THE BANISHED KING.
The adventures of Edward of York, when, at the age of thirty, driven
from the kingdom by the Earl of Warwick, seem rather like the creation
of a novelist's fancy than events in real life. Scarcely had he escaped
from his mutinous army on the Welland, taken shipping at Lynn, and
sailed for the Burgundian territories, trusting to the hospitality
of his brother-in-law, than he was beset with a danger hardly less
pressing than that from which he had fled. Freed from that peril, and
disappointed of a cordial welcome, an impulse, which he had neither the
will nor the power to resist, brought back the dethroned and banished
prince, with a handful of adherents, resolved either to be crowned with
laurel or covered with cypress.
During the Wars of the Roses, the narrow seas were infested by the
Easterlings, who sailed as privateers as well as traders, and did a
little business in the way of piracy besides. At the time of Edward's
exile, the Easterlings were at war both with the house of Valois and
that of Plantagenet, and had recently inflicted much damage on ships
belonging to the subjects of England. Unluckily for Edward, some of
the Easterlings happened to be hovering on the coast when he sailed
from Lynn, and scarcely had the shores of England vanished from the
eyes of the royal fugitive, when eight of their ships gave chase to his
little squadron.
The Yorkist king was far from relishing the eagerness manifested by
the Easterlings to make his acquaintance, and would, doubtless, have
been delighted to get, by fair sailing, clearly out of their way. This,
however, appeared impossible; and, as the danger became alarming, he
commanded the skipper to run ashore at all hazards. Edward, albeit
exile and fugitive, was not the man to be disobeyed; and the ships
stranded on the coast of Friesland, near the town of Alkmaar. The
Easterlings, however, were not thus to be shaken off. Instead of giving
up the chase, they resolved to board Edward's vessels by the next tide,
and, meanwhile, followed as close as the depth of the water would
permit. The king's situation was therefore the reverse of pleasant.
Indeed, his safety appeared to depend on the chances of a few hours.
Among the European magnates with whom Edward, in the course of his
checkered career, had formed friendships, was a Burgundian nobleman,
Louis de Bruges, Lord of Grauthuse. This personage, at once a soldier,
a scholar, and a trader, had, on more than one occasion, rendered
acceptable service to the White Rose. In other days, he had been sent
by the Duke of Burgundy to cancel the treaty of marriage between the
son of Margaret of Anjou and the daughter of Mary of Gueldres: and
subsequently to the court of England, to treat of the match between
Margaret Plantagenet and the Count of Charolois. Being stadtholder
of Friesland, the Burgundian happened to be at Alkmaar when Edward
was stranded on the coast, and by chance became acquainted with the
startling fact that England's king was in the utmost danger of falling
into the hands of privateers from the Hanse Towns.
Louis de Bruges could hardly have been unaware that the Duke of
Burgundy had no wish to see Edward's face, or to be inextricably
involved in the affairs of his unfortunate kinsman. The Lord of
Grauthuse, however, was not the person to leave, on the coast of
Friesland, at the mercy of pirates, a friend whom, on the banks of the
Thames, he had known as a gallant and hospitable monarch; at whose
board he had feasted in the Great Hall of Eltham, at whose balls he
had danced in the Palace of Westminster, and with whose hounds he had
hunted the stag through the glades of Windsor. Perhaps, indeed, being
gifted with true nobility of soul, he was all the readier with his
friendly offices that Edward was a banished man. In any case, he took
immediate steps to relieve the royal exile, hastened on board, and,
without reference to the duke's political views, invited the English
king and his friends to land.
Never was assistance more cheerfully given, or more gratefully
received. The exiles breathed freely, and thanked Heaven for aid so
timely. But a new difficulty at once presented itself. Edward was so
poor that he could not pay the master of the Dutch vessel, and all his
comrades were in an equally unhappy plight. The king, however, soon got
over this awkward circumstance. Taking off his cloak, which was lined
with marten, he presented it to the skipper, and, with that frank grace
which he possessed in such rare perfection, promised a fitting reward
when better days should come.
At the town of Alkmaar, twenty miles from Amsterdam, and celebrated
for its rich pastures, the exiled king set foot on Continental soil.
His circumstances were most discouraging. Even his garments and those
of his friends appear to have been in such a condition as to excite
surprise. "Sure," says Comines, "so poor a company were never seen
before; yet the Lord of Grauthuse dealt very honorably by them, giving
them clothes, and bearing all their expenses, till they came to the
Hague."
In his adversity, indeed, the conqueror of Towton could hardly have met
with a better friend than Louis de Bruges. At the Hague the king felt
the hardness of his lot alleviated by such attentions as exiles seldom
experience. These, doubtless, were not without their effect. As Edward
indulged in the good cheer of the city, and quaffed the good wine of
the country, he would gradually take heart. Diverted from melancholy
reflections by the wit of Anthony Woodville, and the humor of William
Hastings, and the crafty suggestions of the boy-Duke of Gloucester, he
would find his heart animated by a hope unfelt for days; and, under
the influence of successive bumpers, he would allude to Warwick's
implacable resentment, not in accents of despondency, but with his
habitual oath, and his customary expression, "By GOD'S Blessed Lady, he
shall repent it through every vein of his heart."
But what would Burgundy say to all this? That was a question which the
Lord of Grauthuse must frequently have asked himself, after feasting
his royal guest, and recalling to his memory the scenes of other days,
and the fair and the noble who were now suffering for his sake. The
duke had already heard of Henry's restoration in connection with a
rumor of Edward's death; and, far from manifesting any excessive grief,
he had remarked that his relations were with the kingdom of England,
not with the king, and that he cared not whether the name of Henry or
that of Edward was employed in the articles of treaty. In fact, the
Lancastrian prejudices of Charles the Rash had never, perhaps, been
stronger than when the mighty arm of Warwick was likely to smite the
enemies of the Red Rose.
From the Hague Louis de Bruges intimated to Burgundy the arrival of
King Edward. Burgundy had within the year demonstrated his respect for
the King of England by appearing at Ghent with the blue garter on his
leg and the red cross on his mantle. But, now that Edward was a king
without a crown, the duke's sentiments were quite changed, and he was
unwilling, by holding any intercourse with so hapless a being, to throw
new difficulties in the way of those ambitious projects which he hoped
would convert his ducal coronal into a regal and independent crown. On
hearing the news of his brother-in-law being alive and in Holland, the
duke's features, naturally harsh and severe, assumed an expression of
extreme surprise. "He would have been better pleased," says Comines,
"if it had been news of Edward's death."
Burgundy was with some reason annoyed at Edward's having paid so little
attention to his warnings; and, moreover, he was vexed with himself
for having, out of friendship to so imprudent a prince, exasperated to
mortal enmity so potent a personage as "The Stout Earl." But Burgundy
little knew the ability and energy which, in seasons of adversity, the
chief of the Plantagenets was capable of displaying. Edward already
felt that something must be attempted. Dullness he could not bear. The
idea of passing his life as a grumbling or plotting refugee was not to
be entertained. Hitherto, when not engaged in making war on men, he
had been occupied in making love to women. For luxurious indolence he
had always had a failing; from violent exertion he had seldom shrunk;
but excitement he had ever regarded as indispensable. When he left his
gay and brilliant court, it was to charge, at the head of fighting
men, against the foes of his house; and, with all his faults, it was
admitted that Christendom could hardly boast of so brave a soldier, so
gallant a knight, or so skillful a general. One man, indeed, Edward
knew was still deemed his superior; and the banished Plantagenet burned
for an opportunity to exercise his somewhat savage valor against the
patriot earl who had made and unmade him.
The duke soon found that his royal relative was not likely to die
an exiled king. In fact, Edward, who lately had exhibited so much
indolence and indifference, was now all enthusiasm and eagerness for
action. He who, while in England, was so lazy that the most pressing
exhortations could not rouse him to obviously necessary precautions in
defense of his crown, had now, when an exile in Holland, more need of
a bridle than a spur.
The position of Duke Charles was somewhat delicate. While aware that
he could not with decency refuse aid to his wife's brother, he was
unable to exclude from his mind great apprehensions from the hostility
of Warwick. In this dilemma, even Europe's proudest and haughtiest
magnate could not afford to be fastidious as to the means of saving
himself. Between love of the duchess and fear of the earl, Charles
the Rash for once found it necessary to condescend to the process of
playing a double game. To ingratiate himself with Warwick he resolved
to issue a proclamation forbidding any of his subjects to join Edward's
expedition; and, at the same time, to pacify the duchess, he promised
to grant secretly to his exiled kinsman the means of attempting to
regain the English crown.
Preparations for Edward's departure were soon made. Twelve hundred men
were got together, part of whom were English, armed with hand-guns,
and part Flemings. To convey these to England, ships were necessary:
to pay them, money was not less essential. Both ships and money were
forthcoming.
Burgundy furnished the ships. The duke, however, acted with a caution
which seemed to form no part of his character, and gave assistance
in a manner so secret that he trusted to avoid hostilities with the
government established. At Vere, in Walcheren, four vessels were fitted
out for Edward's use in the name of private merchants, and fourteen
others were hired from the Easterlings to complete the squadron.
The house of Medici would seem to have supplied the money. At an
earlier stage of the great struggle that divided England, Cosmo, the
grandfather of Lorenzo the Magnificent, had thrown his weight into the
Yorkist scale by advancing money to keep Edward on the throne; and the
banker-princes of Florence appear once more to have influenced the
fortunes of the house of Plantagenet by affording pecuniary aid to
the heir of York. One way or another, Edward got possession of fifty
thousand florins--no insignificant sum, considering how desperate
seemed his fortunes.
The royal exile was now impatient to be in England, and there was at
least one man who prayed earnestly for the success of his enterprise.
This was Louis de Bruges, who--to his credit be it told--had throughout
displayed toward the fugitive monarch, in an age of selfishness and
servility, a generosity worthy of those great days of chivalry which
boasted of the Black Prince and John de Valois. After having given
all the aid he could to Edward in regard to ships and money, Louis
still appears to have thought he had not done enough. To complete
his courtesy, therefore, he offered to accompany the banished king
to England, and aid in overcoming his enemies in the battles that
were inevitable. This last sacrifice to friendship Edward declined to
accept; but he was touched by such a proof of esteem, and pressed his
host strongly to come once more to England, and give him an opportunity
of requiting so much hospitality. After an affectionate farewell, the
king and the stadtholder parted; and Edward, having embarked, sailed
toward England, with the determination either to reoccupy a regal
throne or to fill a warrior's grave.
Edward's fleet sailed from Vere, in Walcheren, and, after a prosperous
voyage, approached Cromer, on the coast of Norfolk. Hoping much from
the influence of the Mowbrays, and eager to set his foot on English
soil, the king sent Sir Robert Chamberlaine and another knight ashore
to ascertain the ideas of the Duke of Norfolk. But little did Edward
know of the position of his friends. The province was entirely under
the influence of Oxford; and the Mowbrays, so far from retaining any
power, appear to have been glad, indeed, of that earl's protection.
"The duke and duchess," says John Paston, writing to his mother, "now
sue to him as humbly as ever I did to them, inasmuch that my Lord of
Oxford shall have the rule of them and theirs, by their own desire
and great means." The answer brought back by Edward's knights was not,
therefore, satisfactory. Indeed, Oxford had just been in Norfolk, to
assure himself that no precautions were omitted; and the coast was so
vigilantly guarded by his brother, George De Vere, that an attempt to
land would have been rushing on certain destruction.
Disappointed, but not dismayed, the king ordered the mariners to steer
northward; and a violent storm scattered his fleet. Persevering,
however, with his single ship, Edward, after having been tossed by
winds and storms for forty-eight hours, sailed into the Humber, and
on the 14th of March, 1471, effected a landing at Ravenspur, where,
in other days, Henry of Bolingbroke had set foot when he came to
deprive the second Richard of his crown and his life. Having passed the
night at the village hard by, the king was next morning joined by his
friends, who had landed on another part of the coast.
Edward now set his face southward; but he soon found that, on the
shores of England, he was almost as far from his object as he had been
on the coast of Walcheren. The people of the north were decidedly
hostile; and at York he was brought to a stand-still. It was an age,
however, when men sported with oaths as children do with playthings;
and Edward's conscience was by no means more tender than those of
his neighbors. To smooth his way, he solemnly swore only to claim the
dukedom of York, not to make any attempt to recover the crown; and,
moreover, he carried his dissimulation so far as to proclaim King
Henry and assume the ostrich feather, which was the cognizance of the
Lancastrian Prince of Wales.
After leaving York, however, a formidable obstacle presented itself in
the shape of Pontefract Castle, where Montagu lay with an army. But the
marquis, deceived, it would seem, by a letter from the false Clarence,
made no attempt to bar Edward's progress; and, once across the Trent,
the king threw off his disguise, and rallied the people of the south
to his standard. At Coventry, into which Warwick had retired to await
the arrival of Clarence with twelve thousand men, Edward, halting
before the walls, challenged the earl to decide their quarrel by single
combat. The king-maker, however, treated this piece of knightly bravado
with contempt; and Edward, having in vain endeavored to bring his great
foe to battle by threatening the town of Warwick, was fain to throw
himself between the earl and the capital.
All this time Warwick's danger was much greater than he supposed,
for the negotiations of the female embassador sent to Angers were
bearing fruit; and Gloucester had held a secret conference with
Clarence in the false duke's camp. The consequences of this interview
soon appeared. Clarence, reconciled to his brothers, seized an early
opportunity of making his soldiers put the White Rose on their gorgets
instead of the Red, and then, with colors flying and trumpets sounding,
marched to Edward's camp.
The king, thus re-enforced, pressed courageously toward London. Perhaps
he entertained little doubt of a favorable reception; for he knew full
well that the interest he had among the city dames, and the immense
sums he owed their husbands--sums never likely to pay unless in the
event of a restoration--made London friendly to his cause; and he knew,
moreover, that thousands of his partisans were in the sanctuaries,
ready to come forth and don the White Rose whenever the banner of York
waved in the spring breeze before the city gates.
It appears that Warwick, ere leaving London, had placed the capital and
the king under the auspices of his brother, George Neville, Archbishop
of York. On hearing of Edward's approach, the archbishop made an
effort to discharge his duty, mounted Henry of Windsor on horseback,
and caused him to ride from St. Paul's to Walbrook to enlist the
sympathies of the citizens. But during the last six months the feelings
of the populace had undergone a considerable change, and the spectacle
of the monk-monarch on his palfrey failed to elicit any thing like
enthusiasm. Seeing how the political wind blew, the ambitious prelate
resolved to abandon his brother's cause, and dispatched a message to
Edward asking to be received into favor.
The archbishop was assured of a pardon; and the way having thus been
cleared, the king, on Thursday, the 11th of April, entered the city.
After riding to St. Paul's, he repaired to the bishop's palace, and
thither, to his presence, came the archbishop, leading Henry by
the hand. Having taken possession of his captive, Edward rode to
Westminster, rendered thanks to GOD in the Abbey for his restoration,
conducted his wife and infant son from the sanctuary to Baynard's
Castle, passed next day, Good Friday, in that palace of Duke Humphrey,
and then braced on his armor to battle for his crown.