Richard The Chird (5 page)

The peers were astonished and dismayed, none more so apparently than Warwick and the young Earl of March. They realized that the realm expected York to reform the government, not to turn out the King. York's action was awkward, politically inept; it was, in fact, alien to his character. His reading of events had forced him into a role unsuited to his plain nature. He had blustered because he was not at his ease. After three weeks of confused debate and legal tergiversation, a compromise was finally effected to which all the Lords and the bewildered Henry himself professed agreement. York's claim to the crown as the heir (through his mother) of Lionel, Duke of Clarence, third son of Edward III, was acknowledged to be just—as by lineal right it was, since Henry VI was descended from John of Gaunt, the fourth son. Yet, in virtue of fact that the House of Lancaster had sat upon the throne for sixty years, Henry was to remain King

for the rest of his lifetime. He would be succeeded by the Duke of York, who was named the heir of the realm and Protector as well. Queen Margaret's son, Edward, was disinherited.

That is, he was disinherited in London. But not in the minds of the Lancastrian lords who had absented themselves from the Parliament, and least of all in the fiery heart of Queen Margaret. When she received the news that her husband had been captured at Northampton, the Queen, with her son, fled westward from Coventry. After a hazardous journey, at one stage of which she was waylaid and robbed, she reached the safety of Harlech Castle. At once she set about recruiting men to her son's cause. The tidings that Parliament had proclaimed York as Henry's heir only spurred her to greater efforts. Sailing to Scotland to beg aid, she offered Berwick, the great frontier fortress, as a reward for Scottish support. Meantime, her followers in the North of England were assembling a formidable host.

To meet these dangers, two small armies left London on December 9. One, commanded by Edward, Earl of March, headed westward for Wales. The Duke of York himself, his son Edmund, Earl of Rutland, and the Earl of Salisbury marched for Yorkshire. Warwick remained at London to maintain the government.

On December 21 York halted at his castle of Sandal, his scouts having brought word that the Lancastrians were gathered in force at Pontefract, only ten miles away. The leaders of the two armies apparently agreed to a truce for the Christmas season. But the Lancastrians were too hungry for revenge to respect oaths. On the late afternoon of December 30 their army suddenly appeared before Sandal Castle, at a moment when a portion of the Duke's troops were out foraging. Gallantly but foolishly, York and Rutland and Salisbury rushed forth to the rescue of their men. Their small band was soon surrounded. York was slain fighting manfully; with him fell Sir Thomas Neville, a younger son of Salisbury. Edmund of Rutland, fleeing toward Wakefield, was overtaken by young Lord Clifford, whose father had died at St, Albans. As Rutland begged for mercy, Clifford clove him to the earth, hissing, "By God's blood, thy father slew mine, and so will

I do thee and all thy kin!" ** Salisbury was captured, only to be executed the next day. The heads of the slain Yorkist leaders were carried to the city of York and impaled on Micklegate Bar, the bloody brows of the Duke being rimmed in bitter derision with a crown of paper and straw. It was now war a Foutrance.

On the morning of January 2 seven-year-old Richard learned that in a moment's swirl of battle he had lost a father, a brother, and an uncle.

Reports soon followed that the victorious Lancastrians, the Queen at their head, were advancing southward to take London and destroy what remained of the House of York. Margaret had promised her motley array of Welsh, Scots, and Yorkshiremen that they might freely pillage the whole South of England. On a front of thirty miles her host marched, leaving ruin in its wake. As if they were conquering a foreign land, her troopers burned villages, sacked churches, raped women, and murdered all who would protect their goods or who aroused their displeasure. 2 *

About February 10, however, came a piece of good news. At Mortimer's Cross in Herefordshire, young Edward of March had crushed a Lancastrian army under the Earls of Pembroke and Wiltshire. A few days later, the Earl of Warwick left London with the force he had hastily assembled to oppose the advance of the Queen. Experienced in the art of war though he was, Warwick could not match his pupil, the Earl of March. A little beyond St. Albans he drew up his army in three widely spaced wings facing northeast. But the Queen's host, early on the morning of February 17, fell upon his flank from the north, threw his forces into wild disorder, and soon routed them. King Henry, whom Warwick had taken with him, was found under a tree laughing and talking to himself.

With a shred of his army Warwick fled westward to meet Edward. Fugitives poured pell-mell into London crying that the Lancastrians were at their heels. The great town was thrown into confusion. Merchants scrambled frantically to hide their valuables, to don harness, to arm their apprentices with clubs, and to join Mayor Lee, now a captain in coat of mail, in patrolling the

apparently doomed city. Rumors raced through the streets that, despite her promise to the contrary, the Queen's wild northerners would sack London.

Soon a detachment of Lancastrian cavalry was pillaging the suburbs. Ships in the harbor began to hoist sail. Though the commons had forced their magistrates to bar the gates and defy the Queen's host, the Duchess of York hastened to dispatch young Richard and George beyond the reach of Adargaret of Anjou. The Low Countries, she and her advisers hurriedly concluded, would provide the best haven. Philip, Duke of Burgundy, their ruler, had previously shown himself friendly to the Yorkist cause. Richard and George were escorted through the turbulent city to the wharves. That night, accompanied by a squire, John Skel-ton, and a few attendants, the two boys were tossing on the seas. 8 *

The realm of Burgundy—a broad strip of territory which ran from the French dukedom and county of that name to the great commercial cities of the Low Countries—was then the wealthiest and the most splendid land in Europe. Duke Philip, who liked to think of himself as a medieval crusader but was much more nearly a Renaissance prince, received Richard and George—after an interval—as if they were potentates and treated them like sons. On April 18 the Milanese ambassador, Prospero Camuglio, wrote to his master, Francesco Sforza, from Bruges, "Tomorrow, they say, two younger brothers of March, son of the Duke of York, are coming here, and the Duke of Burgundy has given notice for great honours to be shewn to them." Later the same day he added, "Since I wrote today, the two brothers . . . have arrived. . . . The duke, who is most kind in everything, has been to visit them at their lodging, and showed them great reverence." 4

Doubtless Richard and George were also greeted by William Caxton, who was then head of the English merchants at Bruges— a successful mercer, as yet untouched by the enchantment of printing. The Duke himself probably showed them his famous library, the finest in Europe, with its gorgeously illuminated manuscripts bound in gem-crusted covers. Perhaps he took them to his country estate at Hesdin, an amazing place in which little

bridges collapsed to empty the unwary into garden ponds, books when opened blew dust into the beholder's eye, and in the famous room hung with Jason tapestries thunder and lightning, snow and rain, could be marvelously simulated. Caxton says he saw this chamber, and it is not impossible that Caxton was their guide. 5

This fine welcome to Bruges, however, came two months after they had reached Burgundy. It appears that at first Richard and George, scions of a family whose fortunes were suddenly very doubtful, had been quietly escorted to Utrecht and there set once more to their oft-interrupted lessons. Hard task it must have been for them to con books, ignorant of what had befallen their kin and their cause, remembering the panic in the London streets as Queen Margaret's terrible host approached. . . .

When tidings finally came, about April 12, they were glorious beyond belief. 6 The brave Londoners had dared to resist the Queen's threats. While she hesitated, Edward of March and the Earl of Warwick entered London ten days after the second battle of St. Albans. Margaret broke her camp, and carrying poor Henry with her, retreated northward. The Yorkist lords now solved the dilemma which had been fatal to the Duke. On March 4, Edward, as the heir of York, was proclaimed King of England. A week later, he and Warwick started in pursuit of the Lancastrians. The Queen and her host turned at bay near Towton, in Yorkshire. On March 29, Palm Sunday, in a driving snowstorm, King Edward led his outnumbered army to one of the bloodiest victories ever won on English soil. The chief Lancastrian lords were killed or captured; their host was utterly broken; Henry, Margaret, and their son fled precipitately into Scotland.

Not only could George and Richard now return safely to England; they were summoned by King Edward to share the pomp of his coronation. The city of Bruges gave the boys a farewell feast. Duke Philip showered them with gifts and had them escorted to Calais by a guard of honor. 7 At Canterbury they were banqueted by the city fathers and sent ceremoniously on their way to the royal palace at Shene (Richmond). Not many hours later they knelt in homage to their brother who had become a king.

In his eight and a half years Richard had experienced rude shocks of fortune, the bitterness of civil strife, the fragility of power, the sting of injustice. One gleam of assurance he had found, the awesome star of his brother Edward. By this time he was old enough to realize how unlike the other young eagles of the House of York he was . . . last and small and weak. Beside the glow of the healthy and assertive George he doubtless felt himself an insignificant shadow. Yet it will appear that out of his early experience he had forged one fierce resolve: to make himself strong in order to serve Edward. His precarious childhood had undoubtedly left scars; it had also lit the first flame of will.

King Edward was a month short of his nineteenth birthday when he displayed his prowess at the battle of Towton. His appearance and his charm were no less brilliant than his martial exploits. Standing six feet four inches tall, his zest for life shining in his face, he was regarded by his contemporaries as the handsomest prince—indeed, the handsomest man—in Europe. 8 * Exuberant and convivial, he enjoyed the splendor of his new-won throne as frankly as he enjoyed the pursuit of the girls at court. He seemed content to let the Earl of Warwick consolidate his victory and manage his realm. What, in fact, lay beneath the surface of this remarkable youth, men had not yet learned; Warwick, to his cost, never did learn. It was quickly apparent, however, that Edward meant to associate his brothers unmistakably with his greatness.

On Friday, June 26, Richard tasted the triumph of Edward's state entry into London. With his two brothers the King rode to the Tower, escorted by the Mayor and Aldermen in scarlet and four hundred of the principal citizens in green. That evening Richard, along with George and twenty-six other young noblemen, was created a Knight of the Bath. He would undergo the initiation solemnly, too young to realize that the elaborate ceremonial attempted to recapture a vanished chivalry, which had existed largely in the pages of the romances. 9

He was first of all led to his chamber by two "governors," who

were in charge of his initiation. When a sumptuous bath had been prepared for him, three knights of the Order, accompanied by squires singing and dancing, entered the chamber. Richard having been inducted into the bath, the chief knight sprinkled water on his shoulders and instructed him in the rites and ideals of the Order. Dried and clothed—with the aid of a barber who took the bath as his fee—Richard was now conducted to the chapel. Here throughout the night, in the company of the governors and a priest, he underwent his knightly vigil, which ended at dawn with confession, matins, and the Mass. He was then ceremoniously put to bed for a brief sleep, after which he was even more ceremoniously arrayed for the final rite. Preceded by a youth carrying his sword and spurs, he rode through the courtyard of the Tower to the royal lodgings—a Marshal of Arms leading off the horse as his fee—and presented himself before the King and his lords. At Edward's command two knights fastened Richard's spurs to his heels. The King himself girded his brother with a sword, kissed him, and said, "Be thou a good knight."

Richard returned to the chapel to swear at the high altar that he would maintain the rights of the Church and to offer up his sword. Leaving the chapel, he was halted by the Master-Cook, who cried, "I, the King's Master-Cook, am come to receive your spurs as my fee; and if you do anything contrary to the Order of Knighthood, which God forbid, I shall hack your spurs from your heels." With this warning ringing in his ears he went to dinner, but only to watch others dine: he was not permitted to "eat nor drink at the table, nor spit, nor look about him, more than a bride." At last he returned to his chamber and was there clad In a blue robe with a white hood and a token of white silk on the shoulder.

On Saturday afternoon, with the other new Knights of the Bath In like costume, Richard rode in procession with the King from the Tower to Westminster. He assisted on rhe morrow at the coronation of his brother as King Edward the Fourth. At the Bishop of London's palace next day he watched Edward create brother George Duke of Clarence. William Hastings, the

King's dearest friend, who had fought in all his battles, was made Lord Hastings, and a number of other faithful followers were awarded titles.

It was fitting that George, the elder brother and heir to the throne, should be honored before Richard; but Richard's turn came only four months later. On All Hallows Day Edward set a cap of estate on his small brother's head and created him Duke of Gloucester. 10 Not many weeks later he and George were elected Knights of the Garter; by early February of 1462 a helm, crest, and sword marked his stall among the blazons of the mighty dead in the chapel of St. George. 11 Yet when Richard was made a duke, he was only a few weeks past his ninth birthday and he owned a larger experience of civil strife than of civil learning. It was high time that he should, like all the boys of the nobility, serve his apprenticeship in knightly conduct within the household of a great lord and be tutored in the polite accomplishments of peace and war. 12