The History states that Richard was in London when Edward died and that he persuaded the widow not to send a large escort to Ludlow Castle to bring the Prince of Wales back to the capital, thereby making it possible for him to gain possession of the prince’s person. This, of course, is untrue and is only one of the glaring misstatements with which that document is crammed. It is an invention to convey the impression of plotting on Richard’s part from the beginning.
Richard was in the north when his brother died. He had paid only two visits to the court from the time that he married Anne. In that period he had been successful in repelling Scottish attacks, in maintaining law and order, and in winning the respect and admiration of the people. A messenger reached him a few days after Edward had breathed his last, dispatched by Hastings, the lord chamberlain. It informed him that the late king’s will appointed him protector of the realm. There was a note of urgency in the message. “Get you to London,” advised the chamberlain.
Richard’s motto was Loyaulte me Lie, Loyalty Binds Me. This applied above everything else to his feeling for his dead brother. He had loved Edward very much. In the deepest grief, he rode to York and attended a Requiem Mass, to which all the nobility of the north were summoned. After the service, they were required to take an oath of allegiance to the young prince.
Richard was anxious to have his dead brother’s wishes carried out in a proper and legal way. Instead of acting on the urgent note from Hastings, he waited for formal notification from the council of his appointment. When nothing reached him, he sent a messenger to Lord Rivers at Ludlow Castle, asking what plans had been made for the departure of the prince for London. He, Richard, desired to honor the new sovereign by accompanying him. No answer was received, and still no word came from the council.
At this point a second messenger reached Richard from Hastings which explained what was going on. The Woodvilles were moving fast to get authority into their own hands. The consideration which drove them to hasty action was that a protector’s authority ceased as soon as the young king had been crowned. They must, therefore, arrange to have the coronation before Richard could put in an appearance. They set the date for May 4, less than a month after the king’s death. The queen’s oldest son by her first marriage, the Marquis of Dorset, was constable of the Tower and so had control of the national armament and the treasure which the late king had amassed. A meeting of the royal council was held at which Dorset gained approval for a bold move. The royal fleet was needed, he reported, to repel the attacks of French freebooters along the coast. The council agreed to an order to mobilize the navy and confirmed Dorset’s recommendation that the queen’s brother, Sir Edward Woodville, be placed in command. Dorset then took it on himself to provide the new head of the navy with a portion of the royal treasure. Official orders were being issued in his name and that of Lord Rivers, using the terms avuncular regis and frater regis uterinus.
On receipt of this second message, Richard proceeded to act with the decision and vigor he had always displayed on fields of battle. With a troop of 600 men, he set out briskly for the south. The party from Ludlow was well ahead of him. But Lord Rivers had led his escort of 2000 due east until reaching Stony Stratford, intending, no doubt, to follow from there the great road called Ermine Street, which ran straight south to London; but for some reason he had indulged in a long pause before going any farther. It was when Richard was within a few miles of the earl’s party that he was joined by the Duke of Buckingham with 300 more men. The latter brought information which removed from the protector’s mind any doubts he may have had about the intentions of the Woodvilles. He caught up with Lord Rivers before that somewhat dilatory nobleman had stirred himself to leave Stony Stratford.
The head of the Woodville family seems to have been taken by surprise. At any rate he did not offer any resistance. Richard placed him under arrest and packed him off to Pontefract Castle, together with a number of his lieutenants, including the queen’s youngest son, Richard Grey, and Lords Vaughan and Haute. He then dispersed their force and, with his own men serving as an escort for the young king, proceeded to London.
The news of what had happened reached London before he did and the queen lost no time in rushing for sanctuary at Westminster. She took with her the Duke of York (the younger of the two boys who were later reported as victims in the Tower), all of her daughters, and quite a household of ladies and gentlemen, as well as a corps of servants. Apparently she expected to stay there for some time. One report speaks of Archbishop Rotheram of York going to Westminster to speak with the queen and finding there “much rumble, haste and business; carriage and conveyance of her staff into the Sanctuary, chests, coffers, packs, fardels, trusses, all on men’s backs, all in a rush, some even breaking down walls to get the possessions into the Sanctuary.”
Elizabeth’s son Dorset had taken even more alarm—as well he might, considering the treasonable acts in which he had indulged—and had joined her there. Becoming still more unsure of his position, he slipped out of Westminster and betook himself across the North Sea to the safety of the Low Countries. A confession of guilt can be read into the haste with which the Woodvilles abandoned the spoils and ran to cover. They had gambled and lost.
The members of the council seem to have been relieved by the arrival of Richard and they proceeded to co-operate with him in his capacity as protector. The young king was given possession of the royal apartments in the Tower and a later date, June 22, was set for the coronation.
2
It now becomes necessary to return to the wild charges, the misstatements, and the absurd details of the History. It is therein declared that one Dr. Shaw, brother of the lord mayor and a preacher of great eloquence, presented himself at St. Paul’s Cross on June 22, the Sunday when Prince Edward was to have been crowned king, and pronounced all members of the family of Edward IV illegitimate. Taking as his text “Bastard slips shall never take deep root,” he proceeded to challenge the right of the prince to succeed because the marriage of the late king to the beautiful widow, Elizabeth Grey, was not lawful. The king had brought into the world a child by another woman, one Elizabeth Lucy, who should, therefore, have been his queen.
The History proceeds to rule out this claim advanced by Dr. Shaw by declaring there had been no pretense of marriage in the Elizabeth Lucy affair. “She,” quoting from the History, “confessed that they were never ensured. Howbeit, she said his grace spake so loving words unto her, that she verily hoped he would have married her; and that if it had not been for such kind words, she would never have shown such kindness to him, to let him so kindly get her with child.”
It has never been explained where the History got this story about Elizabeth Lucy. There had been many women in Edward’s promiscuous life but none bearing that name. As will be shown later, Edward was supposed to have married Lady Eleanor Talbot, years before he succumbed to the charms of Elizabeth Grey. Evidence on this entanglement was introduced into Parliament, where it was debated at length; and as a result the children of Edward IV were declared illegitimate.
It seems clear that Dr. Shaw did preach a sermon on the subject. The careless pens which concocted the History knew this but did not know the name of the light-of-love whose complaisance led to this problem. They must, therefore, have invented a name for the lady, which raises a question as to how much else they inserted with equal carelessness. This, as one historian says, “should put us on our guard against credulously following them in graver matters.”
A much graver matter is that Dr. Shaw then proceeded, according to the History, to claim that Edward IV had been illegitimate himself. To back this assertion it was necessary to charge the Duchess of York, the often-mentioned and lovely Proud Cis, with adultery. Richard was asserted to be the only member of the family lawfully begotten. “Neither king Edward himself,” continues the narrative, “nor the duke of Clarence, among those that were secret in the household, were reckoned very surely for the children of the noble duke [Richard
of York] as those that by their favor more resembled other known men than him.”
Dr. Shaw’s sermon was a carefully worked out piece of stage direction, according to the History. When he reached the assertion that Richard was the only member of the family who resembled his father, the latter was to appear casually and pause in full sight of the audience in the expectation that the people assembled there would be struck by the truth of it and raise their voices for him as king. In other words, Richard was aware of the statements which would be made, including the infamous assertion of his own mother’s infidelity.
Can such a charge be believed? At this time the dowager duchess was in London and Richard, the last remaining son of the four she had brought into the world, was living with her at Baynard’s Castle until such time as his ailing wife could join him. It is said she was advising him as to the steps he should take in the difficult situation he faced. This can be believed, because Proud Cis had been a managing type of woman all her life. When her husband, Richard of York, was engaged in his cautious bid for the throne, and more inclined to spar and feint than to go right in with intent to knock his opponent out, the duchess had gone many steps ahead of him by setting up a regal household, over which she had presided with all the graces of a queen. When her eldest son, Edward, came to her to say he was going to marry Elizabeth Grey, she strove hard to make him change his mind, pointing out the unfitness of such a match. She was always against the mate her gorgeous son had chosen, partly because of the favors Elizabeth distributed among her ambitious brothers and sisters. And now, with only one son left, she was striving to set his feet securely in the direction of the throne.
It was about this time that men first began to write in the English tongue instead of in French or Latin. Unfortunately few letters of the period have been preserved. In all that come from Richard’s pen, he seems normal and kind, with a pleasant if somewhat dry wit showing through, and underneath everything a hint of sadness as though he sensed what lay ahead. A year after Dr. Shaw’s alleged bit of electioneering, the duchess received a letter from her son. He had become king in the meantime and was in the north in connection with disturbances there. It read:
I recommend me to you as heartily as is possible; beseeching you in my most humble and effectuous wise of your daily blessing to my singular comfort and hopes in my need. And, Madame, I heartily beseech you that I may hear from you to my comfort.… And I pray God send you the accomplishment of your noble desires.
Written at Pontefract the 11th day of Juyn, with the hand of your most humble son,
RICARDUS REX.
Not the kind of letter, certainly, that a man could write after allowing such a charge to be publicly proclaimed against his own mother; an affectionate and humble letter, rather, making it clear that the best of relations prevailed between them.
Before leaving this point, an absurd discrepancy in the History should be pointed out. Richard had been described on an earlier page in this wise: “In body and prowess far beneath them both [Edward and Clarence], little of stature, ill-featured of limbs, crookbacked, his left shoulder much higher than his right, hardfavored of visage.”
And now let us return to the crafty stage management that was supposed to gain Richard the approval of the people of London. Richard was to stroll nonchalantly on the scene after the preacher had spoken of Richard of York as true to the Plantagenet type. “But the lord protector,” the eloquent Dr. Shaw was to declaim at this point, “that very noble prince, that special pattern of knightly prowess, as well as in all princely behavior as in the lineaments and favor of his visage, representing the very face of the noble duke his father.” He was then to point to Richard and declaim loudly, “This is the father’s own figure, this is his own countenance, the very print of his visage, the same undoubted image, the plain express likeness of that noble duke!”
And then Richard was to step forward, bowing humbly no doubt in acknowledgment, limping, his crooked back bent, his withered arm dangling in its sleeve, his evil face contorted into some semblance of a smile. Imagine the effect of this on the people of London, who were sharp of wit and free of all subservience! This unfitting apostrophe of the learned doctor would have evoked roars of laughter and not the cries which had been expected of, “King Richard! King Richard!”
But the History continues by saying that Richard did not appear at the right moment. The stage directions had not been explicit enough. The good doctor had finished his panegyric and a silence had fallen on the crowded square. The preacher looked about him in alarm and appeared at a loss as to what he should do. Then he glimpsed Richard approaching in the company of his friend, the Duke of Buckingham, so he repeated it all over again, word for word, as though, says the History, “the holy ghost had put them in the preacher’s mouth.”
Which are we to believe, the picture of Richard as an ugly monster which the History has given to posterity or this incident where he is depicted as the image of his impressive father? We cannot believe both. If one is not to be accepted, can any reliance be placed in the other?
The failure of this piece of folly (if it ever occurred as set down) did not convey any lesson apparently to the adherents of Richard. On the Tuesday following, says the History, the Duke of Buckingham came unto the Guildhall which was filled with people. He proceeded to make a long speech in favor of the protector, again in anticipation of a popular demonstration. Again the audience was “hushed and muted,” so the duke gave his talk a second time, speaking in a louder voice. At the finish the hoped-for clamor began, but it was no more than a sorry imitation of what had been expected. At the nether end of the hall, “a bushment of the duke’s servants with some prentices and lads that thrust into the hall” began to cry “King Richard! King Richard!” and to throw up their caps in token of joy. The duke seems to have accepted this perfunctory applause as the voice of the people and to have proceeded to act upon it.
One lesson that history teaches is that thrones are not overturned by half-measures or the clamor of paid claques. The ways of successful conspiracy are swift. Certainly such weak and foolish gestures as these imputed to Richard would have no effect in the city of London where the habit of the people was to turn out in turbulent mobs. The voice of London was never hushed or muted.
Not only had Richard always been a man of action and decision, he had seen his father fail to reach the throne by compromise measures, by consultations, by listening to the protests of those who opposed him. Moreover he had seen his brother Edward step boldly in and declare himself king without waiting for action of Parliament or for the approval of the people of London.
Richard already had behind him the kind of support which counted. England was thoroughly tired of boy kings. There had been three of them—Henry III, Richard II, and Henry VI—all of them unfitted for the stern business of kingship. Trouble had developed during the term of minority in each case, which had led to strife throughout the balance of each reign. If Henry V had left a son of mature years and with some of his own magnificent competence, the Wars of the Roses would never have been fought. And now here was a fourth one to be endured, with the circumstances in the case pointing to even more serious trouble. England did not want a boy king with the hated and feared Woodvilles grouped solidly about the throne. The older aristocracy still clung to the belief that a king was no more than the representative of their class and that he must be strong enough to rule well. They wanted a man at the head of the state, a strong man. It is no idle supposition that, as he rode south to assume the post of protector, Richard had heard these feelings expressed on every hand, “Must we suffer another boy king?” and “We must get rid of these upstarts.” Being an honorable man, and still fiercely loyal to his brother’s memory, he would not be hasty to act in the matter of the succession. But he knew when he reached London that a large part of the people would prefer a man on the throne, and that he was the logical choice. A trying decision lay ahead of him.
The trumpery playacting which the inventor
of the Fork has inserted in the History is doubly absurd because Richard had begun to take decisive steps to face the situation two weeks before. On June 9 he had called a meeting of the council, to which the queen was not invited. They sat in conference for four hours and emerged with grave faces. The next day he wrote to the city of York, requesting that as many armed men as could be organized be sent to London to protect him from the conspiring forces back of the queen.
It was at this meeting undoubtedly that the council had first been informed of information brought forward by Bishop Stillington of Bath and Wells. His story was that he had married Edward IV to Lady Eleanor Talbot, a daughter of the Earl of Shrewsbury, and that it had been kept secret by royal command. This had happened, of course, before Elizabeth Woodville captivated the susceptible king under the Queen’s Oak. If the bishop’s word were accepted (he does not seem to have produced any form of documentary proof), then the king’s marriage later with Elizabeth was bigamous and her children were illegitimate. The explanation generally accepted is that there had been no more than a “troth-plight” between the lady and Edward, for otherwise the bishop would have been impelled to speak out against the marriage with Elizabeth. In theory a troth-plight was binding on both parties but in practice it seems to have been regarded as breakable. Certainly this was done frequently in the case of the matches arranged for the sons and daughters of kings.
Whether marriage or troth-plight, the story which Stillington revealed was later laid before Parliament and there accepted as proof of the illegitimacy of Edward’s children.
The Last Plantagenet Page 44