THE WARS OF THE ROSES

or stories of the struggle of York and Lancaster

 

CHAPTER XXXIX

A DOMESTIC TRAGEDY.

 

At the opening of the year 1477, Charles the Rash, Duke of Burgundy, fell at Nanci, before the two­handed swords of the Swiss mountaineers, leaving, by his first wife, Isabel of Bourbon, a daughter, Mary, the heiress of his dominions. About the same time, George, Duke of Clarence, and Anthony Woodville, Earl Rivers, happened to become widowers.  The Duke and the Earl, in other days rivals for the hand of the heiress of Lord Scales, immediately entered the arena as candidates for that of Mary of Burgundy (1457 –1482); and their rivalry produced one of the darkest domestic tragedies recorded in the Plantagenet annals.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

CHAPTER XL.

king Edward’s death.

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

CHAPTER XLI.

THE DUKE OF GLOUCESTER.

 

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

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

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

 

CHAPTER XLII.

THE PROTECTOR AND THE PROTECTORATE.

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I appeal,” said Vaughan, solemnly, “to God’s high tribunal against the Duke of Gloucester for this wrongful murder.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Having set the lords somewhat at their ease and persuaded them to proceed with business; Richard begged them to spare him for awhile, and leaving the Council Chamber he remained absent for an hour. Between ten and eleven he returned, but frowning and fretting, knitting his blow and biting his lips.

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

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

“These traitors,” cried Richard, “arc the sorceress my brother’s wife, and her accomplice, Jane Shore, his mistress, with others, their associates; who have, by their witchcraft, wasted my body.”

“Certainly, my Lord,” said Hastings, after exhibiting some confusion, “if they be guilty of these Crimes they deserve the severest punishment.”

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

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

“I arrest thee, traitor,” said Richard, turning to Hastings.

“Me, my Lord ?” asked Hastings, in surprise.

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

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

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

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

“Here’s a gay goodly cast,” remarked the school­master of St. Paul¡s, as the document was read at the Cross: “soul cast away for haste”.

“Aye,” said a merchant standing by, “I think it has been written by the spirit of prophecy.”

 

CHAPTER XLIII

THE USURPATION.

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XLIV.

RICHARD’S CORONATION.

 

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

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

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

At length the day appointed for the ceremony arrived, and Richard prepared to place the Crown of St. Edward on his head.  “The King, with Queen Anne, his wife,” says the chronicler, “came down out of the Whitehall into the Great Hall at Westminster, and went directly to the King’s Bench, and from thence, going upon Raycloth, barefooted, went to St. Edward’s Shrine; all his nobility going with him, every lord in his degree.”

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

 

CHAPTER XLV.

THE PRINCES IN THE TOWER.

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

CHAPTER XLVI.

A MOCK KING-MAKER.

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“By my troth,” said the Duke, “we will begin with the Countess of Richmond—the Earl’s mother— who knows where he is in Brittany, and whether a captive or at large.”

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

Elizabeth interposed no obstacle to a project which promised her daughter a throne; and Bray, on finding that the negotiation had proved successful, was enabled to draw many men of high rank into the conspiracy. John, Lord Welles, true like his ancestors to the Red Rose, prepared to draw his sword for Lancaster.

Peter Courtenay, Bishop of Exeter, and his brother Sir Edward, a man remarkable for his elegance and destined to wed King Edward’s daughter Katherine, undertook to raise the inhabitants of the western counties. Dorset, escaping from the sanctuary, repaired to Yorkshire, trusting to rouse the men of the north against the usurper.

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

 

CHAPTER XLVII.

THE COMING MAN.

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

CHAPTER XLVIII.

FROM BRITTANY TO BOSWORTH.

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

CHAPTER XLIX

RICHARD BEFORE BOSWORTH.

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

CHAPTER L.

BOSWORTH FIELD.

 

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

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

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

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

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

After riding alone Richmond halted, and, from an elevated part of the field, addressed to his army one of those battlefield orations which were in fashion at the period. Dealing with such topics as were most likely to inflame his partisans against the usurper, he was listened to with sympathy; and perceiving, as he pronounced, the words—“Get this day, and be conquerors ; lose the battle and be slaves”— that an impression had been produced, he added—“In the name of God, then, and of St. George, let every man advance his banner.” At these words Sir William Brandon raised the Tudor’s standard; the trumpets sounded an onset; and Richmond, keeping the morass to his right, led the Lancastrians, with the sun on their backs, slowly up the ascent towards Amyon Hill.

Ere this, Richard had mounted his tall steed—the White Surrey of Shakespeare—ascended an eminence, since known as “Dickon’s Mount,” called his captains together, and addressed them as his “most faithful and assured friends.” The speech, not unworthy of one whom his enemies confess to have been “a king jealous of the honour of England,” elicited some degree of enthusiasm; but Richard must have sighed as he recalled to memory how enthusiastic, in comparison, had been the burst of sympathy which rose from Edward’s soldiers on the field of Barnet. The bold usurper, however, appeared undismayed. “Let every one,” he said in conclusion, “strike but one sure blow, and certainly the day will be ours. Wherefore, advance banners, sound trumpets; St. George be our aid; and God grant us victory!”

As the King concluded, and placed his helmet, with a crown of ornament, on his brow, the Yorkists raised a shout, sounded trumpets, and moved down the hill; and, with banners flying, and plumes waving, the hostile armies came hand to hand.

The day opened not inauspiciously for Richard. His army would be little inferior to that of his adversaries even should Stanley join Richmond; and his position on Amy on Hill had been selected with judgment. Moreover, to intimidate and outflank the foe, he had extended his van to an unusual length: and this artifice proved so far successful, at least, that Oxford was somewhat dismayed at the danger that threatened his scanty ranks.

Oxford, however, was a leader of extraordinary calibre, he had not, indeed, seen many fields; but, to him, Barnet had been worth thirty years of experience to men not gifted with the military genius which rendered. the Anglo-Norman barons such formidable war-chiefs. Over the events of that disastrous day, the Earl may be supposed to have mused for twelve years in his prison at Hammes, and to have learned, in sadness and soli­tude, wholesome lessons for his guidance, in the event of being again called to encounter the warriors of the White Rose. The day had now arrived; and John De Vere was resolved not to be outwitted either by “Jocky of Norfolk" or “Dickon his master.”

No sooner did Oxford’s men come to close encounter with those under Norfolk, than the Earl saw that he was exposed to danger. Without loss of time, he issued orders that no soldier should move ten yards from his colours. Their leader’s motive not being understood, the men hurriedly closed their ranks, and ceased from fighting; and the enemy, suspicious of some stratagem, likewise drew back from the conflict.

Oxford quickly availed himself of this pause in the battle; and, placing his men in the form of a wedge, he made a furious attack on the foe. At the same time, Lord Stanley, who, when the armies moved, had placed himself on Richmond’s right-hand to oppose the front of the royal van, charged with ardour; and Norfolk would have been exposed to a danger similar to that from which Oxford had just been freed, if, while Oxford was forming the Lancastrian van into a wedge, Richard had not arrayed anew that of the Yorkists —placing thin lines in front, and supporting them by dense masses.

Both armies having thus been reformed, proceeded with the battle. But it soon appeared that, however equal the antagonistic forces might be in number, the zeal was all on the side of the Red Rose. Moreover, Northumberland, who commanded the rear—one-third of Richard’s army—refrained from taking any part whatever in the conflict; and futile proved the King’s expectation of aid from the potent northern Earl.

The battle had not been long joined, ere the field wore an aspect most unfavourable to Richard. Norfolk, indeed, fought resolutely in the van; but, outnumbered and hard-pressed by Oxford and Stanley, he was slowly but surely giving way; and the men composing the King’s division exerted themselves faintly, and exhibited little of such enthusiasm as might have carried them on to victory against superior numbers.

Amid the smoke of artillery and the roar of battle, Sir Robert Brackenbury and Sir Walter Hungerford met face to face.

“Traitor” exclaimed Brackenbury, “what caused you to desert me?”

“I will not answer you with words,” said Hungerford, taking aim at the head of his ancient comrade.

The blow would have been fatal; but Brackenbury received its force on his shield, which was shivered in protecting its owner’s head; and Hungerford, per­ceiving bis antagonist’s defenceless plight, chivalrously declared that they should fight on equal terms and handed his own shield to a squire. The combat was then renewed; and both Knights exerted their utmost strength. At length, Brackenbury’s helmet was battered to pieces; and his adversary’s weapon inflicted a severe wound. “Spare his life, brave Hungerford,” cried Sir Thomas Bourchier, coming up; “he was our friend, and he may be so again.” But it was already too late to save the wounded Knight. As Bourchier spoke, Brackenbury fell lifeless to the ground.

In another part of the field, met Sir John Byron and Sir Gorvase Clifton. The two Knights were neighbours in the county of Nottingham; and, before embracing opposite sides, had made a singular contract. Byron, who donned the Red Rose, agreed, in the event of Richmond being victor, to intercede for the heirs of Clifton; and Clifton, who assumed the White Rose, promised, in case of Richard’s success, to exercise his utmost influence on behalf of Byron’s family. Byron, seeing Clifton fall, instantly pressed forward to save him; and, sustaining his wounded friend on a shield, entreated him to surrender. Clifton opened his eyes, recognised his neighbour, and recalled their agreement to memory. “All is over with me,” he said, faintly; “but remember your promise”. Byron pressed the hand of Clifton, as the Yorkist warrior expired; and he kept the promise so faithfully that Clifton’s estates remained in possession of his children.

About this time, Richard rode out of the battle, and dismounted to quench his thirst at a spring of water on Amy on Hill, now covered with a pyramid of rough stones, indicated by Dr. Parr’s inscription in Roman letters, and pointed out to strangers as “King Richard’s Well”, and Catesby and other of the usurper’s friends, believing defeat inevitable, brought one of those fleet steeds which, on such occasions, seldom failed their riders.

“The field is lost, but the King can yet be saved,” they said, as the war-cries, reaching their ears through the roar of bombards and the din of battle, intimated that Oxford and Stanley were over-matching the Howards, and that, ere long, the shout would be “Richmond and victory.”

“Mount, my lord,” said Catesby, “I hold it time for you to fly. Stanley’s dints are so sore, that against them can no man stand. Fly! Another day we may worship again”

“Fly” exclaimed Richard. “By St. Paul, not one foot. I will either make an end of all battles this day or finish my life on this field. I will die King of England”

His determination thus expressed, Richard mounted his charger, hastily closed his visor, and again faced the field. By this time it appeared that the day would be decided by the vans. Richard, not altogether willing to stake his crown on the generalship of the Howards, spurred from his right centre to see how the conflict went; and, at the same moment, Richmond, surrounded by his guard, left his main body, and rode forward to encourage the men under Oxford and Stanley. Thus it happened that the King and the Welsh Earl came in sight of each other; and no sooner was Richard aware of Richmond being within reach, than the temptation to single out the hostile leader became too strong to be resisted.

And never during the battles of the Roses—neither in the mist at Barnet, nor in the sunshine at Tewkesbury—had Richard made himself so formidable as in that hour. With his lance in rest, and followed by choice warriors, he dashed towards the spot where the banner borne by Sir William Brandon indicated Richmond’s presence. The white war-steed, the gorgeous armour, the crown of ornament, rendered Richard conspicuous as he spurred forward; and fierce was the onset, he charged among the knights who clustered around the Lancastrian chief. Vain were all efforts to bar his progress, Richmond’s standard was trampled in the dust; Sir William Brandon, pierced with a mortal wound, fell never more to rise ; Sir John Cheyney, throwing his bulky form in Richard’s path, was hurled from his horse; and the Welsh Earl, all unused to the game of carnage, was in the utmost peril. His destruction, indeed, appeared inevitable. The Lancastrian warriors, however, spurred to the rescue, and shielded the adventurer’s head hand from the usurper’s hand.

But most doubtful was now the issue of the conflict. The desperate charge of Richard had created a panic among his foes; and there was some prospect of Richmond having to choose between dying bravely and flying cravenly, when a circumstance, not un­expected, changed the aspect of the field.

Sir William Stanley had hitherto remained a spectator of the fight Having ever been a devoted Yorkist, perhaps the gallant knight, hating Richard as he did, was not eager to draw the sword for Lancaster against a Yorkist, even though a usurper. When, however, Richard’s triumph was likely to result from his inaction, Stanley came with a shout to Richmond’s aid; and this accession of force to the Lancastrians so completely turned the scale, that no chance of victory remained for Richard; unless, indeed, the chief of the Percies should lead the tall Danes of the north to the rescue.

But Stanley charged on, and the conflict became a rout; and the Yorkist warriors, attacked with energy, gave way in a body; and, still, Northumberland maintained his position, and, having ordered his soldiers to throw down their weapons, stood motionless while fliers and pursuers swept by.

Lord Lovel and other Yorkists of name made their escape. But, as at Barnet and Tewkesbury, so also at Bosworth, men of high spirit disdained to fly or yield. John Howard, Duke of Norfolk, fighting in the van, redeemed a mean life by a not inglorious death; Walter, Lord Ferrers, died with courage, as he had lived with honour; and Sir Richard Ratcliffe partially wiped away his disgrace, by falling bravely for the Sovereign whom be had too faithfully served. Lord Surrey and Sir William Catesby were taken on the field. Northumberland quietly surrendered.

Richard now felt that he was face to face with his destiny; and, in the hour of defeat and despair, he did not shrink from the fate he had defied. Indeed, the valour he displayed in his last moments excited admiration even in adversaries. Rising in his stirrups, as he saw his standard-bearer went down, and shouting loudly that he had been betrayed, the usurper spurred into the midst of his foes, and made his sword ring on helmet and shield. Not till unhorsed did he cease to fight desperately. Even then, his shield broken, his armour bruised, and the crown of ornament hewn from his helmet, Richard continued to struggle. At length, exhausted with fatigue, and pierced with many wounds, he died disdainfully, with the word “Treason” on his tongue.

Ere the warriors of the Red Rose had time to moralise over the fall of the last Plantagenet King, Richmond, unwounded in the dreadful scene with which the conflict closed and feeling like a man saved from imminent peril of drowning, threw himself on his knees and returned thanks to God for victory. Then he rose and expressed gratitude to those who had aided him in his enterprise; and Reginald Bray, bringing Richard’s crown from a bush, on which that ornament had been hung, handed it to Lord Stanley: and Stanley placed it on the victor’s head; and the soldiers cried, “Long live Henry the Seventh;” and the monarchy of the Plantagenets ceased to exist.

 

 

CHAPTER LI.

AFTER BOSWORTH.

 

When the battle of Bosworth was over; and Richmond, with John De Vere, and Jasper of Pembroke, and the Stanleys, including Lord Strange, stood around the mangled corpse of Richard, the prisoners were brought before the victor. Among them appeared William Catesby, and the Earls of Surrey and Northumberland. Northumberland was readily received into favour. Surrey, when asked how he durst bear arms for the usurper, answered—“If the Parliament of England set the crown upon a bush, I would fight for it.” Richmond was softened by this speech, and Surrey was spared to fight for the Tudors at Flodden, and to wear the ducal coronet of the Mowbrays. Catesby, less fortunate than the two Earls, was summarily executed. Dr. Hutton, who, according to tradition, was summarily executed was one of “the Huttons of that Ilk,” sought safety north of the Tweed.

From Bosworth, Richmond marched to Leicester; and thither, covered with  blood and dust, hung across a horse, behind a pursuivant-alarms, the feet dangling on one side and the hands on the other, the body of King Richard was carried. As the mangled corpse was conveyed over Bow Bridge, the head dashed violently against the stone which Richard had, the day before, struck with his spur—“thus,” say the old chroniclers, “fulfilling the prediction of the wise woman.”

After being exposed to view in the Town Hall of Leicester, Richard’s body was buried in the Grey Friars’ Church; and Richmond slowly advanced towards London. At Hornsey Wood he was met and welcomed by the Mayor and Aldermen, all clad in violet. Having been escorted to St. Paul’s, he returned thanks to God for his victory, and offered three standards upon the high altar.

After some delay Richmond appointed the 30th October, 1485, for his coronation; and on that day, the old Archbishop of Canterbury anointed the adventurer, as, two years earlier, he had anointed the usurper. All the ancient ceremonies were observed; and Richmond availed himself of the occasion to elevate Lord Stanley to the Earldom of Derby, Sir Edward Courtenay to the Earldom of Devon, and Jasper Tudor to the Dukedom of Bedford—the old Duchess, Elizabeth Woodville’s mother, having gone to her account at the time when peace and prosperity surrounded the throne of her son-in-law, and when William Caxton was setting up his printing press under the patronage of the White Rose.

A week after Richmond’s coronation, Parliament assem­bled at Westminster. Richard’s adherents were declared traitors; while De Vere, De Roos, Beaumont, Welles, and others were restored; and the heir of the Cliffords, who had passed his youth in the garb of a shepherd, emerged at thirty from the fells of Cumberland, and lived to lead the men of the Craven to Flodden Field.

But of all who suffered during the Yorkist domina­tion, no one was so harshly treated as the widow of “The Stout Earl,” who fell, on Gladsmuir Heath, fighting for the ancient rights and liberties of English­men. After having heard of Warwick’s death, the Countess took refuge in the sanctuary of Beaulieu, and there remained in poverty. On Richmond’s accession, however, an Act of Parliament was passed, to restore her manors. But this, it would seem, was done that she might convey them to the King; and only that of Sutton was allotted for her maintenance.

From the day when Edward, Prince of Wales, perished in his teens at Tewkesbury, Margaret of Anjou ceased to influence the controversy with which her name is inseparably associated.

Margaret lived several years after regaining her freedom; and, deprived of the crown which her accomplishments had won, the Lancastrian queen wandered sadly from place to place, as if driven by her perturbed spirit to seek something that was no longer to be found.

Tortured by avenging memory, embittered by unavailing regret, and weary of life, Margaret of Anjou summed up her experience of the world when she wrote in the breviary of her niece, “Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.” At length, in August, 1480, the disconsolate queen, after reaching the age of twoscore and ten, breathed her last at Damprierre, and was buried by the side of her father in the Cathedral of Angers.

 

 

CHAPTER LII

 

THE UNION OF THE TWO ROSES.

 

At the time of the battle of Bosworth the eldest daughter of Edward of York and Elizabeth Woodville was immured in the Castle of Sheriff Hutton, within the walls of which her cousin, Edward Plantagenet, was also secure. After Richmond's victory both were removed to London: Elizabeth of York by high and mighty dames, to be restored to the arms of her mother; Edward of Warwick by a band of hireling soldiers, to be delivered into the hands of a jailer and imprisoned in the Tower.

It soon appeared that Richmond was not particularly eager to wed the Yorkist princess. He was not, however, to escape a marriage. When Parliament met, and the King sat on the throne, and the Commons presented a grant of tonnage and  poundage for life, they plainly requested that he would marry Elizabeth of York; and the lords, spiritual and temporal, bowed to indicate their concurrence in the prayer. Richmond, perceiving that there was no way by which to retreat, replied that he was ready and willing to take the Princess to wife.

The marriage of Henry Tudor and Elizabeth of York was fixed for the 18th of January, 486; and the ceremony was performed at Westminster. The primate, soon to be laid in his grave and succeeded by the Bishop of Ely, officiated on the occasion; and everything went joyously. The knights and nobles of England exhibited their bravery at a grand tournament; the citizens of London feasted and danced ; the populace sang songs and lighted bonfires; the claims of the King of Portugal, the heir of John pf Gaunt, and the existence of Edward Plantagenet, Earl of Warwick, the heir of Lionel of Clarence, were conveniently forgotten; and the marriage of a spurious Lancastrian prince and an illegitimate daughter of York was celebrated by poets and chroniclers as “ The Union of the two Roses”.