THE CONFERENCE
Yes, my good Lord,
It doth contain a king: King Richard lies
Within the limits of yon lime and stone.
SHAKSPEARE.
The earl of Lincoln, declared by Richard the Third, heir to the crown,
did not join the royal forces, nor appear at the battle of Bosworth.
This distinguished prince was a man of singular abilities and strength
of mind, which chivalrous generosity adorned with a lustre superior even
to that which he derived from his high rank. Lord Lovel was possessed of
knightly courage, untarnished honour, and gentlemanly accomplishment. To
these military and graceful qualities Lincoln added the wisdom of a
statesman and the moral energy resulting from inflexible principle. He
felt himself responsible to mankind and to all posterity for his
actions. He was brave--that was a virtue of the times; but he was just,
in a comprehensive sense of the word, and that exalted him above them.
His manly features did not so much wear the stamp of beauty, though,
like all the offspring of the House of York, he was handsome, as of the
best quality of man, a perception of right, and resolution to achieve
that right.
Lord Lincoln disapproved decidedly of the usurpation of his uncle,
Richard the Third, over the children of Edward the Fourth. He allowed
that the evidence was strong in favour of that king's former marriage,
and their consequent illegitimacy; but he said, that Elizabeth Woodville
had so long been held queen of England, and her children heirs to the
crown, that it was impossible to eradicate the belief of the English
people, that their allegiance was due to him who had been proclaimed
even by his uncle, Edward the Fifth. Even if they were put aside, the
attainder passed against the duke of Clarence was an insufficient reason
to deprive his son of his lawful inheritance. He saw England wasted, and
her nobility extirpated by civil contest; and he perceived the seeds of
future strife in the assumption of the crown by the duke of Gloucester.
When the son of Richard the Third died, and the earl of Warwick was
named his successor, the superior right of the nephew before the
reigning uncle became so eminent a subject of discussion, that the king
was obliged to recall his declaration, and to confine the young prince
in a castle in Yorkshire. The earl of Lincoln, then seven and twenty
years of age, was next named. He remonstrated with his uncle privately;
but fear of dividing the House of York against itself, and a disdain to
make common cause with the dowager queen's relations, made him outwardly
submit; but his plan was formed, and secretly all his efforts tended
towards the restoring the children of Edward to their paternal rights.
The boys were sickly. Edward the Fifth, irritated by the extinction of
the hopes which the intrigues of his mother had kept alive in his
breast, wasted by imprisonment in the Tower, and brooking with untamed
pride the change from a regal to a private station, pined and died.
Richard, duke of York, was between ten and eleven; a sprightly,
ingenuous boy, whose lively spirit wore out his frame, and this, added
to confinement and attention to his dying brother, brought him also near
the grave. It was on the death of Edward, that the earl of Lincoln
visited the Tower, and saw young Richard. The accounts given by the
attendants of his more than a child's devotion to his brother, his
replies full of sportive fancy, his beauty, though his cheek was faded
and his person grown thin, moved the generous noble to deep compassion.
He ventured, under the strong influence of this feeling, to remonstrate
warmly with his royal uncle, reproaching him with needless cruelty, and
telling him how in fact, though not in appearance, he was the murderer of
his nephews, and would be so held by all mankind. Richard's ambition was
satisfied by the success of his measures to obtain the crown; but his
fears were awake. The duke of Buckingham was in arms against him--the
queen and her surviving relatives were perpetually employed in exciting
discontents in the kingdom. Richard feared that if they obtained the
person of his nephew, he would be turned into an engine for his
overthrow; while to obtain possession of him was the constant aim of
their endeavours. He earnestly desired to reconcile himself to the
queen, and to draw her from the sanctuary in which she had immured
herself--she refused all his offers, unless her son was first placed in
her hands.
His head, ripe with state plots, now conceived a scheme. He consented
that Lincoln should take the duke of York under his charge, if he would
first engage to keep his removal from the Tower, and even his existence,
a secret from his enemies. Lincoln made the required promise; the young
prince was conveyed to a country seat belonging to the earl, and
Richard, in furtherance of his plan, caused a rumour to go abroad that
he also was dead. No one knew with whom this report originated. When, to
assure themselves, various nobles visited the Tower, the boy was no
longer there. The queen gave credit to the tale. At this moment, Richard
set on foot a negotiation of marriage with the eldest daughter of Edward
the Fourth, the Lady Elizabeth. The partizans of the earl of Richmond
sought to ensure the success of his enterprise by the same means: and
while little Richard grew in health and happiness in his country
retreat, his own nearest and most attached relatives were giving away
his inheritance--his uncle unwittingly laid the foundation-stone of the
reputation of cruelty and murder ever after affixed to him; and his
mother, endeavouring to exalt her daughter, and to restore herself to
her lost station in the kingdom, sealed the fatal decree that first
deprived her son of his rights, and afterwards of his life.
On the evening that Lord Lovel and Edmund Plantagenet entered London,
the earl of Lincoln remained waiting intelligence from the field, in a
palace he inhabited not far from Tottenham Court, a secluded habitation,
surrounded by a garden and a high wall. This was an irksome situation
for a warrior; but though his uncle loved, he distrusted him: his
projected marriage with the Lady Elizabeth would probably cause him
again to be father of an heir to the crown, and knowing that Lincoln
possessed, in the young duke of York, a dangerous rival, he refused to
allow him to take up arms against Richmond. Lord Lincoln was alone,
pacing his large and vaulted hall in deep and anxious meditation. He,
who with conscience for his rule, takes, or endeavours to take, the
reins of fate into his own hands, must experience frequent misgivings;
and often feel that he wheels near the edge of a giddy precipice, down
which the tameless steeds he strives to govern may, in an instant, hurl
him and all dependent upon his guidance. The simple feeling of
compassion, arising from the seeing childhood lose its buoyancy in undue
confinement, had first led the princely noble to take charge of his
young cousin. Afterwards, when he beheld the boy grow in health and
years, developing the while extraordinary quickness of intellect, and a
sweet, ingenuous disposition, he began to reflect on the station he
held, his rights and his injuries; and then the design was originated on
which he was now called to act.
If Richard gained the day, all would stand as before. Should he be
defeated--and that second sense, that feeling of coming events, which
is one of the commonest, though the least acknowledged of the secret
laws of our nature, whispered the yet unrevealed truth to him--who then
would assume England's diadem, and how could he secure it for its
rightful owner, the only surviving son of Edward the Fourth? All these
reflections coursed themselves through his brain, while, with the zeal
of a partizan, and the fervour of one wedded to the justice of his
cause, he revolved every probable change of time and fortune.
At this moment a courier was announced: he brought tidings from the
field. As is usual on the eve of a great event, they were dubious and
contradictory. The armies faced each other, and the battle was
impending. The doubts entertained on both sides, as to the part that
Lord Stanley would take, gave still a greater uncertainty to the
anticipations of each.
Soon after the arrival of this man, the loud ringing at the outer gate
was renewed; and the trampling of horses, as they entered the court,
announced a more numerous company. There was something in the movements
of his domestics that intimated to the earl that his visitor was of
superior rank. Could it be the king, who had fled; conquered, and a
fugitive? Could such terms be applied to the high-hearted Richard? The
doors of the hall were thrown open, and the question answered by the
entrance of his visitant: it was a woman; and her name, "Lady Brampton!"
in a tone of wonder, burst from the noble's lips.
"Even I, my good lord," said the lady; "allow me your private ear; I
bring intelligence from Leicestershire. All is lost," she continued,
when the closing of the door assured her of privacy; "all is lost, and
all is gained--Richard is slain. My emissaries brought swift
intelligence of this event to me at Northampton, and I have hastened
with it hither, that without loss of time you may act."
There was a quickness and a decision in the lady's manner, that checked
rather than encouraged her auditor. She continued: "Vesper hour has long
passed--it matters not--London yet is ours. Command instantly that
Richard the Fourth be proclaimed king of England."
Lord Lincoln started at these words. The death of his uncle and
benefactor could not be received by him like the loss of a move at
chess; a piece lost, that required the bringing up of other pieces to
support a weak place. "The king is slain," were words that rang in his
ears: drowning every other that the lady uttered with rapidity and
agitation. "We will speak of that anon," he replied; and going to the
high window of his hall, he threw it open, as if the air oppressed him.
The wind sighed in melancholy murmurs among the branches of the elms and
limes in the garden: the stars were bright, and the setting moon was
leaving the earth to their dim illumination. "Yesternight," thought
Lincoln, "he was among us, a part of our conversation, our acts, our
lives; now his glazed eyes behold not these stars. The past is his: with
the present and the future he has no participation."
Lady Brampton's impatience did not permit the earl long to indulge in
that commune with nature, which we eagerly seek when grief and death
throws us back on the weakness of our human state, and we feel that we
ourselves, our best laid projects and loftiest hopes, are but the
playthings of destiny. "Wherefore," cried the lady, "does De la Poole
linger? Does he hesitate to do his cousin justice? Does he desire to
follow in the steps of his usurping predecessor? Wherefore this delay?"
"To strike the surer," replied Lincoln. "May not I ask, wherefore this
impatience?"
Even as he spoke, steps were heard near the apartment; and while the
eyes of both were turned with inquietude on the expected intruder, Lord
Lovel entered: there was no triumph, no eager anticipation on his
brow--he was languid from ill success and fatigue. Lincoln met him with
the pleasure of one who sees his friend escaped from certain death. He
was overjoyed to be assured of his existence; he was glad to have his
assistance on the present emergency. "We know," he said, "all the evil
tidings you bring us; we are now deliberating on the conduct we are to
pursue: your presence will facilitate our measures. Tell me what other
friends survive to aid us. The duke of Norfolk, the Staffords, Sir
Robert Brakenbury, where are they?"
Lovel had seen the duke fall, the Staffords had accompanied his flight;
uncertainty still hung over the fate of many others. This detail of the
death of many of their common friends, subdued the impetuosity of the
lady, till an account of how Richard himself had fought and been slain
recalled her to their former topic of discussion; and, again, she said,
"It is strange that you do not perceive the dangers of delay. Why is not
the king proclaimed?"
"Do you not know," asked Lord Lovel, "that the king is proclaimed?"
Lady Brampton clasped her hands, exclaiming, "Then Richard the Fourth
will wear his father's crown!"
"Henry the Seventh," said Lovel, "possesses and wears the English crown.
Lord Stanley placed the diadem on the head of the earl of Richmond, and
his soldiers, with one acclaim, acknowledged him as their sovereign."
"This is mere trifling," said the lady; "the base-born offspring
Lancaster may dare aspire so high, but one act of ours dethrones him.
The Yorkists are numerous, and will defend their king: London is yet
ours."
"Yes," replied Lincoln, "it is in our power to deluge the streets of
London with blood, to bring massacre among its citizens, and worse
disaster on its wives and maidens. I would not buy an eternal crown for
myself--I will not strive to place that of England on my kinsman's
head--at this cost. We have had over-much of war: I have seen too many
of the noble, young, and gallant, fall by the sword. Brute force has had
its day; now let us try what policy can do."
The council these friends held together was long and anxious. The lady
still insisted on sudden and resolute measures. Lord Lovel, a soldier in
all his nature, looked forward to the calling together the Yorkists from
every part of the kingdom. The earl, with a statesman's experience, saw
more of obstacle to their purpose in the elevation of Henry the Seventh
than either of his companions would allow; the extreme youth of the duke
of York, the oblivion into which he had sunk, and the stain on his
birth, which was yet unremoved, would disincline the people to hazard
life and fortune in his cause. Henry had taken oath to marry his sister,
the Lady Elizabeth, and when thus the progeny of Edward the Fourth were
freed from the slur under which they now laboured, the whole country
would be alive to the claims of his only son. It was necessary now to
place him in safety, and far away from the suspicious eyes of his
usurping enemy. That morning Lord Lincoln had brought him up from his
rural retreat to the metropolis, and sheltered him for a few hours under
safe but strange guardianship. He was left at the house of a Flemish
money-lender well known at court. It was agreed that Lord Lovel should
take him thence, and make him the companion of his journey to
Colchester, where they should remain watching the turn of events, and
secretly preparing the insurrection which would place him on the throne.
Lady Brampton was obliged to proceed immediately northwards to join her
husband; the north was entirely Yorkist, and her influence would
materially assist the cause. The earl remained in London; he would sound
the inclinations of the nobility, and even coming in contact with the
new king, watch over danger and power at its fountain-head. One more
question was discussed: Whether the queen, Elizabeth Woodville, should
be made acquainted with the existence of her son. All three, from
various reasons, decided in the negative. A personal enmity existed
between the widow of Edward the Fourth and Lady Brampton: her party was
detested by the two nobles. It would be more popular with the nation,
they thought, if her kinsmen, whose upstart pretensions were the object
of the derision and scorn of the old aristocracy, had no part in
bestowing the crown on the heir of the House of York. Time wore away
during these deliberations; it was past midnight before the friends
separated. Lord Lovel presented his young friend, Edmund Plantagenet, to
the earl, and recommended him to his protection. Refreshment was also
necessary after Lovel's fatiguing journey; but he was so intent on
accomplishing his purpose, that he wasted but a few minutes in this
manner, and then being provided with a fresh horse from Lincoln's
stables, he left the palace to proceed first to the present abode of
Richard of York, and afterwards, accompanied by him, on his road to
Essex.
Lord Lovel threaded his way through the dark narrow streets of London
towards Lothbury. The habitation of the money-lender was well known to
him, but it was not easily entered at past midnight. A promised bribe to
the apprentice who hailed him from the lofty garret-window, and his
signet-ring sent in to his master, at length procured admission into the
bedchamber of Mynheer Jahn Warbeck. The old man sat up in his bed, his
red cotton night-cap on his head, his spectacles, with which he had
examined the ring, on his nose; his chamber was narrow and dilapidated,
his bed of ill condition. "Who would suppose," thought Lovel, "that this
man holds half England in pawn?"
When Warbeck heard that the errand of Lovel was to take from him his
princely charge, he rose hastily, wrapping a robe round him, and opened
a small wainscoat door leading into a little low room, whence he drew
the half-sleeping and wondering boy. There was a rush taper in the room,
and daylight began to peep through the crevices of the shutters, giving
melancholy distinctness to the dirty and dismantled chamber. One ray
fell directly on the red night-cap and spectacles of old Jahn, whose
parchment face was filled with wrinkles, yet they were lines of care,
not of evil, and there was even benevolence in his close mouth; for the
good humour and vivacity of the boy had won on him. Besides, he had
himself a son, for whom he destined all his wealth, of the same age as
the little fellow whose plump roseate hand he held in his own brown
shrivelled palm. The boy came in, rubbing his large blue eyes, the
disordered ringlets of his fair hair shading a face replete with
vivacity and intelligence. Mynheer Jahn was somewhat loth to part with
the little prince, but the latter clapped his hands in ecstasy when he
heard that Lord Lovel had come to take him away.
"I pray you tell me, Sir Knight," said old Warbeck, "whether
intelligence hath arrived of the victory of our gracious sovereign, and
the defeat of the Welsh rebels."
Richard became grave at these words; he fixed his, eyes inquiringly on
the noble: "Dear Lord Lovel," he cried, "for I remember you well, my
very good lord, when you came to the Tower and found me and Robert
Clifford playing at bowls--tell me, how you have fought, and whether
you have won."
"Mine are evil tidings," said Lord Lovel; "all is lost. We were
vanquished, and your royal uncle slain."
Warbeck's countenance changed at these words; he lamented the king; he
lamented the defeat of the party which he had aided by various advances
of money, and his regrets at once expressed sorrow for the death of
some, and dread from the confiscation of the property of others.
Meanwhile, Richard of York was full of some thought that swelled his
little breast; taking Lovel's hand, he asked again, "My uncle, Richard
the Third, is dead?"
"Even so," was the reply; "he died nobly on the field of battle."
The child drew himself up, and his eyes flashed as he said
proudly,--"Then I am king of England."
"Who taught your grace that lesson?" asked Lovel.
"My liege--my brother Edward. Often and often in the long winter
nights, and when he was sick in bed, he told me how, after he had been
proclaimed king, he had been dethroned; but that when our uncle died he
should be king again; and that if it pleased God to remove him, I should
stand in his place; and I should restore my mother's honour, and this he
made me swear."
"Bless the boy!" cried Warbeck, "he speaks most sagely; may the saints
incline my lord, the earl of Lincoln, to do his royal cousin justice!"
"Your grace," said Lovel, "shall hear more of this as we proceed on our
journey. Mynheer Jahn, the earl bade me apply to you; you are to repair
to him before noon; meanwhile, fill this long empty purse with gold
coins. He will be my guarantee."
"Lend me the money," cried the little duke, "I will repay you. We will
repay you, when we have our crown."
This was an inducement not to be resisted. Warbeck counted out the gold;
the boy with light steps tripped down the creaking old staircase, and
when Lovel had mounted, taking his hand, he sprung in the saddle before
him. The fresh morning air was grateful to both, after the close
chambers of the Fleming. The noble put his horse to a quick trot, and
leaving London by a different road from that by which he had entered,
took his way through Romford and Chelmsford to Colchester.
The news of the earl of Richmond's victory and assumption of the crown
reached London that night. The citizens heard it on their awakening. The
market people from the west related it to those who came in from the
east; but it had not hitherto travelled in that direction. Lovel knew
that the storm was behind him, but he outrode it; on the evening of the
second day he was safe in sanctuary at Colchester. His young charge was
lodged at a farm-house belonging to a tenant of Sir Humphrey Stafford.
They all awaited impatiently for the time when the earl of Lincoln would
put a period to their confinement, by informing them that the hour was
arrived when they might again take arms against the upstart Lancastrian
king.