his arrival at St. Malo sought at once an interview with the bishop, and
by some pretext which he had invented managed again to hinder the
sailing of the vessel, as the wind showed signs of veering to a
favourable quarter. That night, while the treasurer was deeply engaged
in conferring with the envoys, a little procession stole through the
narrow streets of the towns. It consisted of a litter with a sick youth
in it, carried on the shoulders of four stout men, with a tall
grey-haired man walking at their head. Noiselessly they passed along,
creeping ever in the shadow, stopping every now and then in some doorway
darker than the rest to make certain that no one was following them. At
last they reached their goal, the Sanctuary of St. Malo; and here not
even the emperor himself had power to touch Henry. He was safe under the
protection of the Church. Early next morning the captain of the vessel
sent a sailor to inform the bishop that the ship could put to sea in an
hour's time, and at the same moment arrived a messenger wearing the
livery of the duke of Brittany.
'My master, Pierre Landois, the grand treasurer, bade me tell you that
your bird has flown,' said he; 'and he wishes you a safe voyage,' he
added, tinning to the door, where his horse awaited him.
The bishop did not ask questions; perhaps he thought the less time
wasted the better. 'We will come on board at once, so that the wind may
not shift again,' he answered the sailor somewhat hastily; and by noon
even the white sails had vanished from sight.
---------------------
Henry remained in the sanctuary till the fever left him, when he
returned to the castle of Elvin, which he very seldom left. In a few
months events happened which greatly changed his position. Edward IV.
died, his sons were murdered in the Tower, and the murderer sat on the
throne as Richard III. But fierce indignation and horror seized on the
people of the southern part of England, and numerous plots were hatched
to dispossess the usurper and to crown Henry king, with Elizabeth of
York for his wife. For Edward, prince of Wales, the son of Henry VI.,
had been long dead, having been stabbed on the field of Tewkesbury by
the duke of Clarence. One of these plots, concocted by Henry's mother
and the duke of Buckingham, seemed so promising that the duke of
Brittany agreed to furnish the earl of Richmond with money and ships;
but when they put to sea a gale came on, which dispersed the whole
fleet. Next morning Henry found himself, with only two vessels, before
Poole in Dorset, and noticed with dismay that the shore was strongly
guarded by men-of-war.
'Can the conspiracy have been discovered?' thought he. And, alas! the
conspiracy _had_ been discovered, or, rather, betrayed to Richard, and
the duke of Buckingham was lying dead. But though Henry had no means of
knowing the truth, experience had taught him caution, and he despatched
a small boat, with orders to find out whether the ships were friends or
foes. 'Friends,' was the answer; but Henry still misdoubted, and as soon
as it was dark he put about his helm and returned to Brittany.
Feeling quite sure that Richard would never cease from striving to get
him into his power, Henry took leave of duke Francis, and sought refuge
with Charles VIII., then king of France. In Paris he found many
Englishmen, who had either fled from England during the troubles, or 'to
learn and study good literature and virtuous doctrine,' as the
chronicler tells us. So, for the first time in his life, Henry was
surrounded by his own countrymen, and they did homage to him and swore
to sail with him to England in the ships that the regent, Charles's
sister, had promised him; while the earl on his side took an oath to do
all that in him lay for the peace of the kingdom by marrying Elizabeth
of York.
It was on August 1 that Henry and his uncle sailed from Harfleur, and
some days later they reached Milford Haven. But somehow or other the
news of their coming had flown before them, and a large crowd had
assembled to greet them, and the air rang with shouts of joy.
'Thou hast taken good care of _thy_ nephew,' they said grimly to Jasper,
in the familiar Welsh tongue; for it was only the people of the North
who still clave to Richard the murderer. But Henry did not linger
amongst them, and gathering more men as he went, marched, by way of
Shrewsbury and Tamworth, to Leicester. The weather was fine, and they
made swift progress, and on the 20th of August, Henry left his camp
secretly, and went to meet lord Stanley, his mother's husband, on
Atherstone Moor. Their talk lasted long, and, much to Henry's
disappointment, Stanley declared that until the battle which was pending
was actually in progress, he would be unable to throw in his lot with
the Lancastrians, as his son remained as a hostage in the hands of
Richard. Henry spent a long while in trying to convince him how
necessary was his support; but it was quite useless, and at last he gave
it up, and, taking leave of each other, they set out for their own
camps. By this time it was quite dark, and as the country was unknown to
Henry he soon found himself at a standstill. Richard's scouts lay all
about him, and he dared not even ask his way, lest his French accent
should betray him. For hours he wandered, looking anxiously for some
sign that he was on the right road. At length, driven desperate by
fatigue and hunger, he knocked at the door of a small hut, against which
he had stumbled by accident. It was opened by an old shepherd, who,
without waiting to ask questions, drew him to a bench and set food
before him. When he was able to speak, Henry briefly said that he was a
stranger who had lost himself on the moor, and begged to be guided back
to the Lancastrian camp.
[Illustration: RICHARD'S LAST CHARGE ON BOSWORTH FIELD]
'If I live, I will reward you for it some day,' he said; and the old man
answered, 'I need no reward for such a small service.'
---------------------
When at last the camp was reached the earl was received with joy by his
men, who had given up hope, and felt certain that he must have been
taken prisoner; but little rest did he get, as preparations for the
coming battle had to be made. It was on August 21 that the armies met on
the field of Bosworth, and though Henry's force numbered far fewer men
than Richard's, the desertion of the Stanleys and their followers won
him the day. Among all the Yorkists none fought harder than Richard
himself; but in a desperate charge to reach the standard by which Henry
stood he was borne down and slain. When the fight was over, and his body
sought for, it was found stripped of all its armour, while the crown,
which he had worn all day, had been hastily hidden in a hawthorn tree
hard by.
'Wear nobly what you have earned fairly,' said Stanley, placing the
golden circlet on Henry's head, and then bent his knees to do him
homage. And on the battlefield itself the army drew up in line and sang
a Te Deum.
_THE WHITE ROSE_
IN a corner of Westminster, adjoining both the Abbey and the house and
garden belonging to the Abbot, there stood in the fifteenth century a
fortress founded four hundred years before by Edward the Confessor. It
was immensely strong, and could, if needed, withstand the assaults of an
army, for it was intended as a harbour of refuge for runaways, and was
known by the name of the sanctuary. Once there, a man was safe whatever
his crime, for the Church protected him: the sanctuary was a Holy Place.
But for a long while the townspeople of London had suffered much from
the right of sanctuary thus given to all without distinction. The
fortress had become the home of thieves and murderers, who would break
into their neighbour's house and steal his goods, or knock a man on the
head for the sake of an old grudge or a well-filled purse, sure that, if
he were only nimble enough, no one could touch him. 'Men's wives run
thither with their husbands' plate,' writes the duke of Buckingham, 'and
say they dare not abide with their husbands for beating. These bring
thither their stolen goods, and there live thereon. There they devise
new robberies; nightly they steal out, they rob and kill, and come in
again as though those places gave them not only a safeguard for the harm
they have done, but a license also to do more.' Most true; yet the
sanctuary was sometimes put to other uses, and to those intended by the
Church when the great fortress was built. It was a refuge for innocent
people who were suspected wrongfully of crimes which they had never
committed, and kept them safe from hasty vengeance, till the matter
could be tried in a court of law.
---------------------
Late one evening, however, in the autumn of 1470 the gates of the
sanctuary opened to admit a party of fugitives of a very different kind
from those who generally sought its shelter. It consisted of a lady
nearly forty years of age, her mother, her three little girls, and a
gentlewoman, and their faces bore the look of hurry and fear common to
all who entered there. When asked their names by the officer whose duty
it was to keep a list of those who claimed the sanctuary, the younger
lady hesitated for a moment, and then threw back her hood and looked
straight at him.
'The queen!' cried he; and the lady answered hurriedly:
'Yes, the queen, and her mother and her children. The Tower was no
longer safe, so we have come here.'
The officer gazed at her in dismay. Owing to the late disturbances in
the city, and the flight of Edward IV. to France, things had come to
such a pass that no man dared trust his fellow, and when the king's
brother was seeking to obtain possession of the king's wife, who could
tell if the sanctuary itself would be held sacred? And even if the
enemies of the king—and they were many and powerful—dared not bring
down on their heads the wrath of the Church by openly forcing their way
into the refuge she had granted—well, there were other means of getting
the fugitives into their hands, and none could prevent them posting
soldiers outside and hindering any food from passing in. Such were the
thoughts that flashed through the man's mind as the queen spoke; but he
only bowed low, and begged that they would follow him. Taking down a
torch from the wall he lit it at the fire, and went before them down a
gloomy passage, at the end of which he unlocked the door of a good-sized
room, almost bare of furniture, and lighted only by one or two narrow
windows, through which a ray of moonlight fell on the floor.
'This is all I can do for to-night, madam,' he said; 'but to-morrow——'
And the queen broke in hastily: 'Oh, yes, yes, we are safe at last.
Never mind to-morrow.'
When the officer had left them, lady Scrope came forward.
'Madam, rest you here, I pray you, and get some sleep, or you will be
ill,' she whispered softly. 'See, I will put these cloaks in this
corner, and wrap you in them, and the children shall lie beside you and
keep you warm.' And with tender hands she forced her mistress to lay
herself down, while the old duchess of Bedford held little princess
Cicely in her arms. The two elder children stood by her side watching
gravely, as well as their sleepy eyes would allow.
---------------------
The princess Elizabeth was at this time about four and a half, and her
sister Mary a year younger. Elizabeth had long yellow hair like her
mother, and the beautiful white skin for which the queen was famous,
while she had her father's quick wit and high courage. Of all his
children she was the one he loved the best, and already she had made her
appearance on many public occasions, bearing herself seriously, as a
little girl should whose velvet frock has a long train, and who wears on
her head a high sloping head-dress shaped like an extinguisher, with a
transparent white veil floating from it. Still, children will play,
however long their frocks may be, and in the lovely gardens of the
palace of Shene, where Elizabeth and her sisters had lived till only a
few weeks before, they ran and tumbled about and rolled in the grass as
freely and happily as if their dresses had stopped at the knee. But
there was little play for them during that dreary winter that they
passed in the sanctuary. As the officer had feared, the duke of
Clarence, their uncle, and the great earl of Warwick, his father-in-law,
surrounded the place, hoping to starve the prisoners into surrender.
Once in their power, the two conspirators believed that the king would
be forced to accept whatever terms they might choose to dictate. But,
luckily for the queen, a friendly butcher took pity on her sad plight,
and every week contrived by a secret way to carry 'half a beef and two
muttons,' into the sanctuary, and on this food, and the water from a
spring in the vaults, the royal captives lived, sharing their scanty
supply with the men who were always in charge of the place.
It was in this dismal fortress that Edward V. was born on November 1,
1470. He was small and thin, but his little sisters were delighted to
have him, and would kneel by Lady Scrope's side, and play with his
hands, and watch his tiny toes closing and unclosing. Sometimes, when he
was asleep in his mother's arms, lady Scrope would tell them stories of
babies with fairy godmothers, and of the gifts they brought; and then
Elizabeth would guess what the fairies might have in store for little
Edward. And what excitement there was at his christening in the Abbey,
which, as it formed part of the sanctuary, was sacred ground, even
though his only godfather was the lord abbot, and his godmothers the
duchess of Bedford and lady Scrope. The ceremony was hurried over
because, in sanctuary though they were, there was no knowing what might
happen; but Elizabeth looked with awe at the high arches and the tombs
of the kings, never thinking that she herself would be married before
the altar, or be buried in a chapel there that was still unbuilt.
One fine morning, early in March 1471, the children came in from a short
walk in the abbot's garden, under the care of lady Scrope. They found
their mother pacing impatiently down the dark corridor, smiling at them
as she used to do in the happy days before they were hurried away from
Shene.
'Your father is back again,' she cried; 'the men of the North have
flocked round him, and now all will be well.'
[Illustration: You are the first King who has entered sanctuary]
'Then we shall soon be able to leave the sanctuary and go on the river
once more!' said little Elizabeth, who had kept her fifth birthday on
February 11.
'Yes, yes; and how proud he will be of his son!' exclaimed the queen.
And the day was spent in joyful plans for the future.
Some weeks, however, passed by before they either saw king Edward or
were able to quit their gloomy dwelling. At last the city of London,
which had hitherto hung back, openly declared itself on his side, and
yielded up the Tower in which king Henry VI. was a prisoner. Then Edward
hastened to Westminster Abbey, and after giving thanks for his victory
before the altar dedicated to Edward the Confessor, he crossed over to
the sanctuary, where, 'to his heart's singular comfort and gladness,' he
at last beheld his wife and children.
'You are the first king who has ever entered sanctuary,' said Elizabeth,
as she sat on her father's knee. And Edward laughed, and answered that
he hoped it was the last time he might ever see it, though it had proved
a good friend to them during all the past winter.
---------------------
After a few hard-fought battles, England accepted Edward as its king,
and until his death, thirteen years after, the royal children had no
more hardships to suffer. They lived in rooms of their own in the palace
of Westminster, and had carpets on the floors, and tapestry on the walls
and beds of down to lie on. For Edward loved everything rich and
beautiful, and thought nothing too good for his children. He did not
forget John Gould, the butcher, who had saved them from starvation, but
rewarded him handsomely for the many 'half beeves and muttons' they had
eaten in those dreary six months.
Elizabeth's wish had come to pass, and a splendid barge, with eight men
to row it, all gaily dressed in fine scarlet cloth, was moored at the
foot of the steps at Westminster. Here, when the tide was high, the
princesses and lady Scrope used to go on board, and be rowed down to
Richmond, which they loved. Or on wet days, when the mist hung thickly
about the river, they would gather round lady Scrope, in the queen's
withdrawing-room, while she showed them how to play 'closheys,' a kind
of ninepins, or scatter spillikins on a table for the elder children
with serious, intent faces, to remove one by one without shaking the
rest.
'Elizabeth, Elizabeth! where are you?' cried princess Mary one
afternoon, when the rain was pouring down so heavily that you could not
see that there was a river at all. 'My lady Scrope has some new toys,
and will teach us a fresh game. It is called _maritaux_, and the boys
play it, and I want to learn it. Be quick, be quick! where _are_ you?'
But no Elizabeth came running eagerly to throw the little quoits.
Unperceived by her nurse, she had stolen away to that part of the palace
where she knew she would find her father, and, creeping softly to the
table in front of which he was sitting, she knelt down beside him to ask
for his blessing, as the queen had always bidden her. He lifted her on
to his knee, and she saw that the open book before him contained strange
figures and circles, and that the paper beside it which the king had
written was covered with more of these odd marks.
'What does it mean? and why do you look like that?' she asked, half
frightened. King Edward did not answer, but, catching up the paper,
carried her to a high window, where he set her down in the seat formed
by the thickness of the wall. Glancing round, to make sure that none of
the men-at-arms who guarded the door could hear him, he bade her hide
the paper carefully and keep it always, for it was a map of her destiny
which he had cast from the stars, and that they had told him that it was
she who would one day wear the English crown. 'But my brother—but the
prince of Wales?'—asked Elizabeth, who had heard much talk of the baby
being heir to the throne.
[Illustration: THE KING SHOWS ELIZABETH HER MAP OF DESTINY]
'I know not,' he answered sadly; 'but so it is written. Now go back to
the queen, and mind, say nought of this, or it will grieve her sorely.'
So Elizabeth returned slowly to her own rooms, feeling half afraid and
half important with the burden of the secret entrusted to her. She put
the paper away in a little box, whose bottom would lift out, given her
by her father on her fourth birthday—quite a long time ago! Here she
kept all her treasures: a saint's figure, which was a most holy relic,
though she could not have told you much about the saint; a lock of hair
of her spaniel, which had died at Shene more than a year ago, and the
first cap worn by her little brother in the sanctuary, which she had
begged from lady Scrope as a remembrance. Then she climbed on to the
settle by the fire to place the box on the high mantelshelf, and went to
see what her sister was doing. In five minutes she had quite forgotten
all that had happened in the absorbing adventures of Beauty and the
Beast.
---------------------
Not long after this the court removed, in litters and on horseback and
in strange, long vehicles that looked rather like railway carriages,
down to Windsor, in order to give a splendid welcome to the lord of
Grauthuse, Louis of Bruges, governor of Holland, in place of his master
the duke of Burgundy. And a great reception was no more than his due, in
return for his kindness to Edward when he had entered Holland as a
fugitive two years before, having sold his long fur-lined coat to pay
his passage. Grauthuse has himself left a record of his visit and the
gorgeous decorations that everywhere charmed his eye at Windsor, and the
beauty of the cloth-of-gold hangings, and the counterpane, edged with
ermine, on his bed, while his sheets had come from Rennes, in Brittany,
and his curtains were of white silk. He seems to have been given supper
as soon as he arrived, in his own apartments, and when he had finished
he was escorted by Edward to the queen's withdrawing-room, where she and
her ladies were playing games of one kind and another—some at closheys
of ivory, some at _martiaux_, some again at cards. They all stopped at
the entrance of the king and his guest, and made deep curtseys; but very
soon Edward proposed they should go into the ball-room, where a ball was
to be held. It was opened by Edward and princess Elizabeth, who danced
as solemnly as it was possible for a maiden of six to do. She was
allowed one more partner, her uncle the duke of Buckingham, who had
married her mother's sister. Then, making her obeisance to her father
and mother, to the guest and to the ladies, she went off to bed.
The following morning the prince of Wales, who was a year and a half
old, was lifted up by the lord chamberlain, Sir Richard Vaughan, to play
his part of welcome to his father's friend; then followed a great
dinner, and later a banquet, at which the whole court was present. At
nine o'clock the lord of Grauthuse went, attended by lord Hastings, to
one of the rooms prepared for him by the queen, in which were two baths,
with a tent of white cloth erected over each. When they came out they
ate a light supper of green ginger, and sweet dishes, washed down by a
sort of ale called hippocras, and after that they went to bed. Grauthuse
seems to have stayed some time in England, for he returned with the king
and queen to Westminster, and was created earl of Winchester at a
splendid ceremony held in the presence of both Lords and Commons. Here
the Speaker, William Alington by name, publicly thanked him for 'the
great kindness and humanity shown to the king in Holland,' and praised
'the womanly behaviour and constancy of the queen,' while her husband
was beyond the sea.
Then, highly pleased with his visit, Grauthuse took his leave, bearing
with him as a gift from the king a beautiful golden cup inlaid with
pearls, having a huge sapphire set in the lid.
---------------------
For the next three years we hear nothing special about the life of the
little princesses. Another brother was born to them, and given the name
and title of his grandfather Richard duke of York, and there was also a
fourth daughter, princess Anne, eight years younger than Elizabeth. The
following year, peace being restored at home, Edward IV. grew restless
at having no fighting to do, and crossed over to France to try to see if
there was any chance of regaining some of the former possessions held by
the English. But before quitting the country he made a will leaving his
two eldest girls 10,000 marks each, which, however, they were to lose if
they married without the consent of their mother. Edward IV. was a
clever man, especially in anything that concerned the trade of the
nation; but in Louis XI., then king of France, he met more than his
match. It did not suit Louis to have a war with England just then, for
he was already fighting his powerful neighbour, Charles the Bold, duke
of Burgundy, so he amused Edward by offering to do homage to him for the
immense provinces to which the English king laid claim, and to pay
tribute for them. Besides, he agreed to betrothe his son Charles to the
princess Elizabeth, and likewise consented that part of the tribute
money should be set aside for her.
Although she was only now nine years old, this was the fourth time at
least that Elizabeth had been offered in marriage. She was scarcely
three when Edward, then a prisoner in the hands of the earl of Warwick,
proposed an alliance between her and George Neville, Warwick's nephew.
The scheme was eagerly accepted by the earl and his two rich and
powerful brothers; but Edward contrived to make his escape, and, to the
great wrath of all the Nevilles, nothing further was said on the
subject. Indeed, a few months after, a still greater insult was offered
to the family by the reckless Edward, for he tried to break off the
marriage between Edward prince of Wales, son of Henry VI., and Warwick's
young daughter, Lady Anne, by proposing that Elizabeth should take the
bride's place. But Margaret of Anjou, the bridegroom's mother, though
hating Warwick almost as much as she did her husband's enemy Edward, at
length gave her consent to the betrothal, and the wedding was celebrated
in the castle of Amboise in the presence of the king of France. And in
1472 we find that, for the first of many times, Elizabeth's hand was
offered to Henry of Richmond.