The fair, busy, if not large city of New Sarum or Salisbury, has since
its foundation, occupied an important place in our national history,
resulting from the heritage of its natural position, which may be
described as forming the Gate or Key to the peninsula of the West.
Besides this, it is the inheritor of, and is associated with, some of
the oldest traditions of the land before the pen of history has left
record, the venerable fame of previous ages having descended and added
distinguished interest to its surroundings, while the marvellous
circle of Stonehenge finds its place close by, as also its own antient
progenitor, the equally remarkable hill-fortressed city of Old
Sarum,--circumstances that attest the importance in which the locality
was regarded, wherein its city of to-day is situate.
Succeeding events have also added their witness to this distinction.
The foundation and building of its beautiful and unique Cathedral,
begun, completed, and finished in one harmonious design, without let
or hindrance, and the afterward crowning it with the magnificent
spire, the finest in the kingdom, and with very doubtful rivalry
elsewhere,--its notable succession of bishops,--and the number of
distinguished personages, who through the following centuries down to
these present days, have held high rule as statesmen and
administrators in our land, who have sought the privilege of having
its name as an affix to their titles of honour, Longspee, Montacute,
Nevill, and Cecil,--have interwoven and sustained the claim of its
reputation into almost every period of our national annals.
Yet, notwithstanding the importance of its position, it is singular,
no very important or striking incident connected with the national
government, such as has made famous many other localities, has
occurred within, or immediately near it. The reasons for this may not
be far to seek. The sea coasts on either side of it offered facilities
for martial transit or commercial enterprise, which Salisbury could
not possess, and so the tide of action, as a rule, passed at a
distance, but its great advantages as a central position for the
purposes of _rendez-vous_, warlike or otherwise, have always been used
and made available.
Lying on the high road between London and the Land's End, it has
naturally received many royal visits, from that of the young king
Henry III., at the consecration of the cathedral in 1225, downward, at
divers times and on various errands, civil, military, or with darker
and sanguinary intent to take vengeance on their enemies; and it is
the result of one of these vindictive errands that brought a king to
Salisbury, and the circumstances preceding and following it, that form
the basis of our homely narrative.
Of the very antient and illustrious family of Stafford, whose origin
is contemporary with the Conqueror, for the purposes of our little
history the first we need mention is Thomas Stafford, fourth Baron and
third Earl of that name, who lived in the reign of Richard II. He
allied himself with a lady of direct royal descent, Anne Plantagenet,
eldest daughter of Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester, sixth son
of king Edward III., by his wife Eleanor, eldest daughter and coheir
of Humphrey de Bohun, the last Earl of Hereford, Essex, and
Northampton, who died in 1372.
Mary, the other daughter and coheir of Humphrey de Bohun, Earl of
Essex, &c., as aforesaid, was married to Henry Plantagenet, Earl of
Derby, eldest son of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, fourth son of
king Edward III., who was successively created Earl and Duke of
Hereford, and ultimately ascended the throne as Henry IV., surnamed
'of Bolingbroke.'
In 1397 Richard II. caused his uncle Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of
Gloucester, to be kidnapped by a company of armed men near Stratford,
and conveyed to Calais, where he is said to have been privately
strangled. To cover this crime it was given out the Duke had died from
natural causes, and that before his death he had confessed himself
guilty of treason toward the king, upon which all his estates were
confiscated by the Parliament. Richard gave them to his cousin Henry,
Earl of Derby (afterward Henry IV.), who had married the younger
daughter Mary, and he thus became possessed of the whole of the
Hereford estate, and of course most unjustly to the prejudice of the
heirs of Thomas of Woodstock, whose daughter Anne was married to
Thomas, Earl of Stafford.
These genealogical particulars, although somewhat dry, intricate, and
well known, are very necessary, nevertheless, to keep in mind, as they
are said to have exercised material influence on the ultimate issue of
our story.
Thomas, Earl of Stafford, husband of Anne Plantagenet, died young, and
without issue. He was succeeded in the Earldom by his brother William,
who also died when a youth.
Both these brothers were succeeded by their next brother, Edmund
Stafford, sixth Baron, and fifth Earl of Stafford. In the 22 Richard
II., 1399, he had the king's special license to marry his eldest
brother's widow, Anne Plantagenet, "which marriage of the said Thomas
and Anne had never been consummated owing to the tender years of the
Earl." He was also K.G., and was killed at the battle of Shrewsbury,
fighting on the side of king Henry IV., in 1403.
He was succeeded by his son Humphrey, who was created Duke of
Buckingham 14 Sept., 1444, with precedence before all dukes
whatsoever, next to those of the blood royal. In 1450 Henry VI. made
him Constable of Dover Castle, and Warden of the Cinque Ports, he was
also a Knight of the Garter. He married the Lady Anne Nevill, daughter
of Ralph, first Earl of Westmoreland, K.G., who died in 1425. He was
faithfully attached to the Lancastrian interest, and was killed at the
battle of Northampton on the 27 July, 1460, fighting under the banner
of Henry VI. and the Red Rose.
Humphrey Stafford, his eldest son, Earl of Stafford, married Margaret,
daughter of Edmund Beaufort, first Duke of Somerset, grandson of John
of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, by Katharine Swynford, and who was killed
on the side of the Red Rose at the first battle of St. Albans on 23
May, 1455. The Earl Humphrey was also slain in the same battle with
his father-in-law.
He thus died before his father, leaving a son Henry, who succeeded his
grandfather, the first Duke, who died in 1460, and this Henry, who was
the second Duke of Buckingham, is the subject of our history.
It would be difficult to find among the antient nobility of England a
man with a more illustrious ancestry, derived by two direct sources
from the blood royal, and allied with Bohun, Nevill, Beauchamp, and
Audley, all families of the first consequence and influence. It would
be equally difficult to find a family more unfortunate.
The restless, troubled life of Henry Stafford, second Duke of
Buckingham, and its importance, as bearing on one of the most noted
epochs of English history, is a subject much too large to receive
anything beyond a very imperfect outline here; and it has been
necessarily more or less comprehensively treated, by all our national
historians. The province of this little narrative will be rather in a
local sense to gather together, and describe from such records and
observation as may be available, the circumstances of the defection,
betrayal, arrest, trial, death, probable burial-place, and presumed
monument set up to the memory of this unfortunate man, the major
portion of which appears to have occurred almost within reach of the
shadow of the glorious spire before us.
His wardship was vested in the king Edward IV., and his tuition
entrusted to the king's sister Anne, wife of the unfortunate Henry
Holland, second Duke of Exeter, and five hundred marks per annum, out
of the revenue of the lordships of Brecknock, Newport, &c., in Wales,
set aside for his maintenance. Humphrey, his father, as we have seen,
was slain at St. Albans in 1455, and at the death of his grandfather
Humphrey, the first Duke, who fell at the battle of Northampton in
1460, he succeeded to the title. But very little is heard further of
him during the reign of Edward IV.
At the death of Edward, however, he appears to have at once come to
the front, as one of the most important personages in the kingdom. The
widowed Queen-Mother Elizabeth Widville, during the king's lifetime,
naturally had done the best that lay in her power for the advancement
of her family; and it seems at the same time, not very discreetly,
treated with contempt and indifference the older nobility of the
kingdom. This treatment was naturally resented on their part, and
Edward appears to have been fully cognizant of this antagonism, and
was anxious, for the weal of his son, to dispel it. So, shortly before
his death, he did his best to effect a reconciliation between them;
this to a considerable extent was done, and the king believed it was
sincere.
Immediately after Edward's decease, however, the Queen-Mother seems to
have revived and accentuated this undesirable feeling, and also sought
to exercise a controlling influence over the government of the kingdom
in her son the young king's name. To this end she contrived, if not
exactly to expel, at least to keep from the Court and presence of her
son, among others, three of the most important of the antient
nobility, who had been highly in favour with her late husband, and who
were fully aware of her schemes and antipathy to them, while at the
same time they were also thoroughly loyal to the interests of her son,
or presumably so. These were Henry, Duke of Buckingham, William, Lord
Hastings, and Thomas, Lord Stanley. This antipathy was the more
strange also as regarded two of them, as they were almost members of
the Queen-Mother's family, for Buckingham was her brother-in-law,
being married to her sister Katharine; and Hastings was father-in-law
to her son's--Thomas Grey, the Marquis of Dorset's--wife, he having
married the widow of the last Bonville, the mother of Cicely. But
family relationships, however near, do not appear to have carried much
weight in those days, where restless, thirsty ambition intervened.
At the juncture of Edward's death, the Duke of Gloucester was at York
on the king's business, and young Edward V. was at Ludlow Castle under
the guardianship of his uncle, the Earl Rivers. The king's younger
brother, the Duke of York, was with the Queen-Mother in the Tower,
that fortress being under the command of the Marquis of Dorset, her
son. She had already got into hot water with the Council, and
affronted both Hastings and Buckingham, and she had sent a despatch to
her brother in Wales, to bring the young King to London with a large
armed escort of at least two thousand men. Gloucester, it is related,
being aware of this state of affairs, and the disaffection of Hastings
and Buckingham, sent privately for them to meet him and discuss the
situation; but Dugdale says, that Buckingham, on hearing of the death
of Edward,--
"speedily despatched one Pershall, his trusty servant in all
haste unto Richard Duke of Gloucester, then in the north, and
that Pershall being privately admitted to speak to him, in the
dead of night, told him that his master had sent him to offer him
his service, and that he would wait on him with a thousand good
fellows if need were,"
at any rate the three met, and were all well in agreement as to their
hatred of the Queen-Mother, and desired to remove both herself and
family from the position of influence they had acquired. Gloucester
made due note of this, carefully veiling his own ultimate purpose. But
the advance of the young King and an armed host under the command of
Rivers, was to be baulked if possible, and for this purpose Hastings
was despatched to London, to convey the assurance of his and his
companion's loyalty, and to represent that it would be most impolitic
to have a large military escort accompanying the young King. The
Queen-Mother believing this counsel to be all genuine and well-meant,
desired her brother to bring the King with only a comparatively small
guard, or such a retinue as befitted him.
Gloucester and Buckingham, with a force of nine hundred armed men,
arrived at Northampton from York a few days before the King and his
uncle Rivers reached that town. They went out to meet the King, and
saluted him very respectfully, at the same time saying that as
Northampton was very full of strangers just then, it would be
advisable for the King's comfort, if himself and his retinue proceeded
to Stony-Stratford, twelve miles further on, and nearer London. This
being agreed on, it was proposed to the Earl, "in a free and easy
manner," that he should return with Gloucester and pass the night at
Northampton, which "kind invitation" Rivers unsuspectingly complied
with.
The evening appears to have been spent in conviviality and mutual
protestations of good faith toward each other, and subsequently the
Earl retired to his lodgings at an Inn. Guards were at once placed
over him, and every precaution taken to prevent any communication
between Northampton and Stony-Stratford. The victim was securely
caged.
At day-break the next morning Gloucester and Buckingham were on
horseback, ready to depart. Rivers was still in bed, and being wakened
by his servant was told of this circumstance, but that no one was
suffered to go out of the Inn. The Earl thereon hastily dressed
himself, and desired to know the reason of this proceeding; and
meeting with the Dukes, asked why they kept the keys of the Inn, and
thus sought to make him a prisoner there. He found them in a very
different frame of mind from the previous evening, they immediately
began to upbraid and quarrel with him, told him he sought to alienate
the King's affections from his uncle Gloucester, and others the King's
faithful subjects, and that they should take care to prevent the like
practices in future. The Earl returned a calm answer to this
accusation, but they refused to hear him, gave him into custody, and
mounting their horses, rode off to Stony-Stratford.
Here they found the young King ready to pursue his journey, and after
paying him their respects, remounted to escort him. But before they
had left the town, they quarrelled with Lord Richard Grey, charging
him and the Marquis of Dorset (who was in London) with allegations
similar to those they had preferred against Earl Rivers. The poor
young King was greatly distressed at this position of affairs, and
said he could say nothing as to the Marquis of Dorset, but as for the
others he could answer for their conduct, as they had been continually
with him. To this Buckingham replied, that they had carefully
concealed their designs from him, which however were not the less
certain. Lord Grey, with Sir Thomas Vaughan and Sir Richard Hawke, who
were in attendance on the King, were at once arrested, and together
with Earl Rivers, either on the same day or the next, were sent
northward in custody of several persons, and finally incarcerated in
Pontefract Castle, whose Governor was Sir Richard Ratcliffe, a
partisan of Gloucester. The young King himself was re-conducted back
to Northampton, practically as much a prisoner as his uncle and
half-brother, and reserved ultimately for a similarly cruel fate. Thus
the first act of this atrocious tragedy was completed.
The news of this _coup-de-main_ having reached the Queen-Mother, she
was greatly terrified, for she saw at a glance its full significance,
and she immediately with her son the Duke of York, her other children,
the Marquis of Dorset, and the rest of her family, took sanctuary at
Westminster, as their only available refuge.
Lord Hastings, who was in London, had intelligence of these
proceedings the same night. Although he excessively disliked the
Queen-Mother, yet he was thoroughly loyal to the young King and the
other children of Edward IV., his former friend and patron, and
although he was privy to the plot for the seizing of Rivers and Grey,
yet he appears to have had no further wish than to prevent the
Queen-Mother directing the government. On receipt of the news, he at
once proceeded to acquaint Rotherham, the Archbishop, and quieted his
alarm by assuring him the King was in no danger, and all these steps
were devised for the welfare of the kingdom. Rotherham repaired
immediately to the Queen-Mother, whom he found at Westminster, "in a
disconsolate condition, sitting upon the ground, lamenting her own and
her children's fate, while her domestics were busy in carrying such
goods as were necessary into the Sanctuary." The Archbishop conveyed
Hastings' intelligence to her as to the safety of the King, and did
his best to comfort her, and gave her every possible assurance of his
own fidelity, telling her, among other things, that, even supposing it
possible they might put the King to death, he would at once crown the
Duke of York. But the Queen-Mother was slow to believe in anything but
of the worst import. The good prelate, in company with many others,
had failed to gauge the ultimate depths of Gloucester's design.
In the meanwhile the citizens of London, like the Queen-Mother,
greatly alarmed at this sudden turn of affairs, were beginning to arm
themselves, in view of possible contingencies. Hastings, who had great
influence with the citizens, contrived to keep them quiet, while
plausible stories as to the hostile designs of the imprisoned Rivers
and his companions were circulated, and all suspicion and distrust
being allayed, immediately thereupon the King, attended by the Dukes
of Gloucester and Buckingham, arrived; and escorted by a large
concourse of nobility and others, Gloucester riding before him
bare-headed, made a triumphal entry into the city, and was lodged in
the Bishop's palace. These rejoicings over, Gloucester called a
Council together of his own friends and partisans, and thereat he was
constituted "Protector of the King, and kingdom." So the second act of
the tragedy reached its conclusion.
Gloucester's first step was to take the Great Seal from Archbishop
Rotherham, and give it to John Russell, Bishop of Lincoln, the Duke of
Buckingham and Lord Hastings were confirmed in their places, and the
other positions of influence filled up by his own partisans. The next
step was to get possession of the Duke of York, the young King's
brother, then in Sanctuary with his mother.
Gloucester proposed this course at a Council, and suggested that a
proper representative should be sent to the Queen-Mother, requesting
her to deliver up the young prince to their custody, and suggesting
that Cardinal Bourchier, Archbishop of Canterbury (who was related
both to him and Buckingham), was the fittest person to be entrusted
with the errand, and added, that if the Queen-Mother refused to listen
to the message of the Cardinal, he saw no reason why they should not
obtain him by force, if necessary. The Cardinal readily undertook the
negociation, but he would not hear for an instant of daring to violate
the Sanctuary,--"such an attempt would certainly draw down the just
vengeance of God on the whole kingdom." To this objection Buckingham
vehemently replied, backing up the views of Gloucester, that if the
Queen-Mother refused to give up her son freely, they should take him
by force out of Sanctuary; and this course was agreed to at the
Council, notwithstanding the remonstrances of the ecclesiastics
present.
The Cardinal-Archbishop waited on the Queen-Mother and did his best by
entreaties and assurances to induce her to part with her son, but she
could not be persuaded to place her child in the hands of the man she
so greatly feared, and believed to be her mortal enemy. At last
Bourchier told her the dread truth, that if she did not deliver him up
otherwise, they would take him from her by force, notwithstanding the
privilege of Sanctuary, but that he could not believe they would have
made him the instrument of deceiving her, and bringing harm to her
son. Alas, the good Cardinal was thoroughly deceived with the rest,
and so, finding he could not persuade her, prepared to depart. The
distracted mother thereon chose what appeared the least evil of the
two, "caught the boy in her arms, tenderly took leave of him, and in a
flood of tears delivered him to the Cardinal."
Bourchier brought the young prince to Gloucester, who received his
nephew with much feigned affection,--a few days after both the young
King and his brother were lodged in the Tower, never to come out again
alive.
Up to this time it is probable that no one, not excepting Buckingham,
really had cognizance of the ultimate designs of Gloucester, and he
himself had been veiling his purpose as carefully as possible, until
he saw his schemes so far matured, that success appeared in sight. And
although he was gradually getting the sole power and mastery of the
King and government in his own hands, still there were many obstacles
to be got out of the way, and many influential men to be won over, or
otherwise disposed of, before the sceptre was within his grasp.
At this juncture Buckingham comes to the front, as the undoubted agent
and zealous coadjutor of Gloucester, in aiding his ultimate design,
and also by apparently acquiescing in any measures, however desperate,
that might lead to its fulfilment. Gloucester doubtless thoroughly
estimated the unenviable character of his ally. He knew of
Buckingham's hatred of the Queen-Mother and her family, and that in
consequence, his allegiance to the young King was of very doubtful
character, if secretly he did not equally dislike him, though he dared
not shew it, and Gloucester was further aware of Buckingham's
grievance at never having been possessed of that which by heirship he
was entitled to, a moiety of the great Bohun estates, and which had
been hitherto vested in the Crown, unjustly as he considered, and
Gloucester, it is said, duly whetted his companion's hopes by the
promise of the restoration of this, when seated on the throne.
Prompt action was now decided on. Widville and Grey, with their
associates, were to be dispatched, and orders were sent down to
Pontefract to Sir Richard Ratcliffe for that purpose, and it was
further determined that Lord Hastings was to be won over if possible,
if not the same fate was to be reserved for him.
Then came Gloucester's tampering with Sir Edmund Shaw, the Lord Mayor,
and his brother, the truculent preacher Dr. John Shaw, and the
pretences of trying to assume the illegitimacy of Edward's children,
and failing that, of Edward IV. himself. Then the simulation of
feigning to prepare for the young King's coronation, and the two
Councils, one in Gloucester's interests, intriguing for its delay at
Baynard's Castle, and the other arranging it for the King in the
Tower. Stanley, in the King's Council, was assured there was mischief
in Gloucester's designs, but Hastings was slow to believe such
treachery, until the truth was apparent to him, when the wretched
emissary, Catesby, left him for the second and last time, a betrayed
and doomed man. Immediately on this followed the frightful incident in
the Tower, and the murder of Hastings,--for it was nothing less,--a
scene described at length elsewhere.[18] On the same day the victims at
Pontefract were disposed of.
Concerning the barbarous execution of Earl Rivers and his unfortunate
companions we get the following graphic picture from More,--
"They had not so much as the formality of a trial, but were
brought to the scaffold on the day appointed, and being branded
in general by the name of traitors, were beheaded. The Lord
Rivers would fain have declared his innocence to the people, but
Ratcliffe would not suffer him, lest his words should lay open
the Protector's cruelty too much, and so he died in silence. Sir
Thomas Vaughan would not endure his mouth to be stopped, but as
he was going to the block said aloud, 'a mischief take them that
expounded the prophecy, which foretold that G should destroy King
Edward's children, for George, Duke of Clarence, who for that
suspicion is now dead; for there still remained Richard G (i.e.
Duke of Gloucester) who now I see is he that shall, and will,
accomplish the prophecy, and destroy King Edward's children, and
all his allies and friends, as appeareth to us this day; against
whom I appeal to the high tribunal of God, for this wrongful
murder and our real innocency.' Sir Richard Ratcliffe heard this
with regret, and putting it off, said to him in scorn, 'You have
made a goodly appeal, lay down your head.' 'Yea,' saith Sir
Thomas, 'but I die in the right, take heed that you die not in
the wrong;'--and having said this he was beheaded. He, with the
other three, were buried naked in the Monastery of St. John the
Evangelist, at Pontefract."
[18] See page 57.
The citizens of London had next to be reckoned with, on whom "fear and
consternation" would be sure to fall, on hearing of the sudden and
barbarous death of Hastings, who was a great favourite with them, and
had much influence in the city. But all things had been prepared,--the
Lord Mayor and Aldermen were immediately summoned to the Tower, and
Gloucester and Buckingham, who had arrayed themselves in two old rusty
suits of armour, received them, and in the name of the King told them
that the beheaded man had conspired to seize the King, and kill
Gloucester and Buckingham, in order that he may have governed the
kingdom as he pleased! That they only discovered it the same morning,
and the Council deemed it necessary to execute him immediately, and
fearing there were many others in the plot they had hastily harnessed
themselves at once for the King's defence. A proclamation, already
"cut and dried" before Hastings' death, containing similar statements,
was issued in the city within two hours of that event, but it had
little effect, for the people jested and said, "_it was writ by the
spirit of prophecy_." True enough, doubtless; the civic deputation
withdrew from the presence of Gloucester, quite assured of his
dissimulation and the untruth of what he had stated, but told him his
orders for the quietness of the city should be obeyed, being too much
afraid to give other answer.
The Archbishop of York, Morton, Bishop of Ely, and Lord Stanley had
been sent to the Tower, poor Jane Shore publicly disgraced, and so all
was well cleared away for Gloucester's ultimate measures. The two
dukes were constantly in close conclave, and the next step was to win
the citizens of London over to their designs. This was not so easy a
matter, but two influences were to be tried, the first by imposing on
their credulity and getting a feigned assent, and the second, if
necessary, to oblige them into compliance by fear.
The Lord Mayor, Sir Edward Shaw, was already won over, and his
brother, the Doctor, was to begin the final proceedings. These
commenced by Dr. Shaw preaching the famous--or rather infamous--sermon,
on a Sunday morning, at Paul's cross; taking for his text a phrase from
the fourth chapter of the _Wisdom of Solomon_, "Bastard slips shall take
no deep root," a tissue of malign slander on the late king, his
children, and their mother,--and gross adulation of Gloucester. During a
special laudatory parenthesis it was intended Gloucester should, as by
chance, shew himself among the people, but he happened to overstay the
time, the Doctor having concluded it, and when he did appear immediately
after, the preacher re-commenced the passage, and it was hoped he would
have heard a call for him as the future king, but there was a complete
silence, the audience were disgusted both with the preacher and the
subject. This was an ominous and disquieting omen to Gloucester.
The Duke of Buckingham now appears upon the scene as the prime factor
in the events that followed. Dr. Shaw's eloquence not prevailing upon
the citizens, he determined to see what effect his own reasoning would
have on them. For this purpose the Lord Mayor had orders to assemble
the Aldermen and all the principal citizens in the Guildhall on the
Tuesday following, being the 17 June, 1483. Buckingham addressed the
assemblage, and the subject of his harangue was simply an echo of the
slander and adulation of what the people had heard at Paul's cross,
coupled with the suggestion that Gloucester should be requested to
assume the crown and government,--too weighty for a child.
The Duke finished his oration, and a silence was observed by the
audience, as at the conclusion of Shaw's sermon; "everyone stood
speechless." Then the Duke, surprised at the want of response, asked
the Lord Mayor the reason; the answer was, the people did not well
understand him. The Duke then "repeated his speech, with a little
variation, and with such grace and eloquence, never was so ill a
subject handled with so much oratory." Still the people remained
silent.
Perplexed, the Duke again turned to the Lord Mayor, who then told him
the citizens were not accustomed to hear anyone but the Recorder, and
that he had better put the matter before them. Thereon Buckingham
requested the Recorder, Sir Thomas Fitz-William, to address them, and
he "most reluctantly managed his speech so well, as to be understood
to speak the Duke's sense, and not his own." But the assembly stood
silent as before,--
"They spake not a word;
But, like dumb statuas, or breathing stones,
Stared on each other, and looked deadly pale."
Then the Duke, seeing a crisis was at hand, determined to test the
citizens for a definite reply, and after once more "muttering" to the
Lord Mayor, turned to the assemblage and said,--
"Good friends, we came to acquaint you with a thing we needed not
have done, had it not been for the affection we bear you. The
Lords and Commons could have determined the matter without you,
but would gladly have you join with us, which is for your honour
and profit, though you do not see it, or consider it. We require
you therefore to give your answer one way or another; whether you
are willing as the Lords are, to have the most excellent prince
the Lord Protector to be your King, or not?"[19]
[19] Sir Thomas More.
Whatever may have been surmised as to the ultimate object to which
preceding events were tending, this manifesto and declaration of
Buckingham tore off the final shreds of the mask, that had been so
thinly veiling it. At the conclusion of the question, a murmur ran
through the assemblage, and just at this juncture, a number of the
Protector's and Duke's servants, some city apprentices, and a rabble
that had crowded into the Hall, cried out, "_King Richard! King
Richard!_" and threw up their hats in token of joy.
Glad to seize hold of this mockery of a response, although perfectly
aware of its origin, Buckingham immediately treated it as a genuine
and spontaneous demonstration in favour of Gloucester, and said,--
"'Tis a goodly and joyful cry, to hear every man with one voice
agree to it, and nobody say, no; since therefore, we see you all
as one man inclined to have this noble prince to be your King,
we shall report the matter effectually to him, that we doubt not
it will be much to your advantage. We require you to attend us
to-morrow with our joint petition to his Grace; as has been
already agreed on between us."
"Some followers of mine own,
At lower end of the hall, hurled up their caps
And some ten voices cried, _God save King Richard!_
(And thus I took the vantage of those few.)"
The Duke and his companions then left the Hall, and the citizens
dispersed "the most part with aching hearts, though they were forced
to hide their sorrows, as much as possible for fear of giving offence,
which had been dangerous."
Baynard's Castle in Thames Street, "where the Lord Protector lay," was
destined to be the scene of the last act of this miserable drama.
Hither the following morning being Wednesday, the 17 April,
Buckingham, several lords and gentlemen, the Lord Mayor, and most of
the Aldermen and Common-Council, repaired to have audience of
Gloucester.
The consummate hypocrisy of Gloucester's character, and his finished
acting, were never more fully displayed than at this interview. At
first he "made some difficulty of coming forth," and when he appeared,
Buckingham, whose guile on the occasion was only short of
Gloucester's, introduced the deputation, and after "very submissively
begging pardon for himself and company, and liberty to propose to him
what they had to offer," and receiving "his Grace's" reply that "he
believed none of them meant him any harm," at once "set forth very
elegantly and pathetically,"--
"the grievances of the people, and prayed him to redress them by
assuming the sovereign authority, which of right belonged to him,
and which the whole kingdom with unusual unanimity, desired he
would take to himself for the benefit of the Commonwealth, as
much as for his Grace's honour."
Gloucester simulated to be "mightily surpriz'd," and said, "although
he knew the things, he (Buckingham) alleged, to be true, yet he loved
King Edward and his children above any crown whatsoever, and therefore
could not grant them their request." Thereon Buckingham "murmured" and
"obtained pardon" to speak a second time. He then said, "they were
gone too far to go back," and that if he refused "to take the Crown
upon him, which they humbly beseeched him to do,"--and gave them "a
resolute answer" to the contrary, then "they would look out for some
worthy person who would accept their proposal."
The time was now come to throw off the mask, for the climax of
hypocrisy had been reached, and Gloucester, never slow to act when the
decisive moment arrived, immediately put his foot on the neck of the
coveted opportunity. There was no hesitation in the declaration he
then made; he "perceived" that the "whole realm was bent upon it not
to have King Edward's children to govern them, of which he was
sorry,"--and that "he knew the Crown could belong to no man so justly
as ourself," a claim now confirmed and joined also by "your election,
the Nobles and Commons of this Realm," the which of all titles
"possible," he took to be the most effectual, he did therefore
"content and agree favourably to receive your petition and
request,"--and would forthwith from that day forward, "take upon us
the royal estate, to rule, govern, and defend."
"Stand all apart,--Cousin of Buckingham,
Give me thy hand;--thus high by thy advice
And thy assistance is King Richard seated."
So the farce ended, and the deputation retired. Buckingham had placed
the crown on the grisly brow of the White Boar, who, in return was
destined not long afterward to rend him that offered it to the heart.
* * * * *
The assumption of the royal dignity by Gloucester, brings to a
conclusion the first half of our little narrative, relating to the man
who thus offered it to him.
Two equally remarkable, much-alike, and unenviable-in-conduct,
personages, are now presented to us, who had both risen to the highest
positions in their native land, the one to supreme authority as king;
the other his faithful, and almost unscrupulous lieutenant, henchman,
and catspaw, possessing a rivalling royal descent, but little removed
in directness from his own, to be from this service the most important
and influential of that king's subjects. A very dangerous and crazy
alliance between men of such kindred character and aspirations, and
destined assuredly not to last long.
Life never stands still,--in the very nature of things it cannot,--nor
remain long on an even, which means literally a dead level: it must
progress or recede. This is true generally of all life, but specially
so of one animated by ambitious longings. A spirit so prompted must
continue to ascend if there be any altitude to win, but if this be
denied, and the unstable path it follows at last begins to sink rather
than to rise beneath the advancing step, and points to the dread
bourne of obscurity and neglect; or, if the powerful antagonism of
rival claims and influence jostle it on one side and precede it; or,
the cold shadow of preference, joined with indifference and crushed
hopes paralyze its future efforts, there is neither anchorage nor
haven for the beaten bark, then the bitter promptings of envy and
shattered pride but too often occupy the heart instead, give demon
wings to its future course, urging it fatally onward to end in the
blind and reckless shipwreck of all.
Gloucester was proclaimed King on 22 June, and on 4 July went to the
Tower by water, accompanied by his Queen. On that day among the titles
of honour distributed, was that "Henry Stafford, Duke of Buckingham,
was made Constable of England for term of life, but he claimed the
office by inheritance."[20] He had previously been elected a Knight of
the Garter.
[20] Buck's _Life of Richard III._
The next day Richard rode in state from the Tower through the City to
Westminster, and a large cavalcade of the nobility and the great
officers of state. "But the Duke of Buckingham carried the splendour
of that day's bravery, his habit and caparisons of blue velvet,
embroidered with _Golden naves of carts, burning_, the trappings
supported by footmen habited costly and suitable."
On the day following, 6 July, the coronation of Richard and his Queen
took place, when "all the prelates mitred in their _pontificalibus_"
received the King in Westminster Hall, and in the grand procession,
after the great Officers of State carrying the royal insignia, came
the "King in a surcoat and robe of purple, the canopy borne by the
Barons of the Five Ports, the King between the Bishops of Bath and
Durham, the Duke of Buckingham bearing up his train, and served with a
White Staff for Seneschal, or High Steward of England," an office he
appears to have held for that day only; while in the Queen's
procession "the Earl of Surrey was Constable (_pro illa vice
tantum_)."[21]
[21] Buck's _Life of Richard III._
Richard, instead of summoning a Parliament, held a conference with
some of the principal nobles, and after charging them to preserve the
peace and put down all crime and disorder, set off for a progress
through the midland counties, the end of the journey to be York, where
a second coronation was performed by Archbishop Rotherham, and Richard
created his son Prince of Wales.
From Windsor the King passed through his manor of Woodstock to Oxford,
and it being fine summer weather, the people kept high holiday on the
route of the royal progress. At the University he appears to have been
particularly well received, and acceded to their petition to release
Morton, the Bishop of Ely, from his durance in the Tower, as that
prelate was a special favourite with them, and having done so,
consigned him to the gentler and freer espionage of his friend the
Duke of Buckingham, who sent the Bishop down to his Castle of
Brecknock in South Wales.
This transfer of the Bishop from the Tower to Wales, was the first
step in the prelude whose _denouement_ was to be at Bosworth. There
was no man whose ability Richard more disliked and feared than
Morton's, and that prelate had an equally intense hostility toward the
King. But one thing was manifest by his thus committing the Bishop to
Buckingham's custody, he could not at the time have had any doubt of
the Duke's continued fealty toward him.
The progress continued to Gloucester, the King "making small stay
anywhere." Here at this ominously-named city, from which he derived
his title, two circumstances occurred whose issues eventually wrested
the Crown from his brow, which he was hastening to York,--as if to
make assurance doubly sure,--thereon to have it set with all ceremony
for the second time. The first of these incidents was his parting from
Buckingham, as it turned out, for ever,--although he appeared to be
still "constantly disposed and affected toward him in all outward
appearance." The other was that from here the first message is said to
have been sped--to be afterward repeated with more deadly effect from
Warwick--for the murder of the young Princes in the Tower, a crime
that for wanton cruelty and hideousness completely dwarfed the legion
of others he had previously committed. At last Richard's daring had
reckoned without its host, no such enormity had ever occurred in
England before, he had "miscalculated the national sentiment, there
was a fierce reaction, his popularity went in a day."
Richard is said to have dismissed Buckingham at Gloucester, "with rich
gifts and extraordinary marks of favour and affection." Whatever these
may have been, he had previously given him an enormous number of
appointments and offices in Wales, which had constituted him almost a
little king in the Principality. While Protector, he
"procured for the Duke almost all the government and authority in
Wales, and other bordering counties, the offices of Constable of
all the King's Castles, and Steward of the said Castles, and
divers Manors, Royalties, Lands and Lordships, in Salop,
Hereford, Somerset, Dorset, and Wilts, without making account, or
rendering anything to the King Edward V. Together with the
oversight and government of his subjects in those counties and
power and authority for the security of the King's person and
kingdom, and conservation of the peace in those parts, to call
them together and array and arm them. Also the office of Chief
Justice and Chamberlain of North and South for his life."[22]
[22] Buck's _Life of Richard III._
When Richard became King, he added a further large number of similar
appointments, and the most, if not the whole, were dowered "with the
fees anciently due and accustomed thereto," so that besides giving him
great authority, they must have afforded him a large income.
Buckingham adjournied on from Gloucester, to his castle of Brecknock,
in what state of mind, it is difficult to guess. Arrived there, he
found his ghostly prisoner, with all complaisance waiting to welcome
him. It must have been here also, or on his way hither, that the Duke
received the intelligence of the murder of the Princes in the Tower.
The ghastly news would presumably have greatly startled both
Buckingham and the prelate, unless Richard had confided the grim
secret to the Duke prior to his parting from him at Gloucester, a
supposition we would fain believe not to have been the case, for two
reasons, one that the youths were almost as nearly related to
Buckingham as they were to himself, being the Duke's wife's sister's
children, his nephews by marriage, and there was not like overwhelming
motive for him to acquiesce in such atrocity, as actuated Richard; and
secondly, a crime of such glaring enormity would scarcely brook
revelation to anyone, beyond the person designed to be the instrument
employed to perpetrate it, nor then, until the last moment brought the
dire necessity; and although Richard was hardened enough and bold
enough for anything, still the youths were nearly related to
Buckingham, and Gloucester could not be sure how his--as it turned
out--half-alienated friend might receive it.
Morton, who is described as being "a very wise, politic person, a man
of learning, and of a winning behaviour," did not allow his host to
remain long inactive and unattacked with regard to the great scheme he
had in view. Within the influence of such a mind, Buckingham, weak,
vacillating, ambitious, and unscrupulous, would literally be nowhere,
and so it turned out.
On his arrival at the Castle, Buckingham, it is said, was still full
of the praises of Richard. In a qualified sense this was probably so;
Morton comprehended the situation at once; he had probably anticipated
it, and was prepared with his plans. The argument the astute
ecclesiastic used was double-edged. He knew it would not be safe to
depreciate Richard's character alone without some compensating,
alluring set-off; and so he coupled with it the inevitably
unsettling--the prelude to convincing--one to minds constituted as
Buckingham's,--that of flattering his vanity with the vision of
rivalship, by setting forth the equal if not superior claim to the
highest dignity, he possessed, both in disposition, wisdom, and birth;
supplemented by a contrasted view of Richard's atrocious wickedness,
and unprincipled usurpation. Not that Morton really wished or desired
such a thing, as the sequel proved, because a shift of this nature
would be only exchanging the bad for as bad; but if he could alienate
Buckingham from Richard half the battle would be won, the ultimate
design would take care of itself, and may be unfolded in due time. So
the fly played with the spider; and, said the Bishop to his
gaoler-host,--
"As for the late Protector, since he is now King, I do not intend
to dispute his title; however for the good of the realm he
governs (of which I am a poor member) I was about to wish, that
to the good qualities he possesses, it had pleased God to have
added some of those excellent virtues, requisite for the
governing a kingdom, which are so conspicuous in the person of
your Grace."[23]
[23] _More._
So Morton is said to have whetted Buckingham's appetite and appealed
to his pride, and the Duke, as a matter of course, wished to hear
further of the mind of his adroit and agreeable prisoner, promising
the utmost secrecy in all things concerned, on a subject evidently
congenial to him. Morton soon discovered this, and growing bolder,
placed in striking and flattering contrast the superior qualities of
his host, compared with the evil and cruel characteristics of Richard,
under whom "if he at any time is suspicious of his fidelity to him, no
man is sure of his own life," and continued he,--
"to conclude this discourse, I conjure you by your love to God,
your illustrious line, and your native country, to take the
imperial crown of this realm upon you, to restore this kingdom to
its antient splendor, and deliver it from the violence of the
oppressor. I dare affirm if the Turk stood in competition with
this bloody tyrant, this killer of infants, the people of England
would prefer him to Richard who now sits upon the throne. How
much more then would they rejoice to live under the government of
so excellent a prince as your Grace? Despise not neither lose so
fair an occasion of saving yourself and your country."[24]
[24] "_Continuation_," from Hall and Hollinshead's Chronicles.
Thus much for the preliminary portion of the prelate's speech, to
enlist the ear of his auditor, and then he added, what he intended the
foregoing adulation should lead up to,--
"But if you will not yourself accept the sovereignty of this
kingdom, if the toils and hazards of a crown, prevail over you
more than the charms of power, I entreat you by the faith you owe
to God, by your affection to the place that gave you birth, and
to the English nation; that you will in your high and princely
wisdom think of some means of advancing such a good governor, as
you shall appoint to rule and govern them. All the hopes of the
people of England are in you, and to you only can they fly for
succour. If you could set up the house of Lancaster once more, or
marry the eldest daughter of king Edward to some great and potent
prince, the new King would not long enjoy his usurped empire, all
civil war would cease, domestic discord would sleep, and
universal peace and profit be the blessings of this noble
land."[25]
[25] "_Continuation_," from Hall and Hollinshead's Chronicles.
This candid statement appears to have been a _poser_ for Buckingham,
who, it is added, "continued silent some time," at which the Bishop in
his turn "changed colour, and was very much confused," expecting the
Duke to have warmly coincided; who, "perceiving the Bishop's affright,
bade him fear nothing, and they would have further talk on the morrow,
but now 'let us go to supper.'"
The Duke sent for Morton the next day, and not being quite easy and
sure within himself, bade the Bishop rehearse the whole matter over
again. This done, Buckingham "pulled off his hat, and made a sort of
prayer," which being ended, "he then put on his hat, and applied
himself to the Bishop."
Buckingham's reply to Morton was a kind of declaration and confession
combined. He began with a similar strain of profession of regard
toward the Bishop, having always found him "a sure friend, a trusty
counsellor, and a vigilant statesman," and as the Bishop had so
unreservedly opened his mind to him, he would reciprocate the
confidence. And so he began by declaring,--
"that when King Edward died, to whom I thought I was very little
obliged (though he and I had married two sisters), because he
neither promoted or preferred me, as I thought I deserved by my
birth, and the relation I had to him; I did not much value his
children's interest, having their father's ill usage still in my
mind."
and also that it would be of "ill consequence" to the nation, for the
young King to govern, with his mother for Regent, and all her family,
who were persons of "no high descent" occupying the most important
positions, and have more share in the government than the King's
relations and the other persons who were of the "very highest quality"
in the kingdom, and so,--
"for these reasons I thought it to be for the public welfare, and
my private advantage to side with the Duke of Gloucester, whom I
took to be as sincere and merciful, as I now find him to be false
and cruel. By my means, as you know well, he was made Protector
of the King, and Kingdom."
That after this Gloucester produced to him and others "instruments
witnessed by doctors, proctors, and notaries," shewing that Edward's
children were bastards, and himself the rightful heir to the throne,
which they believed to be true, and so took him for their "rightful
prince and sovereign," and it was by his assistance he was made King,
at which time
"he promised me at Baynards-Castle, laying his hand on mine, that
the two young Princes should live and be provided for, to mine
and everyone's satisfaction. When he was in possession of the
throne he forgot his friends, and the assurances he had given
them, and denied to grant my petition for part of the Earl of
Hereford's lands, which his brother wrongfully detained from me.
And when I was certainly informed of the death of the two
innocent Princes, to which (God be my judge) I never consented,
my blood curdled at his treason and barbarity, I abhorred the
sight of him, and his company much more."
This statement as to the refusal of Richard to give him the portion of
the Earl of Hereford's lands, does not accord with Dugdale's account
to which we shall refer, nor with Richard's bitter exclamation of
reproach when he heard of Buckingham's defection.
The Duke then continues to narrate how on his way homeward to
Brecknock, he "meditated" how he might dethrone Richard, and that "had
I assumed the supreme power, I thought there was nobody so likely to
carry it as myself," that he sojourned two days at Tewkesbury brooding
over the matter, but considered altogether "that to pretend to seat
myself on the throne would not do," as in that case both the houses of
York and Lancaster would join themselves against him, although he
remembered,--
"that Edmund, Duke of Somerset, my grandfather, was with king
Henry VI. in two or three degrees from John, Duke of Lancaster,
lawfully begotten, my mother being Duke Edmund's eldest daughter,
I looked on myself as next heir to Henry VI. of the house of
Lancaster. But as I further journied between Worcester and
Bridgenorth, I met the Lady Margaret, Countess of Richmond, at
present wife to the Lord Stanley, who is the rightful and sole
heir of John, Duke of Somerset, my grandfather's elder brother,
whose title I had forgot until I saw her in my way, and then I
remembered that both her claim, and her son the Earl of
Richmond's, were bars to mine, and forbad my pretending to the
crown of England."
At this interview it was proposed by the Countess that her son should
marry one of king Edward's daughters, and "conjured" Buckingham, "by
the memory of Duke Humphrey, his grandfather," to do his utmost to
forward the match, to be eventually a solution to the present
troubles, and he came to a resolution to "spend his life and fortune"
in forwarding such a "glorious design," by which, if effected, he
doubted not "the proud boar, whose tusks have gored so many innocent
persons, shall soon be brought to confusion, the rightful and
indubitate heir enjoy the crown, and peace be restored to this
distracted kingdom."
This was exactly the kind of confession Morton required, and all being
agreed on, the next thing was to get some trusty envoy to send to the
Countess of Richmond to concert measures. He was soon found in the
person of Sir Reginald Braye, who was despatched to her with the
announcement of Buckingham and Morton's design, and to get her to
communicate with the Queen-Mother and acquire her assent and adherence
to the project. This the Countess effected through the medium of Dr.
Lewis, her physician, and the Queen-Mother readily assented, on the
stipulated condition that the Earl of Richmond married her daughter
Elizabeth, and failing her, the next eldest, Cecilia.
Morton having taken captive the mind, if not the person of his gaoler,
now wished the Duke to set him at liberty, and let him go to his
diocese in Ely, where his friends would preserve him from any violence
of Richard's,--"once I find myself at Ely," said he to Buckingham,
"with four days start of Richard, I am ready to defy all his malice."
The Duke however had no mind to lose so good an adviser, and did not
wish him to leave, but Morton was determined to be gone if he could,
and so stole away from Brecknock Castle in disguise, and doubtless
without the Duke's knowledge.
It is rather difficult to estimate Morton's action on this occasion.
The secret was out, the measures were concerted, and would soon get
wind; was he afraid of Richard's vengeance? By his leaving Buckingham
thus, he greatly compromised the Duke if their plans failed, and left
him to certain destruction, while he would be in safety. With great
rapidity he crossed from Brecknock to Ely, a hundred and seventy
miles, and thence to Wisbech, and with money and men he had collected
from his great works in the Fens, took shipping and got safely over to
Flanders, and the first intelligence Richard had of his flight, was
that he was in Brittany with the Earl of Richmond. Richard doubtless
was fully alive to the threatened danger, and Shakspeare well imagines
his apprehension in the words,--
"Ely with Richmond troubles me more near
Than Buckingham with all his rash-levied strength."
Matters now proceeded apace toward the development of the movement.
Sir Reginald Braye, as the trusty ambassador, had won over Sir Giles
Daubeney, Sir John Cheney, Sir Richard Guilford, and others, and with
these were the Courtenays, Sir Edward, afterward Earl of Devon, and
Bishop Peter Courtenay, Sir Robert Willoughby, afterward Lord Broke,
Sir Thomas Arundell, and Sir Thomas Brandon, these were to
_rendez-vous_ at or near Salisbury: the Marquis of Dorset had left his
sanctuary, and with his uncle Sir Richard Widville had gone to the
north. Dr. Christopher Urswick, Chaplain to the Countess, and Thomas
Rame, had been despatched by her by different routes to Brittany to
apprise her son of the complexion of the movement, and he was to
appear off the western coast with a fleet and men to land in aid.
Richard, of course, soon found out the character of the insurrection
and those implicated in it. To Buckingham he first sent a "very kind
obliging letter," inviting him to come to London, but the Duke
"pretended indisposition," and so excused himself. The King thereon
being enraged, sent him "a letter in a rougher stile, commanding him
on his allegiance to attend him." But the die was cast, matters had
gone too far to recede, and the message was returned by the Duke,
"that he would not expose himself to his mortal enemy, whom he neither
loved nor would serve."
Buckingham gathered together as soon as possible his "rash-levied"
strength. These consisted of a number of his tenants and a host of
ill-disciplined Welshmen, and he endeavoured by long marches, passing
through the Forest of Dean, to get to Gloucester, and thence onward to
join the western contingent. The Earl of Richmond set sail from
Brittany, the twelfth of October, with a fleet of forty ships and five
thousand Bretons on board. They appear to have at once encountered a
storm, which dispersed the fleet, but
"the ship in which was the Earl in person, was driven on the
coast of England, to the mouth of the haven of Poole, in
Dorsetshire; where, finding the shore was crowded with troops to
oppose his descent, he forbad any of his men to land until the
whole navy came up. However he sent out his boat with some
officers to demand of the men who stood on the shore, whether
they were friends or enemies? These traitors instructed by king
Richard, answered, 'They were friends posted there by the Duke of
Bucks to receive the Earl of Richmond.' The Earl suspecting the
deceit, and perceiving he was alone, the rest of his fleet not
appearing, weighed anchor, returned to France, and landed in
Normandy."
But how fared Buckingham and his motley host? Not only circumstances,
but Nature fought against him. The river Severn, swollen by ten days
continuous rain, overflowed all the adjoining country, doing immense
damage, and the inundation was so large, and of such remarkable
character, that for a hundred years afterward it was named and
recollected as _The Great Water_, or _Buckingham's Water_, and
tradition delivers it was so severe "that men, women, and children
were carried away in their beds with the violence of it."
This inundation totally prevented the Duke and his army crossing the
river, and his allies on the other side coming to his support. The
Welshmen "tried with being exposed to hunger, rain, and numberless
hardships, returned to their homes,"--they appear to have deserted by
degrees, "until at last the Duke had none left about him but his
domestic servants, nor could prayers nor threats keep them together,
so he was obliged to fly with the rest."
Thus prematurely ended this unfortunate movement, and Buckingham fled
for refuge and secrecy to the house of his old servant, Ralph
Banister, to whom himself, and his father before him, had shewn many
acts of kindness.
Richard had gone down north to organize an army to meet the
insurrection, and on the twelfth of October was at Lincoln, to see the
Bishop, who however was absent and sick. Here the King sent him a
letter to the following intent,--
By the KING.
"Right Reverend Fadre in God, and Right trusty and wellbeloved;
We grete you wele, and in our hertiest wyse thank you for the
manyfold Presentes that your Servantes in your behalve have
presented unto Us at this oure being here: which we assure you we
toke and accepted with good hert; and so we have cawse. And
whereas We by Goddes Grace intend briefly to avaunce us towards
our Rebel and Traitor the Duc of Buckingham, to resiste and
withstand his malicious purpose, as lately by our other Letters
We certifyed you oure mynd more at large; For which Cause it
behoveth us to have our grete Sele here, We being enfourmed, that
for such Infirmities and Deseases as ye susteyne ne may in your
person to your ease conveniently come unto us with the same:
Wherefore we will, and natheless charge you that forthwith upon
the sight of thies, yee saufly do the same our grete Sele to be
sent unto us; and such of th'office of oure Chauncery as by your
Wisedome shall be thought necessary, receiving these oure Letters
for youre sufficient Discharge in that behalve. Yeven under oure
Signet at oure Cite of Lincolne the xii day of Octobre."
To which Richard with his own hand, added this remarkable and
significant postscript,--
"We wolde most gladly ye came your selff, yf that ye may, and yf
ye may not, we pray you not to fayle, but to accomplyshe in al
dyllygence oure sayd commaundement, to send oure Seale
incontinent apon the syght hereof, as we truste you with such as
ye truste, and the Officers parteyning, to attend with hyt;
praying you to ascerteyn us of your Newes ther. Here loved be
God, is al wel, and trewly determyned, and for to resiste the
Malyse of him, that had best Cawse to be trew, the Duc of
Bokyngham the most untrew Creature lyvynge. Whom with Gods Grace
we shall not be long til that we wyll be in that parties, and
subdew his Malys. Wee assure you there was never falsre Traitor
purvayde for, as this Berrer Gloucester shal shew you."
What Richard was in such hurry to get his Great Seal for, was manifest
at Leicester. Here, on the twenty-third of the month, he issued a
proclamation against the rebels, and offering rewards for their
apprehension. For Buckingham it was a thousand pounds in money, or a
hundred pounds yearly in land, for the Marquis of Dorset and the
Bishops of Ely and Salisbury a thousand marks in money each, or one
hundred marks in land, and smaller sums for knights and gentlemen of
lesser degree. His reprobation appears to have been specially directed
against the Marquis of Dorset, "who, at the perill of his soule, hath
many and sundry maids, widows, and wives, damnably, and without shame,
deflowered and defiled." The next day at Coventry,--
"In order to make short work, and avoid the usual formalities of
the courts of justice, he commissioned Sir Ralph Ashton to
exercise the office of Vice-Constable, with so extensive a power,
that he could condemn and execute on the spot, all persons
whatever, guilty or suspected of the crime of high-treason,
without having regard to any appeal."
Ashton, who was probably a man after his master's heart, took summary
vengeance on the dispersed insurrectionists, and coming into the
western counties signalized his zeal by numerous executions of those
adjudged by him guilty, or only of favouring the conspirators;
anticipating in spirit and action the bloody campaign of the
detestable Jeffreys, on a similar errand two centuries afterward.
"It is better to trust in the Lord, than to put confidence in man,
than to put confidence in princes;"--had ever the royal Psalmist's
words truer interpretation than in the fate of Buckingham, whom we
left hiding with his servant near Shrewsbury? Alas for the fidelity of
servants when exposed to temptation; but is not falseness ever the
attribute of servitude? Instead of the noble self-denial of sheltering
and befriending his old master and friend, the glittering prize of a
thousand pounds was within his grasp, the position of being a petty
squire with a "manor of land" was before his eyes, and the temptation
proved to be too much for "Maister Rauf Banistre," who, casting the
eternal odium that would inseparably be attached to such conduct to
the winds, went and betrayed the whereabouts of his master to John
Milton, Esq., then Sheriff of Shropshire, who with a party of soldiery
surrounded and searched the locality, apprehended him in a little
grove near Banister's house, and conveyed him to Shrewsbury.
After a short confinement there, the Duke by royal order was delivered
over to the custody of Sir James Tyler and another knight; and,
"appareled in a piled black cloak," was escorted to Salisbury.
Richard who was pursuing his journey southward, had probably reached
Salisbury before his prisoner had arrived.
No time was lost in dealing with the noble captive. His fate had
already been foreshadowed in Richard's postscript to the Bishop,--
"When this arm of mine hath chastised
The petty rebel, dull-brained Buckingham."
And there could be but one effectual way to "subdue his malys," and to
put permanently beyond the power of future mischief this "never falsre
traitor to be purvayde for,"--this "most untrew creature lyvynge."
The Duke was closely examined by his captors, and is said to have
confessed the whole plan of the insurrection, and all particulars of
the conspiracy.
He then made energetic efforts to obtain an interview with Richard,
hoping to excite his compassion, or, as it has been also surmised,
purposing if opportunity offered to despatch him with a concealed
dagger. But he was sueing a much more able and crafty person than
himself. Richard was about the last man to trust himself into the
compromising company of his victim, and so into colloquy with one with
whom he had aforetime been partner in so many crimes, and to whom he
also owed so much, in acquiring his present position. Richard refused
to see him, and his doom was immediate death, without further trial or
arraignment.
BUCKINGHAM. Will not King Richard let me speak with him?
SHERIFF. No, my good lord; therefore be patient.
BUCKINGHAM. Hastings, and Edward's children, Rivers, Grey,
Holy King Henry, and thy fair son Edward,
Vaughan, and all that have miscarried
By underhand corrupted foul injustice;
If that your moody discontented souls
Do through the clouds behold this present hour,
Even for revenge mock my destruction!--
This is All-Souls' day, fellows, is it not?
SHERIFF. It is, my lord.
BUCKINGHAM. Why then All-Souls' day is my body's doomsday.
It was even so. On 2 November, 1483, being All-Souls day, the Duke of
Buckingham was beheaded in or near the Market Place, at Salisbury.
It is singular that such little knowledge remains as to the exact spot
where this unfortunate but unscrupulous man perished, and no official
evidence at all exists as to his place of burial. Relative to this Sir
R. C. Hoare says,--
"It is remarkable that no allusion to this transaction is found
in the documents at Salisbury, even though it took place on the
second of November, the day of choosing the Mayor and other
public officers; whose appointment is recorded in the usual form.
Possibly the city authorities were too deeply implicated in the
intended insurrection to risk even a reference to the subject.
The Pipe Roll of the reign of Richard III. has been carefully
examined, but the search has been fruitless. It is proper to
observe, however, that a stone is still pointed out, as that on
which Buckingham suffered. This stone is in the yard adjoining
the house now occupied by Messrs. Styles and Large, which
formerly belonged to the Blue Boar Inn."