The queen had taken a bold course, but she had correctly calculated the effect of her appeal. Her courage and presence of mind had saved her. The generosity of the outlaw prevailed; and, touched with the confidence reposed in him, he threw himself at Margaret's feet, and vowed to do all in his power to save the mother and the son. Having once promised, the man of the forest kept his word with a loyalty that his betters might have envied. He conducted the fugitives to his dwelling in a rock, which is still shown as "The Queen's Cave," instructed his wife to do every thing that would tend to their comfort, and promised to discover for them the means of escape.
Leaving Margaret and her son in his cave, the mouth of which was protected by the bank of a rivulet, and screened from view by brushwood, the outlaw went to inquire after such of her friends as had escaped the carnage of Hexham. More fortunate than could have been expected, he met Sir Peter Brezé, who was wandering about looking for the queen, and, soon after, Brezé found the Duke of Exeter, who had concealed himself in a neighboring village, and, with the duke, Edmund Beaufort, who had now, by the death of his brother on the scaffold, become head of the house of Somerset. With these noblemen, Margaret and the prince went secretly to Carlisle, and there, with the assistance of the generous outlaw, embarked for Kirkcudbright.
Margaret, on reaching Scotland, visited Edinburgh to make another appeal to the government, but was not successful in obtaining farther aid. In fact, although the matrimonial negotiations between Mary of Gueldres and Edward of York had come to naught, the Scottish government was now utterly hostile to the interests of Lancaster. The Duke of Burgundy, hereditary foe of Margaret, had sent Louis de Bruges, one of his noblemen, as embassador to the Scottish court, and contrived to make the regency play false, repudiate the marriage between the Prince of Wales and the Princess of Scotland, and conclude a treaty with the new King of England.
The Lancastrians now perceived that for the present action was impossible, and exile inevitable. Even in France their influence had diminished; for, since Margaret's visit to Paris, Mary of Anjou, her aunt and the mother of Louis, had died; and less inclination than ever felt the crafty king to make sacrifices for his fiery kinswoman. Margaret, therefore, yielded to fate, and, not without vowing vengeance on Burgundy, submitted to the harsh necessity of once more returning to the Continent. With this view, she repaired to Bamburgh, which was still held by Lancastrians, and with her son, and Sir Peter Brezé, and seven ladies, she embarked for France.
It was summer, but notwithstanding the season the weather proved unpropitious, and the unfortunate queen, driven by adverse winds, was under the necessity of putting into a port belonging to the Duke of Burgundy. Enemy of her father as the duke was, Margaret determined upon seeing him, and, suppressing all feelings of delicacy, she dispatched a messenger to demand an interview.
The house of Burgundy, like that of Anjou, derived descent from the kings of France, but had been blessed with far fairer fortunes. About 1360, on the death of Philip de Rouvre, the dukedom, having reverted to the crown, was bestowed by King John on his fourth son, Philip the Bold. Philip played his cards well. While his brother Charles was struggling with the English, he became an independent prince by espousing the heiress of Flanders; and his son, John the Fearless, played a conspicuous part in those civil commotions that preceded the battle of Agincourt. The son of John, known as Philip the Good, affected greater state than any prince of his age, and instituted the order of the Golden Fleece to mark the splendor of his reign.
Philip's first wife was Michelle, daughter of the King of France, and sister of Katherine de Valois. His second wife was Isabel of Portugal, a granddaughter of John of Gaunt. The good duke was, therefore, nearly and doubly connected with the house of Lancaster. Unfortunately, however, Philip had proved an enemy of King René; and Margaret, who from infancy had cherished a bitter hatred toward the house of Burgundy, was reputed to have vowed that if ever the duke was at her mercy the executioner's axe should pass between his head and his shoulders. Such having been the language held by the queen, it is not wonderful that the duke, while receiving her message with politeness, should have pleaded sickness as an excuse for not granting her a personal interview.
Margaret was in no mood to be satisfied with excuses. She had expressed her intention of seeing the duke, and was determined to accomplish her purpose. She was hardly in a condition, indeed, to pay a royal visit, for her purse was empty, and her wardrobe reduced to the smallest compass. But, scorning to be subdued by fortune, the queen hired a cart covered with canvas, and, leaving her son at Bruges, commenced her progress to St. Pol, where the duke was then residing. It was about the time when Margaret, dressed in threadbare garments, was traveling from Bruges to St. Pol in a covered cart, that, in the Abbey of Reading, her maid of honor, Elizabeth Woodville, was presented to peers and prelates as Queen of England.
While pursuing her journey, with a spirit of heroism which set outward circumstances at defiance, Margaret was met by Charles the Rash, that impersonation of feudal pride, whose exploits against the Swiss, when Duke of Burgundy, have been celebrated by Sir Walter Scott. Charles, at this time, had hardly passed the age of thirty, and, as son and heir of Philip the Good, with whom he was then at enmity, bore the title of Count of Charolois. As the son of Isabel of Portugal, and great-grandson of John of Gaunt, the count had always declared himself friendly to the house of Lancaster, and he now manifested his sympathy by treating Margaret with chivalrous respect. Moreover, on being made aware of her extreme poverty, Charolois presented her with five hundred crowns; and Burgundy, hearing of the landing of English forces at Calais, sent a body of his archers to escort her from Bethune to St. Pol. Having, after her interview with Charolois, pursued her way toward Bethune, and escaped some English horsemen who lay in wait to arrest her, she reached St. Pol in safety.
Duke Philip did not immediately grant Margaret an interview. After some delay, however, he indulged her wish; and, touched with compassion at the sight of a great queen reduced to a plight so hapless, entertained her with princely courtesy, and treated her with all the honors due to royalty. Having listened to the story of Margaret's woes, he gave her two thousand crowns of gold, and advised her to await events with patience. As Margaret parted from the duke her heart melted, and she shed tears as she bade adieu to the old man whom she had threatened to behead as she had done York and Salisbury. Perhaps on that occasion she, for one of the first times in her life, felt something like remorse. "The queen," says Monstrelet, "repented much and thought herself unfortunate that she had not sooner thrown herself on the protection of the noble Duke of Burgundy, as her affairs would probably have prospered better."
Having returned to Bruges, and been joined by the Prince of Wales, Margaret paid a visit to the Count of Charolois. Never were royal exiles more royally treated. The count exhibited a degree of delicacy and generosity worthy of an earlier era; and, indeed, was so deferential, that the Prince of Wales, who had known little of royalty but its perils and misfortunes, could not refrain from expressing his surprise.
"These honors," said the boy, "are not due from you to us; neither in your father's dominions should precedence be given to persons so destitute as we are."
"Unfortunate though you be," answered the count, "you are the son of the King of England, while I am only the son of a ducal sovereign; and that is not so high a rank."
Leaving Bruges with her son, Margaret was escorted to Barr with all the honor due to the royal rank. At Barr, the exiled queen was met and welcomed by her father, King René, who gave her an old castle in Verdun as a residence till better days should come. Thither Margaret went to establish her little court; and thither, to be educated in the accomplishments in fashion at the period, she carried the young prince around whom all her hopes now clustered.
Two hundred Lancastrians of name and reputation shared the exile of Margaret of Anjou. Among these were Lord Kendal, a Gascon; the Bishop of St. Asaph, the young Lord De Roos and his kinsman, Sir Henry; John Courtenay, younger brother of Devon's Earl; Edmund Beaufort, the new Duke of Somerset, and his brother John, whom the Lancastrians called Marquis of Dorset; Henry Holland, Duke of Exeter—always, notwithstanding his relationship to Edward, faithful to the Red Rose; Jasper Tudor, who clung to Lancaster as if with a prophetic notion that with the fortunes of the house were associated those of his own family; John Morton, Parson of Blokesworth, whose talents subsequently made him a cardinal and an archbishop; and Sir John Fortescue, Chief Justice of England, one of the most upright judges who ever wore the ermine. Such men, when the fortunes of the house of Lancaster were at their worst, were prepared to suffer poverty and want in Henry's cause.
The banished queen could ill brook the obscurity of Verdun. It soon appeared that, notwithstanding so many disheartening reverses, Margaret retained her courage unimpaired; and that want, disappointment, mortification, had been unable to break her spirit or conquer her ambition. Hardly had the court of the exiles been formed at Verdun, when the queen renewed her efforts to regain the crown which she had already found so thorny.
At that time Alphonso the Fifth reigned in Portugal; and Portugal was rich, owing to the quantity of gold yearly brought from Guinea. Moreover, King Alphonso was a remarkable man. In his fiery nature were blended all the elements of love, chivalry, and religion; and though living in the fifteenth century he resembled a paladin of the age of Roland and Oliver. Through his grandmother, Philippa of Lancaster, Alphonso inherited the blood of John of Gaunt; and it was supposed that he would naturally feel much of that sympathy for the house of Lancaster which had been ever expressed by the Count of Charolois.
Accordingly, Margaret turned her eyes toward Portugal for aid, and employed John Butler, Earl of Ormond, to enlist Alphonso in her cause. Ormond, who, upon the execution of his brother, the Earl of Wiltshire, after Towton, had become the chief of the Butlers, was one of the most accomplished gentlemen of his age, and a master of the various languages then spoken in Europe. No fitter embassador could have been found; but he was not successful. In fact, although Alphonso was all his life engaged in chimerical enterprises, he could hardly have indulged in the delusion of being able to wrest a crown from Edward Plantagenet and Richard Neville. Not even that knight-errant would risk reputation against such odds. At all events the negotiation appears to have come to naught; and Ormond, doubtless, convinced that the fortunes of Lancaster were hopeless, returned to England, and made his submission. Edward restored the accomplished nobleman to the honors and estates of the Butlers, with a complimentary remark. "If good-breeding and liberal qualities," said the king, "were lost in all the world, they would still be found in the Earl of Ormond."
About the time when Ormond's mission failed, Margaret received intelligence that her husband had fallen into the hands of her enemies. Finding, perhaps, that Scottish hospitality was hard to bear, Henry, about a year after Hexham, removed to the north of England, and in July, 1465, while sitting at dinner in Waddington Hall, he was seized by Sir John Harrington, and sent prisoner to London. At Islington the captive king was met by Warwick, who lodged him securely in the Tower; and Henry, treated with humanity, forgot, in the practice of a monkish devotion, the crown he had lost and the world he had left.
The captivity of their king was not the only misfortune which, at this period, befell the Lancastrians. In 1467, Harleck Castle, their last strong-hold, was under the necessity of yielding. Davydd ap Jefan ap Einion held out to the last; but when the garrison was on the point of starvation, the brave Welsh captain listened to the dictates of humanity, and surrendered with honor.
Even after the fall of Harleck, Margaret's high spirit sustained her hopes. In 1467, she is understood to have come to London, disguised as a priest, to rouse her partisans to action, and even to have had an interview with her husband in the Tower. Next year she sent Jasper Tudor to Wales; and he laid siege to Denbigh. King Edward himself was in the castle, and the utmost peril of being taken prisoner. He contrived to escape, however; and the fortress surrendered. But a Yorkist named William Herbert went with an army, and inflicted such a defeat on Jasper that he was fain to escape to the Continent. Nevertheless, in October, Margaret lay at Harfleur threatening an invasion. Edward, however, sent his brother-in-law, Anthony Woodville, who now, in right of his wife, figured as Lord Scales, to attack the fleet of his old patroness; and the exiled queen, seeing no chance of success, abandoned her expedition in despair.
But even in despair Margaret could show herself heroic and sublime. Thus, when some of her Continental kinsfolk were, in a vulgar spirit, lamenting her unfortunate marriage, and describing her union with the unhappy Henry as the cause of all her misfortune, she raised her head with regal pride, and contemptuously rebuked their foolish talk. "On the day of my betrothal," exclaimed she, with poetic eloquence, "when I accepted the Rose of England, I knew that I must wear the rose entire and with all its thorns."
In the midst of adversity the exiled queen had one consolation. Edward, Prince of Wales, was a son of whom any mother might have been proud, and day by day he grew more accomplished in the warlike exercises of the age. Nor, though in almost hopeless adversity, did the prince lack instruction in weightier matters; for Fortescue undertook the task of educating the banished heir of Lancaster, endeavored so to form the mind of the royal boy as to enable him to enact in after years the part of a patriot-king, and compiled for his pupil the "De Laudibus Legum Angliæ;" a work explaining the laws of England, and suggesting the improvements that might with advantage be introduced.
Five years of exile passed over; and during that time every attempt of the Lancastrians to better their position proved disastrous. It was when matters were at the worst—when the Red Rose had disappeared, and the Red Rose-tree had withered from England—that circumstances occurred which inspired the despairing adherents of the captive king with high hopes, diverted the thoughts of the exiled queen from reminiscences of the past to speculations on the future, and opened up to her son the prospect of a throne, only to conduct him to an untimely grave.
At a court, over which Elizabeth Woodville exercised all the influence derived from her rank as a queen and her fascination as a woman, the Earl of Warwick was somewhat out of place. By Woodvilles, Herberts, and Howards, he was regarded with awe and envy as the haughtiest representative of England's patricians. Especially to the queen and her kinsmen his presence was irksome; and, knowing that any attempt to make "The Stout Earl" a courtier after the Woodville pattern was hopeless as to convert a bird of prey into a barn-door fowl, they were at no pains to conceal the pleasure they felt in mortifying his pride and destroying his influence. One possibility does not seem to have struck them. The Woodvilles themselves, to receive benefits, had been suddenly converted from the Red Rose to the White; Warwick, to avenge the nation's injuries and his own, might as suddenly be converted from the White Rose to the Red.
Notwithstanding the exile of Lancastrians and the discontent of Yorkists, no court in Christendom was more brilliant than that of King Edward. Indeed, foreign embassadors confessed, with mingled envy and admiration, that their eyes were dazzled by the surpassing loveliness of the damsels who appeared at state balls in the Palace of Westminster; and among these fair beings, perhaps, none was more interesting than the king's sister, Margaret, youngest daughter of Richard Plantagenet and Cicely Neville.
Two daughters of the Duke of York were already wives. Both had been married to English dukes—one to Exeter, another to Suffolk; and it was known that Edward, having, by his union with Elizabeth Woodville, lost the opportunity of allying himself with the Continental dynasties, contemplated for his remaining sister a marriage with some foreign prince capable of aiding him in case of a change of fortune.
Suitors were not, of course, wanting when so fair a princess as Margaret Plantagenet was to be won; and it happened that while Warwick was at feud with the Woodvilles—while the populace were clamoring against the new men with whom the king's court swarmed—her hand was contended for by Louis of France, for a prince of the blood royal, and by Louis of Bruges for the Count of Charolois, who, since his interview with Margaret of Anjou, had taken up arms against Louis and defeated him in the battle of Montlhéry. The choice was a matter of some difficulty; for the Woodvilles and Warwick took different sides of the question. The queen's kindred favored the suit of the Count of Charolois; while "The Stout Earl," between whom and the Burgundian no amity existed, declared decidedly for an alliance with France. Edward was in some perplexity, but at length he yielded to the earl's arguments; and, in 1467, the frank, unsuspecting king-maker departed to negotiate a marriage with that celebrated master of kingcraft, whose maxim was, that he who knew not how to dissemble knew not how to reign.
When Louis heard of Warwick's embassy he could not help thinking the occasion favorable for the exercise of his craft. He resolved to give the earl such a reception as might stir the jealousy of Edward, and acted in such a manner as to create in the breast of the English king suspicions of the powerful noble who had placed him on a throne. Having landed at Harfleur, Warwick was, on the 7th of June, conveyed in a barge to the village of La Bouille, on the Seine. On arriving at La Bouille, he found a magnificent banquet prepared for him, and the king ready to act as host. After having been sumptuously feasted, Warwick embarked in his boat for Rouen, whither the king and his attendants went by land; and the inhabitants of the town met the earl at the gate of the Quay St. Eloy, where the king had ordered a most honorable reception. Banners, crosses, and holy water were then presented to Warwick by priests in their copes; and he was conducted in procession to the cathedral, where he made his oblation, and thence to lodgings prepared for him at the monastery of the Jacobins.
Having thus received Warwick with the honors usually paid to royalty, Louis entertained the great earl in a style corresponding with the reception; and even ordered the queen and princesses to come to Rouen to testify their respect. The crafty king, meantime, did not refrain from those mischievous tricks at which he was such an adept. While Warwick staid at Rouen Louis lodged in the next house, and visited the earl at all hours, passing through a private door with such an air of mystery, as might, when reported to Edward, raise suspicions that some conspiracy had been hatching.
After the conference at Rouen had lasted for twelve days, Louis departed for Chartres, and Warwick set sail for England. The earl had been quite successful in the object of his mission; and he was accompanied home by the Archbishop of Narbonne, charged by Louis to put the finishing stroke to the treaty which was to detach the French king forever from the Lancastrian alliance.
Meanwhile, the Woodvilles had not been idle. Far from submitting patiently to the earl's triumph, they had labored resolutely to mortify his pride and frustrate his mission. The business was artfully managed. Anthony Woodville, in the name of the ladies of England, revived an old challenge to Anthony, Count de la Roche, an illegitimate son of the Duke of Burgundy; and the count, commonly called "The Bastard of Burgundy," having accepted the challenge, with the usual forms, intimated his intention to come to England without delay.
The news crept abroad that a great passage of arms was to take place; and the highest expectations were excited by the prospect. The king himself entered into the spirit of the business, consented to act as umpire, and made such arrangements as, it was conceived, would render the tournament memorable. Several months were spent in adjusting the preliminaries; and the noblest knights of France and Scotland were invited to honor the tournament with their presence.
At length the Bastard of Burgundy arrived in London with a splendid retinue; and lists were erected in Smithfield, with pavilions for the combatants, and galleries around for the ladies of Edward's court and other noble personages who had been invited to witness the pageant. On the 11th of June, all the ceremonies prescribed by the laws of chivalry having been performed, the combatants prepared for the encounter, and advanced on horseback from their pavilions into the middle of the inclosed space. After having answered the usual questions, they took their places in the lists, and, at the sound of trumpet, spurred their steeds and charged each other with sharp spears. Both champions, however, bore themselves fairly in the encounter, and parted with equal honor.
On the second day of the Smithfield tournament, the result was somewhat less gratifying to the Burgundian. On this occasion the champions again fought on horseback; and, as it happened, the steed of Anthony Woodville had a long and sharp pike of steel on his chaffron. This weapon was destined to have great influence on the fortunes of the day; for, while the combatants were engaged hand to hand, the pike's point entered the nostrils of the Bastard's steed, and the animal, infuriated by the pain, reared and plunged till he fell on his side. The Bastard was, of course, borne to the ground; and Anthony Woodville, riding round about with his drawn sword, asked his opponent to yield. At this point, the marshals, by the king's command, interfered, and extricated the Burgundian from his fallen steed. "I could not hold me by the clouds," exclaimed the brave Bastard; "but, though my horse fail me, I will not fail my encounter." The king, however, decided against the combat being then renewed.
Another day arrived, and the champions, armed with battle-axes, appeared on foot within the lists. This day proved as unfortunate for the Bastard as the former had been. Both knights, indeed, bore themselves valiantly; but, at a critical moment, the point of Woodville's axe penetrated the sight-hole of his antagonist's helmet, and, availing himself of this advantage, Anthony was on the point of so twisting his weapon as to bring the Burgundian to his knee. At that instant, however, the king cast down his warder, and the marshals hastened to sever the combatants. The Bastard, having no relish for being thus worsted, declared himself far from content, and demanded of the king, in the name of justice, that he should be allowed to perform his enterprise. Edward thereupon appealed to the marshals; and they, having considered the matter, decided that by the laws of the tournament the Burgundian was entitled to have his demand granted; but that, in such a case, he must be delivered to his adversary in precisely the same predicament as when the king interfered—in fact, with the point of Anthony Woodville's weapon thrust into the crevice of his visor: "which," says Dugdale, "when the Bastard understood, he relinquished his farther challenge."
The tournament at Smithfield, unlike "the gentle passage at Ashby," terminated without bloodshed. Indeed, neither Anthony Woodville nor his antagonist felt any ambition to die in their harness in the lists; and the Bastard, in visiting England, had a much more practical object in view than to afford amusement to gossiping citizens. He was, in fact, commissioned by the Count of Charolois to press the English king on the subject of a match with Margaret of York; and he played his part so well as to elicit from Edward, notwithstanding Warwick's embassy, a promise that the hand of the princess should be given to the heir of Burgundy. When Warwick returned from France and found what had been done in his absence, he considered that he had been dishonored. Such usage would, at any time, have grated hard on the earl's heart; and the idea of the Woodvilles having been the authors of this wrong made his blood boil with indignation. He forthwith retired to Middleham, in a humor the reverse of serene, and there brooded over his wrongs in a mood the reverse of philosophic.
The king did not allow the king-maker's anger to die for want of fuel. On the contrary, having given Warwick serious cause of offense, he added insult to injury by pretending that the earl had been gained over by Louis to the Lancastrian cause, and that the state was in no small danger from his treasonable attempts. At the same time, he abruptly deprived George Neville, Archbishop of York,[8] of the office of chancellor—thus indicating still farther distrust of the great family to whose efforts he owed his crown.
While rumors as to Warwick's new-born sympathies with the house of Lancaster were afloat, the Castle of Harleck fell into the king's hands. Within the fortress was taken an agent of Margaret; and he, on being put to the rack, declared that Warwick, during his mission to France, had, at Rouen, spoken with favor of the exiled queen, during a confidential conversation with Louis. Warwick treated the accusation with contempt, and declined to leave his castle to be confronted with the accuser.
This unfortunate incident was little calculated to smooth the way for a reconciliation. Nevertheless, the Archbishop of York, who had a keen eye for his own interest, undertook to mediate between his brother and the king. The churchman was successful in his efforts; and in July, 1468, when Margaret Plantagenet departed from England for her new home, Warwick rode before her, through the city of London, as if to indicate by his presence that he had withdrawn his objections to her marriage with the Count of Charolois, who, in the previous year, on the death of his father, had succeeded to the ducal sovereignty of Burgundy.
The chroniclers might with propriety have described this as a second "dissimulated love-day." No true reconcilement could take place between the king and the king-maker. Warwick considered Edward the most ungrateful of mankind; and the king thought of the earl, as the Regent-Duke of Albany said of the third Lord Home, that "he was too great to be a subject." The king regarded Warwick's patriotic counsel with aversion: the earl's discontent could be read by the multitude in his frank face. Each, naturally, began to calculate his strength.
Edward had one source of consolation. In giving his sister to Burgundy he had gained a potent ally on the Continent; and he rejoiced to think that, in the event of a change of fortune, a relative so near would assuredly befriend him. Edward, like other men, deceived himself on such subjects. He little imagined how soon he would have to ask his brother-in-law's protection, and how he should find that Burgundy, while taking a wife from the house of York, had not quite laid his prejudices in favor of the house of Lancaster.
Warwick, on his part, felt aught rather than satisfied. Notwithstanding his appearance at court, he was brooding over the injury that he had received. Convinced of the expediency of making friends, he addressed himself to the king's brothers—George, Duke of Clarence, and Richard, Duke of Gloucester. Of Gloucester the earl could make nothing. The wily boy played with his dagger as he was wont, and maintained such a reserve that it would have been imprudent to trust him. With Clarence the earl had more success. Indeed, the duke complained of the king's unkindness; and particularly that though Edward had given rich heiresses to Dorset and Woodville, he had found no match for his own brother. Having both something of which to complain, the earl and the duke formed an alliance offensive and defensive; and a project was formed for binding them to each other by a tie which the Nevilles deemed could hardly be broken.
Warwick had not been blessed with a son to inherit his vast estates, his great name, and his popularity, which was quite undiminished. He, however, had two daughters—Isabel and Anne—whose birth and lineage were such as to put them on a level with any prince in Europe. It appears that Isabel had inspired Clarence with an ardent attachment; but the king and "the queen's kindred" were averse to a match. Warwick now declared that the marriage should take place in spite of their hostility; and Clarence agreed, for Isabel's sake, to defy both Edward and the Woodvilles.
Having taken their resolution, the duke and the earl, in the summer of 1469, sailed for Calais, of which Warwick was still governor. Preparations were made for uniting Clarence and Isabel; and in the month of July, "in the Chapel of Our Lady," the ill-starred marriage was solemnized with a pomp befitting the rank of a Plantagenet bridegroom and a Neville bride.
King Edward no sooner heard of this marriage than he expressed strong displeasure. Unkind words passed in consequence; and, from that date, no affection existed between the king and the king-maker. About the same time there appeared in the heavens a comet, such as had been seen on the eve of great national changes—as before Hastings, which gave England to the Norman yoke, and Evesham, which freed Englishmen from the domination of a foreign baronage and an alien church. The superstitious were immediately struck with the "blazing star," and expressed their belief that it heralded a political revolution. Others did not look at the sky for signs of a coming struggle. Indeed, those who were capable of comprehending the events passing before them could entertain little doubt that England had not yet seen the last of the Wars of the Roses.
While the Woodvilles were supreme, and while Edward was under their influence disheartening the ancient barons of England, and alienating the great noble to whom he owed the proudest crown in Christendom, the imprudent king did not ingratiate himself with the multitude by any display of respect for those rights and liberties to maintain which Warwick had won Northampton and Towton. Indeed, the government was disfigured by acts of undisguised tyranny; and torture, albeit known to be illegal in England, was freely used, as during the Lancastrian rule, to extort evidence. Even the laws of the first Edward and his great minister, Robert de Burnel, were in danger of going as much out of fashion as the chain armor in which Roger Bigod and Humphrey Bohun charged at Lewes and Evesham.
Edward's first victim was William Walker. This man kept a tavern in Cheapside, known as "The Crown," and there a club, composed of young men, had been in the habit of meeting. These fell under the suspicion of being Lancastrians, and were supposed to be plotting a restoration. No evidence to that effect existed; but, unfortunately, the host, being one day in a jocular mood, while talking to his son, who was a boy, said, "Tom, if thou behavest thyself, I'll make thee heir to the crown." Every body knew that Walker's joke alluded to his sign; yet, when the words were reported, he was arrested, and, as if in mockery of common sense, indicted for imagining and compassing the death of the king. The prisoner pleaded his innocence of any evil intention, but his protestations were of no avail. He was found guilty, in defiance of justice, and hanged, in defiance of mercy.
The next case, that of a poor cobbler, if not so utterly unjust, was equally impolitic and still more cruel. Margaret of Anjou was, at that time, using every effort to regain her influence in England, and many persons, supposed to possess letters from the exiled queen, were tortured and put to death on that suspicion. Of these the cobbler was one, and one of the most severely punished. Having been apprehended on the charge of aiding Margaret to correspond with her partisans in England, he was tortured to death with red-hot pincers.
Even when the sufferers were Lancastrians, the barbarity of such proceedings could not fail to make the flesh creep and the blood curdle; but the case became still more iniquitous when government laid hands on men attached to the house of York; when the Woodvilles, who had themselves been Lancastrians, singled out as victims stanch partisans of the White Rose.
Sir Thomas Cooke was one of the most reputable citizens of London, and, in the second year of Edward's reign, had fulfilled the highest municipal functions. Unfortunately for him, also, he had the reputation of being so wealthy as to tempt plunder. Earl Rivers and the Duchess of Bedford appear to have thought so; and exerted their influence with the king to have the ex-mayor arrested on a charge of treason, and committed to the Tower.
It appears that, in an evil hour for Cooke, a man named Hawkins had called on him and requested the loan of a thousand marks, on good security; but Sir Thomas said he should, in the first place, like to know for whom the money was, and, in the second, for what purpose it was intended. Hawkins frankly stated it was for the use of Queen Margaret; and Cooke thereupon declined to lend a penny. Hawkins went away, and the matter rested for some time. Sir Thomas was not, however, destined to escape; for Hawkins, having been taken to the Tower and put to the brake, called "the Duke of Exeter's daughter," confessed so much in regard to himself that he was put to death; and at the same time, under the influence of excessive pain, stated that Cooke had lent the money to Margaret of Anjou.
The Woodvilles, having obtained such evidence against their destined victim, seized upon Cooke's house in London, ejecting his lady and servants, and, at the same time, took possession of Giddy Hall, his seat in Essex, where he had fish-ponds, and a park full of deer, and household furniture of great value. After thus appropriating the estate of the city knight, they determined that, for form's sake, he should have a trial; and accordingly a commission, of which Earl Rivers was a member, was appointed to sit at Guildhall. It would seem that the Woodvilles, meanwhile, had no apprehension of the result being unfavorable to their interests; but, unfortunately for their scheme of appropriation, the commission included two men who loved justice and hated iniquity. These were Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, and Sir John Markham, Chief Justice of England.
Markham was of a family of lawyers, whose progenitors, though scarcely wealthier than yeomen, had held their land from time immemorial, and been entitled to carry coat armor. Having been early called to the bar, and successful in his profession, he became a puisne judge of the court of king's bench; and having strongly supported the claims of the house of York, and greatly contributed, by his abilities and learning, to the triumph of the White Rose, he succeeded Fortescue as chief justice. But, though zealous for the hereditary right of the house of York, Markham was neither a minion nor a tool of its members; and, though he could not but be aware what the court expected, he was incapable of doing any thing to forfeit the public respect which he enjoyed as "The Upright Judge." When, therefore, the evidence against Cooke had been taken, and the whole case heard, the chief justice ruled that the offense was not treason, but, at the most, "Misprision of Treason," and directed the jury so to find it.
The lands of Sir Thomas Cooke were saved, and the Woodvilles, angry as wild beasts deprived of their prey, vowed vengeance on the chief justice. Accordingly Earl Rivers and his duchess pressed Edward to dismiss the unaccommodating functionary; and Edward swore that Markham should never sit on the bench again. Markham, submitting with a dignity becoming his high character, carried his integrity into retirement; and Sir Thomas Cooke was set free after he had paid an enormous fine.
Every man of intelligence must now have seen that the Woodvilles would embroil Edward with the nation. While the king was, under their influence, perpetrating such enormities as caused grave discontent, he was aroused to a sense of insecurity by formidable commotions in the north. For the origin of these, the master and brethren of the Hospital of St. Leonards appear to have been responsible. The right of levying a thrave of corn from every plow in the country for the relief of the poor had, it seems, been granted to the hospital by one of the Anglo-Saxon kings; but the rural population complained that the revenue was not expended for charitable purposes, but employed by the master and brethren for their private advantage. After long complaining, the people of the country refused to pay, and, in retaliation, their goods were distrained and their persons imprisoned. At length, in 1469, finding they could get no redress, the recusants took up arms, and, under a captain named Robert Hulderne, they put the officers of the hospital to the sword, and, to the number of fifteen thousand, marched, in hostile array, to the gates of York.
The insurgents, however, were not to have it all their own way. Lord Montagu commanded in the district; and he prepared to put down the rising with that vigor and energy which had hitherto characterized his military operations. Accordingly, he hastened to bring them to an engagement. A skirmish took place; the insurgents were scattered; and Hulderne, their leader, having been taken, was sent by Montagu to immediate execution. Nevertheless, the insurgents continued in arms; and, having been joined by Lord Fitzhugh and Sir Henry Neville, the son of Lord Latimer, one a nephew, the other a cousin of Warwick, they placed Sir John Conyers, a soldier of courage and experience, at their head, advanced toward London, denouncing the Woodvilles as taxers and oppressors, and loudly demanding their dismissal from the council.
Edward now roused himself from voluptuous lethargy, and prepared to defend his crown. Without delay, he gave commissions to William Herbert, whom he had created Earl of Pembroke, and Humphrey Stafford, to whom, on the execution of Hugh, Earl of Devon, at Salisbury, he had given the heritage of the Courtenays, to march against the rebels. At the same time, Edward buckled on his armor, and advanced to Newark. There, however, he thought it prudent to halt; and, finding his army utterly weak and unsteady, he retreated to Nottingham. Hitherto he had thought England none the worse for Warwick's absence; but now he dispatched a message to Calais, beseeching the earl and Clarence to come to his assistance. Having thus bent his pride, Edward waited the result with anxiety.
Meanwhile, Herbert and Stafford were in the field. Hastily assembling seven thousand men, most of whom were Welsh, the two Yorkist earls moved against the insurgents; but they had hardly done so, when an unfortunate dispute involved them in serious disasters.
It was at Banbury, when the royal army approached the insurgents, that the quarrel took place. It appears that the Yorkist earls had agreed, in the course of their expedition, that when either took possession of a lodging, he should be allowed to keep it undisturbed. On reaching Banbury, on the 25th of July, Stafford took up his quarters at an inn, where there was a damsel for whom he had a partiality. Herbert, who was so proud of the king's letter that he could hardly contain his joy,[9] insisted upon putting Stafford out of the hostelry; and Stafford, whose spirit was high, took offense at being so treated by an inferior. Angry words passed, and the consequence was that Stafford mounted his horse, and rode from the town, with his men-at-arms and archers. Herbert, alarmed at being left alone, hastened to the hill on which his soldiers were encamped, and expressed his intention of abiding such fortune as God should send.
When evening advanced, Sir Henry Neville, at the head of his light-horse, commenced skirmishing with the Welsh, and, advancing too far, he was surrounded and slain. The northern men, thereupon, vowed vengeance; and next morning, at Edgecote, attacked the royal army with fury. Herbert, on the occasion, bore himself with a courage which well-nigh justified the king's favor; and his brother, Richard, twice, by main force, hewed his way through the insurgent ranks. Animated by the example of their leaders, the Welshmen were on the point of victory, when an esquire, named John Clapham, attended by five hundred men, and bearing a white bear, the banner of the king-maker, came up the hill, shouting—"A Warwick! A Warwick!" Hearing this war-cry, so terrible, and believing that "The Stout Earl" was upon them, the Welshmen fled in such terror and confusion that the northern men slaughtered five thousand of them. Herbert and his brother Richard, having been taken, were carried to Banbury, and there beheaded, in revenge for the death of Sir Henry Neville. Elate with their victory at Banbury, the insurgents resolved upon giving a lesson to the "queen's kindred;" and, choosing for their captain Robert Hilyard, whom men called "Robin of Redesdale," they marched to the Manor of Grafton, seized on Earl Rivers and John Woodville, who had wedded the old Duchess of Norfolk, carried these obnoxious individuals to Nottingham, and there beheaded them as taxers and oppressors.
The king, on hearing of the defeat of Herbert and the execution of the Woodvilles, expressed the utmost resentment. Displeased with himself and every body else, he looked around for a victim on whom to wreak his fury; and, considering that of all connected with these misfortunes Stafford was the least blameless, he issued orders that the unfortunate nobleman should be seized, and dealt with as a traitor. The royal commands were obeyed. Stafford was taken at a village in Brentmarsh, carried to Bridgewater, and executed.
The aspect of affairs gradually became more threatening. At length Warwick arrived in England, and repaired to the king, who was encamped at Olney. He found Edward in no enviable plight. His friends were killed or scattered, and his enemies close upon him. The earl was just the man for such a crisis, and he consented to exercise his influence. He went to the insurgents, promised to see their grievances redressed, spoke to them in that popular strain which he alone could use; and, at his bidding, they dispersed and went northward. Edward, however, found that he was hardly more free than when the forces of Robin of Redesdale hemmed him in. The earl, in fact, took the king into his own hands till he should redeem his promise to the insurgents, and conveyed him, as a kind of prisoner, to the Castle of Middleham.
Edward had no intention of granting the popular demands; and he was not the man to submit patiently to durance. He gained the hearts of his keepers, and obtained liberty to go a-hunting. This privilege he turned to account; and having one day been met by Sir William Stanley, Sir Thomas Brough, and others of his friends, he rode with them to York, pursued his way to Lancaster, and, having there been met by Lord Hastings, reached London in safety.
A peace between Warwick and the king was brought about by their friends; and Edward's eldest daughter was betrothed to Montagu's son. But a few weeks after this reconciliation, the earl took mortal offense. The cause is involved in some mystery. It appears, however, that Edward had two failings in common with many men both small and great—a weakness for wine and a weakness for women. He was much too fond of deep drinking, and by no means free from the indiscretions of those who indulge to excess in the social cup. On some occasion, it would seem, the king was guilty of a flagrant impropriety which touched the honor and roused the resentment of the earl. Even at this day the exact circumstances are unknown; but, in the fifteenth century, rumor was not silent on the subject. Hall has indicated, in language somewhat too plain for this generation, that the offense was an insult offered by the king, in Warwick's house, to the niece or daughter of the earl; and adds, that "the certainty was not for both their honors openly known." But, however that may have been, the strife between the king and the king-maker now assumed the character of mortal enmity, and led rapidly to those events which rendered the year 1470 memorable in the annals of England.
Edward was not long left in doubt as to the earl's views. At the Moor, in Hertfordshire, which then belonged to the Archbishop of York, which passed fifteen years later to John de Vere, Earl of Oxford, and which, in later days, became the seat of Anne Scott, heiress of Buccleuch and widow of the ill-fated Monmouth, George Neville, one day in the month of February, gave a banquet to the king. On the occasion Warwick and Clarence were invited; and all was going on well, and Edward was washing his hands before sitting down to supper, when one of his attendants whispered that armed men were lurking near the house to seize him. The king started, but, recovering himself sufficiently to betray no signs of alarm, he got secretly out of the house, mounted his horse, and, riding all night, reached Windsor Castle in safety.
Edward was not quite prepared to punish this attempt on his liberty. He, therefore, listened to the mediation of the Duchess of York; and that lady was laboring to effect another reconciliation, when an insurrection took place among the people of Lincolnshire. These complained bitterly of the oppression of the royal purveyors; and they were headed by Sir Robert Welles, the heir of a family remarkable for fidelity to the house of Lancaster.
Warwick was suspected to be the author of this disturbance. Nevertheless, the king found it necessary to treat the earl and Clarence as if he entertained no suspicion. He even intrusted them with the command of forces destined to suppress the insurgents, while he prepared to march against them with a numerous army.
Meanwhile, the king sent for Lord Welles, father of Sir Robert, and, at the royal summons, that nobleman came to Westminster, in company with Sir Thomas Dymoke, who had married his daughter. Being informed, however, that the king was much incensed, the Lancastrian lord and his son-in-law deemed it prudent to repair to the sanctuary. Edward, however, plighted his word as a prince, that he intended no harm, and they, fully relying on a pledge so sacred, came to his presence. Edward, thereupon, commanded Lord Welles to write to his son to desist from his enterprise; but Sir Robert continuing firm in spite of the paternal admonition, Edward caused both the old lord and his son-in-law to be executed.
After this faithless proceeding Edward left London. Marching against the insurgents, he came up with them on the 13th of March, at Erpingham, in the county of Rutland. The royal army was so superior in number that Sir Robert had scarcely a chance of victory. Exasperated, however, by the execution of his father, the brave knight, setting prudence at defiance, was eager for an encounter. The armies joined battle, and it soon appeared that Sir Robert had reckoned without his host. The conflict was utterly unequal; and, the insurgents having been worsted, their leader was taken prisoner. No sooner was Welles in the hands of the enemy than the Lincolnshire men whom he had commanded became a mob, and fled from the field, having previously thrown off their coats, that their running might not be impeded. From this circumstance the battle was popularly spoken of as "Losecote Field."
The tables were now turned. The king was in a condition to defy Warwick, while the king-maker had no means of raising such a force as could, with any chance of success, encounter the royal army flushed with victory. The earl, however, made one effort. Being at his Castle of Warwick, and hearing of Edward's victory at Erpingham, he endeavored to draw Lord Stanley, his brother-in-law, to his side. Stanley, however, was far too prudent a man to rush into danger even for his great kinsman's sake. He answered that "he would never make war against King Edward;" and Warwick and Clarence were compelled to turn toward Dartmouth.
On the summit of the hill that rises steeply from the left bank of the River Exe, and is crowned with the capital of Devon, some of the burghers of Exeter might have been met with, one spring day in 1470, gossiping about the king and Lord Warwick, and making observations on several hundreds of armed men, who, not without lance, and plume, and pennon, were escorting a youthful dame, of patrician aspect and stately bearing, toward the city gates. The mayor and aldermen were, probably, the reverse of delighted with the appearance of these fighting men. Indeed, the warlike strangers were adherents of Warwick and Clarence, escorting the young duchess who was daughter of one and wife of the other; and at that time, as was well known, both "The Stout Earl" and the fickle duke were at enmity with King Edward. The citizens of Exeter, however, made a virtue of necessity, and cheerfully enough admitted within their walls those whom they had not the power to exclude.
At that time Isabel, Duchess of Clarence, was about to become, under mortifying circumstances, the mother of a son "born to perpetual calamity;" but, however delicate her situation, Lord Warwick's daughter, reared in the midst of civil strife, was probably less troubled than might be imagined with uneasiness as to the present or apprehension as to the future, as, with all honors due to her rank, she was conducted to the palace of the Bishop of Exeter.
The Duchess of Clarence soon had need of her hereditary courage; for she had scarcely been lodged in the bishop's palace, and the lords who attended her in the houses of the canons, when Sir Hugh Courtenay, sheriff of Devon, took the opportunity of displaying his zeal in the king's service, raised an army in the vicinity, and marched toward Exeter to the assault of the city. Perceiving, however, that its reduction must be the work of time, the sheriff encamped his men around the walls, barricaded the roads, stopped every avenue by which provisions could have reached the garrison, and appeared prepared to proceed deliberately with the siege. Having taken these measures, Courtenay sent a messenger to the mayor, demanding that the gates should be opened forthwith.
The mayor and the other municipal functionaries were by no means willing to incur the wrath of Edward of York. On the contrary, they were much inclined to entitle themselves to his favor by complying with the sheriff's demand. But Warwick's friends were on their guard. Suspecting that the mayor might prove untrue, and resolved to have their fate in their own hands, the lords and gentlemen insisted on the keys of the city being placed in their possession; and, the mayor yielding on this point, they appointed the watch, manned the walls, repaired the gates, and took the entire management of the defense. Finding themselves in a somewhat delicate predicament, and not free from danger, the mayor and aldermen resolved to speak both parties fair, and do nothing till one side or other proved triumphant.
At first Warwick's red-jackets made so brave a defense that Courtenay could not boast of any progress. Ere long, however, they had to contend with a more formidable foe than the knightly sheriff. After the siege had lasted some days, provisions fell short; famine was apprehended; and the inhabitants became inconveniently impatient. The Warwickers, however, were utterly disinclined to yield. Indeed, with the fate of Lord Welles and Sir Thomas Dymoke before their eyes, they might well hesitate to trust to Edward's tender mercies. They, therefore, determined to endure all privations rather than submit, and declared their intention to hold out till God sent them deliverance. This resolution might have been difficult to maintain; but, after the siege had lasted for twelve days, they were relieved by the arrival of Warwick and Clarence.
The earl did not arrive at Exeter with laurels on his brow. At Erpingham, Edward had already encountered the insurgents under Sir Robert Welles; and, having made the northern men fly before his lance, he had proclaimed Warwick and Clarence traitors, and offered a reward for their apprehension. Disappointed of Lord Stanley's alliance, and of aid from Sir John Conyers, the earl and the duke joined their friends in haste and alarm. Resistance was simply out of the question, for the king was at the head of an army of forty thousand men; and the king-maker had merely the yeomanry of the county of Warwick. The earl's game was clearly up for the present; and his only chance of safety appeared to lie in a retreat to the Continent. He, therefore, caused ships to be immediately fitted out at Dartmouth; and, going to that port, after a three days' stay in Exeter, he sailed for Calais, of which he still continued captain.
Meanwhile, the king, flushed with his victory over the Lincolnshire men, learned that Warwick had gone toward Exeter. Thither, at the head of his army, marched Edward, accompanied by a band of nobles, among whom were the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, the Earls of Arundel and Rivers, and the Lords Stanley and Hastings. The citizens, uncomfortable, no doubt, at having harbored the enemies of a prince so potent, resolved upon doing all in their power to entitle themselves to his favor. On hearing of the approach of the royal army, the mayor issued orders that every inhabitant having the means should provide himself with a gown of the city's livery, and hold himself in readiness to give the king a loyal reception.
At length, on the 14th of April, Edward's banners appeared in sight; and the mayor, attended by the recorder and four hundred of the citizens, clad in scarlet, issued forth from the gates to bid the king welcome. The scene was such as had generally been witnessed on such occasions. The mayor made a humble obeisance; the recorder delivered an oration, congratulating Edward on coming to Exeter. This ceremony over, the mayor presented the king with the keys of the city and a purse containing a hundred nobles in gold. Edward returned the keys; but "the gold," says the historian, "he took very thankfully."
Having thus propitiated the conqueror, the mayor of Exeter, his head uncovered, and bearing the mace of the city in his hands, conducted the king through the gate and toward the house which he was to occupy. After remaining a few days in Exeter, Edward returned to London, congratulating himself on having put under his feet so many of his enemies, and out of the kingdom the great noble to whom he owed his crown. He seemed to think the whole quarrel between the people of England and the family of Woodville decided in favor of his wife's kindred by the flight of the Lancastrians from Erpingham and the earl's retreat from Exeter.
When Warwick sailed from Dartmouth as a mortal foe of the man whom, ten years earlier, he had seated on the throne of the Plantagenets, the excitement created by the event was not confined to England. So grand was the earl's fame, so high his character, so ardent his patriotism, and so great the influence he had exercised over that nation of which he was the pride, that Continental princes listened to the news of his breaking with Edward as they would have done to that of an empire in convulsions. The circumstances of the King of France and the Duke of Burgundy especially were such that they could not have remained indifferent to what was passing; and lively, indeed, was the interest which Charles the Rash and Louis the Crafty exhibited on the occasion.
Sir Walter Scott has rendered Louis, with his peculiarities of mind, manner, and dress, familiar to the readers of "Quentin Durward." At the mention of his name there rises before the mind's eye a man of mean figure, with pinched features, a threadbare jerkin, and low fur cap, ornamented with paltry leaden images—now indulging in ribald talk, now practicing the lowest hypocrisy, and now taking refuge in the grossest superstition. Our concern with him at present, however, is only so far as his career is associated with the Wars of the Roses.
Louis was the son of the seventh Charles of France, and of his queen, Mary of Anjou, a princess of worth and virtue, but not tenderly beloved by her husband, whose heart was devoted to his mistress, Agnes Sorrel, the handsomest woman of that age. Born at the commencement of those operations which resulted in the expulsion of the English from France, Louis had just reached the age of sixteen in 1440, when, to get rid of his tutor, the Count de Perdriac, he stole from the Castle of Loches, and conspired against his father's government. The conspiracy came to naught, and Louis was pardoned; but, a few years later, he incurred the suspicion of having poisoned Agnes Sorrel, and, flying from his father's court, sought refuge in Dauphiny.
Enraged at the death of his mistress and the conduct of his son, the king, in 1446, sent a band of armed men to arrest the heir of France; and placed at their head the Count of Dammartin. Louis, however, received timely warning, and projected an escape. With this view, he appointed a grand hunting-match, ordered his dinner to be prepared at the particular rendezvous, and took care that the count was informed of the circumstance. Completely deceived, Dammartin placed troops in ambush, and made certain of a capture; but Louis valued life and liberty too much to allow himself to be caught. Instead of going to the hunt, he mounted a fleet steed, and, riding to the territories of the Duke of Burgundy, was courteously received and entertained by that magnate.
On hearing that Burgundy had treated the dauphin so handsomely, King Charles protested, and warned the duke against heaping benefits on a man of so depraved a disposition. "You know not, Duke Philip," said the king, "the nature of this savage animal. You cherish a wolf, who will one day tear your sheep to pieces. Remember the fable of the countryman, who, in compassion to a viper which he found half frozen in the field, brought it to his house, and warmed it by the fireside, till it turned round and hissed at its preserver." The good duke, however, continued to protect Louis, granted him a pension to maintain his state, and gave him the choice of a residence. Louis selected the Castle of Gennape, in Brabant; and, during his residence there, formed a close intimacy with the duke's son, the Count of Charolois, afterward celebrated as Charles the Rash.
The heir of Burgundy was some years younger than the dauphin, and in character presented a remarkable contrast with the exiled prince, being violent, ungovernable, and, in all cases, ruled by his anger and pride. Round this incarnation of feudalism Louis had the art to wind himself, as the ivy does around the oak it is destined to destroy. They feasted together, hawked together, hunted together, and, in fact, were bosom friends; and when, in 1456, Isabel de Bourbon, the first wife of Charles, gave birth to a daughter, at Brussels, it was Louis who figured as sponsor at the baptism of the infant princess; and it was Louis who gave Mary of Burgundy her Christian name, in honor of his mother, Mary of Anjou.
When the dauphin had for years enjoyed the Duke of Burgundy's hospitality, Charles the Seventh died; and, shortly after the battle of Towton, the exiled prince, at the age of thirty-eight, succeeded to the crown of St. Louis. Hardly, however, had the dauphin become king, when he forgot all his obligations to the house which had sheltered him in adversity. Eager to weaken the influence of the two great feudatories of France, he sought to create hostility between the Duke of Brittany and the Count of Charolois. With this object he granted each of them the government of Normandy, in hopes of their contesting it, and destroying each other. Discovering the deception, however, they united against the deceiver, rallied around them the malcontents of France, and placed at their head the king's brother, Charles de Valois, who claimed Normandy as his appanage.
A formidable alliance, called "The League for the Public Good," having been formed, Charolois, attended by the Count of St. Pol, and the Bastard of Burgundy, who afterward tilted at Smithfield with Anthony Woodville, led his forces into France in hostile array. Louis, though taken by surprise, girded himself up for a conflict, and, on the 16th of July, 1465, met his foes at Montlhéry. A fierce battle followed; and the king fought with courage. The day, however, went against France; and Louis was forced to leave the field, with the loss of some hundreds of his men and several of his captains, among whom was one who, in the Wars of the Roses, had spent a fortune, and enacted a strange and romantic part. For among the slain at Montlhéry, was Sir Peter de Brezé, celebrated for his chivalrous admiration of Margaret of Anjou, who, at the tournament given in France in honor of her nuptials, had distinguished himself by feats of arms, and who, when years of sorrow had passed over her head, came to England to prove his devotion by fighting for her husband's crown.
When Louis was under the necessity of abandoning the field at Montlhéry to the heir of Burgundy, Normandy revolted to the insurgent princes; and the king, finding himself the weaker party, had recourse to dissimulation. He expressed his readiness to negotiate, pretended to forget his resentment, surrendered Normandy to his brother, satisfied the demands of the Count of Charolois, and named the Count of St. Pol Constable of France. But this treaty negotiated at Conflans having, at the king's desire, been annulled by the States-General, Louis avenged himself by depriving Charles de Valois of Normandy, and stirring up the rich cities of Flanders to revolt against Charolois, now, by his father's death, Duke of Burgundy, and, by his second marriage, brother-in-law to Edward of York.
At the time when Louis was inciting the Flemings to revolt against their sovereign, and when he had an emissary in Liége for that purpose, he endeavored to avert suspicion from himself by paying a visit to Charles the Rash, at Peronne. This piece of diplomacy well-nigh cost his life. Scarcely had the king arrived at Peronne ere intelligence followed of the revolt at Liége; and Burgundy was exasperated in the highest degree to learn that the populace had proceeded to horrible excesses, massacred the canons, and murdered the bishop, Louis de Bourbon, his own relative. But when, in addition to all this, Burgundy heard that the king was the author of the sedition, his rage knew no bounds. He immediately committed Louis to prison, menaced the captive with death, and appeared determined to execute his threat. Louis, however, became aware of his peril, and submitted to all that was demanded. To extricate himself from danger he signed the treaty of Peronne, divesting himself of all sovereignty over Burgundy, giving his brother Champagne and Brie, and finally engaging to march in person against the insurgents of Liége.
The treaty of Peronne restored Louis to liberty, but not till he had played a part that must have tried even his seared conscience. He was under the necessity of accompanying Burgundy to Liége, witnessing the destruction of the unfortunate city, beholding a general massacre of the men whom he had incited to revolt, and even congratulating Charles the Rash on having executed vengeance. All this time, however, Louis had no intention of maintaining the treaty of Peronne. Indeed, he only awaited a favorable opportunity of breaking faith; but he deemed it policy to proceed cautiously, for the alliance of Burgundy with Edward of York rendered the duke formidable in his eyes.
At the opening of his reign Louis, notwithstanding his relationship to Margaret of Anjou, had shown a disinclination to make sacrifices for the house of Lancaster; while Charles the Rash, as a descendant of John of Gaunt, had expressed much sympathy with the party whose badge was the Red Rose. Even kings, however, are the creatures of circumstances; and the disposal which Edward, in his wisdom, made of the hand of Margaret of York rendered Burgundy favorable to the White Rose, while it induced Louis, from selfish motives, to exhibit more friendship for the adherents of Lancaster.
Louis had not a particle of chivalry in his composition, and would have ridiculed the notion of undertaking any thing for the advantage of others. He was keenly alive to his own interest, however, and deemed it politic to give the enemies of Edward some degree of encouragement. To make them formidable enough to keep the Yorkist king at home was the object of his policy, for of all calamities Louis most dreaded an English invasion. When Warwick broke with Edward, he was not only freed from fear, but animated by hope; for in the earl's destiny he had perfect faith; and the earl was known to entertain an antipathy to Burgundy, and a strong opinion that peace with France was essential to England's welfare.