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Title: The Last Of The Barons, Volume 11.

Author: Edward Bulwer-Lytton

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BOOK XI.

THE NEW POSITION OF THE KING-MAKER




CHAPTER I.

WHEREIN MASTER ADAM WARNER IS NOTABLY COMMENDED AND ADVANCED--AND
GREATNESS SAYS TO WISDOM, "THY DESTINY BE MINE, AMEN."

The Chronicles inform us, that two or three days after the entrance of
Warwick and Clarence,--namely, on the 6th of October,--those two
leaders, accompanied by the Lords Shrewsbury, Stanley, and a numerous
and noble train, visited the Tower in formal state, and escorted the
king, robed in blue velvet, the crown on his head, to public
thanksgivings at St. Paul's, and thence to the Bishop's Palace, [not
to the Palace at Westminster, as some historians, preferring the
French to the English authorities, have asserted,--that palace was out
of repair] where he continued chiefly to reside.

The proclamation that announced the change of dynasty was received
with apparent acquiescence through the length and breadth of the
kingdom, and the restoration of the Lancastrian line seemed yet the
more firm and solid by the magnanimous forbearance of Warwick and his
councils.  Not one execution that could be termed the act of a private
revenge stained with blood the second reign of the peaceful Henry.
One only head fell on the scaffold,--that of the Earl of Worcester.
[Lord Warwick himself did not sit in judgment on Worcester.  He was
tried and condemned by Lord Oxford.  Though some old offences in his
Irish government were alleged against him, the cruelties which
rendered him so odious were of recent date.  He had (as we before took
occasion to relate) impaled twenty persons after Warwick's flight into
France.  The "Warkworth Chronicle" says, "He was ever afterwardes
greatly behated among the people for this disordynate dethe that he
used, contrary to the laws of the lande."]  This solitary execution,
which was regarded by all classes as a due concession to justice, only
yet more illustrated the general mildness of the new rule.

It was in the earliest days of this sudden restoration that Alwyn
found the occasion to serve his friends in the Tower.  Warwick was
eager to conciliate all the citizens, who, whether frankly or
grudgingly, had supported his cause; and, amongst these, he was soon
informed of the part taken in the Guildhall by the rising goldsmith.
He sent for Alwyn to his house in Warwick-lane, and after
complimenting him on his advance in life and repute, since Nicholas
had waited on him with baubles for his embassy to France, he offered
him the special rank of goldsmith to the king.

The wary, yet honest, trader paused a moment in some embarrassment
before he answered,--

"My good lord, you are noble and gracious eno' to understand and
forgive me when I say that I have had, in the upstart of my fortunes,
the countenance of the late King Edward and his queen; and though the
public weal made me advise my fellow-citizens not to resist your
entry, I would not, at least, have it said that my desertion had
benefited my private fortunes."

Warwick coloured, and his lip curled.  "Tush, man, assume not virtues
which do not exist amongst the sons of trade, nor, much I trow,
amongst the sons of Adam.  I read thy mind.  Thou thinkest it unsafe
openly to commit thyself to the new state.  Fear not,--we are firm."

"Nay, my lord," returned Alwyn, "it is not so.  But there are many
better citizens than I, who remember that the Yorkists were ever
friends to commerce.  And you will find that only by great tenderness
to our crafts you can win the heart of London, though you have passed
its gates."

"I shall be just to all men," answered the earl, dryly; "but if the
flat-caps are false, there are eno' of bonnets of steel to watch over
the Red Rose!"

"You are said, my lord," returned Alwyn, bluntly, "to love the barons,
the knights, the gentry, the yeomen, and the peasants, but to despise
the traders,--I fear me that report in this is true."

"I love not the trader spirit, man,--the spirit that cheats, and
cringes, and haggles, and splits straws for pence, and roasts eggs by
other men's blazing rafters.  Edward of York, forsooth, was a great
trader!  It was a sorry hour for England when such as ye, Nick Alwyn,
left your green villages for loom and booth.  But thus far have I
spoken to you as a brave fellow, and of the north countree.  I have no
time to waste on words.  Wilt thou accept mine offer, or name another
boon in my power?  The man who hath served me wrongs me,--till I have
served him again!"

"My lord, yes; I will name such a boon,--safety, and, if you will,
some grace and honour, to a learned scholar now in the Tower, one Adam
Warner, whom--"

"Now in the Tower!  Adam Warner!  And wanting a friend, I no more an
exile!  That is my affair, not thine.  Grace, honour,--ay, to his
heart's content.  And his noble daughter?  Mort Dieu! she shall choose
her bridegroom among the best of England.  Is she, too, in the
fortress?"

"Yes," said Alwyn, briefly, not liking the last part of the earl's
speech.

The earl rang the bell on his table.  "Send hither Sir Marmaduke
Nevile."

Alwyn saw his former rival enter, and heard the earl commission him to
accompany, with a fitting train, his own litter to the Tower.  "And
you, Alwyn, go with your foster-brother, and pray Master Warner and
his daughter to be my guests for their own pleasure.  Come hither, my
rude Northman,--come.  I see I shall have many secret foes in this
city: wilt not thou at least be Warwick's open friend?"

Alwyn found it hard to resist the charm of the earl's manner and
voice; but, convinced in his own mind that the age was against
Warwick, and that commerce and London would be little advantaged by
the earl's rule, the trading spirit prevailed in his breast.

"Gracious my lord," he said, bending his knee in no servile homage,
"he who befriends my order, commands me."

The proud noble bit his lip, and with a silent wave of his hand
dismissed the foster-brothers.

"Thou art but a churl at best, Nick," said Marmaduke, as the door
closed on the young men.  "Many a baron would have sold his father's
hall for such words from the earl's lip."

"Let barons sell their free conduct for fair words.  I keep myself
unshackled to join that cause which best fills the market and reforms
the law.  But tell me, I pray thee, Sir Knight, what makes Warner and
his daughter so dear to your lord?"

"What! know you not?--and has she not told you?--Ah, what was I about
to say?"

"Can there be a secret between the earl and the scholar?" asked Alwyn,
in wonder.

"If there be, it is our place to respect it," returned the Nevile,
adjusting his manteline; "and now we must command the litter."

In spite of all the more urgent and harassing affairs that pressed
upon him, the earl found an early time to attend to his guests.  His
welcome to Sibyll was more than courteous,--it was paternal.  As she
approached him, timidly and with a downcast eye, he advanced, placed
his hand upon her head,--

"The Holy Mother ever have thee in her charge, child!--This is a
father's kiss, young mistress," added the earl, pressing his lips to
her forehead; "and in this kiss, remember that I pledge to thee care
for thy fortunes, honour for thy name, my heart to do thee service, my
arm to shield from wrong!  Brave scholar, thy lot has become
interwoven with my own.  Prosperous is now my destiny,--my destiny be
thine!  Amen!"

He turned then to Warner, and without further reference to a past
which so galled his proud spirit, he made the scholar explain to him
the nature of his labours.  In the mind of every man who has passed
much of his life in successful action, there is a certain, if we may
so say, untaught mathesis,--but especially among those who have been
bred to the art of war.  A great soldier is a great mechanic, a great
mathematician, though he may know it not; and Warwick, therefore,
better than many a scholar comprehended the principle upon which Adam
founded his experiments.  But though he caught also a glimpse of the
vast results which such experiments in themselves were calculated to
effect, his strong common-sense perceived yet more clearly that the
time was not ripe for such startling inventions.

"My friend," he said, "I comprehend thee passably.  It is clear to me,
that if thou canst succeed in making the elements do the work of man
with equal precision, but with far greater force and rapidity, thou
must multiply eventually, and, by multiplying, cheapen, all the
products of industry; that thou must give to this country the market
of the world; and that thine would be the true alchemy that turneth
all to gold."

"Mighty intellect, thou graspest the truth!" exclaimed Adam.

"But," pursued the earl, with a mixture of prejudice and judgment,
"grant thee success to the full, and thou wouldst turn this bold land
of yeomanry and manhood into one community of griping traders and
sickly artisans.  Mort Dieu! we are over-commerced as it is,--the bow
is already deserted for the ell-measure.  The town populations are
ever the most worthless in war.  England is begirt with mailed foes;
and if by one process she were to accumulate treasure and lose
soldiers, she would but tempt invasion and emasculate defenders.
Verily, I avise and implore thee to turn thy wit and scholarship to a
manlier occupation!"

"My life knows no other object; kill my labour and thou destroyest
me," said Adam, in a voice of gloomy despair.  Alas, it seemed that,
whatever the changes of power, no change could better the hopes of
science in an age of iron!  Warwick was moved.  "Well," he said, after
a pause, "be happy in thine own way.  I will do my best at least to
protect thee.  To-morrow resume thy labours; but this day, at least,
thou must feast with me."

And at his banquet that day, among the knights and barons, and the
abbots and the warriors, Adam sat on the dais near the earl, and
Sibyll at "the mess" of the ladies of the Duchess of Clarence.  And
ere the feast broke up, Warwick thus addressed his company:--

"My friends, though I, and most of us reared in the lap of war, have
little other clerkship than sufficed our bold fathers before us, yet
in the free towns of Italy and the Rhine,--yea, and in France, under
her politic king,--we may see that a day is dawning wherein new
knowledge will teach many marvels to our wiser sons.  Wherefore it is
good that a State should foster men who devote laborious nights and
weary days to the advancement of arts and letters, for the glory of
our common land.  A worthy gentleman, now at this board, hath deeply
meditated contrivances which may make our English artisans excel the
Flemish loons, who now fatten upon our industry to the impoverishment
of the realm.  And, above all, he also purposes to complete an
invention which may render our ship-craft the most notable in Europe.
Of this I say no more at present; but I commend our guest, Master Adam
Warner, to your good service, and pray you especially, worshipful sirs
of the Church now present, to shield his good name from that charge
which most paineth and endangereth honest men.  For ye wot well that
the commons, from ignorance, would impute all to witchcraft that
passeth their understanding.  Not," added the earl, crossing himself,
"that witchcraft does not horribly infect the land, and hath been
largely practised by Jacquetta of Bedford, and her confederates,
Bungey and others.  But our cause needeth no such aid; and all that
Master Warner purposes is in behalf of the people, and in conformity
with Holy Church.  So this wassail to his health and House."

This characteristic address being received with respect, though with
less applause than usually greeted the speeches of the great earl,
Warwick added, in a softer and more earnest tone, "And in the fair
demoiselle, his daughter, I pray you to acknowledge the dear friend of
my beloved lady and child, Anne, Princess of Wales; and for the sake
of her highness and in her name, I arrogate to myself a share with
Master Warner in this young donzell's guardianship and charge.  Know
ye, my gallant gentles and fair squires, that he who can succeed in
achieving, either by leal love or by bold deeds, as best befit a
wooer, the grace of my young ward, shall claim from my hands a
knight's fee, with as much of my best land as a bull's hide can cover;
and when heaven shall grant safe passage to the Princess Anne and her
noble spouse, we will hold at Smithfield a tourney in honor of Saint
George and our ladies, wherein, pardie, I myself would be sorely
tempted to provoke my jealous countess, and break a lance for the fame
of the demoiselle whose fair face is married to a noble heart."

That evening, in the galliard, many an admiring eye turned to Sibyll,
and many a young gallant, recalling the earl's words, sighed to win
her grace.  There had been a time when such honour and such homage
would have, indeed, been welcome; but now ONE saw them not, and they
were valueless.  All that, in her earlier girlhood, Sibyll's ambition
had coveted, when musing on the brilliant world, seemed now well-nigh
fulfilled,--her father protected by the first noble of the land, and
that not with the degrading condescension of the Duchess of Bedford,
but as Power alone should protect Genius, honoured while it honours;
her gentle birth recognized; her position elevated; fair fortunes
smiling after such rude trials; and all won without servility or
abasement.  But her ambition having once exhausted itself in a diviner
passion, all excitement seemed poor and spiritless compared to the
lonely waiting at the humble farm for the voice and step of Hastings.
Nay, but for her father's sake, she could almost have loathed the
pleasure and the pomp, and the admiration and the homage, which seemed
to insult the reverses of the wandering exile.

The earl had designed to place Sibyll among Isabel's ladies, but the
haughty air of the duchess chilled the poor girl; and pleading the
excuse that her father's health required her constant attendance, she
prayed permission to rest with Warner wherever he might be lodged.
Adam himself, now that the Duchess of Bedford and Friar Bungey were no
longer in the Tower, entreated permission to return to the place where
he had worked the most successfully upon the beloved Eureka; and, as
the Tower seemed a safer residence than any private home could be,
from popular prejudice and assault, Warwick kindly offered apartments,
far more commodious than they had yet occupied, to be appropriated to
the father and daughter.  Several attendants were assigned to them,
and never was man of letters or science more honoured now than the
poor scholar who, till then, had been so persecuted and despised.

Who shall tell Adam's serene delight?  Alchemy and astrology at rest,
no imperious duchess, no hateful Bungey, his free mind left to its
congenial labours!  And Sibyll, when they met, strove to wear a
cheerful brow, praying him only never to speak to her of Hastings.
The good old man, relapsing into his wonted mechanical existence,
hoped she had forgotten a girl's evanescent fancy.

But the peculiar distinction showed by the earl to Warner confirmed
the reports circulated by Bungey,--"that he was, indeed, a fearful
nigromancer, who had much helped the earl in his emprise."  The earl's
address to his guests in behalf both of Warner and Sibyll, the high
state accorded to the student, reached even the Sanctuary; for the
fugitives there easily contrived to learn all the gossip of the city.
Judge of the effect the tale produced upon the envious Bungey! judge
of the representations it enabled him to make to the credulous
duchess!  It was clear now to Jacquetta as the sun in noonday that
Warwick rewarded the evil-predicting astrologer for much dark and
secret service, which Bungey, had she listened to him, might have
frustrated; and she promised the friar that, if ever again she had the
power, Warner and the Eureka should be placed at his sole mercy and
discretion.

The friar himself, however, growing very weary of the dulness of the
Sanctuary, and covetous of the advantages enjoyed by Adam, began to
meditate acquiescence in the fashion of the day, and a transfer of his
allegiance to the party in power.  Emboldened by the clemency of the
victors, learning that no rewards for his own apprehension had been
offered, hoping that the stout earl would forget or forgive the old
offence of the waxen effigies, and aware of the comparative security
his friar's gown and cowl afforded him, he resolved one day to venture
forth from his retreat.  He even flattered himself that he could
cajole Adam--whom he really believed the possessor of some high and
weird secrets, but whom otherwise he despised as a very weak creature
--into forgiving his past brutalities, and soliciting the earl to take
him into favour.

At dusk, then, and by the aid of one of the subalterns of the Tower,
whom he had formerly made his friend, the friar got admittance into
Warner's chamber.  Now it so chanced that Adam, having his own
superstitions, had lately taken it into his head that all the various
disasters which had befallen the Eureka, together with all the little
blemishes and defects that yet marred its construction, were owing to
the want of the diamond bathed in the mystic moonbeams, which his
German authority had long so emphatically prescribed; and now that a
monthly stipend far exceeding his wants was at his disposal, and that
it became him to do all possible honour to the earl's patronage, he
resolved that the diamond should be no longer absent from the
operations it was to influence.  He obtained one of passable size and
sparkle, exposed it the due number of nights to the new moon, and had
already prepared its place in the Eureka, and was contemplating it
with solemn joy, when Bungey entered.

"Mighty brother," said the friar, bowing to the ground, "be merciful
as thou art strong!  Verily thou hast proved thyself the magician, and
I but a poor wretch in comparison,--for lo! thou art rich and
honoured, and I poor and proscribed.  Deign to forgive thine enemy,
and take him as thy slave by right of conquest. Oh, Cogsbones! oh,
Gemini! what a jewel thou hast got!"

"Depart! thou disturbest me," said Adam, oblivious, in his absorption,
of the exact reasons for his repugnance, but feeling indistinctly that
something very loathsome and hateful was at his elbow; and, as he
spoke, he fitted the diamond into its socket.

"What! a jewel, a diamond--in the--in the--in the--MECHANICAL!"
faltered the friar, in profound astonishment, his mouth watering at
the sight.  If the Eureka were to be envied before, how much more
enviable now.  "If ever I get thee again, O ugly talisman," he
muttered to himself, "I shall know where to look for something better
than a pot to boil eggs."

"Depart, I say!" repeated Adam, turning round at last, and shuddering
as he now clearly recognized the friar, and recalled his malignity.
"Darest thou molest me still?"

The friar abjectly fell on his knees, and, after a long exordium of
penitent excuses, entreated the scholar to intercede in his favour
with the earl.

"I want not all thy honours and advancement, great Adam, I want only
to serve thee, trim thy furnace, and hand thee thy tools, and work out
my apprenticeship under thee, master.  As for the earl, he will listen
to thee, I know, if thou tellest him that I had the trust of his foe,
the duchess; that I can give him all her closest secrets; that I--"

"Avaunt!  Thou art worse than I deemed thee, wretch!  Cruel and
ignorant I knew thee,--and now mean and perfidious!  I work with thee!
I commend to the earl a living disgrace to the name of scholar!
Never!  If thou wantest bread and alms, those I can give, as a
Christian gives to want; but trust and honour, and learned repute and
noble toils, those are not for the impostor and the traitor.  There,
there, there!"  And he ran to the closet, took out a handful of small
coins, thrust them into the friar's hands, and, pushing him to the
door, called to the servants to see his visitor to the gates.  The
friar turned round with a scowl.  He did not dare to utter a threat,
but he vowed a vow in his soul, and went his way.

It chanced, some days after this, that Adam, in one of his musing
rambles about the precincts of the Tower, which (since it was not then
inhabited as a palace) was all free to his rare and desultory
wanderings, came by some workmen employed in repairing a bombard; and
as whatever was of mechanical art always woke his interest, he paused,
and pointed out to them a very simple improvement which would
necessarily tend to make the balls go farther and more direct to their
object.  The principal workman, struck with his remarks, ran to one of
the officers of the Tower; the officer came to listen to the learned
man, and then went to the earl of Warwick to declare that Master
Warner had the most wonderful comprehension of military mechanism.
The earl sent for Warner, seized at once upon the very simple truth he
suggested as to the proper width of the bore, and holding him in
higher esteem than he had ever done before, placed some new cannon he
was constructing under his superintendence.  As this care occupied but
little of his time, Warner was glad to show gratitude to the earl,
looking upon the destructive engines as mechanical contrivances, and
wholly unconscious of the new terror he gave to his name.

Soon did the indignant and conscience-stricken Duchess of Bedford
hear, in the Sanctuary, that the fell wizard she had saved from the
clutches of Bungey was preparing the most dreadful, infallible, and
murtherous instruments of war against the possible return of her son-
in-law!

Leaving Adam to his dreams, and his toils, and his horrible
reputation, we return to the world upon the surface,--the Life of
Action.




CHAPTER II.

THE PROSPERITY OF THE OUTER SHOW--THE CARES OF THE INNER MAN.

The position of the king-maker was, to a superficial observer, such as
might gratify to the utmost the ambition and the pride of man.  He had
driven from the land one of the most gorgeous princes and one of the
boldest warriors that ever sat upon a throne.  He had changed a
dynasty without a blow.  In the alliances of his daughters, whatever
chanced, it seemed certain that by one or the other his posterity
would be the kings of England.

The easiness of his victory appeared to prove of itself that the
hearts of the people were with him; and the parliament that he
hastened to summon confirmed by law the revolution achieved by a
bloodless sword.  [Lingard, Hume, etc.]

Nor was there aught abroad which menaced disturbance to the peace at
home.  Letters from the Countess of Warwick and Lady Anne announced
their triumphant entry at Paris, where Margaret of Anjou was received
with honours never before rendered but to a queen of France.

A solemn embassy, meanwhile, was preparing to proceed from Paris to
London to congratulate Henry, and establish a permanent treaty of
peace and commerce, [Rymer, xi., 682-690] while Charles of Burgundy
himself (the only ally left to Edward) supplicated for the continuance
of amicable relations with England, stating that they were formed with
the country, not with any special person who might wear the crown;
[Hume, Comines] and forbade his subjects by proclamation to join any
enterprise for the recovery of his throne which Edward might attempt.

The conduct of Warwick, whom the parliament had declared, conjointly
with Clarence, protector of the realm during the minority of the
Prince of Wales, was worthy of the triumph he had obtained.  He
exhibited now a greater genius for government than he had yet
displayed; for all his passions were nerved to the utmost, to
consummate his victory and sharpen his faculties.  He united mildness
towards the defeated faction with a firmness which repelled all
attempt at insurrection.  [Habington.]

In contrast to the splendour that surrounded his daughter Anne, all
accounts spoke of the humiliation to which Charles subjected the
exiled king; and in the Sanctuary, amidst homicides and felons, the
wife of the earl's defeated foe gave birth to a male child, baptized
and christened (says the chronicler) "as the son of a common man."
For the Avenger and his children were regal authority and gorgeous
pomp, for the fugitive and his offspring were the bread of the exile,
or the refuge of the outlaw.

But still the earl's prosperity was hollow, the statue of brass stood
on limbs of clay.  The position of a man with the name of subject, but
the authority of king, was an unpopular anomaly in England.  In the
principal trading-towns had been long growing up that animosity
towards the aristocracy of which Henry VII. availed himself to raise a
despotism (and which, even in our day, causes the main disputes of
faction); but the recent revolution was one in which the towns had had
no share.  It was a revolution made by the representative of the
barons and his followers.  It was connected with no advancement of the
middle class; it seemed to the men of commerce but the violence of a
turbulent and disappointed nobility.  The very name given to Warwick's
supporters was unpopular in the towns.  They were not called the
Lancastrians, or the friends of King Henry,--they were styled then,
and still are so, by the old chronicler, "The Lord's Party."  Most of
whatever was still feudal--the haughtiest of the magnates, the rudest
of the yeomanry, the most warlike of the knights--gave to Warwick the
sanction of their allegiance; and this sanction was displeasing to the
intelligence of the towns.

Classes in all times have a keen instinct of their own class-
interests.  The revolution which the earl had effected was the triumph
of aristocracy; its natural results would tend to strengthen certainly
the moral, and probably the constitutional, power already possessed by
that martial order.  The new parliament was their creature, Henry VI.
was a cipher, his son a boy with unknown character, and according to
vulgar scandal, of doubtful legitimacy, seemingly bound hand and foot
in the trammels of the archbaron's mighty House; the earl himself had
never scrupled to evince a distaste to the change in society which was
slowly converting an agricultural into a trading population.

It may be observed, too, that a middle class as rarely unites itself
with the idols of the populace as with the chiefs of a seignorie.
The brute attachment of the peasants and the mobs to the gorgeous and
lavish earl seemed to the burgesses the sign of a barbaric clanship,
opposed to that advance in civilization towards which they half
unconsciously struggled.

And here we must rapidly glance at what, as far as a statesman may
foresee, would have been the probable result of Warwick's ascendancy,
if durable and effectual.  If attached, by prejudice and birth, to the
aristocracy, he was yet by reputation and habit attached also to the
popular party,--that party more popular than the middle class,--the
majority, the masses.  His whole life had been one struggle against
despotism in the crown.  Though far from entertaining such schemes as
in similar circumstances might have occurred to the deep sagacity of
an Italian patrician for the interest of his order, no doubt his
policy would have tended to this one aim,--the limitation of the
monarchy by the strength of an aristocracy endeared to the
agricultural population, owing to that population its own powers of
defence, with the wants and grievances of that population thoroughly
familiar, and willing to satisfy the one and redress the other: in
short, the great baron would have secured and promoted liberty
according to the notions of a seigneur and a Norman, by making the
king but the first nobleman of the realm.  Had the policy lasted long
enough to succeed, the subsequent despotism, which changed a limited
into an absolute monarchy under the Tudors, would have been prevented,
with all the sanguinary reaction in which the Stuarts were the
sufferers.  The earl's family, and his own "large father-like heart,"
had ever been opposed to religious persecution; and timely toleration
to the Lollards might have prevented the long-delayed revenge of their
posterity, the Puritans.  Gradually, perhaps, might the system he
represented (of the whole consequences of which he was unconscious)
have changed monarchic into aristocratic government, resting, however,
upon broad and popular institutions; but no doubt, also, the middle,
or rather the commercial class, with all the blessings that attend
their power, would have risen much more slowly than when made as they
were already, partially under Edward IV., and more systematically
under Henry VIL, the instrument for destroying feudal aristocracy, and
thereby establishing for a long and fearful interval the arbitrary
rule of the single tyrant.  Warwick's dislike to the commercial biases
of Edward was, in fact, not a patrician prejudice alone.  It required
no great sagacity to perceive that Edward had designed to raise up a
class that, though powerful when employed against the barons, would
long be impotent against the encroachments of the crown; and the earl
viewed that class not only as foes to his own order, but as tools for
the destruction of the ancient liberties.

Without presuming to decide which policy, upon the whole, would have
been the happier for England,--the one that based a despotism on the
middle class, or the one that founded an aristocracy upon popular
affection,--it was clear to the more enlightened burgesses of the
great towns, that between Edward of York and the Earl of Warwick a
vast principle was at stake, and the commercial king seemed to them a
more natural ally than the feudal baron; and equally clear it is to
us, now, that the true spirit of the age fought for the false Edward,
and against the honest earl.

Warwick did not, however, apprehend any serious results from the
passive distaste of the trading towns.  His martial spirit led him to
despise the least martial part of the population.  He knew that the
towns would not rise in arms so long as their charters were respected;
and that slow, undermining hostility which exists only in opinion, his
intellect, so vigorous in immediate dangers, was not far-sighted
enough to comprehend.  More direct cause for apprehension would there
have been to a suspicious mind in the demeanour of the earl's
colleague in the Protectorate,--the Duke of Clarence.  It was
obviously Warwick's policy to satisfy this weak but ambitious person.
The duke was, as before agreed, declared heir to the vast possessions
of the House of York.  He was invested with the Lieutenancy of
Ireland, but delayed his departure to his government till the arrival
of the Prince of Wales.  The personal honours accorded him in the mean
while were those due to a sovereign; but still the duke's brow was
moody, though, if the earl noticed it, Clarence rallied into seeming
cheerfulness, and reiterated pledges of faith and friendship.

The manner of Isabel to her father was varying and uncertain: at one
time hard and cold; at another, as if in the reaction of secret
remorse, she would throw herself into his arms, and pray him,
weepingly, to forgive her wayward humours.  But the curse of the
earl's position was that which he had foreseen before quitting
Amboise, and which, more or less, attends upon those who from whatever
cause suddenly desert the party with which all their associations,
whether of fame or friendship, have been interwoven.  His vengeance
against one had comprehended many still dear to him.  He was not only
separated from his old companions in arms, but he had driven their
most eminent into exile.  He stood alone amongst men whom the habits
of an active life had indissolubly connected, in his mind, with
recollections of wrath and wrong.  Amidst that princely company which
begirt him, he hailed no familiar face.  Even many of those who most
detested Edward (or rather the Woodvilles) recoiled from so startling
a desertion to the Lancastrian foe.  It was a heavy blow to a heart
already bruised and sore, when the fiery Raoul de Fulke, who had so
idolized Warwick, that, despite his own high lineage, he had worn his
badge upon his breast, sought him at the dead of night, and thus
said,--

"Lord of Salisbury and Warwick, I once offered to serve thee as a
vassal, if thou wouldst wrestle with lewd Edward for the crown which
only a manly brow should wear; and hadst thou now returned, as Henry
of Lancaster returned of old, to gripe the sceptre of the Norman with
a conqueror's hand, I had been the first to cry, 'Long live King
Richard, namesake and emulator of Coeur de Lion!'  But to place upon
the throne yon monk-puppet, and to call on brave hearts to worship a
patterer of aves and a counter of beads; to fix the succession of
England in the adulterous offspring of Margaret, the butcher-harlot
[One of the greatest obstacles to the cause of the Red Rose was the
popular belief that the young prince was not Henry's son.  Had that
belief not been widely spread and firmly maintained, the lords who
arbitrated between Henry VI. and Richard Duke of York, in October,
1460, could scarcely have come to the resolution to set aside the
Prince of Wales altogether, to accord Henry the crown for his life,
and declare the Duke of York his heir.  Ten years previously (in
November, 1450), before the young prince was born or thought of, and
the proposition was really just and reasonable, it was moved in the
House of Commons to declare Richard Duke of York next heir to Henry;
which, at least, by birthright, he certainly was; but the motion met
with little favour and the mover was sent to the Tower.]; to give the
power of the realm to the men against whom thou thyself hast often led
me to strive with lance and battle-axe, is to open a path which leads
but to dishonour, and thither Raoul de Fulke follows not even the
steps of the Lord of Warwick.  Interrupt me not! speak not!  As thou
to Edward, so I now to thee, forswear allegiance, and I bid thee
farewell forever!"

"I pardon thee," answered Warwick; "and if ever thou art wronged as I
have been, thy heart will avenge me.  Go!"  But when this haughty
visitor was gone, the earl covered his face with his hands, and
groaned aloud.  A defection perhaps even more severely felt came next.
Katherine de Bonville had been the earl's favourite sister; he wrote
to her at the convent to which she had retired, praying her
affectionately to come to London, "and cheer his vexed spirit, and
learn the true cause, not to be told by letter, which had moved him to
things once farthest from his thought."  The messenger came back, the
letter unopened; for Katherine had left the convent, and fled into
Burgundy, distrustful, as it seemed to Warwick, of her own brother.
The nature of this lion-hearted man was, as we have seen, singularly
kindly, frank, and affectionate; and now in the most critical, the
most anxious, the most tortured period of his life, confidence and
affection were forbidden to him.  What had he not given for one hour
of the soothing company of his wife, the only being in the world to
whom his pride could have communicated the grief of his heart, or the
doubts of his conscience!  Alas! never on earth should he hear that
soft voice again!  Anne, too, the gentle, childlike Anne, was afar;
but she was happy,--a basker in the brief sunshine, and blind to the
darkening clouds.  His elder child, with her changeful moods, added
but to his disquiet and unhappiness.  Next to Edward, Warwick of all
the House of York had loved Clarence, though a closer and more
domestic intimacy had weakened the affection by lessening the esteem.
But looking further into the future, he now saw in this alliance the
seeds of many a rankling sorrow.  The nearer Anne and her spouse to
power and fame, the more bitter the jealousy of Clarence and his wife.
Thus, in the very connections which seemed most to strengthen his
House, lay all which must destroy the hallowed unity and peace of
family and home.

The Archbishop of York had prudently taken no part whatever in the
measures that had changed the dynasty.  He came now to reap the
fruits; did homage to Henry VI., received the Chancellor's seals, and
recommenced intrigues for the Cardinal's hat.  But between the bold
warrior and the wily priest there could be but little of the
endearment of brotherly confidence and love.  With Montagu alone could
the earl confer in cordiality and unreserve; and their similar
position, and certain points of agreement in their characters, now
more clearly brought out and manifest, served to make their friendship
for each other firmer and more tender, in the estrangement of all
other ties, than ever it had been before.  But the marquis was soon
compelled to depart from London, to his post as warden of the northern
marches; for Warwick had not the rash presumption of Edward, and
neglected no precaution against the return of the dethroned king.

So there, alone, in pomp and in power, vengeance consummated, ambition
gratified, but love denied; with an aching heart and a fearless front;
amidst old foes made prosperous, and old friends alienated and ruined,
stood the king-maker! and, day by day, the untimely streaks of gray
showed more and more amidst the raven curls of the strong man.




CHAPTER III.

FURTHER VIEWS INTO THE HEART OF MAN, AND THE CONDITIONS OF POWER.

But woe to any man who is called to power with exaggerated
expectations of his ability to do good!  Woe to the man whom the
populace have esteemed a popular champion, and who is suddenly made
the guardian of law!  The Commons of England had not bewailed the
exile of the good earl simply for love of his groaning table and
admiration of his huge battle-axe,--it was not merely either in pity,
or from fame, that his "name had sounded in every song," and that, to
use the strong expression of the chronicler, the people "judged that
the sun was clearly taken from the world when he was absent."

They knew him as one who had ever sought to correct the abuses of
power, to repair the wrongs of the poor; who even in war had forbidden
his knights to slay the common men.  He was regarded, therefore, as a
reformer; and wonderful indeed were the things, proportioned to his
fame and his popularity, which he was expected to accomplish; and his
thorough knowledge of the English character, and experience of every
class,--especially the lowest as the highest,--conjoined with the
vigour of his robust understanding, unquestionably enabled him from
the very first to put a stop to the lawless violences which had
disgraced the rule of Edward.  The infamous spoliations of the royal
purveyors ceased; the robber-like excesses of the ruder barons and
gentry were severely punished; the country felt that a strong hand
held the reins of power.  But what is justice when men ask miracles?
The peasant and mechanic were astonished that wages were not doubled,
that bread was not to be had for asking, that the disparities of life
remained the same,--the rich still rich, the poor still poor.  In the
first days of the revolution, Sir Geoffrey Gates, the freebooter,
little comprehending the earl's merciful policy, and anxious naturally
to turn a victory into its accustomed fruit of rapine and pillage,
placed himself at the head of an armed mob, marched from Kent to the
suburbs of London, and, joined by some of the miscreants from the
different Sanctuaries, burned and pillaged, ravished and slew.  The
earl quelled this insurrection with spirit and ease; [Hall, Habington]
and great was the praise he received thereby.  But all-pervading is
the sympathy the poor feel for the poor.  And when even the refuse of
the populace once felt the sword of Warwick, some portion of the
popular enthusiasm must have silently deserted him.

Robert Hilyard, who had borne so large a share in the restoration of
the Lancastrians, now fixed his home in the metropolis; and anxious as
ever to turn the current to the popular profit, he saw with rage and
disappointment that as yet no party but the nobles had really
triumphed.  He had longed to achieve a revolution that might be called
the People's; and he had abetted one that was called "the Lord's
doing."  The affection he had felt for Warwick arose principally from
his regarding him as an instrument to prepare society for the more
democratic changes he panted to effect; and, lo! he himself had been
the instrument to strengthen the aristocracy.  Society resettled after
the storm, the noble retained his armies, the demagogue had lost his
mobs!  Although through England were scattered the principles which
were ultimately to destroy feudalism, to humble the fierce barons into
silken lords, to reform the Church, to ripen into a commonwealth
through the representative system,--the principles were but in the
germ; and when Hilyard mingled with the traders or the artisans of
London, and sought to form a party which might comprehend something of
steady policy and definite object, he found himself regarded as a
visionary fanatic by some, as a dangerous dare-devil by the rest.
Strange to say, Warwick was the only man who listened to him with
attention; the man behind the age and the man before the age ever have
some inch of ground in common both desired to increase liberty; both
honestly and ardently loved the masses; but each in the spirit of his
order,--Warwick defended freedom as against the throne, Hilyard as
against the barons.  Still, notwithstanding their differences, each
was so convinced of the integrity of the other,--that it wanted only
a foe in the field to unite them as before.  The natural ally of the
popular baron was the leader of the populace.

Some minor, but still serious, griefs added to the embarrassment of
the earl's position.  Margaret's jealousy had bound him to defer all
rewards to lords and others, and encumbered with a provisional council
all great acts of government, all grants of offices, lands, or
benefits.  [Sharon Turner]  And who knows not the expectations of men
after a successful revolution?  The royal exchequer was so empty that
even the ordinary household was suspended; [See Ellis: Original
Letters from Harleian Manuscripts, second series, vol. i., letter 42.]
and as ready money was then prodigiously scarce, the mighty revenues
of Warwick barely sufficed to pay the expenses of the expedition
which, at his own cost, had restored the Lancastrian line.  Hard
position, both to generosity and to prudence, to put off and apologize
to just claims and valiant service!

With intense, wearying, tortured anxiety, did the earl await the
coming of Margaret and her son.  The conditions imposed on him in
their absence crippled all his resources.  Several even of the
Lancastrian nobles held aloof, while they saw no authority but
Warwick's.  Above all, he relied upon the effect that the young Prince
of Wales's presence, his beauty, his graciousness, his frank spirit--
mild as his fathers, bold as his grandsire's--would create upon all
that inert and neutral mass of the public, the affection of which,
once gained, makes the solid strength of a government.  The very
appearance of that prince would at once dispel the slander on his
birth.  His resemblance to his heroic grandfather would suffice to win
him all the hearts by which, in absence, he was regarded as a
stranger, a dubious alien.  How often did the earl groan forth, "If
the prince were but here, all were won!"  Henry was worse than a
cipher,--he was an eternal embarrassment.  His good intentions, his
scrupulous piety, made him ever ready to interfere.  The Church had
got hold of him already, and prompted him to issue proclamations
against the disguised Lollards, which would have lost him at one
stroke half his subjects.  This Warwick prevented, to the great
discontent of the honest prince.  The moment required all the prestige
that an imposing presence and a splendid court could bestow.  And
Henry, glad of the poverty of his exchequer, deemed it a sin to make a
parade of earthly glory.  "Heaven will punish me again," said he,
meekly, "if, just delivered from a dungeon, I gild my unworthy self
with all the vanities of perishable power."

There was not a department which the chill of this poor king's virtue
did not somewhat benumb.  The gay youths, who had revelled in the
alluring court of Edward IV., heard, with disdainful mockery, the
grave lectures of Henry on the length of their lovelocks and the
beakers of their shoes.  The brave warriors presented to him for
praise were entertained with homilies on the guilt of war.  Even poor
Adam was molested and invaded by Henry's pious apprehensions that he
was seeking, by vain knowledge, to be superior to the will of
Providence.

Yet, albeit perpetually irritating and chafing the impetuous spirit of
the earl, the earl, strange to say, loved the king more and more.
This perfect innocence, this absence from guile and self-seeking, in
the midst of an age never excelled for fraud, falsehood, and selfish
simulation, moved Warwick's admiration as well as pity.  Whatever
contrasted Edward IV. had a charm for him.  He schooled his hot
temper, and softened his deep voice, in that holy presence; and the
intimate persuasion of the hollowness of all worldly greatness, which
worldly greatness itself had forced upon the earl's mind, made
something congenial between the meek saint and the fiery warrior.  For
the hundredth time groaned Warwick, as he quitted Henry's presence,--

"Would that my gallant son-in-law were come!  His spirit will soon
learn how to govern; then Warwick may be needed no more!  I am weary,
sore weary of the task of ruling men!"

"Holy Saint Thomas!" bluntly exclaimed Marmaduke, to whom these sad
words were said,--"whenever you visit the king you come back--pardon
me, my lord--half unmanned.  He would make a monk of you!"

"Ah," said Warwick, thoughtfully, "there have been greater marvels
than that.  Our boldest fathers often died the meekest shavelings.
An' I had ruled this realm as long as Henry,--nay, an' this same life
I lead now were to continue two years, with its broil and fever,--I
could well conceive the sweetness of the cloister and repose.  How
sets the wind?  Against them still! against them still! I cannot bear
this suspense!"

The winds had ever seemed malignant to Margaret of Anjou, but never
more than now.  So long a continuance of stormy and adverse weather
was never known in the memory of man; and we believe that it has
scarcely its parallel in history.

The earl's promise to restore King Henry was fulfilled in October.
From November to the following April, Margaret, with the young and
royal pair, and the Countess of Warwick, lay at the seaside, waiting
for a wind.  [Fabyan, 502.]  Thrice, in defiance of all warnings from
the mariners of Harfleur, did she put to sea, and thrice was she
driven back on the coast of Normandy, her ships much damaged.  Her
friends protested that this malice of the elements was caused by
sorcery, [Hall, Warkworth Chronicle]--a belief which gained ground in
England, exhilarated the Duchess of Bedford, and gave new fame to
Bungey, who arrogated all the merit, and whose weather wisdom, indeed,
had here borne out his predictions.  Many besought Margaret not to
tempt Providence, not to trust the sea; but the queen was firm to her
purpose, and her son laughed at omens,--yet still the vessels could
only leave the harbour to be driven back upon the land.

Day after day the first question of Warwick, when the sun rose, was,
"How sets the wind?"  Night after night, ere he retired to rest, "Ill
sets the wind!" sighed the earl.  The gales that forbade the coming of
the royal party sped to the unwilling lingerers courier after courier,
envoy after envoy; and at length Warwick, unable to bear the sickening
suspense at distance, went himself to Dover [Hall], and from its white
cliffs looked, hour by hour, for the sails which were to bear
"Lancaster and its fortunes."  The actual watch grew more intolerable
than the distant expectation, and the earl sorrowfully departed to his
castle of Warwick, at which Isabel and Clarence then were.  Alas!
where the old smile of home?




CHAPTER IV.

THE RETURN OF EDWARD OF YORK.

And the winds still blew, and the storm was on the tide, and Margaret
came not when, in the gusty month of March, the fishermen of the
Humber beheld a single ship, without flag or pennon, and sorely
stripped and rivelled by adverse blasts, gallantly struggling towards
the shore.  The vessel was not of English build, and resembled in its
bulk and fashion those employed by the Easterlings in their trade,
half merchantman, half war-ship.

The villagers of Ravenspur,--the creek of which the vessel now rapidly
made to,--imagining that it was some trading craft in distress,
grouped round the banks, and some put out their boats: But the vessel
held on its way, and, as the water was swelled by the tide, and
unusually deep, silently cast anchor close ashore, a quarter of a mile
from the crowd.

The first who leaped on land was a knight of lofty stature, and in
complete armour richly inlaid with gold arabesques.  To him succeeded
another, also in mail, and, though well guilt and fair proportioned,
of less imposing presence.  And then, one by one, the womb of the dark
ship gave forth a number of armed soldiers, infinitely larger than it
could have been supposed to contain, till the knight who first landed
stood the centre of a group of five hundred men.  Then were lowered
from the vessel, barbed and caparisoned, some five score horses; and,
finally, the sailors and rowers, armed but with steel caps and short
swords, came on shore, till not a man was left on board.

"Now praise," said the chief knight, "to God and Saint George that we
have escaped the water! and not with invisible winds but with bodily
foes must our war be waged."

"Beau sire," cried one knight, who had debarked immediately after the
speaker, and who seemed, from his bearing and equipment, of higher
rank than those that followed, "beau sire, this is a slight army to
reconquer a king's realm!  Pray Heaven that our bold companions have
also escaped the deep!"

"Why, verily, we are not eno' at the best, to spare one man," said the
chief knight, gayly, "but, lo! we are not without welcomers."  And he
pointed to the crowd of villagers who now slowly neared the warlike
group, but halting at a little distance, continued to gaze at them in
some anxiety and alarm.

"Ho there! good fellows!" cried the leader, striding towards the
throng, "what name give you to this village?"

"Ravenspur, please your worship," answered one of the peasants.

"Ravenspur, hear you that, lords and friends?  Accept the omen!  On
this spot landed from exile Henry of Bolingbroke, known afterwards in
our annals as King Henry IV.!  Bare is the soil of corn and of trees,
--it disdains meaner fruit; it grows kings!  Hark!"  The sound of a
bugle was heard at a little distance, and in a few moments a troop of
about a hundred men were seen rising above an undulation in the
ground, and as the two bands recognized each other, a shout of joy was
given and returned.

As this new reinforcement advanced, the peasantry and fishermen,
attracted by curiosity and encouraged by the peaceable demeanour of
the debarkers, drew nearer, and mingled with the first comers.

"What manner of men be ye, and what want ye?" asked one of the
bystanders, who seemed of better nurturing than the rest, and who,
indeed, was a small franklin.

No answer was returned by those he more immediately addressed; but the
chief knight heard the question, and suddenly unbuckling his helmet,
and giving it to one of those beside him, he turned to the crowd a
countenance of singular beauty at once animated and majestic, and said
in a loud voice, "We are Englishmen, like you, and we come here to
claim our rights.  Ye seem tall fellows and honest.--Standard bearer,
unfurl our flag!"  And as the ensign suddenly displayed the device of
a sun in a field azure, the chief continued, "March under this banner,
and for every day ye serve, ye shall have a month's hire."

"Marry!" quoth the franklin, with a suspicious, sinister look, "these
be big words.  And who are you, Sir Knight, who would levy men in King
Henry's kingdom?"

"Your knees, fellows!" cried the second knight.  "Behold your true
liege and suzerain, Edward IV.!  Long live King Edward!"

The soldiers caught up the cry, and it was re-echoed lustily by the
smaller detachment that now reached the spot; but no answer came from
the crowd.  They looked at each other in dismay, and retreated rapidly
from their place amongst the troops.  In fact, the whole of the
neighbouring district was devoted to Warwick, and many of the
peasantry about had joined the former rising under Sir John Coniers.
The franklin alone retreated not with the rest; he was a bluff, plain,
bold fellow, with good English blood in his veins.  And when the shout
ceased, he said shortly, "We hereabouts know no king but King Henry.
We fear you would impose upon us.  We cannot believe that a great lord
like him you call Edward IV. would land with a handful of men to
encounter the armies of Lord Warwick.  We forewarn you to get into
your ship and go back as fast as ye came, for the stomach of England
is sick of brawls and blows; and what ye devise is treason!"

Forth from the new detachment stepped a youth of small stature, not in
armour, and with many a weather-stain on his gorgeous dress.  He laid
his hand upon the franklin's shoulder.  "Honest and plain-dealing
fellow," said he, "you are right: pardon the foolish outburst of these
brave men, who cannot forget as yet that their chief has worn the
crown.  We come back not to disturb this realm, nor to effect aught
against King Henry, whom the saints have favoured.  No, by Saint Paul,
we come but back to claim our lands unjustly forfeit.  My noble
brother here is not king of England, since the people will it not, but
he is Duke of York, and he will be contented if assured of the style
and lands our father left him.  For me, called Richard of Gloucester,
I ask nothing but leave to spend my manhood where I have spent my
youth, under the eyes of my renowned godfather, Richard Nevile, Earl
of Warwick.  So report of us.  Whither leads yon road?"

"To York," said the franklin, softened, despite his judgment, by the
irresistible suavity of the voice that addressed him.

"Thither will we go, my lord duke and brother, with your leave," said
Prince Richard, "peaceably and as petitioners.  God save ye, friends
and countrymen, pray for us, that King Henry and the parliament may do
us justice.  We are not over rich now, but better times may come.
Largess!" and filling both hands with coins from his gipsire, he
tossed the bounty among the peasants.

"Mille tonnere! What means he with this humble talk of King Henry and
the parliament?" whispered Edward to the Lord Say, while the crowd
scrambled for the largess, and Richard smilingly mingled amongst them,
and conferred with the franklin.

"Let him alone, I pray you, my liege; I guess his wise design.  And
now for our ships.  What orders for the master?"

"For the other vessels, let them sail or anchor as they list. But for
the bark that has borne Edward king of England to the land of his
ancestors there is no return!"

The royal adventurer then beckoned the Flemish master of the ship,
who, with every sailor aboard, had debarked, and the loose dresses of
the mariners made a strong contrast to the mail of the warriors with
whom they mingled.

"Friend," said Edward, in French, "thou hast said that thou wilt share
my fortunes, and that thy good fellows are no less free of courage and
leal in trust."

"It is so, sire.  Not a man who has gazed on thy face, and heard thy
voice, but longs to serve one on whose brow Nature has written king."

"And trust me," said Edward, "no prince of my blood shall be dearer to
me than you and yours, my friends in danger and in need.  And sith it
be so, the ship that hath borne such hearts and such hopes should, in
sooth, know no meaner freight.  Is all prepared?"

"Yes, sire, as you ordered.  The train is laid for the brennen."

"Up, then, with the fiery signal, and let it tell, from cliff to
cliff, from town to town, that Edward the Plantagenet, once returned
to England, leaves it but for the grave!"

The master bowed, and smiled grimly.  The sailors, who had been
prepared for the burning, arranged before between the master and the
prince, and whose careless hearts Edward had thoroughly won to his
person and his cause, followed the former towards the ship, and stood
silently grouped around the shore.  The soldiers, less informed, gazed
idly on, and Richard now regained Edward's side.

"Reflect," he said, as he drew him apart, "that, when on this spot
landed Henry of Bolingbroke, he gave not out that he was marching to
the throne of Richard II.  He professed but to claim his duchy,--and
men were influenced by justice, till they became agents of ambition.
This be your policy; with two thousand men you are but Duke of York;
with ten thousand men you are King of England!  In passing hither, I
met with many, and sounding the temper of the district, I find it not
ripe to share your hazard.  The world soon ripens when it hath to hail
success!"

"O young boy's smooth face!  O old man's deep brain!" said Edward,
admiringly, "what a king hadst thou made!"  A sudden flush passed over
the prince's pale cheek, and, ere it died away, a flaming torch was
hurled aloft in the air; it fell whirling into the ship--a moment, and
a loud crash; a moment, and a mighty blaze!  Up sprung from the deck,
along the sails, the sheeted fire,--

    "A giant beard of flame."  [Aeschylus: Agamemnon, 314]

It reddened the coast, the skies, from far and near; it glowed on the
faces and the steel of the scanty army; it was seen, miles away, by
the warders of many a castle manned with the troops of Lancaster; it
brought the steed from the stall, the courier to the selle; it sped,
as of old the beacon fire that announced to Clytemnestra the return of
the Argive king.  From post to post rode the fiery news, till it
reached Lord Warwick in his hall, King Henry in his palace, Elizabeth
in her sanctuary.  The iron step of the dauntless Edward was once more
pressed upon the soil of England.




CHAPTER V.

THE PROGRESS OF THE PLANTAGENET.

A few words suffice to explain the formidable arrival we have just
announced.  Though the Duke of Burgundy had by public proclamation
forbidden his subjects to aid the exiled Edward, yet, whether moved by
the entreaties of his wife, or wearied by the remonstrances of his
brother-in-law, he at length privately gave the dethroned monarch
fifty thousand florins to find troops for himself, and secretly hired
Flemish and Dutch vessels to convey him to England.  [Comines, Hall,
Lingard, S. Turner]  But so small was the force to which the bold
Edward trusted his fortunes, that it almost seemed as if Burgundy sent
him forth to his destruction.  He sailed from the coast of Zealand;
the winds, if less unmanageable than those that blew off the seaport
where Margaret and her armament awaited a favouring breeze, were still
adverse.  Scared from the coast of Norfolk by the vigilance of Warwick
and Oxford, who had filled that district with armed men, storm and
tempest drove him at last to Humber Head, where we have seen him land,
and whence we pursue his steps.

The little band set out upon its march, and halted for the night at a
small village two miles inland.  Some of the men were then sent out on
horseback for news of the other vessels, that bore the remnant of the
invading force.  These had, fortunately, effected a landing in various
places; and, before daybreak, Anthony Woodville, and the rest of the
troops, had joined the leader of an enterprise that seemed but the
rashness of despair, for its utmost force, including the few sailors
allured to the adventurer's standard, was about two thousand men.
[Fifteen hundred, according to the Croyland historian.]  Close and
anxious was the consultation then held.  Each of the several
detachments reported alike of the sullen indifference of the
population, which each had sought to excite in favour of Edward.
Light riders [Hall] were despatched in various directions, still
further to sound the neighbourhood.  All returned ere noon, some
bruised and maltreated by the stones and staves of the rustics, and
not a voice had been heard to echo the cry, "Long live King Edward!"
The profound sagacity of Gloucester's guileful counsel was then
unanimously recognized.  Richard despatched a secret letter to
Clarence; and it was resolved immediately to proceed to York, and to
publish everywhere along the road that the fugitive had returned but
to claim his private heritage, and remonstrate with the parliament
which had awarded the duchy of York to Clarence, his younger brother.

"Such a power," saith the Chronicle, "hath justice ever among men,
that all, moved by mercy or compassion, began either to favour or not
to resist him."  And so, wearing the Lancastrian Prince of Wales's
cognizance of the ostrich feather, crying out as they marched, "Long
live King Henry!" the hardy liars, four days after their debarkation,
arrived at the gates of York.

Here, not till after much delay and negotiation, Edward was admitted
only as Duke of York, and upon condition that he would swear to be a
faithful and loyal servant to King Henry; and at the gate by which he
was to enter, Edward actually took that oath, "a priest being by to
say Mass in the Mass tyme, receiving the body of our blessed Saviour!"
[Hall.]

Edward tarried not long in York; be pushed forward.  Two great nobles
guarded those districts,--Montagu and the Earl of Northumberland, to
whom Edward had restored his lands and titles, and who, on condition
of retaining them, had re-entered the service of Lancaster.  This
last, a true server of the times, who had sided with all parties, now
judged it discreet to remain neutral.  [This is the most favourable
interpretation of his conduct: according to some he was in
correspondence with Edward, who showed his letters.]  But Edward must
pass within a few miles of Pontefract castle, where Montagu lay with a
force that could destroy him at a blow.  Edward was prepared for the
assault, but trusted to deceive the marquis, as he had deceived the
citizens of York,--the more for the strong personal love Montagu had
ever shown him.  If not, he was prepared equally to die in the field
rather than eat again the bitter bread of the exile.  But to his
inconceivable joy and astonishment, Montagu, like Northumberland, lay
idle and supine.  Edward and his little troop threaded safely the
formidable pass.  Alas! Montagu had that day received a formal order
from the Duke of Clarence, as co-protector of the realm, [Our
historians have puzzled their brains in ingenious conjectures of the
cause of Montagu's fatal supineness at this juncture, and have passed
over the only probable solution of the mystery, which is to be found
simply enough stated thus in Stowe's Chronicle: "The Marquess
Montacute would have fought with King Edward, but that he had received
letters from the Duke of Clarence that he should not fight till hee
came."  This explanation is borne out by the Warkworth Chronicler and
others, who, in an evident mistake of the person addressed, state that
Clarence wrote word to Warwick not to fight till he came.  Clarence
could not have written so to Warwick, who, according to all
authorities, was mustering his troops near London, and not in the way
to fight Edward; nor could Clarence have had authority to issue such
commands to his colleague, nor would his colleague have attended to
them, since we have the amplest testimony that Warwick was urging all
his captains to attack Edward at once.  The duke's order was,
therefore, clearly addressed to Montagu.] to suffer Edward to march
on, provided his force was small, and he had taken the oaths to Henry,
and assumed but the title of Duke of York,--"for your brother the earl
hath had compunctious visitings, and would fain forgive what hath
passed, for my father's sake, and unite all factions by Edward's
voluntary abdication of the throne; at all hazards, I am on my way
northward, and you will not fight till I come."  The marquis,--who
knew the conscientious doubts which Warwick had entertained in his
darker hours, who had no right to disobey the co-protector, who knew
no reason to suspect Lord Warwick's son-in-law, and who, moreover, was
by no means anxious to be, himself, the executioner of Edward, whom he
had once so truly loved,--though a little marvelling at Warwick's
softness, yet did not discredit the letter, and the less regarded the
free passage he left to the returned exiles, from contempt for the
smallness of their numbers, and his persuasion that if the earl saw
fit to alter his counsels, Edward was still more in his power the
farther he advanced amidst a hostile population, and towards the
armies which the Lords Exeter and Oxford were already mustering.

But that free passage was everything to Edward!  It made men think
that Montagu, as well as Northumberland, favoured his enterprise; that
the hazard was less rash and hopeless than it had seemed; that Edward
counted upon finding his most powerful allies among those falsely
supposed to be his enemies.  The popularity Edward had artfully
acquired amongst the captains of Warwick's own troops, on the march to
Middleham, now bestead him.  Many of them were knights and gentlemen
residing in the very districts through which he passed.  They did not
join him, but they did not oppose.  Then rapidly flocked to "the Sun
of York," first the adventurers and condottieri who in civil war adopt
any side for pay; next came the disappointed, the ambitious, and the
needy.  The hesitating began to resolve, the neutral to take a part.
From the state of petitioners supplicating a pardon, every league the
Yorkists marched advanced them to the dignity of assertors of a cause.
Doncaster first, then Nottingham, then Leicester,--true to the town
spirit we have before described,--opened their gates to the trader
prince.

Oxford and Exeter reached Newark with their force.  Edward marched on
them at once.  Deceived as to his numbers, they took panic and fled.
When once the foe flies, friends ever start up from the very earth!
Hereditary partisans--gentlemen, knights, and nobles--now flocked fast
round the adventurer.  Then came Lovell and Cromwell and D'Eyncourt,
ever true to York; and Stanley, never true to any cause.  Then came
the brave knights Parr and Norris and De Burgh; and no less than three
thousand retainers belonging to Lord Hastings--the new man--obeyed the
summons of his couriers and joined their chief at Leicester.

Edward of March, who had landed at Ravenspur with a handful of
brigands, now saw a king's army under his banner.  [The perplexity and
confusion which involve the annals of this period may be guessed by
this,--that two historians, eminent for research (Lingard and Sharon
Turner), differ so widely as to the numbers who had now joined Edward,
that Lingard asserts that at Nottingham he was at the head of fifty or
sixty thousand men; and Turner gives him, at the most, between six and
seven thousand.  The latter seems nearer to the truth.  We must here
regret that Turner's partiality to the House of York induces him to
slur over Edward's detestable perjury at York, and to accumulate all
rhetorical arts to command admiration for his progress,--to the
prejudice of the salutary moral horror we ought to feel for the
atrocious perfidy and violation of oath to which he owed the first
impunity that secured the after triumph.]  Then the audacious perjurer
threw away the mask; then, forth went--not the prayer of the attainted
Duke of York--but the proclamation of the indignant king.  England now
beheld two sovereigns, equal in their armies.  It was no longer a
rebellion to be crushed; it was a dynasty to be decided.




CHAPTER VI.

LORD WARWICK, WITH THE FOE IN THE FIELD AND THE TRAITOR AT THE HEARTH.

Every precaution which human wisdom could foresee had Lord Warwick
taken to guard against invasion, or to crush it at the onset.  [Hall.]
All the coasts on which it was most probable Edward would land had
been strongly guarded.  And if the Humber had been left without
regular troops, it was because prudence might calculate that the very
spot where Edward did land was the very last he would have selected,--
unless guided by fate to his destruction,--in the midst of an
unfriendly population, and in face of the armies of Northumberland and
of Montagu.  The moment the earl heard of Edward's reception at York,
--far from the weakness which the false Clarence (already in
correspondence with Gloucester) imputed to him,--he despatched to
Montagu, by Marmaduke Nevile, peremptory orders to intercept Edward's
path, and give him battle before he could advance farther towards the
centre of the island.  We shall explain presently why this messenger
did not reach the marquis.  But Clarence was some hours before him in
his intelligence and his measures.

When the earl next heard that Edward had passed Pontefract with
impunity, and had reached Doncaster, he flew first to London, to
arrange for its defence; consigned the care of Henry to the Archbishop
of York, mustered a force already quartered in the neighbourhood of
the metropolis, and then marched rapidly back towards Coventry, where
he had left Clarence with seven thousand men; while he despatched new
messengers to Montagu and Northumberland, severely rebuking the former
for his supineness, and ordering him to march in all haste to attack
Edward in the rear.  The earl's activity, promptitude, all-provident
generalship, form a mournful contrast to the errors, the
pusillanimity, and the treachery of others, which hitherto, as we have
seen, made all his wisest schemes abortive.  Despite Clarence's
sullenness, Warwick had discovered no reason, as yet, to doubt his
good faith.  The oath he had taken--not only to Henry in London, but
to Warwick at Amboise--had been the strongest which can bind man to
man.  If the duke had not gained all he had hoped, he had still much
to lose and much to dread by desertion to Edward.  He had been the
loudest in bold assertions when he heard of the invasion; and above
all, Isabel, whose influence over Clarence at that time the earl
overrated, had, at the tidings of so imminent a danger to her father,
forgot all her displeasure and recovered all her tenderness.

During Warwick's brief absence, Isabel had indeed exerted her utmost
power to repair her former wrongs, and induce Clarence to be faithful
to his oath.  Although her inconsistency and irresolution had much
weakened her influence with the duke, for natures like his are
governed but by the ascendancy of a steady and tranquil will, yet
still she so far prevailed, that the duke had despatched to Richard a
secret courier, informing him that he had finally resolved not to
desert his father-in-law.

This letter reached Gloucester as the invaders were on their march to
Coventry, before the strong walls of which the Duke of Clarence lay
encamped.  Richard, after some intent and silent reflection, beckoned
to him his familiar Catesby.

"Marmaduke Nevile, whom our scouts seized on his way to Pontefract, is
safe, and in the rear?"

"Yes, my lord; prisoners but encumber us; shall I give orders to the
provost to end his captivity?"

"Ever ready, Catesby!" said the duke, with a fell smile.  "No; hark
ye, Clarence vacillates.  If he hold firm to Warwick, and the two
forces fight honestly against us, we are lost; on the other hand, if
Clarence join us, his defection will bring not only the men he
commands, all of whom are the retainers of the York lands and duchy,
and therefore free from peculiar bias to the earl, and easily lured
back to their proper chief; but it will set an example that will
create such distrust and panic amongst the enemy, and give such hope
of fresh desertions to our own men, as will open to us the keys of the
metropolis.  But Clarence, I say, vacillates; look you, here is his
letter from Amboise to King Edward; see, his duchess, Warwick's very
daughter, approves the promise it contains!  If this letter reach
Warwick, and Clarence knows it is in his hand, George will have no
option but to join us.  He will never dare to face the earl, his
pledge to Edward once revealed--"

"Most true; a very legal subtlety, my lord," said the lawyer Catesby,
admiringly.

"You can serve us in this.  Fall back; join Sir Marmaduke; affect to
sympathize with him; affect to side with the earl; affect to make
terms for Warwick's amity and favour; affect to betray us; affect to
have stolen this letter.  Give it to young Nevile, artfully effect his
escape, as if against our knowledge, and commend him to lose not an
hour--a moment--in gaining the earl, and giving him so important a
forewarning of the meditated treason of his son-in-law."

"I will do all,--I comprehend; but how will the duke learn in time
that the letter is on its way to Warwick?"

"I will seek the duke in his own tent."

"And how shall I effect Sir Marmaduke's escape?"

"Send hither the officer who guards the prisoner; I will give him
orders to obey thee in all things."

The invaders marched on.  The earl, meanwhile, had reached Warwick,
hastened thence to throw himself into the stronger fortifications of
the neighbouring Coventry, without the walls of which Clarence was
still encamped; Edward advanced on the town of Warwick thus vacated;
and Richard, at night, rode along to the camp of Clarence.  [Hall, and
others.]

The next day, the earl was employed in giving orders to his
lieutenants to march forth, join the troops of his son-in-law, who
were a mile from the walls, and advance upon Edward, who had that
morning quitted Warwick town, when suddenly Sir Marmaduke Nevile
rushed into his presence, and, faltering out, "Beware, beware!" placed
in his hands the fatal letter which Clarence had despatched from
Amboise.

Never did blow more ruthless fall upon man's heart!  Clarence's
perfidy--that might be disdained; but the closing lines, which
revealed a daughter's treachery--words cannot express the father's
anguish.

The letter dropped from his hand, a stupor seized his senses, and, ere
yet recovered, pale men hurried into his presence to relate how,
amidst joyous trumpets and streaming banners, Richard of Gloucester
had led the Duke of Clarence to the brotherly embrace of Edward.
[Hall.  The chronicler adds: "It was no marvell that the Duke of
Clarence with so small persuasion and less exhorting turned from the
Earl of Warwick's party, for, as you have heard before, this
marchandise was laboured, conducted, and concluded by a damsell, when
the duke was in the French court, to the earl's utter confusion."
Hume makes a notable mistake in deferring the date of Clarence's
desertion to the battle of Barnet.]

Breaking from these messengers of evil news, that could not now
surprise, the earl strode on, alone, to his daughter's chamber.

He placed the letter in her hands, and folding his arms said, "What
sayest thou of this, Isabel of Clarence?"  The terror, the shame, the
remorse, that seized upon the wretched lady, the death-like lips, the
suppressed shriek, the momentary torpor, succeeded by the impulse
which made her fall at her father's feet and clasp his knees,--told
the earl, if he had before doubted, that the letter lied not; that
Isabel had known and sanctioned its contents.

He gazed on her (as she grovelled at his feet) with a look that her
eyes did well to shun.

"Curse me not! curse me not!" cried Isabel, awed by his very silence.
"It was but a brief frenzy.  Evil counsel, evil passion!  I was
maddened that my boy had lost a crown.  I repented, I repented!
Clarence shall yet be true.  He hath promised it, vowed it to me; hath
written to Gloucester to retract all,--to--"

"Woman! Clarence is in Edward's camp!"

Isabel started to her feet, and uttered a shriek so wild and
despairing, that at least it gave to her father's lacerated heart the
miserable solace of believing the last treason had not been shared.  A
softer expression--one of pity, if not of pardon--stole over his dark
face.

"I curse thee not," he said; "I rebuke thee not.  Thy sin hath its own
penance.  Ill omen broods on the hearth of the household traitor!
Never more shalt thou see holy love in a husband's smile.  His kiss
shall have the taint of Judas.  From his arms thou shalt start with
horror, as from those of thy wronged father's betrayer,--perchance his
deathsman!  Ill omen broods on the cradle of the child for whom a
mother's ambition was but a daughter's perfidy.  Woe to thee, wife and
mother!  Even my forgiveness cannot avert thy doom!"

"Kill me! kill me!" exclaimed Isabel, springing towards him; but
seeing his face averted, his arms folded on his breast,--that noble
breast, never again her shelter,--she fell lifeless on the floor.  [As
our narrative does not embrace the future fate of the Duchess of
Clarence, the reader will pardon us if we remind him that her first-
born (who bore his illustrious grandfather's title of Earl of Warwick)
was cast into prison on the accession of Henry VII., and afterwards
beheaded by that king.  By birth, he was the rightful heir to the
throne.  The ill-fated Isabel died young (five years after the date at
which our tale has arrived).  One of her female attendants was tried
and executed on the charge of having poisoned her.  Clarence lost no
time in seeking to supply her place.  He solicited the hand of Mary of
Burgundy, sole daughter and heir of Charles the Bold.  Edward's
jealousy and fear forbade him to listen to an alliance that might, as
Lingard observes, enable Clarence "to employ the power of Burgundy to
win the crown of England;" and hence arose those dissensions which
ended in the secret murder of the perjured duke.]

The earl looked round, to see that none were by to witness his
weakness, took her gently in his arms, laid her on her couch, and,
bending over her a moment, prayed to God to pardon her.

He then hastily left the room, ordered her handmaids and her litter,
and while she was yet unconscious, the gates of the town opened, and
forth through the arch went the closed and curtained vehicle which
bore the ill-fated duchess to the new home her husband had made with
her father's foe!  The earl watched it from the casement of his tower,
and said to himself,--

"I had been unmanned, had I known her within the same walls.  Now
forever I dismiss her memory and her crime.  Treachery hath done its
worst, and my soul is proof against all storms!"

At night came messengers from Clarence and Edward, who had returned to
Warwick town, with offers of pardon to the earl, with promises of
favour, power, and grace.  To Edward the earl deigned no answer; to
the messenger of Clarence he gave this: "Tell thy master I had liefer
be always like myself than like a false and a perjured duke, and that
I am determined never to leave the war till I have lost mine own life,
or utterly extinguished and put down my foes."  [Hall.]

After this terrible defection, neither his remaining forces, nor the
panic amongst them which the duke's desertion had occasioned, nor the
mighty interests involved in the success of his arms, nor the
irretrievable advantage which even an engagement of equivocal result
with the earl in person would give to Edward, justified Warwick in
gratifying the anticipations of the enemy,--that his valour and wrath
would urge him into immediate and imprudent battle.

Edward, after the vain bravado of marching up to the walls of
Coventry, moved on towards London.  Thither the earl sent Marmaduke,
enjoining the Archbishop of York and the lord mayor but to hold out
the city for three days, and he would come to their aid with such a
force as would insure lasting triumph.  For, indeed, already were
hurrying to his banner Montagu, burning to retrieve his error, Oxford
and Exeter, recovered from, and chafing at, their past alarm.  Thither
his nephew, Fitzhugh, led the earl's own clansmen of Middleham;
thither were spurring Somerset from the west, [Most historians state
that Somerset was then in London; but Sharon Turner quotes "Harleian
Manuscripts," 38, to show that he had left the metropolis "to raise an
army from the western counties," and ranks him amongst the generals at
the battle of Barnet.] and Sir Thomas Dymoke from Lincolnshire, and
the Knight of Lytton, with his hardy retainers, from the Peak.  Bold
Hilyard waited not far from London, with a host of mingled yeomen and
bravos, reduced, as before, to discipline under his own sturdy
energies and the military craft of Sir John Coniers.  If London would
but hold out till these forces could unite, Edward's destruction was
still inevitable.





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