There were many challenges in researching and writing my most recent book, Shadow King: The Life & Death of Henry VI. Chief among them was trying to render a monstrously complicated and turbulent period of history comprehensible – and ideally interesting – to those who have never encountered it before.

The fifteenth century is an age of too many Richards and Somersets, and the period between 1469-1471, at the very end of Henry’s life, belies all attempts at simple storytelling. Henry VI began that period the prisoner of his Yorkist rival, Edward IV. Within the space of two years Edward was deposed by his cousin, the Earl of Warwick, released, deposed again, forced into exile while Henry was restored to the throne and then returned triumphant, imprisoned Henry, defeated all his enemies in battle and eventually ordered Henry’s murder in the Tower of London to ensure the Yorkists could reign supreme until the next round of messy relative-bashing in 1483.

(This is an extremely potted version of events.)

If I felt that making sense of English affairs in this period was hard though, I had it easy compared to the ambassadors scattered across Europe, who watched events unfold with mounting bewilderment and frustration. Among the most entertaining sources for 1469-71 are the letters that flew back and forth between the magnificently named Galeazzo Maria Sforza, Duke of Milan, and his myriad Milanese ambassadors. These missives, preserved in the Calendar of State Papers, Milan, available through British History Online, made me a) feel less of a dunce for getting confused, and b) quite grateful to live in the social media age, where I can find out about major events through Twitter while they are still unfolding, instead of a medieval world reliant on travelling friars and fishermen to bring definitive information about which rulers have been killed in battle, roughly a month after the event.

What is particularly revealing about these letters is how little Galeazzo seemed to care about what was happening in England at all. (A salient reminder to our insular nation that other European powers attach considerably less importance to our drive towards political and economic self-destruction than we like to imagine.)

Galeazzo’s chief concern – the first item on his instructions to his ambassador, Francisco Salvatico – was securing English hobby (i.e. medium size) horses and hunting dogs, which were said to be ‘very plentiful and of rare excellence’ in England.

‘You will also fetch,’ Galeazzo commanded, ‘some English stirrups and horn.’

Ducal shopping list in hand, Francisco set off on the protracted journey from Milan, via the French Court, to England. It was known that Henry VI of Lancaster had just been restored to the throne, so Francisco took with him some fine gold brocade to present as a gift to the king and his new chief adviser, the Earl of Warwick. While he was in England – since he was going to be getting the horses and dogs anyway – Francisco was also to find out what was going on there and bring a report on current affairs back to Milan with him.

‘You will employ all your care, diligence and sagacity,’ Galeazzo commanded him, ‘to inform yourself thoroughly about the condition of this King Henry, the queen and his son.’

On his way to England, Francisco paid a visit on Sforza de Bettini, his counterpart in the French court. It is largely from Bettini’s reports that we learn about the movement of armies back and forth across the Channel as forces in support of both Henry VI and Edward IV entered the kingdom in the early months of 1471.

Bettini wrote to the Duke of Milan on 30 March 1471, skeptically repeating the rumours from England about ‘many miracles’ said to have taken place, including King Edward’s death in battle. This was, as Bettini suspected, far from the reality, but he continued to repeat further exaggerated reports of Edward’s defeat in battle until 9 April. Bettini found it irritatingly difficult to get at the truth of what was going on in England. As he complained to Galeazzo,

‘There is no news of England except through the Burgundians, whom it is hard to believe because they only report things in their favour.’

(The Burgundians were the subjects of another major European power-holder, Charles, duke of Burgundy – Edward IV’s brother-in-law.)

Despite his rising frustration with the challenge of sifting through complex and unreliable sources to get at the truth of English affairs, Bettini was considerably better off than some of his colleagues: the unfortunate Francisco had not even reached England yet. He had ‘come to grief’ and wound up imprisoned in Sluis Castle, Flanders, while other Milanese messengers, escorting a shipload of horses across the Channel, had been attacked by Breton pirates and had thirty of their animals stolen.

Galeazzo’s interest continued to lie more with his dogs and hobby horses than with the diplomatic concerns scrambling his ambassadors’ brains.

In England, meanwhile, events were moving quickly. Edward defeated Warwick at the Battle of Barnet on 13 April and then ended the Lancastrian resistance by killing Henry’s son at the Battle of Tewkesbury on 4 May. By the end of the month, Henry was dead too and Edward’s position as king was unassailable.

On the Continent, however, things did not look so clear cut.

‘The Burgundians here spread a report that the Earl of Warwick was dead,’ Bettini reported on 5 May, but ‘the [English] herald says that he is well and strong.’

Clearly by now, the changeable affairs of England were getting to him, as he ended his letter with a rant:

‘I wish the country and the [English] people were plunged deep in the sea, because of their lack of stability, for I feel like one going to the torture when I write about them, and no one ever hears twice alike about English affairs.’

The misinformation about ‘English affairs’ was not accidental. On 18 May another Milanese ambassador in France told Galeazzo that the Court had just received a letter from Henry’s wife, Margaret of Anjou,

‘saying that the Earl of Warwick was not dead, as reported, but he had been wounded in the fight with King Edward and had withdrawn to a secret and solitary place to get well of his wounds and sickness.’

Either Margaret was relying on decidedly out of date information – or she was purposefully deceiving the Milanese. Given the timeframe involved, the latter seems more likely.

Being closer to England Bettini had slightly better intelligence than more far-flung colleagues. Giovanni Filippo Presidens, in Grenoble, wrote at 4am on 19 June to Galeazzo, recording that:

‘It was reported here that King Edward was dead; then not he but the Earl of Warwick was dead, King Henry a prisoner, and his son dead. To-day they say that the Earl of Warwick is alive and victorious. We have such different reports that I cannot possibly find out the truth.’

By late June, Francisco had been released from captivity and got as far as Paris, where he stayed, uncertain whether – in the changed political circumstances – to continue to England for Galeazzo’s horses and hounds, or to avoid travelling further in case his activities were considered suspect.

He waited for a month for a response from Galeazzo, and was eventually told he could return home. Whether Galeazzo ever got his hunting hounds is unclear from the State Papers.