This much settled, there was a banquet. Then the council got down to the making of arrangements for summoning a new Parliament. This involved much discussion of detail, for the House had to be hand-picked. Finally there was the question of replacing all the ministers and high officials at Westminster, who were Lancastrian appointees. New men, of Yorkist selection, had to be appointed to fill the vacated places.
Undoubtedly this was one of the busiest and longest meetings the council ever held. Everything had to be done at once. The last of the Lancastrians under arms were operating in full force in Kent under the command of the Bastard of Fauconberg, after being repulsed in an attack on the Aldgate at London. No time was to be lost in meeting this final drive of the adherents of the Red Rose.
Now Edward placed the greatest reliance on the sound judgment of his young brother Richard, as he had made so evident when the Warwick rebellion began. Richard would be seated beside the king during the whole of this long and furious session on the night of their arrival. His opinion would be sought on all points.
The next morning, bright and early, Richard led the royal troops down into Kent to settle matters with Fauconberg. This he accomplished decisively, taking the leader prisoner. He was engaged for four days and is next reported at Canterbury on May 25.
While he was engaged in these operations, the death of Henry VI was announced in London and the body was placed on display at St. Paul’s. The official version of his death, as told in the Fleetwood Chronicle, was that the king died of “pure displeasure and melancholy” on May 23. It seems more probable that he was killed, through Yorkist fears that the conflict would drag on as long as he was alive. But to accuse Richard of the crime is the most malicious and gratuitous of all the attacks from which he has suffered. To state that he committed the deed “without commandment or knowledge of the king,” as the History does, is sheer invention. Richard, although still not quite twenty, was Edward IV’s right-hand man, but he was not the assassin of the party. If Edward felt that the old king had to be removed from his path, he would not place the dagger in his young brother’s hand.
Even the History concedes this much, saying “which would, undoubtedly, if he [Edward IV] had intended that thing, have appointed that butcherly office to some other than his own born brother.” Determined, nevertheless, to fix the guilt on Richard, the History falls back on its declaration that Edward did not know what was happening; without citing a fact to back the statement, not a rumor, not a whisper; just the parson of Blokesworth (an early phase of Morton’s career) at his characteristic tricks.
When Richard became king, he had the body of Henry removed from its resting place at Chertsey and buried more fittingly at Windsor with the other kings. Many years after Richard’s death, those who had set themselves to detect treachery and dark design in everything he had done declared this mark of respect was in reality an act of expiation and that Richard, moreover, wanted to end the visits people were paying to the tomb of the murdered king. If he had allowed the body to remain where it was, he would have been attacked for refusing to accord Henry suitable burial. Alas, poor Richard! No matter which course he took, the whip of calumny was bound to curl about his shoulders!
5
It now becomes necessary to say something about Richard and the girl who became his wife.
The chief supporter of Richard of York in his bid for the throne was Richard Neville, the Earl of Warwick, called the Kingmaker. Warwick had two daughters, Isabel and Anne, the most fortunate girls in the kingdom for not only did they have a full share of the Neville beauty but they would in course of time inherit huge estates. Richard of York’s wife had been a Neville and so the bond between the families became a close one.
This story begins late in 1460 when Warwick had come over from France with an army and had beaten Henry VI at Northampton, as a result of which a compromise had been reached; Henry was to remain king for the balance of his life and then the crown would pass to Richard of York. But Henry’s indomitable French queen would not agree to an arrangement which barred her son from the succession. She raised an army to keep up the struggle and York lost no time in marching north to meet this new threat. He arrived at his favorite castle of Sandal in Yorkshire the day before Christmas.
Sandal does not seem to have had much to recommend it except its strength. It was a place of last resort, a great strong castle on a high mound where a determined garrison could hold out indefinitely. To achieve this height a long slope began near the Calder River and ran on a gradual rise toward the northeast. The castle occupied the highest part of the slope. A strong barbican tower guarded the entrance and, to reach the keep, it was necessary to cross two drawbridges. The keep was tall and immeasurably strong, with walls fourteen feet thick and with a ring of towers almost equally massive.
Richard of York had heard reports of Queen Margaret’s unexpected strength (and later discovered this to be sadly true) and so be brought his men to Sandal to wait for his oldest son, Edward, to join him with a force he had raised in Wales, a resolution to which, unfortunately for him, he did not adhere. But that story has already been told.
There was much delight manifested when the owner rode in through the barbican and it was seen that he had brought the two Neville sisters with him. It had been decided they would be safer away from London, which was still in a turmoil and never seemed free of some taint of plague. The family of the duke consisted at this time of four sons, Edward, Edmund, George, and Richard, and three daughters. The word “glamorous” was the only one to describe these children of the White Rose. They were tall and dazzlingly fair, and endowed with charm and vivacity of manner—all save one, Richard, the youngest of the family. Richard was dark and somewhat plain, and hardly better than average in height. One of his shoulders was slightly higher than the other. A great deal has been said of this inequality, although it is not unusual by any means. He was not humpbacked and he did not have a withered arm, although later it would be asserted in histories that he had both deformities.
Little Richard, as he was called by the other members of the family, may have suffered from polio in his infancy but he was beginning to gain in health and strength at this time. He was eight years of age and there does not seem to have been any jealousy in him, certainly no tendency to repine or openly bewail his lack of the family stature. His handsome brothers and sisters returned his affection. The family had gathered in the courtyard in a group around their still beautiful mother.
Isabel Neville was nine years old and was proudly riding her own horse. Anne was just four. It is unlikely that Richard had paid any attention before to the younger of the sisters but, standing in his usual place in the rear, he watched the girl as she was helped down from her seat behind one of the Neville pursuivants, a tiny figure muffled in furs. When she ran forward to drop a deep curtsey to her aunt, she looked oddly grown-up, for her skirts were long enough to sweep the ground and her high-waisted bodice was in the latest fashion. It is probable that the heart of the plain boy with his dark and somber eyes began to beat a little faster than usual.
This was the beginning. Richard, in spite of what most historians have said, would retain his feeling for her and he could never have been satisfied with anyone else for his wife.
The head of the great Kingmaker was filled with schemes which he kept strictly to himself. Things came to a head later, as has been explained earlier, and his two delicately slender daughters were used as pawns in his ambitious plans. Isabel was married to Clarence as part of the bribe to take the latter over to the Lancastrian side. She must have been an unusually attractive girl, for Clarence, who had never before loved anyone but himself, was really attached to her. When she died, he was disconsolate, for a rather brief time. Anne, at the age of thirteen, was taken to France and was included in the strange deal which Warwick and Louis XI of France made with Queen Margaret. Warwick was to turn his coat and fight for the restoration of Henry VI to the throne. Margaret’s son, Edward, was to marry Anne.
Margaret was adamant against the plan at first. She received the Warwick family with marked coldness and at first refused to speak to Warwick himself. When she found that he was making a point of the marriage between his youngest daughter and her beloved son, she flew into one of her not infrequent rages. Edward, the real heir to the throne of England, to marry a little chit like this!
Her position, however, was a weak one. This was her last chance. She must either form an alliance with Warwick or give up all thought of gaining back the throne. Both Warwick and the shrewd King of France knew she must come to their terms. And come to them she did, although she stipulated that the solemnization of the marriage must wait until Warwick had made good his promises.
Some historians say that the pair were married at once, young Edward being very much taken by the small Anne, but others contend it was never more than a betrothal. The latter explanation seems the more likely.
Warwick accomplished all that he had promised. He landed in England and took Edward IV so completely by surprise that the latter had to fly across the North Sea with a mere handful of followers. Richard was included in the party which found shelter in the Netherlands. But Margaret did not follow at once on the heels of the victorious Warwick. When she finally arrived in England with the feminine members of the Warwick family in her train (Anne still treated with particular coldness), Edward had returned with an army and had defeated and killed Warwick at the Battle of Barnet.
What had Richard’s feelings been when he learned that Anne’s father was marrying her to Margaret’s son? There can be no doubt that he was bitterly unhappy. It was bad enough to be in exile, to be living on the cold, hard bread of charity and waiting for a miracle which might never happen. To know that the one girl he had ever wanted was to marry the Lancastrian heir made his lot seem doubly hard. All was changed, of course, when he played such a brilliant part in the final victories at Barnet and at Tewkesbury, where his rival died.
George of Clarence, being Anne’s brother-in-law, took charge of her after Edward IV resumed his sway. He made it clear at once that he disapproved of Richard’s open desire to marry Anne, taking this stand because he did not want the huge Warwick estates divided. Even after Edward had interposed in Richard’s behalf, Clarence let it be known that if necessary he would hide the second sister from his brother. This would have been a simple matter because Clarence had castles in many parts of England and manor houses by the score. Anne, if she were willing, could have been hidden away in any of them. But, say the Tudor historians, following in line like so many sheep, “he had to conceal her by disguising her as a serving-maid and placing her in a kitchen in London.” Yes, most of the books on the subject still repeat this absurd statement!
When a girl has been kept under close surveillance and disappears, to be found later disguised as a servant, it can mean only one thing. She had run away! The role of serving maid had been adopted to enable her to make her escape. The little Anne was a young lady of rare spirit. She was not running away from Richard, she was getting herself out of the clutches of her selfish brother-in-law.
The historical version goes on to say that, in spite of the ingenuity of Clarence [sic!], Richard succeeded in finding her. That again would be an unusual accomplishment. Members of the royal family were served at table by dukes and earls and members of the highest nobility, my lord This to hand the platter with the mutton, my lord That to hold the royal napkin. Richard could have dined in all the houses of London without laying an eye once on a serving maid. Is it to be assumed that he went prying into all the kitchens in London in search of his lost love or that he was casting a net over the whole countryside? Nevertheless he heard where Anne was, and the only reasonable explanation was that she herself contrived to get word to him.
Richard promptly removed her to sanctuary at St. Martin’s le Grand and very soon afterward they were married. Although they were first cousins and should have had a dispensation, they did not wait to get the Pope’s consent, and His Holiness was forbearing enough not to interfere.
The story is still told as proof that Richard forced Anne to marry him. It reads instead like a page from a very pleasant romance.
In the peaceful years which followed the return of Edward to the throne, Richard was employed largely in the north. He performed his duties so fairly and thoroughly that he won for himself a popularity which did not end with his death.
He resided with his bride at Middleham Castle in Wensleydale, which had belonged to the Warwick family. Here as a boy Richard had lived for some years under Warwick’s guardianship and during that time his acquaintance with Anne had ripened. It was one of the most pleasant spots in all England, situated in the North Riding on the Ouse, almost within hearing distance of the bells of Jervaux Abbey and in easy walking distance of the waterfall known as the Mill Gill Force. Warwick had converted the bare walls of the castle into one of the most magnificent of family seats. The ceilings were lofty and the oak screens masterpieces of carving. The windows held the finest stained glass. Here in 1474 a son was born to the young couple and given the name of Edward. There were no signs of discord in the family.
And there they may be left for the time being.
CHAPTER IV
The King Is Dead, Long Live the King
1
TO HAVE a clear understanding of what happened after the death of Edward IV, it is necessary to go rather more fully into the activities of the queen’s family, the ambitious Woodvilles. In the first place it had been clear to all that the king had not long to live. Under the once fine glow of health which had added to his amazing good looks, the telltale purple of overtaxed veins was beginning to show. Edward was becoming corpulent and flabby. His breathing was short and labored, he no longer cared to ride out to hunt or, in fact, to bestir himself in any way. In the evenings he gave himself over so completely to his flagon of wine that he would fall into a state of sodden intoxication. It was generally necessary to carry him to his bed in an unconscious condition.
This last phase of his life had led to some diminution of his popularity. One of his greatest extravagances, for of course the Plantagenet blood in his veins made him lavish with his money, was the erection of an extremely costly stable. Over their wine, men would wink slyly and drink to “the princely stables and the favorite grey mare,” a play, of course, on the queen’s name in her first marriage.
With the king lapsing into habits which were certain to cut short his years, it behooved the Woodvilles to get themselves still more firmly established. The queen’s father had been executed during the wars and his earldom had descended to his oldest son, Anthony, the most intelligent of the family. Anthony it was who took such an interest in Caxton and supplied him with his first book—a debonair and doughty man who shared, unfortunately, the selfish qualities of the rest. Elizabeth was not content that her oldest son, Thomas Grey, had been made Earl of Huntingdon and had secured for him the marquisate of Dorset, which set him above all the earls in the land (the backbone of the older aristocracy) and just below the dukes who had royal blood in their veins. To provide him with the wealth to live up to his title, she had married him to the richest heiress in England.
The greed of the Woodvilles made them so unpopular that even at court it was the source of sly quips. Once the court jester came into the royal presence in a costume which caused titters of amusement. His coat was so short that it did not conceal his anatomy below the waist and with this he was wearing shoes of such length that they almost made up for the deficiencies of the coat. He was carrying a marsh pike in his hand.
The king was not too far gone in his cups to fail of seeing that the jester had prepared some amusing jape for the amusement of the company. He glanced up over the brim of his flagon.
“Ha, sir fool!” he said. “Whyfor this costume?”
“Upon my word, sir king,” replied the fool, “it is indeed unsafe to venture out in any other. The rivers are so high in your realm that I could hardly hope to
get through them, save by the use of this staff.”
It is reported that everyone laughed, even the king himself.
Edward’s end came suddenly and it proved a disconcerting matter to the sharp-eyed Woodvilles. It had been expected that the heir to the throne would be left in his mother’s care. Through her they could control the kingdom even more completely than they had done while the sodden king lived. A household for the young Prince of Wales had been set up under the control of Lord Rivers with the title of governor. A council had been appointed to assist in the boy’s education and training. Richard was a member of the council, but he had found himself hemmed in by members of this ubiquitous family. Sir William Stanley was steward, Sir Richard Crofts treasurer, the two sons of the queen’s first marriage were both active and voluble members. Richard, watchful and disturbed, was in such a complete minority that he carried no weight.
This household had been established in the castle of Ludlow, a long way from London and quite close to the Marcher country. The heir to the throne was here, under the watchful eye of his uncle Rivers, when fast-riding pursuivants, covered with dust and red of spur, came pounding at the gate with word that King Edward was dead. They had brought other information which was most disturbing. Edward’s will appointed his brother Richard protector of the realm and made him also guardian of the heir. This disposition of power should have been expected, for the late king had always placed the greatest reliance on his younger brother. No better proof of this can be cited than Edward’s action and words on the historic occasion when he learned that the Kingmaker had turned his coat. He sent a messenger in great haste to Baynard’s Castle. “Bring back Gloucester,” he directed. “In these difficult matters, that boy’s head is better than a whole council.”
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