Richard IV, Plantagenet

Preface

. ALTHOUCrH the taste for Historical Romance may be said to belong, itself, to bygone times, there are certain portions of our history which never lose their charm, while the exciting scenes they record are sally as "sensational" as any of those which the morbid fancy of the devourer of the " shilling dread ful" delights to revel in, and I fail to see why those stirring times should not be made to yield as much amusement to the readers of the present day as can be extracted from more commonplace and, to my mind, less attractive subjects. Impelled by this thought, I have been led to dress up an old, weird legend in such a manner as to render it acceptable, even though four hundred years have passed away since the events referred to were fresh in the minds of men. I am mainly indebted to the memory of an old book which I was wont to pore over in my father's library some fifty odd years ago.

It had no author's name, and professed to be the autobiography of a legitimate son of Richard III, born long before his parent's rise. This book had a strange fascination for me, and the events it related were so impressed upon my Preface. VIII mind that they have formed, as it were, the skeleton of my story. Other portions have been filled up partly from imagination and partly* from vague whispers here and there of a real existing manu script in which the birth of such a person as my hero was duly chronicled. In the old volume I allude to, Richard tells his story in the first person singular. 1 have abandoned this for many reasons, among these was the difficulty of describing scenery and other things in the archaic language of the unknown author, which became often tedious. The language, in conversa tion, has been, to some extent at least, modelled upon that of Sir Thomas More, to whose life of Richard the Third I owe many useful hints, and whose style, being coeval with that of my hero, seemed to me a fairly safe guide.

The fancy of making a scion of the House of the warlike Plantagenets — the last of a fighting line of kings — one of the first of the line of peace in the empire of the press, might, in abler hands, have been elaborated in a more emphatic way ; but whether this would have appealed to our youths and maidens sufficiently to justify recasting the story, I doubt. We have always received our pictures of Richard the Third from partisans of the opposite faction. Shakespeare wrote to please a Tudor, as did More, and both of them have done their best to leave us an almost impossible picture of one of the bravest of England's monarchs, one of the wisest of her generals, and one of the most far-sighted of her statesmen. I must confess to a feeling of admira tion for the warrior king who held his own so gallantly against the grimmest foes a man mav Preface.

IX combat— unpopularity and slander. That a son should love his father is but natural ; I have there fore invested my hero with a strong amount of filial feelin?, leading him to raise the hero to the demi-god with natural exaggeration of the glorious attributes which his exalted birth would lead him to admire, and to deny his warrior father any taint of ordinarymortal weakness. " Audi alterem partem" is supposed to be a favourite dictum amongst us. Strange that it has never been applied to the last of the Plantagenets ! Yet, of the charges brought against him, many have been proved gratuitous inventions, and many others have been shown to be impossible. Thus, the evidence of the murder of his nephews has been proved to be unworthy of credit. I remember as a boy being shown by one of the store-keepers of the Tower the spot in the staircase where their remains were said to have been buried.

He (the store-keeper) was a very learned antiquary, and knew more about the Tower than any person then living, and he demonstrated to me the im possibility of such an interment having taken place. This gentleman' was always of opinion that Perkin Warbeck was the real heir to the throne, whose death has been so readily attributed to his uncle. Lambert Simnel was allowed to live as a com paratively harmless pretender, but Perkin Warbeck was executed by Henry VII — a strong piece of circumstantial evidence in favour of the genuine nature of his claims. I am not holding up Richard III as a pattern in * The late Robert Porrett, Esq., F.R.S., F.S.A., etc. Preface. X any wa\*, but I do think that he was nothing like so black as he was painted. It was an age of violence, and men were more ready to appeal to the sword than now ; but it does not follow that because Richard could control the most fiery spirits of his time that he was therefore worse than any of his contemporaries. J. FREDERICK HODGETTS. 39. Redcliffe Square, S.W. Christmas, 1888.

Chapter I The Monastery

said the Sacristan, the pious brother H&KNf I (-'-vril' " * marvel often at the brave lad's Ml^k" I bearing. There is a something in him 1 ' — ' that is rarely seen ; yet what it is, I know not. I gaze on him at times in wonder, for he seemeth to mine eyes a being, sooth to say, of higher strain than ours — a very prince at least ; and when he lifts his eyes to heaven, and sings the Gloria in Excelsis, I am lost in awe, part through the chant itself, and part through him." " In very sooth," replied the other monk, " I have neglected nothing to impart what little skill I have to Richard Trevor. But lo ! he passeth me in all — not only in the art of choral song, for now my voice is ... " B " Still excellent, good Father Clement. It beareth tokens of the vigours of fifty years agone !" " Nay, thou wouldst flatter, which is naught, ay, very naught.

But, to return : not only7 doth the boy surpass me with his voice, but as a limner ; for his skill is far beyond the little I possess. Such lovely scroll-work in illumining I never saw before, and the good Abbot, who has caused the ancient records of this house to be fresh copied, declareth the new writings, fresh from Richard's hands, as far exceed the old as doth the sun the pale and fickle moon. Such manuscripts are nowhere else in Eng land." " Truly, the proverb saith, ' the master liveth in the pupil's skill !' " " Nay ; 'tis in him, not in my teachings, good friend Cyril. He will be great, whatever he may touch. My teachings were the acorn, he the oak. Stripling though he is, the oak is there. I wonder me, full often, of his birth. I fain would know from whom that glance descends. The grace of lofty birth shines there, as well as in his deeds.

I would that I could sing and paint like him — my little pupil." " Nay ; this is almost envy ! And we, who have renounced the vanities of wcrdly things, should shun that vice, good Father. But we are losing time Dost thou not see the Abbot crossing to the chapel ? Hasten ! I would not that he saw us enter late." And the two monks now hurried to the chapel, as the Lord Abbot took his seat and the grand chants began. This service owed most of its strong attrac tion and touching charm to the sweet voices of the boys who formed the choir, and whose young minds seemed specially in harmony with the grand story of God's love, which for generations has, amidst all changes in the Church itself, come down unharmed to us. These boys were English. Some were sons of gentlemen, and had been placed there for a time to gain a little clerkly knowledge before they joined the trains of certain lords, who would receive them as their pages, and let them serve until they " won their spurs."

Others were sons of merchants of vast wealth, who wished to have their children taught such learning as the good monks could teach before they entered on the life of commerce. Then again were boys whose parents, having seen the vanity of earthly things, had wished their sons to be brought up as monks, hoping to make them thus more sit for heaven. Among the motley crowd forming the school at Faversham was one whose face, once seen, was not to be forgotten. The eagle nose ; the well-arched, rather heavy eyebrows ; the kindling eye ; the well cut mouth, the curves of which, descending, marked an ambitious mind ; the massive chin showed resolution, while the proud steps and head erect gave tokens of a lordly soul within. As far superior B to those around as the ger-falcon to the sparrow. And yet, the eyes had such a winning softness in them, that none who saw them ever could forget.

There was a sweetness in the voice of this strange boy that had a special charm. At times it was quite feminine in gentleness, then, rising as it were with the inspiration of the holy song, it assumed a richness of tone that made the hearer turn and gaze ; and then it changed to a shrill boyish treble, the effect of which was almost comic by the contrast. When the " Te Deum laudamus " rose from the youthful choir, this boy's soul seemed as if borne far aloft ; his voice assumed the solemn depth to which we have referred. He must have been more than usually affected on this occasion, for even the very boys gazed at him in wonder. At the conclusion of the service these boys dis persed to their accustomed " plays " (or games, as we should say at the present day), for it was Wednes day, when they were allowed some extra time for recreation.

The courtyard of the monastery was large and wide. Room was there, and to spare, for all the lads, who had at once divided, as a thing of course, without a word being spoken, into two parties, each of which took up its station behind a line drawn upon the ground, perpendicular to which, and divid ing it into two equal parts, another line was drawn. The first line was just in front of and parallel to the wall of the refectory, and about ten feet from it ; the second line was drawn from the wall to the first line. At the two ends of the longer line were the cloisters, so that the lines formed, as it were, the ground-plan of two fortresses. These were called the " bases," and the game has come down to our times as " Prisoner's Base," though, I believe, on modern play-grounds it bears the name of " Chevy Chase."

At the opposite end of the court a similar plan was formed in the same way, and the game con sisted in one boy starting from his base, to be pursued by another from the enemy's ranks ; and if this second boy succeeded in touching him who had first started, he could lead him off in triumph to the prison, represented by the divided line at the other end of the long wide court. But if this second boy should be touched by a third before he himself could reach the boy he was chasing, he was made prisoner by this third boy, and so on. A prisoner could be delivered by one of his own party running out and giving him his hand. To facilitate this, it was allowed the prisoners to join their hands so as to form a line of boys, which might extend beyond the prisons, providing that the last boy still remained within.

The game is as old as the middle of the fourteenth century. As soon as the parties were arranged, which was very rapidly done, the boy whom we have noticed as being so remarkable a member of the choir (and concerning whom we have heard two of the brethren converse), seemed at once to take the lead. He started forward, shouting, " Quarry !" a word meaning that which is hunted or pursued, as a heron or other bird of the chase. Immediately on his raising this shout a bigger boy on the other side sprang forward in pursuit, crying, " Havoc !" implying the destructive hawk. Then began a scene of wild activity such as is eeen in no country but our own on a play-ground. Boys, eager to distinguish themselves, shot forward and endeavoured either to rescue their friends from imprisonment or to secure some of the enemy.

The whole ground was covered with boys in violent activity, shouting, screaming, yelling, as only boys can yell. In the midst of all this hubbub one of the bigger boys was pursued by a little fellow, not more than seven or eight years old, but a keen runner withal, and a bold. He had just reached his adversary, a lad of fifteen summers, who turned round upon the little fellow, and with a felon-blow struck him, that he fell. But the avenger was at hand, for he of whom we have spoken, albeit not more than eleven years him self, sprang like a lion at the bully, who soon lay stretched upon the sand. The next moment, however, he was on his feet again, demanding " Staves, staves, my masters !" On which the cry resounded from the little troop, " A ring ! a rin° |" Two of the elder boys ran off and soon returned, bringing two stout " quarter-staves," as they were called, with which our ancestors, when not bearing actual arms, would settle their disputes.

The staves these boys produced were far less dangerous than those employed by men. They were not shod with iron at the ends, nor were they six feet long. Still they were ugly weapons when in skilful hands, as Richard deftly showed. A ring was formed around the combatants, and cries arose from the partisans of each, according to the feeling suggested by the situation of the respective favourite. " To him, Richard ! Shift thy guard, man ! By St. Mary, a foul stroke well warded !" " Ware the stroke, Cuthbert ! He has thee, man ; by all the saints in the calendar, the game chicken pecks as he crows, right shrewdly !" " Cuthbert is down. Richard for ever I" was now the cry, as the big bully again measured his length in the play -ground sand, and the boys present, with that wondrous admiration of success which is in stinct in youth as well as manhood, began to press round the conqueror, who, in sober truth, seemed more ashamed than proud of victory.

The smaller boy, whose wrongs by Cuthbert's hand had called forth Richard's ire, was an excep tion to the general rule. He expressed no satisfaction ; on the contrary, looked at the fallen bully with an expression of dismay that his countenance had not betrayed before. At last he turned to him who was called Richard, saying : "Thou hast punished him too sorely, Richard. He did not hurt me much, and this fierce trouncing will bring his vengeance down on me, as sure as my name is Harry." "While I am in the school," quoth Richard, "harm shall not reach thee. I am sorry to have given him the broken cock's-comb, but if he lay a finger on a smaller boy than I again, I'll break him all his bones." Here the ardour of the boys was checked by the appearance of Brother Clement, who had the charge of school as, what we should call nowadays, " head master."

" How now, my children ! what is this ? Brawl ing, I trow ! Nay, this is naught. 0 ! very naught. What is the reason of this broil ? Who hath commenced the fray ? Who brought on any cause of quarrel — quijurgi causam intulit?" " Marry that was I," exclaimed the little one who had roused the bully's wrath. " It irked Cuthbert that I should follow him, and so he struck me. But that was nothing. Dickon took it far too much to heart, I fear me he hath finished Cuthbert's life." " Richard, come hither. Art thou a quarrel seeker ? Wouldst thou convert the dwelling-house of men of peace into a tilt-yard ?" " I am not prone to quarrel, as thou knowest ; but seeing this little boy much beaten by a greater, I could not keep from interfering in his cause. Give me such punishment as thou dost deem most fitting."

" Thou shouldst, certes, suffer a sound whipping, but as thou hast fought not from a proneness to the fray, but rather to succour the innocent, thy punishment shall be lighter. Thou shalt learn by heart the first chapter of the blessed Evangalium secundum Joannem, from ' In principle erat sermo,' down to ' aedescendetes super Filium hominis.' Go to the school-room and learn there thy task." Richard bowed and went his way to the school room, where the book from which he was to learn was chained to the master's desk at the extreme end of the room, or hall, in which lessons were given. There he found one of the servitors, or poor scholars, who, being taught gratis, were expected to act as servants or assistants to the masters and to the other pupils. This poor fellow was dusting the desk to which Richard was advancing.

" How now ?" said Richard. " Always at work, and never on the play-ground ; why is that ?" " Good brother Richard, I have work to do, and fain would do it well. The desk is fairly polished now. Wherefore art thou sad ?" " I can be nothing else than sad when I am pun ished, albeit I cannot see that I'm in fault, and then the punishment I have is such a pleasure and delight, it seems to me I ought to tell good Father Clement how much I love to do it ; perchance he would have given me another penance. 'Tis, in a sort, unjust to him !" " Nay, brother Richard ; that were over-righteous." " Say not so, brother. I'll to work, and so pre pare to meet good Father Clement." The servitor now left the room, and Richard soon was plunged deep in his welcome task ; nor was he long about it ; his memory was good, his industry unflagging.

While he was thus engaged Clement had sought the private chamber of the Abbot, who sent for him on hearing of the fray. " Brother," the Abbot said, " this is not well ; I would not that the youthful brethren should fall out. This savours more of worldly selfhood than of ghostly discipline. I am much grieved. Thy rule must surely be most terribly relaxed." " I crave thy pardon, good lord Abbot ! My rule is of the strictest ; but 'tis hard to deal with boys like yonder Cuthbert." Then he related how the quarrel grew, and how the student Richard had broken Cuthbert's head, and how, to punish him, he (Clement) had ordered him to learn the whole first chapter of St. John. " Sad that to learn such treasure of good words should ever be a punishment !" observed the Abbot ; " it should be a reward, — the best the Church could offer !"

" Richard Trevor is an uncommon youth, lord Abbot ; he takes the lead in all things, though so young, so modest and retiring. He never presses forward, yet is always first, I ask the eldest boys their lesson : they forget, or have not learnt. With him this never happens ; whatever it may be, he knows his lessons ever best of all, and never says he knows them. I would ask thee, good my lord, not out of idle curiosity, but as a guide to dealing with a temper so gentle, yet so fierce — so patient in all matters turning on himself, and yet so fiery to resent a wrong to weaker lads than he — some few particulars of Richard's birth and strain." " Good brother, I can tell thee little ; all I know of Richard may be briefly told. Sit down, good Clement ; thou shalt hear the tale of how he came to us ; it is full short," The monkish schoolmaster sat down and listened to the following narration : " 'Tis now ten years agone.

I had not long been Abbot ; and it was full soon after the fight at Barnet, that a right noble warrior was ushered in to me, just after sexts. He was followed by a stalwart yeoman, bearing in his arms an infant of some eighteen months, or so. " The knight made due and very courteous obei sance, and bade his stout attendant show the infant's face. The child awoke, and looked at me and smiled, then held his tiny arms to me as though he sought protection. I could no more resist than if I had been drawn to him with cords. I took the helpless creature in my arms, and then it laughed. I never shall forget it ! " Then the knight declared the child himself had chosen me as his protector, and that to refuse to succour him would be a most unworthy deed. He said the infant was the son of an important man — one of the greatest warriors of the age, to whom, in fact, for skill and noble daring, the victory at Barnet field was due.

" Now there were many noble knights at Barnet, as thou knowest, who all did valiant deeds of arms ; so that I could not gather whom the knight might mean, and gazed at him amazed. I then bethought me that Drang, the smith, who sometimes works for us, had a young, healthy wife, whose little son was then but six months old. I begged the knight to pardon me my absence, and to refresh himself with what our larder and our cellar could afford, while I ran off to Drang. "To this the knight consented. I went myself to see good Mistress Drang and ask her whether she would charge herself with the care of this young orphan, until such time as we could take him as a pupil or a novice in our bouse. " Drang was at home, and cheerfully consented ; while she was wild with pleasure at the charge thus offered her.

" ' He will be like a brother to our John, lord Abbot ! He's a wond'rous lovely babe. Be sure that I will tend him well. He shall ne'er want for aught.' " I thanked the woman, and the man as well, and promised them a fair reward, thinking that even if no money came from those to whom the child of right belonged, it was the duty of the monastery to succour such as he ; and so I left him and returned to tell the knight what I had done. " I found him much as I had left him. He had taken sparingly of bread, and venison and wine ; his follower, however, seemed to wish to test our powers of provision. He ate and drank to the surprise of good Hilarius, and that is saying much. " ' Well, good lord Abbot,' said the knight, ' hast thou found female care and tendance for the babe ?' " ' Be under no alarm ; he is as safe as though with his own mother!' " ' I hope, much safer, good my lord.

She died some days ago.' " ' Poor little wretch ! He is of noble sort, I trow, seeing his clothes are of the finest, and the outer wrapper is of cloth of gold embroidered sump tuously.' " ' His mother was the daughter of a noble house, his sire was — or rather is — of more exalted lineage. More I cannot now impart. Thy monastery will not be the loser, that I can assure thee ; I undertake to send or bring thee every year a sum like this.' " Here he produced a heavy bag of golden coins — nobles, full weight, and bright and new. " ' His safety I shall watch, from time to time,' the knight continued, ' for he is dear to me. I was a witness at the solemn marriage of his parents, and as his sire is sure to wed again, it will be useful that the world should know hereafter whose son this really is, though now I may* not say.' " ' And may I ask,' I said, ' the name of him who leaves this orphan here ?' " ' I am Sir Guy de Mowbray ; known as the Constable of York, because I hold that office ; though I am rarely there.' " Some other words of courtesy then passed between us, when, being rested from the ride, both squire and knight departed.

"The fight at Barnet had been fought before Warwick was dead. Since Richard came to us great changes have occurred. Edward IV became our king. The death of Edward, and the short-lived reign of the y*oung boy, his son ; the rise of brave King Richard, — all these events have happened since, and I have watched young Trevor all along, and found him taking such an interest in the news that reached us from without, as to give rather promise of a stalwart knight than of a monkish bookworm. Time will shew ! Good night!" " Good night, lord Abbot ; many thanks for this account of Richard." Then Clement went to see his pupil, and the lord Abbot hurried to his prayers.

Chapter II

, CROSBIE HOUSE. IT the period of our story there stood, and indeed is standing now, in the street leading to the Bishop's Gate, a house formerly the dwelling of Sir John Crosbie, a worthy knight and a wealthy. This house King Edward had assigned to his more skilful brother, Richard Duke of Gloucester, for a residence ; and in the council-chamber here the Duke had often times conversed with Edward, who, when he wore the crown of England, contrived that all the cares and anxieties of State should fall upon the Duke of Gloucester, while he himself enjoyed the pleasures of the court and times — " a very merry king !" Two men are seated in the council-room in earnest conversation. Both are tall, handsome men ; but one of them, the younger too, seems more imperious in his bearing, though courteous in his tone.

His face is most remarkable, and though not handsome, it is still attractive. " Your Highness may be sure that all is well with him. He is well cared for, and is the leading spirit of the school." " 'Tis good, De Montfort. For the care thou hast, in this and other matters, shewn our state, thou art most dear to us. The warrant naming thee Con stable of Leicester this day receives our seal. The revenue attached to this high office is twice the sum arising from thy charge at York. Further advance ment will be thine. Now, tell me more of Alice." " The Lady Alice Trevor, good my lord, who, had she lived, had well become the highest dignity the state could offer, departed peacefully*, only unhappy at not seeing thee, to whom she bade me take assurance of the truest love. She was a noble wife indeed.

It saddened me to think how stern neces sity and these most troublous times forced her to wear her maiden name instead of that to which she was entitled, and the rank she would have well adorned. But it is past ! Regrets are vain." The other inmate of the chamber rose and walked about with agitated strides. He was, as we have said, a tall and striking man, but he looked less majestic standing up than he did sitting at the table ; for then it was apparent that one shoulder was a trifle higher than the other, yet not so much so as to cause deformity. He stood a moment oppo site Sir Guy, who had risen when he rose, and, reaching out his hand, clasped Montfort's in a warm and friendly grip. " Enough, Sir Guy ; talk we no more of this. Rebellion claims our thoughts at present ; more of this anon.

Hie thee to Faversham, see the boy soon, and let me know how he progresses. How much I yearn to see him, my first-born, darling Richard ! How much I owe the boy ! Now, my dear knight, farewell." " Farewell, your Highness, till we meet again. May all success attend your arms and skill. Rebel lion shall not rear its hated head unpunished." Saying these words, Sir Guy withdrew. Left by himself, the other, after some anxious turns, sat down again, and plunged at once into the study of certain papers, plans, maps, and documents that lay spread out upon the table. Presently the arras was raised, and a man, partially armed, having in his hand the new kind of weapon called the halbert, recently adopted from the Ger mans, entered the room, exclaiming : " The Duke of Buckingham craves audience of your Highness ; is it your pleasure that he be admitted ?"