*CHAPTER VII.*
*THE LAST BATTLE OF THE RIVAL ROSES.*
"May this be borne? How much of agony Hath the heart room for?" --FELICIA HEMANS.
One enemy remained for Edward IV. to vanquish, and it was a woman: awoman whose hand he had kissed upon the knee, and whom his Queen hadserved in her chamber. So long as husband and son were left to fightfor, so long Marguerite of Anjou was irrepressible and invincible. Whenthey were not, the complete indifference of despair with which she letthe sceptre drop from her hand, proved that it was not it which she hadloved, but them.
Yet the dreadful news which met her at Cerne Abbey for one momentoverwhelmed the eager and resolute spirit. King Henry was once more acaptive, and Warwick--who united the strange characters of her worstenemy in private, and her sole reliable friend in public--could beneither enemy nor friend any more for ever. The bright head was boweddown, and tears, such as Marguerite was rarely seen to shed, camerushing from her eyes.
"Oh, let us give it up!" she cried. "Edward, let us go back to France,and give up the struggle!"
"I cry you mercy, Madame my mother!" was the ringing answer of thePrince. "Never, while another battle may retrieve all! Look, I prayyou--have we not yet the Duke of Somerset"----
"Not to be trusted," said Marguerite, under her breath.
"And my Lord of Oxford"----
"Who fled from us at Barnet."
"And my Lord of Devon"----
"Well, yes--I think _he_ may be."
The Prince dropped on one knee, and clasped his mother's hand in his.
"And, sweet Mother, have you not _me_?"
The Queen clasped her darling in her arms, and bent her fair head lowupon his darker locks.
"_Mon cheri, mon mignon!_" she cried tenderly, in her own language, notoften used now, for English had become almost the mother-tongue to thewoman who had been Queen of England since she was a maiden of sixteenyears. "Aye, my streak of sunlight, I have thee!--and never will I letthine inheritance calmly fall into the hands of thine enemies! Come,let us be up and doing. When, on the day of mine espousals, I set theRose of England in my bosom, did I not know that I must wear it with allits thorns?"[#]
[#] The last sentence is in the actual words of the Queen, though notspoken on this occasion.
The momentary sensation of irresolute hopelessness was passed, andMarguerite was herself again. She held a council of war, at which it wasdecided that they should march on the western provinces, which were moreloyal than the midland wherein Warwick had held sway, or the northern ofwhich Edward was Duke. The ladies were to be left behind in sanctuary,except the one or two in personal attendance on the Queen, who knew wellenough that whoever might constitute the body of the Lancastrian party,she was and had always been its soul: and that however her forces mightacquit themselves with her, they were not likely to do well without her.The Countess of Warwick, with her daughter of Clarence and their suites,had crossed the Channel separately from the Queen, and had taken refugeat Beaulieu Abbey. But nothing would tempt the young Princess of Walesto join them. Whether in life or in death, where her heart's lord was,there also would she be.
The Countess of Devon, in attendance on the Queen, and Lady KatherineVaux, in waiting on the Princess, were the sole women who accompaniedthe army. From Bath they marched on to Bristol, intending to join theEarl of Pembroke, Jaspar Tudor, who was coming from Gloucester with hismen. But when the Queen's army attempted to pass the Severn, they foundthemselves intercepted by the men of Gloucester, who urged theirnecessary "obeissance to their Duke." Marguerite turned aside, and wenton to Tewkesbury.
Perhaps few places in England are less changed than Tewkesbury from theappearance they presented in the fifteenth century. Not only the grandold Abbey (alas! restored), but the Bell Inn within a stone's throw, theold winding High Street and its hostelry the Bear, are very littlealtered in outward seeming from what they were on that night of thethird of May, when Marguerite of Anjou drew up her troops in "the BloodyField" outside the town. Edward was at Tewkesbury in person, awaitingwhat either side felt instinctively would be the last and decisivebattle in the Wars of the Roses.
Early the next morning, the Prince of Wales, who was to command thearmy, took leave of the royal ladies.
Clasp him close, poor mother! cling to him, young wife! You will do itnever, never any more. It was no act of the Prince, whether ofcommission or omission, that lost the day. Victory hung yet in thebalance, when Somerset, traitor to his last breath, fled from his younggallant master, followed by Hugh Courtenay: and from that moment thefield was King Edward's.
The Prince was taken. The craven Somerset fled to the sanctuary of achurch, and he was followed by Humphrey Audley (who had York blood inhis veins), Henry de Ros, James Gower, the Prince's standard-bearer, andmany more. But Prince Edward, most valuable prisoner of all, was takenbefore the conqueror in his royal pavilion. What followed is wellknown,--King Edward's contemptuous query--
"How camest thou, young man, to bear sword against me?"
It was met by Prince Edward's defiant reply--
"I came to recover my father's kingdom, and mine own inheritance, out ofthe hands of them that had no right to hold it."[#]
[#] Only the opening words of this speech are commonly quoted.
Some chroniclers say that Edward dashed his gauntleted hand in the faceof his young cousin. Others assert that he merely flung a sign to thosearound him. Either action was well understood. Hastings, the King'sfaithful servant, and Thomas Grey, his step-son, the affianced of Anneof Exeter, hurried Prince Edward out of his presence to the next tent,where the Dukes of Clarence and Gloucester were standing. There theyflung him down. One cry of pitiful appeal rang through the eveningair--"Clarence! _Brother!_" but Clarence stood deaf and motionless.Gloucester was equally still, but from a very different motive. Thencame a second and a lower moan--"_Jesu, Doming!_" That was heard.Another instant, and they had no more that they could do. EdwardPlantagenet was with God.
Not that night did Marguerite of Anjou learn all the awful news in storefor her. She heard--from the gentle lips of John Combe--that her armywas routed, and the day lost: heard it, with the young Princess by herside, seated in that charette in which it had been so difficult to keepher, for she suspected already that fate was going against her, and shewas scarcely restrained from mounting her horse, and taking the commandof her troops. The one worst item--the loss of her boy--did not reachher then. But what she did hear made her sink down in the charette,"half-dead."
Those about the Queen--very few they were--felt the necessity of doingfor her what she was not in a position to do for herself. They hurriedthe royal ladies away from their dangerous place to a little religioushouse outside Tewkesbury, where they entered them in sanctuary. Alasfor their innocence, if they expected Edward of York to keep promises orreverence sanctuary! At that moment he was presenting himself withdrawn sword at the door of the church where so many of the Lancastriannobles had taken refuge. All honour be to the brave priest who, pix inhand, resolutely barred the victor's entrance, until he had given asolemn promise of pardon to the fugitives. Alas for the fugitives, thatthey trusted it! All might have escaped, but trusting to that honour ofwhich Edward knew so little, they remained in their asylum until theMonday, when they were marched out and beheaded before the door.Somerset richly deserved his fate: but this cannot be said of manyothers. Even Humphrey Audley was not spared, though King Edward and hewere second cousins.[#]
[#] He was the younger son of Alianora de Holand, Lady Audley, daughterof Constance of York, King Edward's grand-aunt.
Notwithstanding all his specious words, ties of blood, no less thanthose of gratitude, weighed as nothing with Edward of York when a manstood in his way.
There was a long funeral procession that day in Tewkesbury Abbey. TheDuke of Somerset, as we are told by his herald, who was present, wasburied "before the image of Saint Jame at
an autar in ye said monasterychurche on the northe parte."[#] But it was in the very midst of thechurch, just under the tower, that they laid the flower of the Red Rose,"the gallant-springing young Plantagenet," who in the endeavour torecover his father's kingdom had sacrificed himself. The rest wereburied in one great grave, dug close to that of the Prince in the naveof the Abbey.
[#] Harl. MS. 545.--This tomb was removed at a later date, and is now onthe south side of the chancel.
The next step on the part of Edward was to capture the two haplessladies who had taken refuge in the little nunnery. Sir WilliamStanley--an old enemy of the Queen--was sent to do this; and he is saidto have behaved as brutally as he well could, and in particular to havebroken to the bereaved mother the news of her boy's death in the mostinhuman manner. Driven almost to frenzy by the suddenness and anguishof the blow, Marguerite broke forth into passionate execrations uponEdward and all his posterity, which Stanley had the cruelty to repeat tothe conqueror, when, on the 11th of May, he brought his prisoners toCoventry. The royal mourners were conveyed southwards together, captivesin the victorious train of the Rose of Rouen.
One more attempt, however, was to be made in the Lancastrian cause, likethe last expiring gleam of a candle ere it dies out. The Governors ofCalais, Sir Walter Wretill and Sir Geoffrey Gates, despatched the brave,if somewhat rash, Thomas Fauconbridge "to raise Kent, and deliver KingHenry from the Tower." It was only a dying flash, but it roused theYorkists to instant action. Lord Rivers was sent down to Kent and LordBourchier to Essex by the Council; Lord Dudley, with a hundred soldiers,was put in charge of the Tower, where defensive works were cast up inhaste in less than a week; Lord Hastings was despatched to supersede theGovernor of Calais, and Lord Pembroke sent to South Wales "to capturerebels, and reduce the King's castles to his obedience." The citizensof London, that unknown and difficult quantity, were complimented by thegift of two tuns of red wine, "expended on them after the conflict atMile-end against the rebels."[#] For the safe custody of RochesterCastle, a squire of the body was sent down, by name Thomas St. Leger, ofwhom we shall hear again.
[#] Issue Roll, Easter term, 11 Edw. IV. This Roll is one of the mostinteresting state papers ever penned.
The insurrection was quashed. But how many more might arise? It was nodoubt extremely inconvenient to be perpetually in risk of another; andHenry VI. had still friends enough to make Edward's throne a very uneasyseat. So long as the Lancaster King lived, the York King would have athorny time of it. There was only one way to end the difficulty: andthere was one man who was ready to take it.
On the twenty-first of May, King Edward, accompanied by his brother ofGloucester, and carrying his captives in his victorious train, made histriumphal entry into the City of London. The Queen and Princess werelodged in the Tower. They were now under the same roof as King Henry. Ifany ray of hope ever entered Marguerite's heart after Tewkesbury, itmust have been that night, at the thought of a possible meeting with thehusband from whom she had been parted for six weary years. She may wellhave imagined that fate had done its worst, and no further sorrows couldyet be in reserve for her. But the worst had only begun to come.Whether it were that night or a few days later,--within one week fromher imprisonment in the Tower, Marguerite of Anjou was a widow.
When and how did Henry VI. die? The how has often been disputed: butthe when has generally been considered less doubtful. The popularbelief for centuries was that, weary of the continual risk and fear,Gloucester went to the Tower on that same night of his arrival inLondon, and with one stroke of his dagger ended the Wars of the Roses,and the sorrows of Henry of Lancaster. The courtier Comines writescautiously: Henry was killed by Gloucester, "if what was told me betrue." Had he in his heart believed it untrue, would he have thusmentioned it? One dry old chronicler remarks that Henry died on thetwenty-first of May, "the Duke of Gloucester and his men being in theTower that night." Stow says that his body was carried to St. Paul's inan open coffin on the 22nd. Stow, Sandford, Baker, and Mezeray have nodoubt of the murder. It was not until the last century that it was everquestioned, and then by writers who were desirous to whitewash thedecidedly black character of Richard III. But so far as I know, no onehas ever noticed on either side the singular fact recorded on the IssueRoll, that Henry did not die on the twenty-first at all. There may havebeen some reason--now perhaps inscrutable--why Edward wished to convincethe public that Henry did die on that day: but his own Roll, meant forno eyes but those of safe persons, unquestionably indicates that Henrywas living until the 27th of May, six days later. His "diet" is chargeduntil the latter day. There may have been some show of reason, asputting a stop to all future trouble, why the public should believeHenry to be dead when he was not: but what possible cause could there befor entering on the Roll a false statement with the object of showingHenry to be alive when he was really dead? The question of coursearises, whose was the body exposed to view in St. Paul's on thetwenty-second?--even if we put aside the sensational item that thecorpse bled wherever it rested, on account of the presence of themurderer as chief mourner. The Roll above mentioned, which gives theexpenses of Henry's funeral, makes no mention of the day of burial.Perhaps the difficulty is best left unsolved, with just onestatement--that Gloucester was perfectly capable of the crime laid tohis charge: and that the main point of circumstantial evidence indetermining the question, is to decide whether Gloucester was or was notat the Tower on the 27th of May.
The strongest evidence known to me in Gloucester's favour is theassertion of Fleetwood, adopted by the usually careful and accurateCarte, that Henry was found dead, probably of apoplexy, on the night ofthe twenty-first of May. This was of course the York version of facts.But if, as has been shown, the date is conclusively disproved by thetestimony of the Issue Roll, may not the circumstances be equally farfrom true? It was so exceedingly in the interest of Edward that Henryshould die just at that moment, that the suspicion of his death havingbeen humanly assisted will never be removed as long as the world lasts.
Very little expense attended the funeral of the dead. Twenty ells oflinen cloth, wax, and spices, were provided; two men only carriedtorches (the number usually corresponding with the years of thedeceased); a few soldiers of Calais watched the corpse; and to fiveorders of friars a pittance was given for masses, wretched indeed whencompared with the usual outlay. The whole cost was under L43--just theprice that King Edward paid about the same date for a crimson velvetjacket.
There is nothing but pure fancy as the source of the scene imagined byour greatest dramatist, wherein Gloucester makes love to the youngPrincess of Wales when she officiates as chief mourner at King Henry'sfuneral. The poor Princess was an outlaw and a prisoner in the Tower atthat moment, and assuredly never held any such position, any more thanshe lent willing ear, whether first or last, to any such words.
The body of King Henry was buried at Chertsey Abbey, where it resteduntil Gloucester himself was King, when, on the 12th of August, 1484, itwas finally removed to his birthplace, Windsor.
Many days had not elapsed after the funeral of the dead King, whenLondon was startled with the news that the Princess of Wales wasmissing. How she had made good her escape no man knew: that she was nolonger a prisoner in the Tower was the one thing certain. Princess,indeed, no one now called her. As her father's daughter, she was stillthe Lady Anne: and this title now replaced the royal one. The firstidea was that she had taken refuge at Beaulieu with her mother; but thiswas soon found to be a mistake. The Countess of Warwick was still insanctuary, though her elder daughter, the Duchess of Clarence, haddeparted at once to take her proper place at Court as King Edward'ssister-in-law: and from her honorary imprisonment poor Lady Warwick wasinditing pitiful letters to every person whom she thought likely to haveany influence with King Edward, in the hope of procuring her pardon.She addressed herself to every member of the royal family in turn; andshe notes as a special grievance in the petition she presently offeredto the King, that "in the absence of clerk
es, she hath wretyn l'res withher owne hand."[#]
[#] Cott. MS. Jul. B. xii., fol. 317.
Bitterly she complains that the King had sent letters to the Abbot ofBeaulieu, on account of some "synester informacion to his said Highnessmade," with orders to keep her in strict prison, which was a deep griefto her. She pleads her sore poverty, being cut off from all enjoymentof her jointure and dower of the earldom of Salisbury, and also from herown Despenser lands and earldom of Warwick: and lastly, she representsthat she has no opportunity of putting her case into the hands of anysolicitor, nor, if she had, is there one that would dare to undertakeit.
Edward paid little attention to this sad appeal. Clarence had hisbrother's ear: and Clarence had set his mind upon one thing,--to handdown to his children the vast Warwick inheritance, undivided. In orderto do this, he grudged his mother-in-law every unnecessary penny: and hedetermined that so far as in him lay, his sister-in-law, the Princess ofWales, should never marry again. There was much danger of thiscalamity: not because of any wish to that effect on the part of thegirl-widow, whose heart was buried for ever in the nave of TewkesburyAbbey, and whose sole ambition was to creep out of sight and hearing ofthe hard, cold world, into some quiet corner, where she could waitundisturbed until God called her to rejoin her dead. The danger arosenot from her, but from the Duke of Gloucester. From his early boyhood,Richard of York had loved Anne Neville; or rather, to put it moreaccurately, he loved himself, and he found in Anne Neville a playthingthe possession of which was necessary to his happiness. That he did notlove her, he plainly showed by his actions. Had he done so, he wouldhave let her alone, which was all the grace she asked at his hands. ButGloucester, like most human beings, looked upon love and persecution asexchangeable terms. He wanted Anne Neville: whether she wanted him wasa point quite unnecessary to take into the account. And Anne did notwant him. On the contrary, she intensely disliked him. It was notpossible for her to compare to his advantage such a man as this, whosesoul was ten times more crooked than his body, with her tender, brave,gallant young Plantagenet, whose death
"had made all earth and heaven One vaulted grave to her."
It was not his disadvantages of person which made Anne shrink fromGloucester like a bird from a snake. Had the characters been exchanged,matters might have been very different.
These being the circumstances of the case, Anne had lent a willing earto the overtures of Clarence, who sent her secret messages during herimprisonment, offering to deliver her from the Tower and keep her inhiding from Gloucester. His object was to prevent her from requiringher share of the Warwick lands: hers was to get rid of persecution froma man whom she hated. Both being agreed upon the means, however theymight differ in the object, Clarence contrived to steal Anne out of theTower, and secreted her in a very romantic manner. The Princess of Waleswas actually placed in service, as a cook, in "a mean house" in the Cityof London. So thoroughly was she concealed, that nearly two yearselapsed before the indefatigable Gloucester succeeded in discovering theplace of her retreat.
King Edward appears to have been at this time in a most gracious frameof mind, which he evinced by scattering pardons and honours broadcast onall sides. Fauconbridge, the latest insurrectionist in favour of theHouse of Lancaster, was not only pardoned, but made Vice-Admiral.Bishop Waynflete, Lord St. John, and even the Earl of Oxford, were takeninto favour. The poor Countess, his mother, who was Warwick's sister,was left in such poverty for some time that she was reduced to earn herbread by her needle, until Edward was pleased to awake to the fact ofher existence, and to grant her a pension of L100 per annum. The Dukeof Gloucester was created Lord High Chamberlain, the Earl of WiltshireChief Butler, and the Earl of Essex Treasurer of the Exchequer. Thecastles of Middleham and Sheriff Hutton--possessions of Warwick--weregranted to Gloucester, who had always been Edward's favourite brother,notwithstanding the anger of Clarence at this poaching on his preserves.The King also granted all the lands of John Lord Lovell, deceased, tohis sister the Princess Elizabeth and her husband, John Duke of Suffolk,son of the famous Duke who had been the counsellor of Queen Marguerite.This was a stroke of policy, for Suffolk was a Lancastrian. But nowthat Henry VI. and his son were dead, numbers of Lancastrians came inand offered themselves as henceforward loyal subjects of Edward IV., whohad now in their eyes become the rightful King. Thomas Earl of Ormondeled the van: and he was followed by Jaspar Earl of Pembroke, the lateKing's half-brother, by the Duke of Exeter from his prison, variousmembers of the Courtenay and Clifford families, and among others, notleast, by Margaret Duchess of Somerset, the mother of the only personliving who could on any pretence of right dispute the crown with Edward.This was Margaret Beaufort, Countess of Richmond, heiress of theBeauforts, and widow of Edmund Tudor, the elder but deceasedhalf-brother of King Henry. The Beauforts, who were the illegitimatechildren of John of Gaunt by Katherine Swynford, the lady who afterwardsbecame his third wife, had been formally legitimated in 1397, by apatent which distinctly pronounced them capable of succeeding, to all"honours, dignities, positions, and offices, public and private, whetherpermanent or temporary, and to all feudalities and nobilities, bywhatsoever name known, whether dukedom, princedom, earldom, barony, orother fief, mediately or immediately held of us ... as if they had beenborn in lawful wedlock."[#]
[#] Patent Roll, 20 Ric. II., Part 2.
This language undoubtedly qualified the Beauforts for the royalsuccession, and was meant to do so:[#] but at the time the patent wasdrawn up, there was little reasonable probability of any such event, fornot only the reigning Sovereign, but the whole House of Lancaster, laybetween them and the throne. But now that the royal family was reducedto the children of Richard Duke of York, and the heiress of theBeauforts, Edward IV. was very naturally jealous of the latter. Underthe old law, she stood before him; and it was therefore necessary forhis peace that some bar should be provided to her further advance. Thiswas the more desirable, since she had a son, a clever youth of fifteenyears, concerning whom an anecdote, very awkward for Edward, was incirculation among the populace. Five years[#] before this, Jaspar Tudor,going into Wales, where young Richmond was residing with Lord Pembroke,had brought him back with him, and presented him to King Henry. TheKing was reported to have said, laying his hand on the boy's head as hespoke,--
[#] The qualifying words "the royal dignity excepted," are over-lined,in blacker ink and in a later hand than the original entry.
[#] This is the date usually given; but an earlier one is more likely tobe true, since in 1466 King Henry was a prisoner.
"Much striving there is between us; but this is he to whom both we andour adversaries must submit."
There can be little doubt that Henry regarded his young nephew as hisheir presumptive, a fact which in itself was likely to rouse Edward'sjealousy against the boy: and even now a popular reaction was beginningin favour of the deceased King, which took the form of reverence for thesanctity of his life, and disposition to believe in his powers ofprediction. The last item was rather helped than hindered by hispredisposition to insanity, for in the Middle Ages a man with impairedintellect, in whatever form, was always regarded as one with whom Godheld direct communication. The particular form of madness which hadafflicted King Henry, and which was characterised not by any kind ofpassion or violence, but by silence and dreaminess--an apparent absenceof the soul from the body--was especially looked upon as indicative ofinspiration. King Henry's own account of these attacks of aberrationwas that they were simply a blank to him, and that he had not theslightest idea of any thing that had taken place. It may be that to aman of his tender, sensitive, affectionate nature, placed as he was inthese dreadful circumstances, these seasons, resting both mind and body,were God's greatest mercy. At this early date after Henry's death, astrong wish for his canonisation had already arisen. Had those whoaspired to canonise him after death been a little more friendly to himin life, it would have been a state of things much more to hisadvantage. But this is human nature.
We worry our friend into hisgrave, and then we call him poor dear So-and-so, and wear his portraitin a locket.
All these facts tended to make Edward's throne an uneasy seat, andcaused him to be very anxious to get hold of young Richmond. Hisgrandmother, the Duchess of Somerset, had returned to her allegiance:but his mother, the Countess of Richmond and Wiltshire, made no sign.His uncle Jaspar was watching over the boy; and no sooner did he hearthat Edward was endeavouring to discover him, than he fled with himacross the Channel, and delivered him into the safe keeping of the Dukeof Bretagne.
Seeing that his dangerous rival had escaped his hands, Edward thought itdesirable to assure himself of the fidelity of his nobles to his son.The little child of eight months old was created Prince of Wales, Dukeof Lancaster, and Earl of Cornwall; and on the 3rd of July, in "theParliament Chamber" at Westminster, the Lords Spiritual and Temporalswore allegiance to him.[#] Among those who took this oath is speciallynamed, third on the list, his uncle of Gloucester. An entire householdwas appointed for the baby Prince--Chancellor, Seneschal, andChamberlain.
[#] Close Roll, 11 Edw. IV.
On the 27th of August, a patent of pardon was issued for fiveLancastrians. Three were men of no note. The others were described as"Henry, calling himself Duke of Exeter," and "Jaspar Owen, callinghimself Earl of Pembroke."[#] It was not, however, for three weeksafter this, that Exeter was suffered to leave his prison. He came outto find such a pestilence raging all over the country as had not beenknown in England for many years--scarcely since the "black death" in thereign of Edward III. No borough town in England was free. King andQueen went on pilgrimage to Canterbury as an expiation for the sinswhich had caused it. But, as a set-off to this humiliation, thepersonal expenses of King Edward for this half-year--the bloodiestperiod of his reign--amounted to a sum which no previous King of Englandhad ever approached. The details of this expenditure, from April toSeptember, 1471, will be found in the Appendix. They throw more lighton the King's character than pages of description.
[#] Patent Roll, 11 Edw. IV., Part I.--The scribe probably omitted aword, and meant to describe the son of Owen Tudor as Jaspar ap Owen.
Perhaps, had Edward--and it may be more than he--carefully studied hisaccount-book, it might have given him some intimation of the quarterwherein those sins lay for which he rode to Canterbury to do penance.