LAMBERT SIMNEL
Such when as Archimago him did view,
He weened well to work some uncouth wile;
Eftsoon untwisting: his deceitful clew,
He 'gan to weave a web of cunning guile.
SPENSER.
The birth of Arthur, prince of Wales, which took place in the month of
September of this same year, served to confirm Henry Tudor on the
throne, and almost to obliterate the memory of a second and resisting
party in the kingdom. That party indeed was overthrown, its chiefs
scattered, its hopes few. Most of the principal Yorkists had taken
refuge in the court of the duchess of Burgundy; the earl of Lincoln only
ventured to remain, preserving the appearance of the greatest privacy,
while his secret hours were entirely occupied by planning a rising in
the kingdom, whose success would establish his cousin Richard duke of
York, the fugitive Perkin Warbeck, on the throne. The chief obstacle
that presented itself was the difficulty of exciting the English to any
act of rebellion against the king, without bringing forward the young
prince as the principal actor on the scene. The confirmed friendship
between the queen and Lady Brampton had produced a greater degree of
intercourse between the former and the earl; but their joint counsels
had yet failed to originate a plan of action; when chance, or rather the
unforeseen results of former events, determined their course of action,
and brought to a crisis sooner than they expected the wavering purposes
of each.
Richard Simon had quitted Winchester to fulfil his duties as priest in
the town of Oxford. No man was better fitted than Simon to act a
prominent part in a state-plot. He was brave; but the priestly garb
having wrested the sword from his hand, circumstances had converted that
active courage, which might have signalized him in the field, to a
spirit of restless intrigue; to boldness in encountering difficulties,
and address in surmounting them. To form plans, to concoct the various
parts of a scheme, wedging one into the other; to raise a whirlwind
around him, and to know, or to fancy that he knew, the direction the
ravager would take, and what would be destroyed and what saved in its
course, had been from youth the atmosphere in which he lived. Now absent
from the queen, he was yet on the alert to further her views, and he
looked forward to the exaltation of her son to the throne as the
foundation-stone of his own fortunes. In what way could this be brought
about? After infinite deliberation with himself, Simon conceived the
idea of bringing forward an impostor, who, taking the name of Richard of
York, whose survival, though unattested, was a current belief in the
kingdom, might rouse England in his cause. If unsuccessful, the safety
of the rightful prince was not endangered; if triumphant, this
counterfeit would doff his mark at once, and the real York come forward
in his place.
In the true spirit of intrigue, in which Simon was an adept, he resolved
to mature his plans and commence his operations before he communicated
them to any. He looked round for a likely actor for his new part, and
chance brought him in contact with Lambert Simnel, a baker's son at
Oxford. There was something in his fair complexion and regular soft
features that was akin to York; his figure was slight, his untaught
manners replete with innate grace; he was clever; and his beauty having
made him a sort of favourite, he had grown indolent and assuming. His
father died about this time, and he was left a penniless orphan. Simon
came forward to protect him, and cautiously to point out the road to
fortune without labour. The youth proved an apt scholar. To hear speak
of princes, crowns, and kingdoms as objects in which he was to have an
interest and a share, dazzled his young eyes. He learnt speedily every
lesson the priest taught him, and adopted so readily the new language
inculcated, that Simon became more and more enamoured of his scheme, and
sanguine as to its results. The next care of Simon was to confirm, in
the partizans of the House of York, the suspicion they already
entertained of the existence of its noblest scion; he despatched
anonymous letters to the chief nobles, and it became whispered through
the country, though none knew the origin of the tale, that the surviving
son of Edward the Fourth was about to appear to claim the crown. The
peaceful sighed to think that the White and Red Roses would again be
watered by the best blood of England. The warlike and ambitious, the
partizans of York, who had languished in obscurity, walked more erect;
they regarded their disused armour with complacency, for war and tumult
was then the favourite pastime of high-born men.
It was at this period that, through the intervention of Lady Brampton,
Sir Thomas Broughton, a most zealous Yorkist and chief friend of Lord
Lovel, was introduced to the dowager queen's presence, then residing in
London. He came full of important intelligence. He had been roused from
his usual repose by one of Simon's anonymous letters, which hinted at
the existence of the duke of York, and counselled a drawing together of
such forces as would be willing to support him; Lord Lovel was with him,
and at the name of Richard at once prepared for action. He was busied in
raising adherents in the south, sending Sir Thomas to London, that he
might there receive the commands of the prince's mother. Scarcely had he
entered the metropolis, when in one of its narrowest alleys he was
accosted by Richard Simon, who had earnestly besought him to obtain an
audience for Simon himself from the queen; acknowledging that he was the
author of the reports and commotions, and that he had important secrets
to disclose.
All this inspired the queen with the deepest disquietude. She readily
arranged with Sir Thomas the desired interview, which, at Simon's
request, was to take place that very night, and agreed that he should
enter the palace by a private door. Lady Brampton giving him admittance.
Broughton departed; and Elizabeth, disturbed and agitated, counted the
hours impatiently which must intervene before the riddle was explained.
Even this interval was full of wonder. A report was circulated, which
soon reached the palace, that the earl of Warwick, in endeavouring to
escape from the Tower in a boat, had fallen into the river, and was
drowned before assistance could be afforded. Such was the current tale;
but many suspected that the king was privy to a more guilty termination
of his unhappy prisoner, of whose death none entertained a doubt. This
circumstance added to the queen's impatience--life was bound up in the
event of the next few hours.
The time arrived--all was quiet in the palace (the queen inhabited
Tower Royal); and the royal dowager and her friend prepared for their
visitor. At the signal given, the door was opened; but Simon came not
alone; the earl of Lincoln, Lord Lovel, Sir Thomas Broughton, and an
unknown youth--it was Edmund Plantagenet--entered. The tale of the
imposture of Lambert Simnel was disclosed, and with it a change of plan,
the result of the death of Warwick. Simnel's age and appearance accorded
better with this prince than with his younger cousin. It were easy to
spread abroad that the report of his death was a fiction contrived by
the king; that he had escaped, in fact, and was in arms. If a more
sinister fate had befallen him, guilt would impose silence on his
murderer; if the attempt failed, no evil would occur; if successful, he
would give instant place to the superior claims of the duke of York.
Lincoln unfolded these schemes with sagacity and deliberation, and the
queen eagerly adopted his ideas as he disclosed them. It was also the
earl's suggestion that Simnel should first appear in Ireland. The duke
of Clarence had been lieutenant there, and was much beloved throughout
the island. Through neglect and forgetfulness all the counsellors and
officers appointed by Clarence had been unremoved by the new government,
and might easily be induced to favour his persecuted son. The duchess of
Burgundy was also to be applied to; and counsel was held as to who
should be informed of the truth--who deceived in this hazardous
attempt. Night wore away, while still the conspirators were in
deliberation; they separated at last, each full of hope--each teeming
with gallant resolution. Henceforth the false smile or ill-concealed
frown of their enemy was indifferent to them; their good swords were
their sure allies; the very victory gained by Henry at Bosworth raised
their expectations; one other battle might give them again all that then
they lost.