Edmund was appointed to a command in France where he replaced Richard, Duke of York. York did not take it well, resenting Somerset’s rise. His annoyance was compounded by the fact that Somerset was not a very competent commander. His resentment was further fuelled by the fact that Somerset was promised £25,000 to fund his campaign whereas York had received nothing and was owed many thousands. York was then sent to rule Ireland – far from the centre of power.

Why Was the Rivalry Between York and Somerset a Problem?

Richard, Duke of York

In 1450 a wave of popular unrest caused several attacks against Suffolk’s corrupt government, culminating in the murder of several members of the king’s inner circle, including Suffolk. This left a void at the heart of the government. Whatever happened next there would be a new regime.

York was an obvious candidate for advancement since he was the most prominent nobleman and, if King Henry were to die childless, then York was the heir presumptive. York, keen to take what he saw as his rightful place, returned from Ireland unbidden and began a propaganda campaign against the king’s corrupt councillors, especially Somerset.

Undoubtedly Henry preferred Somerset and recalled him from France, where the war was going badly, to bring him back to the centre of his government. He could of course, if he wished, remove the legal impediment to Somerset inheriting the throne. If he did so then Somerset, not York, could be seen as the heir presumptive.

York feared exactly that. He posed as a seeker after justice and had notable support in the House of Commons. Henry’s response in May 1451 was to dissolve parliament. In the end, the only opinion that mattered was Henry VI’s.

Meanwhile Somerset was appointed Captain of Calais, a prestigious post reserved for trusted men. So Henry trusted Somerset where he did not seem to trust York, possibly because he feared that York wanted the throne.

Somerset’s new appointment and dominance incensed York. Once more he embarked on an extensive campaign against government corruption, hoping to rise on a tide of popular support. He raised troops and marched to London intending to remove Somerset by force if necessary.

Henry VI

The king and Somerset rallied some support too and their small army also camped outside the city.
Few nobles supported York. Most had no stomach for taking up arms, even against Somerset. So negotiations followed and the councillors agreed that if York dissolved his army, then Somerset would be imprisoned and tried for his poor conduct of the French war. It seemed that the king agreed to this but after York sent his men away, he found that Somerset was still there by the king’s side. Instead York was treated like a prisoner – after all, what he had done certainly amounted to treason.

In the end though, Henry VI let him go and York retired from London to lick his wounds for royal service had beggared him. Later in the year Somerset could not resist rubbing York’s nose in his failure when he presided over the trial of some of York’s followers at Ludlow in the very heart of York’s powerbase. Somerset now had the king in the palm of his hand.

What went wrong then for Somerset?

It started in June 1453 when the king gave Somerset some estates in south Wales. Somerset was desperate for landed income since the Beaufort family did not have much. His income came otherwise from the various royal pensions and grants he received from the king and the profits from any offices he held.

Unfortunately, the lands Henry gave him belonged to Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick. When it came to land grabbing, Warwick was up there with the best and he strongly resented losing estates in an area where he was keen to build up influence. From then on, Somerset was a legitimate target as far as Warwick was concerned, but poor Somerset carried on oblivious to his peril.

Edmund in France (Rouen)

The really bad news though was to come in July 1453 when the French war – always the elephant in Henry VI’s chamber – took a turn for the worse. A military catastrophe occurred when the heroic John Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, was defeated and killed at Castillon. England’s last significant army in France, apart from the Calais garrison, was destroyed.

Even worse was to follow. The king suffered a debilitating breakdown which left him immobile. Whether it was brought on by the news from France is not clear, but England now lacked a king at the helm. For the queen, soon to give birth to a male heir, and Somerset, it made government almost impossible. For a few months Somerset muddled through by putting off matters upon which only the king could decide. But by October the king’s council agreed that someone must be appointed with authority to rule for the king.

They recalled York from the political wasteland to re-join the council. There, for various reasons, not least the little matter of estates in south Wales, York found support from the powerful Neville family. Somerset suddenly found himself confined to the Tower whilst the council argued over who should rule. The queen, worried for her new son if York should take charge, tried to have herself declared regent, but the council refused and in 1454 chose York as Protector of the Realm.

How then did Somerset extricate himself from the Tower?

The start of the Wars of the Roses. York picks white
flowers, Somerset red (Henry Arthur Payne)

It was quite simple really: the king recovered – at least enough to tell the difference between York and Somerset. By February 1455, York had to step down. Somerset was released from the Tower and at once contrived to forge an alliance with all those who were rivals of the Nevilles and York. The rivalry between York and Somerset, if left to continue, would destroy the kingdom; something had to give. York and his allies left London in haste to prepare for war.

Somerset and the queen were of one mind: York had to go. A Great Council was summoned to meet at Leicester on 21st May, 1455. It was hand-picked and the hand didn’t pick York or any of his allies because, of course, the purpose of this Council was to condemn them. The Council, however, never met.

Somerset was a poor strategist – as his French exploits had proven. Thus, he was slow to react when York left London and only began to muster troops when York was already on his way south with an army.

On 21st May, Somerset and the king set off for St Albans to await the arrival of the retinues they had summoned. They spent the night of 21st at Watford. Overnight there was an exchange of messages with York. The latter stressed his loyalty and desire for a council without Somerset in it. Early on the morning of 22nd May a final message came from York. It said little new but the king summoned his council to discuss what to do.

Somerset, surprised by the speed of York’s advance, advised waiting at Watford until they had gathered more strength. A more moderate councillor, the Duke of Buckingham, proposed continuing to St Albans, arguing that York was merely exerting pressure and would not push for a fight. Henry took Buckingham’s advice not Somerset’s and continued to St Albans, arriving about 9am. York and the Neville lords were already camped in the fields on the outskirts of the town but King Henry continued into the town centre.

What happened at St Albans?

Many of those with Henry assumed that, after all the posturing, there would be negotiations and the matter would be settled peacefully. Heralds were sent to and fro to see if such a process could be started. This was normal procedure – a sort of last ditch effort to avoid actual fighting. But even whilst the heralds were still working, the skirmishing began and by 10am York was on the attack. He did not find it easy though to break through the town’s defences. His men toiled for an hour or so to no avail.

York had got nowhere but Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, was a little more creative in his tactics. Driven on by his desire to resolve his differences with Somerset by force, he broke through some gardens and houses of the town, taking the King’s household by surprise. Many were not even wearing armour and they scattered across the town seeking refuge wherever they could. The Duke of Buckingham fled to the abbey and Somerset dived into the Castle Inn. York’s men now broke into the town and, once victory was achieved, he ensured the safety of the wounded king who was hiding in a tanner’s cottage.

The Duke of Somerset, trapped in the inn, knew very well that York and Warwick would not let him live. So, with his loyal retinue, he tried to fight his way out. It is said that Somerset killed four men before he himself was hacked to death.

The events of 22nd May 1455 are sometimes referred to as the First Battle of St. Albans. Some have argued over the term “battle” suggesting it was only a skirmish. Casualties probably amounted to less than a hundred, but York’s objective was achieved: Somerset and the northern rivals of the Neville lords, Northumberland and Clifford, were not just removed but killed.

This was a coup d’etat more than a battle and soon after a bill passed through parliament blaming Somerset for causing the affray.

What then was Somerset’s contribution to the Wars of the Roses?

Few nobles were especially enamoured with either Somerset or York as individuals. Most accepted that factions in a king’s council were inevitable. A strong king might have dealt more even-handedly with York and not showered so many honours upon Somerset. Was that Somerset’s fault? Not really for he, like York, was playing his hand in the game as all nobles did.

Somerset’s government was corrupt and he was a poor war leader but, by killing him, York changed the rules of the game. It appeared that on Henry VI’s watch, it was alright to use force of arms to gain political advantage – NB. Political advantage, not the throne, because in 1455 it was not yet a “Game of Thrones.” Not yet.

All images in the Public Domain via Wikipedia

~~~~~~~~~~~

Derek Birks was born in Hampshire in England but spent his teenage years in Auckland, New Zealand, where he still has strong family ties. For many years he taught history in a secondary school but took early retirement to concentrate on writing. Apart from his writing, he spends his time gardening, travelling, walking and taking part in archaeological digs at a Roman villa.

Derek is interested in a wide range of historical themes but his particular favourite is the late medieval period. He writes action-packed fiction which is rooted in accurate history.

His debut historical novel, Feud, is set in the period of the Wars of the Roses and is the first of a series entitled Rebels & Brothers which follows the fortunes of the fictional Elder family.
The fourth and final book of the series, The Last Shroud, was published in the summer of 2015.

Find out more about Derek on his website, on his blog, or on his Amazon page.