READING HALL

THE DOORS OF WISDOM

THE WARS OF THE ROSES

or stories of the struggle of York and Lancaster

CHAPTER XIX.

THE LANCASTRIANS IN EXILE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XX.

WARWICK AND THE WOODVILLES.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The King did not allow the King-maker’s anger to die for want of fuel. On the contrary, having given Warwick serious cause of offence, he added insult to injury by pretending that the Earl had been gained over by Louis to the Lancastrian cause, and that the State was in no small danger from his treasonable attempts. At the same time, he abruptly deprived George Neville, Archbishop of York, of the office of Chancellor—thus indicating still further distrust of the great family to whose efforts he owed his crown.

While rumours as to Warwick’s newborn sympathies with the House of Lancaster were afloat, the Cattle of Harleck fell into the King’s hands. Within the fortress was taken an agent of Margaret; and he, on being put to the rack, declared that Warwick, during bis mission to France, had, at Rouen, spoken with favour of the exiled Queen, during a confidential conversation with Louis. Warwick treated the accusation with contempt, and declined to leave his castle to be confronted with the accuser.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XX

DESPOTISM, DISCONTENT, AND DISORDER.

While the Woodvilles were supreme, and while Edward was under their influence, disheartening the ancient barons of England, and alienating the great noble to whom he owed the proudest crown in Christendom, the imprudent King did Dot ingratiate himself with the multitude by any display of respect for those rights and liberties to maintain winch Warwick had won Northampton and Towton. Indeed, the government was disfigured by acts of undisguised tyranny; and torture, albeit known to be illegal in England, was freely used, as during the Lancastrian rule, to extort evidence. Even the laws of the first Edward and his great minister, Robert de Burnel, were in danger of going as much out of fashion as the chain armour in which Roger Bigod and Humphrey Bohun charged at Lewes and Evesham.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XXII

THE SIEGE OF EXETER.

On the summit of the hill that rises steeply from the left bank of the river Exe, and is crowned with the capital of Devon, some of the burghers of Exeter might have been met with, one spring day in 1470, gossiping about the King and Lord Warwick, and making observations on several hundreds of armed men, who, not without lance, and plume, and pennon, were escorting a youthful dame, of patrician aspect and stately bearing, towards the city gates. The Mayor and Aldermen were, probably, the reverse of delighted with the appearance of these fighting men. Indeed, the warlike strangers were adherents of Warwick and Clarence, escorting the young Duchess, who was daughter of one and wife of the other; and at that time, as was well known, both “The Stout Earl” and the fickle Duke were at enmity with King Edward.

The citizens of Exeter, however, made a virtue of necessity, and cheerfully enough admitted within their walls those whom they had not the power to exclude.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XXIII

LOUIS THE CRAFTY.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE STOUT EARL AND THE FOREIGN WOMAN.

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

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

Vauclerc, however, gave the Earl information by no means valueless, in the shape of a warning, that on putting to sea he must beware where he landed, as the myrmidons of Burgundy were on the watch to seize him. At the same time, he took occasion, secretly, to send an apology to Warwick, and to represent his conduct as being entirely guided by zeal ant the Earl’s safety. “Calais,” said he, “is ill-supplied with provisions; the garrison cannot be depended on; the inhabitants, who live by the English commerce, will certainly take part with the established Government; and the city is in no condition to resist England on one side and Burgundy on the other. It is better, therefore, that I should seem to declare for Edward, and keep the fortress in my power till it is safe to deliver it to you.”

Warwick was not, probably, in a very credulous mood; but he took Vauclerc’s explanation for what it was worth, ordered the anchors to be hauled up, and, having defied Burgundy’s enmity by seizing some Flemish ships that lay off Calais, sailed towards the coast of Normandy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XXV.

THE EARL’S RETURN AND EDWARD'S FLIGHT.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At Calais, the news of the Earl’s triumph created no less excitement than in England. The intelligence might, under some circumstances, have caused Governor Vauclerc considerable dismay and no slight apprehension that his conduct, while the Earl was in adversity, would place him in a perilous predicament. Vauclerc, however, had his consolation, and must have chuckled as he reflected on the prudence he had exercised. The crafty Gascon, doubtless, congratulated himself heartily on his foresight, and felt assured that in spite of Edward’s patent and Burgundy’s pension, the devotion he had expressed and the intelligence he had given to Warwick would, now that the political wind had changed, secure him a⁴ continuance of place and power.

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

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

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE EARL OF WORCESTER.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE BANISHED KING.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XXVIII.

queen Margaret’s voyage.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE BATTLE OF BARNET.

Memorable was the spring of 1471 destined to be in the history of England’s Baronage, and in the annals of the Wars of “the pale and of the purple rose.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Groom fought like noble, squire like knight,

As fearlessly and well.”

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

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

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

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

The bodies of Warwick and Montagu were placed in one coffin, conveyed to London, and exposed for three days at St. Paul’s, that all who desired might assure themselves that the great Earl and his brother no longer lived. Even Warwick’s death did not appease

Edward’s hatred; and he would have cared little to refuse interment, befitting the Earl’s rank, to the corpse of the departed hero. The King, however, mourned the death of Montagu; and, from regard to the memory of the Marquis, he ordered that both brothers should be laid among their maternal ancestors.

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