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READING HALLTHE DOORS OF WISDOM |
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THE
WARS OF THE ROSESor stories of the struggle of York and Lancasterby J.G. EDGARD
FIRST PART
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, summed 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 sympathising 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, become 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.
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 io 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. 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 engrafting of which onto 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.
CHAPTER 1.
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 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 endeavouring 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 band. 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 electing 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 favour, 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 Carolingian blood flowed in her
veins, was portionless. But, though not favoured by fortune, the Provencal
Princess was richly endowed by nature; and young as she was, the unrivalled
beauty and intellect of King René’s daughter had made her name familiar in
France and famous in England.
Never was 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 enamoured 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 ambassador 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 humour
to surrender. But Suffolk, who was thinking more of his own interests than of
his country’s honour, 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 solemnised 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
honour 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 lend 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 favourite 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 everybody 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 suspicions 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 favourites, 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 ever 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 favour at
court, threw himself on the mercy of the King; and everything 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 2nd 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 cockboat, 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 favourite, 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 rumour, 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 favourite’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 protegée 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 over 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
despatched 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 skilful policy, won much favour 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 favourite 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 counsellors,
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 which suffering, he died at Norham on the south bauk 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 honour 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 unrivalled
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 neighbours. 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 recognised 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 mailclad 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 core; a complexion naturally fair, but
somewhat bronzed by exposure to 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 arc 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-statesmen of medieval England.
But, however that might be, Warwick was the hero of his own times. From
early youth he was in great favour 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 honour 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 recognise 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 anything, 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,
immortalised by Shakespeare, gave life and colour 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 rumours 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 lighting forest for the Queen and her favourites.
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 towards 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 armour 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, ardour 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 stronghold. 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 armour, advanced towards 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 favourite, 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 armour, 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 forces 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 Hie 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 3rd 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 connexion 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 offence 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 further
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. Rumours 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 anything of his antecedents, and endeavoured
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
defence. 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 Loud 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 honour; 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, be 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 defence;
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 towards 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, 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 anything 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 rumour 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, despatched Lord Lisle, son of the famous Talbot, to prevent his
landing. York, however, eluded the vigilance of his enemies, made his way to
London, payed 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 vigour; 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 favour,
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 favourite’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 bloodied.
The heir of the Plantagenets, however, recognised the necessity of
acting with prudence. In fact, the Lancastrian dynasty was still so much in
favour 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 np evil
intentions against the King, to whom he offered to swear fealty on the
Sacrament, commenced his march towards 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 arm.
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 honour—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 favourite, 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 Yor’s destruction, a
rumour 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 rumours 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 honour as a queen and reputation as a woman; and
rumour, 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 baptised 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 valour to the English Justinian, or the conqueror of
Creasy, or “the valiant and gentle Prince of Wales, the flower of all chivalry
in the world”.
The insanity of the King, naturally enough, brought about the recal 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 endeavoured to conceal. An opportunity soon
occurred.
On the 2nd 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 depicted 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 Parlament; 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 recognised, 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
everything 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 endeavoured 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 parental 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, towards 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 favourite was set at liberty; and people learned
with indignation that, instead of having to answer for his offences 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 towards 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 three-score, 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 22nd 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, towards 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 favourite 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 defence, and for a time the Duke was kept in check at the barriers. The Yorkiste, among other weapons of offence, 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 enclosed, 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, reinforced 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 neighbours, 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 favourite 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 VIITHE 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 ail act of attainder passed the legislature. Everything 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 satirised 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 everything 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 bad, 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.
Everybody 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 vigour 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 towards 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 stronghold and
refuge.
Totally unaware of the mischief projected by his spouse, but sincerely
anxious for a reconciliation of parties, Henry resolved on acting as
peacemaker, 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
Harbour; 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 blackfaced” Lord Clifford, came riding towards
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,
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. Everybody,
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, nought was truth. Though their hands were joined their
hearts were far asunder, and the blood already shed cried for vengeance. Stem
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.
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 Hans 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 favourable 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 defence 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 goodwill 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; and 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 Towcy, 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 neighbourhood 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 honour 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 battlefield 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 22nd 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 winch 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, towards 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
bis 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;
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 neighbouring 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 signalised their
valour 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 entrenchments, 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 neighbour; 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 staunch adherent of the Red
Rose, received a summons; and Coventry was selected as the scene of revenge;
for since the unfortunate result of flic 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 favourites. 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 endeavoured to do his duty as Admiral; for
on the sea as on the land, “The Stout Earl” was a favourite 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 towards 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 War wick, she
addressed her partisans and encouraged them with promises of honours 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 9tli 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 Castille, 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.
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 entrenched 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 entrenchments, 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 endeavoured to escape. The watermen, however, recognised
him, and, notwithstanding his three-score 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 afterwards he was taken possession of by the mob,
and executed at Highgate. With such scenes enacting before their eyes, the
citizens recognised 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 die 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 towards 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, colouring, “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 wore 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 underestimated 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 towards 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 stronghold was
wellnigh 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
rumours 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.
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 sympathising 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 everything 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 everything 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 endeavoured,
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 everything 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 armour, 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 during 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 towards Sandal Castle.
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