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[Illustration: PLUCKING THE ROSES.]




  THE

  WARS OF THE ROSES;

  OR,

  Stories of the Struggle of York and
  Lancaster.

  BY J. G. EDGAR,

  AUTHOR OF "HISTORY FOR BOYS," "THE BOYHOOD OF GREAT MEN,"
  "THE FOOTPRINTS OF FAMOUS MEN," ETC.

  With Illustrations.

  [Illustration]

  NEW YORK:

  HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,

  FRANKLIN SQUARE.




  TO

  MASTER DAVID M'DOWALL HANNAY,

  This Book for Boys

  IS, WITH EARNEST PRAYERS FOR HIS WELFARE, INSCRIBED

  BY HIS GODFATHER,

  THE AUTHOR.




PREFACE.


My object in writing this book for boys is to furnish them with a
narrative of the struggle between York and Lancaster--a struggle which
extended over thirty years, deluged England with blood, cost a hundred
thousand lives, emasculated the old nobility, and utterly destroyed the
house of Plantagenet.

It is generally admitted that no period in England's history is richer
in romantic incident than the three decades occupied by the Wars of the
Roses; but the contest is frequently described as having been without
interest in a political point of view. This idea seems erroneous.
That struggle of thirty years was no mere strife of chiefs, ambitious
of supremacy and unscrupulous as to means. Indeed, the circumstances
of the country were such that no hand would have been lifted against
sovereigns--whether reigning by Parliamentary or hereditary right--who
showed a due respect to ancient rights and liberties. But the tyranny
exercised, first by the ministers of the sixth Henry, and afterward
by those of the fourth Edward--one influenced by Margaret of Anjou,
the other by the Duchess of Bedford, both "foreign women"--was such
as could not be borne by Englishmen without a struggle; and evidence
exists that Richard Neville, in arming the people against these kings,
did so to prevent the establishment of that despotism which John
Hampden and Oliver Cromwell afterward fought to destroy.

With such impressions as to the origin of the war which, during the
fifteenth century, agitated England and perplexed Continental rulers,
I have, in the following pages, traced the course of events from the
plucking of the roses in the Temple Gardens to the destruction of
Richard the Third, and the coronation of Henry Tudor, on Bosworth
Field. And I venture to hope that a book written to attract English
boys of this generation to a remarkable epoch in the mediæval history
of their country will be received with favor, and read with interest,
by those for whose perusal it is more particularly intended.

                                                          J. G. E.




INTRODUCTION.

The Plantagenets.


About the middle of the ninth century a warrior named Tertullus, having
rendered signal services to the King of France, married Petronella,
the king's cousin, and had a son who flourished as Count of Anjou. The
descendants of Tertullus and Petronella rose rapidly, and exercised
much influence on French affairs. At length, in the twelfth century,
Geoffrey, Count of Anjou, surnamed Plantagenet, from wearing a sprig
of flowering broom instead of a feather, espoused Maude, daughter of
Henry Beauclerc, King of England; and Henry Plantagenet, their son,
succeeded, on the death of Stephen, to the English throne.

Having married Eleanor, heiress of Aquitaine, and extended his
continental empire from the Channel to the Pyrenees, Henry ranked as
the most potent of European princes. But, though enabled to render
great services to England, he was not an Englishman; and, indeed, it
was not till the death of John, at Swinehead, that the English had a
king who could be regarded as one of themselves. That king was Henry
the Third, born and educated in England, and sympathizing with the
traditions of the people over whom he reigned.

Unfortunately for Henry, he was surrounded by Continental kinsmen,
whose conduct caused such discontent that clergy, barons, citizens,
and people raised the cry of England for the English; and Simon de
Montfort, though foreign himself, undertook to head a movement against
foreigners. A barons' war was the consequence. Henry, defeated at
Lewes, became a prisoner in the hands of the oligarchy; and there was
some prospect of the crown passing from the house of Plantagenet to
that of Montfort.

At this crisis, however, Edward, eldest son of the king, escaped from
captivity, destroyed the oligarchy in the battle of Evesham, and
entered upon his great and glorious career. Space would fail us to
expatiate on the services which, when elevated to the throne as Edward
the First, that mighty prince rendered to England. Suffice it to say
that he gave peace, prosperity, and freedom to the people, formed
hostile races into one great nation, and rendered his memory immortal
by the laws which he instituted.[1]

For the country which the first Edward rendered prosperous and free,
the third Edward and his heroic son won glory in those wars which made
Englishmen, for a time, masters of France. Unhappily, the Black Prince
died before his father; and his only son, who succeeded when a boy
as Richard the Second, departed from right principles of government.
This excited serious discontent, and led the English people to that
violation of "the lineal succession of their monarchs" which caused the
Wars of the Roses.

Besides the Black Prince, the conqueror of Cressy had by his queen,
Philippa--the patroness of Froissart--several sons, among whom were
Lionel, Duke of Clarence; John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster; and Edmund
of Langley, Duke of York.[2] Lionel died early; but John of Gaunt
survived his father and eldest brother, and was suspected of having an
eye to the crown which his young nephew wore. No usurpation, however,
was attempted. But when John was in the grave, his son, Henry of
Bolingbroke, returning from an irksome exile, deposed Richard, and sent
him prisoner to Pontefract Castle, where he is understood to have been
murdered.

On the death of Richard, who was childless, Henry the Fourth, as son of
John of Gaunt, would have had hereditary right on his side, but that
Lionel of Clarence had left a daughter, Philippa, wife of Mortimer,
Earl of March, and ancestress of three successive earls. Of these,
Edmund, the last earl, was a boy when Henry of Bolingbroke usurped the
throne; and his sister, Anne Mortimer, was wife of Richard Plantagenet,
Earl of Cambridge, second son of Edmund of Langley, Duke of York. "This
was that princely branch," says Sandford, "by the ingrafting of which
into the stock of York, that tree brought forth not only White Roses,
but crowns and sceptres also."

Henry the Fourth regarded young March with jealousy, and had him
vigilantly guarded. But Henry the Fifth completely won the earl's
loyalty, and made him a most zealous adherent. March showed no ambition
to reign; and the nation, intoxicated with Agincourt and glory and
conquest, cared not an iota for his claims. At the time when the
hero-king expired at Vincennes and the Earl of March died in England
the dynastic dispute was scarcely remembered, and it would never, in
all probability, have been revived had the Lancastrian government not
become such as could not be submitted to without degradation. It was
when law and decency were defied, and when Englishmen were in danger of
being enslaved by a "foreign woman," that they remembered the true heir
of the Plantagenets and took up arms to vindicate his claims.




CONTENTS.


  CHAPTER                                                  PAGE

        I. THE MONK-MONARCH AND HIS MISLEADERS               17

       II. THE DUKE OF YORK AND THE KING-MAKER               27

      III. THE CAPTAIN OF KENT                               35

       IV. THE RIVAL DUKES                                   46

        V. THE KING'S MALADY                                 53

       VI. THE BATTLE OF ST. ALBANS                          60

      VII. THE QUEEN AND THE YORKIST CHIEFS                  67

     VIII. THE CITY AND THE COURT                            76

       IX. A YORKIST VICTORY AND A LANCASTRIAN REVENGE       80

        X. THE BATTLE OF NORTHAMPTON                         88

       XI. YORK'S CLAIM TO THE CROWN                         94

      XII. THE QUEEN'S FLIGHT AND RETURN                     99

     XIII. THE ANJOUITE'S VENGEANCE                         105

      XIV. A PLANTAGENET AND THE TUDORS                     118

       XV. BEFORE TOWTON                                    125

      XVI. TOWTON FIELD                                     131

     XVII. THE QUEEN IN ADVERSITY                           145

    XVIII. THE WOODVILLES                                   160

      XIX. THE LANCASTRIANS IN EXILE                        174

       XX. WARWICK AND THE WOODVILLES                       190

      XXI. DESPOTISM, DISCONTENT, AND DISORDER              203

     XXII. THE SIEGE OF EXETER                              218

    XXIII. LOUIS THE CRAFTY                                 224

     XXIV. "THE STOUT EARL" IN EXILE                        232

      XXV. THE EARL'S RETURN AND EDWARD'S FLIGHT            244

     XXVI. THE EARL OF WORCESTER                            253

    XXVII. THE BANISHED KING                                262

   XXVIII. QUEEN MARGARET'S VOYAGE                          276

     XXIX. THE BATTLE OF BARNET                             282

      XXX. BEFORE TEWKESBURY                                299

     XXXI. THE FIELD OF TEWKESBURY                          312

    XXXII. THE VICTOR AND THE VANQUISHED                    325

   XXXIII. WARWICK'S VICE-ADMIRAL                           337

    XXXIV. ESCAPE OF THE TUDORS                             347

     XXXV. ADVENTURES OF JOHN DE VERE                       353

    XXXVI. A DUKE IN RAGS                                   362

   XXXVII. LOUIS DE BRUGES AT WINDSOR                       368

  XXXVIII. THE TREATY OF PICQUIGNY                          372

    XXXIX. A DOMESTIC TRAGEDY                               381

       XL. KING EDWARD'S DEATH                              390

      XLI. THE DUKE OF GLOUCESTER                           396

     XLII. THE PROTECTOR AND THE PROTECTORATE               399

    XLIII. THE USURPATION                                   415

     XLIV. RICHARD'S CORONATION                             420

      XLV. THE PRINCES IN THE TOWER                         423

     XLVI. A MOCK KING-MAKER                                427

    XLVII. THE COMING MAN                                   432

   XLVIII. FROM BRITTANY TO BOSWORTH                        439

     XLIX. RICHARD BEFORE BOSWORTH                          444

        L. BOSWORTH FIELD                                   451

       LI. AFTER BOSWORTH                                   465

      LII. THE UNION OF THE TWO ROSES                       469




THE WARS OF THE ROSES.




CHAPTER I.

THE MONK-MONARCH AND HIS MISLEADERS.


On St. Nicholas's Day, in the year 1421, there was joy in the castle of
Windsor and rejoicing in the city of London. On that day Katherine de
Valois, youthful spouse of the fifth Henry, became mother of a prince
destined to wear the crown of the Plantagenets; and courtiers vied with
citizens in expressing gratification that a son had been born to the
conqueror of Agincourt--an heir to the kingdoms of England and France.

Henry of Windsor, whose birth was hailed with a degree of enthusiasm
which no similar event had excited in England, was doomed to
misfortune from his cradle. He was not quite nine months old when
Henry the Fifth departed this life at Vincennes; and he was still
an infant when Katherine de Valois forgot her hero-husband and all
dignity for the sake of a Welsh soldier with a handsome person and
an imaginary pedigree. The young king, however, was the beloved of a
thousand hearts. As son of a hero who had won imperishable glory for
England, the heir of Lancaster was regarded by Englishmen with sincere
affection; the legitimacy of his title even was unquestioned; and the
genius of his uncles, John, Duke of Bedford, and Humphrey, Duke of
Gloucester, under whose auspices the royal boy was crowned in London
and Paris, created a feeling of security seldom felt by kingdoms at the
beginning of long minorities.

For a time the aspect of affairs was cheering. At a critical period,
however, Bedford expired at Rouen; and ere long England was distracted
by a feud between Gloucester and that spurious son of John of Gaunt,
known in history as Cardinal Beaufort, and as chief of a house which
then enjoyed the dukedom of Somerset. Gloucester charged the cardinal
with contempt for the laws of the realm; and the cardinal avenged
himself by accusing Gloucester's duchess of endeavoring to destroy
the king by witchcraft, and banishing her to the Isle of Man. It soon
appeared that the rivalry between Duke Humphrey and his illegitimate
kinsman would involve the sovereign and people of England in serious
disasters.

Nature had not gifted Henry of Windsor with the capacity which
would have enabled a sovereign to reconcile such foes. Never had
the Confessor's crown been placed on so weak a head. Never had the
Conqueror's sceptre been grasped by so feeble a hand. The son of the
fifth Henry was more of a monk than a monarch, and in every respect
better qualified for the cloister than for courts and camps. In one
respect, however, the king's taste was not monastic. Notwithstanding
his monkish tendencies he did not relish the idea of celibacy; and the
rival chiefs, perceiving his anxiety to marry, cast their eyes over
Europe to discover a princess worthy of enacting the part of Queen of
England.

Gloucester was the first to take the business in hand. Guided at once
by motives of policy and patriotism, he proposed to unite his nephew to
a daughter of the Count of Armagnac; and he trusted, by an alliance,
to allure that powerful French noble to the English interest. The
king did not object to the Armagnac match. Before striking a bargain,
however, he felt a natural desire to know something of the appearance
of his future spouse; and with this view he employed a painter to
furnish portraits of the count's three daughters. Before the portraits
could be executed circumstances put an end to the negotiations. In
fact, the dauphin, as the English still called the seventh Charles of
France, having no reason to regard the proposed marriage with favor,
placed himself at the head of an army, seized upon the count and his
daughters, and carried them off as prisoners of state.

Meanwhile, Beaufort was not idle. Eager to mortify Gloucester and
increase his own influence, the aged cardinal was bent on uniting the
king to Margaret of Anjou, daughter of René of Provence, and niece of
the French monarch. René, indeed, though titular sovereign of Jerusalem
and the two Sicilies, was poor, and Margaret, albeit the Carlovingian
blood flowed in her veins, was portionless. But, though not favored
by fortune, the Provençal princess was richly endowed by nature; and,
young as she was, the unrivaled beauty and intellect of King René's
daughter had made her name familiar in France and famous in England.

Never was an intriguer more successful than Beaufort. While Gloucester
was negotiating with the Count of Armagnac, the cardinal, aware of
Margaret's charms, contrived to have a likeness of the princess
transmitted to the court of England; and the young king became so
enamored of the fair being whom the portrait represented that his
wish to espouse her could not decently be combated. Matrimonial
negotiations were therefore resolved on; and William de la Pole, Duke
of Suffolk, was sent as embassador to bring home the princess. René
drove a hard bargain. Before consenting to the marriage he insisted on
the restoration of Maine and Anjou, which were among the Continental
conquests that the English were in no humor to surrender. But Suffolk,
who was thinking more of his own interests than of his country's honor,
yielded without scruple; and the marriage of King René's daughter was
made the basis of a treaty which could not fail to prove unpopular. At
first, however, no complaint was uttered. Suffolk brought the royal
bride to England, and declared, in allusion to her poverty, that her
beauty and intellect were worth more than all the gold in the world.

One day in April, 1445, the marriage of Henry of Windsor and Margaret
of Anjou was solemnized at the Abbey of Tichfield--the bridegroom being
in his twenty-fourth, the bride in her sixteenth year. The religious
ceremony having been performed, the wedded pair were conducted to the
capital of their dominions, and the English, being then devotedly
loyal, were prepared to welcome the spouse of young Henry to London
with an enthusiasm which could hardly fail to intoxicate so young a
princess. The nobles, displaying all the pride and pomp of feudalism,
wore the queen's badge in honor of her arrival. At Greenwich,
Gloucester, as first prince of the blood, though known to have been
averse to the match, paid his respects, attended by five hundred men,
dressed in her livery. At Blackheath appeared the mayor, aldermen,
and sheriffs of London, arrayed in scarlet robes, and mounted on
horseback, to escort her through Southwark into the city. Passing
under triumphal arches to Westminster, she was crowned in the Abbey;
and that ceremony was the occasion of general rejoicing. The shows, the
pageants, the tournaments, the display of feudal banners by the nobles,
and loud applause of the populace might well have led the royal pair to
prognosticate a life of peace and happiness. Nobody, who witnessed the
universal joy, could have supposed that England was on the eve of the
bloodiest dynastic struggle recorded in her history.

In fact, the people of England, knowing nothing of the restitution
of Maine and Anjou, were at first delighted with their queen, and
enraptured with her beauty. Her appearance was such as could hardly
fail to please the eye and touch the heart. Imagine a princess in her
teens, singularly accomplished, with a fair complexion, soft, delicate
features, bright, expressive eyes, and golden hair flowing over ivory
shoulders; place a crown upon her head, which seemed to have been
formed to wear such a symbol of power; array her graceful figure in
robes of state, and a mantle of purple fastened with gold and gems; and
you will have before your mind's eye the bride of Henry of Windsor, as
on the day of her coronation she appeared among peers and prelates and
high-born dames in the Abbey of Westminster.

Unfortunately for Margaret of Anjou, her prudence and intelligence
were not equal to her wit and beauty. Ere two years passed the
popularity she enjoyed vanished into empty air; but she was a woman of
defiant courage, and far from taking any pains to regain the affections
of the people, she openly manifested her dislike of Gloucester, who
was their favorite and their idol. Indeed, the young queen never could
forgive the duke's opposition to her marriage; and she listened readily
to the counsels of Beaufort and Suffolk, who, in the spring of 1447,
resolved, at all hazards, to accomplish his ruin.

With this view, a parliament was summoned to meet at Bury St. Edmunds;
and Gloucester, suspecting no snare, rode thither, with a small
retinue, from the castle of Devizes. At first, nothing occurred to
raise his apprehension; but, in a few days, to his surprise, he
found himself arrested by the Constable of England, on the charge of
conspiracy to murder the king and seize the crown.

Gloucester was never brought to trial; and it was said that Suffolk
and the cardinal, finding that every body ridiculed the charge of
conspiracy, caused "The Good Duke" to be assassinated. Appearances
rather strengthened the popular suspicion. One evening, about the close
of February, Gloucester was in perfect health: next morning he was
found dead in bed. The indecent haste with which Suffolk seized upon
the duke's estates was commented on with severity; and Margaret of
Anjou shared the suspicion that had been excited.

The cardinal did not long survive the man who was believed to have been
his victim. Early in the month of April, Beaufort died in despair,
bitterly reproaching his riches, that they could not prolong his life;
and Suffolk, now without a rival, so conducted himself as to incur
the perfect hatred of the nation. The English people had a peculiar
aversion to favorites, and remembered that while weak sovereigns,
like the third Henry and the second Edward, had been ruined by such
creatures, great kings, like the first and third Edward, had done
excellently well without them. Suffolk was every day more and more
disliked; and in 1449 his unpopularity reached the highest point.

The position of Suffolk now became perilous. Impatient at their
Continental reverses, and exasperated at the loss of Rouen, the people
exhibited a degree of indignation that was overwhelming, and the duke,
after being attacked in both houses of Parliament, found himself
committed to the Tower. When brought to the bar of the Lords, Suffolk,
aware of his favor at court, threw himself on the mercy of the king;
and, every thing having been arranged, the lord chancellor, in Henry's
name, sentenced him to five years' banishment. The peers protested
against this proceeding as unconstitutional; and the populace were so
furious at the idea of the traitor escaping, that, on the day of his
liberation, they assembled in St. Giles's Fields to the number of two
thousand, with the intention of bringing him to justice. But Suffolk
evaded their vigilance, and, at Ipswich, embarked for the Continent.

On the 2d of May, 1450, however, as the banished duke was sailing
between Dover and Calais, he was stopped by an English man-of-war,
described as the Nicholas of the Tower, and ordered to come immediately
on board. As soon as Suffolk set foot on deck, the master of the
Nicholas exclaimed, "Welcome, traitor;" and, for two days, kept his
captive in suspense. On the third day, however, the duke was handed
into a cock-boat, in which appeared an executioner, an axe, and a
block; and the death's-man, having without delay cut off the head of
the disgraced minister, contemptuously cast the headless trunk on the
sand.

While England's sufferings, from disasters abroad and discord at home,
were thus avenged on the queen's favorite, the king was regarded with
pity and compassion. Henry, in fact, was looked upon as the victim of
fate; and a prophecy, supposed to have been uttered by his father, was
cited to account for all his misfortunes. The hero-king, according to
rumor, had, on hearing of his son's birth at Windsor, shaken his head,
and remarked prophetically, "I, Henry of Monmouth, have gained much in
my short reign; Henry of Windsor shall reign much longer, and lose all.
But GOD'S will be done."

Margaret of Anjou shared her favorite's unpopularity; and, when she
reached the age of twenty, the crown which had been placed on her head
amid so much applause became a crown of thorns. Exasperated at the loss
of their Continental conquests, Englishmen recalled to mind that she
was a kinswoman and protégée of the King of France; and when it was
known that, to secure her hand for their sovereign, Maine and Anjou
had been surrendered, sturdy patriots described her as the cause of a
humiliating peace, and, with bitter emphasis, denounced her as "The
Foreign Woman."

These men were not altogether unreasonable. In fact, the case proved
much worse for England than even they anticipated; and, ere long,
France was gratified with a thorough revenge on the foe by whom she
had been humbled to the dust, from having placed on the Plantagenets'
throne a princess capable, by pride and indiscretion, of rousing a
civil war that ruined the Plantagenets' monarchy.




CHAPTER II.

THE DUKE OF YORK AND THE KING-MAKER.


When Suffolk fell a victim to the popular indignation, Richard, Duke of
York, first prince of the blood, was governing Ireland, with a courage
worthy of his high rank, and a wisdom worthy of his great name. Indeed,
his success was such as much to increase the jealousy with which the
queen had ever regarded the heir of the Plantagenets.

York was descended, in the male line, from Edmund of Langley, fifth son
of the third Edward, and was thus heir-presumptive to the crown which
the meek Henry wore. But the duke had another claim, which rendered
him more formidable than, as heir-presumptive, he would ever have made
himself; for, through his mother, Anne Mortimer, daughter of an Earl of
March, he inherited the blood of Lionel of Clarence, elder brother of
John of Gaunt, and, in this way, could advance claims to the English
crown, which, in a hereditary point of view, were infinitely superior
to those of the house of Lancaster.

Richard Plantagenet was nearly ten years older than King Henry. He
first saw the light in 1412; and, when a mere child, became, by the
execution of his father, the Earl of Cambridge, at Southampton, and
the fall of his uncle, the Duke of York, at Agincourt, heir of Edmund
of Langley. His father's misfortune placed Richard, for a time, under
attainder; but after the accession of Henry the dignities of the house
of York were restored; and in 1424, on the death of Edmund, last of the
Earls of March, the young Plantagenet succeeded to the feudal power of
the house of Mortimer.

An illustrious pedigree and a great inheritance rendered York a most
important personage; and, as years passed over, he was, by Gloucester's
influence, appointed Regent of France. In that situation the duke bore
himself like a brave leader in war and a wise ruler in peace; but, as
it was feared that he would obstruct the surrender of Maine and Anjou,
he was displaced by Suffolk, and succeeded by the Duke of Somerset,
who, it was well known, would be most accommodating.

When York returned to England, the queen, not relishing a rival so near
the throne, determined to send him out of the way. She, therefore,
caused the duke to be appointed, for ten years, to the government of
Ireland, and then dispatched armed men to seize him on the road and
imprison him in the castle of Conway. York, however, was fortunate
enough to escape the queen's snares; and, reaching Ireland in safety,
he not only gave peace to that country, but, by his skillful policy,
won much favor among the inhabitants.

Time passed on; and the disappearance of Suffolk, of Beaufort, of
Gloucester, and of Bedford from the theatre of affairs opened up a new
scene. As minister of the king and favorite of the queen, Beaufort and
Suffolk were succeeded by Somerset; as first prince of blood and hero
of the people, Bedford and Gloucester were succeeded by York. Moreover,
the absence of the duke from the country caused much discontent. "If,"
said the people, "he who brought the wild, savage Irish to civil
fashions and English urbanity once ruled in England, he would depose
evil counselors, correct evil judges, and reform all unamended matters."

Firmly established the house of Lancaster then was; but York had
friends sufficiently powerful to make him a formidable rival to any
dynasty. In youth he had married Cicely, daughter of Ralph Neville,
first Earl of Westmoreland; and, of all the English magnates of the
fifteenth century, the Nevilles, who drew strength at once from an
illustrious Saxon origin and distinguished Norman alliances, were by
far the most powerful and popular.

The Nevilles derived the descent, in the male line, from the
Anglo-Saxon Earls of Northumberland. Their ancestor, Cospatrick,
figured in youth at the court of Edward the Confessor, and, relishing
neither the sway of Harold the Usurper, nor of William the Conqueror,
passed most of his life in adversity and exile. After much suffering he
died at Norham, on the south bank of the Tweed, and left two sons, who
were more fortunate. One of these founded the house of Dunbar, whose
chiefs for hundreds of years flourished with honor and renown; the
other was grandfather of Robert Fitzmaldred, who married the heiress of
the Nevilles, and was progenitor of that proud family, whose seat was
long at Raby. About the beginning of the fifteenth century the house of
Dunbar fell, and great was the fall thereof. About the beginning of the
fifteenth century the Nevilles attained to the earldom of Westmoreland,
and to a point of grandeur unrivaled among the nobles of England.

Among the chiefs of the house of Neville, Ralph, first Earl of
Westmoreland, was one of the most important. His possessions were so
extensive that, besides the castle of his Anglo-Saxon ancestors and
those of Brancepath, Middleham, and Sheriff Hutton, inherited through
Norman heiresses of great name, he possessed about fifty manor-houses;
and his feudal following was so grand that, at times, he assembled in
the great hall at Raby no fewer than seven hundred knights, who lived
on his lands in time of peace, and followed his banner in war. Even
the earl's children were more numerous than those of his neighbors. He
was twice married; and the Duchess of York, known among northern men as
"The Rose of Raby," was the youngest of a family of twenty-two. John
Neville, Ralph's eldest son by his first countess, was progenitor of
those chiefs who, as Earls of Westmoreland, maintained baronial rank
at Raby, till one of them risked and lost all in the great northern
rebellion against Elizabeth. Richard Neville, Ralph's eldest son by his
second countess, obtained the hand of the heiress of the Montagues, and
with her hand their earldom of Salisbury and their vast possessions.

In the Continental wars and domestic struggles in which Englishmen
indulged during the fifteenth century, Salisbury was recognized as
a man of military prowess and political influence. But almost ere
reaching middle age his fame grew pale before that of his eldest son,
Richard Neville, who espoused the heiress of the Beauchamps, who, in
her right, obtained the earldom of Warwick, and who, as time passed on,
became celebrated throughout Europe as the king-maker.

At the name of "The Stout Earl," as the people of England proudly
called him, the fancy conjures up a mail-clad man of the tallest
stature and the most majestic proportions; with dark brown hair
clustering over a magnificent head, resting firmly and gracefully
on mighty shoulders; a brow marked with thought, perhaps not without
traces of care; a complexion naturally fair, but somewhat bronzed by
exposure to the sun and wind; a frank and open countenance lighted up
with an eye of deep blue, and reflecting the emotions of the soul,
as clouds are reflected in a clear lake; and a presence so noble and
heroic that, compared with him, the princes and peers of our day would
sink into utter insignificance. Unfortunately, no portrait capable
of conveying an adequate idea of Warwick's appearance exists for the
instruction of our generation; but traditions and chronicles lead to
the conclusion that, if a Vandyke or a Reynolds had existed in the
fifteenth century to transmit to posterity the king-maker as, in form
and feature, he appeared to his contemporaries in Westminster Hall, in
Warwick Castle, or on Towton Field, such a portrait, by such an artist,
would not belie our conceptions as to the personal grandeur of the
warrior-statesman of mediæval England.

But, however that might be, Warwick was the hero of his own times. From
early youth he was in great favor with the people; and, as years passed
on, his frankness, affability, sincerity, love of justice, and hatred
of oppression endeared him to their hearts. In an age of falsehood and
fraud, his word was never broken nor his honor tarnished. Even the
lofty patrician pride, which rendered him an object of mingled awe and
envy to the Woodvilles, the Howards, and the Herberts, recommended him
to the multitude; for the new men, whom the descendant of Cospatrick
would not recognize as his peers, were the instruments used by despotic
sovereigns to grind the faces of the poor. Moreover, Warwick's
patriotism was ardent; and the nation remarked with gratification, that
"The Stout Earl" was animated by all those English sympathies which,
banished from courts and parliaments, still found a home in cottage and
in grange.

Besides being the most patriotic, Warwick had the good fortune to be
the richest, of England's patricians; and his immense revenues were
expended in such a way that his praise as the people's friend was ever
on the tongues of the poor and needy. His hospitality knew no bounds.
The gate of his mansion in London stood open to all comers; six oxen
were usually consumed at a breakfast; no human being was sent hungry
away; and every fighting man had the privilege of walking into the
kitchen and helping himself to as much meat as could be carried away
on the point of a dagger. At the same time, thirty thousand persons
are said to have feasted daily at the earl's mansions and castles in
various parts of England.

And it was not merely as a patriot and a popular patrician that Richard
Neville was distinguished, for great was his renown as a warrior and a
statesman. On fields of fight his bearing reminded men of the Paladins
of romance; and when he broke, sword in hand, into foemen's ranks,
the cry of "A Warwick! A Warwick!" did more service to his friends
than could the lances of five hundred knights. While Warwick's martial
prowess made him the idol of the soldiery, his capacity for affairs
secured him general confidence and admiration. "The Stout Earl," said
the people, "is able to do any thing, and without him nothing can be
done well."

With such a friend as Warwick in England the Duke of York doubtless
felt secure that his hereditary claims were in little danger of being
quite forgotten during his absence. The duke was in Ireland, when an
incident, immortalized by Shakspeare, gave life and color to the rival
factions. One day a violent dispute as to the rights of the houses of
York and Lancaster took place in the Temple Gardens. The disputants,
"The Stout Earl" and the Duke of Somerset, appealed to their friends to
take sides in the controversy; but these, being the barons of England,
declined to enter upon such "nice sharp quillets of the law." Warwick
thereupon plucked a white rose, and Somerset a red rose; and each asked
his friends to follow his example. Thus originated the badges of the
chiefs who involved England in that sanguinary struggle celebrated by
poets and chroniclers as the Wars of the Roses.




CHAPTER III.

THE CAPTAIN OF KENT.


In the summer of 1450 there was a ferment among the commons of Kent.
For some time, indeed, the inhabitants of that district of England had
been discontented with the administration of affairs; but now they
were roused to action by rumors that Margaret of Anjou, holding them
responsible for the execution of Suffolk, had vowed revenge; that a
process of extermination was to be forthwith commenced; and that the
country, from the Thames to the Straits of Dover, was to be converted
into a hunting-forest for the queen and her favorites.

About the middle of June, while the indignation of the Kentishmen was
at its height, a military adventurer, who has since been known as "Jack
Cade," but who called himself John Mortimer, and gave out that his
mother was a Lacy, suddenly appeared among the malcontents, informed
them that he was related to the Duke of York, and offered to be their
captain. According to the chroniclers, he was "a young man of goodly
stature, and pregnant wit," and he told his story so plausibly, that
the men of Kent believed he was York's cousin. Delighted with the
notion of having found a Mortimer to lead them to battle, and to free
them from oppression, the people crowded by thousands to his standard;
and Cade, having assumed the title of Captain of Kent, arrayed them in
good order, marched toward London, and encamped on Blackheath.

The men of Kent were not foes to be despised. They had ever claimed
the privilege of marching in the van of England's army, and had so
borne themselves on fields of fight, that their courage was beyond
dispute. The determined spirit by which they were known to be animated
rather daunted the court; and the king, in alarm, sent to ask why they
had left their homes. Cade replied in a manner at which a government
owing its existence to a revolution had little reason to take umbrage.
He sent a document, entitled "Complaint of the Commons of Kent,"
containing a statement of grievances, demanding speedy redress, and
requesting, in respectful language, the dismissal of the corrupt men by
whom the king was surrounded, and the recall of "the Duke of York, late
exiled from the royal presence."

The queen and her friends saw that something must be done, and that
quickly. An army was, therefore, levied in the king's name; and, at
the head of it, Henry advanced to Blackheath; but Cade, wishing to
draw the royal force into Kent, broke up his camp and retreated to
the quiet old market-town of Sevenoaks. The queen, doubtless somewhat
surprised at the storm she had raised, dreaded the possibility of
the king being environed by the insurgents. She, therefore, deputed
the danger of encountering Cade to a gallant knight named Humphrey
Stafford, and, having done so, retired to Greenwich.

On receiving the queen's commands, Stafford, and some of the court
gallants, put on their rich armor and gorgeous surcoats, mounted
their horses, and, with a detachment of the royal army, dashed off to
engage the insurgents, all eagerness, as it seemed, to bring back the
leader's head as a trophy. On coming up with the foe, however, the
ardor of the gay warriors rapidly cooled; for, in posting his troops
in Sevenoaks Wood, the Captain of Kent had made his dispositions with
such masterly skill, that the insurgents felt high confidence, and
presented a formidable front. Nevertheless, Stafford did not shrink
from an encounter. Boldly dashing onward, he attacked the Kentishmen in
their strong-hold. His courage, however, was of no avail. At the very
onslaught, he fell in front of his soldiers; and they, fighting with no
good-will, allowed themselves to be easily defeated.

Proud of his victory, the Captain of Kent arrayed himself in Stafford's
rich armor, advanced toward London, encamped once more on Blackheath,
and threatened to attack the metropolis. His success had rendered him
so popular a hero, that the Kentishmen, under the delusion that all
abuses were to be reformed, called him "Captain Mendall;" and the
inhabitants of Surrey and Sussex, catching the enthusiasm, crowded to
his camp.

Margaret of Anjou had now cause for serious alarm. The royal army could
no longer be relied on. Already many of the soldiers had deserted,
and those who remained were asking, with indignation, why the Duke of
York was not recalled. Aware of all this, the king deputed Humphrey
Stafford, first Duke of Buckingham, a popular favorite, and a prince of
the blood, to repair to Cade's camp, and expostulate with the rebels.
The captain received the duke with all due respect, but declared that
the insurgents could not lay down their arms, unless the king would
hear their complaints in person, and pledge his royal word that their
grievances should be redressed.

When Buckingham returned with Cade's answer to Greenwich, there was
yet time for Henry to save his regal dignity. Had he been capable of
laying aside his saintly theories for a few hours, bracing on his
armor, mounting his steed, and riding forth with words of courage
and patriotism on his lips, he might have won back the hearts of
his soldiers, and either scattered the insurgent army by force, or
dissolved it by persuasion. To do this, a king of England did not
require the animal courage of a _Coeur de Lion_, or the political
genius of an English Justinian. Any of Henry's predecessors, even
the second Edward or the second Richard, could have mustered spirit
and energy sufficient for the occasion. But the monk-monarch, having
neither spirit nor energy, quietly resigned himself to his fate; and
the queen, terrified at the commotion her imprudences had raised,
disbanded the royal army, charged Lord Scales to keep the Tower,
and, leaving London to its fate, departed with her husband to seek
security in the strong castle of Kenilworth. There was quite as little
discretion as dignity in the king's precipitate retreat. The most
devoted adherents of the Red Rose might well despair of the house of
Lancaster standing long, when they heard that the son of the conqueror
of Agincourt had fled before the ringleader of a rabble.

Not slow to take advantage of the king's absence, the Captain of Kent
moved from Blackheath to Southwark. From that place he sent to demand
entrance into London; and, after a debate in the Common Council, Sir
Thomas Chalton, the mayor, intimated that no opposition would be
offered. Accordingly, on the 3d of July, the insurgent leader crossed
London Bridge--the single bridge of which the capital then boasted--and
led his followers into the city.

The inhabitants of London must have felt some degree of dismay. Both
courtiers and citizens had an idea what a mob was--what violence and
bloodshed the French capital had witnessed during the outbreaks of the
_Cabochiens_--of what horrors each French province had been the scene
during the _Jacquerie_. Moreover, the ruins of the Savoy, destroyed
during Wat Tyler's insurrection, and towering gloomily on the spot now
occupied by the northern approach to Waterloo Bridge, formed at least
one memorial of what mischief even English peasants and artisans were
capable, when roused by injustice and oppression. At first, however,
the Captain of Kent displayed a degree of moderation hardly to have
been anticipated. Arrayed in Stafford's splendid mail, he commenced his
triumphal entry by indulging in a little harmless vanity.

"Now," said he, stopping, and striking his staff on London Stone, "now
is Mortimer Lord of London."

"Take heed," said the mayor, who was standing on the threshold of his
door, and witnessed the scene, "take heed that you attempt nothing
against the quiet of the city."

"Sir," answered Cade, "let the world take notice of our honest
intentions by our actions."

All that day the Captain of Kent appeared most anxious to gain the
good opinion of the citizens. He issued proclamations against plunder,
did his utmost to preserve discipline, and in the evening he marched
quietly back to Southwark. Next morning, however, he returned; and,
perhaps, no longer able to restrain the thirst of his followers for
blood, he resolved to gratify them by the execution of "a new man."

Among the most obnoxious of the king's ministers was James Fiennes,
who held the office of lord chamberlain, and enjoyed the dignity of
Lord Say. The rapid rise of this peer to wealth and power had rendered
him an object of dislike to the old nobility; and his connection with
Suffolk's administration had rendered him an object of hatred to the
people. Besides, he had lately purchased Knole Park, in the vicinity
of Sevenoaks, and perhaps had, as lord of the soil, given offense to
the commons of Kent by trenching on some of those privileges which they
cherished so fondly.

Ere entering London, the insurgents had made up their minds to have
Lord Say's head; and, aware of the odium attached to his name, the
unpopular minister had taken refuge with Lord Scales in the Tower.
Scales had seen much service in France, and highly distinguished
himself in the wars of the fifth Henry; but now he had reached his
fiftieth summer; his bodily strength had decayed; and time had perhaps
impaired the martial spirit that had animated his youthful exploits.
At all events, instead of defending Lord Say to the last, as might
have been expected, Scales allowed him to be taken from the Tower and
carried to Guildhall, and on the ill-fated lord's arrival there the
Captain of Kent compelled the mayor and aldermen to arraign him as a
traitor. In vain Say protested against the proceeding, and demanded
a trial by his peers. The captain twitted him with being a mock
patrician, and insisted upon the judges condemning the "buckram lord."
At length the insurgents lost patience, hurried their prisoner into
Cheapside, and, having there beheaded him without farther ceremony,
hastened to execute vengeance upon his son-in-law, Sir James Cromer,
who, as sheriff of Kent, had incurred their displeasure.

Intoxicated with triumph as the Captain of Kent might be, the daring
adventurer felt the reverse of easy while passing himself off as a
Mortimer, and could not help dreading the consequence of his real
origin being revealed to those whom he had deluded. Rumors were indeed
creeping about that his name was Jack Cade; that he was a native of
Ireland; that in his own country he had, for some time, lived in the
household of a knight, but that having killed a woman and child he had
entered the French service, and acquired the military skill which he
had displayed against Stafford. Moreover, some chroniclers state that,
to preclude the possibility of exposure, he mercilessly executed those
who were suspected to know any thing of his antecedents, and endeavored
to insure the fidelity of his adherents by allowing them to perpetrate
various kinds of enormity.

The citizens had hitherto submitted with patience; but on the 5th of
July a provoking outrage roused them to resistance. On that day Cade,
having gratified his vanity and satiated his thirst for blood, began to
think of spoil. He commenced operations under peculiar circumstances.
After dining with one of the citizens he requited the hospitality of
his host by plundering the house, and the example of the captain was
so faithfully followed by his men that the Londoners perceived the
propriety of doing something for their defense. When, therefore, Cade
led his forces back to Southwark for the night, and the shades of
evening settled over London, the inhabitants took counsel with Lord
Scales, and resolved upon fortifying the bridge so as to prevent his
return.

While Cade was passing the night of the 5th of July at Southwark,
reposing on his laurels, as it were, at the _White Hart_, news was
carried to him that Lord Scales and the citizens were preparing to
resist his return. With characteristic decision the Captain of Kent
sprang to arms, declared he should force a passage forthwith, mustered
his men, and led them to the attack. Fortune, however, now declared
against him. A fierce combat took place, and the citizens defended
the bridge so courageously that after a struggle of six hours the
insurgents were fain to retire to Southwark.

The courage of the mob now cooled; and the king's ministers determined
to try the effect of promises never intended to be redeemed.
Accordingly, William Waynflete, Bishop of Winchester, appeared with an
offer of pardon to all who would return peaceably home. At first the
insurgents were divided in opinion about accepting the bishop's terms;
but Cade showed an inclination to grasp at the pardon, and finally all
dispersed. The Captain of Kent, however, had as little intention as the
government to act with honor; and within ten days he again appeared
in Southwark with a considerable following. This time, however, the
citizens, elate with victory, presented a firm front; and, dismayed at
their threatening aspect, Cade retreated to Rochester. While there,
terrified at the feuds of his followers, he learned with horror that a
thousand marks had been offered for his apprehension; and, alarmed at
the probability of being delivered up, he galloped across the country
toward the coast of Sussex, and, for some time, wandered about in
disguise.

The Captain of Kent was not destined to elude the vengeance of the
government which he had defied. An esquire of the county, named
Alexander Iden, pursued the despairing insurgent, and found him lurking
in a garden at Rothfield. Cade did not yield to his fate without a
struggle. Drawing his sword, he stood upon his defense; and both the
captain and the esquire being men of strength and courage, a desperate
conflict ensued. The victory, however, fell to Iden; and Cade's head,
after being carried to the king, was set on London Bridge, his face
turned toward the hills of Kent. Many of his companions, in spite of
Bishop Waynflete's promise of pardon, were subsequently taken and
executed as traitors.

Such was the end of a popular tumult, the origin of which remains in
considerable obscurity. Some asserted that Jack Cade was merely an
agent of Richard Plantagenet, and did not hesitate to describe "Captain
Mendall" as "one of the Duke of York's firebrands." No evidence exists,
however, to show that the "high and mighty prince," freely as his great
name might have been used by the insurgents, had any thing to do with
the enterprise. Nevertheless the insurrection was not without influence
on the duke's fortunes, and it has ever been regarded as a prelude to
the fierce struggle between the houses of York and Lancaster.




CHAPTER IV.

THE RIVAL DUKES.


About the end of August, 1451, a rumor reached the court of Westminster
that the Duke of York had suddenly left Ireland. The queen was
naturally somewhat alarmed; for, during Cade's insurrection, the duke's
name had been used in such a way as to test his influence, and no doubt
remained of the popularity he enjoyed among the commons.

Margaret of Anjou had no wish to see York in London. On the pretext,
therefore, that the duke came with too large a force, the queen, at
Somerset's instigation, dispatched Lord Lisle, son of the famous
Talbot, to prevent his landing. York, however, eluded the vigilance of
his enemies, made his way to London, paid his respects to the king,
complained of the misgovernment under which the country was suffering;
and, still mute as to his intentions, retired to Fotheringay, a castle
which had been built by his ancestor, Edmund of Langley.

The absence of York from court exercised more influence in London than
his presence could have done, and soon after his return from Ireland
a member of the House of Commons boldly proposed that, since Henry
had no issue and no prospect of any, the duke should be declared heir
to the throne. For his temerity this senator was committed to the
Tower; but the Commons, who were not thus to be daunted, passed a bill
of attainder against the deceased Duke of Suffolk, and presented a
petition to the king for the dismissal of Somerset, who was Suffolk's
successor and York's foe.

The name of the Duke of Somerset was Edmund Beaufort. He was the
illegitimate grandson of John of Gaunt, nephew of Cardinal Beaufort,
and brother of that fair damsel whom James, the poet-king of Scots,
had wooed at Windsor, under circumstances so romantic. He had, for
several years, been Regent of France, and in that capacity displayed
considerable vigor; but the loss of Normandy occurred during his
government, and this misfortune, coupled with his violent temper, and
the fact of his enjoying the queen's favor, rendered Somerset's name as
odious to the multitude as that of Suffolk had ever been. The queen,
however, not being inclined to bow to popular opinion, resisted the
demand of the House of Commons for her favorite's dismissal; and the
strife between the parties was carried on with a degree of violence
which, in any other country, would have produced immediate war and
bloodshed.

The heir of the Plantagenets, however, recognized the necessity of
acting with prudence. In fact, the Lancastrian dynasty was still so
much in favor with the nation that an attempt on York's part to seize
the crown would inevitably have added to the power of his enemies; but
in any efforts to put down Somerset, and the men whom that obnoxious
minister used as the instruments of his tyranny, the duke well knew
that he carried with him the hearts of the people and of those great
patricians whom the people regarded as their natural leaders.

Though the Earl of Westmoreland adhered to the house of Lancaster the
alliance of the other Nevilles would of itself have rendered York
formidable; and, besides the Nevilles, there were many feudal magnates
who shared York's antipathy to Somerset. Thomas, Lord Stanley, who had
married Warwick's sister; John Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, descended from
a granddaughter of the first Edward; John De Vere, Earl of Oxford,
whose ancestors had been great in England since the Conquest; and
Thomas Courtenay, Earl of Devon, whose pedigree dated from the age of
Charlemagne, could not witness without indignation the domination of
Beauforts. "We are unwilling," such men must have murmured, "to see the
court of Westminster converted into a sty for the brood of Katherine
Swynford."

York, for some time, hesitated to strike a blow; but, at length, and
not without reason, he lost all patience. Indeed, the Yorkists affirmed
that a plot had been formed for imprisoning their chief, and putting
him secretly to death; and the memory of Humphrey of Gloucester's
fate rendered people credulous of any such report. To baffle any such
criminal project, a movement against Somerset was resolved upon by
the partisans of the White Rose; and, about the opening of 1452, York
repaired to his castle of Ludlow, gathered an army among the retainers
of the house of Mortimer, and, declaring that he had no evil intentions
against the king, to whom he offered to swear fealty on the sacrament,
commenced his march toward London.

The Lancastrians were alarmed at the intelligence that the duke was in
arms; and forces were mustered to intercept his march. But while the
royal army went westward by one road York came eastward by another,
and, with several thousand men at his back, appeared at the gates of
London. The metropolis, however, had aided in that revolution which
placed Henry of Bolingbroke on the throne, and still continued well
affected to the house of Lancaster. York did not, therefore, meet with
such a reception as his friends could have wished. The gates, in fact,
were shut in his face; and, not wishing to exasperate the citizens
by acts of violence, he marched up the banks of the Thames, crossed
the river at Kingston, and, having been joined by the Earl of Devon,
encamped his army on Brent Heath, near Dartford.

Henry, meantime, ventured on taking the field, and pitched his pavilion
on Blackheath. It soon appeared, however, that on neither side was
there any inclination to involve the country in civil war. Negotiations
were therefore opened; and two bishops, commissioned to act for the
king, proceeded to the camp of the Yorkists and demanded of their chief
why he had appeared in arms.

The duke, who would seem to have been unaware of the utter insincerity
of his enemies, answered that repeated attempts had been made to effect
his ruin, and that he was in arms for his own safety. The bishops,
who well knew how truly York spoke, admitted that he had been watched
with a jealous eye, but assigned as a reason that the treasonable talk
of his adherents justified suspicion. On the king's part, however,
they acquitted him of all treason, saying that Henry esteemed him
as a true man and well-beloved cousin; and York, maintaining a high
tone, insisted that all persons who had broken the laws of the realm,
especially those who had been indicted for treason, should be put upon
their trial. The demand was so reasonable that compliance could not
with decency be refused; and Henry, having promised that every offender
should be punished, issued an order for the apprehension of Somerset,
and gave York to understand that he should have a place in the council.

Far from doubting the king's good faith, York disbanded his army, and
agreed to a personal interview with his royal kinsman. The result
was not the most satisfactory. It proved beyond question that,
however saintly his theories, Henry was capable of acting with an
utter disregard of honor--that he had little sympathy with the fine
sentiment of his ancestor, John de Valois, who, when advised to violate
a treaty with our third Edward, exclaimed: "Were truth and sincerity
banished from every part of the earth, they ought yet to be found in
the mouths and the hearts of kings." It appears that the queen had
concealed Somerset behind the arras of the king's tent, and no sooner
did York enter, and repeat what he had said to the two bishops, than
the favorite, stepping from behind a curtain, offered to prove his
innocence, and called York liar and traitor.

The scene which followed may easily be imagined. Somerset was violent
and insolent; Henry, alarmed and silent; York, indignant and scornful.
The duke could now entertain no doubt that he had been betrayed;
but his courage did not desert him. He retorted Somerset's epithets
with interest, and was turning haughtily to take his departure, when
informed that he was a captive. Somerset then proposed a summary trial
and execution; but the courtiers shrunk from the opprobrium of another
murder. The king, who, save in the case of Lollards, had no love of
executions, took the more moderate view; and the duke, instead of
perishing on the scaffold, was sent as a state prisoner to the Tower of
London.

While the queen and her friends were still bent on York's destruction,
a rumor that his eldest son Edward, the boy-Earl of March, was coming
from Ludlow at the head of a strong body of Welshmen, filled the
council with alarm. The duke was thereupon set at liberty, and, after
making his submission, allowed to retire to the borders of Wales.
Having reached the dominions of the Mortimers, the heir-presumptive
sought refuge within the walls of the castles of Wigmore and Ludlow,
repressed ambitious longings and patriotic indignation, and, for the
restoration of better days to himself and his country, trusted to the
chapter of accidents and the course of events.




CHAPTER V.

THE KING'S MALADY.


In the autumn of 1453 the queen was keeping her court at Clarendon;
the Duke of York was at Wigmore and at Ludlow, maintaining a state
befitting the heir of the Mortimers; the barons were at their moated
castles, complaining gloomily of Henry's indolence and Somerset's
insolence; and the people were expressing the utmost discontent at the
mismanagement that had, after a brave struggle, in which Talbot and
his son, Lord Lisle, fell, finally lost Gascony; when a strange gloom
settled over the countenances of the Lancastrians, and mysterious
rumors crept about as to the king's health. At length the terrible
truth came out, and the Yorkists learned that Henry was suffering from
an eclipse of reason, similar to that which had afflicted his maternal
grandsire, the sixth Charles of France. In this state he was slowly
removed from Clarendon to Westminster.

About a month after the king's loss of reason, there occurred another
event, destined to exercise great influence on the rival parties.
At Westminster, on the 14th of October, 1453, Margaret of Anjou,
after having been for eight years a wife, without being a mother,
gave birth to an heir to the English crown; and the existence of
this boy, destined to an end so tragic, while reviving the courage
of the Lancastrians, inspired the partisans of the White Rose with a
resolution to adopt bold measures on behalf of their chief.

At first, indeed, the Yorkists altogether refused to believe in the
existence of the infant prince. When, however, that could no longer
be denied, they declared that there had been unfair play. Finally,
they circulated reports injurious to Margaret's honor as a queen and
reputation as a woman; and rumor, which, ere this, had whispered light
tales of René's daughter, took the liberty of ascribing to Somerset
the paternity of her son. Such scandals were calculated to repress
loyal emotions; and the courtiers attempted to counteract the effect
by giving the child a popular name. Accordingly, the little prince,
who had first seen the light on St. Edward's Day, was baptized by that
name, which was dear to the people, as having been borne by the last
Anglo-Saxon king, and by the greatest of the Plantagenets. Nobody,
however, appears to have supposed that because the boy was named
Edward, he would, therefore, prove equal in wisdom and valor to the
English Justinian, or the conqueror of Cressy, or "the valiant and
gentle Prince of Wales, the flower of all chivalry in the world."

[Illustration: BIRTH OF EDWARD OF LANCASTER.]

The insanity of the king, naturally enough, brought about the recall
of York to the council; and when Parliament met in February, 1454, the
duke having, as Royal Commissioner, opened the proceedings, the peers
determined to arrive at a knowledge of the king's real condition, which
the queen had hitherto endeavored to conceal. An opportunity soon
occurred.

On the 2d of March, 1454, John Kempe, Primate and Chancellor of
England, breathed his last. On such occasions it was customary for
the House of Lords to confer personally with the sovereign, and,
accordingly, Henry being then at Windsor, twelve peers were deputed to
go thither for that purpose. Their reception was not gracious; but they
insisted on entering the castle, and found the king utterly incapable
of comprehending a word. Three several times they presented themselves
in his chamber, but in vain; and, returning to London, free from any
doubts, they made a report to the House which convinced the most
incredulous. "We could get," said they, "no answer or sign from him for
no prayer nor desire." At the request of the twelve peers, this report
was entered on the records of Parliament; and, ere two days passed,
Richard, Duke of York, was nominated Protector of England. His power
was to continue until the king recovered, or, in the event of Henry's
malady proving incurable, till young Edward came of age.

The duke, when intrusted by Parliament with the functions of Protector,
exercised the utmost caution; and, while accepting the duties of
the office, was careful to obtain from his peers the most explicit
declaration that he only followed their noble commandments. It is true
that one of his first acts was to intrust the great seal to the Earl
of Salisbury; but, on the whole, his moderation was conspicuous; and
the claims of Prince Edward, as heir of England, having been fully
recognized, he was created Prince of Wales and Earl of Chester, and a
splendid provision was made for his maintenance.

With York at the head of the government, matters went smoothly till
the close of 1454; but in the month of December the king's recovery
threw every thing into disorder. About Christmas Henry awoke as from
a confused dream; and, on St. John's Day, he sent his almoner with an
offering to Canterbury, and his secretary on a similar errand to the
shrine of St. Edward.

The queen's hopes were now renewed and her ambitions stimulated. Having
in vain endeavored to conceal the plight of her husband from the
nation, she marked his restoration with joy, and presented the prince
to him with maternal pride. Henry was, perhaps, slightly surprised to
find himself the father of a fine boy; but, manifesting a proper degree
of paternal affection, he asked by what name his heir had been called.
The queen replied that he had been named Edward; and the king, holding
up his hands, thanked GOD that such was the case. He was then informed
that Cardinal Kempe was no more; and he remarked, "Then one of the
wisest lords in the land is dead."

The king's recovery was bruited about; and, on the morning after
Twelfth Day, William Waynflete, Bishop of Winchester, paid the royal
invalid a visit. Henry spoke to him as rationally as ever he had been
capable of doing; declaring, moreover, that he was in charity with all
the world, and wished his lords were in the same frame of mind. The
bishop, on leaving the king, was so affected that he wept for joy; the
news spread from Thames to Tweed; and, from Kent to Northumberland, the
partisans of the Red Rose congratulated each other on the return of
good fortune.




CHAPTER VI.

THE BATTLE OF ST. ALBANS.


When Henry recovered from his malady York resigned the Protectorship,
and Margaret of Anjou again became all-powerful. The circumstances
were such that the exercise of moderation, toward friends and foes,
would have restored the Lancastrian queen to the good opinion of her
husband's subjects. Unfortunately for her happiness, Margaret allowed
prejudice and passion to hurry her into a defiance of law and decency.

It happened that, during the king's illness, Somerset had been arrested
in the queen's great chamber, and sent to keep his Christmas in the
Tower, as a preliminary to his being brought to trial. No sooner,
however, did Margaret regain authority, than her favorite was set at
liberty; and people learned with indignation that, instead of having
to answer for his offenses against the state, the unworthy noble was
to be appointed Captain-general of Calais. After this, the Yorkists
became convinced that the sword alone could settle the controversy;
and, about the spring of 1455, the duke, repairing to Ludlow, summoned,
for the second time, his retainers, and prepared to display his banner
in actual war against the royal standard of England. He had soon the
gratification of being joined by the two great Earls of Salisbury and
Warwick, by John Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, and by other men whose rank
and nobility lent lustre to the cause. Having armed and arrayed the
Marchmen of Wales, York advanced toward the capital.

War was now inevitable; and Somerset did not shrink from a conflict
with the prince whose life he had sought and whose vengeance he had
defied. A Lancastrian army was forthwith assembled; and at its head
Henry and Somerset, accompanied by many men of influence, marched from
London to face the Yorkists in fight. Sir Philip Wentworth bore the
royal standard; and with the king went Humphrey, Duke of Buckingham,
and his son, Earl Stafford; James Butler, chief of the house of Ormond,
whom Henry had created Earl of Wiltshire; Thomas, Lord Clifford, from
the Craven; and Hotspur's son, Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland,
who, having in youth been restored by Henry the Fifth, now went out, at
the age of threescore, to fight for the crown worn by Henry's son. The
people, however, held aloof from the contest; and the army of the Red
Rose, composed entirely of nobles, with their knights, and squires, and
fighting men, does not appear to have exceeded two thousand in number.

The king had not far to go in search of his kinsman. After passing
the night of Thursday, the 22d of May, at Watford, and proceeding
next morning to St. Albans, the Lancastrians, when about to continue
their march, perceived that the hills in front of them were covered
with armed men, who moved rapidly in battle order toward the ancient
historic town. On observing the approach of the Yorkist foe, the
Lancastrian leaders halted, set up the royal standard, placed troops
under the command of Lord Clifford to guard the barriers, and sent
the Duke of Buckingham to confer with the White Rose chiefs, who had
encamped at Heyfield.

Richard Plantagenet, though a warrior of the highest courage, had no
relish for bloodshed; and he did not forget that those to whom he now
stood opposed were Englishmen like himself. When, therefore, Buckingham
went, in Henry's name, to demand why York thus appeared before his
sovereign in hostile array, the duke professed great loyalty, and
replied that he would at once lay down his arms if the king would
surrender Somerset to justice.

Buckingham, whose affection for the Beauforts was not excessive,
carried this answer to Henry; and the duke's demand for the surrender
of the queen's favorite produced an effect which could hardly have
been anticipated. For once the monk-monarch showed some spark of the
Plantagenet, expressed the utmost scorn at the message, and swore by
St. Edward, as if he had been a conqueror of Evesham, "that he would as
soon deliver up his crown as either Somerset or the meanest soldier in
his camp."

Every prospect of an accommodation was now dissipated; and the warriors
of the White Rose, who had remained inactive for three hours, prepared
for an encounter. Having addressed his adherents, York advanced, with
banners streaming and clarions sounding, and at noon commenced that
struggle, which, thirty years later, was terminated on the field of
Bosworth.

From occupying St. Albans the Lancastrians had the advantage of
position, and such hopes of victory that Somerset's men were ordered to
put to death all the Yorkists who should be taken prisoners. Moreover,
Clifford made a brave defense, and for a time the duke was kept in
check at the barriers. The Yorkists, among other weapons of offense,
had guns; and Warwick and Salisbury had such a degree of skill in using
them as their enemies could not boast of. Yet so steadily were they
resisted by Clifford that the prospect of coming to close conflict with
the foe appeared distant; and the partisans of York looked somewhat
blank. But Warwick was not a man to yield to obstacles. Leading his
soldiers round part of the hill on which St. Albans is situated, that
great war-chief broke down a high wall, ordered his trumpets to sound,
crossed the gardens which the wall inclosed, and, shouting "A Warwick!
A Warwick!" charged forward upon the recoiling foe. On the Lancastrian
ranks Warwick's presence produced an immediate impression; and the
barriers having been burst, the Yorkists, encouraged by "The Stout
Earl's" war-cry, rushed into the town, and came face to face with their
foes.

A conflict now took place among the houses, in the lanes, in the
streets, and in the market-place. The fight was fierce, as could not
fail to be the case in a struggle between men who had long cherished,
while restraining, their mortal hate; and the ancient town was soon
strewn with traces of the battle, and crimsoned with the blood of the
slain. The king's friends made a desperate resistance; and delayed the
victory till the clash of mail reached the monks in the abbey. But
Warwick cheered on archer and spearman to the assault; and York, not to
be baffled, re-enforced every party that was hard-pressed, and pressed
forward fresh warriors to relieve the weary and the wounded. Humphrey,
Earl Stafford, bit the dust; Clifford fell, to be cruelly avenged on
a more bloody day; and Northumberland, who had seen so many years and
fought so many battles, died under the weapons of his foes.

Somerset appears at first to have fought with a courage worthy of the
reputation he had won on the Continent; and on hearing that Clifford's
soldiers were giving way before Warwick's mighty onslaught he rushed
gallantly to the rescue. The chief of the Beauforts, however, did
not live to bring aid to the men of the Craven. Years before, the
Lancastrian duke had been admonished by a fortune-teller to beware of a
castle; and, finding himself suddenly under a tavern bearing that sign,
the warning occurred to his memory. Superstitious like his neighbors,
Somerset lost his presence of mind, gave himself up for lost, became
bewildered, and was beaten down and slain. The fortune of the day being
decidedly against the Red Rose, the Earl of Wiltshire cast his harness
into a ditch and spurred fast from the lost field; while Sir Philip
Wentworth, equally careful of his own safety, threw away the royal
standard, and fled toward Suffolk. The Lancastrians, beaten and aware
of Somerset's fall, rushed through the gardens and leaped over hedges,
leaving their arms in the ditches and woods that they might escape the
more swiftly.

Ere this Henry had been wounded in the neck by an arrow. Sad and
sorrowful, he sought shelter in a thatched house occupied by a
tanner. Thither, fresh from victory, went the duke; and treated his
vanquished kinsman with every respect. Kneeling respectfully, the
conqueror protested his loyalty, and declared his readiness to obey
the king. "Then," said Henry, "stop the pursuit and slaughter, and
I will do whatever you will." The duke, having ordered a cessation
of hostilities, led the king to the abbey; the royal kinsmen, after
praying together before the shrine of England's first martyr, journeyed
to London; and Margaret of Anjou, then with her son at Greenwich,
learned, with dismay, that her favorite was a corpse and her husband a
captive. At such a time, while shedding tears of bitterness and doubt
within the palace built by Humphrey of Gloucester, the young queen must
have reflected, with remorse, on the part she had taken against "The
Good Duke," and considered how different a face affairs might have worn
in 1455, if she had not, in 1447, consented to the violent removal of
the last stately pillar that supported the house of Lancaster.




CHAPTER VII.

THE QUEEN AND THE YORKIST CHIEFS.


When the battle of St. Albans placed the king and kingdom of England
under the influence of the Yorkists, the duke and his friends
exercised their authority with a moderation rarely exhibited in
such circumstances. No vindictive malice was displayed against the
vanquished; not a drop of blood flowed on the scaffold; not an act of
attainder passed the Legislature. Every thing was done temperately and
in order.

As Henry was again attacked by his malady he was intrusted to
Margaret's care, and York was again declared Protector of the realm,
with a provision that he was to hold the office, not as before at
the king's pleasure, but until discharged from it by the Lords in
Parliament. Salisbury was, at the same time, intrusted with the Great
Seal; and Warwick was appointed to the government of Calais. Comines
calls Calais "the richest prize in the crown of England;" and the
government of the city was an office of greater trust and profit than
any which an English sovereign had to bestow.

Margaret of Anjou, however, was not quite absorbed in her duties as
wife and mother. While educating her helpless son and tending her yet
more helpless husband, she was bent on a struggle for the recovery of
that power which she had already so fatally abused; and as necessity
alone had made her submit to the authority of York and his two noble
kinsmen, who were satirized as the "Triumvirate," she seized the
earliest opportunity of ejecting them from power.

One day in spring, while the queen was pondering projects of ambition,
and glowing with anticipations of vengeance, two noblemen of high rank
and great influence appeared at the palace of Greenwich. One of these
was Humphrey Stafford, Duke of Buckingham; the other, Henry Beaufort,
Duke of Somerset; and their errand was to confer with Queen Margaret on
the present state of affairs. The queen received them with open arms,
expressed haughty scorn of her potent foes, and reminded Buckingham of
the son he had lost at St. Albans, and Somerset of the father he had
lost on the same fatal day. The dukes, having listened to all this,
represented to Margaret the indignity to which the king was subjected
in being deprived of all share in the government, while York and his
accomplices managed every thing according to their pleasure. The queen
heard her friends with delight, vowed that the triumph of the Yorkist
chiefs should be brief, and resolved upon acting without delay.

Accordingly it was determined to hold a council; and the enemies of
York were summoned to Greenwich. After some debate as to the most
politic method of restoring the royal authority, the council resolved
that York should be commanded to resign the office of protector, seeing
that the king was of years and discretion sufficient to rule without
a guardian, and that Salisbury should be commanded to surrender the
post of chancellor. "The great seal," they said, "had never been in
his custody, that which he used having been made since the king's
restraint." Henry, for whose opinion none of the Lancastrians had
any respect, was easily prevailed upon to give his sanction to their
measures, and York and Salisbury were discharged from their high
offices, and summoned to appear before the council.

The duke and the earl were much too wise to place themselves in the
power of enemies who had, on former occasions, proved so unscrupulous.
They answered boldly that there existed no power to displace them or
command their appearance, save in Parliament. When, however, the houses
assembled after Christmas, 1456, Henry presented himself and demanded
back his regal power. Every body was surprised; but no doubt was
expressed as to the king's sanity, and York, without a murmur, resigned
the protectorship.

The queen was not content with having deprived the duke and the earl
of power. Her ideas of revenge went far beyond such satisfaction; and
she occupied her brain with schemes for putting her enemies under her
feet. Feigning indifference to affairs of state, the artful woman
pretended to give herself up entirely to the restoration of the king's
health, and announced her intention of affording Henry an opportunity
to indulge in pastimes likely to restore him to vigor of mind and body.

On this pretext the king and queen made a progress into Warwickshire,
hunting and hawking by the way, till they reached Coventry. While
residing in that ancient city, and keeping her court in the Priory,
the queen wrote letters, in affectionate terms, to York, Salisbury,
and Warwick, earnestly entreating them to visit the king on a certain
day; and the duke, with the two earls, suspecting no evil, obeyed the
summons, and rode toward Coventry. On approaching the city, however,
they received warning that foul play was intended, and, turning aside,
escaped the peril that awaited them. York, unattended save by his groom
and page, made for Wigmore; Salisbury repaired to Middleham, a great
castle of the Nevilles in Yorkshire; and Warwick took shipping for
Calais, which soon became his strong-hold and refuge.

Totally unaware of the mischief projected by his spouse, but sincerely
anxious for a reconciliation of parties, Henry resolved on acting as
peace-maker, and, with that view, summoned a great council. The king
was all eagerness to reconcile York and his friends with the Beauforts,
Percies, and Cliffords, whose kinsmen had been slain at St. Albans;
and he swore upon his salvation so to entertain the duke and the two
earls, that all discontent should be removed. London was fixed upon as
the place of meeting; and, at the head of five thousand armed men, the
mayor undertook to prevent strife.

Accompanied by a number of friends and followers, York entered the
capital, and repaired to Baynard's castle; the Earl of Salisbury
arrived, with a feudal following, at his mansion called the Harbor;
and Warwick, landing from Calais, rode into the city, attended by six
hundred men, with his badge, the ragged staff, embroidered on each of
their red coats, and took possession of his residence near the Grey
Friars.

At the same time, the Lancastrian nobles mustered strong. Henry
Beaufort, Duke of Somerset; Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland; and
John, "the black-faced" Lord Clifford, came riding toward London,
in feudal array, attended by hundreds of the men of the west, of
Northumberland, and of the Craven. Each of the three had lost a father
in the first battle of the Roses; and, albeit young and vigorous,
they were to pour out their heart's blood in the struggle, ere a few
years passed over. But in no wise apprehensive did they seem, as they
alighted at their respective lodgings to the west of Temple Bar.
Thither, at the same time, came Exeter, Buckingham, and Thomas Percy,
Lord Egremont, a younger son of that Earl of Northumberland slain at
St. Albans. Devon would have been in London also; but, while on his
way, he fell sick, and died in the Abbey of Abingdon.

One circumstance connected with this attempt at pacification was
particularly noticed. While the Yorkists lodged in the city, the
Beauforts, Percies, and Cliffords, sojourned on the west of Temple Bar;
and while one party held their deliberations in the Black Friars, the
other held their meetings in the Chapter House at Westminster. The wits
of the period had their joke on the occasion, and said, that as the
Jews disdained the company of the Samaritans, so the Lancastrian lords
abhorred the idea of familiarity with the White Rose chiefs.

The farce was played out. The king, who, during the conferences,
resided at Berkhamstead and acted as umpire, in due time gave his
award. The Yorkists appear to have had scanty justice. They were
heavily mulcted, for the benefit of their living foes, and ordered
to build a chapel for the good of the souls of the lords slain at
St. Albans. Every body, however, appeared satisfied, and agreed
to a religious procession to St. Paul's, that they might convince
the populace how real was the concord that existed. The day of the
Conception was appointed for this ceremony; and, to take part in it,
the king and queen came from Berkhamstead to London.

The procession was so arranged as to place in the position of dear
friends those whose enmity was supposed to be the bitterest. The king,
with a crown on his head, and wearing royal robes, was naturally the
principal figure. Before him, hand in hand, walked Salisbury and
Somerset, Warwick and Exeter. Behind him came York leading Margaret
of Anjou. The citizens were, perhaps, convinced that Yorkists and
Lancastrians were the best of friends. All was delusion, however,
naught was truth. Though their hands were joined their hearts were far
asunder, and the blood already shed cried for vengeance. Stern grew the
brows of Lancastrian lords, pale the cheeks of Lancastrian ladies, at
the mention of St. Albans. The Beauforts, Percies, and Cliffords, still
panted for vengeance, and vowed to have an eye for an eye and a tooth
for a tooth.[3]

The procession to St. Paul's took place in spring, and ere the summer
was over events dissipated the illusions which the scene created.
Warwick, as Captain of Calais, interfered with some ships belonging
to the Hanse Towns; and of this the Hanseatic League complained to the
court of England, as an infraction of the law of nations. The earl
was asked for explanations; and to render them more clearly presented
himself at Westminster.

The opportunity for a quarrel was too favorable to be neglected. One
day, when Warwick was attending the council at Westminster, a yeoman of
his retinue, having been struck by one of the royal household, wounded
his assailant. The king's servants assembling at the news watched until
the earl was returning from the council to his barge, and set upon
him with desperate intentions. A fray ensued, and Warwick, with some
difficulty, escaped in a wherry to London. Unfortunately, the mischief
did not end here. The queen, having heard of the affair, acted with
characteristic imprudence, and ordered Warwick to be sent to the
Tower, and a cry was therefore raised that "The Foreign Woman," who
had murdered "The Good Duke Humphrey," was going to murder "The Stout
Earl." Warwick, however, consulted his safety by making for Yorkshire,
where he took counsel with York and Salisbury. After this conference
he passed over to Calais, and during the winter employed himself in
embodying some veteran troops who had served under Bedford and Talbot
in the wars of France.




CHAPTER VIII.

THE CITY AND THE COURT.


One day, in the year 1456, a citizen of London, passing along
Cheapside, happened to meet an Italian carrying a dagger. The citizen
was a young merchant who had lately been on the Continent, and who had,
in some of the Italian states, been prohibited by the magistrates from
wearing a weapon, even for the defense of his life. Naturally indignant
at seeing an Italian doing in the capital of England what an Englishman
was not allowed to do in the cities of Italy, the merchant ventured
upon stopping the foreigner and reminding him of the laws of his own
country.

Not having any relish for being thus challenged, the Italian answered
with some degree of insolence; and the Englishman, stung to the quick,
forcibly seized the dagger of the foreigner, "and," according to the
chroniclers of the period, "with the same a little cut his crown and
cracked his pate." Enraged at this assault, the Italian complained of
the outrage to the lord mayor; and the Englishman, having been summoned
to the court at Guildhall, was committed to Newgate.

Between the London merchants of that day and the foreigners carrying on
business in London no good-will existed. Free trade was not the fashion
of the age; and the inhabitants of the city, hating the Italians for
interfering with their commerce, were ready on any fitting occasion to
rise to the tune of "England for the English." No sooner, therefore,
was it known that an Englishman had been incarcerated for breaking an
Italian's head than he was regarded as a martyr to his patriotism; and
the Londoners, assembling in crowds, compelled the mayor to deliver the
merchant from prison, and took the opportunity of attacking the houses
of all the Italians in London. The mayor, in the utmost alarm, summoned
the elder and graver of the citizens to his assistance; and these, with
much difficulty, prevailed on the crowd to disperse to their homes. As
for the merchant, not seeing any security under the circumstances, he
repaired to Westminster, and there took refuge in the sanctuary.

The riot in London created considerable sensation; and, unfortunately,
the queen, as if she had not already business enough on her hands, took
upon herself to interfere, and expressed her intention of inflicting
signal punishment on the offenders. With that purpose in view, she
instructed two of her dukes, Buckingham and Exeter, to proceed to the
city; and these noblemen, with the mayor and two justices, opened a
commission at Guildhall.

At first the business was conducted with all due form, and the inquiry
was ceremoniously prosecuted. Suddenly, however, a great change
occurred in the city. Bow bell was rung, and at its sound the streets
filled with armed men, who appeared bent on mischief. The queen's
high-born commissioners were, doubtless, as much taken by surprise as
if Jack Cade had come to life again; and, probably, not unmindful of
Lord Say's fate, they abandoned the inquiry in a state of trepidation
hardly consisting with the dignity of a Stafford and a Holland. The
city, however, was nothing the worse for their absence; indeed, the
lord mayor, having thus got rid of his lordly coadjutors, called
some discreet citizens to his aid, and dealt so prudently with the
multitude, that order was restored and justice satisfied.

The part enacted by the queen, in regard to the quarrel between the
English and Italians, destroyed the last particle of affection which
the inhabitants of London entertained for the house of Lancaster; and
Margaret, for many reasons, began to prefer Coventry to the metropolis.
This, however, was not the only result of her interference. In the eyes
of foreigners it elevated the riot to the dignity of an insurrection,
the French mistaking it for one of those revolutions in which the
Parisians, under the auspices of Jean de Troyes and Jean Caboche, were
in the habit of indulging during the reign of the unfortunate Charles.

The French were excusable in their delusion. With an insane king and a
reckless queen in both cases the parallel was somewhat close. But the
French soon discovered their mistake. Having fitted out two expeditions
to avail themselves of our domestic disorders, they intrusted one to
Lord de Pomyers, and the other to Sir Peter de Brezé. Pomyers landed on
the coast of Cornwall, and having burned Towey, sailed back to France
without doing serious mischief. Brezé, with four thousand men, embarked
at Honfleur, made a descent on Sandwich, and proceeded to spoil the
town, which had been deserted by its defenders on account of the
plague; but, the country people in the neighborhood arriving in great
numbers, the invaders were fain to return to their ships.

Such was the end of the riot in London; and from that time the
metropolitan populace adhered to the chiefs of the White Rose; and
to that badge of hereditary pride and personal honor they clung with
fidelity long after it had lost its bloom in the atmosphere of a
corrupt court, and been dyed red on scaffold and battle-field in the
blood of the noble and the brave.




CHAPTER IX.

A YORKIST VICTORY AND A LANCASTRIAN REVENGE.


In the summer of 1459 Margaret of Anjou carried the Prince of Wales on
a progress through Chester, of which he was earl. The queen's object
being to enlist the sympathies of the men of the north, she caused
her son, then in his sixth year, to present a silver swan, which had
been assumed as his badge, to each of the principal adherents of the
house of Lancaster. Margaret had left the County Palatine, and was
resting from her fatigues at Eccleshall, in Staffordshire, when she
received intelligence that the Yorkists were in motion; that the duke
was arraying the retainers of Mortimer beneath the Plantagenet banner;
that Warwick was on his way from Calais with a body of warriors trained
to arms by Bedford and Talbot; and that Salisbury, at the head of five
thousand merry men of Yorkshire, was moving from Middleham Castle to
join his son and his brother-in-law at Ludlow.

Notwithstanding the rout of her friends at St. Albans, Margaret was
not daunted at the prospect of another trial of strength. Perhaps,
indeed, she rather rejoiced that the Yorkist chiefs afforded a fair
opportunity of executing her vengeance and effecting their ruin.
Her measures, with that purpose, were taken with characteristic
promptitude. She issued orders to James Touchet, Lord Audley, to
intercept Salisbury's march; and at the same time summoned Thomas, Lord
Stanley, to join the Lancastrian army with all his forces. Stanley,
who was son-in-law of Salisbury, answered that he would come in all
haste, but failed to keep his promise. Audley, however, exhibited
more devotion to the Red Rose. On receiving the queen's commands, he
undertook to bring her one Yorkist chief dead or alive; and hastily
assembling a force of ten thousand men in Cheshire and Shropshire,
boldly threw himself between the earl and the duke. On the evening of
Saturday, the 22d of September, Audley came face to face with Salisbury
at Bloreheath, within a short distance of Drayton, anciently the seat
of those Bassets who fought with so much distinction in the wars of the
first Edward.

The position of the Yorkists was the reverse of pleasant. The
Lancastrian army was greatly superior in number, and Audley had the
advantage of being posted by the side of a stream, of which the banks
were particularly steep. But Salisbury was not to be baffled. Seeing
that there was little prospect of success in the event of his crossing
to attack, the earl resolved on a military stratagem, and gave orders
that his army should encamp for the night.

Early on the morning of Sunday--it was St. Tecla's Day--Salisbury set
his men in motion; and, having caused his archers to send a flight
of shafts across the river toward Audley's camp, feigned to retreat.
Audley soon showed that he was no match for such an enemy. Completely
deceived, the Lancastrian lord roused his troops to action, caused his
trumpets to sound, and gave orders for his army passing the river. His
orders were promptly obeyed. The men of Cheshire, who composed the van,
dashed into the water, and plunged through the stream; but scarcely had
they commenced ascending the opposite banks when Salisbury turned, and
attacked them with that degree of courage against which superiority
of numbers is vain. The battle was, nevertheless, maintained for
hours, and proved most sanguinary. The loss of the Yorkists was indeed
trifling,[4] but more than two thousand of the Red Rose warriors
perished in the encounter. Audley himself was slain, and with him some
of the foremost gentlemen of Cheshire and Lancashire, among whom were
the heads of the families of Venables, Molyneux, Legh, and Egerton. The
queen, who witnessed the defeat of her adherents from the tower of a
neighboring church, fled back to digest her mortification at Eccleshall.

The Earl of Salisbury soon found that his success was calculated to
convert neutrals into allies. Lord Stanley, on receiving the queen's
message, had gathered a force of two thousand men; but, being reluctant
to commit himself on either side, he contrived, on the day of battle,
to be six miles from the scene of action. On hearing of the result,
however, he sent a congratulatory letter to his father-in-law; and
Salisbury, showing the epistle to Sir John Harrington, and others of
his knights, said, jocosely, "Sirs, be merry, for we have yet more
friends."

The contest between York and Lancaster now assumed a new aspect.
Salisbury, rejoicing in a victory so complete as that of Bloreheath,
formed a junction with York at Ludlow; and the duke, perceiving that
moderation had been of so little avail, and believing that his life
would be in danger so long as Margaret of Anjou ruled England, resolved
henceforth upon pursuing a bolder course. He could not help remembering
that he was turned of forty, an age at which, as the poet tells us,
there is no dallying with life; and he began to consider that the time
had arrived to claim the crown which was his by hereditary right.

Having resolved no longer, by timidity in politics, to play the game
of his enemies, York set up his standard and summoned his friends to
Ludlow. Fighting men came from various parts of England, and assembled
cheerily and in good order at the rendezvous; while, to take part in
the civil war, Warwick brought from Calais those veterans who, in other
days, had signalized their valor against foreign foes. The projects of
the Yorkists seemed to flourish. Salisbury's experience, knowledge,
and military skill were doubtless of great service to his friends; and
having thrown up intrenchments, and disposed in battery a number of
bombards and cannon, they confidently awaited the enemy.

Meanwhile, the Lancastrians were by no means in despair. The king,
having, with the aid of the young Dukes of Somerset and Exeter, drawn
together a mighty army at Worcester, sent the Bishop of Salisbury to
promise the Yorkists a general pardon if they would lay down their
arms. The Yorkists, however, had learned by severe experience what
the king's promises were worth, and received the bishop like men who
were no longer to be deluded. "So long," said they, "as the queen has
supreme power, we have no faith in the king's pardon; but," they added,
"could we have assurance of safety, we should express our loyalty, and
humbly render ourselves at the king's service."

The king, having received the answer of the insurgent chiefs, advanced
on the 13th of October to the Yorkist camp, and made proclamation, that
whoever abandoned the duke should have the royal pardon. Though this
appeared to be without effect, the king's army did not commence the
attack. Indeed, the Yorkist ranks were most imposing, and the duke's
guns wrought considerable havoc in the Lancastrian lines. Observing the
formidable attitude of his foes, the king resolved to delay the assault
until the morrow; and, ere the sun again shone, an unexpected incident
had changed the face of matters, and thrown the Yorkists into utter
confusion.

Among those who heard the king's proclamation was Andrew Trollope,
captain of the veterans whom Warwick had brought from Calais. This
mighty man-at-arms had served long in the French wars, and cared not
to draw his sword against the son of the Conqueror of Agincourt.
After listening to the king's offers of pardon, and considering the
consequences of refusing them, Trollope resolved upon deserting; and,
at dead of night, he quietly carried off the Calais troops, and making
for the royal camp, revealed the whole of York's plans.

When morning dawned, and Trollope's treachery was discovered, the
adherents of the White Rose were in dismay and consternation. Every
man became suspicious of his neighbor; and the duke was driven to the
conclusion that he must submit to circumstances. No prospect of safety
appearing but in flight, York, with his second son, the ill-fated Earl
of Rutland, departed into Wales, and thence went to Ireland; while
Salisbury and Warwick, with the duke's eldest son, Edward, escaped to
Devonshire, bought a ship at Exmouth, sailed to Guernsey, and then
passed over to Calais.

The king, on finding that his enemies had fled, became very bold; and
having spoiled the town and castle of Ludlow, and taken the Duchess of
York prisoner, he called a Parliament. As measures were to be taken to
extinguish the Yorkists, no temporal peer, unless known as a stanch
adherent of the Red Rose, received a summons; and Coventry was selected
as the scene of revenge; for, since the unfortunate result of the
Commission at Guildhall, the queen looked upon London as no place for
the execution of those projects on which she had set her heart. Away
from the metropolis, however, Margaret found herself in a position to
do as she pleased; and at Coventry Bloreheath was fearfully avenged.
With little regard to law, and still less regard to prudence, the most
violent courses were pursued: York, Salisbury, Warwick, and their
friends, were declared traitors; and their estates, being confiscated,
were bestowed on the queen's favorites. The chiefs of the White Rose
appeared utterly ruined; and England was once more at the feet of "The
Foreign Woman."




CHAPTER X.

THE BATTLE OF NORTHAMPTON.


In the month of June, 1460, while the Duke of York was in Ireland,
while Margaret of Anjou was with her feeble husband at Coventry,
and while Henry Holland, Duke of Exeter, York's son-in-law, was, as
lord high admiral, guarding the Channel with a strong fleet, Richard
Neville, Earl of Warwick, sailed from Calais for the shores of England.
It was in vain that Exeter endeavored to do his duty as admiral; for
on the sea as on the land, "The Stout Earl" was a favorite hero, and
the sailors refused to haul an anchor or hoist a sail to prevent his
landing. At Sandwich he safely set foot on English ground, and prepared
to strike a shattering blow at the house of Lancaster.

Warwick was accompanied by the Earl of Salisbury and the Earl of March;
but the army with which he came to change the dynasty did not consist
of more than fifteen hundred men. The earl, however, was not dismayed
at the weakness of his force. Indeed, his own great name was a tower
of strength; and when, on landing, he proclaimed that his motive for
taking up arms was to deliver his countrymen from oppression, and to
maintain the ancient laws and liberties of England, he knew that the
people would rally around his banner. Ere this, the White Rose, in
addition to being the emblem of hereditary right, had become identified
with the cause of civil and religious freedom.

The earl's confidence in the people of England was not misplaced. As he
marched toward London, the fighting men of Kent and of all the south
flocked to his standard, and on reaching Blackheath he was at the head
of thirty thousand men. As the patrician hero entered the capital he
was hailed with enthusiasm, and cheered with the hope of crowning his
enterprise with success.

The king and queen were still at Coventry when informed of Warwick's
landing, and Margaret lost no time in taking measures to resist the
Yorkist invasion. Money was borrowed from the Lancastrian clergy and
nobles, and troops, under Percies, Staffords, Beauforts, Talbots, and
Beaumonts, gathered rapidly to the royal standard. The respect which,
on his heroic father's account, people still entertained for Henry,
and the fear with which Margaret inspired them, were powerful motives;
and a great army having been assembled, the Lancastrian king and his
haughty spouse, accompanied by Somerset and Buckingham, removed to
Northampton, and took up their quarters in the Friary.

Meanwhile, leaving his father in London to defend the city and besiege
the Tower, still held for the king by Lord Scales, Warwick marched
through the midland counties. Having taken up a position between
Towcester and Northampton, he sent the Bishop of Salisbury to the king
with pacific overtures. The bishop returned without satisfaction, and
Warwick, having thrice ineffectually attempted to obtain an audience of
the king, gave the Lancastrians notice to prepare for battle.

The queen was not less willing than the earl to try conclusions.
Believing the Lancastrians equal to an encounter with the army of
Warwick, she addressed her partisans, and encouraged them with promises
of honors and rewards. Confident in their strength, she ordered them
to cross the Nene; and, Lord Grey de Ruthin leading the van, the royal
army passed through the river, and encamped hard by the Abbey of
Delapré in the meadows to the south of the town. There the Lancastrians
encompassed themselves with high banks and deep trenches; and, having
fortified their position with piles, and sharp stakes, and artillery,
they awaited the approach of the Yorkist foe.

Warwick was not the man to keep his enemies long waiting under such
circumstances. After charging his soldiers to strike down every knight
and noble, but to spare the common men, he prepared for the encounter;
and, ere the morning of the 9th of July--it was gloomy and wet--dawned
on the towers and turrets of the ancient town on the winding Nene,
his army was in motion. Setting their faces northward, the Yorkists
passed the cross erected two centuries earlier in memory of Eleanor of
Castile, and in feudal array advanced upon the foe--"The Stout Earl"
towering in front, and Edward of March, York's youthful heir, following
with his father's banner.[5]

At news of Warwick's approach, the Lancastrian chiefs aroused
themselves to activity, donned their mail, mounted their steeds, set
their men in battle order, and then alighted to fight on foot. The
king, in his tent, awaited the issue of the conflict; but Margaret of
Anjou repaired to an elevated situation, and thither carried her son,
to witness the fight. Her hopes were doubtless high, for gallant looked
the army that was to do battle in her cause, and well provided were
the Lancastrians with the artillery which had, in the previous autumn,
rendered the Yorkists so formidable at Ludlow.

By seven o'clock the Yorkists assailed the intrenched camp at Delapré,
and the war-cries of the Lancastrian leaders answered the shouts of
Warwick and March. At first the contest was vigorously maintained;
but, unfortunately for the queen's hopes, the rain had rendered the
artillery incapable of doing the service that had been anticipated.
In spite of this disheartening circumstance, the warriors of the Red
Rose bravely met their antagonists, and both Yorkists and Lancastrians
fought desperately and well. But, in the heat of action, Lord Grey
de Ruthin, betraying his trust, deserted to the enemy. Consternation
thereupon fell upon the king's army, and the Yorkists having, with the
aid of Lord Grey's soldiers, got within the intrenchments, wrought
fearful havoc. The conflict was, nevertheless, maintained with
obstinacy till nine o'clock; but after two hours of hard fighting
the king's men were seen flying in all directions, and many, while
attempting to cross the Nene, were drowned in its waters.

In consequence of Warwick's order to spare the commons, the slaughter
fell chiefly on the knights and nobles. The Duke of Buckingham, the
Earl of Shrewsbury, Thomas Percy, Lord Egremont, and John, Viscount
Beaumont, were among the slain. Somerset narrowly escaped, and fled
after the queen in the direction of North Wales.

When intelligence of Warwick's victory reached London, the populace
broke loose from all restraint. Lord Scales, who, while keeping the
Tower, had incurred their hatred, disguised himself and endeavored to
escape. The watermen, however, recognized him, and, notwithstanding
his threescore years, cut off his head and cast the body carelessly on
the sands. Thomas Thorpe, one of the barons of the Exchequer, met a
similar fate. While attempting to fly, he was captured and committed
to the Tower; but afterward he was taken possession of by the mob, and
executed at Highgate. With such scenes enacting before their eyes, the
citizens recognized the necessity of a settled government; and the
adherents of the White Rose intimated to their chief the expediency of
his immediate return from Ireland.

King Henry, after the defeat of his adherents at Northampton, was found
in his tent, lamenting the slaughter. As at St. Albans, he was treated
by the victors with respectful compassion, and by them conducted, with
the utmost deference, to London.




CHAPTER XI.

YORK'S CLAIM TO THE CROWN.


On the 7th of October, 1460, a Parliament, summoned in King Henry's
name, met at Westminster, in the Painted Chamber, for centuries
regarded with veneration as the place where St. Edward had breathed
his last, and with admiration on account of the pictures representing
incidents of the Confessor's life and canonization, executed by command
of the third Henry to adorn the walls.

On this occasion the king sat in the chair of state; and Warwick's
brother, George Neville, Bishop of Exeter, who, though not yet thirty,
had been appointed chancellor, opened the proceedings with a notable
declamation, taking for his text, _Congregate populum, sanctificate
ecclesiam_. The Houses then entered upon business, repealed all the
acts passed at Coventry, and declared that the Parliament there held
had not been duly elected.

While this was going on, the Duke of York, who had landed at Chester,
came toward London; and three days after the meeting of Parliament,
accompanied by a splendid retinue, all armed and mounted, he entered
the capital with banners flying, trumpets sounding, and a naked sword
carried before him. Riding along with princely dignity, the duke
dismounted at Westminster, and proceeded to the House of Lords. Walking
straight to the throne, he laid his hand on the cloth of gold, and,
pausing, looked round, as if to read the sentiments of the peers in the
faces. At that moment the Archbishop of Canterbury, who had been with
Henry, entered the house, and made the usual reverence to the duke.

"Will not my Lord of York go and pay his respects to the king?" asked
the archbishop.

"I know no one," answered York, coloring, "to whom _I_ owe that title."

The archbishop, on hearing the duke's answer, went back to the king;
and York, following, took possession of the palace. Then, returning
to the house, and standing on the steps of the throne, he claimed the
crown of England as heir of Lionel of Clarence. When the duke concluded
his speech, the peers sat motionless as graven images; and perceiving
that not a word was uttered nor a whisper exchanged, York sharply asked
them to deliberate. "Think of this matter, my lords," said he; "I have
taken my course, take yours."

The duke left the house in some chagrin, and the peers took his request
into consideration. After discussing the claim to the crown as calmly
as if it had been an ordinary peerage case, they resolved that the
question should be argued by counsel at the bar.

Most of the lords were under essential obligations to the house
of Lancaster, and therefore in no haste to take York's claim into
consideration. When a week elapsed, therefore, the duke deemed it
politic to send a formal demand of the crown, and to request an
immediate answer. The peers, somewhat startled, replied that they
refused justice to no man, but in this case could decide nothing
without the advice and consent of the king. Henry was consulted; and he
recommended that the judges should be summoned to give their opinion.
These legal functionaries, however, declined to meddle with a matter so
dangerous, and the peers were under the necessity of proceeding without
the aid of their learning and experience. The duke was then heard by
his counsel; and, an order having been made "that every man might
freely and indifferently speak his mind without fear of impeachment,"
the question was debated several days.

All this time York lodged in the palace of Westminster, where Henry
then was, but refused to see his royal kinsman, or to hold any
communication with him till the peers had decided on the justice of his
claim; he knew no one, he said, to whom he owed the title of king.

At length the peers arrived at a decision; and the youthful
chancellor, by order of the house, pronounced judgment. It was to the
effect that Richard Plantagenet had made out his claim; but that, in
consideration of Henry having from infancy worn the crown, he should be
allowed to continue king for life, and that York, who meanwhile was to
hold the reins of government, should ascend the throne after his royal
kinsman's death. This compromise of a delicate dispute seemed to please
both parties. On the vigil of the feast of All Saints, York and two
of his sons appeared in Parliament, and took an oath to abide by the
decision; on All Saints Day the heir of John of Gaunt and the heir of
Lionel of Clarence rode together to St. Paul's in token of friendship;
and on the Saturday following the duke was, by sound of trumpet,
proclaimed Protector of the realm and heir to the crown.

The king appeared quite unconcerned at the turn which affairs had
taken, and York had no apprehensions of a man who was never happy but
when giving himself up to devotional exercises. The duke, however,
was not indifferent to the enmity of Margaret of Anjou, and he felt
anxious to secure himself against her hostility. He therefore sent a
summons to bring her son without delay to Westminster, intending in
case of disobedience to banish her from among a people on whom she had
brought so many misfortunes. The Protector, it soon appeared, had
under-estimated the resources, the energy, the terrible enthusiasm of
the daughter of King René. He sent his messengers, as it were, to hunt
a wild-cat, and he found, to his cost, that they had roused a fierce
tigress.




CHAPTER XII.

THE QUEEN'S FLIGHT AND RETURN.


When Margaret of Anjou, from the rising ground at Northampton, saw
her knights and nobles bite the dust, and descried the banner of
Richard Plantagenet borne in triumph through the broken ranks of the
Lancastrian army, she mounted in haste and fled with her son toward the
bishopric of Durham. Changing her mind, however, the unfortunate queen
drew her rein, turned aside, and made for North Wales.

The way was beset with danger. As Margaret was passing through
Lancashire she was robbed of her jewels; and while, with bitter
feelings, pursuing her flight through Cheshire she was attacked by a
retainer of Sir William Stanley. Having escaped these perils, and been
joined by Somerset, the fair Anjouite sought refuge in Harleck Castle,
which had been built on the site of an ancient British fortress by
the first Edward, and which was held for that mighty monarch's feeble
descendant by a Welsh captain who rejoiced in the name of Davydd ap
Jefan ap Einion.

The Castle of Harleck stood on a lofty cliff, the base of which
was then washed by the ocean, though now a marshy tract of ground
intervenes. From the sea, with such a rock to scale, the strong-hold
was well-nigh impregnable; while on the land side it was defended by
massive walls, by a large fosse, and by round towers and turrets,
which covered every approach. Owen Glendower had, during four years,
maintained the place against the fifth Henry; and the sturdy "Davydd"
would not have shrunk from defending it against a Yorkist army, even if
led by Warwick in person.

At Harleck Margaret passed months, brooding over the past, uncertain
as to the present, and anxious about the future. At times, indeed,
she must have forgotten her misfortunes, as, from the battlements of
the castle, she gazed with the eye of a poetess over the intervening
mountains to where the peaks of Snowdon seem to mingle with the clouds.
At length she was startled by intelligence of the settlement made by
Parliament, and by a summons from York, as Protector, to appear at
Westminster with her son.

Margaret might well crimson with shame and anger. The terms on which
the dispute between York and Lancaster had been compromised recalled
all the injurious rumors as to the birth of her son; and her maternal
feelings were shocked at the exclusion of the boy-prince from the
throne he had been born to inherit.[6] Submission was, under these
circumstances, impossible to such a woman. She was not yet thirty,
decidedly too young to abandon hope; and she was conscious of having
already, in seasons of danger, exhibited that energy which is hope in
action. The idea of yet trampling in the dust the three magnates by
whom she had been humbled, took possession of her mind; and, unaided
save by beauty, eloquence, and those accomplishments which, fifteen
years earlier, had made her famous at the courts of Europe, she started
for the north with the determination of regaining the crown which she
had already found so thorny. The distressed queen embarked on the
Menai; and her destination was Scotland.

One day in the autumn of 1460, James, King of Scots, the second of his
name, while attempting to wrest Roxburgh Castle from the English, was
killed by the bursting of a cannon, and succeeded by his son, a boy in
his seventh year. The obsequies of the deceased monarch were scarcely
celebrated, when intelligence reached the Scottish court that Margaret
of Anjou had, with her son, arrived at Dumfries; that she had met with
a reception befitting a royal personage; and that she had taken up her
residence in the College of Lincluden.

Mary of Gueldres, the widowed Queen of Scots, was about Margaret's
own age. Moreover, Mary was a princess of great beauty, of masculine
talent, and of the blood royal of France. Surrounded by the iron barons
of a rude country, her position was not quite so pleasant as a bed
of roses; and she could hardly help sympathizing with the desolate
condition of her distant kinswoman. Hastening with her son to Dumfries,
she held a conference that lasted for twelve days.

At the conference of Lincluden every thing went smoothly. Much wine was
consumed. A close friendship was formed between the queens. A marriage
was projected between the Prince of Wales and a princess of Scotland.
Margaret's spirit rose high; her hopes revived; and encouraged by
promises of aid, she resolved on no less desperate an adventure than
marching to London and rescuing her husband from the grasp of "the
Triumvirate."

The enterprise decided on, no time was lost. An army was mustered in
the frontier counties with a rapidity which, it would seem, York and
his friends had never regarded as possible. The great barons of the
north, however, had never manifested any tenderness for the White Rose;
and they remembered with indignation that hitherto their southern
peers had carried every thing before them. Eager to vindicate their
importance, and inspired by Margaret with an enthusiasm almost equal to
her own, the Nevilles of Westmoreland, the Percies of Northumberland,
and the Cliffords of Cumberland, summoned their fighting men, and at
the same time endeavored, by promises of plunder south of the Trent, to
allure the foraying clans to their standard.

The Borderers boasted that their property was in their swords; and they
were seldom slow to ride when the prospect of booty was presented to
their imaginations. They went to church as seldom as the twenty-ninth
of February comes into the calendar, and never happened to comprehend
that there was a seventh commandment. When on forays, they took every
thing that was not too heavy; and were sometimes far from satisfied
with the exception. Such men hailed with delight the prospect of
plundering the rich South. From peels and castellated houses they came,
wearing rusting armor, and mounted on lean steeds, but steady of heart,
stout of hand, and ready, without thought of fear, to charge against
knight or noble, no matter how proof his mail or high his renown in
arms. The Borderers cared nothing for York or Lancaster; and would have
fought as readily for the White Rose as the Red. But the spoil south of
the Trent was a noble prize; and they gathered to the queen's standard
like eagles to their prey.

Finding herself at the head of eighteen thousand men, Margaret of
Anjou pressed boldly southward. Even the season was such as would have
daunted an ordinary woman. When operations commenced, the year 1460 was
about to expire; the grass had withered; the streams were darkened with
the rains of December; the leaves had fallen; and the wind whistled
through the naked branches of the trees. Margaret, far from shrinking,
defied all hardships; and the spectacle of a queen, so young and
beautiful, enduring fatigue and daring danger, excited the admiration
and increased loyalty of her adherents. With every inclination to
execute a signal revenge, she appeared before the gates of York; and
marched from that city toward Sandal Castle.




CHAPTER XIII.

THE ANJOUITE'S VENGEANCE.


As the autumn of 1460 was deepening into winter, a rumor reached London
that Margaret of Anjou was raising troops on the borders of England.
The Duke of York, though not seriously alarmed, was apprehensive of
an insurrection in the north; and, marching from the metropolis, with
an army of five thousand men, he, on Christmas-eve, arrived at Sandal
Castle, which stood on an eminence that slopes down toward the town of
Wakefield. Finding that his enemies were so much more numerous than
he had anticipated, the Protector saw the propriety of remaining in
his strong-hold till re-enforced by his son, who was recruiting in the
marches of Wales.

The fact, however, was that Margaret had no intention of allowing Duke
Richard to profit by delay. Marching to Wakefield Green, she challenged
him to the field, and ridiculed the idea of a man having aspired to
a crown who was frightened to encounter an army led by a woman. Well
aware, however, that the battle is not always to the strong, Margaret
did not altogether trust in numerical superiority. Determined to secure
victory, she formed an ambuscade on either side: one under Lord
Clifford, the other under the Earl of Wiltshire; while to Somerset she
intrusted the command of her main army.

Meanwhile York called a council of war: Salisbury and the other chiefs
of the White Rose who were present strongly objected to hazarding a
battle; and David Hall, an old and experienced warrior, implored the
duke to remain within the walls of Sandal. But York considered that his
honor was concerned in fighting; and, addressing himself to Hall in
familiar phrase, he expressed the sentiments by which he was animated.

"Ah! Davy, Davy," said the duke, "hast thou loved me so long, and
wouldst now have me dishonored? No man ever saw me keep fortress when I
was Regent of Normandy, when the dauphin, with his puissance, came to
besiege me; but, like a man, and not like a bird inclosed in a cage,
I issued, and fought with mine enemies; to their loss (I thank GOD),
and ever to my honor. If I have not kept myself within walls for fear
of a great and strong prince, nor hid my face from any living mortal,
wouldst thou that I should incarcerate and shut myself up for dread
of a scolding woman, whose weapons are her tongue and nails? All men
would cry wonder, and report dishonor, that a woman made a dastard of
me, whom no man could ever, to this day, report as a coward. And,
surely, my mind is rather to die with honor than to live with shame.
Their numbers do not appall me. Assuredly I will fight with them, if I
fight alone. Therefore, advance my banners, in the name of GOD and St.
George!"

Seeing the duke determined to hazard a field, Salisbury and the other
captains arrayed their men for battle; and the Yorkists, sallying from
the castle, descended to meet the foe on Wakefield Green. The duke
supposed that the troops under Somerset were all with whom he had to
contend; and the brave warrior, now in his fiftieth year, advanced
fearlessly to the encounter. Never was Plantagenet more completely
deceived. When between Sandal Castle and the town of Wakefield, York
was suddenly assailed, by Clifford on the right hand, and by Wiltshire
on the left; but, though environed on every side, the duke did not
yield to fate without a desperate struggle. On both sides, the soldiers
fought with savage fury; and the Yorkists, conscious of superior
discipline, were for a while hopeful of victory. At a critical moment,
however, Margaret brought up a body of Borderers, and ordered them to
attack the Yorkists in the rear; and the effect was instantaneous. The
northern prickers laid their spears in rest, spurred their lean steeds,
and charged the warriors of the White Rose with a vigor that defied
resistance. The victory was complete; and of five thousand men, whom
York had brought into the field, nearly three thousand were stretched
on the slippery sod. The bold duke was among the first who fell. With
him were slain his faithful squire, David Hall, and many lords and
gentlemen of the south--among whom were Sir Thomas Neville, Salisbury's
son; and William Bonville, Lord Harrington, the husband of Katherine
Neville, Salisbury's daughter.

An incident as melancholy as any connected with the Wars of the Roses
now occurred. York's son, Edmund, Earl of Rutland, being in the castle
of Sandal, had gone with his tutor, Sir Robert Aspall, to witness the
fight. They dreaded no danger, for Aspall was a priest, and Rutland was
a fair boy of twelve, and innocent as a lamb. Seeing, however, that the
fortune of the day was against York, the tutor hurried the young earl
from the field; but as they were crossing the bridge, Lord Clifford
rode up and asked the boy's name. The young earl fell on his knees,
and, being too much agitated to speak, implored mercy by holding up his
hands.

"Spare him," said the tutor; "he is a prince's son, and may hereafter
do you good."

"York's son!" exclaimed Clifford, eying the boy savagely. "By GOD'S
blood, thy father slew mine, and so will I thee and all thy kin."

[Illustration: CLIFFORD STABBING RUTLAND.]

Deaf to the tutor's prayers and entreaties, "the black-faced lord"
plunged his dagger into Rutland's heart; and as the boy expired turned
to the priest, who stood mute with horror. "Go," said the murderer,
"bear to his mother and his brother tidings of what you have heard and
seen."

After thus imbruing his hands in the blood of an innocent boy, Clifford
went in search of the corpse of York. Having severed the duke's head
from the body, and put a crown of paper on the brow of the dead man,
and fixed the head on a pole, he presented the ghastly trophy to the
queen. "Madam," said Clifford, mockingly, "your war is done; here I
bring your king's ransom." Margaret of Anjou laughed; the Lancastrian
lords around her laughed in chorus; there was much jesting on the
occasion. "Many," says Hall, "were glad of other men's deaths, not
knowing that their own was near at hand;" and the chronicler might have
added that others lived through many dreary years to rue the jesting of
that day.

One of the hated "Triumvirate" was now no longer alive to annoy the
queen; and she was yet to have another victim. Thomas Neville, the
son of Salisbury, was, as has been stated, among the slain; but the
old earl, though wounded, had left the field. He was too dangerous a
foe, however, to be allowed by Clifford to escape. Keenly pursued,
he was taken during the night, carried to Pontefract Castle, and
there executed. Margaret ordered Salisbury's head, and those of York
and Rutland, to be set over the gates of York, as a warning to all
Englishmen not to interfere with her sovereign will. "Take care,"
she said to her myrmidons, "to leave room for the head of my Lord of
Warwick, for he will soon come to keep his friends company."

Glowing with victory, and confident that her enterprise would be
crowned with triumph, the queen, taking the great north road, pursued
her march toward the capital. Her progress was for a time unopposed. On
approaching St. Albans, however, she learned that the Earl of Warwick
and the Duke of Norfolk had left London to intercept her; that they had
taken possession of St. Albans; that they had filled the streets of the
town with archers, and posted their army on the hills to the southeast.

Margaret was not dismayed at the intelligence that such formidable
foes were in her way. On the contrary, she intimated her intention
of passing through St. Albans in spite of their opposition; but did
not deem it safe to trust to force alone. One of the ladies of her
court--so runs the story--happened to have, in other days, interested
Warwick, and had not quite lost her influence with "The Stout Earl."
Upon this dame--the daughter of Sir Richard Woodville and the wife
of John Grey of Groby--devolved the duty of playing the spy; and
accordingly she repaired to Warwick under the pretense of asking some
favor. The lady was cunning enough to act her part with discretion; and
she, doubtless, brought her royal mistress intelligence which gave the
Lancastrians courage to proceed.

It was the morning of the 17th of February, 1461, when the van of
the queen's army advanced to force their way through St. Albans. At
first the attempt was unsuccessful; and the Lancastrians were met by
Warwick's bowmen with a flight of arrows that caused them to fall back
from the market-place. Undaunted by this repulse, Margaret persevered;
and, driving the archers before her, she brought her soldiers into
action with the main body of the Yorkists in a field called Bernard's
Heath.

At this point the Lancastrians found their task more easy than they
could have anticipated. For the third time during the wars of the Roses
occurred an instance of desertion in the face of the enemy. At Ludlow,
Andrew Trollope had left the Yorkists; at Northampton, Lord Grey de
Ruthin had abandoned the Lancastrians; and now Lovelace, who at the
head of the Kentish men led Warwick's van, deserted the great earl in
the hour of need. This circumstance placed the victory in Margaret's
power; and a dashing charge made by John Grey of Groby, at the head
of the Lancastrian cavalry, decided the day in favor of the Red Rose.
A running fight was, nevertheless, kept up over the undulating ground
between St. Albans and the little town of Barnet; and, a last stand
having in vain been made on Barnet Common, Warwick was fain to retreat
with the remnants of his army.

So unexpected had been the queen's victory, and so sudden the earl's
discomfiture, that the captive king was left in solitude. However,
Lord Bonville, grandfather of the warrior who fell at Wakefield, and
Sir Thomas Kyriel, renowned in the wars of France, went to the royal
tent, and in courteous language expressed their regret at leaving him
unattended. Henry, entreating them to remain, gave them a distinct
promise that in doing so they should incur no danger; and after
accepting the royal word as a pledge for their personal safety they
consented, and advised the king to intimate to the victors that he
would gladly join them.

A message was accordingly dispatched; and several Lancastrian lords
came to convey Henry of Windsor to the presence of his terrible spouse.
The monk-king found Margaret of Anjou and the Prince of Wales in Lord
Clifford's tent, and, having expressed his gratification at their
meeting, rewarded the fidelity of his adherents by knighting thirty of
them at the village of Colney. Among these were the Prince of Wales,
and John Grey of Groby, the warrior who had broken the Yorkists' ranks,
and who, dying of his wounds a few days later, left a widow destined
to bring countless miseries on the royal race whose chiefs had so long
ruled England. After the ceremony of knighting his partisans, Henry
repaired to the Abbey of St. Albans and returned thanks for the victory.

While Henry was occupied with devotional exercises, the queen was
unfortunately guilty of an outrage which, even if she had been in
other respects faultless, must have for ever associated crime with the
name of Margaret of Anjou. The Lord Bonville and Sir Thomas Kyriel had
consented, as we have seen, from motives of compassion and romantic
honor, to remain with Henry; and the king had on his part given a
distinct promise that no evil should befall them. But by the queen and
her captains no respect was paid to Henry; in fact, much less decorum
was observed toward him by the Lancastrians than by the Yorkists. At
all events Margaret, exhibiting the utmost disregard for her husband's
promise, ordered a scaffold to be erected at St. Albans; and, in
defiance of all faith and honor, Lord Bonville and Sir Thomas Kyriel
died by the hands of the executioner.

Meanwhile, Margaret's adherents were taking a sure way to render her
cause unpopular. Ere marching toward London the men of the north
had, as the price of their allegiance to the Red Rose, covenanted to
have the spoil south of the Trent; and, resolved not to return home
empty-handed, they had forayed with so much energy as to spread terror
wherever they went. At St. Albans their rapacity knew no limits. Not
only did they plunder the town with an utter disregard to the rights of
property, but stripped the abbey with a sacrilegious hardihood which
rapidly converted the head of that great monastic house from a zealous
Lancastrian to a violent partisan of the White Rose.

The report of the lawless scenes enacted at St. Albans was carried
to London, and the citizens, who believed that the queen had marked
them as objects of her vengeance, were impressed with a sense of
danger, and rather eager to win back her favor. When, therefore, the
northern army lay at Barnet, and Margaret sent to demand provisions,
the mayor hastened to forward some cart-loads of "lenten stuff" for
the use of her camp. The populace, however, exhibited a courage which
their wealthier neighbors did not possess, and rising in a mass at
Cripplegate stopped the carts, and forcibly prevented the provisions
leaving the city. The mayor, in alarm, sent the recorder to the
king's council, and moreover interested Lady Scales and the Duchess
of Bedford to intercede with the queen, and represent the impolicy
of exasperating the commons at such a crisis. This led to another
scene of lawless outrage. Some lords of the council, with four hundred
horsemen, headed by Sir Baldwin Fulford, were sent to investigate
matters, and attempted to enter London at Cripplegate. Again, however,
the populace fought for the White Rose; and the Lancastrian horsemen,
being repulsed, plundered the northern suburbs in retaliation, and left
matters infinitely worse than they had previously appeared.

While affairs were in this posture--Margaret's heart beating high with
the pride of victory--a price set on the head of Edward of York--the
Lancastrian lords cherishing the prospect of vengeance--"the wealth
of London looking pale, knowing itself in danger from the northern
army"--and the citizens apprehensive of being given over to the tender
mercies of Grahams and Armstrongs--from Mortimer's Cross there arrived
news of battle and bloodshed. The citizens resumed their feelings
of security; the wealth of London appeared once more safe from huge
Borderers; and Margaret of Anjou, forcibly reminded that Edward
Plantagenet and Richard Neville yet lived to avenge their sires,
prepared to return to "Northumberland, the nursery of her strength."




CHAPTER XIV.

A PLANTAGENET AND THE TUDORS.


At the opening of the year 1461, a princely personage, of graceful
figure and distinguished air, rather more than twenty years of age,
and rather more than six feet in height, might have been seen moving
about the city of Gloucester, whose quiet streets, with old projecting
houses, and whose Gothic cathedral, with stained oriel window and lofty
tower, have little changed in aspect since that period. The youthful
stranger, who was wonderfully handsome, had golden hair flowing
straight to his shoulders, a long oval countenance, a rich but clear
and delicate complexion, broad shoulders, and a form almost faultless.
Perhaps his eye roved with too eager admiration after the fair damsels
who happened to cross his path; but it was not for want of more serious
subjects with which to occupy his attention; for the tall, handsome
youth was Edward Plantagenet, Earl of March; and he had been sent to
the Welsh Marches to recruit soldiers to fight the battles of the White
Rose.

Edward of York was a native of Rouen. In that city he was born in 1441,
while his father ruled Normandy. At an early age, however, he was
brought to England, to be educated in Ludlow Castle, under the auspices
of Sir Richard Croft, a warlike Marchman, who had married a widow of
one of the Mortimers. Under the auspices of Croft and of his spouse,
who, at Ludlow, was known as "The Lady Governess," Edward grew up a
handsome boy, and was, from the place of his birth, called "The Rose of
Rouen," as his mother had been called "The Rose of Raby." Early plunged
into the wars of the Roses, the heir of York never acquired any thing
like learning, but became a warrior of experience in his teens; and,
when at Northampton, bearing his father's banner, he exhibited a spirit
which inspired the partisans of York with high hopes.

When Edward received intelligence that, on Wakefield Green, his father,
the Duke of York, had fallen in battle against Margaret of Anjou, and
that his brother, the Earl of Rutland, had been barbarously murdered by
Lord Clifford, the prince, in the spirit of that age, vowed vengeance,
and applied himself with energy to execute his vow. Doubtless, other
objects than mere revenge presented themselves to his imagination. As
the grandson of Anne Mortimer, he was the legitimate heir of England's
kings; and he had not, during his brief career, shown any of that
political moderation which had prevented his father plucking the crown
from the feeble Henry.

The recruiting expedition on which Edward had gone, accompanied by a
gallant squire, named William Hastings, said to derive his descent,
through knights and nobles, from one of the famous sea kings, was,
at first, much less successful than anticipated. The Marchmen seemed
disinclined to stir in a dynastic quarrel which they did not quite
understand. But a report that York had fallen in battle, and that
Rutland had been murdered in cold blood, produced a sudden change. Men
who before appeared careless about taking up arms rushed to the Yorkist
standard; and the retainers of the house of Mortimer, on hearing that
their valiant lord was slain, appeared, with sad hearts and stern
brows, demanding to be led against the murderers.

Edward was already, in imagination, a conqueror. After visiting
Shrewsbury, and other towns on the Severn, he found himself at the
head of twenty-three thousand men, ready to avenge his father's fall,
and vindicate his own rights. At the head of this force he took his
way toward London, trusting to unite with Warwick, and, at one blow,
crush the power of the fierce Anjouite ere she reached the capital. An
unexpected circumstance prevented Edward's hope from being so speedily
realized.

Among the Welsh soldiers who fought at Agincourt, and assisted in
repelling the furious charge of the Duke of Alençon, was Owen Tudor,
the son of a brewer at Beaumaris. In recognition of his courage,
Owen was named a squire of the body to the hero of that day, and, a
few years later, became clerk of the wardrobe to the hero's widow.
It happened that Owen, who was a handsome man, pleased the eye of
Katherine de Valois; and one day, when he stumbled over her dress,
while dancing for the diversion of the court, she excused the
awkwardness with a readiness which first gave her ladies a suspicion
that she was not altogether insensible to his manly beauty. As time
passed on, Katherine united her fate with his; and, in secret, she
became the mother of several children.

When the sacrifice which the widowed queen had made became known, shame
and grief carried her to the grave; and Humphrey of Gloucester, then
Protector, sent Owen to the Tower. He afterward regained his liberty,
but without being acknowledged by the young king as a father-in-law.
Indeed, of a marriage between the Welsh soldier and the daughter of a
Valois and widow of a Plantagenet no evidence exists; but when Edmund
and Jasper, the sons of Katherine, grew up, Henry gave to one the
Earldom of Richmond, and to the other that of Pembroke. Richmond died
about the time when the wars of the Roses commenced. Pembroke lived to
enact a conspicuous part in the long and sanguinary struggle.

When the Lancastrian army, flushed with victory, was advancing from
Wakefield toward London, Margaret of Anjou, hearing that Edward of York
was on the Marches of Wales, resolved to send a force under Jasper
Tudor to intercept him; and Jasper, proud of the commission, undertook
to bring the young Plantagenet, dead or alive, to her feet. With this
view he persuaded his father to take part in the adventure, and Owen
Tudor once more drew the sword which, in years gone by, he had wielded
for the House of Lancaster.

Edward was on his march toward London when he heard that Jasper and
other Welshmen were on his track. The prince was startled; but the
idea of an heir of the blood and name of the great Edwards flying
before Owen Tudor and his son was not pleasant; and, moreover, it was
impolitic to place himself between two Lancastrian armies. Considering
these circumstances, Edward turned upon his pursuers, and met them at
Mortimer's Cross, in the neighborhood of Hereford.

It was the morning of the 2d of February--Candlemas Day--and Edward was
arraying his men for the encounter, when he perceived that the "orb of
day" appeared like three suns, which all joined together as he looked.
In those days the appearance of three suns in the sky was regarded as
a strange prodigy; and Edward either believed, or affected to believe,
that the phenomenon was an omen of good fortune. Encouraging his
soldiers with the hope of victory, he set fiercely upon the enemy.

The Tudors, whose heads had been turned by unmerited prosperity, were
by no means prepared for defeat. Owen, with whom a queen-dowager had
united her fate, and Jasper, on whom a king had conferred an earldom,
were too much intoxicated to perceive the danger of giving chase to the
heir of the Plantagenets. Not till Edward turned savagely to bay did
they perceive that, instead of starting a hare, they had roused a lion.

At length the armies joined battle, and a fierce conflict took place.
Edward, exhibiting that skill which afterward humbled the most potent
of England's barons, saw thousands of his foes hurled to the ground;
and Jasper, forgetful of his heraldic precept, that death is better
than disgrace, left his followers to their fate and fled from the
field. Owen, however, declined to follow his son's example. He had
fought at Agincourt, he remembered, and had not learned to fly. His
courage did not save the Welsh adherents of Lancaster from defeat; and,
in spite of his efforts, he was taken prisoner with David Lloyd, Morgan
ap Reuther, and other Welshmen.

Edward had now a golden opportunity, by sparing the vanquished, of
setting a great example to his adversaries. But the use which Margaret
had made of her victory at Wakefield could not be forgotten; and it
seemed to be understood that henceforth no quarter was to be given in
the Wars of the Roses. Accordingly, Owen and his friends were conveyed
to Hereford, and executed in the market-place. The old Agincourt
soldier was buried in the chapel of the Grey Friars' Church; but no
monument was erected by his regal descendants in memory of the Celtic
hero whose lucky stumble over a royal widow's robes resulted in his
sept exchanging the obscurity of Beaumaris for the splendor of Windsor.




CHAPTER XV.

BEFORE TOWTON.


On the 3d of March, 1461, while Margaret of Anjou was leading her
army toward the Humber, and the citizens of London were awakening
from fearful dreams of northern men plundering their warehouses with
lawless violence, and treating their women with indelicate freedom,
Edward of York entered the capital at the head of his victorious army.
Accompanied by the Earl of Warwick, by whom he had been joined at
Chipping Norton, the conqueror of the Tudors rode through the city,
and was welcomed with the utmost enthusiasm. It was long since London
had been the scene of such loyal excitement. From Kent and Essex came
crowds to gaze on the handsome son of Richard, Duke of York; and many
were the predictions that, as a native of Rouen, Edward would reconquer
Normandy, and retrieve those losses which, under the government of
Margaret of Anjou, the English had sustained on the Continent.

Whatever he might pretend, Edward had none of the moderation that
characterized his father, and he was determined without delay to ascend
the throne, which he had been taught to consider his by hereditary
right. Anxious, however, to have the popular assent to the step he
was about to take, the heir of the Plantagenets resolved to test the
loyalty of the Londoners. With this object a grand review, in St.
John's Fields, was proclaimed by William Neville, Lord Falconbridge;
and the wealthy citizens, as well as the multitude, assembled to
witness the military pageant. Suddenly availing himself of a favorable
moment, Warwick's brother, the Bishop of Exeter, addressed the crowd on
the great dynastic dispute, and asked them plainly whether they would
any longer have Henry to reign over them. "Nay, nay," answered the
crowd. Warwick's uncle, Lord Falconbridge, having then spoken in praise
of Edward's valor and wisdom, asked if they would have him for king.
"Yea, yea--King Edward, King Edward," shouted the populace, with one
accord, cheering and clapping their hands.

The Yorkist chiefs were satisfied with the result of their experiment
in St. John's Fields; and next day a great council was held at
Baynard's Castle. After due deliberation, the peers and prelates
declared that Henry, in joining the queen's army and breaking faith
with Parliament, had forfeited the crown; and the heir of York,
after riding in royal state to Westminster, offered at St. Edward's
shrine, assumed the Confessor's crown, ascended the throne, explained
the nature of his claim, and harangued the people. His spirit and
energy inspired the audience with enthusiasm, and he was frequently
interrupted with shouts of "Long live King Edward."

On the day when the young Plantagenet took possession of the English
throne at Westminster, he was proclaimed king in various parts of
London. Edward was not, however, so intoxicated with the applause with
which the men of the south had greeted his arrival in the metropolis as
to delude himself into the idea that his triumph was complete. He knew
that the lords of the north would again rise in arms for the Red Rose,
and that battles must be won, and fortresses taken, ere the crown of
St. Edward could sit easily on his head.

Nothing, however, could be gained by delay; and Warwick was well aware
of the danger of procrastination at such a crisis. The young king and
the king-maker, therefore, resolved upon marching forthwith against
the Lancastrians, to achieve, as they hoped, a crowning victory; and,
having sent the Duke of Norfolk to recruit in the provinces, they made
preparations to go in search of their foes.

No time was wasted. Indeed, within three days of entering London,
Warwick marched northward with the van of the Yorkist army; and the
infantry having meanwhile followed, Edward, on the 12th of March,
buckled on his armor, mounted his war-steed, and rode out of Bishopgate
to conquer or die. By easy marches the royal warrior reached
Pontefract, memorable as the scene of the second Richard's murder; and,
having, while resting there, enjoyed the satisfaction of seeing his
army swell to the number of forty-nine thousand, he dispatched Lord
Fitzwalter, with a band of tall men, to keep the passage over the Aire
at Ferrybridge.

Nor had Margaret failed to prepare for the inevitable conflict.
When, at St. Albans, the Lancastrian queen found that her foes were
still unsubdued, she speedily bore back to the northern counties,
and commenced recruiting her army on the banks of the Humber, the
Trent, and the Tyne. Her spirit, ever highest in the time of trouble,
sustained the courage of her adherents; and the men of the north, who
now, without entering into the delicate questions of hereditary right
and parliamentary settlement, sympathized with the dethroned queen,
came from towers by the wayside, and shealings on the moor, till around
the Lancastrian banner at York mustered an army of sixty thousand.

On hearing of Edward's approach the queen resolved to remain, with
Henry and the young prince, at York, to await the issue of the battle
impending. But she could hardly dream of defeat as she inspected that
numerous army, headed by knights and nobles arrayed in rich armor
and mounted on prancing steeds, who had gathered to her standard in
the capital of the north. Somerset, Northumberland, and Clifford,
appeared in feudal pride, determined at length to avenge the slaughter
of their sires at St. Albans; and the Duke of Exeter, with John, Lord
Neville, brother to the Earl of Westmoreland, and Thomas Courtenay,
Earl of Devon, without the death of sires to avenge, came to fight for
the Red Rose; the first against his brother-in-law, King Edward, the
second against his kinsmen, the Lords Warwick and Falconbridge, and the
third against the house of York, of which his father had been one of
the earliest adherents. Many other stanch Lancastrians, bearing names
celebrated in history and song, had assembled; as Leo, Lord Welles,
James Butler, Earl of Wiltshire, Ralph, Lord Dacre of the north, and
Thomas, Lord De Roos, heir of that great Anglo-Norman baron of the
twelfth century, whose effigy is still to be seen in the Temple Church.
Among the Percies, Beauforts, and Cliffords figured Sir John Heron,
of the Ford, a stalwart Borderer, who, in his day, had laid lance in
rest against the Homes and Cranstouns; and Andrew Trollope, that mighty
man of war, whose betrayal of the Yorkists at Ludlow had, for a year,
delayed the exile of Margaret of Anjou. Even a venerable lawyer and a
subtle churchman might have been seen in the Lancastrian ranks; for
Sir John Fortescue had left the Court of King's Bench to fight for the
cause which he believed to be that of truth and justice; and John
Morton had deserted the parsonage of Blokesworth to win preferment, if
possible, by the arm of flesh. Such were the chiefs, devoted heart and
hand to the house of Lancaster, who, at the head of the northern men,
awaited the coming of the Yorkist king and the king-maker.




CHAPTER XVI.

TOWTON FIELD.


With Margaret of Anjou heading a mighty army at York, and Edward
Plantagenet heading an army, not assuredly so numerous, but perhaps not
less mighty, at Pontefract, a conflict could not long be delayed. Nor,
indeed, had the partisans of either Rose any reason to shrink from an
encounter. For, while the Yorkist chiefs felt that nothing less than a
crowning triumph could save them from the vengeance of the dethroned
queen, the Lancastrian lords were not less fully aware that nothing but
a decisive victory could insure to them their possessions and restore
to Henry his throne.

Learning that Edward was at Pontefract, and anxious to prevent him
passing the Aire, Margaret's magnificent army moved from York.
Formidable, indeed, the Lancastrians must have looked as they left
the capital of the North, and marched southward; Somerset figuring as
commander-in-chief; while Northumberland, aided by Andrew Trollope,
the great soldier of the Red Rose ranks, led the van; and Clifford,
with the hands that had been dyed in Rutland's blood, reined in his
prancing steed at the head of the light cavalry. Crossing the Wharfe,
and marching through Tadcaster, the queen's captains posted their men
to the south of Towton, a little village some eight miles from York. In
front of their main body was a valley known as Towton Dale; their right
wing was protected by a cliff, and their left by a marsh, which has
since disappeared.

Somerset had hoped to keep the Aire between him and the Yorkist
foe; and the aspiring duke was somewhat dismayed to hear that Lord
Fitzwalter had seized Ferrybridge, and posted his company on the north
side of the river. The Lancastrian lords, however, were in no mood
to be daunted; and Clifford, who was quite as courageous as cruel,
readily undertook to dislodge the Yorkist warriors from the position
they occupied. Accordingly, at the head of his light cavalry, and
accompanied by Lord Neville, Clifford spurred across the country,
reached Ferrybridge by break of day, and, finding the guards asleep and
utterly unsuspicious of an attack, had little difficulty in fulfilling
his mission. Ere well awake half of the men were slaughtered, and the
survivors were glad to escape to the south side of the Aire. Hearing a
noise, and supposing that some quarrel had arisen among his soldiers,
Fitzwalter rose from his couch, seized a battle-axe, and hastened to
restore order. But before the Yorkist lord could even ascertain the
cause of the disturbance he was surrounded and slain, and, with him,
Warwick's illegitimate brother, known as "The Bastard of Salisbury,"
and described as "a valiant young gentleman, and of great audacity."

Early on Saturday news of Clifford's exploit reached Pontefract and
caused something like a panic in the Yorkist camp. Awed by the terrible
name of Clifford, and not unaware of the numerical superiority of their
foes, the soldiers lost heart and showed a disposition to waver. At
this crisis, however, it became known that Warwick had mounted his
horse, and every eye was turned toward the king-maker as he spurred
through the lines straight to King Edward.

"Sir," said the earl, dismounting, "may GOD have mercy upon their
souls, who, for love of you, have lost their lives. I see no hope of
succor but in Him, to whom I remit the vengeance."

Edward, perhaps, thought Warwick was manifesting more alarm than was
either necessary or prudent. "All who were afraid to fight might, at
their pleasure, depart," the king said, "but to those that would stay
he promised good reward; and," he added, "if any after staying should
turn or flee, then that he who killed such a dastard should have double
pay."

"Though your whole army should take to flight," said Warwick to Edward,
"I will remain to fight;" and, having thus expressed his resolution
to stand by the young king to the death, the earl, in a manner not to
be mistaken, intimated to the army of the White Rose that he, for one,
rather than retreat one inch, was prepared to die with his feet to
the foe. Drawing his sword, the patrician hero kissed the hilt, which
was in the form of a cross, and, killing his war-horse in view of the
soldiers, he exclaimed, "Let him flee that will flee, I will tarry with
him that will tarry with me."

The effect of this sacrifice was marvelous; the soldiers saw that their
chief and idol relied solely on their courage, that with them he would
fight on foot, and that with them he would share victory or defeat. A
feeling of enthusiasm pervaded the army, and not one man was craven
enough to desert the great warrior-statesman in that hour of peril.

The Duke of Norfolk, as heir of Thomas de Brotherton, held the office
of earl marshal, and was therefore entitled to lead the van of
England's army. It happened, however, that Norfolk had not yet made his
appearance among the Yorkist warriors, and, in his absence, Warwick's
uncle, Lord Falconbridge, took the post of distinction and danger. With
a view of cutting off Clifford's cavalry from the main body of the
Lancastrians, Falconbridge, at the head of the Yorkist van, passed the
Aire at Castleford, three miles above Ferrybridge, and, favored by the
windings of the river, led his men along the north bank ere Clifford
was aware of the enemy being in motion. On being informed of the fact,
however, the Lancastrian leader mustered his horsemen and made a dash
northward to reach the queen's camp. Fortune, however, was this time
against the savage lord. At Dintingdale, somewhat less than two miles
from Towton, the murderer of Rutland and the executioner of Salisbury
found that the avengers were upon him, and turned desperately to bay.
A sharp and sanguinary skirmish ensued. Clifford offered a brave
resistance to his fate, but, pierced in the throat with an arrow, he
fell, never more to rise. Lord Neville having shared Clifford's fate,
most of the light horsemen fell where they fought, and Ferrybridge was
retaken.

On receiving intelligence of the victory at Dintingdale and the
recovery of Ferrybridge, Edward hastened to pass the Aire, leading the
centre of the Yorkist army, while the right wing was headed by Warwick,
and the rear brought up by Sir John Denham, a veteran warrior who had
ever adhered to the Yorkist cause, and Sir John Wenlock, who had once
already changed sides to his profit, and was to do so again to his
loss. As the day was drawing to a close the Yorkists reached Saxton,
a village little more than a mile south from Towton, and, on their
coming in sight of the Lancastrian host, the northern and southern
armies expressed the intense hatred they felt for each other by a long
yell of defiance. At the same time Edward caused proclamation to be
made, in the hearing of both, that, on his side, no prisoners should be
taken and no quarter given; and Somerset immediately ordered a similar
proclamation to be made in the name of the Lancastrian chiefs.

All that cold March night the hostile armies prepared for the
combat, and on the morning of the 29th of March--it was that of Palm
Sunday--Yorkist and Lancastrian sprang to arms. As the warriors of
the Roses approached each other snow began to fall heavily, and,
from having the wind in their faces, the Lancastrians were much
inconvenienced by the flakes being blown in their eyes. Falconbridge,
prompt to avail himself of such a circumstance, caused the archers
in the Yorkist van to advance, send a flight of arrows among their
antagonists, and then draw back to await the result. Galled by this
discharge, the Lancastrians, who formed the van of the queen's army,
bent their bows in retaliation; but, blinded by snow, they shot at
random, and the shafts fell forty yards short of their adversaries.

Northumberland, the grandson of Hotspur, and Andrew Trollope, that
"terrible man-at-arms," did not relish this inauspicious opening of
the battle. Perceiving that at a distance they were fighting at
disadvantage, Trollope and the earl ordered the men to draw their
blades, to rush forward, and to close with the foe. An unexpected
obstacle, however, presented itself to the assailants; for the northern
men, finding their feet entangled in their own shafts that stuck in the
ground, came to a halt; and the Yorkists, galling their adversaries
with another shower of arrows, threw them into confusion, and drove
them precipitately back on the main body of the Lancastrians.

The White Rose was so far fortunate; but the Lancastrians, conscious
of superior numbers, and elate with their victories at Wakefield and
Bernard's Heath, were not to be daunted. Ere Northumberland fell back
on the queen's forces, the two armies were face to face, and on neither
side was there any wish to delay meeting hand to hand. Impatient to try
conclusions, and disdaining to balk his enemies of the close conflict
they desired, Falconbridge gave the word for his soldiers to lay aside
their bows, take to their swords, and advance to the encounter; and,
with shouts of anger and scorn, the men of the north and of the south
approached each other to decide their quarrel with foot opposed to
foot, and steel to steel.

The clarions having sounded a charge, the battle now began in earnest,
and with such fury as had never before been displayed by Englishmen
when opposed to each other. The leaders trusted less to their own
generalship than to the courage of their men; and the soldiers on both
sides, animated with the deadliest hatred of their foes, moved forward
in masses. Every man fought as if the quarrel had been his own; and
among the fiercest and foremost, where skulls were cleaved and blood
shed, appeared, on one side, Andrew Trollope, performing prodigies of
valor, and, on the other, the young king, fiery with martial ardor,
and freely hazarding his life to advance his fortunes. Mounted on
barbed steed, and arrayed in emblazoned surcoat, and his standard, on
which was a black bull, borne by Ralph Vestynden, Edward seemed the
very prince to kindle enthusiasm in the heart of a multitude; and woe
betided those who crossed his path, as, in this, his twentieth year, he
fought with the savage valor which afterward bore down all opposition
on the fields of Barnet and Tewkesbury. The king's courage and prowess
made him conspicuous in the fight, and his indomitable determination
contributed in no slight degree to maintain the resolution of the
Yorkists to conquer or to die for his sake.

But, notwithstanding Edward's achievements, and the confidence with
which the soldiers fought under Warwick's leadership, hours passed,
and thousands upon thousands fell, without the prospect of a Yorkist
victory. Still the northern war-cries rose upon the gale; still Andrew
Trollope hounded the northern men upon their foes; and still terrible
proved the sweep of those long lances with which, at Wakefield, Herons
and Tunstalls and Whartons had scattered the chivalry of York as the
wind scatters leaves. No easy victory could, by any warriors, be won
against such foes; and in spite of all the young king's courage, and
"The Stout Earl's" sagacity, it appeared too likely that Trollope,
with fortune as well as numbers on his side, would conquer, and that
the bloodiest day England had ever seen would close in a Lancastrian
triumph.

Meanwhile the aspect of the field was too terrible even to be described
without a shudder. All on the ridge between Towton and Saxton were
heaps of dead, and wounded, and dying; and the blood of the slain lay
caked with the snow that covered the ground, and afterward, dissolving
with it, ran down the furrows and ditches for miles together. Never,
indeed, in England, had such a scene of carnage been witnessed as
that upon which the villagers of Towton and Saxton looked out from
their lowly cottages, and of which the citizens of York heard flying
rumors, as, in common with Christendom, they celebrated the festival
commemorative of our Redeemer's entry into Jerusalem.

At length, when the battle had lasted well-nigh ten hours, and
thousands had fallen in the sanguinary conflict, fortune so far
favored the Red Rose that it seemed as if those long Border spears,
so seldom couched in vain, were destined to win back the crown of St.
Edward for Henry of Windsor. The Yorkists were, in fact, giving way;
and Warwick must have felt that his charger had been sacrificed in
vain, and that his head was not unlikely to occupy a place between
those of York and Salisbury over the gates of the northern capital,
when, through the snow which darkened the air and drifted over the
country, another army was seen advancing from the south; and into the
field, fresh and in no humor to avoid the combat, came the fighting
men of Norfolk, under the banner of the princely Mowbrays, to the
aid of Edward's wavering ranks. This new arrival of feudal warriors
speedily turned the scale in favor of York; and while Edward animated
his adherents, and Warwick urged the Yorkists to renewed exertion, the
Lancastrians, after an attempt to resist their fate, at first slowly
and frowning defiance on their foes, but gradually with more rapid
steps, commenced a retreat northward.

Among the thousands who, on that stormy Palm Sunday, took the field
with Red Roses on their gorgets, there was no better or braver knight
than Ralph, Lord Dacre. From his castle of Naworth, in Cumberland,
Dacre had brought his riders, arrayed under the ancestral banner--

    "That swept the shores of Judah's sea,
     And waved in gales of Galilee"--

and mounted to strike for King Henry; not, perhaps, without some
presentiment of filling a warrior's grave. But death by a mean hand
the lordly warrior would not contemplate; and with a spirit as high as
his progenitor, who fought at Acre with Richard _Coeur de Lion_, he
could hardly dream of falling by a weapon less renowned than Warwick's
axe, or Edward's lance, or the sword of William Hastings, who, in the
young king's track, slaughtering as he rode, was winning golden spurs
and broad baronies. No death so distinguished, however, awaited Lord
Dacre of the North. While in a large field, known as the North Acre,
and still in rustic tradition and rhyme associated with his name, the
haughty Borderer, probably making a last effort to rally the beaten and
retreating Lancastrians, was mortally wounded with an arrow shot by a
boy out of an auberry-tree, and prostrated among dead and dying on the
miry ground.

"All is lost," groaned Exeter and Somerset, in bitter mood, as together
they spurred over mounds of slain, and galloped toward York, to warn
the queen that her foes were conquerors. And well, indeed, might the
Lancastrian dukes express themselves in accents of despair, for never
before had an English army been in a more hapless plight than that
which they were now leaving to its fate. At first, the retreat of
the Lancastrians was conducted with some degree of order; but, ere
long, their ranks were broken by the pursuing foe, and every thing
was confusion as they fled in a mass toward Tadcaster. No leader of
mark remained to direct or control the ill-fated army in the hour
of disaster. John Heron, and Leo, Lord Welles, were slain. Andrew
Trollope, after having "done marvelous deeds of valor," lay cold on
the ground; Northumberland stooped his lofty crest as low as death;
Devon and Wiltshire were heading the flight, and in vain endeavoring
to place themselves beyond the vengeance of the victors. Resistance
was hopeless; quarter was neither asked nor given; the carnage was so
frightful that the road to York was literally red with the blood and
strewn with the bodies of the slain; and the pursuit was so hot and
eager that multitudes were drowned in attempting to cross the rivulet
of Cock, while the corpses formed a bridge over which the pursuers
passed. The brook ran purple with blood, and crimsoned, as it formed a
junction with, the waters of the Wharfe.

Evening closed, at length, over the field of Towton, but without
putting an end to the work of destruction. Till the noon of Monday
the pursuit was keenly urged, and a running fight, kept up beyond
the Tyne, caused much bloodshed.[7] The Chief Justice of England and
the Parson of Blokesworth escaped. But Devon and Wiltshire were less
fortunate. One was taken near York, the other seized near Cockermouth
by an esquire named Richard Salkeld; and both were executed by martial
law.

After his signal victory on Towton Field, Edward knighted Hastings,
Humphrey Stafford, and others, and then rode in triumph to York. Henry,
with Queen Margaret and the prince, having fled from the city, the
inhabitants received him with humble submission; and, having taken down
the heads of his kinsmen from the gates, and set up those of Devon and
Wiltshire instead, Edward remained at York, and kept the festival of
Easter with great splendor. After visiting Durham, and settling the
affairs of the north, the young king turned his face toward London.

From the day on which Edward rode out of Bishopgate until Easter, the
citizens had been in fearful suspense. At length a messenger reached
Baynard's Castle to inform the Duchess of York that the Lancastrians
had been routed; and, when the news spread, the metropolis was the
scene of joy and rejoicing. Men of all ranks breathed freely, and
thanked GOD for giving King Edward the victory; and minstrels, in
grateful strains, sang the praise of the royal warrior who had saved
the fair southern shires from the fierce and rude spearmen of the
north.




CHAPTER XVII.

THE QUEEN'S STRUGGLES WITH ADVERSITY.


On Palm Sunday, when, on Towton Field, the armies of York and Lancaster
were celebrating the festival with lances instead of palms, Margaret of
Anjou, with the king, the Prince of Wales, and Lord De Roos, remained
at York to await the issue of the conflict. The Lancastrians, when they
rode forth, appeared so confident of victory that, in all probability,
the queen was far from entertaining serious apprehensions. As the day
wore on, however, Somerset and Exeter spurred into the city, announced
that all was lost, and recommended a speedy flight.

Margaret was not the woman to faint in the day of adversity. The news
brought by her discomfited partisans was indeed hard to hear, but
their advice was too reasonable to be rejected. Dauntless in defeat,
as merciless in victory, that resolute princess could, even at such
a moment, dream of fresh chances, and calculate the advantages to be
derived from placing herself beyond the reach of her enemies. Besides,
it was necessary to do something, and that quickly. The day, indeed,
was cold and stormy; but what were snow and sleet in comparison with
the Yorkist foe, headed by a chief who had proved at Mortimer's Cross
that he could exercise a degree of cruelty almost as unsparing as that
of which, at Wakefield, she had been guilty? The queen, therefore,
determined on carrying her husband and her son to Scotland; and the
whole party, mounting in haste, rode northward with all the speed of
which their horses were capable.

The way was long and the weather was cold; but the fear of pursuit
overbore all such considerations, and the royal fugitives were
fortunate enough to reach Newcastle without being overtaken by the
light horsemen whom Edward had sent out in pursuit. From the banks
of the Tyne the queen proceeded to Berwick, and thence found her way
to Kirkcudbright. In that ancient town of Galloway, near which, on
an island in Lockfergus, stood the palace of the old kings of the
province, Margaret left her husband to tell his beads, while she
undertook a journey to Edinburgh, that she might concert measures for
another effort to retrieve her disasters.

At the Scottish court the unfortunate queen was received with
distinction, and warm sympathy was expressed for her mishaps. But the
Scots, though dealing in fair words, were in no mood to assist Margaret
without a consideration; and, to tempt them, she agreed to surrender
the town of Berwick, the capital of the East Marches and the last
remnant of the great Edwards' conquests in Scotland.

Berwick having thus been placed in their possession, the Scots
commenced operations in favor of the Red Rose. One army attacked
Carlisle, another made an incursion into the Bishopric of Durham. Both
expeditions resulted in failure. Early in June, Warwick's brother, John
Neville, Lord Montagu, defeated the Scots under the walls of Carlisle;
and, ere the close of that month, the Lancastrians, under Lord De Roos,
were routed at Ryton and Brancepath, in Durham.

Margaret, however, was in no humor to submit to fortune. Finding the
Scottish court unable to render any effectual assistance, the exiled
queen dispatched Somerset to implore aid from France. An appeal to the
French monarch could hardly, she thought, fail of producing the desired
effect; for he was her relative; he had negotiated her marriage with
Henry; and he entertained so high an opinion of his fair kinswoman,
that, at parting, he had remarked, almost with tears in his eyes, "I
feel as though I had done nothing for my niece in placing her on one
of the greatest of European thrones, for it is scarcely worthy of
possessing her."

Misfortunes are said never to come singly; and Margaret had, ere
long, reason to believe such to be the case. Having lost her throne,
she lost the only friend who, for her own sake, would have made any
exertions to restore her. Ere Somerset reached the court of Paris, King
Charles had expired at the age of threescore; and his son, known in
history and romance as Louis the Crafty, had succeeded to the French
crown.

Louis had no ambition to incur the enmity of Edward of York. He even
evinced his disregard for his kinswoman's claims by causing Somerset
and other Lancastrians to be arrested while they were traveling in the
disguise of merchants. The duke was, ere long, set free, and admitted
to the king's presence; but he could not prevail on Louis to run any
risk for the house of Lancaster; and, after lurking for a time at
Bruges, to elude Edward's spies, he was fain to return to Scotland.

This was not the worst. The mission of Somerset proved doubly
unfortunate. Not only had he failed in his object with the King of
France, but he had given mortal offense to the Queen of Scots. The
duke, it would seem, had, during his residence in Scotland, been
attracted by the charms of Mary of Gueldres, and the widowed queen had
showed for him a much too favorable regard. In an hour of indiscreet
frankness Somerset revealed their familiarity to the King of France;
and, the secret becoming known at Paris, reached the Scottish court.
The royal widow, on learning that her weakness was publicly talked
of, felt the liveliest indignation; and forthwith employed Hepburn
of Hailes, a new lover, to avenge her mortally on the chief of the
Beauforts. Moreover, she availed herself of the opportunity to break
off friendly relations with the Lancastrian exiles.

Matters had now, in fact, reached such a stage that Mary of Gueldres
could hardly have avoided a quarrel with the Lancastrians. The young
King of England was far from indifferent to the advantage of a close
alliance with the Scots; and Warwick commenced negotiations by
proposing, on behalf of Edward, a marriage with their queen. Crossing
the Border in the spring of 1462, the king-maker arrived at Dumfries to
arrange a matrimonial treaty.

Margaret of Anjou must now have been somewhat perplexed. Even if she
had not received warning to quit the country, the presence of "The
Stout Earl" at Dumfries was a hint not to be mistaken. Feeling that it
was time to be gone, the Lancastrian queen obtained a convoy of four
Scottish ships, and, embarking with her son, sailed for the Continent.
Landing on the coast of Brittany, Margaret visited the duke of that
province; and he, compassionating her misfortunes, advanced her a sum
of money. After passing some time with King René, who was then at
Anjou, she proceeded with the Prince of Wales to the French court, and
implored Louis to aid in restoring Henry of Windsor to his father's
throne.

The French monarch had as little inclination as before to rush into war
with a powerful nation merely to redress the wrongs of a distressed
princess. But Louis had a keen eye to his own interests, and no
objection to meet Margaret's wishes, if, while doing so, he could
advance his projects. He, therefore, went cunningly to work, declaring
at first that his own poverty was such as to preclude the possibility
of interference in the affairs of others, but gradually making Margaret
comprehend that he would furnish her with money if Calais were assigned
to him as security.

After the battle of Cressy, Calais had been taken from the French by
the third Edward, and was a conquest for a king to boast of. Such,
at least, continued the opinion of the commons of England. Indeed,
when sighing over the memory of Cressy, Poictiers, and Agincourt, and
reflecting on their subsequent disasters, patriots never failed to
console themselves with the thought that, so long as Calais remained
in their possession, they carried the keys of France and of Flanders
at their girdle. Margaret did not, of course, sympathize with such
sentiments; and, catching at the proposal of Louis, she put Calais in
pawn for twenty thousand livres. Having received this sum, she raised
an army of two thousand men.

At that time there was languishing in prison a French captain of great
renown, named Peter de Brezé, who, in the reign of King Charles,
had occupied a high position, and greatly distinguished himself at
a tournament held in honor of Margaret's bridal. Inspired on that
occasion by the Provençal princess with a chivalrous devotion which was
proof against time and change, he offered, if set free, to conduct her
little army to England; and Louis, hoping, it is said, that the brave
captain might perish in the enterprise, gave him his liberty.

Brezé, embarking with the queen, set sail for Northumberland. Fortune
did not, in any respect, favor the invaders. They, indeed, escaped the
vigilance of Edward's fleet, and attempted to land at Tynemouth; but,
the weather proving unfavorable, they were driven ashore near Bamburgh.
The queen had anticipated that the whole north would hail her coming,
but she was utterly disappointed; for, instead of friends rushing to
her aid, there appeared Sir Robert Manners of Etal, and the Bastard
Ogle, who, zealous for the White Rose, attacked her little force with
so much determination that the Frenchmen were utterly routed.

Margaret was fain to turn toward Berwick; but, undismayed by reverses,
she determined to persevere. Leaving her son in safety, and having
been joined by some English exiles and a body of Scots, she seized
the Castles of Bamburgh, Dunstanburgh, and Alnwick. While in Alnwick,
the strong-hold of the Percies, she was dismayed by intelligence of
Warwick's approach; and, after taking counsel with Brezé, retired to
her ships. As she put to sea, however, a storm arose, scattered her
little fleet, and wrecked the vessels bearing her money and stores on
the rocky coast of Northumberland. The queen was in the utmost danger;
but, having been placed on board a fishing-boat, she had the fortune,
in spite of wind and weather, to reach Berwick.

Warwick, meanwhile, approached with twenty thousand men; and Edward,
following, took up his quarters at Durham. The queen's French troops
fared badly. Five hundred of them, endeavoring to maintain themselves
on Holy Island, were cut to pieces; and the garrisons of the three
northern castles were soon in a desperate condition. Indeed, the
plight of the Lancastrians appeared so utterly hopeless, that Somerset
submitted to Edward, and, having been received into the king's favor,
fought against his old friends.

Becoming most anxious to save Brezé, who, within the Castle of Alnwick,
was reduced to extremity, Margaret applied to George Douglas, Earl of
Angus, to rescue the gallant Frenchman from the jeopardy in which
he was placed. "Madam," replied Angus, who was father of the famous
Bell-the-Cat, "I will do my utmost;" and, having crossed the Border
with a chosen band of spearmen, he broke through the ranks of the
besiegers and carried off the garrison in safety.

The prospects of the Lancastrians were now dismal. Margaret, however,
did not despair. Her courage was still too high--her spirit too
haughty--to give up the game, which she had hitherto played with so
little success. Being on the Scottish marches, she cultivated the
friendship of those chiefs whose spearmen were the plague of lordly
wardens and the terror of humble villagers.

In the halls of Border lords, who, with hands strong to smite, had,
under their coats of mail, hearts far from insensible to the tears
of a beautiful woman and the supplications of a distressed princess,
Margaret told the story of her wrongs. With a voice now stirring as the
sound of a trumpet, now melancholy as the wind sighing among sepulchral
yews, she reminded them what she had been, when, eighteen years
earlier, England's nobles paid homage to her at Westminster, as she sat
on the throne, wearing the crown of gold and the mantle of purple; how,
when a fugitive, pursued by enemies thirsting for her blood, she had
endured want and hunger; and how, when an exile, depending for bread
on the charity of rivals, she had been humbled to beg from a Scottish
archer the mite which she placed on the shrine of a saint. Her poetic
eloquence, potent to move the heart, drew tears from ladies, and caused
men to lay their hands upon their swords, and swear, by GOD and St.
George, that such things must no longer be. Ever, when Margaret was in
distress, and laid aside her imperious tone and haughty manner, she
became too persuasive and insinuating to be resisted. It was impossible
for listeners to resist the conclusion that of all injured ladies she
had suffered most, and that they would be unworthy longer to wear the
crest and plume of knights who did not use every effort to restore her
to that throne which they believed her so well qualified to grace.

Thus it came to pass that when the winter of 1463 had passed, and
the spring of 1464 again painted the earth, the Red Rose-tree began
to blossom anew. Margaret found herself at the head of a formidable
army; and Somerset, hearing of her success, deserted Edward's court,
rode post-haste to the north, and took part in the Lancastrian
insurrection. All over England there was a spirit of discontent with
the new government; and Edward, while watching the movements of the
malcontents, got so enthralled by female charms that, instead of taking
the field against the Lancastrian warriors, he was exerting all his
skill to achieve a triumph over a Lancastrian widow. However, he called
upon his subjects to arm in his defense, and ordered a numerous force
to march to the aid of Lord Montagu, who commanded in the north.

Margaret was all fire and energy. Carrying in her train her meek
husband and hopeful son, she, in April, once more raised the
Lancastrian banner, and marched southward. Somerset and his brother,
Edmund Beaufort, were already at her side; and thither, also, went
Exeter, De Roos, Hungerford, with Sir Ralph Percy, who had for a while
submitted to Edward, and Sir Ralph Grey, who, having been a violent
Yorkist, had lately, in revenge for not being granted the Castle of
Alnwick, become enthusiastic for Lancaster.

Montagu, as Warden of the Marches, now found his position too close
to the enemy to be either safe or pleasant. Undismayed, however, that
feudal captain met the crisis with a courage worthy of his noble name,
and a vigilance worthy of his high office. At Hedgley Moor, near
Wooler, on the 25th of April, he fell on a party of the Lancastrians,
under Sir Ralph Percy, and defeated them with slaughter. Sir Ralph, a
son of the great northern earl slain at St. Albans, and a high-spirited
warrior, fell fighting, exclaiming, with his latest breath, "I have
saved the bird in my bosom."

After having so auspiciously commenced his Northumbrian campaign,
Montagu paused; but when Edward did not appear, the noble warden lost
patience, and determined to strike a decisive blow. Hearing that the
Lancastrians were encamped on Level's Plain, on the south side of the
Dowel Water, near Hexham, he, on the 8th of May, bore down upon their
camp. Somerset, who commanded the Lancastrians, was taken by surprise,
and, indeed, had at no time the martial skill to contend with such
a captain as Montagu. The northern men, however, met the unexpected
attack with their usual intrepidity; but their courage proved of no
avail. For a time, it appears that neither side could boast of any
advantage; till Montagu, growing impatient, urged his men to "do it
valiantly;" and, after a desperate effort, the Yorkists entered the
queen's camp. A bloody conflict ensued; the Lancastrians were put to
the rout; poor Henry fled in terror and amaze, and, mounted on a swift
steed, contrived to get out of the fray, leaving part of his equipage
in the hands of the victors.

A few days after Hexham, Edward arrived at York, and, having been
there met by Montagu, was presented with the high cap of state called
"Abacot," which Henry of Windsor had left behind on the day of battle.
Out of gratitude, the king granted to his victorious warden the earldom
of Northumberland, which, having been forfeited by the Percies, whose
heir was then either a captive in the Tower or an exile in Scotland,
could hardly have been more appropriately bestowed than on a lineal
descendant of Cospatrick and Earl Uchtred.

Edward, however, had to punish as well as reward, and such of the
Lancastrians as fell into the hands of the victors were treated with
extreme severity. Somerset, who knew not where to turn, who had no
reason to expect mercy in England, and no reason to expect protection
in Scotland--since his revelations as to Mary of Gueldres had led
Warwick to break off matrimonial negotiations on behalf of Edward--was
discovered lurking in a wood, carried to Hexham, tried by martial law,
and beheaded. The ill-starred duke died unmarried, but not without
issue; and his descendants, in the illegitimate line, were destined
to occupy a high place among the modern aristocracy of England. It
happened that a fair being, named Joan Hill, without being a wife,
became a mother. Of her son, Somerset was understood to be the father.
After the duke's execution, the boy went by the name of Charles
Somerset; and, as years passed over, he won the favor of the Tudors.
By Henry the Eighth he was created Earl of Worcester; and by Charles
the Second the Earls of Worcester were elevated in the peerage to the
dukedom of Beaufort.

About the time when Somerset perished on the scaffold, the Red Rose
lost a chief, scarcely less conspicuous, by the death of Lord de Roos.
His widow found a home with her eldest daughter, the wife of Sir
Robert Manners, of Etal; his son Edmund escaped to the Continent; and
his Castle of Belvoir, inherited through an ancestress from William
de Albini, was granted by King Edward to William Hastings, who, since
Towton, had become a baron of the realm, and husband of Warwick's
sister, Katherine Neville, the widow of Lord Bonville, slain at
Wakefield. Hastings hurried to Leicestershire, to take possession of
Belvoir; but the county, faithful to the banished De Roos, turned out
under an esquire named Harrington and compelled the Yorkist lord to
fly. Perceiving that to hold the castle under such circumstances would
be no easy task, Hastings returned with a large force, spoiled the
building, and carried off the leads to the stately pile he was rearing
at Ashby de la Zouch.

The Lord Hungerford, with Sir Humphrey Neville, and William Tailbois,
whom the Lancastrians called Earl of Kent, died, like Somerset, on the
scaffold. But a punishment much more severe was added in the case of
Sir Ralph Grey. This unfortunate renegade, when found in the Castle of
Bamburgh, was condemned, ere being executed, to degradation from the
rank of knighthood. Every thing was prepared for the ceremony; and the
master cook, with his apron and knife, stood ready to strike off the
gilded spurs close by the heels. But from respect to the memory of the
knight's grandfather, who had suffered much for the king's ancestors,
this part of the punishment was remitted.

The hopes of the Lancastrians could hardly have survived so signal
a disaster as their defeat at Hexham, if one circumstance had not
rendered the victory of Montagu incomplete. Margaret of Anjou had, as
if by miracle, escaped; and, while she was in possession of life and
liberty, friends and adversaries were alike conscious that no battle,
however bravely fought or decisively won, could secure the crown or
assure the succession to the house of York.




CHAPTER XVIII.

THE WOODVILLES.


About the opening of 1464, Edward, King of England, then in his
twenty-fourth year, was diverting himself with the pleasures of the
chase in the forest of Whittlebury.

One day, when hunting in the neighborhood of Grafton, the king rode
to that manor-house and alighted to pay his respects to Jacqueline,
Duchess of Bedford. The visit was, perhaps, not altogether prompted by
courtesy. He was then watching, with great suspicion, the movements of
the Lancastrians, and he probably hoped to elicit from the duchess,
who was a friend of Margaret of Anjou, some intelligence as to the
intentions of the faction to which she belonged--forgetting, by-the-by,
that the duchess was a woman of great experience, and had long since,
under trying circumstances, learned how to make words conceal her
thoughts.

Jacqueline of Luxembourg, a daughter of the Count of St. Pol, when
young, lively, and beautiful, found herself given in marriage to
John, Duke of Bedford. John was a famous man, doubtless, but very
considerably the senior of his bride; and when he died at Rouen,
Jacqueline probably considered that, in any second matrimonial
alliance, she ought to take the liberty of consulting her own taste. In
any case, one of the duke's esquires, Richard Woodville by name, was
appointed to escort her to England; and he, being among the handsomest
men in Europe, made such an impression on the heart of the youthful
widow, that a marriage was the result. For seven long years their union
was kept secret; but at length circumstances rendered concealment
impossible, and the marriage became a matter of public notoriety.

The discovery that the widow of the foremost prince and soldier of
Europe had given her hand to a man who could not boast of a patrician
ancestor or a patriotic achievement caused much astonishment, and such
was the indignation of Jacqueline's own kinsmen that Woodville never
again ventured to show his face on the Continent. To the esquire and
the duchess, however, the consequences, though inconvenient, were not
ruinous. A fine of a thousand pounds was demanded from Woodville; and,
having paid that sum, he was put in possession of Jacqueline's castles.

As time passed on, the Duchess of Bedford, as "a foreign lady of
quality," insinuated herself into the good graces of Margaret of Anjou;
and Woodville was, through the interest of his wife, created a baron.
About the same period their eldest daughter, Elizabeth, became a maid
of honor to the queen, and, subsequently, wife of John Grey of Groby,
a zealous Lancastrian, who died after the second battle of St. Albans.
Finding herself a widow, and the times being troublous, Elizabeth
placed herself under the protection of her mother at Grafton. There she
was residing when the Yorkist king appeared to pay his respects to the
duchess.

Elizabeth probably regarded Edward's visit as providential. She had
two sons; and, as the partisans of York were by no means in a humor
to practice excessive leniency to the vanquished, the heirs of Grey
were in danger of losing lands and living for their father's adherence
to the Red Rose. Believing that she had now a capital opportunity of
obtaining the removal of the attainder, she resolved to throw herself
at the king's feet and implore his clemency.

An oak-tree between Grafton and Whittlebury Forest has since been
indicated by tradition as the scene of Elizabeth Woodville's first
interview with Edward of York. Standing under the branches, holding
her sons by the hand, and casting down her eyes with an affectation of
extreme modesty, the artful widow succeeded in arresting his attention.
Indeed, there was little chance of Edward of York passing such a being
without notice. Elizabeth was on the shady side of thirty, to be sure;
but time had not destroyed the charms that, fifteen years earlier, had
brought suitors around the portionless maid of honor. Her features were
remarkable for regularity; her complexion was fair and delicate, and
her hair of that pale golden hue then deemed indispensable in a beauty
of rank.

Edward's eye was arrested, and, being in the fever of youth, with a
heart peculiarly susceptible, he was captivated by the fair suppliant.
Too young and confident to believe in the possibility of his addresses
being rejected, the king made love, though not in such terms as please
the ear of a virtuous woman. Elizabeth, however, conducted herself with
rare discretion, and made her royal lover understand that monarchs
sometimes sigh in vain. At length the duchess took the matter in
hand; and, under the influence of a tactician so expert, the enamored
king set prudential considerations at defiance, and offered to take
the young widow for better or for worse. A secret marriage was then
projected; Jacqueline applied her energies to the business; and, with
her experience of matrimonial affairs, the duchess found no difficulty
in arranging every thing to satisfaction.

The ceremony was fixed for the 1st of May, and, since privacy was the
object, the day was well chosen. Indeed, May-day was the festival which
people regarded as next in importance to Christmas; and they were too
much taken up with its celebration to pry into the secrets of others.
It was while milkmaids, with pyramids of silver plate on their heads,
were dancing from door to door, and every body was preparing to dance
round the maypole, that Edward secretly met his bride at the chapel
of Grafton, and solemnized that marriage which was destined to bring
such evils on the country. As the duchess probably suspected that it
was not the first time the king had figured as a bridegroom, she was
careful, in the event of any dispute arising, to provide herself with
other witnesses than the priest and the mass-boy. With this view she
brought two of her waiting-women; and the king, having gone through the
ceremony, took his departure as secretly as he came. Ere long, however,
Edward intimated to the father of the bride that he intended to spend
some time with him at Grafton; and Woodville, who still feigned
ignorance of the marriage, took care that his royal son-in-law should
have nothing to complain of in regard to the entertainment.

Having thus wedded her daughter to the chief of the White Rose,
the Duchess of Bedford converted her husband and sons from violent
Lancastrians into unscrupulous Yorkists, and then manifested a strong
desire to have the marriage acknowledged. This was a most delicate
piece of business, and, managed clumsily, might have cost the king
his crown. It happened, however, that while Edward, in the shades of
Grafton, had forgotten every thing that he ought to have remembered,
Montagu, by his victory at Hexham, had so firmly established Edward's
power that the king deemed himself in a position to inflict signal
chastisement on any one venturesome enough to dispute his sovereign
will. Nevertheless, it was thought prudent to ascertain the feeling of
the nation before taking any positive step; and agents were employed
for that purpose.

Warwick and Montagu were not, of course, the men for this kind of
work. The chief person engaged in the inquiry, indeed, appears to have
been Sir John Howard, a knight of Norfolk, whose family had, in the
fourteenth century, been raised from obscurity by a successful lawyer,
and, in the fifteenth, elevated somewhat higher by a marriage with the
Mowbrays, about the time when the chief of that great house was under
attainder and in exile. Howard, inspired, perhaps, by his Mowbray
blood, cherished an ardent ambition to enroll his name among the old
nobility of England; and, to get one inch nearer the gratification
of his vanity, he appears to have undertaken any task, however
undignified. Even on this occasion he was not by any means too nice for
the duty to be performed; and he was careful to return an answer likely
to please those who were most interested. Finding that the Woodvilles
were rising in the world, he reported, to their satisfaction, that the
people were well disposed in regard to the king's marriage. At the same
time the aspiring knight was not forgetful of his own interests. He
entreated the Woodvilles to obtain, for himself and his spouse, places
in the new queen's household; and, by way of securing Elizabeth's
favor, presented her with a palfrey, as a mark of his devotion to her
service. What dependence was to be placed on the faith or honor of Sir
John Howard, Elizabeth Woodville found twenty years later, when her
hour of trial and tribulation came.

And now Edward, whose fortunes half the royal damsels of Europe, among
others Isabella of Castile, afterward the great Queen of Spain, were
eager to share, resolved upon declaring his marriage to the world; and,
with that purpose, he summoned a great council, to meet at the Abbey of
Reading, in the autumn of 1464. Having there presented Elizabeth to the
assembled peers as their queen, he ordered preparations to be made for
her coronation in the ensuing spring.

In the mean time, the king's marriage caused serious discontent.
Warwick and Edward's brother, the young Duke of Clarence, in
particular, expressed their displeasure; the barons murmured that
no King of England, since the Conquest, had dared to marry his own
subject; and ladies of high rank, like the Nevilles and De Veres, were,
in no slight degree, indignant at having set over them one whom they
had been accustomed to consider an inferior. At the same time, the
multitude, far from regarding the marriage with the favor which Sir
John Howard had led the Woodvilles to believe, raised the cry that the
Duchess of Bedford was a witch, and that it was under the influence of
the "forbidden spells" she practiced that the young king had taken the
fatal step of espousing her daughter.

But nobody was more annoyed at Edward's marriage than his own mother,
Cicely, Duchess of York, who, in other days, had been known in the
north as "The Rose of Raby," and who now maintained great state at
Baynard's Castle. From the beginning, Elizabeth found no favor in the
eyes of her mother-in-law. With the beauty of the Nevilles, Cicely
inherited a full share of their pride; and, in her husband's lifetime,
she had assumed something like regal state. To such a woman an
alliance with third-rate Lancastrians was mortifying, and she bitterly
reproached her son with the folly of the step he had taken. Moreover,
she upbraided him with faithlessness to another lady; but Edward
treated the matter with characteristic recklessness. "Madam," said he,
"for your objection of bigamy, by GOD'S Blessed Lady, let the bishop
lay it to my charge when I come to take orders; for I understand it
is forbidden to a priest, though I never wist it was forbidden to a
prince."

Not insensible, however, to the sneers of which Elizabeth was the
object, Edward determined on proving to his subjects that his bride
was, after all, of royal blood, and therefore no unfit occupant of
a throne. With this purpose he entreated Charles the Rash, Count
of Charolois, and heir of Burgundy, to send her uncle, James of
Luxembourg, to the coronation. The count, it appears, had never
acknowledged the existence of the Duchess of Bedford since her second
marriage; but, on hearing of the position Jacqueline's daughter had
attained, his sentiments as to the Woodville alliance underwent a
complete change, and he promised to take part in the coronation.

Faithful to his promise, the count appeared in England with a
magnificent retinue; and his niece was brought from the palace of
Eltham, conducted in great state through the city of London, and
crowned, with much pomp, at Westminster. Hardly, however, had Elizabeth
Woodville been invested with the symbols of royalty, than she found
the crown sit uneasily on her head. The efforts made to render King
Edward's marriage popular had failed. Even the presence of a Count
of Luxembourg had not produced the effect anticipated. Still the old
barons of England grumbled fiercely; and still the people continued to
denounce the Duchess of Bedford as a sorceress who had bewitched the
king into marrying her daughter. Ere long, this widow of a Lancastrian
knight, when sharing the throne of the Yorkist king, found that, with
the White Rose, she had plucked the thorn.

The new queen conducted herself in such a way as rapidly to increase
the prejudices of the nation. After her marriage she too frequently
reminded people of the school in which she had studied the functions
of royalty. Indeed, Elizabeth Woodville, when elevated to a throne,
assumed a tone which great queens like Eleanor of Castile and Philippa
of Hainault would never have dreamed of using. Charitably inclined
as the patrician ladies of England might be, they could hardly help
remarking that Margaret of Anjou's maid of honor did credit to the
training of her mistress.

The people of England might have learned to bear much from Edward's
wife; but, unfortunately, the queen was intimately associated in the
public mind with the rapacity of her "kindred." Elizabeth's father,
Richard Woodville, was created Earl Rivers, and appointed Treasurer of
England; and she had numerous brothers and sisters, for all of whom
fortunes had to be provided. Each of the sisters was married to a noble
husband--Katherine, the youngest, to Henry Stafford, the boy-Duke of
Buckingham; and for each of the brothers an heiress to high titles and
great estates had to be found. Unfortunately, while the Woodvilles
were pursuing their schemes of family aggrandizement, their interests
clashed with those of two powerful and popular personages. These were
the Duchess of York and the Earl of Warwick.

Among the old nobility of England, whose names are chronicled by
Dugdale, the Lord Scales occupied an eminent position. At an early
period they granted lands to religious houses and made pilgrimages to
the Holy Land, and in later days fought with the Plantagenet kings in
the wars of Scotland and France. The last chief of the name, who, after
Northampton, suffered for his fidelity to the house of Lancaster, left
no sons. One daughter, however, survived him; and this lady, having
been married to a younger son of the Earl of Essex, was now a widow,
twenty-four years of age, and one of the richest heiresses in England.

Upon the heiress of Scales, Elizabeth Woodville and the Duchess of York
both set their hearts. The Duchess wished to marry the wealthy widow to
her son George, Duke of Clarence; and the queen was not less anxious to
bestow the young lady's hand on her brother, Anthony Woodville, who was
one of the most accomplished gentlemen of the age. The contest between
the mother-in-law and the daughter-in-law was, doubtless, keen. The
queen, however, carried her point; and the duchess retreating, baffled
and indignant, wrapped herself up in cold hauteur.

Of all the English heiresses of that day, the greatest, perhaps, was
the daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Exeter. The duke, having fought
at Towton and Hexham for the Red Rose, was now braving poverty and
exile for the house of Lancaster; but the duchess had not deemed it
necessary to make any such sacrifice. Being a daughter of the Duke of
York, she remained quietly at the court of King Edward, her brother,
and, while enjoying the estates of her banished husband, acquired the
right to dispose of his daughter's hand.

The heiress of the Hollands was, of course, a prize much coveted;
and Warwick thought her hand so desirable, that he solicited her in
marriage for his nephew, young George Neville, the son of Lord Montagu.
The queen, however, was determined to obtain this heiress for her
eldest son, Thomas Grey, who had been created Marquis of Dorset. The
Duchess of Exeter was, accordingly, dealt with, and in such a fashion
that the earl was disappointed, while the queen congratulated her son
on having obtained a bride worthy of the rank to which he had been
elevated.

Warwick was nephew of the Duchess of York, and both had already a
grievance of which to complain. They were now to have their family
pride wounded in a manner which, to souls so haughty, must have been
well-nigh intolerable.

Long ere the Wars of the Roses were thought of, Katherine Neville,
elder sister of the proud duchess, and aunt of "The Stout Earl," was
espoused by John Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk. The duke departed this life
in 1433, and Katherine gave her hand to an esquire named Strangways.
When time passed on, and Strangways died, she consoled herself with a
third husband in the person of Viscount Beaumont. The viscount went the
way the duke and the esquire had gone, and Katherine found herself a
third time a widow. But the dowager had buried her share of husbands;
she had passed the age of eighty; and as to a fourth dash at matrimony,
that was surely a subject which could never have entered into her head.

The Woodvilles were aware of the existence of the old Duchess of
Norfolk, and knew that the venerable dame was rich; and the queen's
youngest brother remained to be provided for. Setting decency at
defiance, they resolved upon a match; and though the wealthy dowager
had considerably passed the age of fourscore, and John Woodville had
just emerged from his teens, a marriage was solemnized. The nation
was deeply disgusted with the avarice manifested on this occasion.
Even Sir John Howard must now have confessed that the king's alliance
with the Woodvilles was not quite so satisfactory to the people as he
had predicted. The clamor raised was too loud and general to be either
disregarded or suppressed. The Nevilles must have writhed under the
ridicule to which their aged kinswoman was exposed; other adherents of
the White Rose must have blushed for the disgrace reflected on Edward
of York from his wife's family; and the Lancastrian exiles, wearing
threadbare garments and bearing fictitious names, as they climbed
narrow stairs and consumed meagre fare in the rich cities of Flanders,
must have felt hope and taken heart, when to their ears came tidings of
the shout of indignation which all England was raising against the new
"queen's kindred."




CHAPTER XIX.

THE LANCASTRIANS IN EXILE.


On that day when Lord Montagu inflicted so severe a defeat on the
Lancastrians at Hexham, and while the shouts of victory rose and
swelled with the breeze, a lady of thirty-five, but still possessing
great personal attractions, accompanied by a boy just entering his
teens, fled for safety into a forest which then extended over the
district, and was known far and wide as a den of outlaws. The lady was
Margaret of Anjou; the boy was Edward of Lancaster; and, unfortunately
for them, under the circumstances, the dress and appearance of the
royal fugitives marked them too plainly as personages of the highest
rank.

While treading the forest path with a tremulous haste, which indicated
some apprehension of pursuit, Margaret and her son suddenly found
themselves face to face with a band of ferocious robbers. The bandits
were far from paying any respect to the queen's rank or sex. Having
seized her jewels and other valuables, they dragged her forcibly before
the chief of the gang, held a drawn sword before her eyes, and menaced
her with instant death. Margaret besought them to spare her life,
but her prayers and tears had no effect whatever in melting their
hearts; and they appeared on the point of carrying their threats into
execution, when, luckily, they fell to wrangling over the partition of
the spoil, and, ere long, took to settling the dispute by strength of
hand.

Alarmed, as Margaret well might be, she did not lose her presence of
mind. No sooner did she observe the bandits fighting among themselves
than she looked around for a way of escape; and, seizing a favorable
opportunity, she hurried her son into a thicket which concealed them
from view. Pursuing their way till the shades of evening closed over
the forest, the royal fugitives, faint from fatigue and want of food,
seated themselves under an oak-tree, and bewailed their fate.

No wonder that, at such moments of desolation and distress, the
Lancastrian queen felt a temptation to rid herself of a life which
misfortune made so miserable. Even the heroic spirit of Margaret might
have given way under circumstances so depressing as those in which she
was now placed. But a new and unexpected danger occurred to recall her
to energy while indulging in those pensive reflections; for, as the
moon began to shine through the branches of the trees, she suddenly
became aware of the approach of an armed man of huge stature. At first
she was under the impression that he was one of the robbers from whom
she had already experienced treatment so cruel, and gave herself up
for lost; but seeing, by the light of the moon, that his dress and
appearance were quite different, she breathed a prayer, and resolved
upon a great effort to save herself and her son.

Margaret knew that escape was impossible. She, therefore, made no
attempt at flight; but, rising, she took her son by the hand, advanced
to meet the man, explained in pathetic language the distress in which
she was, and, as a woman and a princess, claimed his protection. "It
is the unfortunate Queen of England," said Margaret, "who has fallen
into your hands;" and then, suiting the action to the word, she added
in accents not to be resisted, "There, my friend, I commit to your care
the safety of your king's son."

The queen had taken a bold course, but she had correctly calculated
the effect of her appeal. Her courage and presence of mind had saved
her. The generosity of the outlaw prevailed; and, touched with the
confidence reposed in him, he threw himself at Margaret's feet, and
vowed to do all in his power to save the mother and the son. Having
once promised, the man of the forest kept his word with a loyalty
that his betters might have envied. He conducted the fugitives to his
dwelling in a rock, which is still shown as "The Queen's Cave,"
instructed his wife to do every thing that would tend to their comfort,
and promised to discover for them the means of escape.

[Illustration: THE QUEEN IN THE OUTLAW'S CAVE.]

Leaving Margaret and her son in his cave, the mouth of which was
protected by the bank of a rivulet, and screened from view by
brushwood, the outlaw went to inquire after such of her friends as had
escaped the carnage of Hexham. More fortunate than could have been
expected, he met Sir Peter Brezé, who was wandering about looking for
the queen, and, soon after, Brezé found the Duke of Exeter, who had
concealed himself in a neighboring village, and, with the duke, Edmund
Beaufort, who had now, by the death of his brother on the scaffold,
become head of the house of Somerset. With these noblemen, Margaret and
the prince went secretly to Carlisle, and there, with the assistance of
the generous outlaw, embarked for Kirkcudbright.

Margaret, on reaching Scotland, visited Edinburgh to make another
appeal to the government, but was not successful in obtaining farther
aid. In fact, although the matrimonial negotiations between Mary of
Gueldres and Edward of York had come to naught, the Scottish government
was now utterly hostile to the interests of Lancaster. The Duke of
Burgundy, hereditary foe of Margaret, had sent Louis de Bruges, one of
his noblemen, as embassador to the Scottish court, and contrived to
make the regency play false, repudiate the marriage between the Prince
of Wales and the Princess of Scotland, and conclude a treaty with the
new King of England.

The Lancastrians now perceived that for the present action was
impossible, and exile inevitable. Even in France their influence had
diminished; for, since Margaret's visit to Paris, Mary of Anjou, her
aunt and the mother of Louis, had died; and less inclination than
ever felt the crafty king to make sacrifices for his fiery kinswoman.
Margaret, therefore, yielded to fate, and, not without vowing vengeance
on Burgundy, submitted to the harsh necessity of once more returning
to the Continent. With this view, she repaired to Bamburgh, which was
still held by Lancastrians, and with her son, and Sir Peter Brezé, and
seven ladies, she embarked for France.

It was summer, but notwithstanding the season the weather proved
unpropitious, and the unfortunate queen, driven by adverse winds, was
under the necessity of putting into a port belonging to the Duke of
Burgundy. Enemy of her father as the duke was, Margaret determined upon
seeing him, and, suppressing all feelings of delicacy, she dispatched a
messenger to demand an interview.

The house of Burgundy, like that of Anjou, derived descent from the
kings of France, but had been blessed with far fairer fortunes. About
1360, on the death of Philip de Rouvre, the dukedom, having reverted
to the crown, was bestowed by King John on his fourth son, Philip
the Bold. Philip played his cards well. While his brother Charles
was struggling with the English, he became an independent prince by
espousing the heiress of Flanders; and his son, John the Fearless,
played a conspicuous part in those civil commotions that preceded
the battle of Agincourt. The son of John, known as Philip the Good,
affected greater state than any prince of his age, and instituted the
order of the Golden Fleece to mark the splendor of his reign.

Philip's first wife was Michelle, daughter of the King of France, and
sister of Katherine de Valois. His second wife was Isabel of Portugal,
a granddaughter of John of Gaunt. The good duke was, therefore, nearly
and doubly connected with the house of Lancaster. Unfortunately,
however, Philip had proved an enemy of King René; and Margaret,
who from infancy had cherished a bitter hatred toward the house of
Burgundy, was reputed to have vowed that if ever the duke was at her
mercy the executioner's axe should pass between his head and his
shoulders. Such having been the language held by the queen, it is not
wonderful that the duke, while receiving her message with politeness,
should have pleaded sickness as an excuse for not granting her a
personal interview.

Margaret was in no mood to be satisfied with excuses. She had expressed
her intention of seeing the duke, and was determined to accomplish her
purpose. She was hardly in a condition, indeed, to pay a royal visit,
for her purse was empty, and her wardrobe reduced to the smallest
compass. But, scorning to be subdued by fortune, the queen hired a cart
covered with canvas, and, leaving her son at Bruges, commenced her
progress to St. Pol, where the duke was then residing. It was about the
time when Margaret, dressed in threadbare garments, was traveling from
Bruges to St. Pol in a covered cart, that, in the Abbey of Reading, her
maid of honor, Elizabeth Woodville, was presented to peers and prelates
as Queen of England.

While pursuing her journey, with a spirit of heroism which set outward
circumstances at defiance, Margaret was met by Charles the Rash, that
impersonation of feudal pride, whose exploits against the Swiss, when
Duke of Burgundy, have been celebrated by Sir Walter Scott. Charles,
at this time, had hardly passed the age of thirty, and, as son and
heir of Philip the Good, with whom he was then at enmity, bore the
title of Count of Charolois. As the son of Isabel of Portugal, and
great-grandson of John of Gaunt, the count had always declared himself
friendly to the house of Lancaster, and he now manifested his sympathy
by treating Margaret with chivalrous respect. Moreover, on being made
aware of her extreme poverty, Charolois presented her with five hundred
crowns; and Burgundy, hearing of the landing of English forces at
Calais, sent a body of his archers to escort her from Bethune to St.
Pol. Having, after her interview with Charolois, pursued her way toward
Bethune, and escaped some English horsemen who lay in wait to arrest
her, she reached St. Pol in safety.

Duke Philip did not immediately grant Margaret an interview. After some
delay, however, he indulged her wish; and, touched with compassion at
the sight of a great queen reduced to a plight so hapless, entertained
her with princely courtesy, and treated her with all the honors due
to royalty. Having listened to the story of Margaret's woes, he gave
her two thousand crowns of gold, and advised her to await events with
patience. As Margaret parted from the duke her heart melted, and she
shed tears as she bade adieu to the old man whom she had threatened to
behead as she had done York and Salisbury. Perhaps on that occasion
she, for one of the first times in her life, felt something like
remorse. "The queen," says Monstrelet, "repented much and thought
herself unfortunate that she had not sooner thrown herself on the
protection of the noble Duke of Burgundy, as her affairs would probably
have prospered better."

Having returned to Bruges, and been joined by the Prince of Wales,
Margaret paid a visit to the Count of Charolois. Never were royal
exiles more royally treated. The count exhibited a degree of delicacy
and generosity worthy of an earlier era; and, indeed, was so
deferential, that the Prince of Wales, who had known little of royalty
but its perils and misfortunes, could not refrain from expressing his
surprise.

"These honors," said the boy, "are not due from you to us; neither
in your father's dominions should precedence be given to persons so
destitute as we are."

"Unfortunate though you be," answered the count, "you are the son of
the King of England, while I am only the son of a ducal sovereign; and
that is not so high a rank."

Leaving Bruges with her son, Margaret was escorted to Barr with all
the honor due to the royal rank. At Barr, the exiled queen was met
and welcomed by her father, King René, who gave her an old castle in
Verdun as a residence till better days should come. Thither Margaret
went to establish her little court; and thither, to be educated in the
accomplishments in fashion at the period, she carried the young prince
around whom all her hopes now clustered.

Two hundred Lancastrians of name and reputation shared the exile of
Margaret of Anjou. Among these were Lord Kendal, a Gascon; the Bishop
of St. Asaph, the young Lord De Roos and his kinsman, Sir Henry; John
Courtenay, younger brother of Devon's Earl; Edmund Beaufort, the
new Duke of Somerset, and his brother John, whom the Lancastrians
called Marquis of Dorset; Henry Holland, Duke of Exeter--always,
notwithstanding his relationship to Edward, faithful to the Red Rose;
Jasper Tudor, who clung to Lancaster as if with a prophetic notion that
with the fortunes of the house were associated those of his own family;
John Morton, Parson of Blokesworth, whose talents subsequently made him
a cardinal and an archbishop; and Sir John Fortescue, Chief Justice of
England, one of the most upright judges who ever wore the ermine. Such
men, when the fortunes of the house of Lancaster were at their worst,
were prepared to suffer poverty and want in Henry's cause.

The banished queen could ill brook the obscurity of Verdun. It soon
appeared that, notwithstanding so many disheartening reverses, Margaret
retained her courage unimpaired; and that want, disappointment,
mortification, had been unable to break her spirit or conquer her
ambition. Hardly had the court of the exiles been formed at Verdun,
when the queen renewed her efforts to regain the crown which she had
already found so thorny.

At that time Alphonso the Fifth reigned in Portugal; and Portugal
was rich, owing to the quantity of gold yearly brought from Guinea.
Moreover, King Alphonso was a remarkable man. In his fiery nature were
blended all the elements of love, chivalry, and religion; and though
living in the fifteenth century he resembled a paladin of the age of
Roland and Oliver. Through his grandmother, Philippa of Lancaster,
Alphonso inherited the blood of John of Gaunt; and it was supposed
that he would naturally feel much of that sympathy for the house of
Lancaster which had been ever expressed by the Count of Charolois.

Accordingly, Margaret turned her eyes toward Portugal for aid, and
employed John Butler, Earl of Ormond, to enlist Alphonso in her cause.
Ormond, who, upon the execution of his brother, the Earl of Wiltshire,
after Towton, had become the chief of the Butlers, was one of the
most accomplished gentlemen of his age, and a master of the various
languages then spoken in Europe. No fitter embassador could have been
found; but he was not successful. In fact, although Alphonso was all
his life engaged in chimerical enterprises, he could hardly have
indulged in the delusion of being able to wrest a crown from Edward
Plantagenet and Richard Neville. Not even that knight-errant would risk
reputation against such odds. At all events the negotiation appears
to have come to naught; and Ormond, doubtless, convinced that the
fortunes of Lancaster were hopeless, returned to England, and made his
submission. Edward restored the accomplished nobleman to the honors and
estates of the Butlers, with a complimentary remark. "If good-breeding
and liberal qualities," said the king, "were lost in all the world,
they would still be found in the Earl of Ormond."

About the time when Ormond's mission failed, Margaret received
intelligence that her husband had fallen into the hands of her enemies.
Finding, perhaps, that Scottish hospitality was hard to bear, Henry,
about a year after Hexham, removed to the north of England, and in
July, 1465, while sitting at dinner in Waddington Hall, he was seized
by Sir John Harrington, and sent prisoner to London. At Islington the
captive king was met by Warwick, who lodged him securely in the Tower;
and Henry, treated with humanity, forgot, in the practice of a monkish
devotion, the crown he had lost and the world he had left.

The captivity of their king was not the only misfortune which, at this
period, befell the Lancastrians. In 1467, Harleck Castle, their last
strong-hold, was under the necessity of yielding. Davydd ap Jefan ap
Einion held out to the last; but when the garrison was on the point
of starvation, the brave Welsh captain listened to the dictates of
humanity, and surrendered with honor.

Even after the fall of Harleck, Margaret's high spirit sustained her
hopes. In 1467, she is understood to have come to London, disguised
as a priest, to rouse her partisans to action, and even to have had
an interview with her husband in the Tower. Next year she sent Jasper
Tudor to Wales; and he laid siege to Denbigh. King Edward himself
was in the castle, and the utmost peril of being taken prisoner. He
contrived to escape, however; and the fortress surrendered. But a
Yorkist named William Herbert went with an army, and inflicted such
a defeat on Jasper that he was fain to escape to the Continent.
Nevertheless, in October, Margaret lay at Harfleur threatening an
invasion. Edward, however, sent his brother-in-law, Anthony Woodville,
who now, in right of his wife, figured as Lord Scales, to attack the
fleet of his old patroness; and the exiled queen, seeing no chance of
success, abandoned her expedition in despair.

But even in despair Margaret could show herself heroic and sublime.
Thus, when some of her Continental kinsfolk were, in a vulgar spirit,
lamenting her unfortunate marriage, and describing her union with the
unhappy Henry as the cause of all her misfortune, she raised her head
with regal pride, and contemptuously rebuked their foolish talk. "On
the day of my betrothal," exclaimed she, with poetic eloquence, "when
I accepted the Rose of England, I knew that I must wear the rose entire
and with all its thorns."

In the midst of adversity the exiled queen had one consolation. Edward,
Prince of Wales, was a son of whom any mother might have been proud,
and day by day he grew more accomplished in the warlike exercises of
the age. Nor, though in almost hopeless adversity, did the prince lack
instruction in weightier matters; for Fortescue undertook the task of
educating the banished heir of Lancaster, endeavored so to form the
mind of the royal boy as to enable him to enact in after years the part
of a patriot-king, and compiled for his pupil the "_De Laudibus Legum
Angliæ_;" a work explaining the laws of England, and suggesting the
improvements that might with advantage be introduced.

Five years of exile passed over; and during that time every attempt of
the Lancastrians to better their position proved disastrous. It was
when matters were at the worst--when the Red Rose had disappeared,
and the Red Rose-tree had withered from England--that circumstances
occurred which inspired the despairing adherents of the captive king
with high hopes, diverted the thoughts of the exiled queen from
reminiscences of the past to speculations on the future, and opened up
to her son the prospect of a throne, only to conduct him to an untimely
grave.




CHAPTER XX.

WARWICK AND THE WOODVILLES.


At a court, over which Elizabeth Woodville exercised all the influence
derived from her rank as a queen and her fascination as a woman, the
Earl of Warwick was somewhat out of place. By Woodvilles, Herberts,
and Howards, he was regarded with awe and envy as the haughtiest
representative of England's patricians. Especially to the queen and
her kinsmen his presence was irksome; and, knowing that any attempt
to make "The Stout Earl" a courtier after the Woodville pattern was
hopeless as to convert a bird of prey into a barn-door fowl, they were
at no pains to conceal the pleasure they felt in mortifying his pride
and destroying his influence. One possibility does not seem to have
struck them. The Woodvilles themselves, to receive benefits, had been
suddenly converted from the Red Rose to the White; Warwick, to avenge
the nation's injuries and his own, might as suddenly be converted from
the White Rose to the Red.

Notwithstanding the exile of Lancastrians and the discontent of
Yorkists, no court in Christendom was more brilliant than that of
King Edward. Indeed, foreign embassadors confessed, with mingled
envy and admiration, that their eyes were dazzled by the surpassing
loveliness of the damsels who appeared at state balls in the Palace
of Westminster; and among these fair beings, perhaps, none was more
interesting than the king's sister, Margaret, youngest daughter of
Richard Plantagenet and Cicely Neville.

Two daughters of the Duke of York were already wives. Both had been
married to English dukes--one to Exeter, another to Suffolk; and it
was known that Edward, having, by his union with Elizabeth Woodville,
lost the opportunity of allying himself with the Continental dynasties,
contemplated for his remaining sister a marriage with some foreign
prince capable of aiding him in case of a change of fortune.

Suitors were not, of course, wanting when so fair a princess as
Margaret Plantagenet was to be won; and it happened that while Warwick
was at feud with the Woodvilles--while the populace were clamoring
against the new men with whom the king's court swarmed--her hand was
contended for by Louis of France, for a prince of the blood royal,
and by Louis of Bruges for the Count of Charolois, who, since his
interview with Margaret of Anjou, had taken up arms against Louis and
defeated him in the battle of Montlhéry. The choice was a matter of
some difficulty; for the Woodvilles and Warwick took different sides
of the question. The queen's kindred favored the suit of the Count of
Charolois; while "The Stout Earl," between whom and the Burgundian
no amity existed, declared decidedly for an alliance with France.
Edward was in some perplexity, but at length he yielded to the earl's
arguments; and, in 1467, the frank, unsuspecting king-maker departed to
negotiate a marriage with that celebrated master of kingcraft, whose
maxim was, that he who knew not how to dissemble knew not how to reign.

When Louis heard of Warwick's embassy he could not help thinking the
occasion favorable for the exercise of his craft. He resolved to give
the earl such a reception as might stir the jealousy of Edward, and
acted in such a manner as to create in the breast of the English king
suspicions of the powerful noble who had placed him on a throne. Having
landed at Harfleur, Warwick was, on the 7th of June, conveyed in a
barge to the village of La Bouille, on the Seine. On arriving at La
Bouille, he found a magnificent banquet prepared for him, and the king
ready to act as host. After having been sumptuously feasted, Warwick
embarked in his boat for Rouen, whither the king and his attendants
went by land; and the inhabitants of the town met the earl at the gate
of the Quay St. Eloy, where the king had ordered a most honorable
reception. Banners, crosses, and holy water were then presented to
Warwick by priests in their copes; and he was conducted in procession
to the cathedral, where he made his oblation, and thence to lodgings
prepared for him at the monastery of the Jacobins.

Having thus received Warwick with the honors usually paid to royalty,
Louis entertained the great earl in a style corresponding with the
reception; and even ordered the queen and princesses to come to Rouen
to testify their respect. The crafty king, meantime, did not refrain
from those mischievous tricks at which he was such an adept. While
Warwick staid at Rouen Louis lodged in the next house, and visited the
earl at all hours, passing through a private door with such an air of
mystery, as might, when reported to Edward, raise suspicions that some
conspiracy had been hatching.

After the conference at Rouen had lasted for twelve days, Louis
departed for Chartres, and Warwick set sail for England. The earl
had been quite successful in the object of his mission; and he was
accompanied home by the Archbishop of Narbonne, charged by Louis to put
the finishing stroke to the treaty which was to detach the French king
forever from the Lancastrian alliance.

Meanwhile, the Woodvilles had not been idle. Far from submitting
patiently to the earl's triumph, they had labored resolutely to mortify
his pride and frustrate his mission. The business was artfully
managed. Anthony Woodville, in the name of the ladies of England,
revived an old challenge to Anthony, Count de la Roche, an illegitimate
son of the Duke of Burgundy; and the count, commonly called "The
Bastard of Burgundy," having accepted the challenge, with the usual
forms, intimated his intention to come to England without delay.

The news crept abroad that a great passage of arms was to take place;
and the highest expectations were excited by the prospect. The king
himself entered into the spirit of the business, consented to act as
umpire, and made such arrangements as, it was conceived, would render
the tournament memorable. Several months were spent in adjusting the
preliminaries; and the noblest knights of France and Scotland were
invited to honor the tournament with their presence.

At length the Bastard of Burgundy arrived in London with a splendid
retinue; and lists were erected in Smithfield, with pavilions for the
combatants, and galleries around for the ladies of Edward's court and
other noble personages who had been invited to witness the pageant. On
the 11th of June, all the ceremonies prescribed by the laws of chivalry
having been performed, the combatants prepared for the encounter,
and advanced on horseback from their pavilions into the middle of
the inclosed space. After having answered the usual questions, they
took their places in the lists, and, at the sound of trumpet, spurred
their steeds and charged each other with sharp spears. Both champions,
however, bore themselves fairly in the encounter, and parted with equal
honor.

On the second day of the Smithfield tournament, the result was somewhat
less gratifying to the Burgundian. On this occasion the champions
again fought on horseback; and, as it happened, the steed of Anthony
Woodville had a long and sharp pike of steel on his chaffron. This
weapon was destined to have great influence on the fortunes of the day;
for, while the combatants were engaged hand to hand, the pike's point
entered the nostrils of the Bastard's steed, and the animal, infuriated
by the pain, reared and plunged till he fell on his side. The Bastard
was, of course, borne to the ground; and Anthony Woodville, riding
round about with his drawn sword, asked his opponent to yield. At this
point, the marshals, by the king's command, interfered, and extricated
the Burgundian from his fallen steed. "I could not hold me by the
clouds," exclaimed the brave Bastard; "but, though my horse fail me,
I will not fail my encounter." The king, however, decided against the
combat being then renewed.

Another day arrived, and the champions, armed with battle-axes,
appeared on foot within the lists. This day proved as unfortunate
for the Bastard as the former had been. Both knights, indeed, bore
themselves valiantly; but, at a critical moment, the point of
Woodville's axe penetrated the sight-hole of his antagonist's helmet,
and, availing himself of this advantage, Anthony was on the point of
so twisting his weapon as to bring the Burgundian to his knee. At that
instant, however, the king cast down his warder, and the marshals
hastened to sever the combatants. The Bastard, having no relish for
being thus worsted, declared himself far from content, and demanded
of the king, in the name of justice, that he should be allowed to
perform his enterprise. Edward thereupon appealed to the marshals; and
they, having considered the matter, decided that by the laws of the
tournament the Burgundian was entitled to have his demand granted;
but that, in such a case, he must be delivered to his adversary in
precisely the same predicament as when the king interfered--in fact,
with the point of Anthony Woodville's weapon thrust into the crevice
of his visor: "which," says Dugdale, "when the Bastard understood, he
relinquished his farther challenge."

The tournament at Smithfield, unlike "the gentle passage at Ashby,"
terminated without bloodshed. Indeed, neither Anthony Woodville nor his
antagonist felt any ambition to die in their harness in the lists; and
the Bastard, in visiting England, had a much more practical object in
view than to afford amusement to gossiping citizens. He was, in fact,
commissioned by the Count of Charolois to press the English king on
the subject of a match with Margaret of York; and he played his part
so well as to elicit from Edward, notwithstanding Warwick's embassy, a
promise that the hand of the princess should be given to the heir of
Burgundy. When Warwick returned from France and found what had been
done in his absence, he considered that he had been dishonored. Such
usage would, at any time, have grated hard on the earl's heart; and
the idea of the Woodvilles having been the authors of this wrong made
his blood boil with indignation. He forthwith retired to Middleham, in
a humor the reverse of serene, and there brooded over his wrongs in a
mood the reverse of philosophic.

The king did not allow the king-maker's anger to die for want of fuel.
On the contrary, having given Warwick serious cause of offense, he
added insult to injury by pretending that the earl had been gained over
by Louis to the Lancastrian cause, and that the state was in no small
danger from his treasonable attempts. At the same time, he abruptly
deprived George Neville, Archbishop of York,[8] of the office of
chancellor--thus indicating still farther distrust of the great family
to whose efforts he owed his crown.

While rumors as to Warwick's new-born sympathies with the house of
Lancaster were afloat, the Castle of Harleck fell into the king's
hands. Within the fortress was taken an agent of Margaret; and he, on
being put to the rack, declared that Warwick, during his mission to
France, had, at Rouen, spoken with favor of the exiled queen, during a
confidential conversation with Louis. Warwick treated the accusation
with contempt, and declined to leave his castle to be confronted with
the accuser.

This unfortunate incident was little calculated to smooth the way for a
reconciliation. Nevertheless, the Archbishop of York, who had a keen
eye for his own interest, undertook to mediate between his brother and
the king. The churchman was successful in his efforts; and in July,
1468, when Margaret Plantagenet departed from England for her new home,
Warwick rode before her, through the city of London, as if to indicate
by his presence that he had withdrawn his objections to her marriage
with the Count of Charolois, who, in the previous year, on the death of
his father, had succeeded to the ducal sovereignty of Burgundy.

The chroniclers might with propriety have described this as a second
"dissimulated love-day." No true reconcilement could take place
between the king and the king-maker. Warwick considered Edward the
most ungrateful of mankind; and the king thought of the earl, as the
Regent-Duke of Albany said of the third Lord Home, that "he was too
great to be a subject." The king regarded Warwick's patriotic counsel
with aversion: the earl's discontent could be read by the multitude in
his frank face. Each, naturally, began to calculate his strength.

Edward had one source of consolation. In giving his sister to Burgundy
he had gained a potent ally on the Continent; and he rejoiced to think
that, in the event of a change of fortune, a relative so near would
assuredly befriend him. Edward, like other men, deceived himself on
such subjects. He little imagined how soon he would have to ask his
brother-in-law's protection, and how he should find that Burgundy,
while taking a wife from the house of York, had not quite laid his
prejudices in favor of the house of Lancaster.

Warwick, on his part, felt aught rather than satisfied. Notwithstanding
his appearance at court, he was brooding over the injury that he had
received. Convinced of the expediency of making friends, he addressed
himself to the king's brothers--George, Duke of Clarence, and Richard,
Duke of Gloucester. Of Gloucester the earl could make nothing. The
wily boy played with his dagger as he was wont, and maintained such
a reserve that it would have been imprudent to trust him. With
Clarence the earl had more success. Indeed, the duke complained of
the king's unkindness; and particularly that though Edward had given
rich heiresses to Dorset and Woodville, he had found no match for his
own brother. Having both something of which to complain, the earl and
the duke formed an alliance offensive and defensive; and a project
was formed for binding them to each other by a tie which the Nevilles
deemed could hardly be broken.

Warwick had not been blessed with a son to inherit his vast estates,
his great name, and his popularity, which was quite undiminished. He,
however, had two daughters--Isabel and Anne--whose birth and lineage
were such as to put them on a level with any prince in Europe. It
appears that Isabel had inspired Clarence with an ardent attachment;
but the king and "the queen's kindred" were averse to a match. Warwick
now declared that the marriage should take place in spite of their
hostility; and Clarence agreed, for Isabel's sake, to defy both Edward
and the Woodvilles.

Having taken their resolution, the duke and the earl, in the summer
of 1469, sailed for Calais, of which Warwick was still governor.
Preparations were made for uniting Clarence and Isabel; and in the
month of July, "in the Chapel of Our Lady," the ill-starred marriage
was solemnized with a pomp befitting the rank of a Plantagenet
bridegroom and a Neville bride.

King Edward no sooner heard of this marriage than he expressed strong
displeasure. Unkind words passed in consequence; and, from that date,
no affection existed between the king and the king-maker. About the
same time there appeared in the heavens a comet, such as had been
seen on the eve of great national changes--as before Hastings, which
gave England to the Norman yoke, and Evesham, which freed Englishmen
from the domination of a foreign baronage and an alien church. The
superstitious were immediately struck with the "blazing star," and
expressed their belief that it heralded a political revolution. Others
did not look at the sky for signs of a coming struggle. Indeed, those
who were capable of comprehending the events passing before them could
entertain little doubt that England had not yet seen the last of the
Wars of the Roses.




CHAPTER XXI.

DESPOTISM, DISCONTENT, AND DISORDER.


While the Woodvilles were supreme, and while Edward was under their
influence disheartening the ancient barons of England, and alienating
the great noble to whom he owed the proudest crown in Christendom, the
imprudent king did not ingratiate himself with the multitude by any
display of respect for those rights and liberties to maintain which
Warwick had won Northampton and Towton. Indeed, the government was
disfigured by acts of undisguised tyranny; and torture, albeit known
to be illegal in England, was freely used, as during the Lancastrian
rule, to extort evidence. Even the laws of the first Edward and his
great minister, Robert de Burnel, were in danger of going as much out
of fashion as the chain armor in which Roger Bigod and Humphrey Bohun
charged at Lewes and Evesham.

Edward's first victim was William Walker. This man kept a tavern in
Cheapside, known as "The Crown," and there a club, composed of young
men, had been in the habit of meeting. These fell under the suspicion
of being Lancastrians, and were supposed to be plotting a restoration.
No evidence to that effect existed; but, unfortunately, the host,
being one day in a jocular mood, while talking to his son, who was a
boy, said, "Tom, if thou behavest thyself, I'll make thee heir to the
crown." Every body knew that Walker's joke alluded to his sign; yet,
when the words were reported, he was arrested, and, as if in mockery of
common sense, indicted for imagining and compassing the death of the
king. The prisoner pleaded his innocence of any evil intention, but his
protestations were of no avail. He was found guilty, in defiance of
justice, and hanged, in defiance of mercy.

The next case, that of a poor cobbler, if not so utterly unjust, was
equally impolitic and still more cruel. Margaret of Anjou was, at
that time, using every effort to regain her influence in England, and
many persons, supposed to possess letters from the exiled queen, were
tortured and put to death on that suspicion. Of these the cobbler was
one, and one of the most severely punished. Having been apprehended
on the charge of aiding Margaret to correspond with her partisans in
England, he was tortured to death with red-hot pincers.

Even when the sufferers were Lancastrians, the barbarity of such
proceedings could not fail to make the flesh creep and the blood
curdle; but the case became still more iniquitous when government
laid hands on men attached to the house of York; when the Woodvilles,
who had themselves been Lancastrians, singled out as victims stanch
partisans of the White Rose.

Sir Thomas Cooke was one of the most reputable citizens of London,
and, in the second year of Edward's reign, had fulfilled the highest
municipal functions. Unfortunately for him, also, he had the reputation
of being so wealthy as to tempt plunder. Earl Rivers and the Duchess
of Bedford appear to have thought so; and exerted their influence with
the king to have the ex-mayor arrested on a charge of treason, and
committed to the Tower.

It appears that, in an evil hour for Cooke, a man named Hawkins had
called on him and requested the loan of a thousand marks, on good
security; but Sir Thomas said he should, in the first place, like to
know for whom the money was, and, in the second, for what purpose
it was intended. Hawkins frankly stated it was for the use of Queen
Margaret; and Cooke thereupon declined to lend a penny. Hawkins went
away, and the matter rested for some time. Sir Thomas was not, however,
destined to escape; for Hawkins, having been taken to the Tower and put
to the brake, called "the Duke of Exeter's daughter," confessed so much
in regard to himself that he was put to death; and at the same time,
under the influence of excessive pain, stated that Cooke had lent the
money to Margaret of Anjou.

The Woodvilles, having obtained such evidence against their destined
victim, seized upon Cooke's house in London, ejecting his lady and
servants, and, at the same time, took possession of Giddy Hall, his
seat in Essex, where he had fish-ponds, and a park full of deer, and
household furniture of great value. After thus appropriating the estate
of the city knight, they determined that, for form's sake, he should
have a trial; and accordingly a commission, of which Earl Rivers
was a member, was appointed to sit at Guildhall. It would seem that
the Woodvilles, meanwhile, had no apprehension of the result being
unfavorable to their interests; but, unfortunately for their scheme of
appropriation, the commission included two men who loved justice and
hated iniquity. These were Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, and Sir
John Markham, Chief Justice of England.

Markham was of a family of lawyers, whose progenitors, though scarcely
wealthier than yeomen, had held their land from time immemorial, and
been entitled to carry coat armor. Having been early called to the bar,
and successful in his profession, he became a puisne judge of the court
of king's bench; and having strongly supported the claims of the house
of York, and greatly contributed, by his abilities and learning, to
the triumph of the White Rose, he succeeded Fortescue as chief justice.
But, though zealous for the hereditary right of the house of York,
Markham was neither a minion nor a tool of its members; and, though
he could not but be aware what the court expected, he was incapable
of doing any thing to forfeit the public respect which he enjoyed as
"The Upright Judge." When, therefore, the evidence against Cooke had
been taken, and the whole case heard, the chief justice ruled that the
offense was not treason, but, at the most, "Misprision of Treason," and
directed the jury so to find it.

The lands of Sir Thomas Cooke were saved, and the Woodvilles, angry
as wild beasts deprived of their prey, vowed vengeance on the chief
justice. Accordingly Earl Rivers and his duchess pressed Edward to
dismiss the unaccommodating functionary; and Edward swore that Markham
should never sit on the bench again. Markham, submitting with a dignity
becoming his high character, carried his integrity into retirement; and
Sir Thomas Cooke was set free after he had paid an enormous fine.

Every man of intelligence must now have seen that the Woodvilles
would embroil Edward with the nation. While the king was, under their
influence, perpetrating such enormities as caused grave discontent,
he was aroused to a sense of insecurity by formidable commotions in
the north. For the origin of these, the master and brethren of the
Hospital of St. Leonards appear to have been responsible. The right of
levying a thrave of corn from every plow in the country for the relief
of the poor had, it seems, been granted to the hospital by one of the
Anglo-Saxon kings; but the rural population complained that the revenue
was not expended for charitable purposes, but employed by the master
and brethren for their private advantage. After long complaining, the
people of the country refused to pay, and, in retaliation, their goods
were distrained and their persons imprisoned. At length, in 1469,
finding they could get no redress, the recusants took up arms, and,
under a captain named Robert Hulderne, they put the officers of the
hospital to the sword, and, to the number of fifteen thousand, marched,
in hostile array, to the gates of York.

The insurgents, however, were not to have it all their own way. Lord
Montagu commanded in the district; and he prepared to put down the
rising with that vigor and energy which had hitherto characterized
his military operations. Accordingly, he hastened to bring them to
an engagement. A skirmish took place; the insurgents were scattered;
and Hulderne, their leader, having been taken, was sent by Montagu to
immediate execution. Nevertheless, the insurgents continued in arms;
and, having been joined by Lord Fitzhugh and Sir Henry Neville, the
son of Lord Latimer, one a nephew, the other a cousin of Warwick, they
placed Sir John Conyers, a soldier of courage and experience, at their
head, advanced toward London, denouncing the Woodvilles as taxers and
oppressors, and loudly demanding their dismissal from the council.

Edward now roused himself from voluptuous lethargy, and prepared
to defend his crown. Without delay, he gave commissions to William
Herbert, whom he had created Earl of Pembroke, and Humphrey Stafford,
to whom, on the execution of Hugh, Earl of Devon, at Salisbury, he had
given the heritage of the Courtenays, to march against the rebels. At
the same time, Edward buckled on his armor, and advanced to Newark.
There, however, he thought it prudent to halt; and, finding his army
utterly weak and unsteady, he retreated to Nottingham. Hitherto he
had thought England none the worse for Warwick's absence; but now he
dispatched a message to Calais, beseeching the earl and Clarence to
come to his assistance. Having thus bent his pride, Edward waited the
result with anxiety.

Meanwhile, Herbert and Stafford were in the field. Hastily assembling
seven thousand men, most of whom were Welsh, the two Yorkist earls
moved against the insurgents; but they had hardly done so, when an
unfortunate dispute involved them in serious disasters.

It was at Banbury, when the royal army approached the insurgents, that
the quarrel took place. It appears that the Yorkist earls had agreed,
in the course of their expedition, that when either took possession of
a lodging, he should be allowed to keep it undisturbed. On reaching
Banbury, on the 25th of July, Stafford took up his quarters at an inn,
where there was a damsel for whom he had a partiality. Herbert, who was
so proud of the king's letter that he could hardly contain his joy,[9]
insisted upon putting Stafford out of the hostelry; and Stafford, whose
spirit was high, took offense at being so treated by an inferior. Angry
words passed, and the consequence was that Stafford mounted his horse,
and rode from the town, with his men-at-arms and archers. Herbert,
alarmed at being left alone, hastened to the hill on which his soldiers
were encamped, and expressed his intention of abiding such fortune as
GOD should send.

When evening advanced, Sir Henry Neville, at the head of his
light-horse, commenced skirmishing with the Welsh, and, advancing too
far, he was surrounded and slain. The northern men, thereupon, vowed
vengeance; and next morning, at Edgecote, attacked the royal army with
fury. Herbert, on the occasion, bore himself with a courage which
well-nigh justified the king's favor; and his brother, Richard, twice,
by main force, hewed his way through the insurgent ranks. Animated
by the example of their leaders, the Welshmen were on the point of
victory, when an esquire, named John Clapham, attended by five hundred
men, and bearing a white bear, the banner of the king-maker, came up
the hill, shouting--"A Warwick! A Warwick!" Hearing this war-cry,
so terrible, and believing that "The Stout Earl" was upon them, the
Welshmen fled in such terror and confusion that the northern men
slaughtered five thousand of them. Herbert and his brother Richard,
having been taken, were carried to Banbury, and there beheaded, in
revenge for the death of Sir Henry Neville. Elate with their victory at
Banbury, the insurgents resolved upon giving a lesson to the "queen's
kindred;" and, choosing for their captain Robert Hilyard, whom men
called "Robin of Redesdale," they marched to the Manor of Grafton,
seized on Earl Rivers and John Woodville, who had wedded the old
Duchess of Norfolk, carried these obnoxious individuals to Nottingham,
and there beheaded them as taxers and oppressors.

The king, on hearing of the defeat of Herbert and the execution of the
Woodvilles, expressed the utmost resentment. Displeased with himself
and every body else, he looked around for a victim on whom to wreak his
fury; and, considering that of all connected with these misfortunes
Stafford was the least blameless, he issued orders that the unfortunate
nobleman should be seized, and dealt with as a traitor. The royal
commands were obeyed. Stafford was taken at a village in Brentmarsh,
carried to Bridgewater, and executed.

The aspect of affairs gradually became more threatening. At length
Warwick arrived in England, and repaired to the king, who was encamped
at Olney. He found Edward in no enviable plight. His friends were
killed or scattered, and his enemies close upon him. The earl was just
the man for such a crisis, and he consented to exercise his influence.
He went to the insurgents, promised to see their grievances redressed,
spoke to them in that popular strain which he alone could use; and, at
his bidding, they dispersed and went northward. Edward, however, found
that he was hardly more free than when the forces of Robin of Redesdale
hemmed him in. The earl, in fact, took the king into his own hands
till he should redeem his promise to the insurgents, and conveyed him,
as a kind of prisoner, to the Castle of Middleham.

Edward had no intention of granting the popular demands; and he was
not the man to submit patiently to durance. He gained the hearts of
his keepers, and obtained liberty to go a-hunting. This privilege he
turned to account; and having one day been met by Sir William Stanley,
Sir Thomas Brough, and others of his friends, he rode with them to
York, pursued his way to Lancaster, and, having there been met by Lord
Hastings, reached London in safety.

A peace between Warwick and the king was brought about by their
friends; and Edward's eldest daughter was betrothed to Montagu's
son. But a few weeks after this reconciliation, the earl took mortal
offense. The cause is involved in some mystery. It appears, however,
that Edward had two failings in common with many men both small and
great--a weakness for wine and a weakness for women. He was much too
fond of deep drinking, and by no means free from the indiscretions of
those who indulge to excess in the social cup. On some occasion, it
would seem, the king was guilty of a flagrant impropriety which touched
the honor and roused the resentment of the earl. Even at this day the
exact circumstances are unknown; but, in the fifteenth century, rumor
was not silent on the subject. Hall has indicated, in language somewhat
too plain for this generation, that the offense was an insult offered
by the king, in Warwick's house, to the niece or daughter of the earl;
and adds, that "the certainty was not for both their honors openly
known." But, however that may have been, the strife between the king
and the king-maker now assumed the character of mortal enmity, and led
rapidly to those events which rendered the year 1470 memorable in the
annals of England.

Edward was not long left in doubt as to the earl's views. At the Moor,
in Hertfordshire, which then belonged to the Archbishop of York, which
passed fifteen years later to John de Vere, Earl of Oxford, and which,
in later days, became the seat of Anne Scott, heiress of Buccleuch
and widow of the ill-fated Monmouth, George Neville, one day in the
month of February, gave a banquet to the king. On the occasion Warwick
and Clarence were invited; and all was going on well, and Edward was
washing his hands before sitting down to supper, when one of his
attendants whispered that armed men were lurking near the house to
seize him. The king started, but, recovering himself sufficiently to
betray no signs of alarm, he got secretly out of the house, mounted his
horse, and, riding all night, reached Windsor Castle in safety.

Edward was not quite prepared to punish this attempt on his liberty.
He, therefore, listened to the mediation of the Duchess of York;
and that lady was laboring to effect another reconciliation, when
an insurrection took place among the people of Lincolnshire. These
complained bitterly of the oppression of the royal purveyors; and they
were headed by Sir Robert Welles, the heir of a family remarkable for
fidelity to the house of Lancaster.

Warwick was suspected to be the author of this disturbance.
Nevertheless, the king found it necessary to treat the earl and
Clarence as if he entertained no suspicion. He even intrusted them with
the command of forces destined to suppress the insurgents, while he
prepared to march against them with a numerous army.

Meanwhile, the king sent for Lord Welles, father of Sir Robert, and,
at the royal summons, that nobleman came to Westminster, in company
with Sir Thomas Dymoke, who had married his daughter. Being informed,
however, that the king was much incensed, the Lancastrian lord and
his son-in-law deemed it prudent to repair to the sanctuary. Edward,
however, plighted his word as a prince, that he intended no harm,
and they, fully relying on a pledge so sacred, came to his presence.
Edward, thereupon, commanded Lord Welles to write to his son to desist
from his enterprise; but Sir Robert continuing firm in spite of the
paternal admonition, Edward caused both the old lord and his son-in-law
to be executed.

After this faithless proceeding Edward left London. Marching against
the insurgents, he came up with them on the 13th of March, at
Erpingham, in the county of Rutland. The royal army was so superior in
number that Sir Robert had scarcely a chance of victory. Exasperated,
however, by the execution of his father, the brave knight, setting
prudence at defiance, was eager for an encounter. The armies joined
battle, and it soon appeared that Sir Robert had reckoned without his
host. The conflict was utterly unequal; and, the insurgents having
been worsted, their leader was taken prisoner. No sooner was Welles in
the hands of the enemy than the Lincolnshire men whom he had commanded
became a mob, and fled from the field, having previously thrown off
their coats, that their running might not be impeded. From this
circumstance the battle was popularly spoken of as "Losecote Field."

The tables were now turned. The king was in a condition to defy
Warwick, while the king-maker had no means of raising such a force
as could, with any chance of success, encounter the royal army
flushed with victory. The earl, however, made one effort. Being at
his Castle of Warwick, and hearing of Edward's victory at Erpingham,
he endeavored to draw Lord Stanley, his brother-in-law, to his side.
Stanley, however, was far too prudent a man to rush into danger even
for his great kinsman's sake. He answered that "he would never make war
against King Edward;" and Warwick and Clarence were compelled to turn
toward Dartmouth.




CHAPTER XXII.

THE SIEGE OF EXETER.


On the summit of the hill that rises steeply from the left bank of
the River Exe, and is crowned with the capital of Devon, some of the
burghers of Exeter might have been met with, one spring day in 1470,
gossiping about the king and Lord Warwick, and making observations on
several hundreds of armed men, who, not without lance, and plume, and
pennon, were escorting a youthful dame, of patrician aspect and stately
bearing, toward the city gates. The mayor and aldermen were, probably,
the reverse of delighted with the appearance of these fighting men.
Indeed, the warlike strangers were adherents of Warwick and Clarence,
escorting the young duchess who was daughter of one and wife of the
other; and at that time, as was well known, both "The Stout Earl"
and the fickle duke were at enmity with King Edward. The citizens of
Exeter, however, made a virtue of necessity, and cheerfully enough
admitted within their walls those whom they had not the power to
exclude.

At that time Isabel, Duchess of Clarence, was about to become, under
mortifying circumstances, the mother of a son "born to perpetual
calamity;" but, however delicate her situation, Lord Warwick's
daughter, reared in the midst of civil strife, was probably less
troubled than might be imagined with uneasiness as to the present or
apprehension as to the future, as, with all honors due to her rank, she
was conducted to the palace of the Bishop of Exeter.

The Duchess of Clarence soon had need of her hereditary courage; for
she had scarcely been lodged in the bishop's palace, and the lords who
attended her in the houses of the canons, when Sir Hugh Courtenay,
sheriff of Devon, took the opportunity of displaying his zeal in the
king's service, raised an army in the vicinity, and marched toward
Exeter to the assault of the city. Perceiving, however, that its
reduction must be the work of time, the sheriff encamped his men
around the walls, barricaded the roads, stopped every avenue by which
provisions could have reached the garrison, and appeared prepared to
proceed deliberately with the siege. Having taken these measures,
Courtenay sent a messenger to the mayor, demanding that the gates
should be opened forthwith.

The mayor and the other municipal functionaries were by no means
willing to incur the wrath of Edward of York. On the contrary, they
were much inclined to entitle themselves to his favor by complying
with the sheriff's demand. But Warwick's friends were on their guard.
Suspecting that the mayor might prove untrue, and resolved to have
their fate in their own hands, the lords and gentlemen insisted on
the keys of the city being placed in their possession; and, the mayor
yielding on this point, they appointed the watch, manned the walls,
repaired the gates, and took the entire management of the defense.
Finding themselves in a somewhat delicate predicament, and not free
from danger, the mayor and aldermen resolved to speak both parties
fair, and do nothing till one side or other proved triumphant.

At first Warwick's red-jackets made so brave a defense that Courtenay
could not boast of any progress. Ere long, however, they had to contend
with a more formidable foe than the knightly sheriff. After the siege
had lasted some days, provisions fell short; famine was apprehended;
and the inhabitants became inconveniently impatient. The Warwickers,
however, were utterly disinclined to yield. Indeed, with the fate
of Lord Welles and Sir Thomas Dymoke before their eyes, they might
well hesitate to trust to Edward's tender mercies. They, therefore,
determined to endure all privations rather than submit, and declared
their intention to hold out till GOD sent them deliverance. This
resolution might have been difficult to maintain; but, after the
siege had lasted for twelve days, they were relieved by the arrival of
Warwick and Clarence.

The earl did not arrive at Exeter with laurels on his brow. At
Erpingham, Edward had already encountered the insurgents under Sir
Robert Welles; and, having made the northern men fly before his lance,
he had proclaimed Warwick and Clarence traitors, and offered a reward
for their apprehension. Disappointed of Lord Stanley's alliance, and of
aid from Sir John Conyers, the earl and the duke joined their friends
in haste and alarm. Resistance was simply out of the question, for
the king was at the head of an army of forty thousand men; and the
king-maker had merely the yeomanry of the county of Warwick. The earl's
game was clearly up for the present; and his only chance of safety
appeared to lie in a retreat to the Continent. He, therefore, caused
ships to be immediately fitted out at Dartmouth; and, going to that
port, after a three days' stay in Exeter, he sailed for Calais, of
which he still continued captain.

Meanwhile, the king, flushed with his victory over the Lincolnshire
men, learned that Warwick had gone toward Exeter. Thither, at the
head of his army, marched Edward, accompanied by a band of nobles,
among whom were the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, the Earls of
Arundel and Rivers, and the Lords Stanley and Hastings. The citizens,
uncomfortable, no doubt, at having harbored the enemies of a prince so
potent, resolved upon doing all in their power to entitle themselves
to his favor. On hearing of the approach of the royal army, the mayor
issued orders that every inhabitant having the means should provide
himself with a gown of the city's livery, and hold himself in readiness
to give the king a loyal reception.

At length, on the 14th of April, Edward's banners appeared in sight;
and the mayor, attended by the recorder and four hundred of the
citizens, clad in scarlet, issued forth from the gates to bid the king
welcome. The scene was such as had generally been witnessed on such
occasions. The mayor made a humble obeisance; the recorder delivered an
oration, congratulating Edward on coming to Exeter. This ceremony over,
the mayor presented the king with the keys of the city and a purse
containing a hundred nobles in gold. Edward returned the keys; but "the
gold," says the historian, "he took very thankfully."

Having thus propitiated the conqueror, the mayor of Exeter, his head
uncovered, and bearing the mace of the city in his hands, conducted
the king through the gate and toward the house which he was to occupy.
After remaining a few days in Exeter, Edward returned to London,
congratulating himself on having put under his feet so many of his
enemies, and out of the kingdom the great noble to whom he owed his
crown. He seemed to think the whole quarrel between the people of
England and the family of Woodville decided in favor of his wife's
kindred by the flight of the Lancastrians from Erpingham and the earl's
retreat from Exeter.




CHAPTER XXIII.

LOUIS THE CRAFTY.


When Warwick sailed from Dartmouth as a mortal foe of the man whom, ten
years earlier, he had seated on the throne of the Plantagenets, the
excitement created by the event was not confined to England. So grand
was the earl's fame, so high his character, so ardent his patriotism,
and so great the influence he had exercised over that nation of which
he was the pride, that Continental princes listened to the news of
his breaking with Edward as they would have done to that of an empire
in convulsions. The circumstances of the King of France and the Duke
of Burgundy especially were such that they could not have remained
indifferent to what was passing; and lively, indeed, was the interest
which Charles the Rash and Louis the Crafty exhibited on the occasion.

Sir Walter Scott has rendered Louis, with his peculiarities of mind,
manner, and dress, familiar to the readers of "Quentin Durward." At
the mention of his name there rises before the mind's eye a man of
mean figure, with pinched features, a threadbare jerkin, and low fur
cap, ornamented with paltry leaden images--now indulging in ribald
talk, now practicing the lowest hypocrisy, and now taking refuge in the
grossest superstition. Our concern with him at present, however, is
only so far as his career is associated with the Wars of the Roses.

Louis was the son of the seventh Charles of France, and of his queen,
Mary of Anjou, a princess of worth and virtue, but not tenderly beloved
by her husband, whose heart was devoted to his mistress, Agnes Sorrel,
the handsomest woman of that age. Born at the commencement of those
operations which resulted in the expulsion of the English from France,
Louis had just reached the age of sixteen in 1440, when, to get rid of
his tutor, the Count de Perdriac, he stole from the Castle of Loches,
and conspired against his father's government. The conspiracy came to
naught, and Louis was pardoned; but, a few years later, he incurred
the suspicion of having poisoned Agnes Sorrel, and, flying from his
father's court, sought refuge in Dauphiny.

Enraged at the death of his mistress and the conduct of his son, the
king, in 1446, sent a band of armed men to arrest the heir of France;
and placed at their head the Count of Dammartin. Louis, however,
received timely warning, and projected an escape. With this view, he
appointed a grand hunting-match, ordered his dinner to be prepared at
the particular rendezvous, and took care that the count was informed
of the circumstance. Completely deceived, Dammartin placed troops
in ambush, and made certain of a capture; but Louis valued life and
liberty too much to allow himself to be caught. Instead of going to
the hunt, he mounted a fleet steed, and, riding to the territories of
the Duke of Burgundy, was courteously received and entertained by that
magnate.

On hearing that Burgundy had treated the dauphin so handsomely, King
Charles protested, and warned the duke against heaping benefits on a
man of so depraved a disposition. "You know not, Duke Philip," said
the king, "the nature of this savage animal. You cherish a wolf, who
will one day tear your sheep to pieces. Remember the fable of the
countryman, who, in compassion to a viper which he found half frozen
in the field, brought it to his house, and warmed it by the fireside,
till it turned round and hissed at its preserver." The good duke,
however, continued to protect Louis, granted him a pension to maintain
his state, and gave him the choice of a residence. Louis selected the
Castle of Gennape, in Brabant; and, during his residence there, formed
a close intimacy with the duke's son, the Count of Charolois, afterward
celebrated as Charles the Rash.

The heir of Burgundy was some years younger than the dauphin, and in
character presented a remarkable contrast with the exiled prince,
being violent, ungovernable, and, in all cases, ruled by his anger and
pride. Round this incarnation of feudalism Louis had the art to wind
himself, as the ivy does around the oak it is destined to destroy. They
feasted together, hawked together, hunted together, and, in fact, were
bosom friends; and when, in 1456, Isabel de Bourbon, the first wife
of Charles, gave birth to a daughter, at Brussels, it was Louis who
figured as sponsor at the baptism of the infant princess; and it was
Louis who gave Mary of Burgundy her Christian name, in honor of his
mother, Mary of Anjou.

When the dauphin had for years enjoyed the Duke of Burgundy's
hospitality, Charles the Seventh died; and, shortly after the battle of
Towton, the exiled prince, at the age of thirty-eight, succeeded to the
crown of St. Louis. Hardly, however, had the dauphin become king, when
he forgot all his obligations to the house which had sheltered him in
adversity. Eager to weaken the influence of the two great feudatories
of France, he sought to create hostility between the Duke of Brittany
and the Count of Charolois. With this object he granted each of them
the government of Normandy, in hopes of their contesting it, and
destroying each other. Discovering the deception, however, they united
against the deceiver, rallied around them the malcontents of France,
and placed at their head the king's brother, Charles de Valois, who
claimed Normandy as his appanage.

A formidable alliance, called "The League for the Public Good," having
been formed, Charolois, attended by the Count of St. Pol, and the
Bastard of Burgundy, who afterward tilted at Smithfield with Anthony
Woodville, led his forces into France in hostile array. Louis, though
taken by surprise, girded himself up for a conflict, and, on the 16th
of July, 1465, met his foes at Montlhéry. A fierce battle followed; and
the king fought with courage. The day, however, went against France;
and Louis was forced to leave the field, with the loss of some hundreds
of his men and several of his captains, among whom was one who, in
the Wars of the Roses, had spent a fortune, and enacted a strange and
romantic part. For among the slain at Montlhéry, was Sir Peter de
Brezé, celebrated for his chivalrous admiration of Margaret of Anjou,
who, at the tournament given in France in honor of her nuptials, had
distinguished himself by feats of arms, and who, when years of sorrow
had passed over her head, came to England to prove his devotion by
fighting for her husband's crown.

When Louis was under the necessity of abandoning the field at Montlhéry
to the heir of Burgundy, Normandy revolted to the insurgent princes;
and the king, finding himself the weaker party, had recourse to
dissimulation. He expressed his readiness to negotiate, pretended to
forget his resentment, surrendered Normandy to his brother, satisfied
the demands of the Count of Charolois, and named the Count of St. Pol
Constable of France. But this treaty negotiated at Conflans having, at
the king's desire, been annulled by the States-General, Louis avenged
himself by depriving Charles de Valois of Normandy, and stirring up
the rich cities of Flanders to revolt against Charolois, now, by
his father's death, Duke of Burgundy, and, by his second marriage,
brother-in-law to Edward of York.

At the time when Louis was inciting the Flemings to revolt against
their sovereign, and when he had an emissary in Liége for that purpose,
he endeavored to avert suspicion from himself by paying a visit to
Charles the Rash, at Peronne. This piece of diplomacy well-nigh cost
his life. Scarcely had the king arrived at Peronne ere intelligence
followed of the revolt at Liége; and Burgundy was exasperated in the
highest degree to learn that the populace had proceeded to horrible
excesses, massacred the canons, and murdered the bishop, Louis de
Bourbon, his own relative. But when, in addition to all this, Burgundy
heard that the king was the author of the sedition, his rage knew no
bounds. He immediately committed Louis to prison, menaced the captive
with death, and appeared determined to execute his threat. Louis,
however, became aware of his peril, and submitted to all that was
demanded. To extricate himself from danger he signed the treaty of
Peronne, divesting himself of all sovereignty over Burgundy, giving his
brother Champagne and Brie, and finally engaging to march in person
against the insurgents of Liége.

The treaty of Peronne restored Louis to liberty, but not till he had
played a part that must have tried even his seared conscience. He was
under the necessity of accompanying Burgundy to Liége, witnessing the
destruction of the unfortunate city, beholding a general massacre of
the men whom he had incited to revolt, and even congratulating Charles
the Rash on having executed vengeance. All this time, however, Louis
had no intention of maintaining the treaty of Peronne. Indeed, he only
awaited a favorable opportunity of breaking faith; but he deemed it
policy to proceed cautiously, for the alliance of Burgundy with Edward
of York rendered the duke formidable in his eyes.

At the opening of his reign Louis, notwithstanding his relationship to
Margaret of Anjou, had shown a disinclination to make sacrifices for
the house of Lancaster; while Charles the Rash, as a descendant of John
of Gaunt, had expressed much sympathy with the party whose badge was
the Red Rose. Even kings, however, are the creatures of circumstances;
and the disposal which Edward, in his wisdom, made of the hand of
Margaret of York rendered Burgundy favorable to the White Rose, while
it induced Louis, from selfish motives, to exhibit more friendship for
the adherents of Lancaster.

Louis had not a particle of chivalry in his composition, and would have
ridiculed the notion of undertaking any thing for the advantage of
others. He was keenly alive to his own interest, however, and deemed
it politic to give the enemies of Edward some degree of encouragement.
To make them formidable enough to keep the Yorkist king at home was
the object of his policy, for of all calamities Louis most dreaded
an English invasion. When Warwick broke with Edward, he was not only
freed from fear, but animated by hope; for in the earl's destiny he
had perfect faith; and the earl was known to entertain an antipathy to
Burgundy, and a strong opinion that peace with France was essential to
England's welfare.




CHAPTER XXIV.

"THE STOUT EARL" AND "THE FOREIGN WOMAN."


It was the spring of 1470 when Warwick left the shores of England,
accompanied by the Duke of Clarence, by the Countess of Warwick, and by
her two daughters. The king-maker sailed toward Calais, of which, since
1455, he had been captain-general. At Calais Warwick expected welcome
and safety. Such, indeed, had been his influence in the city in former
days that his dismissal by the Lancastrian king had proved an idle
ceremony; and, moreover, he relied with confidence on the fidelity of
Lord Vauclerc, a Gascon, whom, years before, he had left as his deputy
in the government.

Warwick was doomed to disappointment. News of the earl's rupture with
the king had preceded him to Calais; and, as his ships approached
the city of refuge, Vauclerc, far from according to his patron the
anticipated welcome, ordered the artillery of the fort to be pointed
against the fleet. This was not the worst. While the exiles, somewhat
perplexed, lay before Calais, the Duchess of Clarence became a mother;
and the earl appealed to the governor's humanity to admit her into the
city. But Vauclerc resolutely refused to countenance Edward's enemies,
and the Gascon was with no slight difficulty persuaded to send on board
two flagons of wine. Even the privilege of baptism in the city, which
stood as a monument of the Continental triumphs of the Plantagenets,
was refused to the infant destined to be the last male heir of that
illustrious race.

Vauclerc, however, gave the earl information by no means valueless,
in the shape of a warning that on putting to sea he must beware where
he landed, as the myrmidons of Burgundy were on the watch to seize
him. At the same time, he took occasion secretly to send an apology
to Warwick, and to represent his conduct as being entirely guided by
zeal for the earl's safety. "Calais," said he, "is ill-supplied with
provisions; the garrison can not be depended on; the inhabitants,
who live by the English commerce, will certainly take part with the
established government; and the city is in no condition to resist
England on one side and Burgundy on the other. It is better, therefore,
that I should seem to declare for Edward, and keep the fortress in my
power till it is safe to deliver it to you." Warwick was not, probably,
in a very credulous mood; but he took Vauclerc's explanation for what
it was worth, ordered the anchors to be hauled up, and, having defied
Burgundy's enmity by seizing some Flemish ships that lay off Calais,
sailed toward the coast of Normandy.

King Edward, on hearing of Vauclerc's refusal to admit Warwick,
expressed himself highly pleased with the deputy-governor,
and manifested his approval by sending the Gascon a patent
as Captain-general of Calais. Burgundy, not to be behind his
brother-in-law, dispatched Philip de Comines to announce to Vauclerc
that he should have a pension of a thousand crowns for life, and to
keep him true to his principles. Vauclerc must have laughed in his
sleeve at all this. "Never man," says Sir Richard Baker, "was better
paid for one act of dissembling."

Meanwhile, Warwick landed at Harfleur, where his reception was all
that could have been wished. The governor welcomed the exiles with
every token of respect, escorted the ladies to Valognes, and hastened
to communicate Warwick's arrival to the king. Louis exhibited the most
unbounded confidence in the earl's fortunes. Indeed, so confident in
the king-maker's alliance was the crafty monarch, that he prepared
to brave the united enmity of Edward of England and Charles of
Burgundy. Without delay he invited the great exile to court; and,
as Warwick and Clarence--whom Warwick then intended to place on the
English throne--rode toward Amboise, their journey excited the utmost
curiosity. Every where the inhabitants were eager to see "The Stout
Earl;" and Jacques Bonnehomme came from his cabin to gaze on the man
who made and unmade kings, and who, unlike the nobles of France, took
pride in befriending the people in peace and sparing them in war.

At Amboise Warwick met with a reception which must have been gratifying
to his pride. Louis was profuse of compliments and lavish of promises.
The French king, however, took occasion to suggest to Warwick the
expediency of finding some more adequate instrument than Clarence
wherewith to work out his projects; and the English earl, bent on
avenging England's injuries and his own, listened with patience, even
when Louis proposed an alliance with Lancaster.

Ere this Margaret was on the alert. When, in the autumn of 1469,
the exiled queen learned that the house of York was divided against
itself, and that the king and the king-maker were mortal foes, she
left her retreat at Verdun, and, with her son, repaired to the French
king at Tours. Thither, to renew their adhesion to the Red Rose,
came, among other Lancastrians, Jasper Tudor, Earl of Pembroke, who
had been wandering over Europe like a vagabond, and Henry Holland,
Duke of Exeter, and Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset, with his
brother John, who, since the rout of Hexham, had been lurking in
Flanders, concealing their names and quality, and suffering all
those inconveniences that arise from the ill-assorted union of
pride and poverty. A man bearing a nobler name, and gifted with a
higher intellect than Tudors, Hollands, or Beauforts, now joined the
Lancastrian exiles. It was John De Vere, Earl of Oxford.

At the beginning of the contentions of York and Lancaster, the De Veres
naturally took part against the misleaders of the monk-monarch, and as
late, at least, as 1455, John, twelfth Earl of Oxford, was a friend
of the duke. Oxford, however, was not prepared for a transfer of the
crown; and when the dispute assumed the form of a dynastic war, he
took the losing side, and in 1461 was beheaded on Tower Hill, with his
eldest son, Aubrey. At the time of the old earl's execution, his second
son, John, was twenty-three; and, being husband of Margaret Neville,
the sister of Warwick, he was allowed to remain undisturbed in England,
to bear the title of Oxford, and, without taking any part in politics,
to maintain feudal state at Wyvenhoe and Castle Hedlingham. Oxford,
however, was "linked in the closest friendship with Warwick;" and when
the Yorkist king shook off the influence of "The Stout Earl," England
was no longer a place of safety for the chief of the De Veres. In 1470
Oxford followed his great brother-in-law to France, hoping, perhaps,
to mediate between Warwick and the Lancastrian queen who had ever hated
the earl as her mightiest foe.

At this period Margaret of Anjou had seen forty summers, and,
doubtless, felt somewhat less strongly than in earlier days the
ambition which had animated her before Wakefield and Hexham. But the
Prince of Wales was now in his eighteenth year, and, inspired by
maternal love, she was ready, in order to regain the crown for him, to
brave new dangers and endure fresh hardships.

Young Edward was, indeed, a prince on whom a mother might well look
with pride. Every thing had been done to make him worthy of the throne
he had been born to inherit. Fortescue had instructed the royal boy in
the duties necessary for his enacting the part of "a patriot king;"
and, while engaged in studies so grave, the prince had not neglected
those accomplishments essential to his rank. Ere leaving Verdun he had
become a handsome and interesting youth. His bearing was chivalrous;
his manner graceful; his countenance of almost feminine beauty, shaded
with fair hair, and lighted up with a blue eye that sparkled with valor
and intelligence. Such, arrayed in the short purple jacket trimmed with
ermine, the badge of St. George on his breast, and a single ostrich
feather--his cognizance as Prince of Wales--in his high cap, was the
heir of Lancaster, whom Margaret of Anjou presented to the devoted
adherents of the Red Rose, who, having lost every thing else, came to
the French court to place their swords at his disposal.

Louis was now in his element; and to reconcile the Yorkist earl and the
Lancastrian queen, he exerted all his powers of political intrigue. His
task, indeed, was not easy. Warwick had accused Margaret of plotting
against his life, and murdering his father. Margaret had charged
Warwick--whom she hated more bitterly even than she had hated the Duke
of York--with depriving her of a crown, and destroying her reputation.
The earl's wish, in the event of deposing Edward, still was to place
Clarence on the throne; and, even since quarreling with the Yorkist
king, he had taken part against the Lancastrians. The queen was, on
her part, utterly averse to friendship with her ancient adversary.
"My wounds," she exclaimed, "must bleed till doomsday, when to GOD'S
justice I will appeal for vengeance!"

Most men would have regarded the case as desperate. But Louis viewed
it in another light. Between the queen and the earl, indeed, there
was a wide gulph, in which ran the blood of slaughtered friends and
kinsmen; but one sentiment the queen without a crown and the earl
without an earldom had in common--an intense antipathy to Edward of
York. Moreover, the Prince of Wales had, on some festive occasion, seen
Anne Neville, the earl's daughter, and the sight had inspired him with
one of those romantic attachments which call into action the tenderest
sympathies and the noblest aspirations. A fear that Margaret and
Warwick would never consent to a union might have daunted young Edward,
but Louis had seen more of the world. He knew that Warwick could hardly
see the prince without being covetous to have him as a son-in-law; and
he knew that Margaret would be prompted by the ambition of a queen, and
the tenderness of a mother, to recover by compromise the crown which
she had been unable to gain by force. In one important respect the
mind of Louis was made up--that, on all points, he would intrigue and
negotiate with an eye to his own profit.

Louis had correctly calculated the effect of circumstances on those
with whom he had to deal. The earl, being flesh and blood, could not
resist the prospect of a throne for his daughter, and indicated his
readiness to make peace. Margaret was not quite so reasonable; but, at
length, she yielded so far as to agree to a meeting with the man whom
she had accused of piercing her heart with wounds that could never be
healed.

Accordingly, a conference was appointed; and in June, 1470, Warwick, in
the Castle of Amboise, met the queen, from the brow of whose husband
he had torn the English crown, and the prince, the illegitimacy of
whose birth he had proclaimed at Paul's Cross. Now, however, the earl
was prepared to give his hand in friendship to one, and his daughter
as wife to the other. He offered to restore Henry of Windsor, if
Margaret would consent to unite the Prince of Wales to Anne Neville.
Margaret, however, felt the sharpness of the sacrifice, and, after some
hesitation, asked for time to consider the proposal.

Ere the time expired, the queen's aversion to the match was
strengthened. She showed Louis a letter from England, in which the
hand of Edward's daughter, Elizabeth, then recognized as heiress to
the crown, was offered to her son. "Is not that," she asked, "a more
profitable party? And if it be necessary to forgive, is it not more
queenly to treat with Edward than with a twofold rebel?" Louis, who
was bent on business, did not relish such talk as this. To Margaret
he became so cool, that she could hardly help seeing he would have
thought little of throwing her interests overboard. To Warwick he was
all kindness, declaring that he cared far more for the earl than he did
either for Margaret or her son, and even giving an assurance that he
would aid Warwick to conquer England for any one he chose.

Margaret perceived that it was no time for exhibitions of vindictive
feeling; and, with undisguised reluctance, she consented to the match.
After thus sacrificing her long-cherished prejudices, the exiled queen
proceeded to Angers, on a visit to the Countess of Warwick and to Anne
Neville, at that time in her sixteenth year. Preparations were then
made for the marriage which was to cement the new alliance, and, in
July, the daughter of "The Stout Earl" was solemnly espoused to the son
of "The Foreign Woman."

About this time there arrived at Calais an English lady of quality,
who stated that she was on her way to join the Duchess of Clarence.
Vauclerc, believing that she brought overtures of peace from Edward
to Warwick, and feeling a strong interest in the reconciliation of
the king and the earl, allowed her to pass, and she found her way
to Angers, where the marriage was then being celebrated. The errand
of this lady was not quite so amiable as Vauclerc had supposed. On
arriving at Angers, she revealed herself to Clarence as having been
sent by his brothers to tempt him to betray Warwick--to implore him, at
all events, not to aid in the subversion of their father's house.

Clarence was just in the state of mind to be worked upon by a skillful
diplomatist; and the female embassador executed her mission with a
craft that Louis might have envied. The duke, so long as he had simply
been taking part in a feud between Warwick and the Woodvilles, was all
zeal for the earl, and not without hope that he himself might profit
by the strife; but no sooner did the weak prince find himself engaged
with the adherents of the Red Rose in a contest to substitute the heir
of the house of Lancaster for the chief of the house of York, than he
began to pause and ponder. At this stage the lady of quality appeared
at Angers, and managed her part of the business with the requisite
dexterity; in fact, Clarence declared that he was not so great an enemy
to his brother as was supposed, and he promised, significantly, to
prove that such was the case when he reached England. The lady departed
from Angers, and returned to Edward's court with a full assurance that
her mission would produce important results.

The bridal of the prince and Anne Neville having been celebrated,
Warwick and Oxford prepared to return to England. Fortune, with fickle
smile, cheered the king-maker's enterprise. Every thing was promising;
for the English people, since Warwick had been exiled to a foreign
strand, complained that England without "The Stout Earl" was like a
world without a sun; and day after day came messengers to tell that
thousands of men were ready to take up arms in his cause whenever he
set foot on his native soil.

Delay was not to be thought of under such circumstances. The earl did
not lose any time. With Pembroke and Clarence, and Oxford and George
De Vere, Oxford's brother, he went on board the fleet that lay at
Harfleur. The French coast was not, indeed, clear; for Burgundy had
fitted out a fleet, which blockaded Harfleur and the mouth of the
Seine. But even the elements favored Warwick at this crisis of his
career. A storm arising dispersed the duke's fleet; and, next morning,
the weather being fine, the earl and the Lancastrians gave their
sails to the wind, and, confident of bringing their enterprise to a
successful issue, left behind them the coast of Normandy.




CHAPTER XXV.

THE EARL'S RETURN AND EDWARD'S FLIGHT.


When Warwick, in France, was forming an alliance with Margaret of
Anjou, the people of England were manifesting their anxiety for "The
Stout Earl's" return.[10] Edward of York, meanwhile, appeared to
consider the kingdom nothing the worse for the king-maker's absence.
He even ridiculed the idea of taking any precautions to guard against
the invasion which was threatened. Instead of making preparations for
defense, the king, after the earl's departure from England, occupied
himself wholly with the ladies of his court; going in their company on
hunting excursions, and diverting himself with every kind of pleasant
pastime.

The Duke of Burgundy was by no means so cool as the King of England. In
fact, Charles the Rash was quite aware of the degree of danger to which
his brother-in-law was exposed, and gave him timely warning not only
that an invasion was projected, but of the very port at which Warwick
intended to land. "By GOD'S blessed lady," exclaimed Edward, "I wish
the earl would land, and when we have beaten him in England, I only
ask our brother of Burgundy to keep such a good look-out at sea as to
prevent his return to France."

The wish which the king, with too much confidence in his resources,
thus expressed, was speedily to be gratified. About the middle of
September, 1470, while he was in the north, suppressing an insurrection
headed by Lord Fitzhugh, Warwick suddenly landed on the coast of Devon,
and proclaimed that he came to put down falsehood and oppression, and
to have law and justice fairly administered. It soon appeared that the
popularity of the earl gave him a power that was irresistible. A few
months earlier, when he was escaping to France, a magnificent reward
had been offered by the king to any man who should seize the rebellious
baron; but now that the earl was once more in England, with Oxford by
his side, all the heroes of the Round Table, if they had been in the
flesh, would have shrunk from the hazard of such an exploit. Long ere
he landed, the Nevilles and De Veres were mustering their merry-men;
a few days later warriors of all ranks were flocking to his standard;
and, at the head of a numerous army, he marched toward London. Being
informed, however, that the capital was favorable to his project, and
that the king had retraced his steps to Nottingham, Warwick turned
toward the Trent, summoning men to his standard as he went, and
intending to give Edward battle.

Meanwhile, the king's situation was gradually becoming desperate. His
soldiers, giving way to discontent, began to desert; and, while he was
in Lincoln, near the River Welland, circumstances occurred to prove the
prudence of Burgundy's warnings, and to remove Edward's illusions.

At the time when Warwick was flying from England, Edward, in defiance
of prudential considerations, took one of those steps which sometimes
cost a crown. After his victory at Hexham, Lord Montagu had been gifted
with the earldom of Northumberland. At that time the young chief of
the Percies was a Lancastrian captive in the Tower or an exile in
Scotland; but the mediation of friends prevailed, and the heir of
Hotspur was reconciled to the heir of the Mortimers. Edward deemed the
opportunity favorable for weakening the Nevilles, and encouraged the
Northumbrians to petition for the restoration of the house of Percy.
The Northumbrians did petition; Montagu resigned the earldom; and the
king, to console him for his loss, elevated the victor of Hexham to
the rank of marquis. Montagu took the marquisate, but he indulged in a
bitter jest and bided his time.

It happened that, when Warwick landed, Montagu had mustered ten
thousand men in the king's name. Hearing of the earl's return, these
soldiers caught the popular contagion, and evinced so strong an
inclination to desert their standard, that Montagu saw that the hour
for retaliation was come; and, after remarking that "Edward had taken
Northumberland from him, and given him a marquisate, but only a pie's
nest to maintain it withal," he frankly added, "I shall decidedly take
the part of the earl."

The king was that night asleep in the royal tent when aroused by the
chief of his minstrels, and informed that Montagu and some other lords
had mounted their horses and ordered their soldiers to raise the shout
of "GOD bless King Henry!" Edward, completely taken by surprise, rose
and buckled on his armor; but, resistance being out of the question,
he determined to fly. Having exhorted his followers to go and join
Warwick, pretending great friendship, but secretly retaining their
allegiance, the king rode toward Lynn, accompanied by about a hundred
knights and gentlemen, among whom were his brother, Richard, Duke of
Gloucester; his brother-in-law, Anthony Woodville, Earl Rivers; his
Chamberlain, William, Lord Hastings; and William Fiennes, Lord Say,
son of that nobleman who had been put to death during Jack Cade's
insurrection. At Lynn the king found an English ship and two Dutch
vessels ready to put to sea. On board of these Edward and his friends
hastily embarked; and, leaving Warwick and Oxford masters of England,
set sail for the territories of Burgundy.

Within St. Paul's Church-yard, to the north of the Cathedral, Cardinal
Kempe had erected a cross to remind passers-by to pray for the souls
of those buried beneath their feet. To preach at Paul's Cross was an
object of clerical ambition; and, when service was there performed,
the multitude gathered round the pulpit, while the wealthy citizens
and municipal functionaries occupied galleries so constructed as to
shelter them when the weather happened to be inclement. On the Sunday
after Michaelmas, 1470, Dr. Goddard was the divine who officiated; and
the doctor, being one of Warwick's chaplains, preached a political
sermon, advocating the claims of the royal captive in the Tower, and
setting forth the earl's patriotic intentions in such a light that the
audience could not help wishing well to the enterprise.

The metropolis, thus excited, conceived a strong desire for Warwick's
success; and, when it became known that King Edward had fled from the
Welland, and that the earl was marching upon London, the partisans of
the house of York, seeing that resistance would be vain, hastened to
take refuge in the religious houses that had the privilege of affording
sanctuary.

Hard by the Palace of Westminster, in the fifteenth century, stood a
massive edifice, with a church built over it in the form of a cross.
This structure, which was a little town in itself, and strongly enough
fortified to stand a siege, had been erected by Edward the Confessor as
a place of refuge to the distressed, and, according to tradition and
the belief of the superstitious, it had been "by St. Peter in his own
person, accompanied with great numbers of angels, by night specially
hallowed and dedicated to GOD."

Within the walls of this sanctuary, at the time when Edward of York
was flying to the territories of the Duke of Burgundy, and Warwick
was advancing upon London, Elizabeth Woodville, leaving the Tower,
and escaping down the Thames in a barge, took refuge with her three
daughters, her mother, the Duchess of Bedford, and her friend, the
Lady Scroope. There, forsaken by her court, and exposed to penury,
the unhappy woman gave birth to her son Edward. This boy, "the child
of misery," was "baptized in tears." "Like a poor man's child was he
christened," says the chronicler, "his godfather being the Abbot and
Prior of Westminster."

Meanwhile, on the 6th of October, Warwick entered London in triumph;
and, going directly to the Tower, the great earl released Henry of
Windsor, proclaimed him king, and escorted him from a prison to a
palace. After this the king-maker called a Parliament, which branded
Edward as a usurper, attainted his adherents as traitors, restored to
the Lancastrians their titles and estates, and passed an act entailing
the crown on Edward of Lancaster, and, failing that hopeful prince, on
George, Duke of Clarence.

So great was the earl's power and popularity that he accomplished the
restoration of Lancaster almost without drawing his sword; and no man
suffered death upon the scaffold, with the exception of John Tiptoft,
Earl of Worcester, whose cruelties, exercised in spite of learning and
a love of letters that have made his name famous, had exasperated the
people to phrensy, and won him the name of "the Butcher." Warwick was
not a man, save when on fields of fight, to delight in the shedding of
blood; and, even had it been otherwise, his high pride would have made
him scorn in the hour of triumph the idea of striking helpless foes.

At Calais the news of the earl's triumph created no less excitement
than in England. The intelligence might, under some circumstances, have
caused Governor Vauclerc considerable dismay and no slight apprehension
that his conduct while the earl was in adversity would place him in
a perilous predicament. Vauclerc, however, had his consolation, and
must have chuckled as he reflected on the prudence he had exercised.
The crafty Gascon, doubtless, congratulated himself heartily on his
foresight, and felt assured that in spite of Edward's patent and
Burgundy's pension, the devotion he had expressed and the intelligence
he had given to Warwick would, now that the political wind had changed,
secure him a continuance of place and power.

But, whatever on the occasion might have been Governor Vauclerc's
sentiments, Warwick's triumph produced a sudden change in the politics
of Calais. The city, so often the refuge of Yorkists in distress,
manifested unequivocal symptoms of joy at a revolution which restored
the house of Lancaster; and the Calesians, forgetting that, from
selfish motives, they had, six months earlier, refused Warwick
admittance within their walls, painted the white cross of Neville over
their doors, and endeavored, in various ways, to testify excessive
respect for the great noble who could make and unmake kings. As for
the garrison, which, a few months earlier, could not be trusted, every
man was now ready to drink the earl's health; every tongue sounded the
praises of the king-maker; every cap was conspicuously ornamented with
the Ragged Staff, known, far and wide, as the badge of the Countess of
Warwick.

Fortune, which seldom does things by halves, seemed to have conducted
the earl to a triumph too complete to be reversed; and if any one, with
the gift of political prophecy, had ventured to predict that, within
six months, King Edward would ride into London amid the applause of the
populace, he would have been regarded as a madman. Every circumstance
rendered such an event improbable in the extreme. The fickle goddess
appeared to have forever deserted the White Rose, and to have destined
the sun of York never more to shine in merry England.




CHAPTER XXVI.

THE EARL OF WORCESTER.


While Edward is in exile; and Elizabeth Woodville in the sanctuary;
and Warwick holding the reins of power; and Margaret of Anjou and her
son on the Continent; we may refer with brevity to the melancholy fate
of John Tiptoft, Earl of Worcester, celebrated on the same page of
history as "the Butcher" and as "the paragon of learning and the patron
of Caxton"--the most accomplished among the nobility of his age, and,
at the same time, the only man "who, during the Yorkist domination,
had committed such excesses as to merit the punishment of death at the
Lancastrian restoration."

Though not of high patrician rank like the Nevilles or the De Veres,
Worcester had claims to considerable respect in an ancestral point
of view. One of the family of Tiptoft, after fighting in the Barons'
Wars against Simon de Montfort, accompanied the victor of Evesham
when that great prince fared forth to the Holy Land to signalize his
prowess against the enemies of his religion; and the descendants of
the crusader made their name known to fame in those wars which our
Plantagenet kings carried on in Scotland and in France. Early in the
fifteenth century, Lord Tiptoft, the chief of the race, espoused the
sister and co-heir of Edward Charlton, Lord Powis; and, about the year
1427, their son, John Tiptoft, first saw the light at Everton, in the
shire of Cambridge.

The heir of the Tiptofts was educated at Baliol College, Oxford; and at
that ancient seat of learning pursued his studies with such energy and
enthusiasm as raised the admiration of his contemporaries, and laid the
foundation of the fame which he has enjoyed with posterity. When in his
teens, he became, by his father's death, one of the barons of England,
and, some time later, in 1449, he found himself elevated, by Henry of
Windsor, to the earldom of Worcester. He had enjoyed this new dignity
for six years, and reached the age of twenty-eight, when blood was
first shed at St. Albans in the Wars of the Roses.

Worcester was a man of action as well as a scholar. When, therefore,
war commenced, he was, doubtless, looked upon by both parties as a
desirable partisan. The accomplished earl, however, appears to have
been in no haste to risk his head and his baronies in the quarrel
either of York or Lancaster. At first, he hesitated, wavered, and
refrained from committing himself as to the merits of the controversy,
and, finally, instead of plucking either "the pale or the purple
rose," avoided the hazard of making a choice by leaving the country and
repairing to the Holy Land.

After indulging his zeal as a Christian and his curiosity as a man,
during his visit to Jerusalem, Worcester turned toward Italy; and
having beheld the wonders of Venice--then in all the pride of wealth
and commercial prosperity--and resided for a time at Padua--then
famous as the chief seat of European learning--he proceeded to Rome to
gladden his eyes with a sight of the Vatican Library. While in Rome
Worcester had an interview with Pius the Second, and an interesting
scene rendered the occasion memorable. On being presented to the Pope,
better known in England as Æneas Sylvius, the young English nobleman
addressed to him a Latin oration, to which the learned pontiff listened
with tears of admiration.

As soon as the news spread over Europe that the Lancastrians had been
utterly routed on Towton Field, and that Edward of York was firmly
seated on the English throne, Worcester returned home. During his
residence in Italy he had purchased many volumes of manuscripts; and
of these he contributed a liberal share to the library at Oxford,
whose shelves had formerly profited by the donations of "The Good Duke
Humphrey." When abroad, Worcester had evinced such an eagerness to
possess himself of books, that it was said he plundered the libraries
of Italy to enrich those of England.

The king received Worcester with favor, and treated him with high
consideration. Soon after his return the learned earl presided at the
trial of John, Earl of Oxford, and his son, Aubrey De Vere; and, no
longer inclined to waver, he buckled on the mail of a warrior, and
accompanied Edward to the north of England on his expedition against
the Lancastrians. Meanwhile, he had been intrusted with high offices;
and appears to have at the same time exercised the functions of
Treasurer of the King's Exchequer and Constable of the Tower of London,
Chancellor of Ireland, and Justice of North Wales.

For seven years after his return from Italy, Worcester conducted
himself with credit and distinction. Evil communications, however,
corrupt good manners. At a critical period the intellectual baron
appears to have fallen under the influence of Elizabeth Woodville; and
to have been used by that unscrupulous woman to perpetrate acts of
tyranny that ultimately cost him his life.

Of the great Norman barons whose swords had won them dominion over
the Celts of Ireland the Fitzgeralds were among the proudest and most
powerful. One branch of the family held the earldom of Desmond; another
that of Kildare; and both exercised much influence in the provinces
subject to their sway. In the contest between the rival Plantagenets,
the Fitzgeralds adopted the White Rose as their badge; and Thomas,
eighth Earl of Desmond, fought by Edward's side in those battles which
won the crown for the house of York.

When the question of Edward's marriage with Elizabeth Woodville was
agitated, Desmond was naturally consulted; and the Norman earl took a
different course from such pickthanks as Sir John Howard. Being frank
and honest, he unhesitatingly pointed out the king's imprudence, and
perhaps became, in consequence, one of those people for whom the widow
of Sir John Grey did not entertain any particular affection. But,
however that may have been, Edward appointed his old comrade-in-arms
deputy to the Duke of Clarence, who was then Lord-lieutenant of
Ireland, and when Desmond was preparing to depart from London, the
king asked if there was any thing in his policy that could be amended.
The earl, with more zeal for his sovereign's service than respect for
his sovereign's marriage vow, advised Edward to divorce Elizabeth
Woodville, and to marry some woman worthy of sharing the English throne.

Edward was not the most faithful of husbands; and Elizabeth Woodville
may not, at first, have been the most patient of wives, though she
afterward learned to submit with a good grace. At all events, they had
sundry domestic quarrels; and Edward, during some altercation with the
queen, said, "Had I hearkened to Desmond's advice, your insolent spirit
would have been humbled."

The queen's curiosity was excited in the highest degree; and, unluckily
for Desmond, she determined to find out what advice he had given.
On eliciting the truth, Elizabeth vowed revenge; and so strenuous
were her efforts to effect the earl's ruin, that she succeeded at
length in having him sentenced to lose both his office and his head.
Unfortunately for Worcester, he was appointed to succeed Desmond as
deputy; and, on arriving in Ireland to assume his functions, he caused
the sentence of decapitation against his predecessor to be executed.
Under any circumstances, the duty which the new deputy had thus to
perform would have been invidious. If we are to credit the story
generally told, Worcester executed the sentence under circumstances,
not only invidious, but disgraceful and dishonorable.

According to the popular account of the execution of Desmond, the king
had no more idea than the child unborn that his old friend was to fall
a victim to female malice. It is said that Elizabeth Woodville, having
by stealth obtained the royal signet, affixed the seal to a warrant for
the Irish earl's execution, and that Worcester, in order to possess
himself of some part of Desmond's estates, instantly acted on this
document. It is added that, on hearing of the transaction, Edward was
so enraged, that Elizabeth, terrified at her husband's wrath, fled from
him to a place of safety.

Desmond was executed at Drogheda; and, when his head fell, the
Fitzgeralds rose as one man to avenge the death of their chief.
Worcester, however, far from being daunted, stood his ground
fearlessly, and remained in Ireland till 1470, when Warwick finally
broke with the king. As Clarence took part with his father-in-law,
his posts as Constable of England and Lord-lieutenant of Ireland were
forfeited, and Edward bestowed them upon Worcester.

On the occasion of his promotion to the lord-lieutenancy, Worcester
returned to England. On arriving at Southampton, he was commanded by
the king to sit in judgment on several gentlemen and yeomen taken by
Anthony Woodville in some ships during a skirmish at sea. Worcester,
who appears to have been the reverse of squeamish about shedding blood,
condemned twenty of them to be "drawn, hanged, and quartered." Among
these was John Clapham, the squire who figured so conspicuously at
Banbury.

Worcester had hardly rendered this service to Edward when Warwick
landed, and carried every thing before him. The revolution which
restored Henry of Windsor, and placed England in the power of
Warwick and his brother-in-law, the Earl of Oxford, was accomplished
with so little resistance, that scarcely a drop of blood was shed.
Worcester, however, was not allowed to escape. Though a man of rare
accomplishments for his age, and one who endeavored to inspire his
countrymen with that respect for letters which he himself felt,
the earl had, while constable of the Tower, been guilty of fearful
severities against the Lancastrians; and he was spoken of among the
populace as "The Butcher of England."[11]

Hearing of the king's flight, and not unconscious of his own
unpopularity, Worcester was under the necessity of shifting for himself
as he best could. His efforts to escape, however, were fruitless. Being
pursued into the county of Huntingdon, he was found concealed in a
tree in the forest of Weybridge, dragged from his hiding-place, and
carried to the Tower of London.

Worcester was, without delay, brought to trial. The Earl of Oxford
presided on the occasion; and the lord-lieutenant was charged with
having, while deputy, been guilty of extreme cruelty to two orphan
boys, the infant sons of the Earl of Desmond. On this charge he was
condemned. He was forthwith executed on Tower Hill, and his headless
trunk was buried in the monastery of the Black Friars.

Whatever the faults of Worcester, Caxton seems to have regarded him
with respect and admiration. "Oh, good blessed LORD," exclaims that
English worthy, "what great loss was it of that noble, virtuous, and
well-disposed lord, the Earl of Worcester. What worship had he at Rome,
in the presence of our holy father the pope, and in all other places
unto his death. The axe then did, at one blow, cut off more learning
than was in the heads of all the surviving nobility."




CHAPTER XXVII.

THE BANISHED KING.


The adventures of Edward of York, when, at the age of thirty, driven
from the kingdom by the Earl of Warwick, seem rather like the creation
of a novelist's fancy than events in real life. Scarcely had he escaped
from his mutinous army on the Welland, taken shipping at Lynn, and
sailed for the Burgundian territories, trusting to the hospitality
of his brother-in-law, than he was beset with a danger hardly less
pressing than that from which he had fled. Freed from that peril, and
disappointed of a cordial welcome, an impulse, which he had neither the
will nor the power to resist, brought back the dethroned and banished
prince, with a handful of adherents, resolved either to be crowned with
laurel or covered with cypress.

During the Wars of the Roses, the narrow seas were infested by the
Easterlings, who sailed as privateers as well as traders, and did a
little business in the way of piracy besides. At the time of Edward's
exile, the Easterlings were at war both with the house of Valois and
that of Plantagenet, and had recently inflicted much damage on ships
belonging to the subjects of England. Unluckily for Edward, some of
the Easterlings happened to be hovering on the coast when he sailed
from Lynn, and scarcely had the shores of England vanished from the
eyes of the royal fugitive, when eight of their ships gave chase to his
little squadron.

The Yorkist king was far from relishing the eagerness manifested by
the Easterlings to make his acquaintance, and would, doubtless, have
been delighted to get, by fair sailing, clearly out of their way. This,
however, appeared impossible; and, as the danger became alarming, he
commanded the skipper to run ashore at all hazards. Edward, albeit
exile and fugitive, was not the man to be disobeyed; and the ships
stranded on the coast of Friesland, near the town of Alkmaar. The
Easterlings, however, were not thus to be shaken off. Instead of giving
up the chase, they resolved to board Edward's vessels by the next tide,
and, meanwhile, followed as close as the depth of the water would
permit. The king's situation was therefore the reverse of pleasant.
Indeed, his safety appeared to depend on the chances of a few hours.

Among the European magnates with whom Edward, in the course of his
checkered career, had formed friendships, was a Burgundian nobleman,
Louis de Bruges, Lord of Grauthuse. This personage, at once a soldier,
a scholar, and a trader, had, on more than one occasion, rendered
acceptable service to the White Rose. In other days, he had been sent
by the Duke of Burgundy to cancel the treaty of marriage between the
son of Margaret of Anjou and the daughter of Mary of Gueldres: and
subsequently to the court of England, to treat of the match between
Margaret Plantagenet and the Count of Charolois. Being stadtholder
of Friesland, the Burgundian happened to be at Alkmaar when Edward
was stranded on the coast, and by chance became acquainted with the
startling fact that England's king was in the utmost danger of falling
into the hands of privateers from the Hanse Towns.

Louis de Bruges could hardly have been unaware that the Duke of
Burgundy had no wish to see Edward's face, or to be inextricably
involved in the affairs of his unfortunate kinsman. The Lord of
Grauthuse, however, was not the person to leave, on the coast of
Friesland, at the mercy of pirates, a friend whom, on the banks of the
Thames, he had known as a gallant and hospitable monarch; at whose
board he had feasted in the Great Hall of Eltham, at whose balls he
had danced in the Palace of Westminster, and with whose hounds he had
hunted the stag through the glades of Windsor. Perhaps, indeed, being
gifted with true nobility of soul, he was all the readier with his
friendly offices that Edward was a banished man. In any case, he took
immediate steps to relieve the royal exile, hastened on board, and,
without reference to the duke's political views, invited the English
king and his friends to land.

Never was assistance more cheerfully given, or more gratefully
received. The exiles breathed freely, and thanked Heaven for aid so
timely. But a new difficulty at once presented itself. Edward was so
poor that he could not pay the master of the Dutch vessel, and all his
comrades were in an equally unhappy plight. The king, however, soon got
over this awkward circumstance. Taking off his cloak, which was lined
with marten, he presented it to the skipper, and, with that frank grace
which he possessed in such rare perfection, promised a fitting reward
when better days should come.

At the town of Alkmaar, twenty miles from Amsterdam, and celebrated
for its rich pastures, the exiled king set foot on Continental soil.
His circumstances were most discouraging. Even his garments and those
of his friends appear to have been in such a condition as to excite
surprise. "Sure," says Comines, "so poor a company were never seen
before; yet the Lord of Grauthuse dealt very honorably by them, giving
them clothes, and bearing all their expenses, till they came to the
Hague."

In his adversity, indeed, the conqueror of Towton could hardly have met
with a better friend than Louis de Bruges. At the Hague the king felt
the hardness of his lot alleviated by such attentions as exiles seldom
experience. These, doubtless, were not without their effect. As Edward
indulged in the good cheer of the city, and quaffed the good wine of
the country, he would gradually take heart. Diverted from melancholy
reflections by the wit of Anthony Woodville, and the humor of William
Hastings, and the crafty suggestions of the boy-Duke of Gloucester, he
would find his heart animated by a hope unfelt for days; and, under
the influence of successive bumpers, he would allude to Warwick's
implacable resentment, not in accents of despondency, but with his
habitual oath, and his customary expression, "By GOD'S Blessed Lady, he
shall repent it through every vein of his heart."

But what would Burgundy say to all this? That was a question which the
Lord of Grauthuse must frequently have asked himself, after feasting
his royal guest, and recalling to his memory the scenes of other days,
and the fair and the noble who were now suffering for his sake. The
duke had already heard of Henry's restoration in connection with a
rumor of Edward's death; and, far from manifesting any excessive grief,
he had remarked that his relations were with the kingdom of England,
not with the king, and that he cared not whether the name of Henry or
that of Edward was employed in the articles of treaty. In fact, the
Lancastrian prejudices of Charles the Rash had never, perhaps, been
stronger than when the mighty arm of Warwick was likely to smite the
enemies of the Red Rose.

From the Hague Louis de Bruges intimated to Burgundy the arrival of
King Edward. Burgundy had within the year demonstrated his respect for
the King of England by appearing at Ghent with the blue garter on his
leg and the red cross on his mantle. But, now that Edward was a king
without a crown, the duke's sentiments were quite changed, and he was
unwilling, by holding any intercourse with so hapless a being, to throw
new difficulties in the way of those ambitious projects which he hoped
would convert his ducal coronal into a regal and independent crown. On
hearing the news of his brother-in-law being alive and in Holland, the
duke's features, naturally harsh and severe, assumed an expression of
extreme surprise. "He would have been better pleased," says Comines,
"if it had been news of Edward's death."

Burgundy was with some reason annoyed at Edward's having paid so little
attention to his warnings; and, moreover, he was vexed with himself
for having, out of friendship to so imprudent a prince, exasperated to
mortal enmity so potent a personage as "The Stout Earl." But Burgundy
little knew the ability and energy which, in seasons of adversity, the
chief of the Plantagenets was capable of displaying. Edward already
felt that something must be attempted. Dullness he could not bear. The
idea of passing his life as a grumbling or plotting refugee was not to
be entertained. Hitherto, when not engaged in making war on men, he
had been occupied in making love to women. For luxurious indolence he
had always had a failing; from violent exertion he had seldom shrunk;
but excitement he had ever regarded as indispensable. When he left his
gay and brilliant court, it was to charge, at the head of fighting
men, against the foes of his house; and, with all his faults, it was
admitted that Christendom could hardly boast of so brave a soldier, so
gallant a knight, or so skillful a general. One man, indeed, Edward
knew was still deemed his superior; and the banished Plantagenet burned
for an opportunity to exercise his somewhat savage valor against the
patriot earl who had made and unmade him.

The duke soon found that his royal relative was not likely to die
an exiled king. In fact, Edward, who lately had exhibited so much
indolence and indifference, was now all enthusiasm and eagerness for
action. He who, while in England, was so lazy that the most pressing
exhortations could not rouse him to obviously necessary precautions in
defense of his crown, had now, when an exile in Holland, more need of
a bridle than a spur.

The position of Duke Charles was somewhat delicate. While aware that
he could not with decency refuse aid to his wife's brother, he was
unable to exclude from his mind great apprehensions from the hostility
of Warwick. In this dilemma, even Europe's proudest and haughtiest
magnate could not afford to be fastidious as to the means of saving
himself. Between love of the duchess and fear of the earl, Charles
the Rash for once found it necessary to condescend to the process of
playing a double game. To ingratiate himself with Warwick he resolved
to issue a proclamation forbidding any of his subjects to join Edward's
expedition; and, at the same time, to pacify the duchess, he promised
to grant secretly to his exiled kinsman the means of attempting to
regain the English crown.

Preparations for Edward's departure were soon made. Twelve hundred men
were got together, part of whom were English, armed with hand-guns,
and part Flemings. To convey these to England, ships were necessary:
to pay them, money was not less essential. Both ships and money were
forthcoming.

Burgundy furnished the ships. The duke, however, acted with a caution
which seemed to form no part of his character, and gave assistance
in a manner so secret that he trusted to avoid hostilities with the
government established. At Vere, in Walcheren, four vessels were fitted
out for Edward's use in the name of private merchants, and fourteen
others were hired from the Easterlings to complete the squadron.

The house of Medici would seem to have supplied the money. At an
earlier stage of the great struggle that divided England, Cosmo, the
grandfather of Lorenzo the Magnificent, had thrown his weight into the
Yorkist scale by advancing money to keep Edward on the throne; and the
banker-princes of Florence appear once more to have influenced the
fortunes of the house of Plantagenet by affording pecuniary aid to
the heir of York. One way or another, Edward got possession of fifty
thousand florins--no insignificant sum, considering how desperate
seemed his fortunes.

The royal exile was now impatient to be in England, and there was at
least one man who prayed earnestly for the success of his enterprise.
This was Louis de Bruges, who--to his credit be it told--had throughout
displayed toward the fugitive monarch, in an age of selfishness and
servility, a generosity worthy of those great days of chivalry which
boasted of the Black Prince and John de Valois. After having given
all the aid he could to Edward in regard to ships and money, Louis
still appears to have thought he had not done enough. To complete
his courtesy, therefore, he offered to accompany the banished king
to England, and aid in overcoming his enemies in the battles that
were inevitable. This last sacrifice to friendship Edward declined to
accept; but he was touched by such a proof of esteem, and pressed his
host strongly to come once more to England, and give him an opportunity
of requiting so much hospitality. After an affectionate farewell, the
king and the stadtholder parted; and Edward, having embarked, sailed
toward England, with the determination either to reoccupy a regal
throne or to fill a warrior's grave.

Edward's fleet sailed from Vere, in Walcheren, and, after a prosperous
voyage, approached Cromer, on the coast of Norfolk. Hoping much from
the influence of the Mowbrays, and eager to set his foot on English
soil, the king sent Sir Robert Chamberlaine and another knight ashore
to ascertain the ideas of the Duke of Norfolk. But little did Edward
know of the position of his friends. The province was entirely under
the influence of Oxford; and the Mowbrays, so far from retaining any
power, appear to have been glad, indeed, of that earl's protection.
"The duke and duchess," says John Paston, writing to his mother, "now
sue to him as humbly as ever I did to them, inasmuch that my Lord of
Oxford shall have the rule of them and theirs, by their own desire
and great means." The answer brought back by Edward's knights was not,
therefore, satisfactory. Indeed, Oxford had just been in Norfolk, to
assure himself that no precautions were omitted; and the coast was so
vigilantly guarded by his brother, George De Vere, that an attempt to
land would have been rushing on certain destruction.

Disappointed, but not dismayed, the king ordered the mariners to steer
northward; and a violent storm scattered his fleet. Persevering,
however, with his single ship, Edward, after having been tossed by
winds and storms for forty-eight hours, sailed into the Humber, and
on the 14th of March, 1471, effected a landing at Ravenspur, where,
in other days, Henry of Bolingbroke had set foot when he came to
deprive the second Richard of his crown and his life. Having passed the
night at the village hard by, the king was next morning joined by his
friends, who had landed on another part of the coast.

Edward now set his face southward; but he soon found that, on the
shores of England, he was almost as far from his object as he had been
on the coast of Walcheren. The people of the north were decidedly
hostile; and at York he was brought to a stand-still. It was an age,
however, when men sported with oaths as children do with playthings;
and Edward's conscience was by no means more tender than those of
his neighbors. To smooth his way, he solemnly swore only to claim the
dukedom of York, not to make any attempt to recover the crown; and,
moreover, he carried his dissimulation so far as to proclaim King
Henry and assume the ostrich feather, which was the cognizance of the
Lancastrian Prince of Wales.

After leaving York, however, a formidable obstacle presented itself in
the shape of Pontefract Castle, where Montagu lay with an army. But the
marquis, deceived, it would seem, by a letter from the false Clarence,
made no attempt to bar Edward's progress; and, once across the Trent,
the king threw off his disguise, and rallied the people of the south
to his standard. At Coventry, into which Warwick had retired to await
the arrival of Clarence with twelve thousand men, Edward, halting
before the walls, challenged the earl to decide their quarrel by single
combat. The king-maker, however, treated this piece of knightly bravado
with contempt; and Edward, having in vain endeavored to bring his great
foe to battle by threatening the town of Warwick, was fain to throw
himself between the earl and the capital.

All this time Warwick's danger was much greater than he supposed,
for the negotiations of the female embassador sent to Angers were
bearing fruit; and Gloucester had held a secret conference with
Clarence in the false duke's camp. The consequences of this interview
soon appeared. Clarence, reconciled to his brothers, seized an early
opportunity of making his soldiers put the White Rose on their gorgets
instead of the Red, and then, with colors flying and trumpets sounding,
marched to Edward's camp.

The king, thus re-enforced, pressed courageously toward London. Perhaps
he entertained little doubt of a favorable reception; for he knew full
well that the interest he had among the city dames, and the immense
sums he owed their husbands--sums never likely to pay unless in the
event of a restoration--made London friendly to his cause; and he knew,
moreover, that thousands of his partisans were in the sanctuaries,
ready to come forth and don the White Rose whenever the banner of York
waved in the spring breeze before the city gates.

It appears that Warwick, ere leaving London, had placed the capital and
the king under the auspices of his brother, George Neville, Archbishop
of York. On hearing of Edward's approach, the archbishop made an
effort to discharge his duty, mounted Henry of Windsor on horseback,
and caused him to ride from St. Paul's to Walbrook to enlist the
sympathies of the citizens. But during the last six months the feelings
of the populace had undergone a considerable change, and the spectacle
of the monk-monarch on his palfrey failed to elicit any thing like
enthusiasm. Seeing how the political wind blew, the ambitious prelate
resolved to abandon his brother's cause, and dispatched a message to
Edward asking to be received into favor.

The archbishop was assured of a pardon; and the way having thus been
cleared, the king, on Thursday, the 11th of April, entered the city.
After riding to St. Paul's, he repaired to the bishop's palace, and
thither, to his presence, came the archbishop, leading Henry by
the hand. Having taken possession of his captive, Edward rode to
Westminster, rendered thanks to GOD in the Abbey for his restoration,
conducted his wife and infant son from the sanctuary to Baynard's
Castle, passed next day, Good Friday, in that palace of Duke Humphrey,
and then braced on his armor to battle for his crown.




CHAPTER XXVIII.

QUEEN MARGARET'S VOYAGE.


One day in the middle of November, 1470, about three months after the
marriage of Edward of Lancaster and Anne Neville, Margaret of Anjou
visited Paris, and was received in the capital of Louis the Crafty with
honors never before accorded but to queens of France. The daughter of
King René must in that hour have formed high notions of the advantage
of Warwick's friendship, for it was entirely owing to the king-maker's
triumph that King Henry's wife was treated with so much distinction.

The news of Warwick's success and of Edward's discomfiture, which had
caused so much excitement in Calais, the Continental strong-hold of the
English, traveled rapidly to the French territories, and reached the
king, who, at Amboise, was anxiously awaiting the result of Warwick's
expedition. Louis was overjoyed at the success of his schemes, and
demonstrated his confidence in the genius of the earl by setting the
treaty of Peronne at defiance, and breaking all terms of amity with the
Duke of Burgundy. In his enthusiasm he could not even recognize the
possibility of a change of fortune. For once this apostle of deceit
was deceived by himself.

While rejoicing in the results produced by his political craft, Louis
was seized with a fit of devotion. To indulge his superstitious
emotions, the king went on a pilgrimage to the Church of St. Mary at
Celles, in Poitou; and, having there expressed his own gratitude to
Heaven, he issued orders that the clergy, nobles, and inhabitants of
Paris and other towns throughout France should make solemn procession
in honor of GOD and the Virgin, and give thanks at once for the victory
obtained by Henry of Windsor over the Earl of March, who had long
usurped his throne, and for the peace now happily established between
England and France.

The visit of Margaret of Anjou to Paris was then projected; and,
when the religious festival, which lasted for three days, was over,
preparations were made for her reception. At the appointed time,
Margaret proceeded on the journey, accompanied by the Prince and
Princess of Wales, the Countess of Warwick, the Countess of Wiltshire,
a daughter of the house of Beaufort, and other ladies and damsels
who had formed the court at Verdun, and attended by an escort of
French noblemen, among whom the Counts D'Eu, Dunois, and Vendôme were
prominent figures.

On reaching the French capital, Margaret was received with the highest
honors. "When she approached Paris," says Monstrelet, "the bishop, the
court of Parliament, the University, the provosts of Paris, and the
court of Châtelet, by express orders from the king, together with the
principal inhabitants, came out to meet her, handsomely dressed, and in
very numerous bodies. She made her entry at the gate of St. James; and
all the streets through which she passed, from that gate to the palace,
where apartments had been handsomely prepared for her, were adorned
with hangings of tapestry, and had tents pitched in all the squares."
At such a time Margaret could hardly have helped recalling to memory,
perhaps not without feelings of bitterness, how different had been her
reception when, eight years earlier, she, poor indeed and desolate, but
then as much as now Queen of the Lancastrians, came with her son in her
hand to implore her kinsman's aid to recover her husband's crown.

Enthusiastic as was the welcome of the Lancastrians to Paris, they had
no motive to prolong their stay on the banks of the Seine. Indeed, as
it was believed that nothing but the presence of the queen and Prince
of Wales was wanting to secure Warwick triumph, they were all anxiety
to set sail. In November they journeyed to the coast, but the winter
was so cold and the weather so stormy that they were fain to postpone
their voyage.

About the opening of the year 1471, the Prior of St. John, dispatched
by Warwick, came to urge the necessity of Margaret's presence, and that
of the Prince of Wales, in England. The queen again embarked, and the
earl gladly prepared to welcome the mother and the son to those shores
from which he had, seven years before, driven them poor and destitute;
but still the winds were adverse and the weather stormy, and the ships
only left Harfleur to be driven back damaged.[12]

The elements had often proved unfavorable to Margaret of Anjou, but
never under circumstances so unfortunate as on this occasion. Thrice
did she put to sea, and as often was she dashed back by contrary
winds. The partisans of each of the Roses in England put their
own interpretation on these unpropitious gales. "It is GOD'S just
provision," said the Yorkists, "that the foreign woman, who has been
the cause of so many battles and so much slaughter, should never return
to England to do more mischief." "The queen," said the Lancastrians,
"is kept away, and her journey prevented, by Friar Bungey, the Duchess
of Bedford, and other sorcerers and necromancers."

All winter the queen and prince were compelled to wait patiently for
fair winds to waft them to the shores of England; and while in this
position they learned, with some degree of alarm, that Edward of
York had landed at Ravenspur, and that Clarence, breaking faith with
Warwick, had been reconciled to his brother. But, however anxious
at this intelligence, they were not seriously apprehensive of the
consequences. Margaret knew, to her cost, the influence which Warwick
exercised in England, and, sanguine by nature, she could hardly doubt
that he would prove victorious in the event of a struggle. The prince,
though intelligent and accomplished, was young and inexperienced; and
he had been taught by Louis to believe that the alliance of Warwick and
Margaret would conquer all obstacles.

At length, when the winter passed and the spring came, when the winds
were still and the sea calm, the queen and the Prince of Wales embarked
once more, and left the French coast behind. Landing at Weymouth on
the 14th of April, they went to the Abbey of Cearne to repose from
the fatigues of their voyage before taking their way to the capital,
where they anticipated a joyous welcome. But a bitter disappointment
was reserved for the royal wanderers. The prince, instead of finding a
throne at Westminster, was doomed to fill a bloody grave at Tewkesbury.
Margaret, instead of entering London in triumph, was led thither a
captive, when a terrible defeat had destroyed hope, and a tragic
catastrophe had dissipated ambition.




CHAPTER XXIX.

THE BATTLE OF BARNET.


Memorable was the spring of 1471 destined to be in the history of
England's baronage, and in the annals of the Wars of "the pale and the
purple rose."

From the day that the warriors of the White Rose--thanks to Montagu's
supineness in the cause of the Red--were allowed to pass the Trent on
their progress southward, a great battle between Edward and Warwick
became inevitable; and as the king, without any desire to avoid a
collision with the earl, led a Yorkist army toward London, the earl,
with every determination to insist on a conflict with the king,
mustered a Lancastrian army at Coventry.

England, it was plain, could not, for many days longer, hold both
Edward and Warwick. Each was animated by an intense antipathy to the
other, and both panted for the hour that was to bring their mortal feud
to the arbitrament of the sword. The circumstances were altogether
unfavorable to compromise or delay; and events hurried on with a
rapidity corresponding to the characters of the rival chiefs. While
Edward Plantagenet was taking possession of London, Richard Neville
was advancing, by the high northern road, toward the capital; and,
almost ere the king had time to do more than remove his spouse from
the sanctuary of Westminster to Baynard's Castle, the trumpet of war
summoned him to an encounter with the king-maker.

Warwick's rendezvous was Coventry; and to that city, at the earl's
call, hastened thousands of men, to repair the loss which he had
sustained by the defection of Clarence. Thither came Henry of Exeter
and Edmund Somerset; and John De Vere, Earl of Oxford, with a host of
warriors devoted to the house of Lancaster; and John Neville, Marquis
of Montagu, who, although not supposed to relish the company of
Lancastrians, appeared eager in his brother's quarrel to sacrifice the
prejudices of his life and redeem the fatal error he had committed at
Pontefract.

At this stage of affairs, the Duke of Clarence endeavored to open a
door for the earl's reconciliation to the king. Such an attempt was
indeed hopeless; but the duke, perhaps suffering some twinges of
conscience on account of his treachery, sent to excuse himself for
changing sides, and to entreat Warwick to make peace with Edward. His
message was treated with lofty scorn. "I would rather," said the earl,
"die true to myself, than live like that false and perjured duke; and I
vow not, until I have either lost my life or subdued mine enemies, to
lay down the sword to which I have appealed."

With a resolution not to be broken, Warwick, with Oxford leading his
van, marched from Coventry; and, hoping to arrest the Yorkist army
ere the king was admitted into London, he advanced southward with all
speed. Learning, however, that the archbishop had proved false, and
that the citizens had proved obsequious, the earl, on reaching St.
Albans, halted to allow his men to repose from their fatigues, and on
Saturday moved forward to Barnet, standing on a hill midway between
St. Albans and London. Here the earl, resolving to await the approach
of his royal foe, called a halt; and, having ordered his vanguard to
take possession of the little town, he encamped on a heath known as
Gladsmuir, and forming part of an extensive chase, stocked with beasts
of game.

The king did not long keep the earl waiting. No sooner did the martial
monarch hear that his great foe had left Coventry and was approaching
the metropolis, than he girded on his armor, with a heart as fearless
of the issue as had animated the mightiest of his ancestors when, on
a summer morning, he marched to Evesham to strike down the puissance
of Simon de Montfort. It was with no faint hopes of success, indeed,
that, at the head of an army devoted to his cause, Edward, clad
in magnificent armor, and mounted on a white steed, with crimson
caparisons, lined with blue and embroidered with flowers of gold, rode
out of London, cheered by the good wishes of the citizens, surrounded
by the companions of his exile, and attended by George of Clarence,
whom he could not prudently trust elsewhere, and by Henry of Windsor,
whom he could not safely leave behind.

On the afternoon of Saturday Edward left London, and late in the
evening of that day he reached Barnet. As the Yorkist army approached
the town, the king's outriders, meeting those of the earl, chased
them past the embattled tower of the church dedicated to St. John,
and advanced till, through the darkness, they perceived the army of
Warwick. On being informed that the earl was so near, the king ordered
his army to move through Barnet, and encamped in the darkness, close
to the foe, on Gladsmuir Heath. The king took up his quarters for the
night in the town, and his soldiers lay on the heath. They had no
sleep, however, for so near was the Lancastrian camp that the voices of
men and the neighing of horses were distinctly heard.

Both armies had artillery; and Warwick's guns were, during the night,
fired perseveringly at the foe. The king, it appears, did not reply to
this salutation. Indeed, Edward early discovered that the Lancastrians
were unaware of the exact position of the Yorkist army, and thanked
his stars that such was the case; for, though Edward's intention
had been to place his men immediately in front of their foes, the
darkness had prevented him from perceiving the extent of Warwick's
lines, and thus it happened that, while ranging his forces so as far
to outstride the earl's left wing, he had failed to place them over
against the right. Seldom has an error in war proved so fortunate for
a general. The earl happened to have all his artillery posted in the
right division of his army, and concluded that the Yorkists were within
reach. Edward, as the fire from Warwick's guns flashed red through the
darkness, saw the advantage he had unintentionally gained, and issued
strict orders that none of his guns should be fired, lest the enemy
"should have guessed the ground, and so leveled their artillery to his
annoyance." This precaution was successful, and the earl's gunners
thundered till daybreak without producing any effect.

Ere the first streak of day glimmered in the sky, the armies were
in motion; and when the morning of Easter Sunday dawned, a flourish
of trumpets and a solemn tolling from the bell of the Church of St.
John aroused the inhabitants of Barnet, and announced that the game
of carnage was about to begin. The weather was by no means favorable
for that display of martial chivalry which, in sunshine, the field
would have presented to the eyes of spectators. The morning was damp
and dismal. A thick fog overshadowed the heath; and the mist hung so
closely over both armies that neither Yorkists nor Lancastrians could
see their foes, save at intervals. The fighting men of that age were
as superstitious as their neighbors; and the soldiers on both sides
concluded that the mists had been raised to favor the king by Friar
Bungey, the potent magician whose spells were supposed to have raised
the wind that kept Margaret of Anjou from the shores of England.

Nevertheless, at break of day the earl ordered his trumpets to
sound, and proceeded to set his men in battle order. The task was
one of no small delicacy; but it seems to have been performed with
great judgment. Though Warwick was the soul and right arm of the
Lancastrian army, the battle was so arranged as to give no umbrage to
the time-tried champions of the Red Rose. The centre host, consisting
chiefly of archers and bill-men, was commanded by Somerset; Oxford, who
appears to have been trusted by the Lancastrians, shared the command
of the right wing with the conqueror of Hexham; and, in command of
the left, Exeter, who had helped to lose battle after battle, had the
distinction of participating with "the setter-up and plucker-down of
kings."

Meanwhile, Edward had roused himself from his repose, arrayed himself
royally for the battle, placed on his head a basnet surrounded with a
crown of ornament, mounted his white charger--in that age regarded as
the symbol of sovereignty--and taken the field to vindicate his right
to the throne of his two great namesakes who reposed at Westminster in
the Confessor's Chapel.

Edward, in marshaling his army, had to contend with none of the
difficulties that beset Warwick. The Yorkist army was devoted to his
cause, as the chief of the White Rose; and the captains shared each
other's political sympathies and antipathies. Moreover, they were
the king's own kinsmen and friends--kinsmen who had partaken of his
prosperity, and were eager to contribute to his triumph--friends who
had accompanied him into exile, and were ready to die in his defense.
Under such circumstances, the disposition of the Yorkist army was
easily made. Edward, keeping the fickle Clarence and the feeble Henry
in close attendance, took the command of the centre, and was opposed to
that part of the Lancastrian forces commanded by Somerset. At the head
of the right wing was placed Gloucester, though still in his teens, to
cope with Exeter, the husband of his sister, and Warwick, the sworn
friend of his sire. At the head of the left was posted Hastings, to
face his brothers-in-law, Oxford and Montagu. Besides these divisions,
the king kept a body of choice troops in reserve to render aid, as the
day sped on, where aid should be most required.

Agreeably to the custom of the period, the king and the earl addressed
their adherents, each asserting the justice of his cause--Edward
denouncing the patrician hero as rebel and traitor; while Warwick
branded his royal adversary as usurper and tyrant. This ceremony over,
the hostile armies joined battle. At first fortune with fickle smile
favored the Lancastrians. The error made by the Yorkists in taking
up their position on the previous evening now caused them serious
inconvenience. In fact, the Lancastrian right wing, composed of
horsemen, so overlapped the king's troops opposed to them that Oxford
and Montagu were enabled to crush Hastings as in a serpent's fold.
The Yorkist left wing was completely discomfited; and many of the men
spurred out of the fog, escaped from the field, dashed through Barnet,
galloped along the high north road to London, and excused their flight
by reporting that the earl had won the day.

The conclusion at which the fugitives had arrived was quite premature.
Indeed, could these doughty champions of the White Rose have seen what
was passing in other parts of the field, they would probably have
postponed their ride to the capital. Fearful difficulties encompassed
the right wing of the Lancastrian army. Gloucester was proving how
formidable a war-chief a Plantagenet could be even in his teens, and
enacting his part with such skill and courage as would have done
credit to warriors who had led the Yorkists to victory at Towton and
Northampton. With an eye that few things escaped, the boy-duke availed
himself of the advantage which Montagu and Oxford had turned to such
account in their struggle with Hastings; and, urging on the assault
with characteristic ferocity, he succeeded in placing his adversaries
in the unfortunate predicament to which the left wing of the Yorkists
had already been reduced. At the same time, the Lancastrians opposed
to Gloucester were dispirited by the fall of Exeter, who sunk to the
ground wounded with an arrow; and so dense continued the fog over
Gladsmuir Heath that they were not even consoled with the knowledge of
Oxford's signal success. Edward, however, early became aware that his
left wing had been destroyed, and charged the Lancastrian centre with
such vigor as threw Somerset's ranks into confusion.

The ignorance of the Lancastrians as to the success of their right
wing, was not the only disadvantage they suffered from the fog.
The soldiers considered the dense watery vapors not as ordinary
exhalations, but as supernatural means used by Friar Bungey to aid the
Yorkist cause; and, from the beginning, the gloom had been decidedly
favorable to Edward's operations. Ere the battle long continued, the
fog did better service to the king than could have been rendered to him
by hundreds of knights.

Among the retainers of feudal magnates of that age it was the fashion
to wear a badge to indicate the personage whose banner they followed.
From the time of the Crusades the badge of the house of De Vere had
been a star with streams; and from the morning of Mortimer's Cross,
the cognizance of the house of York had a sun in splendor. At Barnet,
Oxford's men had the star embroidered on their coats; Edward's men the
sun on their coats. The devices bore such a resemblance that, seen
through a fog, one might easily be mistaken for the other; and it
happened that on Gladsmuir Heath there was such a mistake.

When Oxford had pursued the Yorkists under Hastings to the verge of
the Heath, it occurred to him that he might render a signal service
to his party by wheeling round and smiting Edward's centre in the
flank. Unfortunately some Lancastrian archers, who perceived without
comprehending this movement, mistook De Vere's star, in the mist,
for Edward's sun, drew their bows to the head, and sent a flight of
shafts rattling against the mail of the approaching cavalry. Oxford's
horsemen instantly shouted "Treason! treason! we are all betrayed!" and
Oxford, amazed at such treatment from his own party, and bewildered
by the cry of "Treason!" that now came from all directions, concluded
that there was foul play, and rode off the field at the head of eight
hundred men.

The plight of the Lancastrians was now rapidly becoming desperate; and
Edward hastened their ruin by urging fresh troops upon their disordered
ranks. Warwick, however, showed no inclination to yield. "The Stout
Earl" in fact had been little accustomed to defeat; and such was the
terror of his name that, on former occasions, the cry of "A Warwick!
A Warwick!" had been sufficient to decide the fate of a field. But at
St. Albans, at Northampton, and at Towton Field, the earl's triumphs
had been achieved over Beauforts, Hollands, and Tudors, men of ordinary
courage and average intellect. At Barnet he was in the presence of a
warrior of prowess and a war-chief of pride, whose heart was not less
bold, and whose eye was still more skillful than his own.

Edward, in fact, could not help perceiving that nothing but a violent
effort was now required to complete his victory. Up to this stage he
appears to have issued commands to his friends with the skill of a
Plantagenet: he now executed vengeance on his foes with the cruelty of
a Mortimer. Mounted on his white steed, with his teeth firmly set, the
spur pressing his horse's side, and his right hand lifted up to slay,
he charged the disheartened Lancastrians, bearing down all opposition;
and, instead of crying, as on former occasions, "Smite the captains,
but spare the commons!" he said, "Spare none who favor the rebel earl!"

While the king's steed was bearing him over the field, and his arm was
doing fearful execution on the foe, the king-maker's operations were,
unfortunately for the Lancastrian cause, limited to a single spot.
In former battles, with a memorable exception, Warwick had fought on
horseback. When mounted, the earl had been in the habit of riding
from rank to rank to give orders, of breaking, with his sword or his
battle-axe in hand, into the enemy's lines, with the cry of "A Warwick!
A Warwick!" and encouraging his army by deeds of prowess, wherever the
presence of a daring leader was most necessary. At Barnet, however,
he had been prevailed on to dismount, and send his steed away, that
he might thus, as when he killed his horse at Towton, prove to his
adherents that he was determined never to leave the field till he was
either a conqueror or a corpse. Most unfortunate for the earl proved
this deviation from his ordinary custom, when the day wore on and the
men grew weary, and looked in vain for the presence of their chief to
cheer their spirits and sustain their courage.

It was seven o'clock when the fight began. Long ere noon both wings of
the Lancastrian army had vanished, and the chiefs of the Red Rose had
disappeared from the field. Oxford had fled to avoid being betrayed.
Somerset had fled to escape death. Exeter, abandoned by his attendants,
lay on the cold heath of Gladsmuir among the dead and dying. But
Warwick was resolved that the battle should only terminate with his
life; and, at the head of the remaining division, opposed to the
Yorkists whom Edward commanded in person, the earl posted himself for
a final effort to avert his doom. Montagu, it would appear, was by his
brother's side.

More furiously than ever now raged the battle; and far fiercer than
hitherto was the struggle that took place. Opposed more directly to
each other than they had previously been, the king and the earl exerted
their prowess to the utmost--one animated by hope, the other urged by
despair. The example of such leaders was not, of course, lost; and men
of all ranks in the two armies strained every nerve, and struggled hand
to hand with their adversaries.

    "Groom fought like noble, squire like knight,
       As fearlessly and well."

On both sides the slaughter had been considerable. On Edward's side
Lord Say and Sir John Lisle, Lord Cromwell and Sir Humphrey Bourchier,
with about fifteen hundred soldiers, bit the dust. On Warwick's side
twenty-three knights, among whom was Sir William Tyrrel, and three
thousand fighting men fell to rise no more. At length, after a bloody
and obstinate contest had been maintained, Edward saw that the time
had arrived to strike a sure and shattering blow. There still remained
a body of Yorkists who had been kept in reserve for any emergency.
The king ordered up these fresh troops, and led them to the assault.
Warwick fronted this new peril with haughty disdain; and, in accents
of encouragement, appealed to his remaining adherents to persevere.
"This," said he, "is their last resource. If we withstand this one
charge the field will yet be ours." But the earl's men, jaded and
fatigued, could not encounter such fearful odds with success; and
Warwick had the mortification of finding that his call was no longer
answered by his friends, and that his battle-cry no longer sounded
terrible to his foes.

Warwick could not now have entertained any delusions as to the issue
of the conflict. He was conquered, and he must have felt such to be
the case. The disaster was irremediable, and left him no hope. The
descendant of Cospatrick did not stoop to ask for mercy, as Simon de
Montfort had done under somewhat similar circumstances, only to be
told there was none for such a traitor; nor did he, by a craven flight,
tarnish the splendid fame which he had won on many a stricken field.
Life, in fact, could not any longer have charms for him; and, ceasing
to hope for victory, he did not feel any wish to survive defeat. A
glorious death only awaited the king-maker--such a death as history
should record in words of admiration and poets celebrate in strains of
praise.

Under such circumstances, the great earl ventured desperately into the
thickest of the conflict; and, sword in hand, threw himself valiantly
among countless enemies. Death, which he appeared to seek, did not shun
him; and he faced the king of terrors with an aspect as fearless as he
had ever presented to Henry or to Edward. The king-maker died as he had
lived. In the melancholy hour which closed his career--betrayed by the
wily archbishop; deserted by the perjured Clarence; abandoned on the
field by his new allies; and conquered by the man whom he had set on a
throne--even in that hour, the bitterest perhaps of his life, Warwick
was Warwick still; and Montagu, perhaps caring little to survive the
patriot earl, rushed in to his rescue, and fell by his side.

Naturally enough, the Yorkists breathed more freely after Warwick's
fall; and, with some reason, they believed that the last hopes of
Lancaster had been trodden out on the field of Barnet. Edward, as he
rode from the scene of carnage toward London, imagined his throne
absolutely secure; and, not dreaming that ere a few days he would have
to gird on his armor for a struggle hardly less severe than that out of
which he had come a conqueror, the king made a triumphal entry into the
capital, repaired to St. Paul's, presented his standard as an offering,
and returned thanks to GOD for giving him such a victory over his
enemies.

The bodies of Warwick and Montagu were placed in one coffin, conveyed
to London, and exposed for three days at St. Paul's, that all who
desired might assure themselves that the great earl and his brother no
longer lived. Even Warwick's death did not appease Edward's hatred; and
he would have cared little to refuse interment befitting the earl's
rank to the corpse of the departed hero. The king, however, mourned
the death of Montagu; and, from regard to the memory of the marquis,
he ordered that both brothers should be laid among their maternal
ancestors.

During the fourteenth century, one of those Earls of Salisbury,
whose name is associated with the era of English chivalry and with
the noblest of European orders, had founded an abbey at Bisham, in
Berkshire. This religious house, which stood hard by the River Thames,
and had become celebrated as the sepulchre of the illustrious family
which the king-maker, through his mother, represented, was chosen
as the last resting-place of Warwick and of the brother who fought
and fell with him at Barnet. At the Reformation, Bisham Abbey was
destroyed; and, unfortunately, nothing was left to mark the spot where
repose the ashes of "The Stout Earl," whom Shakspeare celebrates as the
"proud setter-up and puller-down of kings."




CHAPTER XXX.

BEFORE TEWKESBURY.


It was Easter Sunday, in the year 1471, and the battle of Barnet had
been fought. Exeter lay stretched among the dead and the dying on the
blood-stained heath of Gladsmuir; Oxford was spurring toward the north;
Somerset was escaping toward the west; Henry of Windsor had been led
back to his prison in the Tower; the bodies of Warwick and Montagu were
being conveyed in one coffin to St. Paul's; and Edward of York was at
the metropolitan cathedral, offering his standard upon the altar, and
returning thanks to GOD for his victory over the Red Rose of Lancaster
and the flower of the ancient nobility, when Margaret of Anjou once
more set foot on the shores of England. Nor, in circumstances so
inauspicious, did she arrive as a solitary victim. Accompanied by
the son of the captive king and the daughter of the fallen earl, and
attended by Lord Wenlock, Sir John Fortescue, and the Prior of St.
John's, came the Lancastrian queen on that day when the wounded were
dying, and the riflers prying, and the ravens flying over the field of
Barnet.

At Weymouth, on the coast of Devon, Margaret landed with the Prince and
Princess of Wales. From Weymouth, the ill-starred queen was escorted to
the Abbey of Cearne, a religious house in the neighborhood. While at
Cearne, resting from the fatigues of her voyage, she was informed of
the defeat of the Lancastrians and the death of Warwick.

Margaret had hitherto, through all perils and perplexities, been
sustained by her high spirit. She had won the reputation of being one
of the race of steel, who felt her soul brighten in danger, and who
never knew fear without such a feeling being succeeded by a blush at
having yielded to such weakness. On hearing of the defeat at Barnet,
however, she evinced the utmost alarm, raised her hands to heaven,
closed her eyes, and, in a state of bewilderment, sunk swooning to the
ground. Her first idea, on recovering consciousness, was to return to
France; but, meanwhile, for the sake of personal safety, she hastened
to the Abbey of Beaulieu, in Hampshire, and registered herself and
her whole party as persons availing themselves of the privilege of
sanctuary.

A rumor of the queen's arrival reached the chiefs of the Red Rose
party; and to Beaulieu, without delay, went Somerset, with his brother,
John Beaufort, whom the Lancastrians called Marquis of Dorset, and
John, Earl of Devon, head of the great house of Courtenay. These
noblemen found Margaret plunged in grief, and resolved on returning
to France till GOD should send her better fortune. Their presence,
however, in some degree, revived the courage which had so often shone
forth in adversity; and Somerset strongly urged her to brave fortune
and the foe on another field. With the utmost difficulty Margaret was
brought to consent to the proposal, and even then she hesitated and
grew pale. Indeed, the ill-fated heroine confessed that she feared
for her son, and intimated her wish that he should be sent to France,
there to remain till a victory had been won. But to this scheme decided
opposition was expressed. Somerset and the Lancastrian lords argued
that the Prince of Wales should remain in England to lead the adherents
of the Red Rose to battle, "he being," as they said, "the morning sun
of the Lancastrian hopes, the rays of which were very resplendent
to meet English eyes;" and the royal boy, we can well believe, was
prepared rather to die at once on a field of fame, than live through
years of exile to expire in inglorious obscurity.

At length Margaret yielded to the general wish, and the Lancastrian
chiefs formed their plans for mustering an army. No insuperable
difficulties presented themselves. Shortly before Barnet was fought,
John Beaufort and the Earl of Devon had gone westward from Coventry
to levy forces, and Jasper Tudor had been sent into Wales on a similar
errand. The idea of the Lancastrians was to draw together the men
enlisted in the west, to join Jasper Tudor, who was still zealously
recruiting in Wales, to secure the services of the archers in which
Lancashire and Cheshire abounded, and to summon the prickers of the
northern counties to that standard under which they had conquered at
Wakefield and Bernard's Heath. The plan of campaign was, as we shall
hereafter see, such as to place Edward's throne in considerable peril;
and the imaginations of the Lancastrian chiefs caught fire at the
prospect of triumph. Somerset openly boasted that the Red Rose party
was rather strengthened than enfeebled by Warwick's fall; and Oxford,
who had recovered from the bewilderment which had lost his friends a
victory at Barnet, wrote to his countess, Warwick's sister, "Be of good
cheer, and take no thought, for I shall bring my purpose about now by
the grace of GOD."

Unfortunately for the champions of the Red Rose, they had to contend
with no ordinary antagonist. Almost ere they had formed their plans,
the king was aware that they were in motion; and, somewhat alarmed, he
faced the new danger with the energy and spirit that had laid Warwick
low. Within a week after his victory at Barnet, Edward, having placed
Henry of Windsor securely in the Tower, and also committed George
Neville, Archbishop of York, to the metropolitan fortress, marched from
London with such forces as were at hand; and at Windsor, within the
castle of his regal ancestors, he remained nearly a week to celebrate
the feast of St. George, to await the remainder of his troops, and to
obtain such intelligence of the enemy's movements as might enable him
to defeat their project. As yet the king was utterly uncertain whether
the Red Rose chiefs intended marching toward London or leading their
adherents northward. His predicament was, therefore, awkward. If he
hastened on to protect the north from being invaded, he left London
at their mercy; if he remained to guard the capital, he left the
north free to their incursions. The king's great object, under such
circumstances, was to bring the Lancastrians to battle at the earliest
possible period. His army, indeed, was small; but, as affairs then
were, he had little hope of its being increased; and he appears to have
placed much reliance on the artillery, with which he was well provided.
But, anxious as Edward might be to meet his foes face to face, he
checked his natural impetuosity, and declined to advance a mile without
having calculated the consequences.

Meanwhile, the Lancastrian standard was set up at Exeter, and to "the
London of the West" the men of Devon, Somerset, and Cornwall were
invited to repair. The Red Rose chiefs perfectly comprehended the
dilemma in which Edward was placed, and were prepared to act just as
circumstances rendered safe and expedient. If they could draw their
potent foe from the neighborhood of London, they would march on the
metropolis. If they could keep him in the neighborhood of London,
they would cross the Severn, join Jasper Tudor, march into Lancashire
and Cheshire, and raise the men of the north to overturn the Yorkist
throne. One thing they did not desire--that was an early meeting with
the conqueror of Towton and Barnet.

At Exeter, Margaret of Anjou, with the Prince and Princess of Wales,
joined the adherents of the Red Rose, and prepared for those military
operations which, she hoped, would hurl Edward of York from the throne.
Ere venturing upon the terrible task, however, the queen, with the
Lancastrian chiefs, made a progress throughout the west to collect
recruits. From Exeter she proceeded with this object to Bath, a town
which then consisted of a few hundreds of houses, crowded within an
old wall, hard by the Avon, and which derived some renown from those
springs whose healing qualities Bladud had discovered under the
guidance of hogs, and whose virtues had recommended the place to the
Romans when they came to Britain as resistless conquerors.

At Bath, Margaret's friends learned that Edward was watching her
movements with a vigilance that rendered an early junction with Jasper
Tudor extremely desirable; and, having considerably increased in
number, the Lancastrians took their way to Bristol, a town with strong
walls, which the Flemings, brought over by Philippa of Hainault, had
made the seat of an extensive woolen trade.

The inhabitants of Bristol had manifested much loyalty to Edward, when,
during the harvest-time of 1462, the young Yorkist king appeared within
their walls, and executed Sir Baldwin Fulford and other Lancastrians.
Since that event, celebrated by Chatterton as "The Bristowe Tragedy,"
well-nigh nine years had elapsed, and, during that time, their
attention had been attracted from the Wars of the Roses to a war nearer
home. It is probable that the contentions of York and Lancaster had
excited less interest than the feud between the houses of Berkeley and
Lisle; and that the field of Barnet had created less excitement than
that of Nibley Green, where, one March morning in 1470, William Lord
Berkeley and Thomas Talbot, Lord Lisle, fought that battle known as
"The English Chevy Chase."

But, however loyal the citizens of Bristol might be to Edward of York,
they knew that Margaret of Anjou was not a woman to be trifled with;
and, however little they might relish the spectacle of Lancastrian
warriors crowding their streets, they were ready enough to furnish
the Red Rose chiefs with money, provisions, and artillery. After
receiving these supplies, the Lancastrian queen, anxious to cross the
Severn, relieved Bristol of her presence on the 2d of May--it was
a Thursday--and led her army toward that valley which, of old, had
been depicted by William of Malmesbury as rich in fruit and corn, and
abounding in vineyards.

The king's pursuit of his enemies had, in the mean time, been at once
absorbing as a game of chess and exciting as a fox-hunt. For a time,
he was unable to comprehend their movements, and forced to act with
extreme caution. Indeed, Edward was not unaware that the Lancastrian
leaders were exercising their utmost energy to outwit him; and he knew
full well that one false step on his part would, in all likelihood,
decide the campaign in their favor. At length, becoming aware that
they were spreading rumors of their intention to advance to London by
Oxford and Reading, the king concluded that their real intention was to
march northward; and, leading his army forth from Windsor, he encamped
at Abingdon, a town of Berkshire, on the River Thames. Learning, at
Abingdon, that Margaret and her captains were still at Wells, he
moved a little northward to Cirencester, in Gloucestershire, and was
then informed that the Lancastrians were about to leave Bath and give
him battle on the 1st of May--the anniversary of his ill-judged and
ill-starred marriage.

Eager for a conflict, the king marched his army out of the town of
Cirencester, and, encamping in the neighboring fields, awaited the
arrival of his foes. Edward soon found, however, that he had been
deceived; and, in hopes of finding them, marched to Malmesbury, in
Wiltshire. Learning, at that town, that the Lancastrians had turned
aside to Bristol, he went to Sodbury, a place about ten miles distant
from the emporium of the west: and, at Sodbury, from the circumstances
of his men, while riding into the town to secure quarters, encountering
a body of the enemy's outriders, and the Lancastrians having sent
forward men to take their ground on Sodbury Hill, he believed that
their army was at no great distance. Eager for intelligence, Edward
sent light horsemen to scour the country, and encamped on Sodbury Hill.
About midnight on Thursday, scouts came into the camp, and Edward's
suspense was terminated. It appeared beyond doubt that the Lancastrians
were on full march from Bristol to Gloucester; and the king, awake
to the crisis, lost no time in holding a council of war. A decision
was rapidly arrived at; and a messenger dispatched post-haste to
Richard, Lord Beauchamp of Powicke, then Governor of Gloucester, with
instructions to refuse the Lancastrians admittance and a promise to
relieve the city forthwith in case of its being assailed.

Events now hastened rapidly onward. The king's messenger had no time to
lose; for the Lancastrian army, having marched all night, was pushing
on toward the vale of Gloucester. The vale, as the reader may be aware,
is semicircular--the Severn forming the chord, the Cotswold Hills the
arc; and Cheltenham, Gloucester, and Tewkesbury making a triangle
with its area. Into the second of these towns Margaret expected to be
admitted; and she calculated on being enabled, under the protection of
its walls and castle, to pass the Severn without interruption, and to
form a junction with Jasper Tudor, who was all bustle and enthusiasm in
Wales.

A grievous disappointment awaited the Lancastrian army--a bitter
mortification the Lancastrian queen. On Friday morning, a few hours
after sunrise, Margaret of Anjou, with the warriors of the Red Rose,
appeared before Gloucester. But Beauchamp, having received Edward's
message, positively refused to open the gates; and when Margaret,
with a heavy heart, turned aside and proceeded toward Tewkesbury, he
still farther displayed his Yorkist zeal by hanging on the rear of the
Lancastrians and doing them all the mischief he could. Even Somerset
must have confessed that the aspect of affairs was now the reverse of
bright; and, after leaving Gloucester behind, every thing began to go
wrong. The march lay through woods and lanes, and over stony ground;
and the soldiers, hungry and foot-sore, were oppressed with the heat
of the weather. Moreover, the peasantry, inclined, for some reason or
other, to oppose the progress of the Lancastrians, secured the fords
by which the Severn might have been crossed; and Beauchamp not only
harassed the rear of the queen's army, but succeeded in capturing some
artillery, which she was in no condition to spare. At length, on Friday
afternoon, after having marched thirty-six miles, without rest, and
almost without food, the Lancastrians, weary and dispirited, reached
Tewkesbury, a little town standing on the left bank of the Severn, and
deriving some dignity from a Norman abbey, known far and wide as the
sepulchre of a mighty race of barons, whose chiefs fought at Evesham
and fell at Bannockburn. At this place, which had been inherited from
the De Clares, through Beauchamps and Despensers, by the Countess of
Warwick, the Lancastrian leaders halted to refresh their men.

Early on that morning, when the queen and her captains appeared before
Gloucester, Edward left Sodbury, and led his army over the Cotswolds,
whose sheep and shepherds old Drayton has celebrated. His soldiers
suffered much from heat, and still more for want of water; only
meeting, on their way, with one brook, the water of which, as men and
horses dashed in, was soon rendered unfit for use. Onward, however, in
spite of heat and thirst, as if prescient of victory, pressed Edward's
soldiers, sometimes within five miles of their enemies--the Yorkists
in a champaign country, and the Lancastrians among woods--but the
chiefs of both armies directing their march toward the same point.
At length, after having marched more than thirty miles, the Yorkists
reached a little village situated on the River Chelt, secluded in the
vale of Gloucester, and consisting of a few thatched cottages forming
a straggling street near a church with an ancient spire, which had
been erected in honor of St. Mary before the Plantagenets came to rule
in England. At this hamlet, which the saline springs, discovered some
centuries later by the flight of pigeons, have metamorphosed into a
beautiful and luxurious city, Edward halted to recruit the energies and
refresh the spirits of his followers. At Cheltenham the king received
intelligence that the foe was at Tewkesbury; and, marching in that
direction, he encamped for the night in a field hard by the Lancastrian
camp.

Ere the king reached Cheltenham the Lancastrians had formed their
plans. On arriving at Tewkesbury, Somerset, aware that the Yorkists
were fast approaching, intimated his intention to remain and give
Edward battle. Margaret, as if with the presentiment of a tragic
catastrophe, was all anxiety to cross the Severn; and many of the
captains sympathized with their queen's wish. Somerset, however,
carried his point; and, indeed, it is not easy to comprehend how the
Lancastrians could, under the circumstances, have attempted a passage
without exposing their rear to certain destruction. Somerset's opinion
on any subject may not have been worth much; but he does not appear
to have been in the wrong when he decided on encamping at Tewkesbury,
and when he declared his intention there to abide such fortune as GOD
should send.

So at Tewkesbury, through that summer night, within a short distance of
each other, the armies of York and Lancaster, under the sons of those
who, years before, had plucked the roses in the Temple Garden, and
encountered with mortal hatred in the streets of St. Albans, animated
moreover by such vindictive feelings as the memory of friends and
kinsmen slain in the field and executed on the scaffold could not fail
to inspire, awaited the light of another day, to fight their twelfth
battle for the crown of England.




CHAPTER XXXI.

THE FIELD OF TEWKESBURY.


On Saturday the 4th of May, 1471, ere the bell of Tewkesbury Abbey
tolled "the sweet hour of prime," or the monks had assembled to sing
the morning hymn, King Edward was astir and making ready to attack the
Lancastrians.

Mounted on a brown charger, with his magnificent person clad in Milan
steel, a crown of ornament around his helmet, and the arms of France
and England quarterly on his shield, the king set his men in order for
the assault. The van of the Yorkist army was committed to Richard, Duke
of Gloucester, whose skill and courage on the field of Barnet had made
him, at nineteen, the hero among those of whom, at thirty, he was to
be the headsman. The centre host Edward commanded in person; and by
the side of the royal warrior figured the ill-starred Clarence, never
again to be fully trusted by his brother. The rear was intrusted to
the guidance of Lord Hastings, and to Elizabeth Woodville's eldest
son, Thomas Grey, Marquis of Dorset. Thus arrayed, flushed with recent
victory over mighty adversaries, the Yorkist warriors, in all the
pride of valor, and all the confidence of victory, prepared to advance
upon their foes.

Meanwhile, the Red Rose chiefs were not idle. Having encamped south
of the town of Tewkesbury, on some rising ground, part of which is
still known as "Queen Margaret's Camp," the Lancastrians appear to
have made the most of their advantages. Defended as they were in their
rear by the Abbey, and in front and on both sides by hedges, lanes,
and ditches, they intrenched their position strongly, in the hope
of keeping Edward at bay till the arrival of Jasper Tudor, who was
believed to be rapidly approaching; and, at the same time, they left
openings in their intrenchments, through which, should such a course
seem expedient, they might sally forth upon the assailing foe.

Their camp thus fortified, the Lancastrian leaders disposed the army
of the Red Rose in three divisions. Of the first of these Somerset,
aided by his brother, John Beaufort, took the command; the second was
committed to the auspices of Edward, Prince of Wales, the Prior of St.
John, and Lord Wenlock, who, having shared the Lancastrian defeat at
St. Albans and the Yorkist triumph at Towton, had once more, in an evil
hour, placed Queen Margaret's badge on his gorget; and the third was
confided to the Earl of Devon, the youngest of three brothers, two of
whom, after wearing the coronet of the Courtenays, had died on the
scaffold for their fidelity to the Red Rose.

While the Lancastrians were forming their line of battle, King Edward
gave the order to advance; and, with banners displayed, with clarions
and trumpets sounding a march, and with Gloucester leading the van, and
perhaps even then dreaming of a crown, the Yorkist army moved forward,
gay with knights and nobles in rich armor and broidered vests, their
lances gleaming in the merry sunshine, their plumes and pennons dancing
in the morning breeze, and their mailed steeds, with chaffrons of
steel projecting from barbed frontals, caracoling at the touch of the
spur. Within a mile of the Lancastrian camp Edward halted his men; and
his large blue eye, which took in the whole position of his enemies,
wandered jealously to the park of Tewkesbury, which was situated to the
right of Somerset's division. Suspicious of an ambuscade, the Yorkist
king dispatched two hundred spearmen from his army to proceed in that
direction, and ordered them, in case of their not finding any foe
lurking in the wood, to take such part in the battle as circumstances
should render expedient. Having satisfied himself with this precaution,
the king ordered his banners to advance, and his trumpets to sound an
onset.

When the hour of conflict drew nigh, Margaret of Anjou, accompanied
by the heir of Lancaster, rode along the lines and addressed the
adherents of the Red Rose. Never, perhaps, had the daughter of King
René looked more queenly than on the field of Tewkesbury; never had
she enacted her part with more art than she did on the eve of that
catastrophe which was to plunge her to the depths of despair. Though
sick at heart, and more than doubtful as to the issue of the field, she
assumed the aspect of perfect confidence, and spoke as if inspired with
the hope of victory. Years of trouble had, of course, destroyed those
exquisite charms which in youth had made Margaret famous as the beauty
of Christendom, but had not deprived her of the power of subduing
men to her purposes, even against their better judgment. Though her
countenance bore traces of the wear and tear of anxious days and
sleepless nights, her presence exercised on the partisans of the house
of Lancaster an influence not less potent than it had done in days when
she possessed a beauty that dazzled all eyes and fascinated all hearts.

Nor did the heir of Lancaster appear, by any means, unworthy of such a
mother, as, armed complete in mail, he accompanied her along the lines,
his standard borne by John Gower. Imagine the boy-warrior, gifted as he
was with all the graces of rank and royalty, frankness and chivalry;
his eye sparkling with the pride and valor of the Plantagenets; the
arms of France and England blazoned on his shield, his tabard, and the
caparisons of his horse, and it will not be difficult to conceive the
influence which, in spite of his foreign accent, such a grandson of
the conqueror of Agincourt, uttering sentiments worthy of the pupil of
Fortescue in language worthy of the son of Margaret of Anjou, exercised
on the Lancastrian host when about to encounter the partisans of the
White Rose.

Margaret of Anjou was not unaware of the effect produced by the fair
face and graceful figure of the Prince of Wales. Glancing, with
maternal pride, at the royal boy, who rode at her right hand, she
reined in her palfrey, and, having with a gesture obtained an audience,
she encouraged her partisans, in a voice promising victory, to do their
duty valiantly against Edward of York and prove their courage on the
crests of the usurper's adherents. "It remained for them, the soldiers
of the Red Rose," said the queen, in accents which quickened the pulse
and nerved the arm of the listeners, "to restore an imprisoned king
to liberty and his throne, and to secure for themselves, not only
safety, but distinctions and rewards. Did the inequalities of number
daunt them? She could not doubt that their stout hearts, animated by
the justice of their cause, would enable them to overcome in spite
of disparity. Did they lack motives to be valiant against the foe?
Let them look upon the Prince of Wales, and fight for him, their
fellow-soldier, who was now to share their fortune on the field; and
who, once in possession of his rights, would not forget those to whose
courage he owed the throne. The kingdom of England should be their
inheritance, to be divided among them; the wealth of the rebellious
cities should be their spoil; they should be rewarded for their
devotion with all those titles which their enemies now proudly wore;
and, above all, they should enjoy lasting fame and honor throughout the
realm."

An enthusiastic response arose from the ranks of the Lancastrians as
their heroic queen concluded her spirit-stirring address; and the
warriors of the Red Rose indicated, by signs not to be mistaken, their
alacrity to fight to the death for the rights of such a mother and such
a son. Perhaps, at that moment, Margaret, infected with the excitement
which her own eloquence had created, almost persuaded herself to hope.
No hour was that, however, to indulge in day-dreams. Ere the enthusiasm
of the Lancastrians had time to die away, Richard of Gloucester had
advanced his banner to their camp, and the troops under the young duke
were storming the intrenchments.

Gloucester, as leader of the Yorkist van, found himself opposed to the
Lancastrians whom Somerset commanded in person; and, the ferocity of
his nature being doubtless inflamed by the hereditary antipathy of the
house of York to the house of Beaufort, he made a furious assault. The
onslaught of the stripling war-chief, however, proved of no avail;
for the nature of the ground was such as to prevent the Yorkists from
coming hand to hand with their foes, while the Lancastrians, posted
among bushes and trees, galled their assailants with showers of arrows.
Gloucester was somewhat cowed, but his guile did not desert him. He
assumed the air of a man who was baffled, pretended to be repulsed,
and, retiring from the assault, contented himself with ordering the
artillery, with which the Yorkists were better provided than their
foes, to play upon the Lancastrian ranks.

The aspect of the battle was now decidedly in favor of the Red Rose,
and such as to cause the Yorkists some degree of anxiety. What the
Lancastrians wanted was a war-chief of courage and experience, and
Somerset neither had the talents nor the experience requisite for the
occasion. At the head of that host on the banks of the Severn, such a
man as the fifth Henry, or John, Duke of Bedford, might, by a decisive
victory, have won back Margaret's crown. But the grandson of Katherine
Swynford had not been intended by GOD and nature to cope with the royal
warrior who laid Warwick low.

Somerset had still to learn his incapacity for the part he had
undertaken to enact. As yet he was under the influence of such a degree
of vanity as prompted him to the rashest courses. Elate at Gloucester's
retreat, and concluding that a determined effort would render the
Lancastrians victorious, the shallow duke led his men through the
openings that had been left in their intrenchments. Descending from the
elevated ground, he charged Edward's centre host with violence, drove
that part of the Yorkist army back, and then, with infinitely less
prudence than presumption, followed the wily Gloucester into the open
meadows.

Once fairly away from his intrenchments, the Lancastrian leader found
too late the error he had committed. Gloucester's stratagem had been
attended with a success which even he could hardly have anticipated.
Suddenly wheeling round and shouting their battle-cry, the boy-duke and
the Yorkists turned upon their pursuers with the fury of lions; and,
at the same time, the two hundred spearmen who had been sent to guard
against an ambuscade in Tewkesbury Park came rushing to the conflict,
and made a vigorous attack upon Somerset's flank. Taken by surprise,
the Lancastrian van fled in disorder. Some made for the park; some ran
toward the meadows; others flung themselves into the ditches; and so
many were beaten down and slain where they fought, that the greensward
was crimsoned with gore.

Gloucester did not pause in the work of destruction. After cheering
on his men to the carnage, he pursued Somerset up the hill, availed
himself of the Lancastrians' confusion to force his way through their
intrenchments, and carried into their camp that terror with which his
grisly cognizance seldom failed to inspire his enemies.

The plight of the Lancastrians now became desperate. Somerset, having
lost his followers, lost his temper, and with it every chance of
victory. Indeed, the duke appears to have acted the part of a madman.
On reaching the camp, flushed and furious, he looked around for a
victim to sacrifice to his rage, and made a selection which was
singularly unfortunate for the Lancastrians. Lord Wenlock, it seems,
had not left the camp to support Somerset's charge; and the duke,
bearing in mind how recently that nobleman had been converted from the
Yorkist cause, rushed to the conclusion that he was playing false. A
fearful scene was the result. Riding to the centre division of the
Lancastrians, the exasperated Beaufort reviled Lord Wenlock in language
too coarse to have been recorded, and, after denouncing the aged
warrior as traitor and coward, cleft his skull with a battle-axe.

No incident could have been more unfavorable to the fortunes of
the Red Rose than Wenlock's fall by the hand of Somerset. A panic
immediately seized the Lancastrians; and, ere they could recover from
their confusion, King Edward perceived his advantage, cheered his men
to the onslaught, spurred over hedge and ditch, and dashed, on his
brown charger, fiercely into the intrenched camp. Irresistible we can
well imagine the onset of that horse and that rider to have been--the
strong war-steed, with his frontal of steel, making a way through the
enemy's disordered ranks, and the tall warrior dispersing all around
with the sweep of his terrible sword. Vain was then the presence of
the Prince of Wales, gallant as the bearing of the royal boy doubtless
was. Indeed, all the princes of John of Gaunt's lineage could not now
have turned the tide of fight. After a faint struggle, the Lancastrians
recoiled in consternation; and, throwing down their arms, fled before
Edward and his knights as deer before the hunters. The rout was rapid
and complete. The field presented a fearful scene of panic, confusion,
and slaughter. Some of the vanquished ran for refuge into Tewkesbury;
others betook themselves for safety to the abbey church; and many,
hotly pursued and scarcely knowing whither they went, were drowned "at
a mill in the meadow fast by the town."

Somerset, on seeing the ruin his rashness had brought on his friends,
fled from the scene of carnage. The duke ought not, perhaps, to have
avoided the destruction to which he had allured so many brave men. The
chief of the Beauforts, however, had no ambition to die like the great
earl whom he had deserted at Barnet, nor to fall on the field to which
he had challenged his hereditary foe. It is wonderful, indeed, that a
man who had known little of life save its miseries should have cared
to survive such a defeat; but Somerset, whatever his other qualities,
had none of that spirit which, at Bannockburn, prompted Argentine to
exclaim, "'Tis not my wont to fly!" At Hexham and at Barnet, Somerset's
principal exploits had consisted of availing himself of the speed of
his horse to escape the foe; and at Tewkesbury he rushed cravenly from
the field, on which, a few hours earlier, he had boastfully declared
that he would abide such fortune as GOD should send. The Prior of St.
John, Sir Gervase Clifton, Sir Thomas Tresham, and a number of knights
and esquires likewise sought safety in flight.

The Prince of Wales had hitherto fought with courage; and there is some
reason to believe that he fell fighting manfully on the field where so
much blood was shed to vindicate his claims to the crown of England.
Poets, novelists, and historians have, however, told a different tale,
and produced an impression that, when the heir of Lancaster found
himself abandoned by Somerset, and perceived the fortune of the day
decidedly adverse to the Red Rose, he followed the multitude, who,
shrinking from the charge of Edward on his berry-brown steed, and of
Gloucester with his boar's-head crest, fled confusedly toward the town.

But, however that may have been, all the warriors of the Red Rose did
not fly. Destruction, indeed, awaited every man who stood his ground;
but even the certainty of death can not daunt those who are inspired
by honor. Knights and nobles, after fighting with courage, fell with
disdainful pride, and hundreds upon hundreds of the Lancastrians of
inferior rank lost their lives in the cause for which, at the summons
of their chiefs, they had taken up arms. There fell the Earl of Devon;
and John Beaufort, the brother of Somerset, and, save the duke, the
last male heir of the house of Beaufort; and Sir John Delves, the
chief of a family long settled at Doddington, in the County Palatine
of Chester; and Sir William Fielding, whose descendants, in the time
of the Stuarts, became Earls of Denbigh; and Sir Edmund Hampden, one
of that ancient race which had flourished in the eleventh century,
and which, in the sixteenth, produced the renowned leader of the Long
Parliament.

At length, when three thousand Lancastrians had perished on the field
of Tewkesbury, the resistance and carnage came to an end; and Edward,
having knighted Warwick's cousin, George Neville, the heir of Lord
Abergavenny, sheathed his bloody sword, and Gloucester laid aside his
lance; and the king and the duke rode to the abbey church to render
thanks to GOD for giving them another victory over their enemies.




CHAPTER XXXII.

THE VICTOR AND THE VANQUISHED.


While Edward of York was smiting down his foes on the field of
Tewkesbury, and the blood of the Lancastrians was flowing like water,
a chariot, guided by attendants whose looks indicated alarm and dread,
might have been observed to leave the scene of carnage, and pass
hurriedly through the gates of the park. In this chariot was a lady,
who appeared almost unconscious of what was passing, though it had not
been her wont to faint in hours of difficulty and danger. The lady was
Margaret of Anjou, but with a countenance no longer expressing those
fierce and terrible emotions which, after Northampton, and Towton,
and Hexham, had urged her to heroic ventures in order to regain
for her husband the crown which her son had been born to inherit.
Pale, ghastly, and rigid--more like that of a corpse than of a being
breathing the breath of life--was now that face, in which the friends
of the Lancastrian queen had in such seasons often read, as in a book,
resolutions of stern vengeance to be executed on her foes.

Fortune, indeed, had at length subdued the high spirit of Margaret
of Anjou, and she made no effort to resist her fate. When witnessing
the battle, and becoming aware that her worst anticipations were
being realized, the unfortunate queen appeared reckless of life, and
abandoned herself to despair. Alarmed, however, at the dangers which
menaced the vanquished, Margaret's attendants placed their royal
mistress in a chariot, conveyed her hastily from the field, and made
their way to a small religious house situated near the left bank of
the silver Severn: there she found the Princess of Wales and several
Lancastrian ladies, who had followed the fortunes of the Red Rose and
shared the perils of their kinsmen. No need to announce to them that
all was lost. Even if the disastrous intelligence had not preceded her
arrival, they would have read in Margaret's pale face and corpse-like
aspect the ruin of her hopes and of their own.

The religious house in which the queen found a temporary resting-place
was not one which could save her from the grasp of the conquering foe.
But so sudden had been the rout of one party, and so signal the victory
of the other, that the vanquished had no time to think of escaping
to a distance. The abbey church was the point toward which most of
the fugitives directed their course, and within the walls of that
edifice Somerset, the Prior of St. John, Sir Henry de Roos, Sir Gervase
Clifton, Sir Thomas Tresham, many knights and esquires, and a crowd of
humble adherents of the Red Rose, sought refuge from the sword of the
conquerors. Unhappily for the Lancastrians, the church did not possess
the privilege of protecting rebels, and Edward was in no humor to spare
men who had shown themselves his bitter foes. Without scruple, the
victor-king, on finding they had taken refuge in the abbey, attempted
to enter, sword in hand; but at this point he found himself face to
face with a power before which kings had often trembled. At the porch,
a priest, bearing the host, interposed between the conqueror and his
destined victims, and protested, in names which even Edward durst
not disregard, against the sacred precincts being made the scene of
bloodshed. Baffled of his prey, Edward turned his thoughts to the heir
of Lancaster, and issued a proclamation, promising a reward to any who
should produce the prince, dead or alive, and stating that in such a
case the life of the royal boy would be spared.

Among the warriors who fought at Tewkesbury was Sir Richard Croft,
a Marchman of Wales. This knight was husband of a kinswoman of the
Yorkist princes, and had figured as Governor of Ludlow when Edward,
then Earl of March, was residing during boyhood in that castle with
his brother, the ill-fated Rutland. Passing, after the battle
of Tewkesbury, between the town and the field, Croft encountered
a youthful warrior, whose elegance arrested his attention, and
whose manner was like that of one strange to the place. On being
accosted, the youth, in an accent which revealed a foreign education,
acknowledged that he was the heir of Lancaster; and, on being assured
that his life was in no hazard, he consented to accompany the stalwart
Marchman to the king.

Toward the market-place, a triangular space where met the three streets
that gave to Tewkesbury the form of the letter Y, Croft conducted
his interesting captive. Tewkesbury has little changed since that
time; but the old Town Hall, which then stood in the market-place,
has disappeared. It was to a house in the neighborhood of this
building, however, that the king had repaired after the battle, and
there, surrounded by Clarence and Gloucester, Hastings and Dorset,
the captains who had led his host to victory, sat Edward of York when
Edward of Lancaster was brought into his presence.

The king had that morning gained a victory which put his enemies under
his feet, and had since, perhaps, washed down his cravings for revenge
with draughts of that cup to which he was certainly too much addicted.
It is not difficult to believe those historians who tell that, under
such circumstances, satiated with carnage, and anxious for peace and
repose, he was in a frame of mind the reverse of unfavorable to his
captive, nor even to credit an assertion that the wish of Edward of
York was to treat the heir of the fifth Henry as that king had treated
the last chief of the house of Mortimer, to convert the prince from
a dangerous rival into a sure friend, and to secure his gratitude by
bestowing upon him the Duchy of Lancaster and the splendid possessions
of John of Gaunt. To the vanquished prince, therefore, the victor-king
"at first showed no uncourteous countenance." A minute's conversation,
however, dissipated the king's benevolent intentions, and sealed the
brave prince's fate.

[Illustration: THE VICTOR AND THE VANQUISHED.]

"What brought you to England," asked Edward, "and how durst you enter
into this our realm with banner displayed?"

"To recover my father's rights," fearlessly answered the heir of
Lancaster; and then asked, "How darest thou, who art his subject, so
presumptuously display thy colors against thy liege lord?"

At this reply, which evinced so little of that discretion which is
the better part of valor, Edward's blood boiled; and, burning with
indignation, he savagely struck the unarmed prince in the mouth with
his gauntlet. Clarence and Gloucester are said to have then rushed
upon him with their swords, and the king's servants to have drawn
him into another room and completed the murder. In the house where,
according to tradition, this cruel deed was perpetrated, marks of
blood were long visible on the oaken floor; and these dark stains
were pointed out as memorials of the cruel murder of the fifth
Henry's grandson, by turns the hope, the hero, and the victim of the
Lancastrian cause.

Having imbrued his hands in the blood of the only rival whom he could
deem formidable, and too fearfully avenged the murder of Rutland,
Edward appears to have steeled his heart to feelings of mercy, and
to have determined on throwing aside all scruples in dealing with
his foes. It was only decent, however, to allow Sunday to elapse ere
proceeding with the work of vengeance. That day of devotion and rest
over, the Lancastrians were forcibly taken from the church. Those of
meaner rank were pardoned; but Somerset, the Prior of St. John, Sir
Henry de Roos, Sir Gervase Clifton, Sir Thomas Tresham, John Gower, and
the other knights and esquires, were brought to trial. Gloucester and
John Mowbray, the last of the great Dukes of Norfolk, presided, one as
Constable of England, the other as Earl-marshal; and the trial being,
of course, a mere form, the captives were condemned to be beheaded.

On Tuesday, while the scaffold was being erected in the market-place of
Tewkesbury for the execution of those who had risked all in her cause,
Margaret of Anjou was discovered in the religious house to which she
had been conveyed from the field on which her last hopes were wrecked.
The Lancastrian queen was brought to Edward by Sir William Stanley,
still zealous on the Yorkist side, and little dreaming of the part he
was to take at Bosworth in rendering the Red Rose finally triumphant.
Margaret's life was spared; but her high spirit was gone, and, on
being informed of her son's death, the unfortunate princess only gave
utterance to words of lamentation and woe. Now that he around whom
all her hopes had clustered was no more, what could life be to her?
what the rival Roses? what the contentions of York and Lancaster?
Her ambition was buried in the grave of her son, who had been her
consolation and her hope.

Sir John Fortescue was among the Lancastrians whom the victory of
Tewkesbury placed in Edward's power; and the great lawyer was in some
danger of having to seal with his blood his devotion to the Red Rose.
Fortescue, however, had no longings for a crown of martyrdom; and
Edward, luckily for his memory, perceived that the house of York would
lose nothing by sparing a foe so venerable and so learned. It happened
that, when in Scotland, Fortescue had produced a treatise vindicating
the claims of the house of Lancaster to the English crown, and the king
consented to pardon the ex-chief-justice if he would write a similar
treatise in favor of the claims of the line of York. The condition was
hard; but that was an age when, to borrow old Fuller's phrase, it was
present drowning not to swim with the stream; and Fortescue, consenting
to the terms, applied himself to the arduous task. The difficulty was
not insuperable. In his argument for Lancaster he had relied much on
the fact of Philippa of Clarence having never been acknowledged by her
father. In his argument for York he showed that Philippa's legitimacy
had been proved beyond all dispute. On the production of the treatise
his pardon was granted; and the venerable judge retired to spend the
remainder of his days at Ebrington, an estate which he possessed in
Gloucestershire.

About the time that Fortescue received a pardon, John Morton, who, like
the great lawyer, had fought on Towton Field, and since followed the
ruined fortunes of Lancaster, expressed his readiness to make peace
with the Yorkist king. In this case no difficulty was interposed.
Edward perceived that the learning and intellect of the "late parson
of Blokesworth" might be of great service to the government. Morton's
attainder was therefore reversed at the earliest possible period, and
he soon after became Bishop of Ely.

Meanwhile, on the scaffold erected in the market-place of Tewkesbury,
the Lancastrians were beheaded, the Prior of St. John appearing on the
mournful occasion in the long black robe and white cross of his order.
No quartering nor dismembering of the bodies, however, was practiced,
nor were the heads of the vanquished set up in public places, as after
Wakefield and Towton. The bodies of those who died, whether on the
field or the scaffold, were handed over to their friends or servants,
who interred them where seemed best. Most of them, including those of
the Prince of Wales, Devon, Somerset, and John Beaufort, were laid in
the abbey church; but the corpse of Wenlock was removed elsewhere,
probably to be buried in the Wenlock Chapel, which he had built at
Luton; and that of the prior was consigned to the care of the great
fraternity of religious knights at Clerkenwell, of which he had been
the head.

After wreaking his vengeance upon the conquered, Edward moved northward
to complete his triumph, and forgot for a while the blood he had shed.
Years after, however, when laid on his death-bed, the memory of those
executions appears to have lain heavy upon his conscience, and he
mournfully expressed the regret which they caused him. "Such things,
if I had foreseen," said he, "as I have with more pain than pleasure
proved, by GOD'S Blessed Lady I would never have won the courtesy of
men's knees with the loss of so many heads."




CHAPTER XXXIII.

WARWICK'S VICE-ADMIRAL.


One day in May, 1471, while Edward of York was at Tewkesbury, while
Henry of Windsor was a captive in the Tower, and while Elizabeth
Woodville and her family were also lodged for security in the
metropolitan fortress--thus at once serving the purposes of a prison
and a palace--a sudden commotion took place in the capital of England,
and consternation appeared on the face of every citizen. The alarm
was by no means causeless, for never had the wealth of London looked
so pale since threatened by the Lancastrian army after the battle on
Bernard's Heath.

Among the English patricians who, at the beginning of the struggle
between York and Lancaster, attached themselves to the fortunes of the
White Rose, was William Neville, son of Ralph, Earl of Westmoreland,
brother of Cicely, Duchess of York, and uncle of Richard, Earl of
Warwick. This Yorkist warrior derived from the heiress whom he had
married the lordship of Falconbridge; and, after leading the van at
Towton, he was rewarded by Edward with the earldom of Kent. Dying
soon after, he was laid at rest, with obsequies befitting his rank,
in the Priory of Gisborough, and his lands were inherited by his three
daughters, one of whom was the wife of Sir John Conyers.

The Earl of Kent left no legitimate son to inherit his honors;
but he left an illegitimate son, named Thomas Neville, and known,
after the fashion of the age, as "The Bastard of Falconbridge." The
misfortune of Falconbridge's birth, of course, prevented him from
becoming his father's heir; but, being "a man of turbulent spirit and
formed for action," he had no idea of passing his life in obscurity.
His relationship to Warwick was not distant; and "The Stout Earl,"
duly appreciating the courage and vigor of his illegitimate kinsman,
nominated him vice-admiral, and appointed him to prevent Edward
receiving any aid from the Continent.

While Warwick lived, Falconbridge appears to have executed his
commission on the narrow seas with fidelity and decorum. But when
Barnet had been fought, and the vice-admiral had no longer the fear
of the king-maker before his eyes, the narrow seas saw another sight.
Throwing off all restraint, he took openly to piracy, and, joined by
some malcontents from Calais, went so desperately to work, that in a
marvelously short space of time he made his name terrible to skippers
and traders. Falconbridge was not, however, content with this kind of
fame. He had always believed himself destined to perform some mighty
achievement, and he now found his soul swelling with an irresistible
ambition to attempt the restoration of Lancaster. The peril attending
such an exploit might, indeed, have daunted the boldest spirit; but the
courage of the Bastard was superlative, and his audacity was equal to
his courage.

The enterprise of Falconbridge was not at first so utterly desperate as
subsequent events made it appear. The Lancastrians were not yet quite
subdued. Oxford was still free and unsubdued; Pembroke was in arms on
the marches of Wales; and the men of the north, on whom Edward's hand
had been so heavy, were arming to take revenge on their tyrant, and
liberate from his grasp the woman who, with her smiles and tears, had
in other days tempted them to do battle in her behalf. If, under these
circumstances, Falconbridge could take Henry out of prison, proclaim
the monk-monarch once more in London, and send northward the news of a
Lancastrian army being in possession of the capital, he might change
the destiny of England, and enroll his own name in the annals of fame.

No time was lost in maturing the project. Landing at Sandwich,
Falconbridge was admitted into Canterbury, and prepared to march upon
the metropolis. His adventure soon began to wear a hopeful aspect.
Indeed, his success was miraculous; for, as he made his way through
Kent, the army, which originally consisted of the desperadoes of the
Cinque Ports and the riff-raff of Calais, swelled till it numbered some
seventeen thousand men. Posting this formidable host on the Surrey side
of the Thames, and, at the same time, causing his ships to secure the
river above St. Katherine's, Falconbridge demanded access to the city,
that he might take Henry out of the Tower, and then pass onward to
encounter the usurper.

The mayor and aldermen, however, sorely perplexed, determined to stand
by the house of York, and sent post-haste to inform the king that
London was menaced by land and water, and to implore him to hasten
to the relief of his faithful city. Edward, who, to awe the northern
insurgents, had proceeded as far as Coventry, forthwith sent fifteen
hundred men to the capital; and, on meeting the Earl of Northumberland,
who came to assure him of the peace of the north, the king turned his
face southward, and hurried toward London.

Meanwhile the patience of Falconbridge had given way. Enraged at the
refusal of the Londoners to admit his army, and anxious to gratify
the appetite of his followers for plunder, the Bastard expressed his
intention of passing the Thames with his army at Kingston, destroying
Westminster, and then taking revenge on the citizens of London for
keeping him without their gates. Finding, however, that the wooden
bridge at Kingston was broken down, and all the places of passage
guarded, he drew his forces into St. George's Fields, and from that
point prepared to carry London by assault.

His plan thus formed, Falconbridge commenced operations with
characteristic energy. After carrying his ordnance from the ships, he
planted guns and stationed archers along the banks of the Thames. At
first considerable execution was done. Many houses were battered down
by the ordnance, and London experienced much inconvenience from the
flight of arrows; but the citizens soon showed that this was a game
at which two parties could play. Having brought their artillery to
the river-side, and planted it over against that of their assailants,
they returned the fire with an effect so galling, that the adherents
of the vice-admiral found their position intolerable, and retreated in
confusion from their guns.

Falconbridge was not the man to despair early of the enterprise upon
which he had ventured. Seeing his men fall back in dismay, he resolved
on prosecuting the assault in a more direct way, and on going closely
to work with his antagonists. He resolved, moreover, on making a
great attempt at London Bridge, and, at the same time, ordered his
lieutenants--Spicing and Quintine--to embark three thousand men, pass
the Thames in ships, and force Aldgate and Bishopgate. The desperadoes,
crossing the river, acted in obedience to their leader's orders, and
London was at once assailed suddenly at three separate points. But
the Londoners continued obstinate. Encouraged by the news of Edward's
victory, and incited to valor by the example of Robert Basset and
Ralph Jocelyne, aldermen of the city, they faced the peril with
fortitude, and offered so desperate a defense, that seven hundred of
the assailants were slain. Repulsed on all points, and despairing of
success, the Bastard was fain to beat a retreat.

Baffled in his efforts to take the capital by storm, Falconbridge led
his adherents into Kent, and encamped on Blackheath. His prospects were
not now encouraging; and for three days he remained in his camp without
any new exploits. At the end of that time he learned that Edward was
approaching, and doubtless felt that the idea of trying conclusions
at the head of a mob with the army that had conquered at Barnet and
Tewkesbury was not to be entertained. The undisciplined champions of
the Red Rose, indeed, dispersed at the news of Edward's coming, as
pigeons do at the approach of a hawk; and their adventurous leader,
having taken to his ships, that lay at Blackwall, sailed for Sandwich.

On Tuesday, the 21st of May, seventeen days after Tewkesbury, Edward
of York, at the head of thirty thousand men, entered London as a
conqueror, and in his train to the capital came Margaret of Anjou as a
captive. The broken-hearted queen found herself committed to the Tower,
and condemned as a prisoner of state to brood, without hope and without
consolation, over irreparable misfortunes and intolerable woes.

On Wednesday morning--it was that of Ascension Day--the citizens of
London, who some hours earlier had been thanked for their loyalty to
Edward of York, were informed that Henry of Lancaster had been found
dead in the Tower, and soon after the corpse was borne bare-faced,
on a bier, through Cheapside to St. Paul's, and there exposed to the
public view. Notwithstanding this ceremony, rumors were current that
the dethroned king had met with foul play. People naturally supposed
that Falconbridge's attempt to release Henry precipitated this sad
event; and they did not fail to notice that on the morning when the
body was conveyed to St. Paul's the king and Richard of Gloucester left
London.[13]

A resting-place beside his hero-sire, in the Chapel of St. Edward,
might have been allowed to the only king since the Conquest who had
emulated the Confessor's sanctity. But another edifice than the Abbey
of Westminster was selected as the place of sepulture; and, on the
evening of Ascension Day, the corpse, having been placed in a barge
guarded by soldiers from Calais, was conveyed up the Thames, and,
during the silence of midnight, committed to the dust in the Monastery
of Chertsey. It was not at Chertsey, however, that the saintly king
was to rest. When years had passed over, and Richard had ascended the
throne, the mortal remains of Henry were removed from Chertsey to
Windsor, and interred with much pomp in the south side of the choir in
St. George's Chapel, there to rest, it was hoped, till that great day,
for the coming of which he had religiously prepared by the devotion of
a life.

After consigning Margaret to the Tower and Henry to the tomb, Edward
led his army from London, marched to Canterbury, and prepared to
inflict severe punishment on Falconbridge. Meanwhile, as vice-admiral,
Falconbridge had taken possession of Sandwich, where forty-seven
ships obeyed his command. With this naval force, and the town
fortified in such a way as to withstand a siege, the Bastard prepared
for resistance; but, on learning that the royal army had reached
Canterbury, his heart began to fail, and he determined, if possible, to
obtain a pardon. With this object, Falconbridge dispatched a messenger
to Edward; and the king was, doubtless, glad enough to get so bold a
rebel quietly into his power. At all events, he determined on deluding
the turbulent vice-admiral with assurances of safety and promises of
favor; and Gloucester was empowered to negotiate a treaty.

Matters at first went smoothly. The duke rode to Sandwich to assure his
illegitimate cousin of the king's full forgiveness, and about the 26th
of May Falconbridge made his submission, and promised to be a faithful
subject. Edward then honored him with knighthood, and confirmed him in
the post of vice-admiral. At the same time, the king granted a full
pardon to the Bastard's adherents; and they, relying on the royal word,
surrendered the town of Sandwich, with the castle, and the ships that
lay in the port. "But how this composition was observed," says Baker,
"may be imagined, when Falconbridge, who was comprised in the pardon,
was afterward taken and executed at Southampton. Spicing and Quintine,
the captains that assailed Aldgate and Bishopgate, and were in Sandwich
Castle at the surrender thereof, were presently beheaded at Canterbury,
and their heads placed on poles in the gates; and, by a commission of
Oyer and Terminer, many, both in Essex and Kent, were arraigned and
condemned for this rebellion."

About Michaelmas, Falconbridge expiated his ill-fated ambition; and the
citizens had the satisfaction, in autumn, of seeing his head exposed
to warn malcontents to beware of Edward of York. "Thomas Falconbridge,
his head," says Paston, "was yesterday set upon London Bridge, looking
Kentward, and men say that his brother was sore hurt, and escaped to
sanctuary to Beverley." So ended the ambitious attempt of Warwick's
vice-admiral to play the part of king-maker.




CHAPTER XXXIV.

ESCAPE OF THE TUDORS.


When the spirit of the Lancastrians had been broken on the fields of
Barnet and Tewkesbury, and the violent deaths--if such they were--of
the monk-monarch and his gallant son had left the adherents of the Red
Rose without a prince to rally round, the house of York seemed to be
established forever.

That branch of the Plantagenets which owed its origin to John of Gaunt
was not, indeed, without an heir. The King of Portugal, the grandson
of Philippa, eldest daughter of John and Blanche of Lancaster, was
the personage with whom that honor rested; but Alphonso, albeit a
knight-errant in manhood's prime, not being yet turned of forty, and
rich in gold brought from Guinea, was not so utterly indiscreet as to
waste his energy and croisadoes on an enterprise in which Warwick, the
flower of English patricians and the favorite of the English people,
had so signally failed. Moreover, about this time, Alphonso was all
anxiety to wed Joan, the youthful daughter of the last King of Castile,
and make a Quixotic attempt, as husband of that princess, to wrest
the Spanish crown from Ferdinand and Isabella. Thus occupied with
projects of love and war, the King of Portugal does not appear to have
put forward any claims as heir of John of Gaunt, nor, perhaps, did the
English nation ever seriously consider his claims.

The extinction of Henry of Bolingbroke's posterity left the Red Rose
party without having at its head a king whose name might serve as a
rallying cry. But the adherents of the Lancastrian cause, however
dispirited, were not utterly subdued. They still cherished vague
hopes, and pointed to chiefs of high name; for John de Vere, Earl
of Oxford, Henry Holland, Duke of Exeter, and Jasper Tudor, Earl of
Pembroke, still lived; and while these noblemen--the first so noble,
the second so loyal, and the third so wary--were free, there was still
a prospect of revenge on the usurper. The fact, however, was, that the
Lancastrian lords were in a situation far from enviable, and might have
been forgiven had they cherished no aspiration more lofty than that of
getting safely away from the country, and beyond the reach of Edward's
vengeance.

When intelligence reached Jasper Tudor that Margaret of Anjou and
her captains had been totally routed, far from cherishing any such
delusions as imposed upon the rude intellect of Falconbridge, he
forthwith allowed his forces to disperse, and, making for the valley of
the Wye, took refuge in the strong-hold of Chepstow.

Situated at the mouth of the most beautiful of English rivers, Chepstow
is still an interesting ruin. At that time it was a magnificent castle,
stretching along a precipitous cliff, consisting of four courts and a
central building, and covering an area of three acres. To this fortress
Jasper, in the day of perplexity, retired to reflect on the past and
prepare for the future.

While at Chepstow Jasper had a narrow escape. Edward was naturally most
anxious to destroy the Lancastrians as a party, and eager, therefore,
to get so zealous an adherent of the Red Rose into his power. With a
view of entrapping his old adversary, he employed Roger Vaughan, one
of a clan who, like the Crofts, were ancient retainers of the house
of Mortimer, to repair to Chepstow. The contest between the Celt and
the Marchman was brief. Jasper was not to be outwitted. He penetrated
the secret of Vaughan's mission, caused him to be seized, and, without
formality, had his head struck off.

Having taken this strong measure, and thereby added to his danger in
the event of capture, Jasper proceeded to Pembroke. At that town the
outlawed earl was exposed to new dangers. Pursued to Pembroke by a
Welsh warrior named Morgan ap Thomas, he was besieged in the town; but
relief came from a quarter that could hardly have been expected. David
ap Thomas, who was Morgan's brother, but attached to the Red Rose,
rushing to Jasper's assistance, succeeded in raising the siege, and the
Welsh earl was freed for the time from pressing peril. But, having lost
all feeling of security, and every hope of holding out against Edward,
he committed the defense of Pembroke to Sir John Scudamore, took his
brother's son Henry, the young Earl of Richmond, under his wing,
embarked with the boy at Tenby, and once more as an outlaw and fugitive
sailed for the Continent.

The intention of Jasper and his nephew was to seek protection at the
court of Louis, and they steered their course toward the coast of
France. But fortune proved unfavorable to this design. Forever the
elements fought against the Lancastrians. Encountering contrary winds,
the Tudors were driven on the coast of Brittany, and, being compelled
to put into a port belonging to the duke, they could not avoid paying
their respects to that magnate. The duke received them with courtesy,
and treated them with hospitality, and so far all went pleasantly. But
when the Tudors prepared to pursue their way to France they were given
to understand that they were not at liberty to proceed.

The two earls were somewhat disconcerted on comprehending their actual
position. They made the best of circumstances, however; and, indeed,
all things considered, had not much reason to complain. The town of
Vannes was assigned them as a residence, and they were treated with the
respect deemed due to their rank. Except being narrowly watched, their
position was not uncomfortable.

Intelligence of the Tudors being at Vannes was not long confined to
Brittany. The news soon reached both Paris and London; and while the
French king claimed them as friends, the English king demanded them
as rebels and traitors. The duke, however, firmly adhered to the
resolution to keep them to himself; and Edward was fain to appear
content, and pay a yearly sum for their support. The duke, on his
part, gave assurances that they should have no opportunity of causing
disturbance to the English government.

When a few years passed over, circumstances had rendered young Henry
Tudor a more important personage, and Edward made a great effort to
obtain their extradition. To accomplish this object, he sent an embassy
to Brittany to invite Henry to England, promising him the hand of
the Princess Elizabeth. The Duke of Brittany was induced to consent,
and Henry repaired to St. Malo to embark. But Peter de Landois, the
duke's chief minister, who at that time pretended a high regard for the
Tudors, declared that Edward's offer was a snare, and pointed out the
impolicy of crediting Edward's profession of friendship. The duke was
convinced; and Richmond's embarkation having been delayed by a fever,
the result of anxiety, he returned to Vannes.

And at Vannes, as guest or captive of Brittany--he hardly knew
which--Henry Tudor was destined to remain, till one day the Bishop
of Ely and the Duke of Buckingham, conspiring in Brecknock Castle,
nominated him--a man described by Comines as "without power, without
money, without hereditary right, and without any reputation"--as a
candidate for the proudest of European thrones.




CHAPTER XXXV.

ADVENTURES OF JOHN DE VERE.


One autumn day, about six months after the fall of Warwick and Montagu,
a little fleet approached the coast of Cornwall, and anchored in the
green waters of Mount's Bay. The monks and fighting men who tenanted
the fortified monastery that crowned the summit of St. Michael's Mount
might have deemed the appearance of the ships slightly suspicious; but
the aspect and attire of those who landed from their decks forbade
uncharitable surmises. Indeed, they were in the garb of pilgrims, and
represented themselves as men of rank, who, at the suggestion of their
confessors, had come from remote parts of the kingdom to perform vows,
make orisons, and offer oblations at the shrine of St. Michael.

It was the last day of September--the festival of St. Keyne, a virgin
princess of rare sanctity, who had, in the fifth century, for pious
purposes, visited the Mount; and, on such an occasion, the monks were
not likely to be in any very skeptical mood. Proud, in all probability,
of their saint's reputation, and not doubting his power to inspire
zeal, they opened their gates and admitted the pilgrims. No sooner
were they admitted, however, than the scene changed. Each man, throwing
aside his pilgrim's habit, stood before the astonished monks a warrior
in mail, with a dagger in his girdle, a sword by his side, and in his
eye the determination to use those weapons in the event of resistance.
At the head of this band was a man of thirty or thereabouts, who
announced that he was John De Vere, Earl of Oxford, and that he had
come to take possession of St. Michael's Mount in the name of Lancaster.

Between his escape from Barnet and his arrival at St. Michael's
Mount the chief of the De Veres had passed through some remarkable
adventures. When Oxford, bewildered by the consequences of his silver
star being mistaken for Edward's sun, and thrown off his guard by the
shouts of "Treason!" rode through the mist and fled from the field, he
directed his course northward with the intention of seeking refuge in
Scotland; but, after riding some distance, and taking time to reflect,
the earl came to the conclusion that the journey was too long to be
accomplished with safety, and, turning aside, he rode, in the company
of Lord Beaumont, toward the Welsh Marches, with the hope of joining
Jasper Tudor. Whether or not he reached Wales is not quite clear; but
it appears from a letter written in April to his countess, Warwick's
sister, that, after Queen Margaret had landed and her friends had
resolved on another campaign, Oxford recovered the spirit he had
displayed at Coventry, and indulged in the hope of a Lancastrian
triumph.

"Right reverend and worshipful lady," writes the earl to his countess,
"I recommend me to you, letting you weet that I am in great heaviness
at the making of this letter; but, thanked be God, I am escaped myself,
and suddenly departed from my men; for I understand my chaplain would
have betrayed me....

"Ye shall give credence to the bringer of this letter, and I beseech
you to reward him to his costs; for I am not in power at the making of
this letter to give him but as I was put in trust by favor of strange
people. Also, ye shall send me, in all haste, all the ready money ye
can make, and as many of my men as can come well horsed, and that they
come in divers parcels. Also, that my best horses be sent with my steel
saddles, and bid the yeoman of the horse cover them with leather.

"Also, ye shall send to my mother and let her weet of this letter, and
pray her of her blessing, and bid her send me my casket, by this token,
that she hath the key thereof, but it is broken. And ye shall send to
the Prior of Thetford, and bid him send me the sum of gold that he said
I should have; also say to him, by this token, that I showed him the
first Privy Seal....

"Also, ye shall be of good cheer, and take no thought; for I shall
bring my purpose about now, by the grace of GOD, who have you in His
keeping."

Oxford soon learned the truth of the homely proverb that there is
much between the cup and the lip; and when Tewkesbury extinguished
his hopes of victory, the earl, attended by Lord Beaumont, betook
himself to France. His reception in that country not being such as to
tempt a prolonged residence, he fitted out a fleet, and for a while
made the ocean his home. Indeed, it would seem that, when exiled from
his kindred and his castles, the heir of the De Veres reverted to the
habits of his Scandinavian ancestors, and that, during the summer of
1471, the thirteenth of the proud earls of Oxford roved the narrow seas
as a pirate. About the close of September, however, Oxford, having, in
the words of Speede, "gotten stores of provisions by the strong hand at
sea," landed in Cornwall; and with a body of men, whom some chroniclers
represent as well-nigh four hundred, and others as less than a sixth of
that number, appeared suddenly at St. Michael's Mount.

The monks of St. Michael and the soldiers who garrisoned the Mount were
in no condition to resist a body of men so determined. They therefore
yielded without a struggle; and Oxford set himself to the task of
repairing the fortifications, getting men and ammunition to defend the
Mount in the event of a siege, and procuring provisions to subsist them
in case of the operations being prolonged. Men and supplies were both
forthcoming, for the earl happened to be grandson of an heiress of Sir
Richard Sergeaux of Colquite, and their regard for the memory of that
lady made the Cornishmen most eager to prove their devotion to his
service. When, therefore, Oxford or his men descended into the villages
adjacent to the Mount, they were received with enthusiasm, and, in the
words of the chronicler, "had good cheer of the inhabitants."

Oxford's enterprise seemed to have prospered; but the period was the
reverse of favorable for a Lancastrian lord being left in undisturbed
possession of a strong-hold. No sooner did Edward hear of the exploit,
than he issued a proclamation branding De Vere and his adherents as
traitors; and, at the same time, he ordered Sir John Arundel, Sheriff
of Cornwall, to retake St. Michael's Mount without delay. Arundel
raised an army in the locality, advanced to the Mount, and sent a
trumpeter to summon Oxford to surrender to the king's mercy, and thus
save the effusion of Christian blood. The earl was uninfluenced by the
ceremony. He resolutely refused to listen to the conditions. "Rather
than yield on such terms," said he, "I and those with me will lose our
lives."

The sheriff, seeing no hope of a capitulation, proceeded to storm
the Mount. Oxford, however, far from being daunted, defended the
strong-hold with such energy that, after a struggle, the besiegers were
beaten at all points and repulsed with loss. Nor was this the worst;
for the garrison, sallying from the outer gate, pursued the assailants
down to the sands. There Arundel was slain with many of his soldiers;
and the survivors--most of whom were newly levied--fled in dismay.[14]

Arundel was buried in the Church of the Mount; and Edward, on hearing
of the sheriff's death, appointed a gentleman named Fortescue as
successor in the office. Having been ordered to prosecute the siege,
Fortescue commenced operations. But the new sheriff was little more
successful than his predecessor. Moreover, the Mount, which was
connected with the main land by an isthmus, dry at low water, but at
other times overflowed, gained the reputation of being impregnable; and
the king, who ascribed the want of success to the want of loyal zeal,
and described Cornwall as "the back door of rebellion," instructed
Fortescue to hold a parley with Oxford in order to ascertain the earl's
desires and expectations.

Fortescue acted according to his instructions, and demanded on what
conditions the garrison would surrender.

"If," said the earl, "the king will grant myself and my adherents our
lives, our liberties, and our estates, then we will yield."

"And otherwise?" said the sheriff.

"Why, in that event," exclaimed Oxford, with calm desperation, "we will
fight it out to the last man."

The earl's answer was conveyed to the king; and on Edward's assuring
the garrison of a free pardon, under the great seal of England,
Oxford surrendered St. Michael's Mount. Indeed, he had been extremely
perplexed; for Fortescue, it appears, had already opened communications
with the garrison, and conveyed them such promises on the king's part
that Oxford was under the necessity of surrendering himself to avoid
the humiliation of being delivered by his own men into the hands of
the besiegers. This was all the more provoking that he had sufficient
provisions to last till midsummer; but there was no resisting fate,
and, about the middle of February, Fortescue entered the Mount.

Oxford, having been carried to London with two of his brothers and
Lord Beaumont, was tried and attainted; and, notwithstanding the
promise of pardon, the fate of the chief of the De Veres now appeared
to be sealed. Fortunately for the Lancastrian earl, Edward's conscience
was at that time troubled with some qualms, and his heart daunted by
some signs which he regarded as ominous of evil. Not being in a savage
humor, he shrunk from having more De Vere blood on his hands, and the
earl escaped execution. However, he was sent captive to Picardy.

When Oxford was sent to a foreign prison, his youthful countess was
left in poverty. As the sister of Warwick and the wife of Oxford, the
noble lady was regarded by Edward with peculiar aversion; and, both as
sister and wife, she returned the king's antipathy with interest. Thus
it happened that, notwithstanding the near relationship in which she
stood to the house of York, no provision out of her husband's revenues
was made for her maintenance during his incarceration. The countess
had all the Neville pride and determination. Cast down from patrician
grandeur, and expelled from Castle Hedlingham and other feudal seats,
where she had maintained state as the wife of England's proudest Norman
earl, she made a noble effort to earn daily bread, and contrived to
make a living by the exercise of her skill in needle-work. The struggle
to keep the wolf from the door was doubtless hard to the daughter of
Salisbury and the spouse of Oxford; but, from being compelled to rely
on her industry, Margaret Neville escaped the irksome necessity of
suppressing the indignation she felt against her husband's foes, and
she retained the privilege of denouncing the king, whom her imagination
painted as the falsest of tyrants.

Meanwhile, Oxford was, in defiance of the king's promise, conveyed to
Hammes, and committed as a prisoner to the Castle. The earl was not a
man to relish the idea of incarceration, and he resolved on taking an
unceremonious leave of his jailers. With this view, he leaped from the
walls into the ditch, and endeavored to escape. The vigilance of his
warders, however, rendered this attempt futile, and John de Vere was
conveyed back to the Castle, a prisoner without prospect of release.




CHAPTER XXXVI.

A DUKE IN RAGS.


Among the Lancastrian chiefs who survived the two fields on which
the Red Rose was trodden under the hoofs of King Edward's charger,
none was destined to a more wretched fate than the conqueror's own
brother-in-law, Henry, Duke of Exeter. The career of this chief of
the family of Holland, from his cradle to his grave, forms a most
melancholy chapter in the annals of the period.

The Hollands were somewhat inferior in origin to most of the great
barons who fought in the Wars of the Roses. The founder of the house
was a poor knight, who, from being secretary to an Earl of Lancaster,
rose to some post of importance. His grandson, happening to hold the
office of steward of the household to an Earl of Salisbury, contrived
to espouse Joan Plantagenet, daughter of the Earl of Kent; and when
that lady, known as "The Fair Maid of Kent," after figuring as a
widow, became wife of "The Black Prince," the fortunes of the Hollands
rose rapidly. One flourished as Earl of Kent; another was created
Duke of Surrey; and a third, having been gifted with the earldom
of Huntingdon, became Duke of Exeter and husband of Elizabeth of
Lancaster, John of Gaunt's second daughter.

Notwithstanding his Lancastrian alliance, the first Duke of Exeter
remained faithful to Richard in 1399, and, consequently, lost his head
soon after that sovereign's deposition. The son of the decapitated
nobleman, however, being nephew of the new king, was soon received into
favor by Henry of Lancaster, and appointed Constable of the Tower and
Lord High Admiral of England. At an early age he married a daughter of
Edmund, Earl Stafford; and on the 27th of June, 1430, their only son
was born in the Tower of London. On the same day he was carried to Cold
Harbor in the arms of the Countess Marshal, who conveyed him in a barge
to Westminster, where, in St. Stephen's Chapel, he was baptized by the
name of Henry.

Fortune seemed to smile on the heir of the Hollands. Could the future
have been foreseen, however, no young peasant, laboring in the fields
and struggling out of serfdom, would have envied the infant destined
to a career so miserable and a catastrophe so melancholy. The life
of Henry Holland opened brightly enough. At the age of seventeen he
succeeded his father as third Duke of Exeter and Lord High Admiral of
England, and espoused Anne Plantagenet, eldest daughter of the Duke of
York; and, at the time when the Roses were plucked, he appears to have
favored the Yorkist cause. A change, however, came over his fortunes
and his political sentiments.

Exeter had, in fact, chosen his party without due consideration,
and ere long he saw reason to change sides. Indeed, his place in
Parliaments and councils must have reminded the young duke that,
through his grandmother, he was of the blood of Lancaster; and to a
man of his rank flatterers would hardly be wanting to suggest the
probability of the course of events bringing the regal sceptre to his
hand. On arriving at years of discretion, Exeter changed the pale for
the purple rose, and, after the first battle of St. Albans, he was
under the necessity of flying to the sanctuary of Westminster. From
that place of security he was taken on some pretext, and sent as a
prisoner to Pontefract Castle.

When the political wind changed, Exeter recovered his liberty; and,
as time passed over, he fought for Margaret of Anjou in the battles
of Wakefield and Towton. After the rout of the Red Rose army on Palm
Sunday, 1461, he fled with Henry into Scotland; but in the autumn
of that year he was tempting fortune in Wales, and, in company with
Jasper Tudor, stood embattled at Tutehill, near Carnarvon, against
King Edward's forces. The Yorkists proving victorious, Exeter and his
comrade in arms were fain to make for the mountains, leaving the Welsh
Lancastrians no resource but to submit.

Exeter's biography now becomes obscure. The unfortunate duke can be
traced, however, lurking on the Scottish frontier, fighting at Hexham,
flying to a Northumbrian village, finding Margaret of Anjou in the
outlaw's cave, accompanying the Lancastrian queen into exile, and
wandering as a broken man on the Continent, while his duchess, in no
degree inclined to share such fortunes, enjoyed the estate of her
banished lord, lived at her brother's court, kept well with Elizabeth
Woodville, and ministered to that lady's maternal ambition by pledging
the hand of Exeter's heiress to the young Marquis of Dorset. When,
however, Warwick chased Edward of York from the kingdom, Exeter
appeared once more in England, and figured as one of the Lancastrian
leaders at Barnet.

The disgrace of abandoning "The Stout Earl" on the field where he was
laid low, Exeter did not share. As early as seven in the morning of
that Easter Sunday he was struck by an arrow, and left for dead on the
field. After remaining for nine hours, he was discovered still alive,
and carried to the house of one of his servants named Ruthland. A
surgeon having been found to dress the duke's wound, he was in such a
degree restored as to be conveyed to the sanctuary of Westminster.

At this point mystery again settles over Exeter's history. It appears,
however, that the ill-fated duke escaped to the Continent, and that the
duchess seized the opportunity to break the last link that bound her
to a husband so unfortunate. In November, 1472, nearly two years after
the battle of Barnet, the Plantagenet lady, at her own suit, procured
a divorce, and soon after married Sir Thomas St. Leger, Knight of the
Body to King Edward. The duchess survived this event for three years.
According to Sandford, she breathed her last in 1475; and "St. Leger
surviving her," says Dugdale, "in 21 Edward IV. founded a perpetual
chantry of two priests to celebrate divine service daily within the
Chapel of St. George in Windsor Castle." Exeter's only daughter, who
had been betrothed to the Marquis of Dorset, died before her mother,
and Elizabeth Woodville secured the heiress of Bonville as bride for
her son.

Meanwhile the plight of Exeter became deplorable, and in Flanders he
was reduced to absolute beggary. Comines relates that, on one occasion,
he saw the impoverished magnate running after the Duke of Burgundy, and
begging bread for GOD'S sake. In the hapless mendicant, in rags and
misery, Burgundy did not recognize the once proud chief of the house
of Holland--his cousin by blood and his brother-in-law by marriage.
On being afterward informed, however, that the ragged mendicant was
the banished Duke of Exeter, great-grandson of John of Gaunt, the king
of Portugal's kinsman and his own, and formerly Lord High Admiral of
England, owner of broad baronies, and husband of Anne Plantagenet,
Charles the Rash was touched, and induced to bestow on Exeter a pension
to save him from farther degradation.

Dugdale presumes that this scene occurred "after Barnet Field;" and,
if so, Burgundy's bounty was not long enjoyed by the unfortunate
recipient. Sometime in 1474 Exeter's earthly troubles ended. His body
was found floating in the sea between Dover and Calais, but how he came
by his death was never ascertained.

"In this year," says Fabyan, "was the Duke of Exeter found dead in the
sea, between Dover and Calais, but how he was drowned the certainty is
not known."




CHAPTER XXXVII.

LOUIS DE BRUGES AT WINDSOR.


In the autumn of 1472, while Oxford was being secured in the Castle of
Hammes, and Edward was striving to get Pembroke and Richmond into his
power, a guest, whom the king delighted to honor, appeared in England.
This was Louis de Bruges, who had proved so true a friend in the hour
of need; and right glad was Edward of York to welcome the Lord of
Grauthuse to the regal castle which still stands, in the nineteenth
century, a monument of the Plantagenets' pride in peace and prowess in
war.

An account of the visit of the Burgundian nobleman, written at the
time, has fortunately been preserved; and, as has been remarked,
"far more luxurious and more splendid than might be deemed by those
who read but the general histories of that sanguinary time, or the
inventories of furniture in the houses even of the great barons, was
the accommodation which Edward afforded to his guests."

On reaching Windsor, where, by-the-by, Margaret of Anjou was then a
prisoner of state, Louis de Bruges was received by Lord Hastings, who,
as the king's chamberlain, led the noble guest to apartments in the
far side of the quadrangle of the castle, which were richly hung with
arras of cloth of gold. Edward received Louis with every demonstration
of affection, and presented him to his spouse; and Elizabeth Woodville
was, of course, all courtesy to her husband's preserver. After the
ceremony of reception was over, the king signified that Hastings should
conduct the Lord of Grauthuse to his chamber, where supper was ready;
and Louis found that every preparation had been made for entertaining
him luxuriously.

The apartments appropriated to the Burgundian are described as having
been fitted up in a way which must have impressed the eye even of a man
accustomed to the magnificence of Dijon. The walls were hung with white
silk and linen cloth, and the floor covered with rich carpets. The bed
was of down, the sheets were of Rennes cloth, and the counterpane, the
tester, and the ceiler were of cloth of gold and furred with ermine.
In the second chamber was another state bed, and a couch with hangings
like a tent. In the third, covered with white cloth, was a bath, which
in that age was in daily use.

After partaking of supper in the apartments dedicated to his service,
Louis was conducted to the queen's withdrawing room, where he found
Elizabeth and her ladies amusing themselves with different games; some
playing at marteaux with balls like marbles, and others at closheys, or
nine-pins, made of ivory.

Next day, after matins, Edward took his guest to the Chapel of St.
George, where they heard mass most melodiously sung. When mass had been
performed, the king presented his guest with a cup of gold, garnished
with pearl, in the middle of which was a large piece of unicorn's horn,
and on the cover a great sapphire. Then the king led Louis to the
quadrangle of the castle, and there the Prince of Wales, still in his
second year, appeared, to bid the Lord of Grauthuse welcome to England.
Having introduced his heir to the Burgundian lord, Edward conducted his
guest into the little park, where they had much sport. The king made
Louis ride his own horse; and of the animal, which is described as "a
right fair hobby," he graciously made a present to his guest.

That day the king dined at the lodge in Windsor Park; and, the dinner
over, he showed Louis his gardens and vineyard of pleasure. The queen
ordered the evening banquet in her own apartments; and, when supper
was over, the Princess Elizabeth danced with the Duke of Buckingham.
Never did guest receive more flattering attentions than Louis. The king
and courtiers did not take their leave of him for the night till they
had escorted him to his apartments; and soon after, when he had been
in his bath and was preparing to betake himself to repose, there were
sent him by the queen's orders "green ginger, and divers sirups, and
hippocras." Next morning Louis breakfasted with the king, and then,
leaving Windsor, returned to Westminster.

At Westminster new honors awaited the Lord of Grauthuse. On St.
Edward's Day--exactly nineteen years after the birth of the ill-fated
Edward of Lancaster--the king created the Burgundian nobleman Earl of
Winchester, and, with many complimentary phrases, gave him the arms of
the family of De Quency, which had enjoyed that earldom at the time of
the Barons' Wars. After having been granted a more substantial mark of
Edward's gratitude in the shape of a pension, Louis de Bruges took his
leave and returned to his own country.




CHAPTER XXXVIII.

THE TREATY OF PICQUIGNY.


When Edward's victories on Gladsmuir Heath and the banks of the Severn
had rendered the Lancastrians in England utterly incapable of making
head against the house of York, the martial king naturally turned his
thoughts to Continental triumphs, and prepared to avenge himself on
Louis of France for the encouragement which that monarch had openly and
secretly given to the adherents of the Red Rose.

Apart from the friendship shown by the crafty king to Warwick and
Lancaster, Edward had a strong reason for making war on Louis. It
was well known that Louis had not only sneered at his royalty, but
questioned his legitimacy, calling him "the son of the archer," and
keeping alive a story which some envious Lancastrians had invented
about an intrigue of the Duchess of York, the proudest of English
matrons, with Blackburn of Middleham. Besides, Edward was not
insensible to the glory and popularity to be acquired by emulating the
martial deeds of his ancestors on Continental soil. Accordingly, in
the year 1475, after concluding an alliance offensive and defensive
with the Duke of Burgundy, and receiving promises of co-operation from
the Constable St. Pol, Edward dispatched Garter-King-at-Arms to Louis,
demanding the immediate surrender of the kingdom of France.

However startled Louis might be at the message, he did not lose his
presence of mind. After reading Edward's letter and reflecting, he
sent for the Garter-King, brought all his statecraft into play,
expressed his high respect for the English king, deplored that such a
prince should be deluded by so treacherous an ally as Burgundy, and
persuaded the herald to urge his master to settle the matter amicably.
Moreover, he promised Garter a thousand crowns when peace should be
concluded; and, meanwhile, presented him with three hundred crowns.
Garter-King-at-Arms was touched with the munificence of Louis, and
promised his good offices; nay, more, significantly advised the King of
France to open negotiations with the English ministers, whom he knew to
be averse to a war.

Meanwhile, Edward had set himself to the task of providing money
and men for the expedition he meditated; and as the project of a
war with France was sure to make Parliament open the purse of the
nation, a considerable sum was voted. To Edward, however, the amount
appeared insufficient for his purpose, and he resolved upon a system
of exaction practiced in time of Richard the Second, and known as "a
benevolence." But money paid in this way was supposed to be a voluntary
gift, and not likely to come in large sums unless asked for. Edward,
therefore, sent for the wealthiest citizens of London, talked to them
frankly, and pressed them to contribute liberally; and he besides
secured the influence of the city dames, who exerted themselves to the
utmost on his behalf. A story is told of a widow, who was not fond of
parting with money, bringing twenty pounds. "By GOD'S Blessed Lady,"
said Edward, who was present, "you shall have a king's kiss for that
money," and suited the action to the word. "Sire," said she, delighted
with this familiarity, "the honor is worth more money than I have
given:" and the widow doubled her contribution.

Large sums having been obtained, a gallant army was soon raised. In
fact, the sons of the men of Agincourt did not relish the idea of
beating swords into plowshares; and to the royal standard came nearly
twenty thousand men, headed by the Dukes of Clarence and Gloucester,
the Marquis of Dorset, the Earl of Northumberland, Lord Stanley,
Lord Hastings, and other men of rank. With these, and attended by
Lord-chancellor Rotheram and the Bishop of Ely, Edward sailed from
Sandwich, and, toward the close of June, landed at Calais, which he
had last visited under the protection of Warwick, between their flight
from Ludlow and their victory at Northampton.

High hopes were at first entertained by the invaders; but it soon
became apparent that they were not destined to add a Cressy or an
Agincourt to England's list of victories. At the very beginning, their
enterprise was ruined by the constable's insincerity and Burgundy's
rashness. The former failed to open the gates as he had promised; and
the latter, instead of joining Edward with a large army, exhausted his
strength before Neuss in a battle with the Swiss.

Louis began to breathe freely; and while the English army lay inactive
at Peronne, French gold circulated freely among the leaders. A general
desire for peace was, of course, the result; and, ere long, Edward
caught the infection. French embassadors soon appeared, and offered to
pay any thing in reason. A sum of seventy-five thousand crowns down,
an annuity of fifty thousand crowns, and the dauphin as a husband for
his eldest daughter--such were the terms submitted on the part of Louis
for the acceptance of the English king. Edward could not resist such
offers; and, after negotiations had gone on for some time, the kings
agreed to a conference.

Picquigny, three leagues from Amiens, on the road from Calais to
Paris, was selected as the scene, and the 29th of August appointed as
the time for this memorable interview. Every precaution was taken to
prevent mischief; and on the middle of the bridge which spanned the
Somme, at Picquigny, were erected two sheds. These fronted each other,
but were divided from top to bottom by a trellis of wood-work. The
space between the gratings was no wider than to admit a man's arm; and
the English king was to occupy one side of the barricade, while the
French king occupied the other.

It appears that Richard of Gloucester considered the terms of treaty
degrading, and declined to appear at the conference. Nevertheless, on
the appointed morning, Edward, attended by Clarence, Northumberland,
Hastings, and others, proceeded to the Bridge of Picquigny, and
approached the grating. On the other side, Louis had already arrived,
with the Duke of Bourbon, the Cardinal Bourbon, about ten other persons
of the highest rank in France, and Philip de Comines, who had recently
exchanged the service of Burgundy for that of Louis.

One glance at Edward as he advanced along the causeway, with his tall,
graceful form arrayed in cloth of gold, and wearing on his regal head a
velvet cap with a large _fleur de lis_ formed of precious stones, must
have convinced so acute an observer as Louis that the story about the
archer of Middleham was an invention of the enemy; and as the King of
England took off his cap, and bowed with grace, the French monarch, who
had been leaning against the barrier, made a respectful obeisance, and
exclaimed, "Cousin, you are right welcome. There is no person living I
have been so ambitious of seeing." Edward, in good French, returned the
compliment; and the two kings proceeded to business.

Notwithstanding a heavy fall of rain, which "came on to the great
vexation of the French lords, who had dressed themselves and their
horses in their richest habiliments, in honor of King Edward," the
conference proved interesting. The Bishop of Ely, in a set harangue,
quoted a prophecy of Merlin foreshadowing the august meeting; and a
missal and crucifix having been produced, the kings, each placing
one hand on the book and another on the crucifix, swore to observe
religiously the terms of the treaty.

The solemn ceremony of swearing over, Louis became jocose, assured
Edward he should be happy to see him in Paris, and promised to assign
him, as confessor, the Cardinal Bourbon, who would, doubtless, readily
grant absolution for any love affairs. Edward seemed to relish the
prospect; and, knowing the cardinal's morals to be lax as his own, took
the opportunity of displaying his wit in reply. After this the lords
were sent to a little distance; and the kings, having spoken some
words in private, shook hands through the grating, and parted--Louis
riding to Amiens, and Edward to the English camp.

No sooner had Louis left the bridge of Picquigny than he repented
of the invitation he had given Edward to visit the French capital.
"Certes," said the crafty monarch to Comines, as they rode toward
Amiens, "our brother of England is a fine king, and a warm admirer of
the ladies. At Paris he might chance to find some dame so much to his
taste as to tempt him to return. His predecessors have been too often
both in Paris and Normandy already, and I have no great affection for
his company on this side of the Channel."

At Amiens, on the same evening, when Louis was sitting down to supper,
an amusing scene occurred. Sir John Howard, now a baron, and Sir
John Cheyney, Edward's Master of the Horse, had been appointed to
accompany Louis to Paris; and Howard, whose vanity made him, as usual,
ridiculous, whispered to the French king that it would go hard but he
would persuade Edward to come to Paris a while and be merry. Louis
allowed this to pass without returning any direct answer; but afterward
he took occasion to say that the war with Burgundy would render his
presence absolutely necessary in another part of France.

But, whatever his apprehensions, Louis was not doomed to have his
formidable contemporary as a foe or a guest on the banks of the Seine.
Edward, doubtless delighted with the prospect of indulging in hunting,
carousing, and love-making at Shene or Windsor, recalled, without
delay, his soldiers from Peronne, Abbeville, and other places, and,
escorted by the Bishop of Evreux, marched back to Calais. Thence he
embarked for England, but not without being unpleasantly reminded that
he hardly came off with royal honors. In fact, the Constable of St.
Pol, apparently enraged that events had taken such a turn as to profit
him nothing, wrote Edward a furious letter, calling him "a coward, a
pitiful and poor sovereign, for having made a treaty with a king who
would not keep one of his promises."[15]

The Plantagenet sent St. Pol's epistle to the King of France, and
digested the affront; and while Louis, who had already been suspected
of poisoning his brother, Charles de Valois, got rid of another enemy
by beheading the constable, Edward returned to England to expend the
money he had received as a bribe on those pleasures destined to destroy
his health and obscure his intellect. Nor did his nobles come home
empty-handed. Dorset, Hastings, and Howard, Sir John Cheyney and Sir
Thomas St. Leger, had become pensioners of the French king; and the
people were left to complain that the expedition for which they had
paid so dearly had ended in infamy. Perhaps, under such circumstances,
they did drop a tear over the grave of "The Stout Earl," who, had he
been alive, would not have stood quietly by while a king of England
extracted taxes from English subjects to commence an unnecessary war,
and took bribes from a French monarch to conclude a humiliating peace.




CHAPTER XXXIX.

A DOMESTIC TRAGEDY.


At the opening of the year 1477, Charles the Rash, Duke of Burgundy,
fell at Nanci, before the two-handed swords of the Swiss mountaineers,
leaving, by his first wife, Isabel of Bourbon, a daughter, Mary,
the heiress of his dominions. About the same time, George, Duke of
Clarence, and Anthony Woodville, Earl Rivers, happened to become
widowers. The duke and the earl, in other days rivals for the hand of
the heiress of Lord Scales, immediately entered the arena as candidates
for that of Mary of Burgundy, and their rivalry produced one of the
darkest domestic tragedies recorded in the Plantagenet annals.

Clarence appears to have been the first to urge his claims. Almost ere
the dust had time to gather on the coffin of his departed wife in the
Abbey of Tewkesbury, the bereaved husband of Isabel Neville applied
to his sister, the widow of Burgundy, to forward his suit with her
step-daughter. The widowed duchess was the reverse of unfavorable to a
matrimonial project so likely to advance the fortunes of her family,
and the heart of Clarence for a moment glowed with anticipations of a
great matrimonial success.

But the hopes which Clarence cherished of a marriage with the heiress
of Burgundy were rudely dispelled. The duke, whose shallow brain was
muddled with Malmsey, soon found that he was no match for veteran
courtiers. Experienced intriguers, the Woodvilles were prompt in their
measures to defeat any project that jarred with their interests; and
Elizabeth instilled into her husband's mind such suspicions as to
Clarence's intentions, that Edward not only refused to hear of an
alliance that "might enable Clarence to employ the power of Burgundy
to win the crown," but even let down his dignity so far as to propose
a marriage between Anthony, Earl Rivers, and the daughter of Charles
the Rash. The court of Burgundy, treating the proposal with the disdain
it deserved, gave the heiress to the Emperor Maximilian; and the
Woodvilles, finding their presumption checked, and resolved to console
themselves by making Clarence a victim, bent all their energies to
effect his ruin.

Circumstances were unfavorable to Clarence; for, since the duke's
confederacy with Warwick, no love had existed between him and the king.
Edward deemed that he owed his brother an injury; and that, at least,
was a kind of debt which Edward of York was never sorry to have an
opportunity of paying. The king's dislike was judiciously humored by
the queen's kindred; and a prophecy, that the crown should be seized
and the royal children murdered by one, the first letter of whose name
was G, took possession of his imagination. A fair excuse only was
wanting to get rid of Clarence, and a pretext was ere long found.

Among the Anglo-Norman families who during the fifteenth century
maintained territorial state in that county which had come with an
heiress of the Beauchamps to Richard Neville, and with the eldest
daughter of the king-maker to the royal duke by whom he was betrayed,
few were of higher consideration than the Burdets. One of the Burdets
had accompanied the Conqueror to England; another had sat as member
for Warwickshire in the Parliament of the second Edward; and a third,
Sir Nicholas, had fought with high distinction in the wars carried on
by the Duke of York in France. Falling at Pontoise on that day when
King Charles of France stormed the town, Nicholas left a son, Thomas,
who resided at Arrow, the seat of his family, and held an office in
Clarence's household.

Burdet had figured as a Yorkist and fought for the White Rose. Being
a follower of Clarence, however, he was regarded with some degree of
suspicion; and, having domestic troubles, his temper was probably
too much the worse for the wear to admit of his being suspected
without manifesting impatience. An accident, according to chroniclers,
occurred, which exasperated him to language so indiscreet as to cause
his own death and that of his patron.

Burdet had, among the deer in his park at Arrow, a white buck, of which
he was exceedingly proud. This buck was destined to be the cause of
much mischief; for one day, when Burdet was from home, the king, making
a progress through Warwickshire, went to Arrow, and entered the park to
divert himself with hunting. Unfortunately, Edward killed the favorite
buck of all others; and Burdet, being informed on his return of what
had happened, was enraged beyond measure. Indeed, it was said that the
worthy squire, regarding the whole affair as a premeditated insult,
lost his patience so completely as to express a wish "that the buck's
horns had been in the king's belly."

But, however that may have been, there lived at that time, under
Clarence's protection, an ecclesiastic named John Stacey, famed
for his learning and skill in astrology. Having been denounced as
a necromancer, and accused of exercising his unlawful art for the
destruction of Richard, Lord Beauchamp, Stacey was put to the rack
and tortured into naming Thomas Burdet as his accomplice in some
treasonable practices. Burdet was accordingly arrested on the charge
of conspiring to kill the king and the Prince of Wales by casting their
nativity, and of scattering among the people papers predicting their
death.

Having been taken to Westminster Hall, Burdet and Stacey were tried
before the Court of King's Bench. But that court was no longer presided
over by a Fortescue or a Markham, and it was in vain that Burdet
pleaded his innocence, declaring that, so far from having any design
against the king's life, he was ready to fight for the king's crown, as
he had done before. His fate was sealed: the jury returned a verdict
of "Guilty;" the knight and ecclesiastic were sentenced to death; and,
having been drawn from the Tower, they were executed as traitors at
Tyburn.

The matter did not rest here. On learning the result of his adherents'
trial, Clarence, who was in Ireland, naturally felt somewhat dismayed.
Recollecting how the proceedings against Eleanor Cobham had served as a
prelude to the destruction of Duke Humphrey, and apprehending in this
case a similar result, he determined to stir in his own defense, and
rushed into the snare which his enemies had set. Hurrying to England,
and reaching Westminster in the king's absence, he entered the council
chamber, showed the lords there assembled private confessions and
declarations of innocence made by Burdet and Stacey, and protested
vehemently against the execution that had taken place.

At Windsor the king received intelligence of the step Clarence had
taken; and the affair being reported to him in the worst light, he
appears to have been seized with something like temporary insanity, and
to have regarded Clarence's destruction as essential to his own safety
and that of his children. No sooner, in any case, was news conveyed
to him that Clarence was "flying in the face of all justice," than he
hastened to Westminster, summoned the duke to the palace, and ordered
him to be committed to the Tower.

Having pushed matters to this crisis, the Woodvilles did not allow
Edward's passion to cool. It was in vain that the lord chancellor
attempted to reconcile the king and the captive. A Parliament was
summoned to meet about the middle of January; and when, on the
appointed day, the English senators assembled at Westminster, the
judges were summoned to the House of Lords, and Clarence was brought
to the bar to be tried by his peers--the young Duke of Buckingham, who
had married the queen's sister, presiding as lord high steward, and
Edward appearing personally as accuser. Absurd as some of the charges
were, Clarence had no chance of escape. He was charged with having
dealt with the devil through necromancers; represented Edward as
illegitimate and without right to the throne; plotted to dethrone the
king and disinherit the king's children; retained possession of an act
of Parliament, whereby, in the reign of Henry, he had been declared
heir to the crown after Edward of Lancaster; purchased the support of
the Lancastrians by promising to restore their confiscated estates;
and warned his own retainers to be ready to take up arms at an hour's
notice. Clarence indignantly denied every charge; but his protestations
of innocence were as vain as those of Burdet had been. Edward appeared
bent on a conviction, and the peers had not the courage to resist such
a pleader. The royal brothers, indeed, would seem to have had all the
talk to themselves--"no one denying Clarence but the king, and no one
answering the king but Clarence." Even the self-sufficient Buckingham
contented himself with asking the judges "whether the matters proved
against Clarence amounted in law to high treason." The opinion of the
judges was altogether unfavorable to the duke. The legal functionaries
answered the lord high steward's question in the affirmative, and the
peers returned a unanimous verdict of "Guilty." On the 7th of February
Buckingham pronounced sentence of death.

When matters reached this alarming stage, the Duchess of York
interfered; and the king, in a somewhat relenting mood, delayed sending
his brother to the block. The Woodvilles, however, were not to be
baffled of their prey; and the House of Commons, acting under their
influence, petitioned for the duke's immediate execution. But the
son-in-law of Warwick, with all his failings, was still the idol of the
populace; and the policy of having him beheaded on Tower Hill was more
than doubtful.

Ere this, Clarence had been reconducted to the Tower, and lodged
in that part of the metropolitan fortress where resided the Master
Provider of the King's Bows. In a gloomy chamber of "The Bowyer Tower,"
the duke, sad and solitary, passed several weeks, while his enemies
decided what should be his fate. At length, about the beginning of
March, it was rumored that the captive had died of grief and despair.
The populace immediately raised a shout of indignation on hearing of
the death of their "Good Duke," and sternly refused to believe that he
had not had foul play. Ere long the story which Shakspeare has made so
familiar was whispered about.

The execution of Clarence having been determined on--such was the
popular account--he was allowed the privilege of choosing what death
he should die; and, having an objection to appear on the scaffold, he
elected to be drowned in that liquor with which he had so often washed
down care and remorse. A butt of Malmsey was accordingly introduced
to the gloomy chamber in which he was lodged; and, one end of the cask
having been knocked out, he was plunged into the wine, with his head
down, and held in that position till life was extinct. His body was
carried to Tewkesbury, and laid beside that of his duchess in the abbey
church.

Having accomplished their revenge on the king's brother, the queen's
kinsmen looked out for something wherewith to gratify their avarice. On
this point the Woodvilles were, as usual, successful. To Earl Rivers
was given part of the estates of Clarence; and to the Marquis of Dorset
the wardship of the son of the murdered duke. The king, however, was
the reverse of satisfied. He never recalled the name of Clarence
without a feeling of penitence; and afterward, when sued for any man's
pardon, he was in the habit of exclaiming mournfully, "Ah! I once had
an unfortunate brother, and for his life not one man would open his
mouth."




CHAPTER XL.

KING EDWARD'S DEATH.


For some years after the treaty of Picquigny, Edward of York, trusting
to the friendship and relying on the pension of King Louis, passed
his time in inglorious ease; and Elizabeth Woodville, elate with the
prospect of her daughter sharing the throne of a Valois, persisted in
pestering the crafty monarch of France with inquiries when she was to
send him her young dauphiness. Meanwhile, Louis, who had no intention
whatever of maintaining faith with the King of England one day longer
than prudence dictated, was looking about for a more advantageous
alliance for the heir to his throne.

After appearing for some time utterly unsuspicious, Edward, in 1480,
resolved on sending an embassador to Paris, and Sir John Howard was
selected as the man to urge a speedy celebration of the marriage.
The plans of Louis were not then quite ripe, but his statecraft did
not desert him; and, at length, after Howard had for some time been
silenced by bribes, and Edward deluded by flattering assurances, he set
the treaty of Picquigny at defiance, and contracted a marriage between
the dauphin and a daughter of the Emperor Maximilian.

Fortunately for Louis, Edward was a much less formidable personage
than of yore. Since returning from his French expedition, the English
king had given himself up to luxury and indolence. He had drunk deep,
kept late hours, sat long over the wine-cup, and gratified his sensual
inclinations with little regard either to his dignity as a king or his
honor as a man. Dissipation and debauchery had ruined his health and
obscured his intellect. Even his appearance was changed for the worse.
His person had become corpulent, and his figure had lost its grace. He
was no longer the Edward of Towton or of Tewkesbury.

On discovering, however, how completely he had been duped, Edward
displayed some sparks of the savage valor which, in other days, had
made him so terrible a foe. Rousing himself to projects of revenge, he
vowed to carry such a war into France as that country had never before
experienced, and commenced preparations for executing his threats. As
his resentment appeared implacable, Louis deemed it prudent to find him
work nearer home; and, with this object, excited the King of Scots to
undertake a war against England.

Some successes achieved by Gloucester in Scotland emboldened Edward
in his projects. It happened, however, that he did not live even to
attempt the execution of his threats. The excess of his rage against
Louis had been such as seriously to affect his health; and, about
Easter, 1483, in his forty-second year, the warlike king was laid
prostrate with a fever in the Palace of Westminster. Stretched on a bed
of sickness, the king found his constitution rapidly giving way; and,
losing faith in the skill of his physicians, he referred his quarrel
with Louis to the judgment of GOD, and summoned the lords of his court
to bid them farewell.

The king, indeed, could not fail to be anxious as to the fortunes of
the family he was leaving. Ever since his ill-starred marriage the
court had been distracted by the feuds of the queen's kindred and the
old nobility of England. The death of Warwick and the judicial murder
of Clarence had by no means restored harmony. At the head of one party
figured the queen's brother, Earl Rivers, and her son, the Marquis of
Dorset; at the head of the other was the Duke of Buckingham, with whom
sided the Lords Stanley and Hastings. Difficult as the task might be,
Edward hoped to reconcile the hostile factions ere going to his grave.

When the lords appeared in the king's chamber, and assembled around his
bed, Edward addressed to them an impressive speech. Having indicated
his brother Richard, Duke of Gloucester, as the fittest person to be
Protector of the realm, he expressed much anxiety about the affairs of
his kingdom and family, pointed out the perils of discord in a state,
and lamented that it had been his lot "to win the courtesy of men's
knees by the fall of so many heads." After thus smoothing the way, as
it were, he put it to his lords, as a last request, that they should
lay aside all variance, and love one another. At this solemn appeal
the lords acted their parts with a decorum which imposed on the dying
man. Two celebrated characters, indeed, were absent, whose talents for
dissimulation could not have failed to distinguish them. Gloucester was
on the borders of Scotland, and Rivers on the marches of Wales; so that
Richard Plantagenet, with his dark guile, and Anthony Woodville, with
his airy pretensions, were wanting to complete the scene. But Hastings,
Dorset, and others, though their hearts were far asunder, shook hands
and embraced with every semblance of friendship; and the king dismissed
them with the idea that he had effected a reconciliation.

His affairs on earth thus settled, as he believed, Edward proceeded
to make his peace with heaven. Having received such consolations as
the Church administers to frail men when they are going to judgment,
and committed his soul to the mercy of GOD, Edward awaited the coming
of the Great Destroyer. On the 9th of April his hour arrived; and,
complaining of drowsiness, he turned on his side. While in that
position he fell into the sleep that knows no breaking; and his spirit,
which had so often luxuriated in carnage and strife, departed in peace.

On the day when the king breathed his last he lay exposed in the
Palace of Westminster, that the lords, temporal and spiritual, and
the municipal functionaries of London might have an opportunity of
ascertaining that he had not been murdered. This ceremony over, the
body was seared and removed to St. Stephen's Chapel, and there watched
by nobles, while masses were sung.

Windsor had been selected as the place of interment. Ere being conveyed
to its last resting-place, however, the corpse, covered with cloth of
gold, was carried to the Abbey of Westminster under a rich canopy of
cloth imperial, supported by four knights, Sir John Howard bearing the
banner in front of the procession, and the officers of arms walking
around. Mass having been again performed at Westminster, the mortal
remains of the warrior-king were placed in a chariot drawn by six
horses, and conveyed, by slow stages, along the banks of the Thames.
Having been met at the gates of Windsor, and perfumed with odors by the
Archbishop of York and the Bishop of Winchester the corpse was borne
in solemn procession to the Chapel of St. George, where, placed in the
choir, on a hearse blazing with lights and surrounded with banners, it
was watched for the night by nobles and esquires. Another mass, more
religious solemnities, a few more ceremonies befitting the rank of the
deceased, and the last Plantagenet whose obsequies were performed with
royal honors was committed to the tomb.




CHAPTER XLI.

THE DUKE OF GLOUCESTER.


Whether Richard the Third, with his hunch back, withered arm, splay
feet, goggle eyes, and swarthy countenance, as portrayed by poets and
chroniclers of the Tudor period, very closely resembles the Richard of
Baynard's Castle and Bosworth Field, is a question which philosophical
historians have answered in the negative. The evidence of the old
Countess of Desmond, when brought to light by Horace Walpole in 1758,
first began to set the world right on this subject. Born about the
middle of the fifteenth century, she lived--when the Plantagenets
had been displaced by the Tudors, and the Tudors succeeded by the
Stuarts--to affirm, in the seventeenth century, that, in her youth,
she had danced with Richard at his brother's court, and that he whom
historians had, in deference to Tudor prejudices, represented as a
monster of ugliness, was in reality the handsomest man in the room
except his brother Edward, and that he was very well made.

It can not be denied that the Countess of Desmond's description of
Richard appears extremely complimentary; and, indeed, it would have
been something novel in human nature if this lady of the house of
Fitzgerald, in old age and penury, had not been inclined to exaggerate
the personal advantages of a Plantagenet prince who, in the days of
her youth and hope, had distinguished her by his attention. Evidence,
however, exists in abundance to prove that Richard was utterly unlike
the deformed ruffian introduced into history by the scribes and
sheriffs of London, who plied their pens with an eye to the favor of
the Tudors.

Portraits and authentic descriptions of the last Plantagenet king which
have come down to posterity convey the idea of a man rather under-sized
and hard-featured, with dark brown hair, an intellectual forehead,
a face slightly deficient in length, dark, thoughtful eyes, and a
short neck, and shoulders somewhat unequal, giving an appearance of
inelegance to a figure, spare indeed, and wanting in bulk, but wiry,
robust, and sinewy; trained by exercise to endure fatigue, and capable
on occasions of exercising almost superhuman strength. Such, clad in
garments far more gorgeous than good taste would have approved, his
head bent forward on his bosom, his hand playing with his dagger, as
if in restlessness of mood, and his lips moving as if in soliloquy,
appeared to his contemporaries the subtle politician who, at Baynard's
Castle, schemed for the crown of St. Edward. Such, arrayed in Milan
steel, bestriding a white steed, the emblem of sovereignty, with a
surcoat of brilliant colors over his armor, a crown of ornament around
his helmet, a trusty lance skillfully poised in his hand, and an
intense craving for vengeance gnawing at his heart, appeared the fiery
warrior whose desperate valor well-nigh saved St. Edward's crown from
fortune and the foe on Bosworth Field.




CHAPTER XLII.

THE PROTECTOR AND THE PROTECTORATE.


Before "giving up his soul to GOD" in the Palace of Westminster, the
fourth Edward nominated his brother Richard, Duke of Gloucester, as
Protector of England during the minority of Edward the Fifth. The
choice was one of which the nation could not but approve. Richard was
in the thirty-first year of his life, and in the full vigor of his
intellect; with faculties refined by education and sharpened by use;
knowledge of mankind, acquired in civil strife and in the experience
of startling vicissitudes of fortune; a courage in battle which had
made his slight form and grisly cognizance terrible to foes on fields
of fame; a genius for war which had given him an enviable reputation
throughout Christendom; a temper hitherto so carefully kept under
restraint that any man hinting at the excess of its ferocity would
have been deemed insane; and an ambition hitherto so well masked
by affected humility that no one could have imagined it capable of
prompting political crimes, unjustifiable, save by those Italian maxims
associated with the name of Machiavelli.

It was on the 2d of October, 1452, shortly after the Roses were plucked
in the Temple Gardens, that Cicely, Duchess of York, gave birth to her
youngest son, Richard, in the Castle of Fotheringay. He was, therefore,
scarcely three years old when the Wars of the Roses commenced at St.
Albans, and little more than eight when the Duke of York was slain by
the Lancastrians on Wakefield Green. Alarmed, after that event, at the
aspect of affairs, warned by the murder of her second son, the boy-Earl
of Rutland, and eager to save George and Richard from the fate of their
elder brother, the Duchess Cicely sent them to Holland, trusting that,
even in case of the Lancastrians triumphing, the Duke of Burgundy would
generously afford them protection and insure them safety.

After being sent to the Continent, Richard and his brother remained
for some time in secret at Utrecht; but the Duke of Burgundy, hearing
that the young Plantagenets were in that city, had them sought out and
escorted to Bruges, where they were received with the honors due to
their rank. When, however, his victory at Towton made Edward King of
England, he requested Burgundy to send the princes; and, in the spring
of 1461, "The Good Duke" had them honorably escorted to Calais on their
way home. When, after their return to England, George was dignified
with the dukedom of Clarence, Richard became Duke of Gloucester.

At an early age, Richard, who was energetic and highly educated,
acquired great influence over the indolent and illiterate Edward; and
in the summer of 1470, when scarcely eighteen, he was appointed Warden
of the West Marches. The return of Warwick from France interrupting his
tenure of office, he shared his brother's flight to the territories of
the Duke of Burgundy; and when Edward landed at Ravenspur, to conquer
or die, Richard was by his side, and proved an ally of no mean prowess.
Being intrusted with high command at Barnet and Tewkesbury, his conduct
won him high reputation; and, in spite of his foppery and fondness for
dress and gay apparel, he showed himself, at both of these battles, a
sage counselor in camp and a fiery warrior in conflict.

The Lancastrians having been put down and peace restored, Richard
turned his thoughts to matrimony, and resolved to espouse Anne Neville,
daughter of Warwick and widow of Edward of Lancaster. Clarence, wishing
to keep the Warwick baronies to himself, as husband of Isabel Neville,
attempted, by concealing her sister, to prevent this marriage. But
Richard was not to be baffled. He discovered the fair Anne in London,
disguised as a cook-maid, and carrying the youthful widow off, placed
her for security in the sanctuary of St. Martin's. Nevertheless,
Clarence continued unreasonable. "Richard may have my sister-in-law if
he will," he said, "but we will part no livelihood." Edward, however,
took the matter in hand, pacified his brothers, allotted Anne a
handsome portion out of the Warwick estates, and had the marriage with
Richard forthwith solemnized. One son, destined to figure for a brief
period as Prince of Wales, was the result of this union.

Years rendered memorable by the inglorious expedition to France and
the unfortunate execution of Clarence passed over; and in 1482, when
Edward conspired with the exiled Duke of Albany to dethrone James, King
of Scots, Richard, who, among his contemporaries, had acquired the
reputation of being "a man of deep reach and policy," was intrusted
with the conduct of the war. Having been nominated lieutenant general
against the Scots, and joined by the Earl of Northumberland and Lord
Stanley, he led twenty-five thousand men across the Tweed, regained
Berwick, which had been surrendered by Queen Margaret, and marched to
the gates of Edinburgh. By this expedition Richard acquired an increase
of popularity; and he was still in the north when Edward the Fourth
departed this life and his son was proclaimed as Edward the Fifth.

At that time the young king--a boy of thirteen--was residing in the
Castle of Ludlow, on the marches of Wales, and receiving his education
under the auspices of his maternal uncle, Anthony Woodville, Earl
Rivers. Anthony was eminently qualified for the post of tutor, and
every precaution appears to have been taken to render the boy worthy of
the crown which he was destined never to wear.

While the news of his father's death was traveling to young Edward
at Ludlow, the feud between the ancient nobility and the queen's
kindred broke out afresh at Westminster, and London was agitated by
the factious strife. Elizabeth, jealous of the designs of the adverse
faction, wrote to Rivers to raise a large force in Wales, and conduct
the king to the capital to be crowned; and she empowered her son, the
Marquis of Dorset, who was Constable of the Tower, to take the royal
treasure out of that fortress, and fit out a fleet. Hastings, alarmed
at these indications of suspicion, threatened to retire to Calais, of
which he was captain; and both parties appealed to Richard, who had
hitherto so acted as to give offense to neither.

Richard, on learning the state of affairs, immediately wrote to the
queen, recommending that the army gathering round her son should be
dismissed; and the royal widow, who was totally devoid of the intellect
and sagacity necessary for such a crisis, dispatched a messenger to her
brother to disband his troops. The young king, however, set out from
Ludlow, and, attended by Earl Rivers, Elizabeth's second son, Richard
Grey, and Sir Thomas Vaughan, he approached Northampton on the 22d of
April, and learned that Richard had already arrived at that town.

Richard, as we have said, was on the frontiers of Scotland when his
brother expired at Westminster. On receiving intelligence of this sad
event he rode southward to York, and entered that city with a retinue
of six hundred knights and esquires, all dressed, like himself, in deep
mourning. At York he ordered a grand funeral service to be performed in
the Cathedral; and, having summoned the magnates of the neighborhood to
swear fealty to Edward the Fifth, he set them the example by taking the
oath first. After going through this ceremony, he wrote to Elizabeth
Woodville and to Earl Rivers, expressing the utmost loyalty and
affection for the young king; but, at the same time, a messenger was
sent to the Duke of Buckingham appointing a meeting at Northampton.

Again taking the road southward, Richard reached Northampton on the
22d of April; and, learning that the king was every hour expected,
he resolved to await the arrival of his nephew and escort him safely
to London. Ere long Rivers and Richard Grey appeared to pay their
respects, and announce that the king had gone forward to Stony
Stratford. Richard, who had hitherto given the Woodvilles no cause
for suspicion, was doubtless somewhat surprised at this intelligence.
He, however, suppressed his emotions, listened patiently to Anthony's
frivolous apology about fearing that Northampton would have been too
small a place to accommodate so many people, and with the utmost
courtesy invited the uncle and nephew to remain and sup.

Rivers and Grey accepted without hesitation an invitation given in so
friendly a tone; and soon after, Buckingham arrived at the head of
three hundred horsemen. Every thing went calmly. The two dukes passed
the evening with Rivers and Grey; they all talked in the most friendly
way; and next morning they rode together to Stony Stratford.

On reaching Stony Stratford, Richard found the king mounting to renew
his journey; and this circumstance seems to have convinced him that he
was intended by the Woodvilles first as a dupe and then as a victim.
At all events, their evident anxiety to prevent an interview between
him and his nephew afforded him a fair opportunity for taking strong
measures, and he did not hesitate. Turning to Rivers and Grey, he
immediately charged them with estranging the affections of his nephew,
and caused them to be arrested along with Sir Thomas Vaughan.

Having ordered the prisoners to be conveyed to the castle of Sheriff
Hutton, Richard and Buckingham bent their knees to their youthful
sovereign, and explained to him that Rivers, Grey, and Dorset were
traitors; but Edward, educated by his maternal relatives and much
attached to them, could not conceal his displeasure at their arrest.

This scene over, Richard dismissed all domestics with whom Rivers had
surrounded the young king, and conducted his nephew toward London,
giving out as he went that the Woodvilles had been conspiring. On the
4th of May they approached the metropolis; and at Hornsey Wood they
were met by Lord-mayor Shaw, with the sheriffs and aldermen, in their
scarlet robes, and five hundred of the citizens, clad in violet and
gallantly mounted. Attended as became a king, young Edward entered
London. Richard rode bareheaded before his nephew; many knights and
nobles followed; and, amid loud acclamations from the populace, Edward
the Fifth was conducted to the Bishop's Palace. A grand council was
then summoned, and Richard was declared Protector of England.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth Woodville had been seized with dread. Alarmed at
the report that her brother and son were under arrest, and apprehensive
of Richard's intentions, she fled to the sanctuary with her five
daughters, her eldest son, the Marquis of Dorset, and her youngest
son, Richard, a boy of ten, who had been created Duke of York, and
contracted in marriage to an heiress of the Mowbrays who died in
infancy. The king, on learning that his mother was alarmed, expressed
his grief with tears in his eyes. At first Richard only protested his
loyalty, and marveled that his nephew should be so melancholy; but ere
long he resolved to turn the royal boy's unhappiness to account, and
with this view sent the Archbishop of York to Elizabeth to say that, to
the king's happiness, the company of his brother was essential.

The prelate carried the Protector's message to the sanctuary, and found
the mournful mother earnestly opposed to delivering up the Duke of
York. The archbishop, however, told her plainly that if she did not
consent, he feared some sharper course would speedily be taken; and at
this warning Elizabeth, who was at once timorous and imprudent, began
to yield. At length she took the boy by the hand and led him to the
archbishop. "My lord," she said, "here he is. For my own part, I never
will deliver him freely; but if you must needs have, take him, and at
your hands I will require him."

At that time Richard and other lords were in the Star Chamber,
and thither the archbishop led the weeping boy. As they entered,
Richard rose, embraced his nephew affectionately, and exclaimed with
characteristic dissimulation, "Welcome, nephew, with all my heart.
Next to my sovereign lord, your brother, nothing gives me so much
contentment as your presence." A few days after this scene was enacted,
Richard declared that it was necessary that the king and his brother
should be sent to some place of security till the distempers of the
commonwealth were healed; and a great council, summoned to discuss
the question, resolved, on the motion of Buckingham, that the princes
should be sent to the Tower. Accordingly, they were conducted to the
metropolitan fortress; and it was intimated that they were to remain
there till preparations had been made for the king's coronation.

The fate of Rivers, Grey, and Vaughan having been decided on, the
13th of June was appointed as the day of execution; and Sir Richard
Ratcliffe, an unscrupulous agent of Richard, was intrusted with the
ceremony. Anthony Woodville was prevented from addressing the people on
the occasion, and posterity has been deprived of the satisfaction of
reading the accomplished adventurer's vindication; but Vaughan was more
lucky in his effort to be heard.

"I appeal," said Vaughan, solemnly, "to GOD'S high tribunal against the
Duke of Gloucester for this wrongful murder."

"You have made a goodly appeal," said Ratcliffe, with a sneer, "so lay
down your head."

"I die in the right, Ratcliffe," answered Vaughan; and, preparing to
submit to the blow, he added, "Take heed that you die not in the wrong."

Ere disposing of the Woodvilles, Richard persuaded himself that his
dream of the crown might be realized, and by bribes and promises
purchased Buckingham's aid in overthrowing the obstacles that stood in
his way. Anxious, also, to gain over Hastings, he deputed the task of
sounding him to William Catesby, an eminent lawyer, who descended from
an ancient family at Lapworth, in Warwickshire, and who was destined to
acquire an unenviable notoriety in Richard's service. The result was
not satisfactory. In fact, Hastings, though he heartily concurred in
Richard's measures against the Woodvilles, was determined to stand by
Edward's sons to the death; and, ere long, matters arrived at such a
pass that, while Richard sat at the head of a majority of the council
at Crosby Hall, Hastings presided over a minority at the Tower. The
party of Hastings appeared formidable. Lord Stanley, among others,
took part in its proceedings; and Stanley's son, George, Lord Strange,
was reported to be levying forces in Lancashire to give effect to its
decisions. Richard was not blind to the fact that if he did not destroy
the confederacy forthwith it would destroy him. At such a crisis he was
neither so timid nor so scrupulous as to hesitate as to the means.

Some years before his death, Edward of York, while pursuing his amours
in the city of London, was captivated by the charms of Jane Shore,
a young city dame, whose name occupies an unfortunate place in the
history of the period. This woman, after being for seven years the wife
of a reputable goldsmith, allowed herself, in an evil hour, to be lured
from the house of her husband, and figured for some time as the king's
mistress. Notwithstanding her equivocal position, however, Mistress
Shore exhibited many redeeming qualities. Her wit and beauty giving
her great influence over Edward, she exercised it for worthy purposes,
and was ever ready to relieve the needy, to shield the innocent, and
protect the oppressed.

When Edward had been laid at rest in St. George's Chapel, and Elizabeth
Woodville fled to the sanctuary, Mistress Shore manifested much
sympathy for the distressed queen; and, having formed an intimacy
with Lord Hastings, she framed something resembling a plot against
the Protector. Elizabeth at once forgave Hastings the hostility he
had displayed toward her kindred, and forgave Mistress Shore for
having supplanted her in Edward's affections, and the three became
allies. Richard's jealousy was aroused, and he resolved to make this
extraordinary alliance the means of effecting the ruin of Hastings.

It was Friday, the 13th of June--the day on which Rivers, Grey, and
Vaughan suffered at Pontefract--and Hastings, Stanley, the Bishop of
Ely, the Archbishop of York, with other men of mark, had assembled at
nine o'clock in the Tower, when the Protector suddenly entered the
council chamber and took his seat at the table. Richard appeared in a
lively mood, conversed for a while gayly with those present, and quite
surprised them by the mirth which he exhibited.

Having set the lords somewhat at their ease and persuaded them to
proceed with business, Richard begged them to spare him for a while,
and, leaving the council chamber, he remained absent for an hour.
Between ten and eleven he returned, but frowning and fretting, knitting
his brow and biting his lips.

"What punishment," he asked, seating himself, "do they deserve who have
imagined and compassed my destruction, who am so nearly related to the
king, and intrusted with the government of the realm?"

"Whoever they be," answered Hastings, after a pause, "they deserve the
death of traitors."

"These traitors," cried Richard, "are the sorceress my brother's wife,
and her accomplice, Jane Shore, his mistress, with others, their
associates, who have, by their witchcraft, wasted my body."

"Certainly, my lord," said Hastings, after exhibiting some confusion,
"if they be guilty of these crimes, they deserve the severest
punishment."

"What?" exclaimed Richard, furiously, "do you reply to me with ifs and
with ands? I tell thee they have so done, and that I will make good on
your body, traitor."

After threatening Hastings, Richard struck the council table, and
immediately a cry of "Treason" arose, and armed men rushed into the
chamber.

"I arrest thee, traitor," said Richard, turning to Hastings.

"Me, my lord?" asked Hastings, in surprise.

"Yes, thee, traitor," said Richard; "and, by St. Paul, I swear I will
not to dinner till I have thy head off."

While this conversation was passing between the Protector and Hastings,
one of the soldiers, as if by accident or mistake, struck a blow at
Lord Stanley. But the noble baron, who had no ambition to share his
ally's fate, and who, indeed, contrived to carry his wise head to the
grave, saved himself on this occasion by jerking under the table, and
escaped without any other bodily injury than a bruise.

While Lord Stanley, the Archbishop of York, and the Bishop of Ely
were arrested, and shut up in various parts of the Tower, Hastings
was hurried outside for immediate execution. Richard would not even
allow the headsman time enough to erect a scaffold; but a log of
wood answered the purpose. This, having been found in the court of
the Tower, was carried to the green near the chapel; and the lord
chamberlain, after being led thither, was without farther ceremony
beheaded. At the same time the sheriffs of London proceeded to Mistress
Shore's house, took possession of her goods, which were valued at three
thousand marks, and conveyed her through the city to the Tower. On
being brought before the council, however, on the charge of sorcery,
no evidence worthy of credit was produced, and an acquittal was the
consequence.

The sudden execution of the lord chamberlain naturally excited
much interest in the city; and, as Hastings happened to be a great
favorite with the inhabitants, Richard deemed it necessary to
vouchsafe an explanation. Having therefore sent for some of the
influential citizens, and frankly justified himself as having acted
simply in self-defense, he, within two hours, caused a proclamation,
under the great seal, fairly written on parchment, to be read by a
herald-at-arms, with great solemnity, in various parts of London.
Unfortunately, this vindication appeared so soon after the execution
that people could not help suspecting that it had been drawn up before.

"Here's a gay goodly cast," remarked the schoolmaster of St. Paul's,
as the document was read at the Cross, "soul cast away for haste."

"Ay," said a merchant standing by, "I think it has been written by the
spirit of prophecy."




CHAPTER XLIII.

THE USURPATION.


After mewing the princes in the Tower, beheading Hastings in London
and the Woodvilles at Pontefract, placing such foes to his pretensions
as Lord Stanley and the Bishop of Ely under lock and key, and arousing
the people's moral indignation by the scandal of a king's widow taking
counsel with her husband's mistress to embarrass the government carried
on in the name of her son, Richard applied himself resolutely to secure
the prize on which he had set his heart. Ere long, the citizens who
discussed the proclamation about Hastings were destined to have fresh
subjects for gossip.

Among the numerous ladies upon whom Edward, about the beginning of
his reign, cast admiring eyes, was Eleanor Talbot, granddaughter of
the great Earl of Shrewsbury. This patrician dame was the widow of
Lord Butler of Sudeley, and had seen fifteen more summers than her
royal lover. Edward, not on that account the less enamored, asked her
to become his wife; and, won by the ardor of his attachment, Eleanor
consented to a secret marriage. The ceremony was performed by Dr.
Stillington, Bishop of Bath; but, as time passed on, the Yorkist
king's amorous heart led him into another engagement, and the neglected
Eleanor was astonished with news of his having married Elizabeth
Woodville. On hearing of his faithlessness she fell into a profound
melancholy, and afterward lived in sadness and retirement.

This silent repudiation of a daughter of their house shocked the
propriety and hurt the pride of the Talbots, and they applied to
Stillington to demand satisfaction. Not relishing the perilous duty,
the bishop spoke to Richard on the subject, and Gloucester mentioned it
to the king. This intercession proved of no avail; and Edward displayed
such fury on learning that the secret was known, that nobody who valued
a head would have cared to allude to it while he was on the throne. But
Richard, who had not forgotten a circumstance so important, now saw
that the time had come when the secret might be used to advance his own
fortunes. It was necessary, however, that the facts should be published
in such a way as to produce a strong impression, and a plan was devised
for bringing together a multitude.

For this purpose, Richard caused Mistress Shore to be again dragged
into public, and tried before the spiritual courts for her scandalous
manner of life. The Protector was not this time disappointed. However
unfounded the charge of sorcery, there was no lack of evidence as to
her frailties, and she was condemned to do open penance. Sunday was
appointed for this act of humiliation; and on that day, through streets
crowded with spectators, the erring woman was under the necessity of
walking to St. Paul's barefooted, wrapped in a white sheet, and holding
a lighted taper of wax in her hand.

This exhibition was of itself deemed likely to advance the Protector's
interests by impressing people with a high opinion of his worth as
a reformer of morals; but Richard had arranged that, ere the crowd
assembled as spectators had time to disperse, another and a far more
important scene should be enacted. In this the chief actor was Dr.
Shaw, an Augustine friar of high reputation and great popularity.
Mounting the pulpit at St. Paul's Cross, Shaw, who was a brother of the
lord-mayor and an adherent of the Protector, preached from the text,
"The multiplying brood of the ungodly shall not thrive, nor take deep
rooting from bastard slips;" and proceeded boldly to prove that the
princes in the Tower were illegitimate.

Richard appears to have found this stratagem unsuccessful; but he
did not dream of abandoning his ambitious project. Nor can he, with
justice, be severely blamed for setting aside the sons of Elizabeth
Woodville. However the matter may have been slurred over by men
writing with the fear of the Tudors before their eyes, hardly any doubt
can exist that Edward was guilty of bigamy, and that his marriage with
Elizabeth was invalid; for Philip de Comines bears witness to having
heard Bishop Stillington state that he had married the king to Lady
Butler; and Eleanor undoubtedly survived that unfortunate ceremony
performed on a May morning in the chapel at Grafton.

But the illegitimacy of Edward's offspring did not make Richard heir
of the house of York. Between him and the crown stood the children of
Clarence, Edward Plantagenet, Earl of Warwick, and his sister Margaret,
afterward Countess of Salisbury and mother of Cardinal Pole. The claim
of these children was such as could not decently be rejected; but,
having gone too far to recede, Richard pretended that their father's
attainder disqualified them from inheriting, and adopted measures for
usurping the crown.

Richard again invoked the aid of Buckingham; and, on the Tuesday
after Dr. Shaw's sermon, attended by nobles, knights, and citizens,
Buckingham appeared on the hustings at Guildhall, and harangued the
populace. The duke's oratory was successful. Some of the wealthy
citizens, indeed, asked time for consideration; but the multitude
tossed their bonnets in the air, and shouted, "Long live King Richard."

At Baynard's Castle, with the Duchess of York, Richard was then
residing; and thither, to wait upon him, the citizens sent a
deputation, headed by the lord-mayor and accompanied by Buckingham.
On being informed that a number of people were in the castle court,
Richard affected alarm and declined to receive them; but, at length,
they were admitted, and Buckingham presented an address, praying
Richard to take the crown as his by right of birth and the election of
the estates of the realm.

"I little thought, cousin," said Richard, angrily, "that you, of all
men, would have moved me to a matter which, of all things, I most
decline."

"The free people of England will never be ruled by a bastard," said
Buckingham; "and if you, the true heir, refuse the crown, they know
where to find another who will gladly accept it."

"Well," said Richard, with the air of a man making a great sacrifice,
"since I perceive that the whole realm is resolved not to permit my
nephew to reign, and that the right of succession belongs to me, I am
content to submit to the will of the people."

On hearing this speech the citizens raised a cry of "Long live King
Richard, our sovereign lord;" and the brief reign of Edward the Fifth
was at an end.




CHAPTER XLIV.

RICHARD'S CORONATION.


When Richard had expressed his intention to usurp the English crown,
he fixed the 6th day of July, 1483, for his coronation, and caused
preparations to be made for performing the ceremony with such
magnificence as was likely to render the occasion memorable. Never had
arrangements been made on so splendid a scale for investing a king of
England with the symbols of power.

At the same time Richard took precautions against any opposition that
might be offered by the friends of Elizabeth Woodville. From the north
were brought five thousand fighting men, "evil appareled, and worse
harnessed, in rusty armor, neither defensible for proof nor scoured
for show," but with fearless hearts and strong hands. Their leader was
one whose name a Woodville could hardly hear without growing pale.
For it was Robin of Redesdale, who, in other days, had led the half
mob, half army that seized and beheaded old Earl Rivers, and that son
of Earl Rivers who, while in his teens, had wedded a dowager duchess
in her eighty-second year. On the 4th of July these northern soldiers
encamped in Finsbury Fields, and inspired the citizens of London with
emotions of doubt and apprehension.

On the day when Robin of Redesdale and his men startled London, Richard
and his ill-starred queen--the Anne Neville of earlier and happier
times--took their barge at Baynard's Castle, and went by water to
the Tower. After releasing Lord Stanley and the Archbishop of York,
that they might take part in the coronation, the king created his son
Edward Prince of Wales, nominated Lord Lovel to the office of lord
chamberlain, vacant by the execution of Hastings, and appointed Sir
Robert Brackenbury, the younger son of an ancient family long settled
at Sallaby, in the Bishopric of Durham, to the lieutenancy of the
Tower. At the same time he bestowed on Sir John Howard the dukedom of
Norfolk, and to Thomas, eldest son of that pretentious personage, he
gave the earldom of Surrey. Gratified as the vanity of the Howards
might be, Sir John must have blushed, if, indeed, capable of so much
decorum, as he thought of the disconsolate woman in the sanctuary, and
remembered the letter which, twenty years earlier, at the time of her
marriage, he had written to her father, Sir Richard Woodville.

At length the day appointed for the ceremony arrived, and Richard
prepared to place the crown of St. Edward on his head. "The king, with
Queen Anne, his wife," says the chronicler, "came down out of the
Whitehall into the great hall at Westminster, and went directly to the
King's Bench, and from thence, going upon Ray-cloth, barefooted, went
to St. Edward's Shrine; all his nobility going with him, every lord in
his degree."

A magnificent banquet in Westminster Hall brought the coronation
ceremony to a conclusion; and, in the midst of the banquet, Sir Robert
Dymoke, as king's champion, rode into the hall and challenged any
man to say that Richard was not King of England. No one, of course,
ventured to gainsay his title; but from every side rose shouts of "King
Richard, King Richard;" and, his inauguration as sovereign of England
having been thus formally completed, the usurper retired to consider
how he could best secure himself on that throne which he had gained by
means so unscrupulous.




CHAPTER XLV.

THE PRINCES IN THE TOWER.


When the sons of the fourth Edward and Elizabeth Woodville had been
escorted through London, conducted to the Tower, and given into the
keeping of Sir Robert Brackenbury, the populace saw their faces no more.

According to the chroniclers who wrote in the age of the Tudors, the
young king had, from the time of the arrest of his maternal kinsman at
Stony Stratford, been possessed with vague presentiments; and he no
sooner heard of the usurpation than he revealed the alarm he felt for
his personal safety. "Alas!" exclaimed the boy, on being informed that
Richard was to be crowned, "I would mine uncle would let me enjoy my
life, though I lose my kingdom and my crown."

The lives of the princes might have been spared; but it happened that,
after causing his coronation to be celebrated with so much splendor at
Westminster, Richard undertook a progress to York, to have the ceremony
repeated in the capital of the north. While on his way, Richard learned
that the friends of Elizabeth Woodville were conspiring to deliver the
princes from the Tower, and to place young Edward on the throne. The
usurper, it is said, then resolved on having his nephews put to death
ere they could be used by his enemies to disturb his reign. With this
view, while at Gloucester, Richard dispatched a messenger, named John
Green, to Brackenbury, with instructions to make away with the princes;
but Brackenbury, though elevated to office by Richard, declared that he
must decline the commission.

Richard was at Warwick when this answer reached him; and, on hearing
that Brackenbury was a man who entertained scruples, he exclaimed, with
astonishment, "By St. Paul, whom then may we trust?" He was determined,
however, that the deed should be done, and, while musing over the
matter, bethought him of his Master of the Horse, Sir James Tyrrel, who
was in the next room. This man, a brother, it appears, of the knight of
that name who fell with Warwick at Barnet, was turbulent in spirit, and
so eager for preferment that, in order to make his fortune, he would
shrink from no crime. When, therefore, summoned to the king's presence,
he showed himself even readier to execute the murderous deed than
Richard was to intrust him with the commission.

"Would you venture to kill one of my friends?" asked Richard.

"Yes, my lord," answered Tyrrel; "but I would rather kill two of your
enemies."

"By St. Paul!" exclaimed Richard, "that is the very thing. I want to be
free from dread of two mortal foes in the Tower."

"Open the gates to me," said Tyrrel, "and you will not need to fear
them longer."

Richard, glad to have found a man capable of executing his commission,
gave Tyrrel letters to Brackenbury, commanding that he should be
intrusted with the custody of the Tower and of the princes for
twenty-four hours. Armed with these letters, Tyrrel hied him to London;
and, having freed Brackenbury for a while from the exercise of his
official functions, he enlisted in his service a man named Miles
Forrest, and a sturdy groom named James Dighton. With the aid of these
ruffians, and the sole attendant of the princes, William Slaughter,
whom chroniclers call "Black Will," and emphatically describe as a
"bloody knave," Tyrrel prepared for the murderous deed.

On a summer night--such is the story so often told--the two princes
were sleeping in an upper chamber of the Tower, in that part of the
gloomy strong-hold still pointed out as "the Bloody Tower." Their only
attendant was "Black Will;" but, as clasped in each other's arms they
slept the sleep of boyhood, their very innocence seemed a protection.
While Tyrrel remained outside the door, Forrest and Dighton suddenly
stole into the room, prepared to set about the work of murder. The
spectacle presented would have melted any other than the hardest
hearts; but Forrest and Dighton were so hardened as to be impervious
to emotions of pity, and they proceeded to their task with a shocking
brutality. Wrapping the boys tightly in the coverlet, they placed the
pillows and feather bed over their mouths till they were stifled; and
then, seeing that their innocent souls had departed, laid the bodies on
the bed, and intimated to their employer that all was over.

Tyrrel, on hearing this, entered the room to see with his own eyes that
the horrid commission had been faithfully executed. After satisfying
himself on this point, the unworthy knight ordered the bodies of the
murdered princes to be buried beneath the stair, and hastened back to
inform the king that his nephews slept in Paradise.




CHAPTER XLVI.

A MOCK KING-MAKER.


Among the many men of high estate who aided Richard to usurp the
English throne, none played a more conspicuous part than his rival in
foppery, Henry Stafford, Duke of Buckingham. No sooner, however, had
the Protector been converted into a king than his confederate became
malcontent and restlessly eager for change. The death of Warwick,
the captivity of John de Vere, the extinction of the Mowbrays and
Beauforts, had left the duke one of the most influential among English
magnates then alive and at liberty; and, albeit destitute of prowess
and intellect, he appears to have vainly imagined that he could
exercise that kind of influence which had rendered Richard Neville so
formidable. But, capable as Buckingham might have deemed himself of
rivaling "The Stout Earl," who slept with his Montagu ancestors in the
Abbey of Bisham, he had none of "the superb and more than regal pride"
which rendered the descendant of Cospatrick averse to the gewgaws of
royalty. The object of the duke's ambition, when he resolved to break
with the usurper, appears to have been the crown which he had helped to
place on Richard's head.

With his shallow brain full of ambitious ideas, and hardly deigning to
conceal his discontent, Buckingham took leave of Richard. On leaving
the court of Westminster, he turned his face toward his castle of
Brecknock, and by the way regaled his fancy with splendid visions of
crowns and sceptres.

It happened that, on the day before the coronation, when Richard
released the confederates of Hastings from the Tower, he found John
Morton, Bishop of Ely, decidedly hostile to his pretensions. Unable to
gain the support of the prelate, but unwilling, on such an occasion,
to appear harsh, Richard delivered him to Buckingham, to be sent to
Brecknock and gently guarded in that castle. At Brecknock, musing
over his experiences as parson of Blokesworth, his expedition to
Towton Field, his exile to Verdun, and his promotion to the see of
Ely by a Yorkist king, Buckingham met the bishop when he went thither
awakened from his dream of royalty, but panting for enterprise, however
quixotic. After so many exciting scenes--suppers at Northampton,
orations at the Guildhall, deputations to Baynard's Castle, progresses
through London, and coronation banquets at Westminster--the duke
doubtless found Brecknock intolerably dull. Feeling the want of
company, he threw himself in the bishop's way, and gradually
surrendered himself to the fascination of the wily churchman's
conversation. The bishop, perceiving that envy was devouring the
duke's heart, worked craftily upon his humor; and Buckingham, exposed
to the influence of one of the most adroit politicians of the age, by
degrees approached the subject which the bishop was anxious to discuss.

"I fantasied," such were the duke's words, "that if I list to take upon
me the crown, now was the time, when this tyrant was detested of all
men, and knowing not of any one that could pretend before me. In this
imagination I rested two days at Tewkesbury. But, as I rode between
Worcester and Bridgenorth, I met with the Lady Margaret, Countess of
Richmond, now wife to the Lord Stanley, who is the daughter and sole
heir of John, Duke of Somerset, my grandfather's elder brother (who
was as clean out of my mind as if I had never seen her); so that she
and her son, the Earl of Richmond, have, both of them, titles before
mine; and then I clearly saw how I was deceived, whereupon I determined
utterly to relinquish all such fantastical notions concerning the
obtaining the crown myself."

The bishop listened eagerly, and doubtless felt much relieved at this
announcement. He had soon more cause for gratification when Buckingham
added, "I find there can be no better way to settle the crown than that
the Earl of Richmond, very heir to the house of Lancaster, should take
to wife Lady Elizabeth, eldest daughter to King Edward, the very heir
of the house of York, so that the two Roses may be united in one."

"Since by your grace's incomparable wisdom this noble conjunction is
now moved," exclaimed the bishop, almost overcome with joy at the
duke's hitting "the mark he had himself aimed at" in forming his
projects, "it is in the next place necessary to consider what friends
we shall first make privy to our intention."

"By my troth," said the duke, "we will begin with the Countess of
Richmond--the earl's mother--who knows where he is in Brittany, and
whether a captive or at large."

The conspiracy originated at Brecknock rapidly became formidable.
Reginald Bray, a retainer of the Countess of Richmond, was employed to
open the business to his mistress; and the countess, approving of the
project, commissioned her physician, Dr. Lewis, to treat with Elizabeth
Woodville in the sanctuary.

Elizabeth interposed no obstacle to a project which promised her
daughter a throne; and Bray, on finding that the negotiation had
proved successful, was enabled to draw many men of high rank into the
conspiracy. John, Lord Welles, true like his ancestors to the Red Rose,
prepared to draw his sword for Lancaster. Peter Courtenay, Bishop of
Exeter, and his brother Sir Edward, a man remarkable for his elegance
and destined to wed King Edward's daughter Katherine, undertook to
raise the inhabitants of the western counties. Dorset, escaping from
the sanctuary, repaired to Yorkshire, trusting to rouse the men of the
north against the usurper.

Buckingham meanwhile remained at Brecknock, gathering the Welsh to his
standard, and dreaming, perhaps, of entering London as Warwick had
entered London thirteen years earlier. The duke, indeed, seems to have
had no conception of the hazard to which he was exposing himself. He
had been so flattered that he believed himself hedged by the nobility
of his name. He had not the elevation of soul to dream of a Barnet, and
he had too much vanity to entertain a prophetic vision of the crowded
market-place, the scaffold, and the block, which, with the headsmen,
awaited unsuccessful rebellion.




CHAPTER XLVII.

THE COMING MAN.


At the time when Richard usurped the English throne, a young Welshman
was residing at Vannes, in Brittany. His age was thirty; his stature
below the middle height; his complexion fair; his eyes gray; his
hair yellow; and his countenance would have been pleasing but for an
expression indicative of cunning and hypocrisy. It was Henry Tudor,
Earl of Richmond, grandson of Owen Tudor, and sole heir of his mother,
Margaret Beaufort, granddaughter of John of Gaunt and Katherine
Swynford.

While passing his time at Vannes, Richmond was one day startled by the
arrival of messengers with intelligence that a conspiracy had been
formed at Brecknock to place him on the English throne, and give him
in marriage a young woman who belonged to the house of York, which he
had detested from his cradle, and who, moreover, had the disadvantage
of being considered illegitimate. Richmond does not appear to have
received the proposals with enthusiasm, and matters might never have
been brought to a satisfactory issue but for the arrival of the Bishop
of Ely. The prelate, by his diplomacy, however, removed all obstacles,
and the Duke of Brittany, on being consulted, promised to aid the
enterprise.

At that period, Dr. Thomas Hutton, a man of intellect and perception,
was in Brittany as English embassador, ostensibly to ascertain whether
or not Duke Francis gave any countenance to the Woodvilles, but,
doubtless, with secret instructions to defeat the machinations of
the exiles at Vannes. Hutton, who had an eye to see and a brain to
comprehend, soon became aware of Buckingham's plot, and endeavored to
persuade the Duke of Brittany to detain Richmond. But, when the duke,
who was already committed, declined to interfere, the embassador sent
such intelligence to England as enabled Richard to form a clear notion
of the conspiracy formed to hurl him from the throne.

Nevertheless, Richmond, with forty ships and five thousand Bretons,
sailed from St. Malo. But his voyage was the reverse of prosperous; and
on the very evening when the adventurers put to sea a violent tempest
dispersed the fleet. Only the ship which carried Richmond, attended
by a single bark, held on her course, and reached the mouth of Poole
Harbor, on the coast of Dorset.

And now the Welsh earl had startling proof of Hutton's vigilance. On
approaching the English coast, Richmond perceived crowds of armed
men, and immediately suspected a snare. However, he sent a boat ashore
to ascertain whether they were friends or foes, and his messengers
returned with information that the soldiers were friends, waiting to
escort him to Buckingham's camp. But Richmond, too cautious to land
with so slender a force in an enemy's country, resolved on sailing back
to St. Malo. The wind being favorable, Richmond soon came in sight of
Normandy, and after a short stay on that coast he returned to Brittany.

Meanwhile, Buckingham's insurrection began, and in autumn Richmond
was proclaimed king at various places in England. At the same time,
the duke, at the head of a large body of Welshmen, marched from his
castle and moved toward the Severn, his first object being to join the
Courtenays.

Matters immediately assumed a gloomy aspect; and Buckingham found
that heading an insurgent army was less agreeable than dancing with
princesses at Windsor, or displaying his gorgeous attire before the
citizens of London. While he was blundering along the right bank of
the Severn in search of a ford, autumnal rains rendered every ford
impassable; and the river, rapidly overflowing its banks, inundated
the country around. A scene replete with horrors was the consequence.
Houses were overthrown; men were drowned in their beds; children were
carried about swimming in cradles; and beasts of burden and beasts of
prey were drowned in the fields and on the hills. Such a flood had
never been experienced within the memory of man; and, for centuries
after, it was remembered along the banks of the Severn as "the Duke of
Buckingham's water."

Buckingham was rudely awakened from his delusions. The flooded river
and broken bridges created difficulties with which he could not cope.
His enterprise--from the beginning never very promising--became utterly
hopeless; and the Welshmen, losing heart and finding no provision made
for their subsistence, turned their thoughts affectionately to the rude
homes and the rude fare they had left behind. The result soon appeared.
The Celtic warriors pretended to regard the flood as a sign that the
insurrection was displeasing to Heaven, deserted their standards in
crowds, and, without exception, returned to their mountains.

Buckingham now lost courage; and, while his confederates--Dorset,
the Courtenays, Lord Welles, Sir William Brandon, and Sir John
Cheyney--escaped to Richmond in Brittany, the duke fled to Shrewsbury,
and took refuge in the house of one of his retainers, named
Humphrey Bannister. Tempted by the reward offered for Buckingham's
apprehension, Bannister betrayed his master; and the duke, having been
conveyed to Salisbury, was beheaded, without trial, in the market-place.

When the conspiracy of Brecknock had been crushed, Richard summoned a
Parliament, which declared him lawful sovereign, entailed the crown on
his son, and passed a bill of attainder against those who had taken
part in Buckingham's attempt at king-making. Nevertheless, Richard did
not feel secure. The dread of an invasion, and of his enemies uniting
Richmond and Elizabeth, kept the usurper uneasy, and he set himself
boldly to the scheme of getting both the Welsh earl and the English
princess in his power. The persons who could aid him in this were Peter
Landois and Elizabeth Woodville.

The Duke of Brittany now reigned no longer save in name, and Peter
Landois--son of a tailor--ruled the province with more than ducal
power. Peter, though elevated to so high a position, was not proof to
the temptation of a bribe; and Richard, by means of gold, converted him
from a friend to an enemy of Richmond, and obtained his promise to send
the Welsh earl a prisoner into England.

With Elizabeth Woodville Richard was equally successful. That lady,
weary of the sanctuary, not only listened to his proposals, but went
with her daughters to court, where Elizabeth, the eldest, was treated
with the utmost distinction. Richard is supposed to have intended to
match the princess with his son, a boy of eleven, but the death of the
prince at Middleham defeated this plan for reconciling conflicting
claims.

No sooner, however, had Richard recovered from the grief caused by the
death of his son, than he formed a new scheme for keeping Elizabeth in
his family. His queen, the Anne Neville of other days, was in feeble
health; and Richard, under the impression that she could not live long,
determined to obtain a dispensation from Rome, and marry the princess.

Neither mother nor daughter appear to have objected to this scandalous
project. Elizabeth Woodville wrote to the Marquis of Dorset to abandon
Richmond's cause, as she had formed a better plan for her family; and
Elizabeth of York, at the instigation of her mother, no doubt, wrote to
Sir John Howard, now Duke of Norfolk, expressing her surprise that the
queen should be so long in dying.

At length, in March, 1485, Anne Neville breathed her last, and
Richard consulted Catesby and Ratcliffe as to the policy of espousing
Elizabeth. Both protested against the project, declaring that such a
marriage would shock both clergy and populace, and would, moreover,
alienate the men of the north, hitherto so faithful to Richard as the
husband of Lord Warwick's daughter. Richard, convinced, banished all
thought of marrying Elizabeth; and, having sent her for security to the
Castle of Sheriff Hutton, he prepared to encounter the coming man.




CHAPTER XLVIII.

FROM BRITTANY TO BOSWORTH.


On Christmas day, 1483, a memorable scene was enacted in the capital
of Brittany. On that day, Henry Tudor, Earl of Richmond, appeared in
the Cathedral of Rennes; before the high altar, and in the presence of
the Marquis of Dorset and many other exiles the Welsh earl swore, in
the event of being placed on the English throne, to espouse Elizabeth
of York, and thereupon the marquis, with the other lords and knights,
did him homage as to their sovereign. On the same day Richmond and the
English exiles took the sacrament, and bound themselves by oath never
to desist from making war against King Richard till they accomplished
his destruction or his dethronement.

Within twelve months after this solemn ceremony, and while Richmond
was musing over his prospects, his mother's chaplain one day arrived
with a message to the effect that the Welsh earl was no longer safe in
Brittany; and, after considering the matter, Richmond resolved upon
an escape, and prepared to be gone. With this view he announced his
intention to visit a friend in a neighboring village, and, without
delay, mounted his horse as if to proceed on the way thither. After
riding five miles, however, he entered a wood, and hastily exchanged
clothes with one of his servants. Having assumed the character of
a valet, Richmond again mounted, and traveling by by-paths without
halting, save to bait the horses, he reached Angers, and, accompanied
by the exiled lords, pursued his way to the court of France.

Events had recently occurred at the French court which secured Richmond
a favorable reception. In the summer of 1483, Louis the Crafty had
drawn his last breath, his son Charles then being a boy of thirteen. A
struggle for power began between the young king's sister Anne, wife of
the Sire de Beaujieu, and Louis, Duke of Orleans, heir-presumptive to
the throne. Orleans, it seems, had formed an alliance with Richard; and
Anne, from considerations of policy, determined to assist Richmond.

At Paris, therefore, Richmond was received with distinction; and,
ere long, Anne, in the young king's name, agreed to furnish him with
money and men to undertake an expedition against the King of England.
Richmond then commenced preparations for the great adventure.

Matters, however, did not go quite smoothly; and Dorset, despairing,
resolved to avail himself of Elizabeth Woodville's invitation; and,
with this view, the marquis, who, though young, appears to have been
false and calculating as his mother, forgot his oath in the Cathedral
of Rennes, and left Paris secretly by night. His disappearance caused
some consternation; for, though in most respects a man of arms would
have been a greater loss, he was possessed of information which,
conveyed to Richard, would have ruined every thing. Humphrey Cheyney,
one of Sir John's brothers, was therefore dispatched in pursuit, and
succeeded in bringing the renegade back to Paris.

Ere the escape of the marquis, Richmond had been joined by an
Englishman whose presence lent dignity to the enterprise, and would
have more than compensated for the loss of five hundred Dorsets.

A long and weary captivity, during which his only son had died in the
Tower, and his wife lived by needle-work, had not broken the spirit
of Oxford's earl. John De Vere was still ready for adventure; and no
sooner did he learn that the partisans of the Red Rose were in motion,
than, becoming eager to leave Hammes, he tried his eloquence on James
Blount, captain of the fortress. Oxford's success was more signal than
he anticipated. Won, and touched with admiration at the degree of
courage that animated the earl after so long a captivity, Blount not
only consented to set Oxford at liberty, but offered to accompany him
to Richmond, and place the fortress at the adventurer's service. They
went; and Richmond was delighted to have such a castle as Hammes at his
disposal, and such a patrician as John De Vere at his right hand.

All that could be done in Paris having been accomplished, Richmond put
Dorset in pledge for the money he had borrowed, and left the court of
Paris for Harfleur. Having made all preparations, he and his English
friends embarked, with a few pieces of artillery and about three
thousand men, collected from the jails and hospitals of Normandy and
Brittany, and described by Comines as "the loosest and most profligate
fellows of all the country." On the last day of July, 1485--it was a
Sunday--the armament, leaving the mouth of the Seine, put to sea, and
Richmond ordered the mariners to steer for Wales. The voyage was free
from such disasters as attended Richmond's former expedition; and,
after having been six days at sea, the adventurers sailed safely into
Milford Haven. At the grand national harbor, which gives importance
to that part of South Wales, Richmond debarked his soldiers without
challenge.

On the morning of Sunday, the 21st of August, about three weeks after
his landing, Richmond, having marched from Milford Haven without a
check, encamped in Leicestershire at a place then known in the locality
as Whitemoors, and erected his standard on the margin of a rivulet now
known in the locality as the Tweed. To the north of Richmond's camp
was a morass, and beyond the morass a spacious plain nearly surrounded
by hills. At the farthest verge of these hills, about three miles north
from the camp, but concealed from view by the elevated ground that
intervened, was a little town, to which the inhabitants of that part of
Leicestershire were long in the habit of repairing weekly to market.
Since that time, however, the name of that market-town has become
famous as the scene of a great battle, which destroyed a dynasty and
overturned a throne. It was Bosworth.




CHAPTER XLIX.

RICHARD BEFORE BOSWORTH.


While Oxford was leaving Hammes, and Richmond was at Paris maturing
his projects, and Reginald Bray was carrying messages from the English
malcontents to the Welsh earl, the king appears to have been unaware of
the magnitude of his danger.

Richard was not, however, the man to be surprised by armed foemen in
the recesses of a palace. No sooner did he hear of an armament at the
mouth of the Seine, than Lord Lovel was stationed at Southampton, Sir
John Savage commissioned to guard the coasts of Cheshire, and Rice ap
Thomas intrusted with the defense of Wales. At the same time, Richard
issued a proclamation, describing Richmond as "one Henry Tudor,
descended of bastard blood both by father's and mother's side;" who
could have no claim to the crown but by conquest; who had agreed to
give up Calais to France; and who intended to subvert the ancient laws
and liberties of England.

Having thus endeavored to excite the patriotism of the populace,
Richard, about midsummer, set up his standard at Nottingham, and around
it, with the Earl of Northumberland at their head, came the men of
the north in thousands. While keeping his state in Nottingham Castle,
Richard heard of Richmond's landing at Milford Haven, and soon after
learned, with indignation, that Rice ap Thomas had proved false; that
Sir Gilbert Talbot, with two thousand retainers of his nephew, the
young Earl of Shrewsbury, had joined the invaders; that, after leaving
Shrewsbury, Richmond had pursued his way through Newport to Stafford,
and from Stafford to Lichfield, and that men were rapidly gathering to
his standard. Vowing vengeance, the king issued orders that his army
should forthwith march southward to Leicester.

Meanwhile, many of the lords whom Richard had summoned did not appear;
and Lord Stanley, feeling that he, as husband of the Countess of
Richmond, was peculiarly liable to suspicion, sent to say that sickness
alone kept him from his sovereign's side at such a crisis. But this
apology did not prove satisfactory; and Richard having Stanley's son,
Lord Strange, in the camp, ordered him to be secured, and made it
understood that the son's life depended on the sire's loyalty.

It was the evening of Tuesday, the 16th of August, when Richard,
mounted on a tall white charger, environed by his guard and followed
by his infantry, entered Leicester; and as the castle was too much
dilapidated to accommodate a king, he was lodged in one of those
antique edifices, half brick, half timber, that have gradually given
way to modern buildings. In a room of this house, long known as "The
old Blue Boar," Richard slept during his stay at Leicester on a
remarkable bedstead of wood, which had a false bottom, and served him
as a military chest. After the battle of Bosworth this strange piece of
furniture was found to contain a large sum of money, and it was long
preserved in Leicester as a memorial of King Richard's visit to that
city.

While Richard was at Leicester, fighting men came in to his aid. There
he was joined by John Howard, Duke of Norfolk, by Thomas, Earl of
Surrey, by Lord Lovel, and by Sir Robert Brackenbury. But with them
came farther tidings of desertion; for at Stony Stratford, Sir Walter
Hungerford and Sir Thomas Bourchier, son of Sir Humphrey, who fell
at Barnet, feeling that they were not trusted, deserted Brackenbury,
and--much as they owed to Richard--went straight to Richmond's camp.

Nevertheless, the king's courage continued high; and on the morning
of Sunday, the 21st, having, it would appear, been previously out of
the city looking for his foes, he rode from Leicester toward Market
Bosworth, in the hope of an early meeting. On the way, it was necessary
for him to pass over Bow Bridge, which crossed the Stoure on the west
side of the town. Upon this bridge, according to tradition, was a stone
of such height that, in riding by, Richard happened to strike it with
his spur. An old woman, who was supposed to practice, in a humble way,
the arts which the populace associated with the names of Friar Bungey
and the Duchess of Bedford, thereupon shook her head, and on being
asked what would be the king's fortune, she answered, "Where his spur
struck, there shall his head be broken."

After marching about eight miles, Richard came in sight of Richmond's
army, and encamped for the day near the Abbey of Miraville. In the
evening, however, he moved forward to within a mile of the town of
Bosworth, and posted his army strongly on Amyon Hill, an acclivity
with a steep descent on all sides, but steepest toward the north, or
Bosworth side, and least so toward the south, where, with a morass
intervening, Richmond's army lay. Lord Stanley still remained at
Stapleton. His brother, Sir William Stanley, had not yet arrived.

When that August day drew to a close, and darkness concealed the
hostile armies from each other's view, Richard retired to rest.
Repose, however, was not granted, so disturbed were his slumbers and
so alarming his dreams; and at daybreak he had farther evidence of the
spirit of treachery that prevailed in his camp. During the night, Sir
John Savage, Sir Simon Digby, and Sir Brian Sandford had gone over to
Richmond. The desertion of Savage was of no slight consequence, for he
was Lord Stanley's nephew, and he led the men of Cheshire.

Nor was the desertion of Savage, Digby, and Sandford the most alarming
incident. A mysterious warning in rhyme, attached, during the night,
to the tent of the new Duke of Norfolk,[16] seemed to intimate that
the king's prospects were worse than they yet seemed; for still, to
all appearance, Richard's army was comparatively formidable. It was
not merely by Brackenbury, and by Catesby, Ratcliffe, and Lovel, whose
names had been rendered familiar by Collingborn's rhyme, that the
usurper found himself surrounded on that memorable morning. On the
king's side, Northumberland still remained, somewhat reserved, perhaps,
but raising no suspicion of the treachery of which he was about to
be guilty. On the king's side, also, appeared John, Lord Zouche, and
Walter Devereux, Lord Ferrers of Chartley, and Sir Gervase Clifton,
albeit the son of the Lancastrian executed after Tewkesbury. And not
the least conspicuous, decked out in the trappings of the Mowbrays, and
reminding contemporaries of the jackass in the lion's skin, figured
Sir John Howard, for once in his life acting with honesty, and
prepared to prove his gratitude for the dukedom he had long coveted.

All this time, however, the intentions of Lord Stanley were doubtful.
Hitherto the wary baron had kept his counsel so well that even his
own brother, who had come with three thousand men from Stafford, and
encamped to the king's right, was unaware of his intentions.

When, however, the morning advanced, and the hostile armies prepared
for battle, and Lord Stanley, moving slowly forward, posted his men
midway between the two armies, Richard lost temper, and resolved to
try the influence of a menace. He therefore sent a pursuivant-at-arms
to command Lord Stanley's attendance, and to intimate that he had
sworn by CHRIST'S passion, in case of not being obeyed, to strike off
Lord Strange's head. Lord Stanley, however, remained resolute. "If
the king cut off Strange's head," said the grim baron, "I have more
sons alive. He may do his pleasure; but to come to him I am not now
determined." Enraged at this answer, Richard ordered Strange to be led
forth to execution; but his advisers agreed that it was better to keep
the prisoner till after the battle. "It was now," they said, "the time
to fight, not to execute;" and Richard, perhaps thinking that, while
the son's life hung in the balance, there was a chance of the father
repeating the part so well played at Bloreheath, placed Strange in
the custody of his tent-keeper, and girded on his armor for a great
struggle to retain the crown he had usurped.

And who can doubt that, in such an hour, other than selfish motives
animated the last Plantagenet king? With all his faults, Richard was
an Englishman, and a man of genius; and his patriotism and his pride
must have been shocked at the possibility of the throne, from which
the first and the third Edward had commanded the respect of Europe,
becoming the perch of an adventurer, who would never have been heard
of but for a Welsh soldier having made too elaborate a pirouette while
enacting the part of court fool.




CHAPTER L.

BOSWORTH FIELD.


It was the morning of Monday, the 22d of August, 1485, when the Yorkist
usurper and the Lancastrian adventurer mustered their forces on the
field of Bosworth, and prepared for that conflict which decided the
thirty years' War of the Roses.

On the eve of a struggle which subsequent events rendered so memorable,
Richard was not quite himself. For days his temper had been frequently
tried by news of desertion, and for nights his rest had been broken by
dreams of disaster. Nevertheless, he prepared for battle with energy.
The honor of leading the van, which was constituted of archers, flanked
with cuirassiers, fell to the Duke of Norfolk, and his son the Earl of
Surrey. The main battle, consisting of choice bill-men, empaled with
pikes, and formed into a dense square, with wings of cavalry on either
side, the king took under his own auspices. The rear-guard was under
the command of Northumberland. Besides, Richard's artillery was the
reverse of contemptible; and, altogether, he had little to fear save
from the treachery of his adherents.

Richmond, meantime, growing uneasy in the presence of a foe so
redoubted, sent to ask Lord Stanley to come and assist him in
marshaling his army. The answer of the Countess of Richmond's husband
was not quite satisfactory to his step-son. Indeed, Stanley gave the
messenger to understand that no aid need be expected from him till the
armies joined battle, and he only committed himself so far as to advise
that the onset should be made without delay.

Richmond was staggered at Stanley's answer. The Welsh earl's situation
was indeed painful and perplexing. He knew that his army was scarcely
half so numerous as the king's, and he could not but be conscious
of his immeasurable inferiority as a general. Retreat, however, was
impossible; and, after holding a council of war, Richmond resolved
on fighting forthwith. This resolution having been arrived at, the
Lancastrian army was set in order for battle. Oxford took the command
of the van, which consisted principally of archers. Richmond--whose
standard was borne by Sir William Brandon--undertook to command the
main body; and in his rear, with a body of horsemen and some bills
and pikes, was posted Jasper Tudor, whose age and experience, it was
probably hoped, would compensate in some measure for his nephew's lack
of military skill and prowess. Besides, Richmond's army had two wings.
Of these one was commanded by Sir Gilbert Talbot, the other by Sir John
Savage.

His preparations made, and his armor girded on except the helmet,
Richmond, to encourage his army, rode from rank to rank, and many of
the Lancastrian soldiers for the first time saw the man who represented
himself as the heir of John of Gaunt. The aspect of the adventurer
must have disappointed those who had pictured, in imagination, such
a chief as the conqueror of Towton and Tewkesbury. Nature had denied
Richmond kingly proportions; and his appearance, though not positively
mean, was far from majestic; while his countenance wore an expression
which indicated too clearly that tendency to knavery destined to be so
rapidly developed.

After riding along his lines, Richmond halted, and from an elevated
part of the field addressed to his army one of those battle-field
orations which were in fashion at the period. Dealing with such topics
as were most likely to inflame his partisans against the usurper,
he was listened to with sympathy; and perceiving, as he pronounced
the words, "Get this day, and be conquerors; lose the battle, and be
slaves," that an impression had been produced, he added, "In the name
of GOD, then, and of St. George, let every man advance his banner."
At these words Sir William Brandon raised the Tudor's standard; the
trumpets sounded an onset; and Richmond, keeping the morass to his
right, led the Lancastrians, with the sun on their backs, slowly up
the ascent toward Amyon Hill.

Ere this, Richard had mounted his tall steed--the White Surrey of
Shakspeare--ascended an eminence, since known as "Dickon's Mount,"
called his captains together, and addressed them as his "most faithful
and assured friends." The speech, not unworthy of one whom his enemies
confess to have been "a king jealous of the honor of England," elicited
some degree of enthusiasm; but Richard must have sighed as he recalled
to memory how enthusiastic, in comparison, had been the burst of
sympathy which rose from Edward's soldiers on the field of Barnet. The
bold usurper, however, appeared undismayed. "Let every one," he said
in conclusion, "strike but one sure blow, and certainly the day will
be ours. Wherefore, advance banners, sound trumpets; St. George be our
aid; and GOD grant us victory!"

As the king concluded, and placed his helmet, with a crown of ornament,
on his brow, the Yorkists raised a shout, sounded trumpets, and moved
down the hill; and, with banners flying and plumes waving, the hostile
armies came hand to hand.

The day opened not inauspiciously for Richard. His army would be little
inferior to that of his adversaries even should Stanley join Richmond;
and his position on Amyon Hill had been selected with judgment.
Moreover, to intimidate and outflank the foe, he had extended his van
to an unusual length, and this artifice proved so far successful, at
least, that Oxford was somewhat dismayed at the danger that threatened
his scanty ranks.

Oxford, however, was a leader of extraordinary calibre. He had not,
indeed, seen many fields, but to him Barnet had been worth thirty years
of experience to men not gifted with the military genius which rendered
the Anglo-Norman barons such formidable war-chiefs. Over the events of
that disastrous day the earl may be supposed to have mused for twelve
years in his prison at Hammes, and to have learned, in sadness and
solitude, wholesome lessons for his guidance in the event of being
again called to encounter the warriors of the White Rose. The day had
now arrived, and John De Vere was resolved not to be outwitted either
by "Jocky of Norfolk" or "Dickon his master."

No sooner did Oxford's men come to close encounter with those under
Norfolk, than the earl saw that he was exposed to danger. Without
loss of time, he issued orders that no soldier should move ten yards
from his colors. Their leader's motive not being understood, the men
hurriedly closed their ranks and ceased from fighting; and the enemy,
suspicious of some stratagem, likewise drew back from the conflict.
Oxford quickly availed himself of this pause in the battle, and,
placing his men in the form of a wedge, he made a furious attack on
the foe. At the same time, Lord Stanley, who, when the armies moved,
had placed himself on Richmond's right hand to oppose the front of the
royal van, charged with ardor; and Norfolk would have been exposed to
a danger similar to that from which Oxford had just been freed, if,
while Oxford was forming the Lancastrian van into a wedge, Richard had
not arrayed anew that of the Yorkists--placing thin lines in front, and
supporting them by dense masses.

Both armies having thus been re-formed, proceeded with the battle. But
it soon appeared that, however equal the antagonistic forces might be
in number, the zeal was all on the side of the Red Rose. Moreover,
Northumberland, who commanded the rear--one third of Richard's
army--refrained from taking any part whatever in the conflict; and
futile proved the king's expectation of aid from the potent northern
earl.

The battle had not been long joined ere the field wore an aspect most
unfavorable to Richard. Norfolk, indeed, fought resolutely in the
van; but, outnumbered and hard-pressed by Oxford and Stanley, he was
slowly but surely giving way; and the men composing the king's division
exerted themselves faintly, and exhibited little of such enthusiasm as
might have carried them on to victory against superior numbers.

Amid the smoke of artillery and the roar of battle, Sir Robert
Brackenbury and Sir Walter Hungerford met face to face.

"Traitor," exclaimed Brackenbury, "what caused you to desert me?"

"I will not answer you with words," said Hungerford, taking aim at the
head of his ancient comrade.

The blow would have been fatal; but Brackenbury received its force
on his shield, which was shivered in protecting its owner's head;
and Hungerford, perceiving his antagonist's defenseless plight,
chivalrously declared that they should fight on equal terms, and
handed his own shield to a squire. The combat was then renewed, and
both knights exerted their utmost strength. At length Brackenbury's
helmet was battered to pieces, and his adversary's weapon inflicted
a severe wound. "Spare his life, brave Hungerford," cried Sir Thomas
Bourchier, coming up; "he was our friend, and he may be so again." But
it was already too late to save the wounded knight. As Bourchier spoke,
Brackenbury fell lifeless to the ground.

In another part of the field met Sir John Byron and Sir Gervase
Clifton. The two knights were neighbors in the county of Nottingham,
and, before embracing opposite sides, had made a singular contract.
Byron, who donned the Red Rose, agreed, in the event of Richmond being
victor, to intercede for the heirs of Clifton; and Clifton, who assumed
the White Rose, promised, in case of Richard's success, to exercise his
utmost influence on behalf of Byron's family. Byron, seeing Clifton
fall, instantly pressed forward to save him; and, sustaining his
wounded friend on a shield, entreated him to surrender. Clifton opened
his eyes, recognized his neighbor, and recalled their agreement to
memory. "All is over with me," he said, faintly; "but remember your
promise." Byron pressed the hand of Clifton as the Yorkist warrior
expired, and he kept the promise so faithfully that Clifton's estates
remained in possession of his children.

About this time Richard rode out of the battle, and dismounted to
quench his thirst at a spring of water on Amyon Hill, now covered
with a pyramid of rough stones, indicated by Dr. Parr's inscription
in Roman letters, and pointed out to strangers as "King Richard's
Well;" and Catesby and other of the usurper's friends, believing defeat
inevitable, brought one of those fleet steeds which, on such occasions,
seldom failed their riders.

"The field is lost, but the king can yet be saved," they said as the
war-cries, reaching their ears through the roar of bombards and the din
of battle, intimated that Oxford and Stanley were overmatching the
Howards, and that, ere long, the shout would be "Richmond and victory."

"Mount, my lord," said Catesby; "I hold it time for you to fly.
Stanley's dints are so sore that against them can no man stand. Fly!
Another day we may worship again."

"Fly!" exclaimed Richard. "By St. Paul, not one foot. I will either
make an end of all battles this day, or finish my life on this field. I
will die King of England."

His determination thus expressed, Richard mounted his charger, hastily
closed his visor, and again faced the field. By this time it appeared
that the day would be decided by the vans. Richard, not altogether
willing to stake his crown on the generalship of the Howards, spurred
from his right centre to see how the conflict went; and, at the same
moment, Richmond, surrounded by his guard, left his main body, and
rode forward to encourage the men under Oxford and Stanley. Thus it
happened that the king and the Welsh earl came in sight of each other;
and no sooner was Richard aware of Richmond being within reach, than
the temptation to single out the hostile leader became too strong to be
resisted.

And never during the battles of the Roses--neither in the mist at
Barnet, nor in the sunshine at Tewkesbury--had Richard made himself
so formidable as in that hour. With his lance in rest, and followed by
choice warriors, he dashed toward the spot where the banner borne by
Sir William Brandon indicated Richmond's presence. The white war-steed,
the gorgeous armor, the crown of ornament, rendered Richard conspicuous
as he spurred forward, and fierce was the onset as he charged among
the knights who clustered around the Lancastrian chief. Vain were all
efforts to bar his progress. Richmond's standard was trampled in the
dust; Sir William Brandon, pierced with a mortal wound, fell never more
to rise; Sir John Cheyney, throwing his bulky form in Richard's path,
was hurled from his horse; and the Welsh earl, all unused to the game
of carnage, was in the utmost peril. His destruction, indeed, appeared
inevitable. The Lancastrian warriors, however, spurred to the rescue,
and shielded the adventurer's head from the usurper's hand.

But most doubtful now was the issue of the conflict. The desperate
charge of Richard had created a panic among his foes, and there was
some prospect of Richmond having to choose between dying bravely and
flying cravenly, when a circumstance, not unexpected, changed the
aspect of the field.

Sir William Stanley had hitherto remained a spectator of the fight.
Having ever been a devoted Yorkist, perhaps the gallant knight,
hating Richard as he did, was not eager to draw the sword for
Lancaster against a Yorkist, even though a usurper. When, however,
Richard's triumph was likely to result from his inaction, Stanley came
with a shout to Richmond's aid; and this accession of force to the
Lancastrians so completely turned the scale, that no chance of victory
remained for Richard, unless, indeed, the chief of the Percies should
lead the tall Danes of the north to the rescue.

But Stanley charged on, and the conflict became a rout; and the
Yorkist warriors, attacked with energy, gave way in a body; and,
still, Northumberland maintained his position, and, having ordered his
soldiers to throw down their weapons, stood motionless while fliers and
pursuers swept by.

Lord Lovel and other Yorkists of name made their escape. But, as
at Barnet and Tewkesbury, so also at Bosworth, men of high spirit
disdained to fly or yield. John Howard, Duke of Norfolk, fighting
in the van, redeemed a mean life by a not inglorious death; Walter,
Lord Ferrers, died with courage, as he had lived with honor; and Sir
Richard Ratcliffe partially wiped away his disgrace by falling bravely
for the sovereign whom he had too faithfully served. Lord Surrey and
Sir William Catesby were taken on the field. Northumberland quietly
surrendered.

Richard now felt that he was face to face with his destiny; and, in
the hour of defeat and despair, he did not shrink from the fate he
had defied. Indeed, the valor he displayed in his last moments excited
admiration even in adversaries. Rising in his stirrups as he saw
his standard-bearer cut down, and shouting loudly that he had been
betrayed, the usurper spurred into the midst of his foes, and made his
sword ring on helmet and shield. Not till unhorsed did he cease to
fight desperately. Even then, his shield broken, his armor bruised,
and the crown of ornament hewn from his helmet, Richard continued to
struggle. At length, exhausted with fatigue, and pierced with many
wounds, he died disdainfully, with the word "Treason" on his tongue.

Ere the warriors of the Red Rose had time to moralize over the fall of
the last Plantagenet king, Richmond, unwounded in the dreadful scene
with which the conflict closed, and feeling like a man saved from
imminent peril of drowning, threw himself on his knees, and returned
thanks to GOD for victory. Then he rose, and expressed gratitude to
those who had aided him in his enterprise; and Reginald Bray, bringing
Richard's crown from a bush, on which that ornament had been hung,
handed it to Lord Stanley, and Stanley placed it on the victor's head;
and the soldiers cried, "Long live Henry the Seventh;" and the monarchy
of the Plantagenets ceased to exist.

[Illustration: THE LAST PLANTAGENET KING.]




CHAPTER LI.

AFTER BOSWORTH.


When the battle of Bosworth was over, and Richmond, with John De Vere,
and Jasper of Pembroke, and the Stanleys, including Lord Strange, stood
around the mangled corpse of Richard, the prisoners were brought before
the victor. Among them appeared William Catesby, and the Earls of
Surrey and Northumberland.

Northumberland was readily received into favor. Surrey, when asked how
he durst bear arms for the usurper, answered, "If the Parliament of
England set the crown upon a bush, I would fight for it." Richmond was
softened by this speech, and Surrey was spared to fight for the Tudors
at Flodden, and to wear the ducal coronet of the Mowbrays. Catesby,
less fortunate than the two earls, was summarily executed. Dr. Hutton,
who, according to tradition, was one of "the Huttons of that Ilk,"
sought safety north of the Tweed.

From Bosworth Richmond marched to Leicester, and thither, covered with
blood and dust, hung across a horse, behind a pursuivant-at-arms, the
feet dangling on one side and the hands on the other, the body of
King Richard was carried. As the mangled corpse was conveyed over Bow
Bridge, the head dashed violently against the stone which Richard had,
the day before, struck with his spur--"thus," say the old chroniclers,
"fulfilling the prediction of the wise woman."

After being exposed to view in the Town Hall of Leicester, Richard's
body was buried in the Grey Friars' Church, and Richmond slowly
advanced toward London. At Hornsey Wood he was met and welcomed by the
mayor and aldermen, all clad in violet. Having been escorted to St.
Paul's, he returned thanks to GOD for his victory, and offered three
standards upon the high altar.

After some delay, Richmond appointed the 30th of October, 1485, for his
coronation; and on that day the old Archbishop of Canterbury anointed
the adventurer, as two years earlier he had anointed the usurper. All
the ancient ceremonies were observed; and Richmond availed himself
of the occasion to elevate Lord Stanley to the Earldom of Derby, Sir
Edward Courtenay to the Earldom of Devon, and Jasper Tudor to the
Dukedom of Bedford--the old duchess, Elizabeth Woodville's mother,
having gone to her account at the time when peace and prosperity
surrounded the throne of her son-in-law, and when William Caxton
was setting up his printing-press under the patronage of the White
Rose.[17]

A week after Richmond's coronation Parliament assembled at Westminster.
Richard's adherents were declared traitors, while De Vere, De Roos,
Beaumont, Welles, and others were restored; and the heir of the
Cliffords, who had passed his youth in the garb of a shepherd, emerged
at thirty from the fells of Cumberland, and lived to lead the men of
the Craven to Flodden Field.

But of all who suffered during the Yorkist domination, no one was so
harshly treated as the widow of "The Stout Earl," who fell on Gladsmuir
Heath, fighting for the ancient rights and liberties of Englishmen.
After having heard of Warwick's death, the countess took refuge in the
sanctuary of Beaulieu, and there remained in poverty. On Richmond's
accession, however, an Act of Parliament was passed to restore her
manors. But this, it would seem, was done that she might convey them to
the king, and only that of Sutton was allotted for her maintenance.

From the day when Edward, Prince of Wales, perished in his teens at
Tewkesbury, Margaret of Anjou ceased to influence the controversy with
which her name is inseparably associated.

Margaret lived several years after regaining her freedom; and, deprived
of the crown which her accomplishments had won, the Lancastrian queen
wandered sadly from place to place, as if driven by her perturbed
spirit to seek something that was no longer to be found.

Tortured by avenging memory, embittered by unavailing regret, and weary
of life, Margaret of Anjou summed up her experience of the world when
she wrote in the breviary of her niece, "Vanity of vanities, all is
vanity." At length, in August, 1480, the disconsolate queen, after
reaching the age of twoscore and ten, breathed her last at Damprierre,
and was buried by the side of her father in the Cathedral of Angers.




CHAPTER LII.

THE UNION OF THE TWO ROSES.


At the time of the battle of Bosworth the eldest daughter of Edward
of York and Elizabeth Woodville was immured in the Castle of Sheriff
Hutton, within the walls of which her cousin, Edward Plantagenet, was
also secure. After Richmond's victory both were removed to London:
Elizabeth of York by high and mighty dames, to be restored to the arms
of her mother; Edward of Warwick by a band of hireling soldiers, to be
delivered into the hands of a jailer and imprisoned in the Tower.[18]

It soon appeared that Richmond was not particularly eager to wed the
Yorkist princess. He was not, however, to escape a marriage. When
Parliament met, and the king sat on the throne, and the Commons
presented a grant of tonnage and poundage for life, they plainly
requested that he would marry Elizabeth of York; and the lords,
spiritual and temporal, bowed to indicate their concurrence in the
prayer. Richmond, perceiving that there was no way by which to retreat,
replied that he was ready and willing to take the princess to wife.

The marriage of Henry Tudor and Elizabeth of York was fixed for the
18th of January, 1486, and the ceremony was performed at Westminster.
The primate, soon to be laid in his grave and succeeded by the Bishop
of Ely, officiated on the occasion, and every thing went joyously.
The knights and nobles of England exhibited their bravery at a grand
tournament; the citizens of London feasted and danced; the populace
sang songs and lighted bonfires; the claims of the King of Portugal,
the heir of John of Gaunt, and the existence of Edward Plantagenet,
Earl of Warwick, the heir of Lionel of Clarence, were conveniently
forgotten; and the marriage of a spurious Lancastrian prince and an
illegitimate daughter of York was celebrated by poets and chroniclers
as "The Union of the two Roses."


THE END.


       *       *       *       *       *




FOOTNOTES.


  [1] "Edward the First hath justly been styled the English Justinian.
      For, in his time, the law did receive so sudden a perfection,
      that Sir Matthew Hale does not scruple to affirm that more
      was done in the first thirteen years of his reign to settle
      and establish the distributive justice of the kingdom than
      in all the ages since that time put together.... It was from
      this period that the liberty of England began to rear its
      head."--_Blackstone's Commentaries._

  [2] "Lionel of Clarence married Elizabeth, daughter of William de
      Burgh, Earl of Ulster, and had a daughter, Philippa, wife of
      Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March. John of Gaunt was thrice married.
      His first wife was Blanche, heiress of Lancaster, by whom he had
      a son, Henry the Fourth, and two daughters--Philippa, married to
      the King of Portugal, and Elizabeth, to John Holland, Duke of
      Exeter. His second wife was Constance, eldest daughter of Peter
      the Cruel, King of Castile, by whom he had a daughter, Katherine,
      married to Henry the Third, King of Castile. His third wife was
      Katherine Swynford, by whom he had two sons--Henry Beaufort,
      Cardinal of St. Eusebius and Bishop of Winchester, and John
      Beaufort, Earl of Somerset, ancestor of the dukes who fought
      in the Wars of the Roses, and of Margaret Beaufort, Countess
      of Richmond, mother of Henry the Seventh. But both the sons of
      Katherine Swynford were born before wedlock. Edmund of Langley
      espoused Isabel, second daughter of Peter the Cruel, and had two
      sons--Edward, Duke of York, who fell at Agincourt, and Richard,
      Earl of Cambridge, who married Anne Mortimer, daughter of the
      Earl of March, and left a son, Richard, Duke of York."--See
      _Sandford's Genealogical History_.

  [3] A serious quarrel--destined to be fought out eight years later
      on Hexham Field--occurred about this date between the chief
      of the Beauforts and Warwick's younger brother, who, in 1461,
      became Lord Montagu. "It was not long after that dissension and
      unkindness fell between the young Duke of Somerset and Sir John
      Neville, son unto the Earl of Salisbury, being then both lodged
      within the city. Whereof the mayor being warned, ordained such
      watch and provision that if they had any thing stirred he was
      able to have subdued both parties, and to have put them in ward
      till he had known the king's pleasure. Whereof the friends of
      both parties being aware, labored such means that they agreed
      them for that time."--_Fabyan's Chronicle._

  [4] "But the earl's two sons--the one called Sir John Neville, and
      the other Sir Thomas--were sore wounded; which, slowly journeying
      into the north country, thinking there to repose themselves, were
      in their journey apprehended by the queen's friends, and conveyed
      to Chester. But their keepers delivered them shortly, or else
      the Marchmen had destroyed the jails. Such favor had the commons
      of Wales to the Duke of York's band and his affinity, that they
      could suffer no wrong to be done, nor evil word to be spoken
      of him or of his friends."--_Hall's Union of the Families of
      Lancaster and York._

  [5] "At that period, the men-at-arms, or heavy cavalry, went to
      battle in complete armor; each man carried a lance, sword,
      dagger, and occasionally a mace or battle-axe; his horse, also,
      was, to a certain extent, in armor. A considerable part of an
      English army consisted of archers, armed with long bows and
      arrows; and another part consisted of men armed with bills,
      pikes, pole-axes, glaives, and morris-pikes."--_Brooke's Visits
      to Fields of Battle._

  [6] "One of the greatest obstacles to the cause of the Red Rose, was
      the popular belief that the young prince was not Henry's son. Had
      that belief not been widely spread and firmly maintained, the
      lords who arbitrated between Henry VI. and Richard, Duke of York,
      in October, 1460, could scarcely have come to the resolution to
      set aside the Prince of Wales altogether, to accord Henry the
      crown for his life, and declare the Duke of York his heir."--_Sir
      E. B. Lytton's Last of the Barons._

  [7] "The chase," says Hall, "continued all night, and the most part
      of the next day; and ever the northern men, when they saw or
      perceived any advantage, returned again and fought with their
      enemies, to the great loss of both parties."

  [8] "George Neville, brother to the great Earl of Warwick, at his
      installment into his archbishopric of York, made a prodigious
      feast to the nobility, chief clergy, and many gentry, wherein he
      spent 300 quarters of wheat, 330 tuns of ale, 104 tuns of wine,
      1 pipe of spiced wine, 80 fat oxen, 6 wild bulls, 1004 sheep,
      3000 hogs, 300 calves, 3000 geese, 3000 capons, 300 pigs, 100
      peacocks, 200 cranes, 200 kids, 2000 chickens, 4000 pigeons, 4000
      rabbits, 204 bittours, 4000 ducks, 400 herons, 200 pheasants, 500
      partridges, 4000 woodcocks, 400 plovers, 100 curlews, 100 quails,
      100 egrets, 200 rees, above 400 bucks, does, and roebucks, 5506
      venison pasties, 5000 dishes of jelly, 6000 custards, 300 pikes,
      300 breams, 8 seals, 4 porpoises, and 400 tarts. At this feast
      the Earl of Warwick was steward, the Lord Hastings comptroller,
      with many other noble officers, 1000 servitors, 62 cooks, 515
      scullions."--_Burton's Admirable Curiosities in England._

  [9] "Herbert was not a little joyous of the king's letter, partly to
      deserve the king's liberality, which, of a mean gentleman, had
      promoted him to the estate of an earl, partly for the malice that
      he bare to the Earl of Warwick, being the sole obstacle (as he
      thought) why he obtained not the wardship of the Lord Bonville's
      daughter and heir for his eldest son."--_Grafton's Chronicle._

  [10] "The absence of the Earl of Warwick," says Hall, "made the
       common people daily more and more to long, and be desirous to
       have the sight of him, and presently to behold his personage.
       For they judged that the sun was clearly taken from the world
       when he was absent. In such high estimation, among the people,
       was his name, that neither no one man they had in so much honor,
       neither no one person they so much praised, or, to the clouds,
       so highly extolled. What shall I say? His only name sounded in
       every song, in the mouth of the common people, and his person
       was represented with great reverence when public plays or open
       triumphs should be showed or set forth abroad in the streets."

  [11] "It is vain," says Sir E. Bulwer Lytton, "that some writers
       would seek to cleanse the memory of the learned nobleman
       from the stain of cruelty, by rhetorical remarks on the
       improbability that a cultivator of letters should be of a
       ruthless disposition. The general philosophy of this defense is
       erroneous. In ignorant ages, a man of superior acquirements is
       not necessarily made humane by the cultivation of his intellect;
       on the contrary, he too often learns to look upon the uneducated
       herd as things of another clay. Of this truth all history is
       pregnant."

  [12] "On the 14th of February," says Fabyan, "the Duke of Exeter came
       to London, and on the 27th rode the Earl of Warwick through
       the city toward Dover for to have received Queen Margaret. But
       he was disappointed, for the wind was to her so contrary that
       she lay at the sea-side, tarrying for a convenient wind, from
       November till April. And so the said earl, when he had long
       tarried for her at the sea-side, was fain to return without
       speed of his purpose."

  [13] "Of the death of this prince," says Fabyan, "divers tales were
       told; but the most common fame went, that he was sticked with a
       dagger by the hands of the Duke of Gloucester."

  [14] "Sir John Arundel had long before been told, by some
       fortune-teller, he should be slain on the sands; wherefore,
       to avoid that destiny, he removed from Efford, near
       Stratton-on-the-Sands, where he dwelt, to Trerice, far off from
       the sea, yet by this misfortune fulfilled the prediction in
       another place."--_Polwhele's History of Cornwall._

  [15] "The most honorable part of Louis's treaty with Edward was the
       stipulation for the liberty of Queen Margaret.... Louis paid
       fifty thousand crowns for her ransom."--_Hume's History._

  [16]     "Jocky of Norfolk, be not too bold,
            For Dickon, thy master, is bought and sold."

  [17] When Margaret Plantagenet was married to Charles the Rash,
       Caxton accompanied that royal lady to her new home, and, while
       in her service in Flanders, learned the art of printing. Having
       returned to England, and been presented by Anthony Woodville
       to Edward of York, he, under the king's protection, set up his
       printing-press in the Almonry at Westminster.

  [18] After a long and cruel captivity, Warwick was, in 1499, executed
       on Tower Hill, "for no other offense," says Dugdale, "than being
       the only male Plantagenet at that time living, and consequently
       the most rightful heir to the throne." Fuller, in his _Worthies
       of England_, says that "Henry, being of a new lineage and
       surname, knew full well how the nation hankered after the name
       of Plantagenet; which, as it did outsyllable Tudor in the
       mouths, so did it outvie it in the hearts of the English."


       *       *       *       *       *




BOOKS BY THE ABBOTTS.


THE FRANCONIA STORIES.

By JACOB ABBOTT. In Ten Volumes. Beautifully Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth,
90 cents per Vol.; the set complete in case, $9 00.

  =1. Malleville.=
  =2. Mary Bell.=
  =3. Ellen Linn.=
  =4. Wallace.=
  =5. Beechnut.=
  =6. Stuyvesant.=
  =7. Agnes.=
  =8. Mary Erskine.=
  =9. Rodolphus.=
  =10. Caroline.=


MARCO PAUL SERIES.

Marco Paul's Voyages and Travels in the Pursuit of Knowledge. By JACOB
ABBOTT. Beautifully Illustrated. Complete in 6 Volumes, 16mo, Cloth, 90
cents per Volume. Price of the set, in case, $5 40.

  =In New York.=
  =On the Erie Canal.=
  =In the Forests of Maine.=
  =In Vermont.=
  =In Boston.=
  =At the Springfield Armory.=


RAINBOW AND LUCKY SERIES.

By JACOB ABBOTT. Beautifully Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, 90 cents each.
The set complete, in case, $4 50.

  =Handie.=
  =Rainbow's Journey.=
  =The Three Pines.=
  =Selling Lucky.=
  =Up the River.=


YOUNG CHRISTIAN SERIES.

By JACOB ABBOTT. In Four Volumes. Richly Illustrated with Engravings,
and Beautifully Bound. 12mo. Cloth, $1 75 per Vol. The set complete,
Cloth, $7 00, in Half Calf, $14 00.

  =1. The Young Christian.=
  =2. The Corner Stone.=
  =3. The Way to Do Good.=
  =4. Hoaryhead and M'Donner.=


HARPER'S STORY BOOKS.

A Series of Narratives, Biographies, and Tales, for the Instruction and
Entertainment of the Young. By JACOB ABBOTT. Embellished with more than
One Thousand beautiful Engravings. Square 4to, complete in 12 large
Volumes and 36 small ones.

  "HARPER'S STORY BOOKS" can be obtained complete in Twelve Volumes,
  bound in blue and gold, each one containing Three Stories, for
  $21 00, or in Thirty-six thin Volumes, bound in crimson and gold,
  each containing One Story, for $32 40. The volumes may be had
  separately--the large ones at $1 75 each, the others at 90 cents each.

VOL. I.

  =BRUNO=; or, Lessons of Fidelity, Patience, and Self-Denial Taught
    by a Dog.

  =WILLIE AND THE MORTGAGE=: showing How Much may be Accomplished by
    a Boy.

  =THE STRAIT GATE=; or, The Rule of Exclusion from Heaven.

VOL. II.

  =THE LITTLE LOUVRE=; or, The Boys' and Girls' Picture-Gallery.

  =PRANK=; or, The Philosophy of Tricks and Mischief.

  =EMMA=; or, The Three Misfortunes of a Belle.

VOL. III.

  =VIRGINIA=; or, A Little Light on a Very Dark Saying.

  =TIMBOO AND JOLIBA=; or, The Art of Being Useful.

  =TIMBOO AND FANNY=; or, The Art of Self-Instruction.

VOL. IV.

  =THE HARPER ESTABLISHMENT=; or, How the Story Books are Made.

  =FRANKLIN=, the Apprentice-Boy.

  =THE STUDIO=; or, Illustrations of the Theory and Practice of
    Drawing, for Young Artists at Home.

VOL. V.

  =THE STORY OF ANCIENT HISTORY=, from the Earliest Periods to the
    Fall of the Roman Empire.

  =THE STORY OF ENGLISH HISTORY=, from the Earliest Periods to the
    American Revolution.

  =THE STORY OF AMERICAN HISTORY=, from the Earliest Settlement of
    the Country to the Establishment of the Federal Constitution.

VOL. VI.

  =JOHN TRUE=; or, The Christian Experience of an Honest Boy.

  =ELFRED=; or, The Blind Boy and his Pictures.

  =THE MUSEUM=; or, Curiosities Explained.

VOL. VII.

  =THE ENGINEER=; or, How to Travel in the Woods.

  =RAMBLES AMONG THE ALPS.=

  =THE THREE GOLD DOLLARS=; or, An Account of the Adventures of
    Robin Green.

VOL. VIII.

  =THE GIBRALTAR GALLERY=: being an Account of various Things both
    Curious and Useful.

  =THE ALCOVE=: containing some Farther Account of Timboo, Mark, and
    Fanny.

  =DIALOGUES= for the Amusement and Instruction of Young Persons.

VOL. IX.

  =THE GREAT ELM=; or, Robin Green and Josiah Lane at School.

  =AUNT MARGARET=; or, How John True kept his Resolutions.

  =VERNON=; or, Conversations about Old Times in England.

VOL. X.

  =CARL AND JOCKO=; or, The Adventures of the Little Italian Boy and
    his Monkey.

  =LAPSTONE=; or, The Sailor turned Shoemaker.

  =ORKNEY, THE PEACEMAKER=; or, The Various Ways of Settling
    Disputes.

VOL. XI.

  =JUDGE JUSTIN=; or, The Little Court of Morningdale.

  =MINIGO=; or, The Fairy of Cairnstone Abbey.

  =JASPER=; or, The Spoiled Child Recovered.

VOL. XII.

  =CONGO=; or, Jasper's Experience in Command.

  =VIOLA= and her Little Brother Arno.

  =LITTLE PAUL=; or, How to be Patient in Sickness and Pain.

Some of the Story Books are written particularly for girls, and some for
boys, and the different Volumes are adapted to various ages, so that the
work forms a _Complete Library of Story Books_ for all the Children of
the Family and the Sunday-School.


ABBOTTS' ILLUSTRATED HISTORIES.

Biographical Histories. By JACOB ABBOTT and JOHN S. C. ABBOTT. The
Volumes of this Series are printed and bound uniformly, and are
embellished with numerous Engravings. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00 per volume.
Price of the set (32 vols.), $32 00.

  A series of volumes containing severally full accounts of the lives,
  characters, and exploits of the most distinguished sovereigns,
  potentates, and rulers that have been chiefly renowned among mankind,
  in the various ages of the world, from the earliest periods to the
  present day.

  The successive volumes of the series, though they each contain
  the life of a single individual, and constitute thus a distinct
  and independent work, follow each other in the main, in regular
  historical order, and each one continues the general narrative of
  history down to the period at which the next volume takes up the
  story; so that the whole series presents to the reader a connected
  narrative of the line of general history from the present age back to
  the remotest times.

  The narratives are intended to be succinct and comprehensive, and
  are written in a very plain and simple style. They are, however, not
  juvenile in their character, nor intended exclusively for the young.
  The volumes are sufficiently large to allow each history to comprise
  all the leading facts in the life of the personage who is the subject
  of it, and thus to communicate all the information in respect to him
  which is necessary for the purposes of the general reader.

  Such being the design and character of the works, they would seem
  to be specially adapted, not only for family reading, but also for
  district, town, school, and Sunday-school libraries, as well as for
  text-books in literary seminaries.

  The plan of the series, and the manner in which the design has been
  carried out by the author in the execution of it, have been highly
  commended by the press in all parts of the country. The whole series
  has been introduced into the school libraries of several of the
  largest and most influential states.

       *       *       *       *       *

  ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S OPINION OF ABBOTTS' HISTORIES.--_In a conversation
  with the President just before his death, Mr. Lincoln said: "I want
  to thank you and your brother for Abbotts' series of Histories.
  I have not education enough to appreciate the profound works of
  voluminous historians; and if I had, I have no time to read them.
  But your series of Histories gives me, in brief compass, just that
  knowledge of past men and events which I need. I have read them
  with the greatest interest. To them I am indebted for about all the
  historical knowledge I have."_

  =CYRUS THE GREAT.=
  =DARIUS THE GREAT.=
  =XERXES.=
  =ALEXANDER THE GREAT.=
  =ROMULUS.=
  =HANNIBAL.=
  =PYRRHUS.=
  =JULIUS CÆSAR.=
  =CLEOPATRA.=
  =NERO.=
  =ALFRED THE GREAT.=
  =WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR.=
  =RICHARD I.=
  =RICHARD II.=
  =RICHARD III.=
  =MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS.=
  =QUEEN ELIZABETH.=
  =CHARLES I.=
  =CHARLES II.=
  =JOSEPHINE.=
  =MARIA ANTOINETTE.=
  =MADAME ROLAND.=
  =HENRY IV.=
  =PETER THE GREAT.=
  =GENGHIS KHAN.=
  =KING PHILIP.=
  =HERNANDO CORTEZ.=
  =MARGARET OF ANJOU.=
  =JOSEPH BONAPARTE.=
  =QUEEN HORTENSE.=
  =LOUIS XIV.=
  =LOUIS PHILIPPE.=


THE LITTLE LEARNER SERIES.

A Series for Very Young Children. Designed to Assist in the Earliest
Development of the Mind of a Child, while under its Mother's Special
Care, during the first Five or Six Years of its Life. By JACOB ABBOTT.
Beautifully Illustrated. Complete in 5 Small 4to Volumes, Cloth, 90
cents per Vol. Price of the set, in case, $4 50.

  =LEARNING TO TALK=; or, Entertaining and Instructive Lessons in the
    Use of Language. 170 Engravings.

  =LEARNING TO THINK=: consisting of Easy and Entertaining Lessons,
    designed to Assist in the First Unfolding of the Reflective and
    Reasoning Powers of Children. 120 Engravings.

  =LEARNING TO READ=: consisting of Easy and Entertaining Lessons,
    designed to Assist Young Children in Studying the Forms of the
    Letters, and in beginning to Read. 160 Engravings.

  =LEARNING ABOUT COMMON THINGS=; or, Familiar Instruction for Children
    in respect to the Objects around them that attract their Attention
    and awaken their Curiosity in the Earliest Years of Life. 120
    Engravings.

  =LEARNING ABOUT RIGHT AND WRONG=; or, Entertaining and Instructive
    Lessons for Young Children in respect to their Duty. 90 Engravings.

  =KINGS AND QUEENS=; or, Life in the Palace: consisting of Historical
    Sketches of Josephine and Maria Louisa, Louis Philippe, Ferdinand
    of Austria, Nicholas, Isabella II., Leopold, Victoria, and Louis
    Napoleon. By JOHN S. C. ABBOTT. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth, $1 75.

  =A SUMMER IN SCOTLAND=: a Narrative of Observations and Adventures
    made by the Author during a Summer spent among the Glens and
    Highlands in Scotland. By JACOB ABBOTT. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth,
    $1 75.

  =THE ROMANCE OF SPANISH HISTORY.= By JOHN S. C. ABBOTT. Illustrated.
    12mo, Cloth, $2 00.

  =THE TEACHER.= Moral Influences Employed in the Instruction and
    Government of the Young. By JACOB ABBOTT. Illustrated. 12mo, Cloth,
    $1 75.

  =GENTLE MEASURES IN TRAINING THE YOUNG.= Gentle Measures in the
    Management and Training of the Young; or, The Principles on which
    a Firm Parental Authority may be Established and Maintained
    without Violence or Anger, and the Right Development of the Moral
    and Mental Capacities be Promoted by Methods in Harmony with the
    Structure and the Characteristics of the Juvenile Mind. A Book for
    the Parents of Young Children. By JACOB ABBOTT. Illustrated. 12mo,
    Cloth, $1 75.




POPULAR HISTORIES

BY

JOHN S. C. ABBOTT.


HISTORY OF FREDERICK THE GREAT.

  The History of Frederick the Second, called Frederick the Great. By
    JOHN S. C. ABBOTT. Elegantly Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, $5 00.


THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.

  The French Revolution of 1789, as Viewed in the Light of Republican
    Institutions. By JOHN S. C. ABBOTT. With 100 Engravings. 8vo,
    Cloth, $5 00.


NAPOLEON BONAPARTE.

  The History of Napoleon Bonaparte. By JOHN S. C. ABBOTT. With Maps,
    Woodcuts, and Portraits on Steel. 2 vols., 8vo, Cloth, $10 00.


NAPOLEON AT ST. HELENA.

  Napoleon at St. Helena; or, Interesting Anecdotes and Remarkable
    Conversations of the Emperor during the Five and a Half Years of
    his Captivity. Collected from the Memorials of Las Casas, O'Meara,
    Montholon, Antommarchi, and others. By JOHN S. C. ABBOTT. With
    Illustrations. 8vo, Cloth, $5 00.




SCIENCE

FOR THE YOUNG.

BY JACOB ABBOTT.

_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS._


  =HEAT.= 12mo, Cloth, $1 50.
  =LIGHT.= 12mo, Cloth, $1 50.
  =WATER AND LAND.= 12mo, Cloth, $1 50.
  =FORCE.= 12mo, Cloth, $1 50.

  Few men enjoy a wider or better earned popularity as a writer
  for the young than Jacob Abbott. His series of histories, and
  stories illustrative of moral truths, have furnished amusement and
  instruction to thousands. He has the knack of piquing and gratifying
  curiosity. In the book before us he shows his happy faculty of
  imparting useful information through the medium of a pleasant
  narrative, keeping alive the interest of the young reader, and fixing
  in his memory valuable truths.--_Mercury_, New Bedford, Mass.

  Jacob Abbott is almost the only writer in the English language who
  knows how to combine real amusement with real instruction in such a
  manner that the eager young readers are quite as much interested in
  the useful knowledge he imparts as in the story which he makes so
  pleasant a medium of instruction.--_Buffalo Commercial Advertiser._

  * * * Mr. Abbott has avoided the errors so common with writers for
  popular effect, that of slurring over the difficulties of the subject
  through the desire of making it intelligible and attractive to
  unlearned readers. He never tampers with the truth of science, nor
  attempts to dodge the solution of a knotty problem behind a cloud of
  plausible illustrations.--_N. Y. Tribune._




BY JOHN S. C. ABBOTT.


CHILD AT HOME.

  The Child at Home; or, the Principles of Filial Duty familiarly
    Illustrated. By JOHN S. C. ABBOTT. Woodcuts. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00.

  The duties and trials peculiar to the child are explained and
  illustrated in this volume in the same clear and attractive manner
  in which those of the mother are set forth in the "Mother at Home."
  These two works may be considered as forming a complete manual of
  filial and maternal relations.


MOTHER AT HOME.

  The Mother at Home; or, the Principles of Maternal Duty familiarly
    Illustrated. By JOHN S. C. ABBOTT. Engravings. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00.

  This book treats of the important questions of maternal
  responsibility and authority; of the difficulties which the mother
  will experience, the errors to which she is liable, the methods
  and plans she should adopt; of the religious instruction which she
  should impart, and of the results which she may reasonably hope will
  follow her faithful and persevering exertions. These subjects are
  illustrated with the felicity characteristic of all the productions
  of the author.


PRACTICAL CHRISTIANITY.

  Practical Christianity. A Treatise specially designed for Young Men.
    By JOHN S. C. ABBOTT. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00.

  It is characterized by the simplicity of style and appositeness of
  illustration which make a book easily read and readily understood.
  It is designed to instruct and interest young men in the effectual
  truths of Christianity. It comes down to their plane of thought, and,
  in a genial, conversational way, strives to lead them to a life of
  godliness.--_Watchman and Reflector._

  It abounds in wise and practical suggestions.--_N. Y. Commercial
  Advertiser._


       *       *       *       *       *




TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES.


Capitalization of "de" at the beginning of surnames is preserved as in
the original text

Page 19: duplicate "of" removed (seventh Charles of France)

Page 20: word "an" added (Never was an intriguer)

Page 38: note that there are two different men named Humphrey Stafford
referenced in the text; the first was slain by Jack Cade and the second
was the 1st Duke of Buckingham

Page 65: missing word "the" added (the Continent; and on)

Page 74: "Hans" changed to "Hanse" to match other instance in text
(belonging to the Hanse Towns)

Page 74: "Westminter" changed to "Westminster" (the Council at
Westminster)

Page 147: "posssessing" changed to "possessing" (worthy of possessing
her)

Page 196: "vizor" changed to "visor" to match other instances in text
(crevice of his visor)

Page 201: "kingmaker" changed to "king-maker" to match other instances
in text (the king and the king-maker)

Page 226: duplicate quotation mark removed (said the king, "the nature)

Page 307: "neigboring" changed to "neighboring" (encamping in the
neighboring fields)

Page 355: "God" not in small capitals in original text, and retained as
such here (thanked be God)

Page 390: "state-craft" changed to "statecraft" to match other
instances in text (his statecraft did not desert him)

Page 406: period changed to comma (a boy of ten,)

Page 415: "grand-daughter" changed to "granddaughter" to match other
instances in text (Eleanor Talbot, granddaughter)

Page 440: "Elizbeth" changed to "Elizabeth" (Elizabeth Woodville's
invitation)

Page 468: "neice" changed to "niece" (breviary of her niece)

Page 471: numbering for the volumes listed under THE FRANCONIA STORIES
changed to bold for consistency

Page 472: missing word "and" added (12 large Volumes and 26 small ones)

Page 473: missing period added (Court of Morningdale.)

Page 474: "argest" changed to "largest" (largest and most influential)

Page 476: semicolon changed to colon (Learning to Read:)