by Jean Plaidy
Before he had retired to Kenilworth the King had left a certain Matthew Gough in charge of the Tower of London and with the Mayor, Gough called on the citizens to defend their city. The response was immediate and when Jack with his army came to cross the Bridge he was met by a sturdy force. Cade’s army was the stronger and during the fighting Matthew Gough was killed. Jack had taken the opportunity to storm the King’s Bench and the Marshalsea prison and the prisoners he released fought for him.
They battled fiercely but the Londoners were defending their city and the conflict raged all through the night. By the morning both sides were exhausted and readily agreed that there should be a truce which should last some hours.
The Archbishop of York, John Kemp, who was also the Chancellor, old and infirm as he was, had stayed in London and had had no desire to retreat to Kenilworth with the King. John Stafford, the Archbishop of Canterbury, was also in London and the two decided that it was their task and their duty to disperse the rebels and prevent any further bloodshed.
They sent for William Waynflete, the Bishop of Winchester, who happened to be at Haliwell, a priory in Shoreditch, at the time and the three churchmen met for a council in the Tower of London.
‘These rebellions can be dangerous,’ said Archbishop Kemp. ‘One hasty action could spark off a civil war. One the other hand the right action could spark off a civil war. On the other hand the right action at the right moment could put an end to the rebellion. King Richard did it with Wat Tyler but I would not wish to make false promises to these rebels.’
‘There is one thing we can offer them,’ said the Bishop of Winchester, ‘and that is free pardons. There must be some of them who are growing uneasy. If we offer to let them go peacefully back to their homes and assure them that there will be no reprisals against them, they might well decide that is the best plan of action for them.’
‘Will the King agree?’ asked Kemp.
The Bishop of Winchester snapped his fingers.
‘The King has chosen to retreat. I do not think we should ask his advice on this matter. There would not be time to in any case. What do you say that we offer these rogues pardon on the condition that they go quietly to their homes?’
The three of them agreed that if they could end the rebellion promptly that would be the best course possible, and it was accordingly arranged that Jack should have a meeting with the Bishop of Winchester at St. Margaret’s Church, Southwark.
Jack was realizing that to go on could mean disaster. He had collected a large quantity of booty which if he could get it safely away would keep him in comfort for the rest of his life. If it ended now at this point he could come out of the adventure very profitably. He could return to his country home something of a hero.
Yes, he agreed, for a free pardon he would disband his army of rebels and they would return home.
The Bishop went back to the Archbishops in triumph. The affair was concluded amicably. It was shameful that men should be able to rise and cause so much damage and then be given a free pardon but sometimes expediency was necessary.
Pardons were accordingly issued—two of them—one for the rebels and another for their leader in the name of Mortimer.
Jack stayed in Southwark. He had a Little job to do. He must gather together all the goods he had pillaged, hire a barge and get them all sent away by water. He was delighted with his acquisitions and gloated over them as he carefully packed them and got them into the barge.
As soon as they were safely away he himself would be gone and then he would like to lose himself Those who had been robbed of their possessions might be watchful for him. Well, he had called himself Mortimer for the purposes of the insurrection. He could change that now and go back to Aylmer. Although as Aylmer he had raised the rebels; and to return to Cade might stir memories in the Dacre country. Perhaps he needed a new name but he did not want to leave his comfortable life with the daughter of the Squire of Tandridge.
He was glad of a few days to ponder his next move.
The barge was ready to leave for Rochester by next day’s tide. He would return to his lodging and prepare to leave with it.
As he turned away from the river a man sitting idly there called to him: ‘Good day.’
He answered genially and the man went on: ‘Have you heard the news about Mortimer?’
Jack was almost amused to hear stories about himself. He found it extremely gratifying to consider what a mark he had made.
‘No,’ he said, ‘what’s the latest?’
‘Well, seemingly he’s no more Mortimer than I am.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Well, they’ve traced him see. Mortimer...that be a very grand name and the family says to themselves "Now who is he who claims to be one of us?" Seems he had no right...no right at all.’
Jack was beginning to feel very uneasy.
‘What are they doing about it?’
‘Well, as I heard it, it seems they’ve given a pardon to this Mortimer and if he’s not Mortimer, well then there’s no pardon for him, is there? I tell you this. They’re on the look-out for him. They say he’s Jack Cade...a bit of a rogue by all accounts. They’ll get him; and I wouldn’t care to be in his boots when they do.’
What good fortune to have talked to this man! To have heard what he did. That it was accurate he had no doubt. The man had even mentioned his own name.
So they were looking for him. There would be no pardon for him if they caught him. They always liked to get the leaders.
He was in imminent danger.
He would not go back to his lodging. He would stay on board the barge and at the very first moment he would be away.
He lay among his precious goods. He should never have called himself Mortimer. It was his pride again. But he should not blame his pride. It was that which had brought him as far as he had come. He was born lucky. Surely luck wouldn’t desert him now.
It would be a traitor’s death for him if he was caught. His pardon meant nothing. That was for Mortimer and he was no Mortimer. They would seize any pretext for getting him. He might have had to swing on a rope for the girl he had killed at Dacre’s but this last adventure it would be hanging, drawing and quartering, a fate, enough to strike terror into the boldest heart.
But good fortune had always been on his side. He trusted it would now.
It seemed it might for at midnight he was able to start his journey to Rochester.
He could have left his booty but he could not bring himself to do that. He would store it somewhere and it would always be there waiting for the time when he would be free to enjoy it.
It seemed that fortune was favouring him again. He reached Rochester safely and put his booty into a house which had been recommended to him and where he knew that for a considerable payment—which he could well afford—it would be safe until he came to take it away.
While he was trying to work out some plan there was a proclamation throughout the town. A reward of one thousand marks was offered to anyone who could bring Jack Cade alive or dead to the King.
So it really was known who he was. They would realize now that the leader of the rebellion was the murderer from Sussex.
He should have been content with the life he had built up as Aylmer. Why had he not realized that? All that precious booty would be lost to him if he were not careful.
He could not stay in Rochester. Without delay he must disguise himself and get as far away as possible. He saw that it might be necessary to start afresh as an entirely new personality. Indeed that seemed the only possible way. He had done it before as Aylmer and with outstanding success. Why should he not succeed again? And he would have his store in Rochester to come back to when everything had blown over.
The first necessity was Escape.
Disguising himself as an old pedlar he left Rochester and went across country towards Lewes in Sussex.
###
There was one man who had sworn to
bring Jack Cade to justice. This was Alexander Iden, a squire of Kent who had become Sheriff after Jack Cade had murdered his predecessor William Crowmer.
He went to Southwark where he asked many questions of those who had seen and known Jack Cade. The trail led him to Rochester. Jack Cade had disappeared, he was told. Someone remembered seeing a pedlar who had looked a little like him.
A pedlar. It was a disguise which had been used many times before. Alexander Iden would work on the assumption that Cade, disguised as a pedlar, was making his way into hiding.
Iden was indefatigable. He was determined to get Crowmer’s murderer and as he proceeded through the countryside he was certain that he was on the trail.
Meanwhile Jack continued his journey. He would make for the coast. Perhaps it would be wise to leave the country. There were not so many ships leaving for France now. The war was petering out in defeat for the English. But he could probably get across on some pretext. He had absolute faith in himself There would be no mercy for him if he were caught. They would discover that he was the murderer of the serving girl at Dacre. Not that that would be so serious a crime as leading a rebellion and executing important men like Lord Say and Crowmer.
His situation was indeed desperate. He was afraid to present himself at the inns now. He knew they were looking for him. Too many people would be after that thousand marks reward.
He skirted Heathfield in Sussex. He did not want to go right into the town. That could be too dangerous now. He came to a large garden, part of a big estate. It was quiet and peaceful there. There was an extensive orchard where he could make a comfortable bed and be off at dawn.
As he was settling down to sleep he thought he heard a rustle among the trees, a footstep on the grass. A stone rattled as though someone had dislodged it when walking. He had become very sensitive to such sounds.
He started up.
Someone was there. The figure of a man loomed up among the trees.
Cade was on his feet in an instant.
‘What are you doing here?’ asked the man.
‘No harm,’ replied Jack. ‘Just seeking somewhere to spend the night.’
‘This is a private orchard.’
‘I’m sorry, my lord, if I’ve trespassed. It was just a place for a poor man to lay his head till morning. I meant no harm.’
‘You have done great harm, Jack Cade,’ said the man, ‘and I have come to take you to justice.’
Jack sprang on Alexander Iden and they fought desperately for a few moments. Jack was strong but Alexander was armed. Jack lay on the ground groaning and Alexander leaned over him. ‘It is no use,’ he said. ‘It is over for you. Jack Cade.’
He lifted Jack onto his horse and took him back to Heath-field.
While he acquired a cart in which he placed him. Jack was only half-conscious but he did know he was captured.
Alexander Iden explained to the astonished innkeeper who supplied the cart and horses: ‘This is Jack Cade and I am taking him to London.’
‘Poor fellow,’ said the innkeeper, ‘rogue though he was. I wouldn’t be in his shoes.’
‘He won’t be in them much longer.’
‘Nay, it will be the end for him. Why can’t folks stay quiet in the station to which they’ve been called?’
Alexander did not answer that. He wanted to get to London as fast as possible.
Jack lay in the cart. He scarcely felt the jolting. Now and then he would come back to consciousness, and remember.
It was all over then. It was finished. He was finished.
Not that, he thought. Anything but that.
He was lucky. He died on the way to London.
Alexander took him to the White Hart Inn in Southwark where he had stayed.
‘That’s him all right,’ said the hostess. ‘No doubt of that. That’s Jack Cade. I’d know him anywhere.’
He was taken to the King’s Bench prison until it was decided what should be done.
Then they took him out and cut off his head. His body was cut into quarters and that all might witness what happened to those who thought it a good idea to rebel against the King, it was placed on a hurdle and trundled through the streets with his head resting between his breasts. From the King’s Bench to Southwark and over London Bridge to Newgate...the scene of his brief glory.
The parts of his body were displayed in prominent places in Blackheath, Gloucester, Salisbury and Norwich.
That is the end of Jack Cade’s Rebellion, said the people. But it was not exactly so.
In calling himself Mortimer he had implicated the Duke of York; who was too important and too ambitious a man to let it be thought that he had been associated with an adventurer like Jack Cade.
IN THE TEMPLE GARDENS
From Dublin Castle Richard Duke of York was watching events in England with great attention. As soon as any messages arrived he scoured their contents for news of the rebellion.
This Jack Cade – impudently calling himself Mortimer – had risen. With what purpose? He asked Cicely, his clever and most forceful wife.
Because, was the answer, the country was ripe for rebellion. The King was no King. He was tolerated because rumour had endowed him with certain saintliness. His great delight was in building colleges and attending churches. Laudable in a priest but hardly suitable for a king.
‘Sometimes I think Fate likes to play a joke on us. It selects the most unlikely man to wear the crown when…’
“When there are those with as much right…some would say more…to wear it,’ finished Cecily who did not believe in diplomacy.
Her husband, this great Duke of York, had far more right to the crown than Henry of Lancaster and what a King he would make!
‘Henry is heading for disaster,’ went on the Duke.
‘Greatly aided by that little virago from Anjou.’
‘And my lord Somerset.’
‘Do you think the rumours about him and the Queen are true?’
‘I know not, my love, but it serves the lady right that they are circulated against her. She is too affectionate to her friends and too vindictive to those whom she dislikes.’
‘I fear we fit into the second category,’ said Cecily.
‘Rather rejoice in it. The day will come...’
‘It may well,’ answered Cecily. ‘It is a pity that they banished you to this God-forsaken place.’
‘Knowing, of course, that we shall never have peace with the Irish. The Irish are a versatile people. They love many things but what they love beyond everything is discord. They are born with the desire to fight. You can see it in the babies even.’
‘I always thought it would be a good plan to leave them to fight among themselves.’
‘That, my love, is what I am considering doing.’
She waited. Richard always talked to her of his plans and listened to her advice. He appreciated her. She had earned the nickname of Proud Cis and she definitely deserved it. She was no brainless female fit only for the bearing of children— although she was quite good at that too. She came of a fruitful family. She was one of the Nevilles and her mother had been Joan Beaufort, daughter of John of Gaunt and Catherine Swynford. So she was royal—for the Beauforts had been legitimized and she could not forget it. Her mother had borne ten children of whom she was the youngest; and before he had married her mother her father had sired eight children on his first wife, the daughter of the Earl of Stafford.
We have reason to be ambitious, thought Cecily. Our children have royal blood from both parents.
Richard was steeped in royalty. He was descended from Edward the Third by both parents. His father had been the second son of Edmund of Langley who had been Edward the Third’s fifth son; and his mother was a daughter of Roger Mortimer, a grandson of Lionel Duke of Clarence, second son of Edward the Third, Lionel’s daughter Philippa having married Edmund Mortimer the third Earl of March. Lionel had been older than John of Gaunt so if Henry the Fou
rth had not usurped the throne from Richard the Second, Richard Duke of York would certainly have come before the present King.
It was a fact to be proud of It was something they would never forget and since this affair of Jack Cade, Richard had been thinking a great deal about it.
Clearly the people of England were not satisfied with their King and consequently the Duke of York was feared in some circles which was why he had been sent to Ireland. And what was more clear than anything was that the time might be getting ripe when something could be done about ridding the country of an incompetent ruler and replacing him by someone who could rule well and in any case had more right to.
Cecily followed his thoughts.
Richard went on: ‘It would be advisable for me to return to England to clear myself of this suspicion which Jack Cade has aroused against me.’
‘The rogue! To dare to call himself a Mortimer.’
‘Rogue indeed but a shrewd one. The name of Mortimer would bring many to his banner.’
‘Because they would think that you were behind the rising.’
‘It might well be. So you see, my dear, I must go home to face my accusers.’
Cecily nodded sagely.
‘I am of the opinion, my lady, that that will not inconvenience you greatly.’
‘I shall welcome it. I long to see the shores of England once more. It will be good for George. Poor little mite. He has never seen his native land.’
‘I doubt he will notice where he is.’
‘Even babies would detest this country.’
‘Then I am to take it that you will rejoice to return to England.’
You may indeed.’
‘There might be difficulties . . .’
‘You mean the King will be suspicious of you. Poor fool. Has he the wits to be suspicious of anyone?’
‘Don’t underrate him. He is simply not fitted to be a King. He is quite a scholar, I believe. He loves his books.’
‘Books don’t hold kingdoms together,’ said Cecily scornfully. Then she added: ‘I look forward to .seeing the children.’