THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Peter Scott
 
 THE NOVELS AND ROMANCES 
 
 OF 
 
 EDWARD BULWER LYTTON 
 
 (LORD LYTTON) 
 
 i^antip Hibrarp €tiition 
 
 LAST OF THE BARONS 
 
 VOLUME TWO
 
 
 ■ ■
 
 "Look, look, Sibyll ! " he said, pointing to Hastings. 
 The Last of the Barons,
 
 
 
 Aw// d 
 
 THE NOVELL , 
 AND • ROMANCES 
 
 sf 
 
 EDWftRD • BULWER 
 LYTTON 
 
 < LORD LYTTON ) 
 
 LAST OF THE 
 BARONS 
 
 VOLUME TWO 
 
 r^ravx 
 
 1 ^tAWa j^** 
 
 
 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 LITTLE • BROWN 
 r and COMPANY 
 
 
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 Copyright, 1893, 1894, 1898, 
 By Little, Brown, and Company. 
 
 John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A.
 
 Al 
 
 THE LAST OF THE BAEONS. 
 
 BOOK VII. 
 
 THE POPULAR REBELLION. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The White Lion of March shakes his Mane. 
 
 " Axd what news 1 " asked Hastings, as he found him- 
 self amidst the king's squires; while yet was heard the 
 laugh of the tymhesteres, and yet, gliding through the 
 trees, might be seen the retreating form of Sibyll. 
 
 " My lord, the king needs you instantly. A courier 
 has just arrived from the North. The Lords St. John, 
 Rivers, De Eulke, and Scales, are already with his 
 Highness. " 
 
 " Where 1 " 
 
 " In the great council-chamber." 
 
 To that memorable room, 1 in the White Tower, in 
 which the visitor, on entrance, is first reminded of the 
 name and fate of Hastings, strode the unprophetic lord. 
 
 He found Edward not reclining on cushions and 
 carpets; not womanlike in loose robes, — not with his 
 
 1 It was from this room that Hastings was hurried to execution, 
 June 13, 1483. 
 
 VOL. II. — 1 

 
 2 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 lazy smile upon his sleek beauty. The king had doffed 
 his gown, and stood erect in the tight tunic, which 
 gave in full perfection the splendid proportions of a 
 frame unsurpassed in activity and strength. Before 
 him, on the long table, lay two or three open letters, — 
 beside the dagger with which Edward had cut the silk 
 that bound them. Around him gravely sat Lord Rivers, 
 Anthony Woodville, Lord St. John, Raoul de Fulke, the 
 young and valiant D'Eyncourt, and many other of the 
 principal lords. Hastings saw at once that something of 
 pith and moment had occurred; and by the fire in the 
 king's eye, the dilation of his nostril, the cheerful and 
 almost joyous pride of his mien and brow, the experienced 
 courtier reads the signs of War. 
 
 " Welcome, brave Hastings," said Edward, in a voice 
 wholly changed from its wonted soft affectation, — loud, 
 clear, and thrilling as it went through the marrow and 
 heart of all who heard its stirring and trumpet accent, 
 — " welcome now to the field as ever to the banquet! 
 We have news from the North, that bid us brace on 
 the burgonet, and buckle-to the brand, — a revolt that 
 requires a king's arm to quell. In Yorkshire, fifteen 
 thousand men are in arms, under a leader they call 
 Robin of Redesdale: the pretext, a thrave of corn 
 demanded by the Hospital of St. Leonard's, — the true 
 design that of treason to our realm. At the same time, 
 we hear from our brother of Gloucester, now on the 
 border, that the Scotch have lifted the Lancaster Rose. 
 There is peril if these two armies meet ; — no time to lose : 
 liny are saddling our war-steeds, — we hasten to the van 
 of our royal force. We shall have warm work, my lords. 
 But who is worthy of a throne that cannot guard it! " 
 
 " This is sad tidings indeed, sire, " said Hastings, 
 gravely.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BAEONS. 3 
 
 "Sad! Say it not, Hastings! War is the chase of 
 kings ! Sir Raoul de Fulke ! — why lookest thou 
 brooding and sorrowful 1 " 
 
 " Sire, I but thought that had Earl Warwick been 
 in England, this — " 
 
 "Ha!" interrupted Edward, haughtily and hastily, — 
 " and is Warwick the sun of heaven that no cloud can 
 darken where his face may shine 1 ? The rebels shall 
 need no foe, my realm no regent, while I, the heir of 
 the Plantagenets, have the sword for one, the sceptre 
 for the other. We depart this evening ere the sun be 
 set." 
 
 "My liege," said the Lord St. John, gravely, — "on 
 what forces do you count to meet so formidable an 
 array 1 " 
 
 " All England, Lord of St. John! " 
 
 " Alack ! my liege, may you not deceive yourself ! 
 But in this crisis, it is right that your leal and trusty 
 subjects should speak out, and plainly. It seems that 
 these insurgents clamor not against yourself, but against 
 the queen's relations, — yes, my Lord Rivers, against 
 you and your house, and I fear me that the hearts of 
 England are with them here." 
 
 "It is true, sire," put in Raoul de Eulke, boldly, — 
 " and if these new men are to head your armies, the 
 Avarriors of Touton will stand aloof : Raoul de Fulke 
 serves no Woodville's banner. Frown not, Lord de 
 Scales! it is the griping avarice of you and yours that 
 has brought this evil on the king. For you the com- 
 mons have been pillaged, — for you the daughters of our 
 peers have been forced into monstrous marriages, at 
 war with birth and with nature herself. For you, the 
 princely Warwick, near to the throne in blood, and 
 front and pillar of our time-honored order of seigneur
 
 4 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 and of knight, has heen thrust from our suzerain's 
 favor. And if now ye are to march at the van of 
 war, — you to be avengers of the strife of which ye are 
 the cause, — I say that the soldiers will lack heart, and 
 the provinces ye pass through will be the country of a 
 foe ! " 
 
 " Vain man ! " began Anthony Woodville, when 
 Hastings laid his hand on his arm, while Edward, 
 amazed at this outburst from two of the supporters on 
 whom he principally counted, had the prudence to sup- 
 press his resentment, and remained silent, but with 
 the aspect of one resolved to command obedience, when 
 he once deemed it ri<dit to interfere. 
 
 " Hold, Sir Anthony ! " said Hastings, who, the moment 
 he found himself with men, woke to all the manly 
 spirit and profound wisdom that had rendered his name 
 illustrious, — "hold, and let me have the word: my 
 Lords St. John and De Fulke, your charges are more 
 against me than against these gentlemen, for 7" am a 
 new man, — a squire by birth, — and proud to derive 
 mine honors from the same origin as all true nobility : I 
 mean the grace of a noble liege, and the happy fortune 
 of a soldier's sword. It may be, " (and here the artful 
 favorite, the most beloved of the whole court, inclined 
 himself meekly) — " it may be that I have not borne 
 those honors so mildly as to disarm blame. In the 
 war to be, let me atone. My liege, hear your servant: 
 give me no command, — let me be a simple soldier, fight- 
 ing by your side. My example who will not follow 1 — 
 proud to ride hut as a man of arms along the track 
 which the sword of his sovereign shall cut through the 
 ranks of battle? Not you, Lord de Scales, redoubtable 
 and invincible with lance and axe: let us new men 
 soothe envy by our deeds; and you, Lord St. John and
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 5 
 
 De Fulke, — you shall teach us how your fathers led 
 warriors who did not fight more gallantly than we will. 
 And when rebellion is at rest, — when we meet again 
 in our suzerain's hall, — accuse us new men, if you 
 can find us faulty, and we will answer you as we best 
 may ? " 
 
 This address, which could have come from no man 
 with such effect as from Hastings, touched all present; 
 and though the Woodvilles, father and son, saw in it 
 much to gall their pride, and half believed it a snare 
 for their humiliation, they made no opposition. Raoul 
 de Fulke, ever generous as fiery, stretched forth his 
 hand, and said, — 
 
 " Lord Hastings, you have spoken well. Be it as the 
 king wills." 
 
 " My lords, " returned Edward, gayly, " my will is that 
 ye be friends while a foe is in the field. Hasten, then, 
 I beseech you, one and all, to raise your vassals, and 
 join our standard at Fotheringay. I will find ye posts 
 that shall content the bravest. " 
 
 The king made a sign to break up the conference, and 
 dismissing even the Woodvilles, was left alone with 
 Hastings. 
 
 " Thou hast served me at need, Will, " said the king. 
 " But I shall remember " (and his eye flashed a tiger's 
 fire) " the mouthing of those mock-pieces of the lords at 
 Runnymede. I am no John, to be bearded by my vas- 
 sals. Enough of them now. Think you Warwick can 
 have abetted this revolt 1 " 
 
 " A revolt of peasants and yeomen ! No, sire. If 
 he did so, farewell forever to the love the barons bear 
 him. " 
 
 " Um ! and yet Montagu, whom I dismissed ten days 
 since to the Borders, hearing of disaffection, hath done
 
 6 THE LAST OF THE BAROXS. 
 
 nought to check it. But come what may, his must be 
 a bold lance that shivers against a king's mail. And 
 now one kiss of my Lady Bessee, one cup of the bright 
 canary, and then God and St. George for the White 
 Bose! "
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The Camp at Obiey. 
 
 It was some weeks after the citizens of London had seen 
 their gallant king, at the head of such forces as were 
 collected in haste, in the metropolis, depart from their 
 walls to the encounter of the rebels. Surprising and 
 disastrous had been the tidings in the interim. At first, 
 indeed, there were hopes that the insurrection had been 
 put down by Montagu, who had defeated the troops of 
 Robin of Redesdale, near the city of York, and was 
 said to have beheaded their leader. But the spirit of 
 discontent was only fanned by an adverse wind. The 
 popular hatred to the Woodvilles was so great, that in 
 proportion as Edward advanced to the scene of action, 
 the country rose in arms as Raoul de Fulke had pre- 
 dicted. Leaders of lordly birth now headed the rebel- 
 lion: the sons of the Lords Latimer and Fitzhugh (near 
 kinsmen of the House of Nevile) lent their names to 
 the cause ; and Sir John Coniers, an experienced sol- 
 dier, whose claims had been disregarded by Edward, 
 gave to the insurgents the aid of a formidable capacity 
 for war. In every mouth was the story of the Duchess 
 of Bedford's witchcraft; and the waxen figure of the 
 earl did more to rouse the people, than perhaps the 
 earl himself could have done in person. 1 As yet, how- 
 
 1 See " Parliamentary Rolls," vi. 232, for the accusations of 
 witchcraft, and the fabrication of a necromantic image of Lord 
 Warwick, circulated against the Duchess of Bedford. She herself 
 quotes and complains of them.
 
 8 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 ever, the language of the insurgents was tempered with 
 all personal respect to the king; they declared in their 
 manifestoes that they desired only the banishment of 
 the Woodvilles, and the recall of Warwick, whose name 
 they used unscrupulously, and whom they declared they 
 were on their way to meet. As soon as it was known 
 that the kinsmen of the beloved earl were in the revolt, 
 and naturally supposed that the earl himself must coun- 
 tenance the enterprise, the tumultuous camp swelled 
 every hour, while knight after knight, veteran after 
 veteran, abandoned the royal standard. The Lord 
 d'Eyncourt (one of the few lords of the highest birth 
 and greatest following, over whom the ISTeviles had no 
 influence, and who bore the Woodvilles no grudge) had, 
 on his way to Lincolnshire, where his personal aid 
 was necessary to rouse his vassals, infected by the com- 
 mon sedition, — been attacked and wounded by a body 
 of marauders, and thus Edward's camp lost one of its 
 greatest leaders. Fierce dispute broke out in the king's 
 councils; and, when the witch Jacquetta's practices 
 against the earl travelled from the hostile into the royal 
 camp, E-aoul de Fulke, St. John, and others, seized with 
 pious horror, positively declared they would throw down 
 their arms and retire to their castles, unless the Wood- 
 villes were dismissed from the camp, and the Earl of 
 Warwick was recalled to England. To the first demand 
 the king was constrained to yield; with the second he 
 temporized. He marched from Fotheringay to Newark; 
 but the signs of disaffection, though they could not 
 dismay him as a soldier, altered his plans as a captain of 
 singular military acuteness; he fell back on Notting- 
 ham, and despatched, with his own hands, letters to 
 Clarence, the Archbishop of York, and Warwick. To 
 the last he wrote touchingly. " We do not believe, "
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 9 
 
 said the letter, " that ye should be of any such disposi- 
 tion towards us, as the rumor here runneth, consider- 
 ing the trust and affection we bear you, — and, cousin, 
 we think ye shall be to us welcome.' 51 But ere these 
 letters reached the destination, the crown seemed well- 
 nigh lost. At Edgecote, the Earl of Pembroke was 
 defeated and slain, and five thousand royalists were left 
 on the field. Earl Rivers, and his son, Sir John Wood- 
 ville, 2 who, in obedience to the royal order, had retired 
 to the earl's country-seat of Grafton, were taken pris- 
 oners, and beheaded by the vengeance of the insurgents. 
 The same lamentable fate befell the Lord Stafford, on 
 whom Edward relied as one of his most puissant leaders; 
 and London heard with dismay that the king, with but 
 a handful of troops, and those lukewarm and disaffected, 
 was begirt on all sides by hostile and marching thou- 
 sands. 
 
 From Nottingham, however, Edward made good his 
 retreat to a village called Olney, which chanced at that 
 time to be partially fortified with a wall and a strong 
 gate. Here the rebels pursued him ; and Edward, hear- 
 ing that Sir Anthony Woodville, who conceived that the 
 fate of his father and brother cancelled all motive for 
 
 9 
 
 1 " Paston Letters," ccxcviii. (Knight's edition), vol. ii. p. 59. 
 See also " Lingard," vol. iii. p. 522 (4to edition) note 43, for the 
 proper date to be assigned to Edward's letter to Warwick, etc. 
 
 2 This Sir John Woodville was the most obnoxious of the 
 queen's brothers, and infamous for the avarice which had led him 
 to marry the old Duchess of Norfolk, an act which, according to 
 the old laws of chivalry, would have disabled him from entering 
 the lists of knighthood, for the ancient code disqualified and de- 
 graded any knight who should marry an old woman for her 
 money ! Lord Rivers was the more odious to the people at the 
 time of the insurrection, because, in his capacity of treasurer, he 
 had lately tampered with the coin and circulation.
 
 10 THE LAST OF THE BAIIONS. 
 
 longer absence from the contest, "was busy in collecting 
 a force in the neighborhood of Coventry, while other 
 assistance might be daily expected from London, strength- 
 ened the fortifications as well as the time would permit, 
 and awaited the assault of the insurgents. 
 
 It was at this crisis, and while throughout all England 
 reigned terror and commotion, that one day, towards the 
 end of July, a small troop of horsemen were seen riding 
 rapidly towards the neighborhood of Gluey. As the 
 village came in view of the cavalcade, with the spire of 
 its church, and its gray stone gateway, so also they 
 beheld, on the pastures that stretched around, wide and 
 far, a moving forest of pikes and plumes. 
 
 " Holy Mother ! " said one of the foremost riders. 
 " Good knight and strong man though Edward be, it 
 were sharp work to cut his way from that hamlet through 
 yonder fields ! Brother, we were more welcome had we 
 brought more bills and bows at our backs ! " 
 
 " Archbishop, " answered the stately personage thus 
 addressed, " we bring what alone raises armies and dis- 
 bands them, — a name that a People honors! From 
 the moment the white bear is seen on yonder archway, 
 side by side with the king's banner, — that army will 
 vanish as smoke before the wind." 
 
 " Heaven grant it, Warwick ! " said the Duke of 
 Clarence ; " for, though Edward hath used us sorely, it 
 chafes me as Plantagenet and as prince, to see how 
 peasants and varlets can hem round a king." 
 
 " Peasants and varlets are pawns on the chess-board, 
 cousin George, " said the prelate, " and knight and 
 bishop find them mighty useful, when pushing forward 
 to an attack. Now knight and bishop appear them- 
 selves and take up the game, — Warwick," added the 
 prelate, in a whisper, unheard by Clarence, " forget
 
 THE LAST OF THE BAKONS. 11 
 
 not, while appeasing rebellion, that the king is in your 
 power." 
 
 " For shame, George ! I think not now of the 
 unkind king; I think only of the brave boy I dandled 
 on my knee, and whose sword I girded on at Touton. 
 How his lion heart must chafe, condemned to see a foe 
 whom his skill as captain tells him it were madness to 
 confront ! " 
 
 "Ay, Richard Nevile ! — ay," said the prelate, with a 
 slight sneer, " play the Paladin, and become the dupe, — 
 release the prince, and betray the people ! " 
 
 " No ! I can be true to both. Tush ! brother, your 
 craft is slight to the plain wisdom of bold honesty. 
 You slacken your steeds, sirs, on, on, — see, the march 
 of the rebels ! On, for an Edward and a Warwick ! " 
 and spurring to full speed, the little company arrived 
 at the gates. The loud bugle of the new comers was 
 answered by the cheerful note of the joyous warder, — 
 while dark, slow, and solemn, over the meadows, crept 
 on the mighty cloud of the rebel army. 
 
 " We have forestalled the insurgents ! " said the earl, 
 throwing himself from his black steed. " Marmaduke 
 Nevile, advance our banner ; heralds, announce the Duke 
 of Clarence, the Archbishop of York, and the Earl of 
 Salisbury and Warwick." 
 
 Through the anxious town, along the crowded walls 
 and housetops, into the hall of an old mansion (that then 
 adjoined the church), where the king, in complete armor, 
 stood at bay, with stubborn and disaffected officers, 
 rolled the thunder cry, " A Warwick, — a Warwick ! all 
 saved ! a Warwick ! " 
 
 Sharply, as he heard the clamor, the king turned 
 upon his startled council. " Lords and captains ! " said 
 he, with that inexpressible majesty which he could
 
 12 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 command in his happier hours, " God and our Patron 
 'Saint have sent us at least one man who has the heart 
 to fight fifty times the odds of yon miscreant rahhle, 
 by his king's side, and for the honor of loyalty and 
 knighthood ! " 
 
 "And who says, sire," answered Raoul de Fulke, 
 " that we your lords and captains would not risk blood 
 and life for our king and our knighthood in a just cause 1 
 But we will not butcher our countrymen for echoing our 
 own complaint, and praying your Grace that a grasping 
 and ambitious family which you have raised to power 
 may no longer degrade your nobles and oppress your 
 commons. We shall see if the Earl of Warwick blame 
 us or approve. " 
 
 " And I answer, " said Edward, loftily, " that whether 
 Warwick approve or blame, come as friend or foe, I will 
 sooner ride alone through yonder archway, and carve out 
 a soldier's grave amongst the ranks of rebellious war, 
 than be the puppet of my subjects, and serve their will 
 by compulsion. Free am I, — free ever will I be, while 
 the crown of the Plantagenet is mine, to raise those 
 whom I love, to defy the threats of those sworn to obey 
 me. And were I but Earl of March, instead of king of 
 England, this hall should have swam with the blood of 
 those who have insulted the friends of my youth, — the 
 wife of my bosom. Off, Hastings! — I need no mediator 
 with my servants. Nor here, nor anywhere in broad 
 England, have I my equal, and the king forgives or 
 scorns — construe it as ye will, my lords — what the 
 simple gentleman would avenge." 
 
 It were in vain to describe the sensation that this 
 speech produced. There is ever something in courage 
 and in will that awes numbers, though brave themselves. 
 And what with the unquestioned valor of Edward, —
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 13 
 
 what with the effect of his splendid person, towering 
 above all present by the head, and moving lightly ; with 
 each impulse, through the mass of a mail that few there 
 could have borne unsinking, this assertion of absolute 
 power in the midst of mutiny — an army marching to 
 the gates — imposed an unwilling reverence and sullen 
 silence, mixed with anger, that, while it chafed, admired. 
 They who, in peace, had despised the voluptuous mon- 
 arch", feasting in his palace, and reclining on the lap of 
 harlot-beauty, felt that in war, all Mars seemed living in 
 his person. Then, indeed, he was a king; and had the 
 foe, now darkening the landscape, been the noblest 
 chivalry of France, not a man there but had died for a 
 smile from that haughty lip. But the barons were knit 
 heart in heart with the popular outbreak, and to put 
 down the revolt seemed to them but to raise the Wood- 
 villes. The silence was still unbroken, save where the 
 persuasive whisper of Lord Hastings might be faintly 
 heard in remonstrance with the more powerful or the 
 more stubborn of the chiefs, — when the tread of steps 
 resounded without, and, unarmed, bareheaded, the only 
 form in Christendom grander and statelier than the king's, 
 strode into the hall. 
 
 Edward, as yet unaware what course Warwick would 
 pursue, and half doubtful whether a revolt that had 
 borrowed his name, and was led by his kinsmen, might 
 not originate in his consent, surrounded by those to 
 whom the earl was especially dear, and aware that if 
 Warwick were against him all was lost, still relaxed not 
 the dignity of his mien ; and leaning on his large two- 
 handed sword, with such inward resolves as brave kings 
 and gallant gentlemen form, if the worst should befall, 
 he watched the majestic strides of his great kinsman, and 
 said as the earl approached, and the mutinous captains 
 louted low, —
 
 14 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 " Cousin, you are welcome ! for truly do I know that 
 when you have aught whereof to complain, you take not 
 the moment of danger and disaster. And whatever has 
 chanced to alienate your heart from me, the sound of the 
 rebel's trumpet chases all difference, and marries your 
 faith to mine." 
 
 " Oh, Edward, my king, why did you so misjudge me 
 in the prosperous hour ! " said Warwick, simply, but with 
 affecting earnestness; "since in the adverse hour you 
 arede me well 1 " 
 
 As he spoke, he bowed his head, and, bending his 
 knee, kissed the hand held out to him. 
 
 Edward's face grew radiant, and, raising the earl, he 
 glanced proudly at the barons who stood round, surprised 
 and mute. 
 
 'Yes, my lords and sirs, see, —it is not the Earl of 
 Warwick, next to our royal brethren, the nearest sub- 
 ject to the throne, who would desert me in the day of 
 peril! " 
 
 "Nor do we, sire," retorted Raoul de Fulke; "you 
 wrong us before our mighty comrade if you so misthink 
 us. We will fight for the king, but not for the queen's 
 kindred ; and this alone brings on us your anger. " 
 
 ' The gates shall be opened to ye. Go ! Warwick 
 and I are men enough for the rabble yonder. " 
 
 The earl's quick eye, and profound experience of his 
 time, saw at once the dissension and its causes. Nor, 
 however generous, was he willing to forego the present 
 occasion for permanently destroying an influence which 
 he knew hostile to himself and hurtful to the realm. 
 His was not the generosity of a boy, but of a statesman. 
 Accordingly, as Raoul de Fulke ceased, he took up the 
 word. 
 
 " My liege, we have yet an hour good ere the foe can
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 15 
 
 reach the gates. Your brother and mine accompany me. 
 See, they enter! Please you, a few minutes to confer 
 with them ; and suffer me, meanwhile, to reason Avith 
 these noble captains." 
 
 Edward paused ; but before the open broAV of the earl 
 fled whatever suspicion might have crossed the king's 
 mind. 
 
 "Be it so, cousin: but remember this, — to councillors 
 who can menace me with desertion in such an hour, I 
 concede nothing." 
 
 Turning hastily away, he met Clarence and the prelate 
 midway in the hall, threw his arm caressingly over his 
 brother's shoulder, and, taking the archbishop by the 
 hand, walked with them towards the battlements. 
 
 " Well, my friends, " said Warwick, " and what would 
 you of the king 1 " 
 
 " The dismissal of all the Woodvilles, except the 
 queen — the revocation of the grants and land accorded 
 to them, to the despoiling the ancient noble — and, but 
 for your presence, we had demanded your recall." 
 
 " And, failing these, what your resolve ? " 
 
 " To depart, and leave Edward to his fate. These 
 granted, we doubt little but that the insurgents will dis- 
 band. These not granted, we but waste our lives against 
 a multitude whose cause we must approve." 
 
 " The cause ! But ye know not the real cause, " 
 answered Warwick. "I know it; for the sons of the 
 North are familiar to me, and their rising hath deeper 
 meaning than ye deem. What ! have they not decoyed 
 to their head my kinsmen, the heirs of Latimer and 
 Eitzhugh, and bold Coniers, whose steel casque should 
 have circled a wiser brain? Have they not taken my 
 name as their battle-cry 1 And do ye think this falsehood 
 veils nothing but the simple truth of just complaint? "
 
 16 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 "Was their rising, then," asked St. John, in evident 
 surprise, " wholly unauthorized by yon 1 " 
 
 " So help me Heaven ! If I would resort to arms to 
 redress a wrong, think not that I myself would be absent 
 from the field? ~No, my lords, friends, and captains, 
 — time presses ; a few words must suffice to explain 
 what, as yet, may be dark to you. I have letters from 
 Montagu and others, which reached me the same day as 
 the king's, and which clear up the purpose of our mis- 
 guided countrymen. Ye know well that ever in Eng- 
 land, but especially since the reign of Edward III., 
 strange, wild notions of some kind of liberty other 
 than that we enjoy, have floated loose through the 
 land. Among the commons, a half-conscious recollec- 
 tion that the nobles are a different race from them- 
 selves, feeds a secret rancor and mislike, which, at 
 any fair occasion for riot, shows itself bitter and ruth- 
 less, — as in the outbreak of Cade and others. And if 
 the harvest fail, or a tax gall, there are never wanting 
 men to turn the popular distress to the ends of private 
 ambition or state design. Such a man has been the 
 true head and front of this commotion." 
 
 " Speak you of Robin Redesdale, now dead 1 " asked 
 one of the captains. 
 
 " He is not dead. 1 Montagu informs me that the 
 
 *»' 
 
 1 The fate of Robin of "Redesdale has been as obscure as most of 
 the incidents in this most perplexed part of English history. 
 While some of the chroniclers finish his career according to the 
 report mentioned in the text, Fabyan not only more charitably 
 prolongs his life, but rewards him with the king's pardon; and 
 according to the annals of his ancient and distinguished family 
 (who will pardon, we trust, a license with one of their ancestry 
 equally allowed by history and romance), as referred to in Wot- 
 ton's "English Baronetage." article " Hilvard," and which prob- 
 ably rests upon the authority of the life of Richard III., in Stowe's
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 17 
 
 report was false. He was defeated off York, and re- 
 tired for some days into the woods ; but it is he who 
 has enticed the sons of Latimer and Fitzhugh into the 
 revolt, and resigned his own command to the martial 
 cunning of Sir John Coniers. This Robin of Redesdale 
 is no common man. He hath had a clerkly education, 
 he hath travelled among the Free Towns of Italy, — 
 he hath deep purpose in all he doth; and among his 
 projects is the destruction of the nobles here, as it was 
 whilom effected in Florence, the depriving us of all offices 
 and posts, with other changes, wild to think of and long 
 to name." 
 
 " And we would have suffered this man to triumph ! " 
 exclaimed De Fulke : " we have been to blame. " 
 
 " Under fair pretence he has gathered numbers, and 
 now wields an army. I have reason to know that, had 
 he succeeded in estranging ye from Edward, and had 
 the king fallen, dead or alive, into his hands, his object 
 would have been to restore Henry of "Windsor, but on 
 conditions that would have left king and baron little 
 more than pageants in the state. I knew this man 
 years ago. I have watched him since; and, strange 
 though it may seem to you, he hath much in him that 
 I admire as a subject and should fear were I a king. 
 Brief, thus runs my counsel : — for our sake and the 
 realm's safety, we must see this armed multitude dis- 
 banded, — that done, we must see the grievances they 
 with truth complain of fairly redressed. Think not, 
 my lords, I avenge my own wrongs alone, when I go 
 with you in your resolve to banish from the king's 
 councils the baleful influence of the queen's kin. Till 
 
 " Annals," he is represented as still living in the reign of that 
 king. But the whole account of this famous demagogue in Wot 
 ton is, it must lie owned, full of historical mistakes. 
 
 VOL. II. 2
 
 18 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 that be compassed, no peace for England. As a leprosy, 
 their avarice crawls over the nobler parts of the state, 
 and devours while it sullies. Leave this to me ; and, 
 though we will redress ourselves, let us now assist our 
 king ! " 
 
 With one voice, the unruly officers clamored their 
 assent to all the earl urged, and expressed their readi- 
 ness to sally at once from the gates, and attack the 
 rebels. 
 
 " But, " observed an old veteran, " what are we 
 amongst so many 1 Here a handful, ■ — there an army ! " 
 
 " Fear not, reverend sir, " answered Warwick, with 
 an assured smile ; " is not this army in part gathered 
 from my own province of Yorkshire 1 Is it not formed 
 of men who have eaten of my bread and drank of my 
 cup? Let me see the man who will discharge one 
 arrow at the walls which contain Richard Xevile of 
 Warwick. Now each to your posts, — I to the king." 
 
 Like the pouring of new blood into a decrepit body 
 seemed the arrival, at that feeble garrison, of the Earl 
 of Warwick. From despair into the certainty of tri- 
 umph leaped every heart. Already, at the sight of Lis 
 banner floating by the side of Edward's, the gunner 
 had repaired to his bombard, the archer had taken up 
 his bow, — the village itself, before disaffected, poured 
 all its scanty popidation — women, and age, and chil- 
 dren — to the Avails. And when the earl joined the 
 king upon the ramparts, he found that able general 
 sanguine and elated, and pointing out to Clarence the 
 natural defences of the place. Meanwhile the rebels, 
 no doubt apprised by their scouts of the new aid, had 
 already halted in their march, and the dark swarm 
 might be seen indistinctly undulating, as bees ere they 
 settle, amidst the verdure of the plain.
 
 THE LAST OF THE B AEONS. 19 
 
 "Well, cousin," said the king, "have ye brought 
 these Hotspurs to their allegiance ? " 
 
 " Sire, yes, " said Warwick, gravely ; " but we have 
 here no force to resist yon army." 
 
 " Bring you not succors 1 " said the king, astonished. 
 " You must have passed through London. Have you 
 left no troops upon the road 1 " 
 
 " I had no time, sire ; and London is wellnigh palsied 
 with dismay. Had I waited to collect troops, I might 
 have found a king's head blackening over those gates." 
 
 " Well, " returned Edward, carelessly, " few or many, 
 one gentleman is more Avorth than a hundred varlets. 
 ' We are eno' for glory, ' as Henry said at Agincourt. " 
 
 "No, sire; you are too skilful and too wise to believe 
 your boast. These men we cannot conquer, — we may 
 disperse them. " 
 
 " By what spell 1 " 
 
 " By their king's word to redress their complaints." 
 
 " And banish my queen ? " 
 
 " Heaven forbid that man should part those whom 
 God has joined," returned Warwick. "Not my lady, 
 your queen, but my lady's kindred." 
 
 " Bivers is dead, and gallant John," said Edward, 
 sadly, — "is not that enough for revenge?" 
 
 "It is not revenge that Ave require, but pledges for 
 the land's safety," answered Warwick. " And to be 
 plain, without such a promise these walls may be your 
 tomb. " 
 
 Edward walked apart, strongly debating within him- 
 self. In his character were great contrasts: no man was 
 more frank in common, — no man more false when it 
 suited; no man had more levity in wanton love, or 
 more firm affection for those he once thoroughly took 
 to his heart. He was the reverse of grateful for service
 
 20 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 yielded; yet he was warm in protecting those on whom 
 service was conferred. He was resolved not to give up 
 the Woodvilles, and, after a short self-commune, he 
 equally determined not to risk his crown and life by 
 persevering in resistance to the demand for their down- 
 fall. Inly obstinate, outwardly yielding, he concealed 
 his falsehood with his usual soldierly grace. 
 
 ""Warwick," he said, returning to the earl's side, 
 "you cannot advise me to what is misbeseeming, and 
 therefore, in this strait, I resign my conduct to your 
 hands. I will not unsay to yon mutinous gentlemen 
 what I have already said; but what you judge it right 
 to promise in my name to them, or to the insurgents, I 
 will not suppose that mine honor will refuse to concede. 
 But go not hence, noblest friend that ever stood by 
 a king's throne! — go not hence till the grasp of your 
 hand assures me that all past unkindness is gone and 
 buried; yea, and by this hand, and while its pressure 
 is warm in mine, bear not too hard on thy king's 
 affection for his lady's kindred." 
 
 " Sire," said Warwick, though his generous nature 
 wellnigh melted into weakness, and it was with an 
 effort that he adhered to his purpose, — "sire, if dis- 
 missed for a while, they shall not be degraded. And 
 if it be, on consideration, wise to recall from the family 
 of Woodville your grants of lands and lordships, take 
 from your W T arwick, — who, rich in his king's love, 
 hath eno' to spare, — take the double of what you 
 would recall. Oh, be frank with me, — be true, be 
 steadfast, Edward, and dispose of my lands whenever 
 you would content a favorite." 
 
 "Not to impoverish thee, my Warwick," answered 
 Edward, smiling, " did I call thee to my aid; for the 
 rest, my revenues as Duke of York are at least mine
 
 THE LAST OF THE BAKONS. 21 
 
 to bestow. Go now to the hostile camp: go as sole 
 minister and captain-general of this realm, — go with 
 all powers and honors a king can give; and when these 
 districts are at peace, depart to our Welsh provinces, 
 as chief justiciary of that principality. Pembroke's 
 mournful death leaves that high post in my gift. It 
 cannot add to your greatness, but it proves to England 
 your sovereign's trust." 
 
 "And while that trust is given," said Warwick, with 
 tears in his eyes, " may Heaven strengthen my arm in 
 battle, and sharpen my brain in council. But I play 
 the lasqard. The sun wanes westward ; it should not 
 go down while a hostile army menaces the son of 
 Richard of York." 
 
 The earl strode rapidly away, reached the broad space 
 where his followers still stood, dismounted, but beside 
 their steeds, — 
 
 "Trumpets advance; pursuivants and heralds go 
 before, — Marmaduke, mount! The rest I need not. 
 We ride to the insurgent camp."
 
 22 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The Camp of the Rebels. 
 
 The rebels had halted about a mile from the town, and 
 were already pitching their tents for the night. It was 
 a tumultuous, clamorous, but not altogether undisci- 
 plined array; for Coniers was a leader of singular 
 practice in reducing men into the machinery of "war, 
 and where his skill might have failed, the prodigious 
 influence and energy of Robin of Redesdale ruled the 
 passions and united the discordant elements. This last 
 was, indeed, in much worthy the respect in which 
 Warwick held his name. In times more ripe for 
 him, he would have been a mighty demagogue and a 
 successful regenerator. His birth was known but to 
 few ; his education and imperious temper made him 
 vulgarly supposed of noble origin ; but had he descended 
 from a king's loins, Robert Hilyard had still been the 
 son of the Saxon people. Warwick overrated, perhaps, 
 Hilyard's wisdom; for, despite his Italian experience, 
 his ideas were far from embracing any clear and definite 
 system of democracy. He had much of the frantic 
 levelism and jacquerie of his age and land, and could 
 probably not have explained to himself all the changes 
 he desired to effect; but, coupled with his hatred to the 
 nobles, his deep and passionate sympathy with the poor, 
 his heated and fanatical chimeras of a republic, half- 
 political and half-religious, — he had, with no uncom- 
 mon inconsistency, linked the cause of a dethroned 
 kii)£r. For as the Covenanters linked with the Stuarts 
 against the succeeding and more tolerant dynasty,
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 23 
 
 never relinquishing their own anti-monarchic theories; 
 as in our time, the extreme party on the popular side 
 has leagued with the extreme of the aristocratic, in 
 order to crush the medium policy, as a common foe; so 
 the bold leveller united with his zeal for Margaret the 
 very cause which the House of Lancaster might be 
 supposed the least to favor. He expected to obtain 
 from a sovereign, dependent upon a popular reaction 
 for restoration, great popular privileges. And as the 
 church had deserted the Eed Rose for the White, he 
 sought to persuade many of the Lollards, ever ready to 
 show their discontent, that Margaret (in revenge on the 
 hierarchy) would extend the protection they had never 
 found in the previous sway of her husband and Henry V. 
 Possessed of extraordinary craft, and even cunning in 
 secular intrigues, energetic, versatile, bold, indefati- 
 gable, and, above all, marvellously gifted with the arts 
 that inflame, stir up, and guide the physical force of 
 masses, — Robert Hilyard had been, indeed, the soul 
 and life of the present revolt; and his prudent modera- 
 tion in resigning the nominal command to those whose 
 military skill and high birth raised a riot into the 
 dignity of rebellion, had given that consistency and 
 method to the rising which popular movements never 
 attain without aristocratic aid. 
 
 In the principal tent of the encampment the leaders 
 of the insurrection were assembled. 
 
 There was Sir John Coniers, who had married one 
 of the Neviles, the daughter of Fauconberg, Lord High 
 Admiral, but who had profited little by this remote 
 connection with Warwick ; for, with all his merit, he 
 was a greedy, grasping man, and he had angered the 
 hot earl in pressing his claims too imperiously. This 
 renowned knight was a tall, gaunt man, whose iron
 
 24 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 frame sixty winters had not bowed ; there were the 
 young heirs of Latimer and Fitzlmgh, in gay, gilded 
 armor, and scarlet mantelines; and there, in a plain 
 cuirass, trebly welded, and of immense weight, but the 
 lower limbs left free and unencumbered, in thick leathern 
 hose, stood Robin of Redesdale. Other captains there 
 were, whom different motives had led to the common 
 confederacy. There might be seen the secret Lollard, 
 hating either Rose, stern and sour, and acknowledging 
 no leader but Hilyard, whom he knew as a Lollard's 
 son; there might be seen the ruined spendthrift, dis- 
 contented with fortune, and regarding civil war as the 
 cast of a die, — death for the forfeiture, lordships for 
 the gain; there, the sturdy Saxon squire, oppressed by 
 the little baron of his province, and rather hopeful to 
 abase a neighbor than dethrone a king, of whom he 
 knew little, and for whom he cared still less; and 
 there, chiefly distinguished from the rest by grizzled 
 beard, upturned mustache, erect mien, and grave, not 
 thoughtful aspect, were the men of a former period, — 
 the soldiers who had fought against the Maid of Arc, — 
 now without place, station, or hope, in peaceful times, 
 already half robbers by profession, and decoyed to any 
 standard that promised action, pay, or plunder. 
 
 The conclave were in high and warm dehate. 
 
 " If this be true," said Coniers, who stood at the head 
 of the table, his helmet, axe, truncheon, aud a rough 
 map of the walls of Olney before him, — "if this be 
 true; if our scouts are not deceived; if the Earl of 
 Warwick is in the village, and if his banner float 
 beside King Edward's, — I say bluntly, as soldiers 
 should speak, that I have been deceived and juggled! " 
 
 "And by whom, Sir Knight and cousin?" said the 
 heir of Fitzhugh reddening.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 25 
 
 " By you, young kinsman, and this hot-mouthed dare- 
 devil, Robin of Redesdale! Ye assured me, both, that 
 the earl approved the rising; that he permitted the levy- 
 ing yon troops in his name; that he knew well the time 
 was come to declare against the Woodvilles, and that no 
 sooner was an army mustered than he would place him- 
 self at its head; and, I say, if this be not true, you have 
 brought these gray hairs into dishonor! " 
 
 "And what, Sir John Colliers," exclaimed Robin, 
 rudely, — > " what honor had your gray hairs till the steel 
 cap covered them 1 ? What honor, I say, under lewd 
 Edward and his lusty revellers? You were thrown 
 aside, like a broken scythe, Sir John Coniers! You 
 were forsaken in your rust! Warwick himself, your 
 wife's great kinsman, could do nought in your favor! 
 You stand now, leader of thousands, lord of life and 
 death, master of Edward and the throne! We have 
 done this for you, and you reproach us! " 
 
 "And," began the heir of Fitzhugh, encouraged by 
 the boldness of Hilyard, " we had all reason to believe 
 my noble uncle, the Earl of Warwick, approved our 
 emprise. When this brave fellow," pointing to Robin, 
 "came to inform me that, with his own eyes, he had 
 seen the waxen effigies of my great kinsman, the hellish 
 misdeed of the queen's witch-dam, I repaired to my Lord 
 Montagu; and, though that prudent courtier refused to 
 declare openly, he let me see that war with the Wood- 
 villes was not unwelcome to him." 
 
 "Yet this same Montagu," observed one of the ring- 
 leaders, " when Hilyard was wellnigh at the gates of 
 York, sallied out and defeated him, sans ruth, sans 
 ceremony." 
 
 " Yes, but he spared my life, and beheaded the dead 
 body of poor Hugh Withers in my stead; for John
 
 26 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 Nevile is cunning, and he picks his nuts from the 
 brennen without lesing his own paw. It was not the 
 hour for him to join us, so he beat us civilly, and with 
 discretion. But what hath he done since 1 He stands 
 aloof while our army swells, while the bull of the 
 Xeviles, and the ragged staff of the earl, are the ensigns 
 of our war, — and while Edward gnaws out his fierce 
 heart in yon walls of Olney. How say ye, then, that 
 Warwick, even if now in person with the king, is in 
 heart against us? Nay, he may have entered Olney 
 but to capture the tyrant." 
 
 " If so," said Coniers, " all is as it should be: but if 
 Earl Warwick, who, though he hath treated me ill, is 
 a stour carle, and to be feared if not loved, join the 
 king, I break this wand, and ye will seek out another 
 captain." 
 
 " And a captain shall be found! " cried Eobin. " Are 
 we so poor in valor, that when one man leaves us we are 
 headless and undone 1 What if Warwick so betray us 
 and himself, — he brings no forces. And never, by 
 God's blessing, should we separate, till we have redressed 
 the wrongs of our countrymen ! " 
 
 "Good!" said the Saxon squire, winking and look- 
 ing wise, — " not till we have burned to the' ground the 
 Baron of Bullstock's castle." 
 
 "Not," said a Lollard, sternly, " till we have short- 
 ened the purple gown of the churchman, — not till abbot 
 and bishop have felt on their backs the whip wherewith 
 they have scourged the godly believer and the humble 
 saint. " 
 
 " Not," added Robin, " till we have assured bread to 
 the poor man, and the tilling of the flesh-pot, and the 
 law to the weak, and the scaffold to the evil-doer." 
 
 " All this is mighty well," said, bluntly, Sir Geoffrey
 
 THE LAST OF THE BAEONS. 27 
 
 Gates, the leader of the mercenaries, a skilful soldier, 
 but a predatory and lawless bravo, — " but who is to pay 
 me and my tall fellows? " 
 
 At this pertinent question, there was a general hush 
 of displeasure and disgust. 
 
 " For look you, my masters," continued Sir Geoffrey, 
 — " as long as I and my comrades here believed that 
 the rich earl, who hath half England for his provant, 
 was at the head or the tail of this matter, we were 
 contented to wait awhile; but devil a groat hath yet 
 gone into my gipsire, — and as for pillage, what is a 
 farm or a homestead! an it were a church or a castle 
 there might be pickings." 
 
 " There is much plate of silver, and a sack or so of 
 marks and royals in the stronghold of the Baron of 
 Bullstock," quoth the Saxon squire, doggedly hounding 
 on to his revenge. 
 
 " You see, my friends," said Coniers, with a smile, 
 and shrugging his shoulders, " that men cannot gird a 
 kingdom with ropes of sand. Suppose we conquer and 
 take captive — nay, or slay King Edward: what then 1 " 
 
 "The Duke of Clarence, male heir to the throne," 
 said the heir of Latimer, " is Lord Warwick's son-in- 
 law, and therefore akin to you, Sir John." 
 
 " That is true," observed Coniers, musingly. 
 
 "Not ill thought of, sir," said Sir Geoffrey Gates, — 
 " and my advice is to proclaim Clarence king, and 
 Warwick lord protector. We have some chance of the 
 angels then." 
 
 "Besides," said the heir of Fitzhugh, "our purpose 
 once made clear, it will be hard either for Warwick or 
 Clarence to go against us, — harder still for the country 
 not to believe them with us. Bold measures are our 
 wisest councillors."
 
 28 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 "Um!" said the Lollard, — "Lord Warwick is a 
 good man, and hath never, though his brother be a 
 bishop, abetted the church tyrannies. But as for 
 George of Clarence — " 
 
 "As for Clarence," said Hilyard, who saw, with 
 dismay and alarm, that the rebellion lie designed to 
 turn at the fitting hour to the service of Lancaster, 
 might now only help to shift, from one shoulder to 
 the other, the hated dynasty of York, — " as for Clar- 
 ence, he hath Edward's vices, without his manhood." 
 He paused, and seeing that the crisis had ripened the 
 hour for declaring himself, his bold temper pushed at 
 once to its object. " No! " he continued, folding his 
 arms, raising his head and comprehending the whole 
 council in his keen and steady gaze, — "no! lords and 
 gentlemen; since speak I must, in this emergency, hear 
 me calmly. Nothing has prospered in England since 
 we abandoned our lawful king. If we rid ourselves of 
 Edward, let it not be to sink from a harlot-monger to a 
 drunkard. In the Tower pines our true lord, already 
 honored as a saint. Hear me, I say, — hear me out! 
 On the frontiers, an army that keeps Gloucester at bay, 
 hath declared for Henry and Margaret. Let us, after 
 seizing Olney, march thither, at once, and unite forces. 
 Margaret is already prepared to embark for England. I 
 have friends in London who will attack the Tower, and 
 deliver Henry. To you, Sir John Coniers, in the 
 queen's name, I promise an earldom and the garter. 
 To you, the heirs of Latimer and Fitzhugh, the high 
 posts that beseem your birth ; to all of you, knights and 
 captains, just share and allotment in the confiscated 
 lands of the Woodvilles and the Yorkists. To you, 
 brethren," and addressing the Lollards, his voice soft- 
 ened into a meaning accent, that, compelled to worship
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 29 
 
 in secret, they yet understood, " shelter from your foes, 
 and mild laws; and to you, brave soldiers, that pay 
 which a king's coffers alone can supply. Wherefore I 
 say, down with all subject-banners! up with the Red 
 Rose and the Antelope, and long live Henry VI." 
 
 This address, however subtle in its adaptation to the 
 various passions of those assembled, however aided by the 
 voice, spirit, and energy of the speaker, took too much 
 by surprise those present to produce at once its effect. 
 
 The Lollards remembered the fires lighted for their 
 martyrs by the House of Lancaster ; and though blindly 
 confident in Hilyard, were not yet prepared to respond 
 to his call. The young heir of Fitzhugh, who had, in 
 truth, but taken arms to avenge the supposed wrongs of 
 Warwick, whom he idolized, saw no object gained in 
 the rise of Warwick's enemy, Queen Margaret. The 
 mercenaries called to mind the woful state of Henry's 
 exchequer in the former time. The Saxon squire mut- 
 tered to himself, "And what the devil is to become of 
 the castle of Bullstock 1 " But Sir Henry Nevile (Lord 
 Latimer's son), who belonged to that branch of his 
 house which had espoused the Lancaster cause, and 
 who was in the secret councils of Hilyard, caught up 
 the cry, and said, " Hilyard doth not exceed his powers; 
 and he who strikes for the Red Rose, shall carve out 
 his own lordship from the manors of every Yorkist that 
 he slays!" Sir John Coniers hesitated; poor, long 
 neglected, ever enterprising and ambitious, he was 
 dazzled by the proffered bribe, — but age is slow to 
 act, and he expressed himself with the measured caution 
 of gray hairs. 
 
 "A king's name," said he, " is a tower of strength, 
 especially when marching against a king; but this is 
 a matter for general assent and grave forethought."
 
 30 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 Before any other (for ideas did not rus"h at once to 
 words in those days) found his tongue, a mighty uproar 
 was heard without. It did not syllable itself into dis- 
 tinct sound; it uttered no name, — it was such a shout 
 as numbers alone could raise, and to such a shout would 
 some martial leader have rejoiced to charge to battle, 
 so full of depth and fervor, and enthusiasm, and good 
 heart, it seemed, leaping from rank to rank, from breast 
 to breast, from earth to heaven. "With one accord the 
 startled captains made to the entrance of the tent, and 
 there they saw, in the broad space before them, enclosed 
 by the tents which were grouped in a wide semicircle, 
 — for the mass of the hardy rebel army slept in the 
 open air, and the tents were but for leaders, — they saw, 
 we say, in that broad space, a multitude kneeling, and 
 in the midst, upon his good steed Saladin, bending 
 graciously down, the martial countenance, the lofty 
 stature, of the Earl of Warwick. Those among the 
 captains who knew him not personally, recognized him 
 by the popular description, — by the black war-horse, 
 whose legendary fame had been hymned by every min- 
 strel ; by the sensation his appearance had created; by 
 the armorial insignia of his heralds, grouped behind 
 him, and whose gorgeous tabards blazed with his cog- 
 nizance and quarterings in azure, or, and argent. The 
 sun was slowly setting, and poured its rays upon the 
 bare head of the mighty noble, gathering round it in 
 the hazy atmosphere like a halo. The homage of the 
 crowd to that single form, unarmed, and scarce attended, 
 struck a death-knell to the hopes of Hilyard, — struck 
 awe into all his comrades! The presence of that one 
 man seemed to ravish from them, as by magic, a vast 
 army; power, and state, and command, left them sud- 
 denly to be absorbed in him! Captains, they were
 
 THE LAST OF THE B AEONS. 31 
 
 troopless, — the wielder of men's hearts was amongst 
 them, and from his barb assumed reign, as from his 
 throne! 
 
 " Gads, my life! " said Corners, turning to his com- 
 rades, " we have now, with a truth, the earl amongst 
 us; but, unless he come to lead us on to Olney, I would 
 as lief see the king's provost at my shoulder." 
 
 "The crowd separates, — he rides this way!" said 
 the heir of Fitzhugh. " Shall we go forth to meet 
 him?" 
 
 " Xot so!" exclaimed Hilyard, "we are still the 
 leaders of this army ; let him find us deliberating on 
 the siege of Olney ! " 
 
 " Right! " said Coniers ; " and if there come dispute, 
 let not the rabble hear it." 
 
 The captains re-entered the tent, and in grave silence 
 awaited the earl's coming; nor was this suspense long. 
 Warwick, leaving the multitude in the rear, and taking 
 only one of the subaltern officers in the rebel camp as 
 his guide and usher, arrived at the tent, and was 
 admitted into the council. 
 
 The captains, Hilyard alone excepted, bowed with 
 great reverence as the earl entered. 
 
 "Welcome, puissant sir, and illustrious kinsman!" 
 said Coniers, who had decided on the line to be adopted, 
 ■ — " you are come at last to take the command of the 
 troops raised in your name, and into your hands I resign 
 this truncheon. " 
 
 " I accept it, Sir John Coniers," answered Warwick, 
 taking the place of dignity; "and since you thus con- 
 stitute me your commander, I proceed at once to my 
 stern duties. How happens it, knights and gentlemen, 
 that in my absence ye have dared to make my name the 
 pretext of rebellion? Speak thou, my sister's son! "
 
 32 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 " Cousin and lord," said the heir of Fitzhugh, red- 
 dening but not abashed, " we could not believe but 
 what you would smile on those who have risen to assert 
 your wrongs and defend your life." And he then briefly 
 related the tale of the Duchess of Bedford's waxen 
 effigies, and pointed to Hilyard as the eyewitness. 
 
 " And," began Sir Henry Nevile, "you, meanwhile, 
 were banished, seemingly, from the king's court; the 
 dissensions between you and Edward sufficiently the 
 land's talk, — the king's vices, the land's shame!" 
 
 " Nor did we act without at least revealing our inten- 
 tions to my uncle and your brother, the Lord Montagu," 
 added the heir of Fitzhugh. 
 
 "Meanwhile," said Robin of Redesdale, "the com- 
 mons were oppressed, the people discontented, the 
 Woodvilles plundering us, and the king wasting our 
 substance on concubines and minions. We have had 
 cause eno' for our rising!" 
 
 The earl listened to each speaker in stern silence. 
 
 "For all this," he said at last, "you have, without 
 my leave or sanction, levied armed men in my name, 
 and would have made Richard Nevile seem to Europe 
 a traitor, without the courage to be a rebel! Your 
 lives are in my power, and those lives are forfeit to the 
 laws." 
 
 " If we have incurred your disfavor from our over-zeal 
 for you," said the son of Lord Fitzhugh, touchingly, 
 " take our lives, for they are of little worth." And 
 the young nobleman unbuckled his sword, and laid it 
 on the table. 
 
 "But," resumed Warwick, not seeming to heed his 
 nephew's humility, " I, who have ever loved the people 
 of England, and before king and Parliament have ever 
 pleaded their cause, — I, as captain-general and first
 
 THE LAST OF THE BATONS. S3 
 
 officer of these realms, here declare, that whatever 
 motives of ambition or interest may have misled men 
 of mark and birth, I believe that the commons at least 
 never rise in arms without some excuse for their error. 
 Speak out then, you, their leaders; and putting aside 
 all that relates to me as the one man, say what are the 
 grievances of which the many would complain." 
 
 And now there was silence, for the knights and 
 gentlemen knew little of the complaints of the popu- 
 lace ; the Lollards did not dare to expose their oppressed 
 faith, and the squires and franklins were too uneducated 
 to detail the grievances they had felt. But then, the 
 immense superiority of the man of the people at once 
 asserted itself; and Hilyard whose eye the earl had 
 hitherto shunned, lifted his deep voice. With clear 
 precision, in indignant, but not declamatory eloquence, 
 he painted the disorders of the time, — the insolent 
 exactions of the hospitals and abbeys; the lawless vio- 
 lence of each petty baron ; the weakness of the royal 
 authority in restraining oppression; its terrible power 
 in aiding the oppressor. He accumulated instance on 
 instance of misrule ; he showed the insecurity of prop- 
 erty, the adulteration of the coin, the burden of the 
 imposts; lie spoke of Avives and maidens violated, — of 
 industry defrauded, of houses forcibly entered, of barns 
 and granaries despoiled, of the impunity of all offenders, 
 if high-born, of the punishment of all complaints, if 
 poor and lowly. "Tell us not," he said, "that this is 
 the necessary evil of the times, the hard condition of 
 mankind. It was otherwise, Lord Warwick, when 
 Edward first swayed; for you then made yourself dear 
 to tha people by your justice. Still men talk, here- 
 abouts, of the golden rule of Earl Warwick; but since 
 you have been, though great in office, powerless in deed, 
 
 VOL II. — 3
 
 34 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 absent in Calais, or idle at Middleham, England hath 
 been but the plaything of the Woodvilles, and the 
 king's ears have been stuffed with flattery as with 
 wool. And," continued Hilyard, warming with his 
 subject, and, to the surprise of the Lollards, entering 
 boldly on their master-grievance — " and this is not all. 
 When Edward ascended the throne, there was, if not 
 justice, at least repose, for the persecuted believers who 
 hold that God's word was given to man to read, study, 
 and digest into godly deeds. I speak plainly. I speak 
 of that faith which your great father, Salisbury, and 
 many of the house of York, were believed to favor, — 
 that faith which is called the Lollard, and the oppres- 
 sion of which, more than anght else, lost to Lancaster 
 the hearts of England. But of late, the Church, 
 assuming the power it ever grasps the most under the 
 most licentious kings (for the sinner prince hath ever 
 the tyrant priest!), hath put in vigor old laws, for the 
 wronging man's thought and conscience ; x and we sit at 
 our doors under the shade, not of the vine-tree, but the 
 gibbet. For all these things we have drawn the sword; 
 and if now you, taking advantage of the love borne to 
 you by the sons of England, push that sword back into 
 the sheath, you, generous, great, and princely, though 
 you be, well deserve the fate that I foresee and can 
 foretell. Yes! " cried the speaker, extending his arms, 
 and gazing fixedly on the proud face of the earl, which 
 was not inexpressive of emotion — "yes! I see you, 
 having deserted the people, deserted by them also in 
 
 1 The Lollards had greatly contributed to seat Edward on the 
 throne; and much of the subsequent discontent, no doubt, arose 
 from their disappointment, when, as Sharon Turner well expresses 
 it, " his indolence allied him to the Church," and he became " hereti- 
 corum severissimus hostis." — Croy!., p. 564.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 3u 
 
 your need, — I see you, the dupe of an ungrateful king, 
 stripped of power and honor, an exile and an outlaw; 
 and when you call in vain upon the people, in whose 
 hearts you now reign, remeraher, O fallen star, son of 
 the morning! that in the hour of their might you struck 
 down the people's right arm, and paralyzed their power. 
 And now, if you will, let your friends and England's 
 champions glut the scaffolds of your woman-king! " 
 
 He ceased, — a murmur went round the conclave; 
 every breast breathed hard, — every eye turned to War- 
 wick. That mighty statesman mastered the effect which 
 the thrilling voice of the popular pleader produced on 
 him; but at that moment he had need of all his frank 
 and honorable loyalty to remind him that he was there 
 but to fulfil a promise and discharge a trust, — that he 
 was the king's delegate, not the king's judge. 
 
 "You have spoken, bold men," said he, " as, in an 
 hour when the rights of princes are weighed in one 
 scale, the subjects' swords in the other, I, were I king, 
 would wish free, men to speak. And now you, Robert 
 Hilyard, and you, gentlemen, hear me, as envoy to 
 King Edward IV. To all of you I promise complete 
 amnesty and entire pardon. His Highness believes 
 you misled, not criminal, and your late deeds will not 
 be remembered in your future services. So much for 
 the leaders. Now for the commons. My liege the 
 king is pleased to recall me to the high powers I once 
 exercised, and to increase rather than to lessen them. 
 In his name, I pledge myself to full and strict inquiry 
 into all the grievances Robin of Redesdale hath set 
 forth, with a view to speedy and complete redress. 
 Nor is this all. His Highness, laying aside his pur- 
 pose of war with France, will have less need of imposts 
 on his subjects, and the burdens and taxes will be
 
 36 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 reduced. Lastly, — his Grace, ever anxious to content 
 his people, hath most benignly empowered me to promise 
 that, whether or not ye rightly judge the queen's kin- 
 dred, they will no longer have part or weight in the 
 king's councils. The Duchess of Bedford, as beseems 
 a lady so sorrowfully widowed, will retire to her own 
 home; and the Lord Scales will fulfil a mission to the 
 court of Spain. Thus, then, assenting to all reasonable 
 demands, — promising to heal all true grievances, prof- 
 fering you gracious pardon, — I discharge my duty to 
 king and to people. I pray that these unhappy sores 
 may be healed evermore, under the blessing of God and 
 our patron saint; and in the name of Edward IV., Lord 
 Suzerain of England and of France, I break up this 
 truncheon and disband this army!" 
 
 Among those present, this moderate and wise address 
 produced a general sensation of relief; for the earl's 
 disavowal of the revolt took away all hope of its suc- 
 cess. But the common approbation was not shared by 
 Hilyard. He sprang upon the table, and, seizing the 
 broken fragments of the truncheon which the earl had 
 snapped as a willow twig, exclaimed, " And thus, in 
 the name of the people, I seize the command that ye 
 unworthily resign! Oh, yes; what fools were yonder 
 drudges of the hard hand and the grimed brow, and 
 the leather jerkin, to expect succor from knight and 
 noble ! " 
 
 So saying, he bounded from the tent, and rushed 
 towards the multitude at the distance. 
 
 "Ye, knights and lords, men of blood and birth, 
 were but the tools of a manlier and wiser Cade! " said 
 Warwick, calmly. " Follow me! " 
 
 The earl strode from the tent, sprang upon his steed, 
 and was in the midst of the troops, with his heralds
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 61 
 
 by his side, ere Hilyard had been enabled to begin 
 the harangue he had intended. Warwick's trumpets 
 sounded to silence; and the earl himself, in his loud, 
 clear voice, briefly addressed the immense audience. 
 Master, scarcely less than Hilyard, of the popular 
 kind of eloquence, which — short, plain, generous, 
 and simple — cuts its way at once through the feel- 
 ings to the policy, Warwick briefly but forcibly reca- 
 pitulated to the commons the promises he had made 
 to the captains ; and as soon as they heard of taxes 
 removed, the coinage reformed, the corn thrave abol- 
 ished, the Woodvilles dismissed, and the earl recalled 
 to power, the rebellion was at an end. They answered 
 with a joyous shout his order to disperse and retire to 
 their homes forthwith; but the indomitable Hilyard, 
 ascending a small eminence, began his counter-agitation. 
 The earl saw his robust form and waving hand, — he saw 
 the crowd sway towards him; and too well acquainted 
 with mankind to suffer his address, he spurred to the spot, 
 and turning to Marmaduke, said, in a loud voice, " Mar- 
 niaduke Nevile. arrest that man in the king's name! " 
 
 Marmaduke sprang from his steed, and laid his hand 
 on Hilyard's shoulder. Not one of the multitude 
 stirred on behalf of their demagogue. As before the 
 sun recede the stars, all lesser lights had died in the 
 blaze of Warwick's beloved name. Hilyard griped his 
 dagger, and struggled an instant; but when he saw the 
 awe and apathy of the armed mob, a withering expres- 
 sion of disdain passed over his hardy face. 
 
 "Do ye suffer this? " he said, — " do ye suffer me, 
 who have placed swords in your hands, to go forth in 
 bonds, and to the death 1 " 
 
 " The stout earl wrongs no man," said a single voice, 
 and the populace echoed the word.
 
 33 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 " Sir, then, I care not for life, since liberty is gone. 
 I yield myself your prisoner." 
 
 "A horse for my captive!" said Warwick, laugh- 
 ing, — "and hear me promise you, that he shall go 
 unscathed in goods and in limbs. God wot, when 
 Warwick and the people meet, no victim should 
 be sacrificed! Hurrah for King Edward and fair 
 England!" 
 
 He waved his plumed cap as he spoke, and within 
 the walls of Olney was heard the shout that answered. 
 
 Slowly the earl and his scanty troop turned the rein: 
 as he receded, the multitude broke up rapidly, and 
 when the moon rose, that camp was a solitude! 1 
 
 Such, for our nature is ever grander in the indi- 
 vidual than the mass. — Such is the power of man 
 above mankind! 
 
 1 The dispersion of the rebels at Olney is forcibly narrated by a 
 few sentences, graphic from their brief simplicity, in the " Picto- 
 rial History of England," Book v. p. 104. " They (Warwick, etc.) 
 repaired in a very friendly manner to Olney, where they found 
 Edward in a most unhappy condition ; his friends were dead or 
 scattered, flying for their lives, or hiding themselves in remote 
 places ; the insurgents were almost upon him. A word from 
 Warwick sent the insurgents quietly back to the North."
 
 THE LAST OF THE BA1I0NS. 39 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The Norman Earl ami the Saxon Demaffoefue confer. 
 
 On leaving the camp, Warwick rode in advance of his 
 train, and his countenance was serious and full of 
 thought. At length, as a turn in the road hid the little 
 band from the view of the rebels, the earl motioned to 
 Marmaduke to advance with his prisoner. The young 
 Nevile then fell back, and Robin and Warwick rode 
 breast to breast, out of hearing of the rest. 
 
 " Master Hilyard, I am well content that my brother, 
 when you fell into his hands, spared your life, out of 
 gratitude for the favor you once showed to mine. " 
 
 " Your noble brother, my lord, " answered Robin, 
 dryly, " is, perhaps, not aware of the service I once 
 rendered you. Methinks he spared me rather, because, 
 without me, an enterprise which has shaken the Wood- 
 villes from their roots around the throne, and given 
 back England to the Neviles, had been nipped in the 
 bud ! — Your brother is a deep thinker ! " 
 
 " I grieve to hear thee speak thus of the Lord Mon- 
 tagu. I know that he hath wilier devices than become, 
 in mine eyes, a well-born knight and a sincere man; 
 but he loves his king, and his ends are juster than his 
 means. Master Hilyard, enough of the past evil. Some 
 months after the field of Hexham, I chanced to fall, 
 when alone, amongst a band of roving and fierce Lan- 
 castrian outlaws. Thou, their leader, recognizing the 
 crest on my helm, and mindful of some slight indul- 
 gence once shown to thy strange notions of republican
 
 40 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 liberty, didst save me from the swords of thy followers: 
 from that time I have sought in vain to mend thy for- 
 tunes. Thou hast rejected all mine offers, and I know 
 well that thou hast lent thy service to the fatal cause 
 of Lancaster. Many a time I might have given thee to 
 the law, but gratitude for thy aid in the needful strait, 
 and to speak sooth, my disdain of all individual efforts 
 to restore a fallen house, made me turn my eyes from 
 transgressions, which, once made known to the king, 
 had placed thee beyond pardon. I see now that thou 
 art a man of head and arm to bring great danger upon 
 nations; and though this time Warwick bids thee escape 
 and live, — if once more thou offend, know me only as 
 the king's minister. The debt between us is now can- 
 celled. Yonder lies the path that conducts to the forest. 
 Farewell. Yet stay ! — poverty may have led thee into 
 treason. " 
 
 " Poverty, " interrupted Hilyard, — " poverty, Lord 
 Warwick, leads men to sympathize with the poor, and 
 therefore I have done with riches." He paused, and 
 his breast heaved. "Yet, "he added, sadly, "now that 
 I have seen the cowardice and ingratitude of men, my 
 calling seems over, and my spirit crushed." 
 
 " Alas ! " said Warwick, " whether man be rich or 
 poor, ingratitude is the vice of men ; and you, who have 
 felt it from the mob, menace me with it from a king. 
 But each must carve out his own way through this 
 earth, without over care for applause or blame; and the 
 tomb is the sole judge of mortal memory! " 
 
 Robin looked hard in the earl's face, which was dark 
 and gloomy, as he thus spoke, and approaching nearer, 
 he said, " Lord Warwick, I take from you liberty and 
 life the more willingly, because a voice I cannot mis- 
 take tells me, and hath long told, that, sooner or later,
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 41 
 
 time will bind us to each other. Unlike other nobles, 
 you have owed your power not so much to lordship, 
 land, and birth, and a king's smile, as to the love you 
 have nobly won ; you alone, true knight and princely 
 Christian, — you alone, in war, have spared the humble ; 
 you alone, stalwart and resistless champion, have directed 
 your lance against your equals, and your order hath gone 
 forth to the fierce of heart, ' Never smite the commons ! ' 
 In peace, you alone have stood up in your haughty 
 Parliament for just law or for gentle mercy; your castle 
 hath had a board for the hungry, and a shelter for the 
 houseless; your pride, which hath bearded kings and 
 humbled upstarts, hath never had a taunt for the lowly ; 
 and therefore I, — son of the people, — in the people's 
 name, bless you living, and sigh to ask whether a people's 
 gratitude will mourn you dead ! Beware Edward's false 
 smile, — beware Clarence's fickle faith; beware Glou- 
 cester's inscrutable wile. Mark, the sun sets ! — and 
 while we speak, yon dark cloud gathers over your 
 plumed head." 
 
 He pointed to the heavens as he ceased, and a low 
 roll of gathering thunder seemed to answer his ominous 
 warning. Without tarrying for the earl's answer, Hil- 
 yard shook the reins of his steed, and disappeared in 
 the winding of the lane through which he took his 
 way.
 
 42 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 What faith Edward IV. purposeth to keep with Earl and People. 
 
 Edward received his triumphant envoy with open arms 
 and profuse expressions of gratitude. He exerted himself 
 to the utmost in the banquet that crowned the day, not 
 only to conciliate the illustrious new-comers, but to 
 remove from the minds of Raoul de Fulke and his 
 officers all memory of their past disaffection. No gift is 
 rarer or more successful in the intrigues of life than that 
 which Edward eminently possessed, — namely, the hypoc- 
 risy of frankness. Dissimulation is often humble, often 
 polished, often grave, sleek, smooth, decorous; but it 
 is rarely gay and jovial, a hearty laugher, a merry, 
 cordial, boon companion. Such, however, was the feli- 
 citous craft of Edward IV. ; and, indeed, his spirits were 
 naturally so high, — his gooddiumor so flowing, — that 
 this joyous hypocrisy cost him no effort. Elated at the 
 dispersion of his foes, — at the prospect of his return to 
 his ordinary life of pleasure, — there was something so 
 kindly and so winning in his mirth, that he subjugated 
 entirely the fiery temper of Raoul de Eulke and the 
 steadier suspicions of the more thoughtful St. John. 
 Clarence, wholly reconciled to Edward, gazed on him 
 with eyes swimming with affection, and soon drank 
 himself into uproarious joviality. The archbishop, 
 more reserved, still animated the society by the dry 
 and epigrammatic wit not uncommon to his learned 
 and subtle mind; but Warwick in vain endeavored 
 to shake off an uneasy, ominous gloom. He was not
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 43 
 
 satisfied with Edward's avoidance of discussion upon 
 the grave matters involved in the earl's promise to the 
 insurgents, and his masculine spirit regarded with some 
 disdain, and more suspicion, a levity that he considered 
 ill suited to the emergence. 
 
 The banquet was over, and Edward, having dis- 
 missed his other attendants, was in his chamber with 
 Lord Hastings, whose office always admitted him to 
 the wardrobe of the king. 
 
 Edward's smile had now left his lip ; he paced the 
 room with a hasty stride, and then suddenly opening 
 the casement, pointed to the landscape without, which 
 lay calm and suffused in moonlight. 
 
 " Hastings, " said he, abruptly, " a few hours since, 
 and the earth grew spears! Behold the landscape 
 now ! " 
 
 " So vanish all the king's enemies ! " 
 
 "Ay, man, ay, — if at the king's word, or before the 
 king's battle-axe; but at a subject's command — No, 
 I am not a king while another scatters armies in my 
 realm at his bare will. 'Fore Heaven, this shall not 
 last!" 
 
 Hastings regarded the countenance of Edward, changed 
 from affable beauty into terrible fierceness, with reflec- 
 tions suggested by his profound and mournful wisdom. 
 " How little a man's virtues profit him in the eyes of 
 men!" thought he. "The subject saves the crown, 
 and the crown's wearer never pardons the presumption ! " 
 
 " You do not speak, sir ! " exclaimed Edward, irri- 
 tated and impatient. " Why gaze you thus on me ? " 
 
 "Beau sire," returned the favorite, calmly, "I was 
 seeking to discover if your pride spoke or your nobler 
 nature." 
 
 " Tush ! " said the king, petulantly, — " the noblest
 
 44 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 part of a king's nature is his pride as king! " Again 
 he strode the chamber, and again halted. " But the 
 earl hath fallen into his own snare, — he hath promised 
 in my name what I will not perform. Let the people 
 learn that their idol hath deceived them. He asks me 
 to dismiss from the court the queen's mother and 
 kindred ! " 
 
 Hastings, who in this went thoroughly with the 
 earl and the popular feeling, and whose only enemies 
 in England were the Woodvilles, replied simply,— 
 
 " These are cheap terms, sire, for a king's life, and 
 the crown of England." 
 
 Edward started, and his eyes flashed that cold, cruel 
 fire, which makes eyes of a light coloring so far more 
 expressive of terrible passions than the quicker and 
 warmer heat of dark orbs. "Think you so, sir? By 
 God's blood, he who proffered them shall repent it in 
 every vein of his body! Hark ye, William Hastings 
 de Hastings, I know you to be a deep and ambitious 
 man ; but better for you, had you covered that learned 
 brain under the cowl of a mendicant friar, than lent one 
 thought to the councils of the Earl of Warwick. " 
 
 Hastings, Avho felt even to fondness the affection 
 which Edward generally inspired in those about his 
 person, and who, far from sympathizing, except in 
 hate of the Woodvilles, with the earl, saw that beneath 
 that mighty tree no new plants could push into their 
 fullest foliage, reddened with anger at this imperious 
 menace. 
 
 " My liege," said he, with becoming dignity and 
 spirit, " if you can thus address your most tried con- 
 fidant and your lealest friend, your most dangerous 
 enemy is yourself." 
 
 "Stay, man," said the king, softening; " I was over
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 4o 
 
 warm, but the wild beast within me is chafed. Would 
 Gloucester were here ! " 
 
 " I can tell you what would be the counsels of that 
 wise young prince, for I know his mind," answered 
 Hastings. 
 
 " Ay, he and you love each other well. Speak out. " 
 
 " Prince Richard is a great reader of Italian lere. 
 He saith that those small states are treasuries of all 
 experience. From that lere Prince Richard would say 
 to you, ' Where a subject is so great as to be feared, 
 and too much beloved to be destroyed, the king must 
 remember how Tarpeia was crushed.' " 
 
 " I remember nought of Tarpeia, and I detest 
 parables." 
 
 " Tarpeia, sire (it is a story of old Rome), was crushed 
 under the weight of presents. Oh, my liege," continued 
 Hastings, warming with that interest which an able man 
 feels in his own superior art, " were I king for a year, 
 by the end of it Warwick should be the most unpopular 
 (and therefore the weakest) lord in England ! " 
 
 " And how, wise in thine own conceit? " 
 
 " Beau sire, " resumed Hastings, not heeding the 
 rebuke, and strangely enough he proceeded to point 
 out, as the means of destroying the earl's influence, the 
 very method that the archbishop had detailed to Mon- 
 tagu, as that which would make the influence irresisti- 
 ble and permanent, — " beau sire, " resumed Hastings, 
 " Lord Warwick is beloved by the people, because they 
 consider him maltreated; he is esteemed by the people, 
 because they consider him above all bribe ; he is venerated 
 by the people, because they believe that in all their com- 
 plaints and struggles he is independent (he alone) of the 
 king. Instead of love I would raise envy; for instead of 
 cold countenance I would heap him with grace. Instead
 
 46 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 of esteem and veneration I would raise suspicion ; for I 
 would so knit him to your house, that he could not stir 
 hand or foot against you : I would make his heirs your 
 brothers. The Duke of Clarence hath married one 
 daughter, — wed the other to Lord Richard. Betroth 
 your young princess to Montagu's son, the representative 
 of all the Neviles. The earl's immense possessions must 
 thus ultimately pass to your own kindred. The earl 
 himself will he no longer a power apart from the throne, 
 but a part of it. The barons will chafe against one who 
 half ceases to be of their order, and yet monopolizes 
 their dignities ; the people will no longer see in the earl 
 their champion, but a king's favorite and deputy. 
 Neither barons nor people will flock to his banner." 
 
 " All this is well and wise, " said Edward, musing ; 
 "but meanwhile my queen's blood, — am I foreign in 
 a solitude? — for look you, Hastings, you know well 
 that, uxorious as fools have deemed me, I had purpose 
 and design in the elevation of new families, I wished 
 to raise a fresh nobility to counteract the pride of the 
 old, and only upon new nobles can a new dynasty 
 rely." 
 
 " My lord, I will not anger you again ; but still, for 
 awhile, the queen's relations will do well to retire." 
 
 " Good-night, Hastings," interrupted Edward, abruptly; 
 " my pillow in this shall be my counsellor. " 
 
 Whatever the purpose solitude and reflection might 
 ripen in the king's mind, he was saved from immediate 
 decision by news, the next morning, of fresh outbreaks. 
 The commons had risen in Lincolnshire and the county 
 of Warwick ; and Anthony Woodville wrote word that, 
 if the king would but show himself among the forces lie 
 bad raised near Coventry, all the gentry around would 
 rise against the rebellious rabble. Seizing advantage of
 
 THE LAST OF THE B.VEONS. 47 
 
 these tidings, borne to him by his own couriers, and 
 eager to escape from the uncertain soldiery quartered 
 at Olney, Edward, without waiting to consult even 
 with the earl, sprang to horse, and his trumpets were 
 the first signal of departure that he deigned to any 
 one. 
 
 This want of ceremony displeased the pride of War- 
 wick; but he made no complaint, and took his place by 
 the king's side, when Edward said, shortly, — 
 
 " Dear cousin, this is a time that needs all our energies. 
 I ride towards Coventry, to give head and heart to the 
 raw recruits I shall find there : but I pray you and the 
 archbishop to use all means in this immediate district, 
 to raise fresh troops ; for at your name armed men spring 
 up from pasture and glebe, dyke and hedge. Join Avhat 
 troops you can collect in three days with mine at Coven- 
 try, and, ere the sickle is in the harvest, England shall 
 be at peace. God speed you ! Ho ! there, gentlemen, 
 away ! — a franc etrier ! " 
 
 Without pausing for reply, — for he wished to avoid 
 all questioning, lest Warwick might discover that it 
 was to a Woodville that he was bound, — the king put 
 spurs to his horse, and, while his men were yet hurrying 
 to and fro, rode on almost alone, and was a good mile out 
 of the town before the force led by St. John and Raoul 
 de Fulke, and followed by Hastings, who held no com- 
 mand, overtook him. 
 
 " I misthink the king, " said Wanvick, gloomily ; " but 
 my word is pledged to the people, and it shall be kept ! ,: 
 
 " A man's word is best kept when his arm is the 
 strongest, " said the sententious archbishop : " yesterday, 
 you dispersed an army ; to-day, raise one ! " 
 
 Warwick answered not, but, after a moment's thought, 
 beckoned to Marmaduke.
 
 43 THE LA.ST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 " Kinsman, " said he, " spur on, with ten of my little 
 company, to join the king. Report to me if any of the 
 Woodvilles he in his camp near Coventry." 
 
 " Whither shall I send the report 1 " 
 
 " To my castle of Warwick ! " 
 
 Marmaduke howed his head, and, accustomed to the 
 brevity of the earl's speech, proceeded to the task 
 enjoined him. Warwick next summoned his second 
 squire. 
 
 "My lady and her children," said he, "are on their 
 way to Middleham. This paper will instruct you of 
 their progress. Join them with all the rest of my 
 troop, except my heralds and trumpeters; and say that 
 I shall meet them ere long at Middleham." 
 
 " It is a strange way to raise an army," said the arch- 
 bishop, dryly, " to begin by getting rid of all the force 
 one possesses! " 
 
 "Brother," answered the earl, "I would fain show 
 my son-in-law, who may he the father of a line of 
 kings, that a general may be helpless at the head of 
 thousands, hut that a man may stand alone who has 
 the love of a nation." 
 
 " May Clarence profit by the lesson ! Where is he all 
 this while 1 " 
 
 " A-bed, " said the stout earl, with a slight accent of 
 disdain ; and then, in a softer voice, he added, — " youth 
 is ever luxurious. Better the slow man than the false 
 
 one." 
 
 Leaving Warwick to discharge the duty enjoined him, 
 we follow the dissimulating king.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 49 
 
 CHAPTEK VI. 
 
 What befalls King Edward on his Escape from Olney. 
 
 As soon as Edward was out of sight of the spire of 
 Olney, he slackened his speed, and beckoned Hastings 
 to his side. 
 
 " Dear Will, " said the king, " I have thought over 
 thy counsel, and will find the occasion to make experi- 
 ment thereof. But, methinks, thou wilt agree with 
 me, that concessions come best from a king who has 
 an army of his own. 'Fore Heaven ! in the camp of a 
 Warwick I have less power than a lieutenant ! Now 
 mark me. I go to head some recruits raised in haste 
 near Coventry. The scene of contest must be in the 
 northern counties. Wilt thou, for love of me, ride night 
 and day, thorough brake thorough brier, to Gloucester 
 on the borders? Bid him march, if the Scot will let 
 him, back to York; and if he cannot himself quit the 
 borders, let him send what men can be spared, under 
 thy banner. Failing this, raise through Yorkshire all 
 the men-at-arms thou canst collect. But, above all, see 
 Montagu. Him and his army secure at all hazards. If 
 he demur, tell him his son shall marry his king's 
 daughter, and wear the coronal of a duke. Ha! ha! a 
 large bait for so large a fish! I see this is no casual 
 outbreak, but a general convulsion of the realm; and 
 the Earl of Warwick must not be the only man to smile 
 or to frown back the angry elements ! " 
 
 VOL. II. 4
 
 50 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 "In this, beau sire" answered Hastings, "you speak 
 as a king and a warrior should ; and I will do my best to 
 assert your royal motto, ' Modus et ordo.' If I can but 
 promise that your Highness has for awhile dismissed the 
 Woodville lords, rely upon it, that ere two months I 
 will place under your truncheon an army worthy of the 
 liege lord of hardy England." 
 
 " Go, dear Hastings ; I trust all to thee ! " answered 
 the king. 
 
 The nobleman kissed his sovereign's extended hand, 
 closed his visor, and, motioning to his body squire to 
 follow him, disappeared down a green lane, avoiding 
 such broader thoroughfares as might bring him in con- 
 tact with the officers left at Olney. 
 
 In a small village near Coventry, Sir Anthony Wood- 
 ville had collected about two thousand men, chiefly 
 composed of the tenants and vassals of the new nobility, 
 who regarded the brilliant Anthony as their head. The 
 leaders were gallant and ambitious gentlemen, as they 
 who arrive at fortunes above their birth mostly are, — 
 but their vassals Avere little to be trusted. For in that 
 day clanship was still strong, and these followers had 
 been bred in allegiance to Lancastrian lords, whose con- 
 fiscated estates were granted to the Yorkist favorites. 
 The shout that welcomed the arrival of the king was 
 therefore feeble and lukewarm, — and, disconcerted by 
 so chilling a reception, he dismounted, in less elevated 
 spirits than those in which he had left Olney, at the 
 pavilion of his brother-in-law. 
 
 The mourning-dress of Anthony, his countenance sad- 
 dened by the barbarous execution of his father and 
 brother, did not tend to cheer the king. But Wood- 
 ville's account of the queen's grief and horror at the 
 afflictions of her house, and of Jacquetta's indignation
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 51 
 
 at the foul language which the report of her practices 
 put into the popular mouth, served to endear to the 
 king's mind the family that he considered unduly perse- 
 cuted. Even in the coldest breasts affection is fanned 
 by opposition, and the more the queen's kindred were 
 assailed, the more obstinately Edward clung to them. 
 By suiting his humor, by winking at his gallantries, by 
 a submissive sweetness of temper, which soothed his 
 own hasty moods, and contrasted with the rough pride 
 of Warwick and the peevish fickleness of Clarence, Eliza- 
 beth had completely wound herself into the king's 
 heart. And the charming graces, the elegant accom- 
 plishments of Anthony Woodville, were too harmonious 
 with the character of Edward, who in all — except 
 truth and honor — was the perfect model of the gay 
 gentilhomme of the time, not to have become almost 
 a necessary companionship. Indolent natures may be 
 easily ruled ; but they grow stubborn when their com- 
 forts and habits are interfered with. And the whole 
 current of Edward's merry, easy life, seemed to him to 
 lose flow and sparkle, if the faces he loved best were 
 banished, or even clouded. 
 
 He was yet conversing with Woodville, and yet assur- 
 ing him that, however he might temporize, he would 
 never abandon the interests of his queen's kindred, — 
 when a gentleman entered aghast, to report that the 
 Lords St. John and de Fulke, on hearing that Sir 
 Anthony Woodville was in command of the forces, had, 
 without even dismounting, left the camp, and carried 
 with them their retainers, amounting to more than half 
 of the little troop that rode from Olney. 
 
 " Let them go, " said Edward, frowning ; " a day shall 
 dawn upon their headless trunks ! " 
 
 " Oh, my king," said Anthony, now Earl of Rivers, —
 
 52 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 who, by far the least selfish of his house, was struck 
 with remorse at the penalty Edward paid for his love- 
 marriage, — " now that your Highness can relieve me of 
 my command, let me retire from the camp. I would 
 fain go a pilgrim to the shrine of Compostella, to pray 
 for my father's sins and my sovereign's weal." 
 
 " Let us first see what forces arrive from London, " 
 answered the king. " Richard ere long will be on the 
 march from the frontiers, and whatever Warwick's re- 
 solves, Montagu, whose heart I hold in my hand, will 
 bring his army to my side. Let us wait. " 
 
 But the next day brought no reinforcements, nor the 
 next; and the king retired betimes to his tent, in much 
 irritation and perplexity ; when at the dead of the night 
 he was startled from slumber by the tramp of horses, the 
 sound of horns, the challenge of the sentinels , — and, as 
 he sprang from his couch, and hurried on his armor in 
 alarm, the Earl of Warwick abruptly entered. The earl's 
 face was stern, but calm and sad; and Edward's brave 
 heart beat loud as he gazed on his formidable subject. 
 
 " King Edward, " said Warwick, slowly and mourn- 
 fully, " you have deceived me ! I promised to the 
 commons the banishment of the Woodvilles, and to a 
 Woodville you have flown." 
 
 " Your promise was given to rebels, with whom no 
 faith can be held ; and I passed from a den of mutiny 
 to the camp of a loyal soldier." 
 
 " We will not now waste words, king," answered War- 
 wick. " Please you to mount, and ride northward. 
 The Scotch have gained great advantages on the marches. 
 The Duke of Gloucester is driven backwards. All the 
 Lancastrians in the North have risen. Margaret of 
 Anjou is on the coast of Normandy, 1 ready to set sail at 
 the first decisive victory of her adherents." 
 
 1 At this time, Margaret was at Horfleur. — Will. Wtre.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BAROXS. 53 
 
 "I am with you," answered Edward; "and I rejoice 
 to think that at last I may meet a foe. Hitherto it 
 seems as if I had been chased by shadows. Now may I 
 hope to grasp the form and substance of danger and of 
 battle." 
 
 " A steed prepared for your grace awaits you." 
 
 " Whither ride we first. " 
 
 " To my castle of Warwick, hard by. At noon to- 
 morrow all will be ready for our northward march." 
 
 Edward, by this time, having armed himself, strode 
 from the tent into the open air. The scene was strik- 
 ing: the moon was extremely bright, and the sky 
 serene, but around the tent stood a troop of torch- 
 bearers, and the red glare shone luridly upon the steel 
 of the serried horsemen and the banners of the earl, in 
 which the grim white bear was wrought upon an ebon 
 ground, quartered with the dun bull, and crested in 
 gold with the eagle of the Monthermers. Far as the 
 king's eye could reach, he saw but the spears of War- 
 wick; while a confused hum in his own encampment 
 told that the troops Anthony Woodville had collected 
 were not yet marshalled into order, — Edward drew 
 back. 
 
 " And the Lord Anthony of Scales and Rivers, " said 
 he, hesitatingly. 
 
 " Choose, king, between the Lord Anthony of Scales 
 and Rivers, and Richard Neville! " answered Warwick, 
 in a stern whisper. 
 
 Edward paused, and at that moment Anthony him- 
 self emerged from his tent (which adjoined the king's) 
 in company with the Archbishop of York, who had rode 
 thither in Warwick's train. 
 
 " My liege, " said that gallant knight, putting his 
 knee to the ground, " I have heard from the arch-
 
 54 THE LAST OF THE BAltONS. 
 
 bishop the new perils that await your Highness, and I 
 grieve sorely that, in this strait, your councillors deem 
 it meet to forbid me the glory of lighting or falling by 
 your side ! I know too Avell the unhappy odium attached 
 to my house and name in the northern parts, to dispute 
 the policy which ordains my absence from your armies. 
 Till these feuds are over, I crave your royal leave to 
 quit England, and perform my pilgrimage to the sainted 
 shrine of Compostella. " 
 
 A burning flush passed ever the king's face, as he 
 raised his brother-in-law, and clasped him to his bosom. 
 
 " Go or stay, as you will, Anthony ! " said he, " but 
 let these proud men know that neither time nor absence 
 can tear you from your king's heart. But envy must 
 have its hour! Lord Warwick, I attend you; but, it 
 seems, rather as your prisoner than your liege." 
 
 Warwick made no answer; the king mounted, and 
 waved his hand to Anthony. The torches tossed to 
 and fro, the horns sounded, and in a silence, moody 
 and resentful on either part, Edward and his terrible 
 subject rode on to the towers of Warwick. 
 
 The next day, the king beheld, with astonishment, 
 the immense force that, in a time so brief, the earl had 
 collected round his standard. 
 
 From his casement, which commanded that lovely 
 slope on which so many a tourist now gazes with an 
 eye that seeks to call back the stormy and chivalric 
 past, Edward beheld the earl on his renowned black 
 charger, reviewing the thousands that, file on file, and 
 rank on rank, lifted pike and lance in the cloudless 
 sun. 
 
 "After all," muttered the king, "I can never make 
 a new noble a great baron! and if in peace a great 
 baron overshadows the throne, in time of war a great
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 55 
 
 baron is a throne's bulwark ! Graraercy, I had been 
 mad to cast away such an army, — an army fit for a king 
 to lead! They serve Warwick now; but Warwick is 
 less skilful in the martial art than I, — and soldiers, like 
 hounds, love best the most dexterous huntsman."
 
 56 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 How King Edward arrives at the Castle of Middleham. 
 
 On the ramparts of feudal Middleham, in the same 
 place where Anne had confessed to Isabel the romance 
 of her childish love, again the sisters stood, awaiting 
 the coming of their father and the king. They had 
 only, with their mother, reached Middleham two days 
 before, and the preceding night an advanced guard had 
 arrived at the castle to announce the approach of the 
 earl with his royal comrade and visitor. From the 
 heights, already they beheld the long array winding 
 in glorious order towards the mighty pile. 
 
 " Look ! " exclaimed Isabel, — " look ! already me- 
 thinks I see the white steed of Clarence. Yes ! it is 
 he! it is my George, — my husband! The banner borne 
 before shows his device." 
 
 "Ah! happy Isabel!" said Anne, sighing, — "what 
 rapture to await the coming of him one loves ! " 
 
 " My sweet Anne, " returned Isabel, passing her arm 
 tenderly round her sister's slender waist, " when thou 
 hast conquered the vain folly of thy childhood, thou 
 wilt find a Clarence of thine own. And yet," added 
 the young duchess, smiling, " it must be the opposite 
 of a Clarence, to be to thy heart what a Clarence is to 
 mine. I love George's gay humor, — thou lovest a 
 melancholy brow. I love that charming weakness 
 which supples to my woman will, — thou lovest a proud 
 nature that may command thine own. I do not respect 
 George less, because I know my mind stronger than
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 57 
 
 his own ; but thou (like my gentle mother) wouldst 
 have thy mate, lord and chief in all things, and live 
 from his life as the shadow from the sun. But where 
 left you our mother 1 " 
 
 " In the oratory, at prayer ! " 
 
 " She has been sad of late. " 
 
 "The dark times darken her; and she ever fears 
 the king's falseness or caprice will stir the earl up to 
 some rash emprise. My father's letter, brought last 
 night to her, contains something that made her couch 
 sleepless. " 
 
 " Ha ! " exclaimed the duchess, eagerly ; " my mother 
 confides in thee more than me. Saw you the letter ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Edward will make himself unfit to reign, " said 
 Isabel, abruptly. " The barons will call on him to 
 resign ; and then — and then, Anne — sister Anne — • 
 Warwick's daughters cannot be born to be simple 
 subjects ! " 
 
 " Isabel, God temper your ambition ! Oh ! curb 
 it! — crush it down! Abuse' not your influence with 
 Clarence. Let not the brother aspire to the brother's 
 crown." 
 
 " Sister, a king's diadem covers all the sins schemed in 
 the head that wins it ! " 
 
 As the duchess spoke, her eyes flashed and her form 
 dilated. Her beauty seemed almost terrible. 
 
 The gentle Anne gazed and shuddered ; but ere she 
 found words to rebuke, the lovely shape of the countess- 
 mother was seen moving slowly towards them. She 
 was dressed in her robes of state to receive her kingly 
 guest: the vest fitting high to the throat, where it 
 joined the ermine tippet, and thickly sown with jewels; 
 the sleeves tight, with the second or over sleeves, that,
 
 58 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 loose and large, hung pendent and sweeping even to 
 the ground ; and the gown, velvet of crarnousin, trimmed 
 with ermine, — made a costume not less graceful than 
 magnificent, and which, where compressed, set off 
 the exquisite symmetry of a form still youthful, and 
 where flowing, added majesty to a beauty naturally 
 rather soft and feminine than proud and stately. As 
 she approached her children, she looked rather like 
 their sister than their mother, as if Time, at least, 
 shrank from visiting harshly one for whom such sorrows 
 were reserved! 
 
 The face of the countess was so sad in its aspect 
 of calm and sweet resignation, that even the proud 
 Isabel was touched; and kissing her mother's hand, 
 she asked, " If any ill tidings preceded her father's 
 coming 1 " 
 
 " Alas, my Isabel, the times themselves are bad 
 tidings! Your youth scarcely remembers the days when 
 brother fought against brother, and the son's sword rose 
 against the father's breast. But I, recalling them, 
 tremble to hear the faintest murmur that threatens a 
 civil war." She paused, and forcing a smile to her lips, 
 added, " Our woman fears must not, however, sadden 
 our lords with an unwelcome countenance ; for men, 
 returning to their hearths, have a right to a wife's smile: 
 and so, Isabel, thou and I, wives both, must forget the 
 morrow in to-day. Hark! the trumpets sound near and 
 nearer, — let us to the hall." 
 
 Before, however, they had reached the castle, a shrill 
 blast rang at the outer gate. The portcullis was raised ; 
 the young Duke of Clarence, with a bridegroom's impa- 
 tience, spurred alone through the gloomy arch, and 
 Isabel, catching sight of his countenance, lifted towards 
 the ramparts, uttered a cry and waved her hand. Clar-
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 59 
 
 ence heard and saw, leaped from his steed, and had 
 clasped Isabel to his breast, almost before Anne or the 
 countess had recognized the new-comer. 
 
 Isabel, however, always stately, recovered in an instant 
 from the joy she felt at her lord's return, and gently 
 escaping his embrace, she glanced with a blush towards 
 the battlements crowded with retainers ; Clarence caught 
 and interpreted the look. 
 
 "Well, belle mere," he said, turning to the countess, 
 — " and if yon faithful followers do witness with what 
 glee a fair bride inspires a returning bridegroom, — is 
 there cause for shame in this cheek of damascene ? " 
 
 " Is the king still with my father 1 " asked Isabel, 
 hastily, and interrupting the countess's reply. 
 
 " Surely, yes ; and hard at hand. And pardon me 
 that I forgot, dear lady, to say that my royal brother 
 has announced his intention of addressing the prin- 
 cipal officers of the army in Middleham Hall. This 
 news gave me fair excuse for hastening to you and 
 Isabel. " 
 
 " All is prepared for his Highness," said the countess, 
 " save our own homage. We must quicken our steps, — 
 come, Anne." 
 
 The countess took the arm of the younger sister, while 
 the duchess made a sign to Clarence ; he lingered behind, 
 and Isabel, drawing him aside, asked, — 
 
 " Is my father reconciled to Edward 1 " 
 
 "No; nor Edward to him." 
 
 " Good ! The king has no soldiers of his own amidst 
 yon armed train 1 " 
 
 " Save a few of Anthony Woodville's recruits, — none. 
 Kaoul de Fulke and St. John have retired to their towers 
 in sullen dudgeon. But have you no softer questions for 
 my return, bella mia ? "
 
 60 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 " Pardon me, — many, my king." 
 
 " King ! " 
 
 " What other name should the successor of Edward IV. 
 bear ? " 
 
 " Isabel, " said Clarence, in great emotion, " what is it 
 you would tempt me to? Edward IV. spares the life of 
 Henry VI., and shall Edward IV. 's brother conspire 
 against his own ? " 
 
 "Saints forefend! " exclaimed Isabel, — "can you so 
 wrong my honest meaning ? Oh, George ! can you con- 
 ceive that your wife — Warwick's daughter — harbors 
 the thought of murder? No! Surely the career before 
 you seems plain and spotless ! Can Edward reign \ 
 Deserted by the barons, and wearing away even my 
 father's long-credulous love; odious, except in luxurious 
 and unwarlike London, to all the commons, — how reign? 
 What other choice left ? none, — save Henry of Lancas- 
 ter or George of York. " 
 
 " Were it so, " said the weak duke ; and yet he added, 
 falteringly, — " believe me, Warwick meditates no such 
 changes in my favor. " 
 
 " Time is a rapid ripener, " answered Isabel, — " but 
 hark, they are lowering the drawbridge for our guests."
 
 THE LAST OF THE B AEONS. 61 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The Ancients rightly gave to the Goddess of Eloquence, — a 
 
 Crown. 
 
 The lady of Warwick stood at the threshold of the 
 porch, which, in the inner side of the broad quadrangle, 
 admitted to the apartments used by the family ; and, 
 heading the mighty train that, line after line, emerged 
 through the grim jaws of the arch, came the earl on his 
 black destrier, and the young king. 
 
 Even where she stood, the anxious Chatelaine beheld 
 the moody and gloomy air with which Edward glanced 
 around the strong walls of the fortress, and up to the 
 battlements that bristled with the pikes and sallets of 
 armed men, who looked on the pomp below, in the 
 silence of military discipline. 
 
 " Oh, Anne ! " she whispered to her youngest daughter, 
 who stood beside her, — "what are women worth in 
 the strife of men ? Would that our smiles could heal 
 the wounds which a taunt can make in a proud man's 
 heart ! " 
 
 Anne, affected and interested by her mother's words, 
 and with a secret curiosity to gaze upon the man who 
 ruled on the throne of the prince she loved, came nearer 
 and more in front, and suddenly, as he turned his head, 
 the king's regard rested upon her intent eyes and 
 blooming face. 
 
 "Who is that fair donzell, cousin of Warwick 1 " he 
 asked. 
 
 "My daughter, sire."
 
 62 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 " Ah ! your youngest ! — I have not seen her since 
 she was a child." 
 
 Edward reined in his charger, and the earl threw 
 himself from his selle, and held the king's stirrup to 
 dismount. But he did so with a haughty and unsmiling 
 visage. " I would he the first, sire," said he, with a 
 slight emphasis, and, as if excusing to himself his 
 condescension, — " to welcome to Middleham the son 
 of Duke Richard." 
 
 "And your suzerain, my lord earl," added Edward, 
 with no less proud a meaning, and, leaning his hand 
 lightly on Warwick's shoulder, he dismounted slowly. 
 "Rise lady," he said, raising the countess, who knelt 
 at the porch, — " and you too. fair demoiselle. Pardieu, 
 we envy the knee that hath knelt to you." So saying, 
 with royal graciousness, he took the countess's hand, 
 and they entered the hall as the musicians, in the 
 gallery raised ahove, rolled forth their stormy welcome. 
 
 The archbishop, who had followed close to Warwick 
 and the king, whispered now to his brother, — 
 
 " Why would Edward address the captains? " 
 
 " I know not. " 
 
 " He hath made himself familiar with many in the 
 march." 
 
 " Familiarity with a steel casque better becomes a 
 king than waisall with a greasy flat-cap." 
 
 " You do not fear lest he seduce from the White Bear 
 its retainers 1 " 
 
 "As well fear that he can call the stars from their 
 courses around the sun." 
 
 While these words were interchanged, the countess 
 conducted the king to a throne-chair, raised upon the 
 dais, by the side of which were placed two seats of state, 
 and, from the dais, at the same time, advanced the Duke
 
 THE LAST OF THE BAEONS. 63 
 
 and Duchess of Clarence. The king prevented their 
 kneeling, and kissed Isabel slightly and gravely on the 
 forehead. " Thus, noble lady, I greet the entrance of 
 the Duchess of Clarence into the royalty of England." 
 
 Without pausing for reply, he passed on and seated 
 himself on the throne, while Isabel and her husband 
 took possession of the state chairs on either hand. At 
 a gesture of the king's, the countess and Anne placed 
 themselves on seats less raised, but still upon the dais. 
 But now, as Edward sat, the hall grew gradually full 
 of lords and knights, who commanded in Warwick's 
 train, while the earl and the archbishop stood mute in 
 the centre, the one armed cap-a-pie, leaning on his 
 sword, the other with his arms folded in his long 
 robes. 
 
 The king's eye, clear, steady, and majestic, roved 
 round that martial audience, worthy to be a monarch's 
 war-council, and not one of whom marched under a 
 monarch's banner! Their silence, their discipline, the 
 splendor of their arms, the greater splendor of their 
 noble names, contrasted painfully with the little muti- 
 nous camp of Olney, and the surly, untried recruits of 
 Anthony Woodville. But Edward, whose step, whose 
 form, whose aspect, proclaimed the man conscious of his 
 rights to be lord of all, betrayed not to those around 
 him the kingly pride, the lofty grief that swelled within 
 his heart. Still seated, he raised his left hand to com- 
 mand silence ,• with the right he replaced his plumed 
 cap upon his brow. 
 
 "Lords and gentlemen," he said (arrogating to him- 
 self at once, as a thing of course, that gorgeous following), 
 " we have craved leave of our host to address to you some 
 words, — words which it pleases a king to utter, and 
 which may not be harsh to the ears of a loyal subject.
 
 64 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 Nor will we, at this great current of unsteady fortune, 
 make excuse, noble ladies, to you, that we speak of war 
 to knighthood, which is ever the sworn defender of the 
 daughter and the wife : — the daughters and the wife of 
 our cousin Warwick have too much of hero-blood in 
 their blue veins to grow pale at the sight of heroes. 
 Comrades in arms! thus far towards our foe upon the 
 frontiers we have marched, without a sword drawn or 
 an arrow launched from an archer's bow. We believe 
 that a blessing settles on the head of a true king, and 
 that the trumpet of a good angel goes before his path, 
 announcing the victory which awaits him. Here, in 
 the hall of the Earl of Warwick, our captain-general, 
 we thank you for your cheerful countenance, and your 
 loyal service; and here, as befits a king, we promise to 
 you those honors a king alone worthily can bestow. " He 
 paused, and his keen eye glanced from chief to chief as 
 he resumed: " We are informed that certain misguided 
 and traitor lords have joined the Rose of Lancaster. 
 Whoever so doth is attainted, life and line, evermore! 
 His lands and dignities are forfeit to enrich and to 
 ennoble the men who strike for me. Heaven grant I 
 may have foes eno' to reward all my friends ! To every 
 baron who owns Edward IV. king (ay, and not king 
 in name, — king in banquet and in bower, — but leader 
 and captain in the war), I trust to give a new barony; 
 to every knight a new knight's fee; to every yeoman 
 a hyde of land ; to every soldier a year's pay. What 
 more I can do, let it be free for any one to suggest, — 
 for my domains of York are broad, and my heart is 
 larger still ! " 
 
 A murmur of applause and reverence went round. 
 Vowed, as those warriors were, to the earl, they felt 
 that a monarch was amongst them.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 65 
 
 " What say you, then 1 We are ripe for glory. Three 
 days will we halt at Middleham, guest to our noble 
 subject." 
 
 "Three days, sire!" repeated Warwick, in a voice 
 of surprise. 
 
 "Yes; and this, fair cousin, and ye, lords and 
 gentlemen, is my reason for the delay. I have de- 
 spatched Sir William, Lord de Hastings, to the Duke 
 of Gloucester, with command to join us here " (the 
 archbishop started, but instantly resumed his earnest, 
 placid aspect), — " to the Lord Montagu, Earl of North- 
 umberland, to muster all the vassals of our shire of 
 York. As three streams that dash into the ocean, shall 
 our triple army meet and rush to the war. Not even, 
 gentlemen, not even to the great Earl of Warwick will 
 Edward IV. be so beholden for roiaulme and renown, 
 as to march but a companion to the conquest. If ye 
 were raised in Warwick's name, not mine, — why, be it 
 so ! I envy him such friends; but I will have an army 
 of mine own, to show mine English soldiery how a 
 Plantagenet battles for his crown. Gentlemen, ye are 
 dismissed to your repose. In three days we march ! 
 and if any of you know in these fair realms the man, 
 be he of York or Lancaster, more fit to command brave 
 subjects than he who now addresses you, I say to that 
 man, — turn rein, and leave us! Let tyrants and cow- 
 ards enforce reluctant service, — any crown was won 
 by the hearts of my people ! Girded by those hearts, 
 let me reign, — or, mourned by them, let me fall! So 
 God and St. George favor me as I speak the truth ! " 
 
 And as the king ceased, he uncovered his head, and 
 kissed the cross of his sword. A thrill went through 
 the audience. Many were there, disaffected to his 
 person, and whom Warwick's influence alone could 
 
 VOL. II. — 5
 
 6Q THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 have roused to arms; but, at the close of an address, 
 spirited and royal in itself, and borrowing thousand- 
 fold effect by the voice and mien of the speaker, no 
 feeling but that of enthusiastic loyalty, of almost tearful 
 admiration, was left in those steel-clad breasts. 
 
 As the king lifted on high the cross of his sword, 
 every blade leaped from its scabbard, and glittered in 
 the air; and the dusty banners in the hall waved, as to 
 a mighty blast, when, amidst the rattle of armor, burst 
 forth the universal cry, " Long live Edward IV. ! Long 
 live the king ! " 
 
 The sweet countess, even amidst the excitement, kept 
 her eyes anxiously fixed on Warwick, whose counte- 
 nance, however, shaded by the black plumes of his 
 casque, though the visor was raised, revealed nothing 
 of his mind. Her daughters were more powerfully 
 affected; for Isabel's intellect was not so blinded by 
 her ambition , but that the kingliness of Edward forced 
 itself upon her with a might and solemn weight, which 
 crushed, for the moment, her aspiring hopes. — Was 
 this the man unfit to reign 1 This the man voluntarily 
 to resign a crown 1 This the man whom George of 
 Clarence, without fratricide, could succeed? No! — 
 there spoke the soul of the First and the Third 
 Edward! There shook the mane, and there glowed 
 the eye, of the indomitable lion of the august Plan- 
 tagenets! And the same conviction, rousing softer and 
 holier sorrow, sat on the heart of Anne: she saw, as for 
 the first time, clearly before her, the awful foe with 
 whom her ill-omened and beloved prince had to struggle 
 for his throne. In contrast beside that form, in the 
 prime of manly youth, — a giant in its strength, a god 
 in its beauty, — rose the. delicate shape of the melan- 
 choly boy who, .afar in exile, coupled in his dreams the
 
 THE LAST OF THE BAKONS. 67 
 
 sceptre and the bride ! By one of those mysteries which 
 magnetism seeks to explain, in the strong intensity of 
 her emotions, in the tremor of her shaken nerves, fear 
 seemed to grow prophetic. A stream as of blood rose 
 up from the dizzy floors. The image of her young 
 prince, bound and friendless, stood before the throne 
 of that warrior-king. In the waving glitter of the 
 countless swords raised on high, she saw the murderous 
 blade against the boy-heir of Lancaster descend — 
 descend! Her passion, her terror, at the spectre which 
 fancy thus evoked, seized and overcame her; and ere 
 the last hurrah sent its hollow echo to the raftered 
 roof, she sank from her chair to the ground, hueless 
 and insensible as the dead. 
 
 The king had not without design permitted the 
 unwonted presence of the women in this warlike 
 audience. Partly because he was not unaware of the 
 ambitious spirit of Isabel, partly because he counted 
 on the affection shown to his boyhood by the countess, 
 who was said to have singular influence over her lord, 
 but principally because in such a presence he trusted to 
 avoid all discussion and all questioning, and to leave 
 the effect of his eloquence, in which he excelled all his 
 contemporaries, Gloucester alone excepted, single and 
 unimpaired; and, therefore, as he rose, and returned 
 with a majestic bend the acclamation of the warriors, 
 his eye now turned towards the chairs where the ladies 
 sat, and he was the first to perceive the swoon of the 
 fair Anne. 
 
 With the tender grace that always characterized his 
 service to women, he descended promptly from his 
 throne, and raised the lifeless form in his stalwart 
 arms; and Anne, as he bent over her, looked so 
 strangely lovely, in her marble stillness, that even in
 
 68 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 that hour a sudden thrill shot through a heart always 
 susceptible to beauty, as the harp-string to the breeze. 
 
 "It is but the heat, lady," said he to the alarmed 
 countess; " and let me hope that interest which my fair 
 kinswoman may take in the fortunes of Warwick and of 
 York, hitherto linked together — " 
 
 "May they ever be so!" said Warwick, who, on 
 seeing his daughter's state, had advanced hastily to the 
 dais; and, moved by the king's words, his late speech, 
 the evils that surrounded his throne, the gentleness 
 shown to the beloved Anne, forgetting resentment and 
 ceremony alike, he held out his mailed hand. The 
 king, as he resigned Anne to her mother's arms, grasped 
 with soldierly frankness, and with the ready wit of the 
 cold intellect which reigned beneath the warm manner, 
 the hand thus extended, and holding still that iron 
 gauntlet in his own ungloved and jewelled fingers, he 
 advanced to the verge of the dais, to which, in the 
 confusion occasioned by Anne's swoon, the principal 
 officers had crowded, and cried aloud, — 
 
 "Behold! Warwick and Edward thus hand in hand, 
 as they stood when the clarions sounded the charge at 
 Touton! and that link, what swords, forged on a mortal's 
 anvil, can rend or sever? " 
 
 In an instant every knee there knelt; and Edward 
 exultingly beheld that what before had been allegiance 
 to the earl was now only homage to the king !
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 69 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Wedded Confidence and Love — the Earl and the Prelate — the 
 Prelate and the King — Schemes — Wiles — and the Birth of a 
 dark Thought destined to eclipse a Sun. 
 
 While, preparatory to the banquet, Edward, as was 
 then the daily classic custom, relaxed his fatigues, 
 mental or bodily, in the hospitable bath, the archbishop 
 sought the closet of the earl. 
 
 " Brother," said he, throwing himself with some 
 petulance into the only chair the room, otherwise 
 splendid, contained, " when you left me, to seek 
 Edward in the camp of Anthony Woodville, what 
 was the understanding between us 1 " 
 
 " I know of none," answered the earl, who, having 
 doffed his armor, and dismissed his squires, leaned 
 thoughtfully against the wall, dressed for the banquet, 
 with the exception of the short surcoat, which lay 
 glittering on the taboret. 
 
 "You know of none? Reflect! Have you brought 
 hither Edward as a guest or as a prisoner 1 " 
 
 The earl knit his brows, — "A prisoner, archbishop! " 
 
 The prelate regarded him with a cold smile. 
 
 " Warwick, you who would deceive no other man, now 
 seek to deceive yourself." The earl drew back, and his 
 hardy countenance grew a shade paler. The prelate 
 resumed, " You have carried Edward from his camp, 
 and severed him from his troops; you have placed him 
 in the midst of your own followers, you have led him 
 chafing and resentful all the way, to this impregnable 
 keep; and you now pause, amazed by the grandeur of
 
 70 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 i 
 your captive : a man who leads to his home a tiger, — a 
 
 spider who has entangled a hornet in its web — " 
 
 "Nay, reverend brother," said the earl, calmly, "ye 
 churchmen never know what passes in the hearts of 
 those who feel and do not scheme. When I learned 
 that the king had fled to the Woodvilles, — that he was 
 bent upon violating the pledge given in las name to the 
 insurgent commons, — I vowed that he should redeem 
 my honor and his own, or that forever I would quit his 
 service. And here, within these walls which sheltered 
 his childhood, I trusted, and trust still, to make one 
 last appeal to his better reason." 
 
 '' For all that, men now, and history hereafter, will 
 consider Edward as your captive." 
 
 ' To living men, my words and deeds can clear them- 
 selves; and as for history, let clerks and scholars fool 
 themselves in the lies of parchment! He who has acted 
 history, despises the gownsmen who sit in cloistered 
 ease, and write about what they know not." The earl 
 paused, and then continued, " I confess, however, that 
 I have had a scheme. I have wished to convince the 
 king how little his mushroom lords can bestead him in 
 the storm; and that lie holds his crown only from his 
 barons and his people. " 
 
 " That is, from the Lord Warwick! " 
 
 " Perhaps I am the personation of both seignorie and 
 people; but I design this solely for his welfare. Ah, 
 the gallant prince, — how well he bore himself to-day ! " 
 
 " Ay, when stealing all hearts from thee to him." 
 
 ' And, Vice Dieu, I never loved him so well as when 
 he did! Methinks it was for a day like this that I 
 reared his youth and achieved his crown. Oh, priest, 
 priest, thou mistakest me. I am rash, hot, haughty, 
 hasty ; and I love not to bow my knees to a man because
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 71 
 
 they call him king, if his life be vicious, and his word 
 be false. But, could Edward be ever as to-day, then 
 indeed should I hail a sovereign whom a baron may 
 reverence and a soldier serve!" 
 
 Before the archbishop could reply, the door gently 
 opened, and the countess appeared. Warwick seemed 
 glad of the interruption; he turned quickly, — "And 
 how fares my child 1 " 
 
 " Recovered from her strange swoon, and ready to 
 smile at thy return. Oh, Warwick, thou art reconciled 
 to the king!" 
 
 " That glads thee, sister? " said the archbishop. 
 
 " Surely. Is it not for my lord's honor 1 " 
 
 " May he find it so! " said the prelate, and he left the 
 room. 
 
 " My priest-brother is chafed," said the earl, smiling. 
 "Pity, he was not born a trader, he would have made a 
 shrewd hard bargain. — Verily, our priests burn the 
 Jews out of envy! Ah, rri'ami, how fair thou art 
 to-day! Methinks even Isabel's cheek less blooming." 
 And the warrior drew the lady towards him and smoothed 
 her hair, and tenderly kissed her brow. " My letter 
 vexed thee, I know, for thou lovest Edward, and blamest 
 me not for my love to him. It is true that he hath 
 paltered with me, and that I had stern resolves, not 
 against his crown, but to leave him to his fate, and in 
 these halls to resign my charge. But while he spoke, 
 and while he looked, methought I saw his mother's 
 face, and heard his dear father's tones, and the past 
 rushed over me, and all wrath was gone. Sonless 
 myself, why would lie not be my son 1 " The earl's 
 voice trembled, and the tears stood in his dark eyes. 
 
 " Speak thus, dear lord, to Isabel, for I fear her 
 over-vaulting spirit — "
 
 72 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 "Ah, had Isabel been his wife!" he paused and 
 moved away. Then, as if impatient to escape the 
 thoughts that tended to an ungracious recollection, he 
 added, — "and now, sweetheart, these slight fingers 
 have ofttimes buckled on my mail, let them place on 
 my breast this badge of St. George's chivalry; and, if 
 angry thoughts return, it shall remind me that the day 
 on which I wore it first, Richard of York said to his 
 young Edward, ' Look to that star, boy, if ever, in cloud 
 and trouble, thou wouldst learn what safety dwells in 
 the heart which never knew deceit.' " 
 
 During the banquet, the king, at whose table sat only 
 the Duke of Clarence and the earl's family, was gracious 
 as day to all, but especially to the Lady Anne, attribut- 
 ing her sudden illness to some cause not unflattering to 
 himself; her beauty, which somewhat resembled that of 
 the queen, save that it had more advantage of expres- 
 sion and of youth, was precisely of the character he 
 most admired. Even her timidity, and the reserve with 
 which she answered him, had their charms; for, like 
 many men, themselves of imperious nature and fiery 
 will, he preferred even imbecility in a woman to what- 
 ever was energetic or determined ; and hence perhaps 
 his indifference to the more dazzling beauty of Isabel. 
 After the feast, the numerous demoiselles, high-born 
 and fair, who swelled the more than regal train of the 
 countess, were assembled in the long gallery, which was 
 placed in the third story of the castle, and served for 
 the principal state apartment. The dance began; but 
 Isabel excused herself from the pavon, and the king led 
 out the reluctant and melancholy Anne. 
 
 The proud Isabel, who had never forgiven Edward's 
 slight to herself, resented deeply his evident admiration 
 of her sister, and conversed apart with the archbishop,
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 73 
 
 whose subtle craft easily drew from her lips confessions 
 of an ambition higher even than his own. He neither 
 encouraged nor dissuaded ; he thought there were things 
 more impossible than the accession of Clarence to the 
 throne, but he was one who never plotted, — save for 
 himself and for the church. 
 
 As the revel waned, the prelate approached the earl, 
 who, with that remarkable courtesy which charmed 
 those below his rank, and contrasted with his haughti- 
 ness to his peers, had well played amongst his knights 
 the part of host, and said, in a whisper, " Edward is in 
 a happy mood, — let us lose it not. Will you trust me 
 to settle all differences, ere he sleep? Two proud men 
 never can agree without a third of a gentler temper." 
 
 "You are right," said Warwick, smiling; "yet the 
 danger is, that I should rather concede too much, than 
 be too stubborn. But look you; all I demand is, sat- 
 isfaction to mine own honor, and faith to the army I 
 disbanded in the king's name." 
 
 " All! " muttered the archbishop, as he turned away, 
 "but that all is everything to provoke quarrel for you, 
 and nothing to bring power to vie! " 
 
 The earl and the archbishop attended the king to his 
 chamber, and after Edward was served with the parting 
 refection, or livery, the earl said, with his most open 
 smile, "Sire, there are yet affairs between us; whom 
 will you confer with, — me or the archbishop?" 
 
 "Oh! the archbishop, by all means, fair cousin," 
 cried Edward, no less frankly; "for if you and I are 
 left alone, the Saints help both of us! — when flint and 
 steel meet, fire flies, and the house may burn." 
 
 The earl half smiled at the candor — half sighed at 
 the levity — of the royal answer, and silently left the 
 room. The king, drawing round him his loose dressing-
 
 74 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 robe, threw himself upon the gorgeous coverlid of the 
 bed, and lying at lazy length, motioned to the prelate 
 to seat himself at the foot. The archbishop obeyed. 
 Edward raised himself on his elbow, and, by the light 
 of seven gigantic tapers, set in sconces of massive silver, 
 the priest and the king gravely gazed on each other, 
 without speaking. 
 
 At last Edward, bursting into his hale, clear, silvery 
 laugh, said, " Confess, dear sir and cousin, — confess 
 that we are like two skilful masters of Italian fence, 
 each fearing to lay himself open by commencing the 
 attack. " 
 
 " Certes," quoth the archbishop, "your Grace over- 
 estimates my vanity, in opining that I deemed myself 
 equal to so grand a duello. If there were dispute 
 between us, I should only win by baring my bosom." 
 
 The king's bow-like lip curved with a slight sneer, 
 quickly replaced by a serious and earnest expression, — 
 " Let us leave word-making, and to the point, George. 
 Warwick is displeased because I will not abandon my 
 wife's kindred; you, with more reason, because I have 
 taken from your hands the chancellor's great seal — " 
 
 " For myself, I humbly answer that your Grace 
 errs. I never coveted other honors than those of the 
 church. " 
 
 " Ay," said Edward, keenly examining the young 
 prelate's smooth face, " is it sol Yes, now I begin to 
 comprehend thee. What offence have I given to the 
 church 1 Have I suffered the law too much to sleep 
 against the Lollards'? If so, blame Warwick." 
 
 "On the contrary, sire, unlike other priests, I have 
 ever deemed that persecution heals no schism. Blow 
 not dying embers. Rather do I think of late that too 
 much severity hath helped to aid, by Lollard bows and
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 75 
 
 pikes, the late rising. My lady the queen's mother, 
 unjustly accused of witchcraft, hath sought to clear 
 herself, and perhaps too zealously in exciting your grace 
 against that invisible giant, — ycleped heresy." 
 
 "Pass on," said Edward. "It is not, then, indiffer- 
 ence to the ecclesia that you complain of. Is it neglect 
 of the ecclesiastic? Ha! ha! you and I, though young, 
 know the colors that make itp the patchwork world. 
 Archbishop, I love an easy life ; if your brother and 
 his friends will but give me that, let them take all else. 
 Again I say, to the point, — I cannot banish my lady's 
 kindred, but 1 will bind your house still more to mine. 
 I have a daughter, failing male issue, the heiress to my 
 crown. I will betroth her to your nephew, my beloved 
 Montagu's son. They are children yet, but their ages 
 not unsuited. And when I return to London, 3 r oung 
 Nevile shall be Duke of Bedford, a title hitherto re- 
 served to the royal race. 1 Let that be a pledge of peace 
 between the queen's mother, bearing the same honors, 
 and the house of Nevile, to which they pass." 
 
 The cheek of the archbishop flushed with proud 
 pleasure; he bowed his head, and Edward, ere he 
 could answer, went on, " Warwick is already so high 
 that, pardie, I have no other step to give him save 
 my throne itself, and, God's truth, I would rather be 
 Lord Warwick than King of England! But for you, 
 
 — listen: our only English cardinal is old and sickly, 
 
 — whenever he pass to Abraham's bosom, who but you 
 should have the suffrage of the holy college 1 Thou 
 knowest that I am somewhat in the good favor of the 
 
 o^ 
 
 1 And indeed there was but one Yorkist duke then in England 
 out of the royal family, — namely, the young boy Buckingham, who 
 afterwards vainly sought to bend the Ulysses bow of Warwick 
 against Richard III.
 
 76 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 sovereign pontiff. Command me to the utmost. Now, 
 George, are we friends?" 
 
 The archbishop kissed the gracious hand extended to 
 him, and, surprised to find, as by magic, all his schemes 
 frustrated by sudden acquiescence in the objects of them 
 all, his voice faltered with real emotion as he gave vent 
 to his gratitude. But abruptly he checked himself, his 
 brow lowered, and with a bitter remembrance of his 
 brother's plain, blunt sense of honor, he said, " Yet, 
 alas, my liege, in all this there is nought to satisfy our 
 stubborn host." 
 
 "By dear Saint George and my father's head!" 
 exclaimed Edward, reddening, and starting to his feet, 
 " what would the man have 1 " 
 
 "You know," answered the archbishop, "that War- 
 wick's pride is only roused when he deems his honor 
 harmed. Unhappily, as he thinks by your Grace's full 
 consent, he pledged himself to the insurgents of Olney 
 to the honorable dismissal of the lords of the Woodville 
 race. And unless this be conceded, I fear me that all 
 else he will reject, and the love between ye can be but 
 hollow!" 
 
 Edward took but three strides across the chamber, 
 and then halted opposite the archbishop, and laid both 
 hands on his shoulders, as, looking him full in the face, 
 he said, " Answer me frankly, am I a prisoner in these 
 towers, or not? " 
 
 "Not, sire." 
 
 " You palter with me, priest. I have been led hither 
 against my will. I am almost without an armed retinue. 
 1 am at the earl's mercy. This chamber might be my 
 grave, and this couch my bed of death." 
 
 "Holy mother! Can you think so of Warwick? 
 Sire, you freeze my blood."
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 77 
 
 " Well, then, if I refuse to satisfy Warwick's pride, 
 and disdain to give up loyal servants to rebel insolence, 
 what will Warwick do? Speak out, archbishop." 
 
 " I fear me, sire, that he will resign all office, whether 
 of peace or war. I fear me that the goodly army now at 
 sleep within and around these walls will vanish into 
 air, and that your Highness will stand alone amidst 
 new men, and against the disaffection of the whole 
 land ! " 
 
 Edward's firm hand trembled. The prelate con- 
 tinued, with a dry, caustic smile, — 
 
 " Sire, Sir Anthony Woodville, now Lord Rivers, 
 has relieved you of all embarrassment; no doubt, my 
 Lord Dorset and his kinsmen will be chevaliers enough 
 to do the same. The Duchess of Bedford will but suit 
 the decorous usage to retire awhile into privacy, to 
 mourn her widowhood. And when a year is told, if 
 these noble persons reappear at court, your word and 
 the earl's will at least have been kept." 
 
 "I understand thee," said the king, half laughing; 
 " but I have my pride as well as Warwick. To concede 
 this point is to humble the conceder. " 
 
 " I have thought how to soothe all things, and without 
 humbling either party. Your Grace's mother is dearly 
 beloved by Warwick, and revered by all. Since your 
 marriage she hath lived secluded from all state affairs. 
 As so nearly akin to Warwick, — so deeply interested 
 in your Grace, — she is a fitting mediator in all dis- 
 putes. Be they left to her to arbitrate." 
 
 "Ah! cunning prelate, thou knowest how my proud 
 mother hates the Woodvilles, — thou knowest how her 
 judgment will decide." 
 
 " Perhaps so ; but at least your grace will be spared 
 all pain and all abasement."
 
 78 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 " Will Warwick consent to this 1 " 
 
 "I trust so." 
 
 " Learn, and report to me. Enough for to-night's 
 conference." 
 
 Edward was left alone, and his mind ran rapidly over 
 the field of action open to him. 
 
 " I have half won the earl's army," he thought; " but 
 it would be to lose all hold in their hearts again, if they 
 knew that these unhappy Woodvilles were the cause of 
 a second breach between us. Certes, the Lancastrians 
 are making strong head! Certes, the times must be 
 played with and appeased! And yet these poor gentle- 
 men love me after my own fashion, and not with the 
 bear's hug of that intolerable earl. How came the grim 
 man by so fair a daughter 1 Sweet Anne ! I caught her 
 eye often fixed on me, and with a soft fear which my 
 heart beat loud to read aright. Verily, this is the 
 fourth week I have passed without hearing a woman's 
 sigh ! What marvel that so fair a face enamours me ! 
 Would that Warwick made her his ambassador; and 
 yet it were all over with the Woodvilles if he did! 
 These men know not how to manage me, and well-a- 
 day, that task is easy eno' to women! " 
 
 He laughed gayly to himself as he thus concluded 
 his soliloquy, and extinguished the tapers. But rest 
 did not come to his pillow ; and after tossing to and fro 
 for some time in vain search for sleep, he rose and 
 opened his casement to cool the air which the tapers 
 had overheated. In a single casement, in a broad turret 
 projecting from an angle in the building, below the 
 tower in which his chamber was placed, the king saw 
 a solitary light burning steadily. A sight so unusual 
 at such an hour surprised him. " Peradventure the 
 wily prelate," thought he: "cunning never sleeps."
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 79 
 
 But a second look showed him the very form that 
 chased his slumbers. Beside the casement, which was 
 partially open, he saw the soft profile of the Lady Anne: 
 it was bent downwards; and what with the clear moon- 
 light, and the lamp within her chamber, he could see 
 distinctly that she was weeping. "Ah! Anne," mut- 
 tered the amorous king, " would that I were by to kiss 
 away those tears!" While yet the unholy wish mur- 
 mured on his lips, the lady rose. The fair hand, that 
 seemed almost transparent in the moonlight, closed the 
 casement; and though the light lingered for some min- 
 utes ere it left the dark walls of the castle without other 
 sign of life than the step of the sentry, Anne was 
 visible no more. 
 
 "Madness, madness, madness!" again murmured the 
 king. "These iSTeviles are fatal to me in all ways, — 
 in hatred or in love ! "
 
 BOOK VIII. 
 
 IN WHICH THE LAST LINK BETWEEN KING-MAKER AND 
 KING SNAPS ASUNDER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The Lady Anne visits the Court. 
 
 It was some weeks after the date of the events last 
 recorded. The storm that hung over the destinies of 
 King Edward was dispersed for the hour, though the 
 scattered clouds still darkened the horizon : the Earl of 
 Warwick had defeated the Lancastrians on the frontier, 1 
 and their leader had perished on the scaffold, hut Edward's 
 mighty sword had not shone in the battle. Chained by 
 an attraction yet more powerful than slaughter, he had 
 lingered at Middleham, while Warwick led his army to 
 York ; and when the earl arrived at the capital of 
 Edward's ancestral duchy, he found that the able and 
 active Hastings — having heard, even before he reached 
 the Duke of Gloucester's camp, of Edward's apparent 
 seizure by the earl and the march to Middleham — had 
 deemed it best to halt at York, and to summon in all 
 haste a council of such of the knights and barons, as 
 either love to the king or envy to Warwick could col- 
 lect. The report was general that Edward was retained 
 against his will at Middleham, and this rumor Hastings 
 
 1 Croyl. 552. 
 
 VOL. II. — 6
 
 82 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 gravely demanded Warwick, on the arrival of the latter 
 at York, to disprove. The earl, to clear himself from a 
 suspicion that impeded all his military movements, des- 
 patched Lord Montagu to Middleham, who returned not 
 only with the king, but the countess and her daughters, 
 whom Edward, under pretence of proving the complete 
 amity that existed between Warwick and himself, carried 
 in his train. The king's appearance at York reconciled 
 all differences. But he suffered Warwick to march alone 
 against the enemy, and not till after the decisive victory, 
 which left his reign for a while without an open foe, did 
 he return to London. 
 
 Thither the earl, by the advice of his friends, also 
 repaired, and in a council of peers, summoned for the 
 purpose, deigned to refute the rumors still commonly 
 circulated by his foes, and not disbelieved by the vul- 
 gar, whether of his connivance at the popular rising, or 
 his forcible detention of the king at Middleham. To 
 this, agreeably to the council of the archbishop, succeeded 
 a solemn interview of the heads of the houses of York 
 and Warwick, in which the once fair Rose of Baby (the 
 king's mother) acted as mediator and arbiter. The earl's 
 word to the commons at Olney was ratified. Edward 
 consented to the temporary retirement of the Woodvilles, 
 though the gallant Anthony yet delayed his pilgrimage to 
 Compostella. The vanity of Clarence was contented by 
 the government of Ireland, but, under various pretences, 
 Edward deferred his brother's departure to that important 
 post. A general amnesty was proclaimed, a parliament 
 summoned for the redress of popular grievances, and the 
 betrothal of the king's daughter to Montagu's heir was pro- 
 claimed : the latter received the title of Duke of Bedford ; 
 and the Avhole land rejoiced in the recovered peace of the 
 realm, the retirement of the Woodvilles, and the recoil'
 
 THE LAST OF THE 13AKOXS. 83 
 
 ciliation of the young king with his all-heloved subject. 
 Never had the power of the Neviles seemed so secure, — 
 never did the throne of Edward appear so stable. 
 
 It was at this time that the king prevailed upon the 
 earl and his countess to permit the Lady Anne to accom- 
 pany the Duchess of Clarence in a visit to the palace of 
 the Tower. The queen had submitted so graciously to 
 the humiliation of her family, that even the haughty 
 Warwick was touched and softened ; and the visit of his 
 daughter at such a time became a homage to Elizabeth, 
 which it suited his chivalry to render. The public saw 
 in this visit, which was made with great state and cere- 
 mony, the probability of a new and popular alliance. 
 The archbishop had suffered the rumor of Gloucester's 
 attachment to the Lady Anne to get abroad, and the 
 young prince's return from the North was anxiously 
 expected by the gossips of the day. 
 
 It was on this occasion that Warwick showed his grati- 
 tude for Marmaduke Nevile's devotion. " My dear and 
 gallant kinsman, " he said, " I forget not that when thou 
 didst leave the king and the court for the discredited 
 minister and his gloomy hall, — ■ I forget not that thou 
 didst tell me of love to some fair maiden, which had 
 not prospered according to thy merits. At least it shall 
 not be from lack of lands, or of the gold spur, which 
 allows the wearer to ride by the side of king or kaiser, 
 that thou canst not choose thy bride as the heart bids 
 thee. I pray thee, sweet cousin, to attend my child 
 Anne to the court, where the king will show thee no 
 ungracious countenance; but it is just to recompense 
 thee for the loss of thy post in his Highness's chamber. 
 I hold the king's commission to make knights of such 
 as can pay the fee, and thy lands shall suffice for the 
 dignity. Kneel down, and rise up, Sir Marmaduke
 
 84 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 Nevile, Lord of the Manor of Borrodaile, with its 
 woodlands and its farms, and may God and onr Lady 
 render thee puissant in battle and prosperous in love! " 
 
 Accordingly, in his new rank, and entitled to ruffle 
 it with the bravest, Sir Marmaduke Nevile accompanied 
 the earl and the Lady Anne to the palace of the Tower. 
 
 As Warwick, leaving his daughter amidst the brilliant 
 circle that surrounded Elizabeth, turned to address the 
 king, he said, with simple and affected nobleness, — 
 
 " Ah, my liege, if you needed a hostage of my faith, 
 think that my heart is here, for verily its best blood 
 were less dear to me than that slight girl, — the likeness 
 of her mother, when her lips first felt the touch of 
 mine! " 
 
 Edward's bold brow fell, and he blushed as he an- 
 swered, " My Elizabeth will hold her as a sister. But, 
 cousin, part you not now for the north 1 " 
 
 " By your leave, I go first to Warwick. " 
 
 " Ah ! you do not wish to approve of my seeming 
 preparations against Erance 1 " 
 
 " Nay, your Highness is not in earnest. I promised 
 the commons that you would need no supplies for so 
 thriftless a war." 
 
 " Thou knowest I mean to fulfil all thy pledges. 
 But the country so swarms with disbanded soldiers, 
 that it is politic to hold out to them a hope of service, 
 and so let the clouds gradually pass away." 
 
 " Alack, my liege, " said Warwick, gravely, " I sup- 
 pose that a crown teaches the brow to scheme ; but 
 hearty peace or open war seems ever the best to me. " 
 
 Edward smiled, and turned aside. Warwick glanced 
 at his daughter, whom Elizabeth flatteringly caressed, 
 stifled a sigh, and the air seemed lighter to the insects 
 of the court as his proud crest bowed beneath the
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 85 
 
 doorway, and, with the pomp of his long retinue, he 
 vanished from the scene. 
 
 " And choose, fair Anne, " said the queen, — " choose 
 from my ladies, whom you will have for your special 
 train. We would not that your attendance should be 
 less than royal." 
 
 The gentle Anne in vain sought to excuse herself 
 from an honor at once arrogant and invidious, though 
 too innocent to perceive the cunning so characteristic 
 of the queen; for, under the guise of a special compli- 
 ment, Anne had received the royal request to have her 
 female attendants chosen from the court, and Elizabeth 
 now desired to force upon her a selection which could 
 not fail to mortify those not preferred. But glancing 
 timidly round the circle, the noble damsel's eye rested 
 on one fair face, and in that face there was so much 
 that awoke her own interest, and stirred up a fond and 
 sad remembrance, that she passed involuntarily to the 
 stranger's side, and artlessly took her hand. The high- 
 born maidens, grouped around, glanced at each other 
 with a sneer, and slunk back. Even the queen looked 
 surprised, but recovering herself, inclined her head 
 graciously, and said, " Do we read your meaning aright, 
 Lady Anne, and would you this gentlewoman, Mistress 
 Sihyll "Warner, as one of your chamber?" 
 
 " Sibyll ; ah, I knew that my memory failed me not, " 
 murmured Anne; and, after bowing assent to the queen, 
 she said, " Do you not also recall, fair demoiselle, our 
 meeting, when children, long years ago 1 " 
 
 " Well, noble dame, " 1 answered Sibyll. And as Anne 
 turned, with her air of modest gentleness, yet of lofty 
 birth and breeding, to explain to the queen that she 
 
 1 The title of Dame was at that time applied indiscriminately to 
 ladies, whether married or single, if of high birth.
 
 86 THE LAST OF THE B AEONS. 
 
 had met Sibyll in earlier years, the king approached to 
 monopolize his guest's voice and ear. It seemed natural 
 to all present that Edward should devote peculiar atten- 
 tion to the daughter of Warwick and the sister of the 
 Duchess of Clarence; and even Elizabeth suspected no 
 guiltier gallantry in the subdued voice, the caressing 
 manner, which her handsome lord adopted throughout 
 that day, even to the close of the nightly revel, — towards 
 a demoiselle too high (it might well appear) for licentious 
 homage. 
 
 But Anne herself, though too guileless to suspect 
 the nature of Edward's courtesy, yet shrank from it 
 in vague terror. All his beauty, all his fascination, 
 could not root from her mind the remembrance of the 
 exiled prince, — nay, the brilliancy of his qualities made 
 her the more averse to him. It darkened the pros- 
 pects of Edward of Lancaster that Edward of York 
 should wear so gracious and so popular a form. She 
 hailed with delight the hour when she was conducted 
 to her chamber, and dismissing gently the pompous 
 retinue allotted to her, found herself alone with the 
 young maiden whom she had elected to her special 
 service. 
 
 " And you remember me, too, fair Sibyll ? " said 
 Anne, with her dulcet and endearing voice. 
 
 " Truly, who would not 1 for as you then, noble 
 lady, glided apart from the other children, hand in 
 hand with the young prince, in whom all dreamed to 
 see their future king, I heard the universal murmur 
 of — a false prophecy ! " 
 
 " Ah ! and of what ? " asked Anne. 
 
 " That in the hand the prince clasped, with his small, 
 rosy fingers, — the hand of great Warwick's daughter, — ■ 
 lay the lest defence of his father's throne."
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 87 
 
 Anne's breast heaved, and her small foot began to 
 mark strange characters on the floor. 
 
 "So," she said, musingly, "so even here, amidst a 
 new court, you forget not Prince Edward of Lancaster. 
 Oh, we shall rind hours to talk of the past days. But 
 how, if your childhood was spent in Margaret's court, 
 does your youth find a welcome in Elizabeth's 1 " 
 
 " Avarice and power had need of my father's science. 
 He is a scholar of good birth, but fallen fortunes, — even 
 now, and ever while night lasts, he is at work. I 
 belonged to the train of her Grace of Bedford, but when 
 the duchess quitted the court, and the king retained 
 my father in his own royal service, her Highness the 
 queen was pleased to receive me among her maidens. 
 Happy that my father's home is mine, — who else could 
 tend him ? " 
 
 " Thou art his only child ? He must love thee 
 dearly ? " 
 
 "Yet not as I love him, — he lives in a life apart 
 from all else that live. But, after all, peradventure 
 it is sweeter to love than to be loved. " 
 
 Anne, whose nature was singularly tender and woman- 
 like, was greatly affected by this answer: she drew 
 nearer to Sibyll; she twined her arm round her slight 
 form, and kissed her forehead. 
 
 " Shall / love thee, Sibyll 1 " she said, with a girl's 
 candid simplicity, " and wilt thou love me 1 " 
 
 "Ah, lady! there are so many to love thee: father, 
 mother, sister, — all the world ; the very sun shines 
 more kindly upon the great! " 
 
 " Xay ! " said Anne, with that jealousy of a claim to 
 suffering to which the gentler natures are prone ; " I may 
 have sorrows from which thou art free. I confess to 
 thee, Sibyll, that something I know not how to explain
 
 88 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 draws me strangely towards thy sweet face. Marriage 
 has lost me my only sister, — for since Isabel is wed, she 
 is changed to me, — would that her place were supplied 
 by thee ! Shall I steal thee from the queen, when I 
 depart 1 Ah ! my mother — at least thou wilt love her ! 
 for, verily, to love my mother you have but to breathe 
 the same air. Kiss me, Sibyll. " 
 
 Kindness, of late, had been strange to Sibyll, espe- 
 cially from her own sex, one of her own age; it came 
 like morning upon the folded blossom. She threw her 
 arms round the new friend that seemed sent to her from 
 heaven; she kissed Anne's face and hands with grateful 
 tears. 
 
 " Ah ! " she said at last, when she could command a 
 voice still broken with emotion, — "if I could ever serve 
 — ever repay thee, though those gracious words were the 
 last thy lips should ever deign to address to me ! " 
 
 Anne was delighted : she had never yet found one to 
 protect ; she had never yet found one in whom thoroughly 
 to confide. Gentle as her mother was, the distinction be- 
 tween child and parent was, even in the fond family she 
 belonged to, so great in that day, that she could never 
 have betrayed to the countess the wild weakness of her 
 young heart. 
 
 The wish to communicate — to reveal — is so natural 
 to extreme youth, and in Anne that disposition was so 
 increased by a nature at once open and inclined to lean 
 on others, that she had, as we have seen, sought a con- 
 fidant in Isabel ; but with her, even at the first, she 
 found but the half-contemptuous pity of a strong and 
 hard mind ; and lately, since Edward's visit to Middle- 
 ham, the Duchess of Clarence had been so wrapt in her 
 own imperious egotism and discontented ambition, that 
 the timid Anne had not even dared to touch, with her,
 
 THE LAST OF THE BAKONS. 89 
 
 upon those secrets which it flushed her own bashful 
 cheek to recall. And this visit to the court; this new, 
 unfamiliar scene; this estrangement from all the old 
 accustomed affections, — had produced in her that sense 
 of loneliness which is so irksome, till grave experience 
 of real life accustoms us to the common lot. So, with 
 the exaggerated and somewhat morbid sensibility that 
 belonged to her, she turned at once, and by impulse, to 
 this sudden, yet graceful friendship. Here was one of 
 her own age, — one who had known sorrow; one whose 
 voice and eyes charmed her; one who would not chide 
 even folly; one, above all, who had seen her beloved 
 prince; one associated with her fondest memories; one 
 who might have a thousand tales to tell of the day 
 when the outlaw-boy was a monarch's heir. In the 
 childishness of her soft years, she almost wept at an- 
 other channel for so much natural tenderness. It was 
 half the woman gaining a woman-friend, — half the child 
 clinging to a new playmate. 
 
 "Ah, Sibyll! " she whispered, "do not leave me to- 
 night; this strange place daunts me, and the figures on 
 the arras seem so tall and spectre-like, — and they say the 
 old tower is haunted. Stay, dear Sibyll! " 
 
 And Sibyll stayed.
 
 90 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 The Sleeping Innocence — The Wakeful Crime. 
 
 While these charming girls thus innocently conferred; 
 while, Anne's sweet voice running on in her artless 
 fancies, they helped each other to undress ; while hand 
 in hand they knelt in prayer by the crucifix in the dim 
 recess; while timidly they extinguished the light, and 
 stole to rest; while, conversing in whispers, growing 
 gradually more faint and low, they sank into guileless 
 sleep, — the unholy king paced his solitary chamber, 
 parched with the fever of the sudden and frantic pas- 
 sion, that swept away from a heart, in which every 
 impulse was a giant, all the memories of honor, grati- 
 tude, and law. 
 
 The mechanism of this strong man's nature was that 
 almost unknown to the modern time; it belonged to 
 those earlier days which furnish to Greece the terrible 
 legends Ovid has clothed in gloomy fire, which a similar 
 civilization produced no less in the Middle Ages, whether 
 of Italy or the North: that period when crime took a 
 grandeur from its excess, — when power was so great and 
 absolute, that its girth burst the ligaments of conscience ; 
 when a despot was but the incarnation of will, when 
 honor was indeed a religion, but its faith Avas valor, and 
 it wrote its decalogue with the point of a fearless sword. 
 
 The youth of Edward IV. was as the youth of an 
 ancient Titan, — of an Italian Borgia ; through its veins 
 the hasty blood rolled as a devouring flame. This im- 
 petuous and fiery temperament was rendered yet more
 
 THE LAST OF THE BAKOXS. 91 
 
 fearful by the indulgence of every intemperance; it fed 
 on wine and lust : its very virtues strengthened its vices, 
 its courage stifled every whisper of prudence, its intellect, 
 uninured to all discipline, taught it to disdain every 
 obstacle to its desires. Edward could, indeed, as we 
 have seen, be false and crafty, — a temporizer, a dissimu- 
 lator; but it was only as the tiger creeps, the better to 
 spring, undetected, on its prey. If detected, the cunning 
 ceased, the daring rose, and the mighty savage had 
 fronted ten thousand foes, secure in its fangs and talons, 
 its bold heart, and its deadly spring. Hence, with all 
 Edward's abilities, the astonishing levities and indis- 
 cretions of his younger, years. It almost seemed, as we 
 have seen him play fast and loose with the might of 
 Warwick, and with that power, whether of barons or 
 of people, which any other prince of half his talents 
 would have trembled to arouse against an unrooted 
 throne; — it almost seemed as if he loved to provoke a 
 danger, for the pleasure it gave the brain to baffle, or 
 the hand to crush it. His whole nature coveting excite- 
 ment, nothing was left to the beautiful, the luxurious 
 Edward, already wearied with pomp and pleasure, but 
 what was unholy and forbidden. In his court were a 
 hundred ladies, perhaps not less fair than Anne, at least 
 of a beauty more commanding the common homage, but 
 these he had only to smile on, with ease to win. No 
 awful danger, no inexpiable guilt, attended those vulgar 
 frailties, and therefore they ceased to tempt. But here 
 the virgin guest, the daughter of his mightiest subject, 
 the beloved treasure of the man whose hand had built a 
 throne, whose word had dispersed an army, — here, the 
 more the reason warned, the conscience started, the more 
 the hell-born passion was aroused! 
 
 Like men of his peculiar constitution, Edward was
 
 92 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 wholly incapable of pure and steady love. His affection 
 for his queen the most resembled that diviner affection; 
 but, when analyzed, it was composed of feelings widely 
 distinct. From a sudden passion, not otherwise to be 
 gratified, he had made the rashest sacrifices for an un- 
 equal marriage. His vanity, and something of original 
 magnanimity, despite his vices, urged him to protect 
 what he himself had raised, — to secure the honor of the 
 subject who was honored by the king. In common with 
 most rude and powerful natures, he was strongly alive 
 to the affections of a father, and the faces of his children 
 helped to maintain the influence of the mother. But in 
 all this, we need scarcely say, that that true love, which 
 is at once a passion and a devotion, existed not. Love 
 with him cared not for the person loved, but solely for 
 its own gratification ; it was desire for possession, — 
 nothing more. But that desire was the will of a king 
 who never knew fear or scruple; and, pampered by 
 eternal indulgence, it was to the feeble lusts of common 
 men what the storm is to the west wind. Yet still, as 
 in the solitude of night he paced his chamber, the 
 shadow of the great crime advancing iqjon his soul 
 appalled even that dauntless conscience. He gasped 
 for breath, — his cheeks flushed crimson, and the next 
 moment grew deadly pale. He heard the loud beating 
 of his heart. He stopped still. He flung himself on a 
 seat, and hid his face with his hands, then starting up, 
 he exclaimed, "No — no! I cannot shut out that sweet 
 face, those blue eyes from my gaze. They haunt me to 
 my destruction and her own. Yet why say destruction 1 
 If she love me, who shall know the deed; if she love 
 me not, will she dare to reveal her shame ! Shame ! — 
 nay, a king's embrace never dishonors. A king's bas- 
 tard is a house's pride. All is still, — the very moon
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 93 
 
 vanishes from heaven. The noiseless rushes in the 
 gallery give no echo to the footstep. Fie on me ! Can 
 a Plantagenet know fear? " He allowed himself no 
 further time to pause ; he opened the door gently, and 
 stole along the gallery. He knew well the chamber, 
 for it was appointed by his command; and, besides the 
 usual door from the corridor, a small closet conducted 
 to a secret panel behind the arras. It was the apart- 
 ment occupied, in her visits to the court, by the queen's 
 rival, the Lady Elizabeth Lucy. He passed into the 
 closet; he lifted the arras; he stood in that chamber, 
 which gratitude, and chivalry, and hospitable faith, 
 should have made sacred as a shrine. And suddenly, 
 as he entered, the moon, before hid beneath a melancholy 
 cloud, broke, forth in awful splendor, and her light 
 rushed through the casement opposite his eye, and 
 bathed the room with the beams of a ghostlier day. 
 
 The abruptness of the solemn and mournful glory 
 scared him as the rebuking face of a living thing; a 
 presence as if not of earth seemed to interpose between 
 the victim and the guilt. It was, however, but for a 
 moment that his step halted. He advanced: he drew 
 aside the folds of the curtain heavy with tissue of gold, 
 and the sleeping face of Anne lay hushed before him. 
 It looked pale in the moonlight, but ineffably serene, 
 and the smile on its lips seemed still sweeter than that 
 which it wore aAvake. So fixed was his gaze — so ar- 
 dently did his whole heart and being feed through his 
 eyes upon that exquisite picture of innocence and youth 
 — that he did not see for some moments that the sleeper 
 was not alone. Suddenly an exclamation rose to his 
 lips; he clinched his hand in jealous agony, — he ap- 
 proached, he bent over, he heard the regular breathing 
 which the dreams of guilt never know; and then, when
 
 94 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 he saw that pure and interlaced embrace, — the serene 
 yet somewhat melancholy face of Sibyll, which seemed 
 hueless as marble in the moonlight, bending partially 
 over that of Anne, as if, even in sleep, watchful, — both 
 charming forms so linked and woven that the two 
 seemed as one life, the very breath in each rising and 
 ebbing with the other, the dark ringlets of Sibyll min- 
 gling with the auburn gold of Anne's luxuriant hair, and 
 the darkness and the gold, tress within tress, falling 
 impartially over either neck, that gleamed like ivory 
 beneath that common veil, — when he saw this twofold 
 loveliness, the sentiment — the conviction of that myste- 
 rious defence which exists in purity — thrilled like ice 
 through his burning veins. In all his might of monarch 
 and of man, he felt the awe of that unlooked-for protec- 
 tion : maidenhood sheltering maidenhood, — innocence 
 guarding innocence. The double virtue appalled and 
 baffled him; and that slight arm which encircled the 
 neck he would have perilled his realm to clasp, shielded 
 his victim more effectually than the bucklers of all the 
 warriors that ever gathered round the banner of the 
 lofty Warwick. Night and the occasion befriended him ; 
 but in vain. While Sibyll was there, Anne was saved. 
 He ground his teeth, and muttered to himself. At that 
 moment Anne turned restlessly. This movement dis- 
 turbed the light sleep of her companion. She spoke 
 half inaudibly, but the sound was as the hoot of shame 
 in the ear of the guilty king. He let fall the curtain, 
 and was gone. And if one who lived afterwards to hear, 
 and to credit, the murderous doom which, unless history 
 lies, closed the male line of Edward, had beheld the 
 king stealing, felon-like, from the chamber, his step 
 reeling to and fro the gallery floors; his face distorted 
 by stormy passion; his lips white and murmuring; his
 
 THE LAST OF THE BAROXS. 95 
 
 beauty and his glory dimmed and humbled, — the spec- 
 tator might have half believed that while Edward gazed 
 upon those harmless sleepers, A vision of the tragedy 
 to come had stricken down his thought of guilt, and 
 filled up its place with horror, — a vision of a sleep as 
 pure, of two forms wrapped hi an embrace as fond, of 
 intruders meditating a crime scarce fouler than his own; 
 and the sins of the father starting into grim corporeal 
 shapes, to become the deathsmen of the sons !
 
 96 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 New Dangers to the House of York — And the King's Heart 
 Allies itself with Rebellion against the King's Throne. 
 
 Oh ! beautiful is the love of youth to youth, and touch- 
 ing the tenderness of womanhood to woman ; and fair in 
 the eyes of the happy sun is the waking of holy sleep, 
 and the virgin kiss upon virgin lips, smiling and murmur- 
 ing the sweet " Good morrow ! " 
 
 Anne was the first to wake ; and as the bright, winter 
 morn, robust with frosty sunbeams, shone cheerily upon 
 Sibyll's face, she was struck with a beauty she had not 
 sufficiently observed the day before; for in the sleep of 
 the young the traces of thought and care vanish, the 
 aching heart is lulled in the body's rest, the hard lines 
 relax into flexile ease, a softer, warmer bloom steals over 
 the cheek, and, relieved from the stiff restraints of dress, 
 the rounded limbs repose in a more alluring grace! 
 Youth seems younger in its slumber, and beauty more 
 beautiful, and purity more pure. Long and dark, the 
 fringe of the eyelash rested upon the white lids, and the 
 freshness of the parting, pouted lips invited the sister 
 kiss that wakened up the sleeper. 
 
 " Ah ! lady, " said Sibyll, parting her tresses from her 
 dark blue eyes, " you are here, — you are safe ! — blessed 
 be the saints and Our Lady ; for I had a dream in the 
 night that startled and appalled me." 
 
 " And my dreams were all blithe and golden, " said 
 Anne. " What was thine ? "
 
 THE LAST OF THE BATtONS. 97 
 
 " Methought you were asleep and in this chamber, 
 and I not by your side, but watching you, at a little dis- 
 tance ; and, lo ! a horrible serpent glided from yon recess, 
 and, crawling to your pillow, I heard its hiss, and strove 
 to come to your aid, but in vain ; a spell seemed 
 to chain my limbs. At last I found voice, — I cried 
 aloud, I awoke ; and mock me not, but I surely heard 
 a parting footstep, and the low grating of some sliding 
 door. " 
 
 " It was the dream's influence, enduring beyond the 
 dream. I have often felt it, — nay, even last night; for 
 I, too, dreamed of another, dreamed that I stood by the 
 altar with one far away, and when I woke, — for I woke 
 also, — it was long before I could believe it was thy hand 
 I held, and thine arm that embraced me." 
 
 The young friends rose, and their toilet was scarcely 
 ended, when again appeared in the chamber all the state- 
 liness of retinue allotted to the Lady Anne. Sibyll 
 turned to depart. " And whither go you ? " asked 
 Anne. 
 
 " To visit my father ; it is my first task on rising, " 
 returned Sibyll, in a whisper. 
 
 " You must let me visit him, too, at a later hour. 
 Find me here an hour before noon, Sibyll." 
 
 The early morning was passed by Anne in the queen's 
 company. The refection, the embroidery frame, the 
 closheys, filled up the hours. The Duchess of Clarence 
 had left the palace with her lord to visit the king's 
 mother at Baynard's Castle; and Anne's timid spirits 
 were saddened by the strangeness of the faces round 
 her, and Elizabeth's habitual silence. There was some- 
 thing in the weak and ill-fated queen that ever failed 
 to conciliate friends. Though perpetually striving to 
 form and create a party, she never succeeded in gaining 
 
 VOL. II. — 7
 
 98 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 confidence or respect. And no one raised so high was 
 ever left so friendless as Elizabeth, when, in her awful 
 widowhood, her dowry home became the sanctuary. All 
 her power was but the shadow of her husband's royal 
 sun, and vanished when the orb prematurely set; yet 
 she had all gifts of person in her favor, and a sleek 
 smoothness of manner that seemed to the superficial 
 formed to win ; but the voice was artificial, and the eye 
 cold and stealthy. About her formal precision there was 
 an eternal consciousness of self, — a breathing egotism. 
 Her laugh was displeasing, — cynical, not mirthful ; she 
 had none of that forgetfulness of self, that warmth when 
 gay, that earnestness when sad, which create sympathy. 
 Her beauty was without loveliness, — her character with- 
 out charm; every proportion in her form might allure 
 the sensualist ; but there stopped the fascination. The 
 mind was trivial, though cunning and dissimulating; 
 and the very evenness of her temper seemed but the 
 clockwork of a heart insensible to its own movements. 
 Vain in prosperity, what wonder that she was so abject 
 in misfortune 1 What wonder that, even while, in later 
 and gloomier years, 1 accusing Eichard III. of the 
 murder of her royal sons, and knowing him, at least, 
 the executioner of her brother, and her child by the 
 bridegroom of her youth, 2 she consented to send 
 her daughters to his custody, though subjected to 
 the stain of illegitimacy, and herself only recognized as 
 the harlot? 
 
 1 Grafton, 806. 
 
 2 Anthony Lord Rivers and Lord Richard Gray. Not the least 
 instance of the frivolity of Elizabeth's mind is to be found in her 
 willingness, after all the woes of her second widowhood, and when 
 she was not very far short of sixty years old, to take a third hus- 
 band, James III. of Scotland, — a marriage prevented only by the 
 death of the Scotch king.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BAKONS. 99 
 
 The king, meanwhile, had ridden out betimes alone, 
 and no other of the male sex presumed in his absence to 
 invade the female circle. It was with all a girl's fresh 
 delight, that Anne escaped at last to her own chamber, 
 where she found Sibyll, and, with her guidance, she 
 threaded the gloomy mazes of the Tower. " Let me 
 see, " she whispered, " before we visit your father, — let 
 me see the turret in which the unhappy Henry is 
 confined. " 
 
 And Sibyll led her through the arch of that tower, 
 now called " The Bloody, " and showed her the narrow 
 casement, deep sunk in the mighty wall, without which 
 hung the starling in the cage, basking its plumes in the 
 wintry sun. Anne gazed with that deep interest and 
 tender reverence which the parent of the man she loves 
 naturally excites in a woman; and while thus standing 
 sorrowful and silent the casement was unbarred, and 
 she saw the mild face of the human captive ; he seemed 
 to talk to the bird, which, in shrill tones and with clap- 
 ping wings, answered his address. At that time a horn 
 sounded at a little distance off; a clangor of arms, as 
 the sentries saluted, was heard; the demoiselles re- 
 treated through the arch, and mounted the stair con- 
 ducting to the very room, then unoccupied, in which 
 tradition records the murder of the Third Richard's 
 nephews; and scarcely had they gained this retreat, ere 
 towards the Bloody Gate, and before the prison tower, 
 rode the king who had mounted the captive's throne. 
 His steed, gaudy with its housing, — his splendid dress; 
 the knights and squires who started forward from 
 every corner to hold his gilded stirrup; his vigorous 
 youth, so blooming and so radiant, — all contrasted, with 
 oppressive force, the careworn face that watched him 
 meekly through the little casement of the Wakefield
 
 100 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 Tower. Edward's large, quick, blue eye caught sudden 
 sight of the once familiar features. He looked up 
 steaddy, and his gaze encountered the fallen king's. He 
 changed countenance : but with the external chivalry 
 that made the surface of his hollow though brilliant 
 character, he bowed low to his saddle-bow as he saw 
 his captive, and removed the plumed cap from his high 
 brow. 
 
 Henry smiled sadly, and shook his reverend head, 
 as if gently to rebuke the mockery : then he closed the 
 casement, and Edward rode into the yard. 
 
 " How can the king hold here a court and here a 
 prison ? Oh, hard heart ! " murmured Anne, as, when 
 Edward had disappeared, the damsels bent their way 
 to Adam's chamber. 
 
 " Would the Earl Warwick approve thy pity, sweet 
 Lady Anne 1 " asked Sibyll. 
 
 " My father's heart is too generous to condemn it, " 
 returned Anne, wiping the tears from her eyes ; " how 
 often in the knight's galliard shall I see that face ! " 
 
 The turret in which Warner's room was placed 
 flanked the wing inhabited by the royal family and 
 their more distinguished guests (namely, the palace, prop- 
 erly speaking, as distinct from the fortress), and com- 
 municated with the regal lodge by a long corridor, 
 raised above cloisters and open to a court-yard. At one 
 end of this corridor a door opened upon the passage, in 
 which was situated the chamber of the Lady Anne; 
 the other extremity communicated with a rugged stair 
 of stone, conducting to the rooms tenanted by Warner. 
 Leaving Sibyll to present her learned father to the 
 gentle Anne, we follow the king into the garden, which 
 he entered on dismounting. He found here the Arch- 
 bishop of York, who had come to the palace in his
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 101 
 
 barge, and with but a slight retinue, and who was now 
 conversing with Hastings in earnest whispers. 
 
 The king, who seemed thoughtful and fatigued, ap- 
 proached the two, and said, with a forced smile, " What 
 learned sententiary engages you two scholars 1 " 
 
 "Your Grace," said the archbishop, "Minerva was 
 not precisely the goddess most potent over our thoughts 
 at that moment. 1 received a letter last evening from 
 the Duke of Gloucester, and as I know the love borne 
 by the prince to the Lord Hastings, I inquired of your 
 chamberlain how far he would have foreguessed the 
 news it announced." 
 
 " And what may the tidings be ? " asked Edward, 
 absently. 
 
 The prelate hesitated. 
 
 " Sire," he said, gravely, " the familiar confidence Avith 
 which both your Highness and the Duke of Gloucester 
 distinguish the chamberlain, permits me to communi- 
 cate the purport of the letter in his presence. The 
 young duke informs me that he hath long con- 
 ceived an affection which he would improve into mar- 
 riage, but before he address either the demoiselle or 
 her father, he prays me to confer with your Grace, 
 whose pleasure in this, as in all things, will be his 
 sovereign law." 
 
 " Ah, Richard loves me with a truer love than George 
 of Clarence ! But whom can he have seen on the borders 
 worthy to be a prince's bride 1 " 
 
 " It is no sudden passion, sire, as I before hinted ; 
 nay, it has been for some time sufficiently notorious to 
 his friends, and many of the court, — it is an affection 
 for a maiden known to him in childhood, connected to 
 him by blood: my niece, Anne Nevile." 
 
 As if stung by a scorpion, Edward threw off the
 
 102 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 prelate's arm, on which he had been leaning with his 
 usual caressing courtesy. 
 
 " This is too much ! " said he, quickly, and his face, 
 before somewhat pale, grew highly flushed. — " Is the 
 whole royalty of England to be one Nevile 1 Have I 
 not sufficiently narrowed the bases of my throne 1 
 Instead of mating my daughter to a foreign power, — 
 to Spain or to Bretagne, — she is betrothed to young 
 Montagu ! Clarence weds Isabel, and now Gloucester 
 — no , prelate, I will not consent ! " 
 
 The archbishop was so little prepared for this burst, 
 that he remained speechless. Hastings pressed the 
 king's arm, as if to caution him against so imprudent 
 a display of resentment. But the king walked on, not 
 heeding him, and in great disturbance. Hastings in- 
 terchanged looks with the archbishop, and followed his 
 royal master. 
 
 " My king, " he said, in an earnest whisper, " what- 
 ever you decide, do not again provoke unhappy feuds 
 laid at rest! Already this morning I sought your 
 chamber, but you were abroad, to say that I have 
 received intelligence of a fresh rising of the Lancas- 
 trians in Lincolnshire, under Sir Robert Welles, and 
 the warlike knight of Scrivelsby, Sir Thomas Dymoke. 
 This is not yet an hour to anger the pride of the 
 Neviles! " 
 
 "Oh, Hastings! Hastings! " said the king, in a tone 
 of passionate emotion, — "there are moments when the 
 human heart cannot dissemble ! Howbeit your advice 
 is wise and honest! No, we must not anger the 
 Neviles!" 
 
 He turned abruptly; rejoined the archbishop, who 
 stood on the spot on which the king had left him, his 
 arms folded on his breast, his face calm, but haughty.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 103 
 
 " My most worshipful cousin," said Edward, " forgive 
 the well-known heat of my hasty moods! I had hoped 
 that Richard would, by a foreign alliance, have repaired 
 the occasion of confirming my dynasty abroad, which 
 Clarence lost. But, no matter! Of these things we 
 will sj3eak anon. Say nought to Richard till time 
 ripens maturer resolutions: he is a youth yet. What 
 strange tidings are these from Lincolnshire 1 " 
 
 "The house of your purveyor, Sir Robert de Burgh, 
 is burned, — his lands wasted. The rebels are headed 
 by lords and knights. Robin of Redesdale, who, 
 methinks, bears a charmed life, has even ventured to 
 rouse the disaffected in my brother's very shire of 
 Warwick." 
 
 " Oh, Henry," exclaimed the king, casting his eyes 
 towards the turret that held his captive, " well mightst 
 thou call a crown ' a wreath of thorns ! ' " 
 
 "I have already," said the archbishop, "despatched 
 couriers to my brother, to recall him from Warwick, 
 whither he went on quitting your Highness. I have 
 done more, — prompted by a zeal that draws me from 
 the care of the church to that of the state, I have sum- 
 moned the Lords St. John, De Fulke, and others, to 
 my house of the More; — praying your Highness to 
 deign to meet them, and well sure that a smile from 
 your princely lips will regain their hearts and confirm 
 their allegiance, at a moment when new perils require 
 all strong arms." 
 
 " You have done most wisely. I will come to your 
 palace, — appoint your own day." 
 
 " It will take some days for the barons to arrive from 
 their castles. I fear not ere the tenth day from this. " 
 
 "Ah! " said the king, with a vivacity that surprised 
 his listeners, aware of his usual impetuous energy, " the
 
 104 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 delay will but befriend us; as for Warwick, permit me 
 to alter your arrangements: let him employ the interval, 
 not in London, where he is useless, but in raising men 
 in the neighborhood of his castle, and in defeating the 
 treason of this Redesdale knave. We will give com- 
 mission to him, and to Clarence, to levy troops, — 
 Hastings, see to this forthwith. Ye say Sir Robert 
 Welles leads the Lincolnshire varlets ; I know the 
 nature of his father, the Lord Welles, — a fearful and 
 timorous one: I will send for him, and the father's 
 head shall answer for the son's faith. Pardon me, 
 dear cousin, that I leave you to attend these matters. 
 Prithee visit our queen, meanwhile she holds you our 
 guest. " 
 
 " Nay, your Highness must vouchsafe my excuse; I 
 also have your royal interests too much at heart to while 
 an hour in my pleasurement. I will but see the friends 
 of our house, now in London, and then back to the More, 
 and collect the force of my tenants and retainers." 
 
 " Ever right, fair speed to you, — cardinal that shall 
 be! Your arm, Hastings. " 
 
 The king and his favorite took their way into the 
 state chambers. 
 
 " Abet not Gloucester in this alliance, — abet him 
 not!" said the king, solemnly. 
 
 " Pause, sire ! This alliance gives to Warwick a wise 
 counsellor, instead of the restless Duke of Clarence. 
 Reflect what danger may ensue if an ambitious lord, 
 discontented with your reign, obtains the hand of the 
 great earl's coheiress, and the half of a hundred baronies 
 that command an army larger than the crown's." 
 
 Though these reasonings, at a calmer time, might 
 well have had their effect on Edward, at that moment 
 they were little heeded by his passions. He stamped
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 105 
 
 f 
 his foot violently on the floor. " Hastings ! " he ex- 
 claimed, " he silent ! or — " He stopped short, mastered 
 his emotion, — " Go, assemble our privy council. We 
 have graver matters than a boy's marriage now to think 
 of." 
 
 It was in vain that Edward sought to absorb the fire 
 of his nature in state affairs in all needful provisions 
 against the impending perils, in schemes of war and 
 vengeance. The fatal frenzy that had seized him 
 haunted him everywhere, by day and by night. For 
 some days after the unsuspected visit which he had so 
 criminally stolen to his guest's chamber, something 
 of knightly honor, of religious scruple, of common 
 reason, — awakened in him the more by the dangers 
 which had sprung up, and which the ISTeviles were now 
 actively employed in defeating, — struggled against his 
 guilty desire, and roused his conscience to a less feeble 
 resistance than it usually displayed when opposed to 
 passion; but the society of Anne, into which he was 
 necessarily thrown so many hours in the day, and those 
 hours chiefly after the indulgences of the banquet, was 
 more powerful than all the dictates of a virtue so seldom 
 exercised as to have none of the strength of habit. And 
 as the time drew near when he must visit the arch- 
 bishop, head his army against the rebels (whose force 
 daily increased, despite the captivity of Lord Welles 
 and Sir Thomas Dymoke, who, on the summons of the 
 king, had first taken sanctuary, and then yielded their 
 persons on the promise of pardon and safety), ai 
 restore Anne to her mother, — as this time drew near, 
 his perturbation of mind became visible to the whole 
 court; but, with the instinct of his native craft, he 
 contrived to conceal its cause. For the first time in his 
 life he had no confidant, — he did not dare trust his
 
 106 THE LAST OF THE B AEONS. 
 
 secret to Hastings. His heart gnawed itself. Neither, 
 though constantly stealing to Anne's side, could he 
 venture upon language that might startle and enlighten 
 her. He felt that even those attentions, which, on the 
 first evening of her arrival, had been noticed by the 
 courtiers, could not be safely renewed. He was grave 
 and constrained, even when by her side, and the eti- 
 quette of the court allowed him no opportunity for 
 unwitnessed conference. In this suppressed and unequal 
 struggle with himself the time passed, till it was now 
 but the day before that fixed for his visit to the More. 
 And, as he rose at morning from his restless couch, the 
 struggle was over, and the soul resolved to dare the 
 crime. His first thought was to separate Anne from 
 Si by 11. He affected to rebuke the queen for giving to 
 his high-born guest an associate below her dignity, and 
 on whose character, poor girl, rested the imputation of 
 witchcraft; and when the queen replied that Lady 
 Anne herself had so chosen, he hit upon the expedient 
 of visiting Warner himself, under pretence of inspect- 
 ing his progress, — affected to be struck by the sickly 
 appearance of the sage, and, sending for Sibyll, told 
 her, with an air of gracious consideration, that her first 
 duty was to attend her parent, that the queen released 
 her, for some days, from all court duties, and that he 
 had given orders to prepare the room adjoining Master 
 Warner's, and held by Friar Bungey till that "worthy 
 had retired, with his patroness, from the court, to which 
 she would for the present remove. 
 
 Sibyll, wondering at this novel mark of consideration 
 in the careless king, yet imputing it to the high value 
 set on her father's labors, thanked Edward with simple 
 earnestness, and withdrew. In the anteroom she encoun- 
 tered Hastings on his way to the king. He started in
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 107 
 
 surprise, and with a jealous pang : " What ! thou, Sibyll ! 
 and from the king's closet! What led thee thither 1 ? " 
 
 "His Grace's command." And too noble for the 
 pleasure of exciting the distrust that delights frivolous 
 minds as the proof of power, Sibyll added, " The king 
 has been kindly speaking to me of my father's health. " 
 The courtier's brow cleared, — he mused a moment, and 
 said, in a whisper, " I beseech thee to meet me an hour 
 hence at the eastern rampart." 
 
 Since the return of Lord Hastings to the palace there 
 had been an estrangement and distance in his manner, 
 ill suiting one who enjoyed the rights of an accepted 
 suitor, and wounding alike to Sibyll 's affection and her 
 pride; but her confidence in his love and truth was 
 entire. Her admiration for him partook of worship, 
 and she steadily sought to reason away any causes for 
 alarm by recalling the state cares which pressed heavily 
 upon him, and whispering to herself that word of 
 "wife," which, coming in passionate music from those 
 beloved lips, had thrown a mist over the present, — 
 a glory over the future; and in the king's retention 
 of Adam Warner, despite the Duchess of Bedford's 
 strenuous desire to carry him off with Friar Bungey 
 and restore him to his tasks of alchemist and multi- 
 plier, as well as in her own promotion to the queen's 
 service, Sibyll could not but recognize the influence 
 of her powerful lover. His tones now were tender, 
 though grave and earnest. Surely, in the meeting he 
 asked, all not comprehended would be explained. And 
 so, with a light heart she passed on. 
 
 Hastings sighed as his eye followed her from the 
 room, and thus said he to himself, " Were I the obscure 
 gentleman I once was, how sweet a lot would that girl's 
 love choose to me from the urn of fate ! But, oh ! when
 
 108 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 we taste of power and greatness, and master the world's 
 dark wisdom, what doth love shrink to? — an hour's 
 bliss, and a life's folly." His delicate lip curled, and 
 breaking from his soliloquy, he entered the king's 
 closet. Edward was resting his face upon the palms 
 of his hands, and his bright eyes dwelt upon vacant 
 space, till they kindled into animation as they lighted 
 on his favorite. 
 
 " Dear Will," said the king, " knowest thou that men 
 say thou art bewitched 1 " 
 
 " Beau sire, often have men, when a sweet face hath 
 captured thy great heart, said the same of thee ! " 
 
 " It may be so with truth, for verily love is the arch- 
 devil's birth." 
 
 The king rose, and strode his chamber with a quick 
 step; at last pausing, — ■ 
 
 " Hastings," he said, "so thou lovest the multiplier's 
 pretty daughter. She hath just left me. Art thou 
 jealous 1 " 
 
 " Happily, your Highness sees no beauty in locks 
 that have the gloss of the raven, and eyes that have 
 the hue of the violet." 
 
 " Xo, I am a constant man, constant to one idea of 
 beauty in a thousand forms, — eyes like the summer's 
 light-blue sky, and locks like its golden sunbeams! 
 But to set thy mind at rest, Will, know that I have 
 but compassionated the sickly state of the scholar, 
 whom thou prizest so highly; and I have placed thy 
 fair Sibyll's chamber near her father's. Young Lovell 
 says thou art. bent on wedding the wizard's daughter." 
 
 "And if 1 were, beau sire?" 
 
 Edward looked grave. 
 
 " If thou wert, my poor Will, thou wouldst lose all 
 the fame for shrewd wisdom which justifies thy sudden
 
 THE LAST OF THE BABONS. 109 
 
 fortunes. No, no; thou art the flower and prince of 
 my new seignorie, — thou must mate thyself with a 
 name and a barony that shall he worthy thy fame and 
 thy prospects. Love beauty, but marry power, Will. 
 In vain would thy king draw thee up, if a despised 
 wife draw thee down ! " 
 
 Hastings listened with profound attention to these 
 words. The king did not wait for his answer, but 
 added, laughingly, — 
 
 " It is thine own fault, crafty gallant, if thou dost 
 not end all her spells." 
 
 " What ends the spells of youth and beauty, beau 
 sire ? " 
 
 " Possession ! " replied the king, in a hollow and 
 muttered voice. 
 
 Hastings was about to answer, when the door opened, 
 and the officer in waiting announced the Duke of 
 Clarence. 
 
 "Ha!" said Edward, "George comes, to importune 
 me for leave to depart to the government of Ireland, 
 and I have to make him weet that I think my Lord 
 Worcester a safer viceroy of the two ! " 
 
 "Your Highness will pardon me; but, though I 
 deemed you too generous in the appointment, it were 
 dangerous now to annul it." 
 
 " More dangerous to confirm it. Elizabeth has caused 
 me to see the folly of a grant made over the malmsey, 
 — a wine, by the way, in which poor George swears 
 he would be content to drown himself. Viceroy of 
 Ireland! My father had that government, and once 
 tasting the sweets of royalty, ceased to be a subject! 
 No, no, Clarence — " 
 
 " Can never meditate treason against a brother's
 
 110 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 crown. Has he the wit, or the energy, or the genius, 
 for so desperate an ambition ? " 
 
 "No; but he hath the vanity. And I will wager 
 thee a thousand marks to a silver penny that my jester 
 shall talk giddy Georgie into advancing a claim to be 
 soldan of Egypt, or pope of Rome ! "
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. Ill 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The Foster-Brothers. 
 
 Sir Maemaduke Nevile was sunning his bravery in 
 the Tower Green, amidst the other idlers of the court, 
 proud of the gold chain and the gold spurs which attested 
 his new rank, and not grieved to have exchanged the 
 solemn walls of Middleham for the gay delights of the 
 voluptuous palace, when, to his pleasure and surprise, 
 he perceived his foster-brother enter the gateway ; and 
 no sooner had Nicholas entered, than a bevy of the 
 younger courtiers hastened eagerly towards him. 
 
 " Gramercy ! " quoth Sir Marmaduke, to one of the 
 bystanders, " what hath chanced to make Nick Alwyn 
 a man of such note, that so many wings of satin and 
 pile should nutter round him like sparrows round an 
 owl, which, by the Holy Hood, his wise face somewhat 
 resembleth." 
 
 " Know you not that Master Alwyn, since he hath 
 commenced trade for himself, hath acquired already 
 the repute of the couthliest goldsmith in London? No 
 dague-hilts, no buckles are to be worn, save those that 
 he fashions; and — an he live, and the House of York 
 prosper — verily, Master Alwyn the goldsmith will, ere 
 long, be the richest and best man from Mile-end to the 
 Sanctuary." 
 
 "Eight glad am I to hear it," said honest Marma- 
 duke, heartily; and approaching Alwyn, he startled the 
 precise trader by a friendly slap on the shoulder.
 
 112 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 "What, man, art thou too proud to rememher Mar- 
 maduke Nevile! Come to my lodgment yonder, and 
 talk of old days over the king's canary." 
 
 " I crave your pardon, dear Master Nevile." 
 
 " Master, — avaunt ! Sir Marmaduke, — knighted hy 
 the hand of Lord Warwick, — Sir Marmaduke Nevile, 
 lord of a manor he hath never yet seen, soher Alwyn." 
 
 Then drawing his foster-brother's arm in his, Mar- 
 maduke led him to the chamber in which he lodged. 
 
 The young men spent some minutes in congratulating 
 each other on their respective advances in life: the 
 gentleman who had attained competence and station, 
 simply by devotion to a powerful patron, — the trader, 
 who had already won repute and the prospect of wealth, 
 by ingenuity, application, and toil; and yet, to do jus- 
 tice, as much virtue went to Marmaduke's loyalty 
 to Warwick, as to Alwyn's capacities for making a 
 fortune. Mutual compliments over, Alwyn said, 
 hesitatingly, — 
 
 " And dost thou find Mistress Sibyl 1 more gently 
 disposed to thee than when thou didst complain to me 
 of her cruelty 1 " 
 
 "Marry, good Nicholas, I will be frank with thee. 
 When I left the court to follow Lord Warwick, there 
 were rumors of the gallantries of Lord Hastings to the 
 girl, which grieved me to the heart. I spoke to her 
 thereof bluntly and honorably, and got but high looks 
 and scornful words in return. Good fellow, T thank 
 thee for that squeeze of the hand and that doleful sigh. 
 In my absence at Middleham, I strove hard to forget 
 one who cared so little for me. My dear Alwyn, those 
 Yorkshire lasses are parlously come]y, and mighty douce 
 and debonnaire. So I stormed cruel Sibyll out of my 
 heart, perforce of numbers."
 
 THE LAST OF THE B AEONS. 113 
 
 " And thou lovest her no more 1 " 
 
 " Not I, hy this goblet ! On coming back, it is true, 
 I felt pleased to clank my gold spurs in her presence, 
 and curious to see if my new fortunes would bring out 
 a smile of approval; and verily, to speak sooth, the 
 donzell was kind and friendly, and spoke to me so 
 cheerly of the pleasure she felt in my advancement, that 
 I adventured again a few words of the old folly. But 
 my lassie drew up like a princess, and I am a cured 
 man." 
 
 " By your troth 1 " 
 
 " By my troth ! " 
 
 Alwyn's head sank on his bosom in silent thought. 
 Sir Marmaduke emptied his goblet; and really the 
 young knight looked so fair and so gallant in his new 
 surcoat of velvet, that it was no marvel if he should 
 find enough food for consolation in a court where men 
 spent six hours a day in making love, — nor in vain. 
 
 "And what say they still of the Lord Hastings?" 
 asked Alwyn, breaking silence. "Nothing, I trow and 
 trust, that arraigns the poor lady's honor, — though 
 much that may scoff at her simple faith in a nature so 
 vain and fickle 1 ? ' The tongue 's not steel, yet it cuts,' 
 as the proverb saith of the slanderer. " 
 
 "No! scandal spares her virtue as woman, — to run 
 down her cunning as witch ! They say that Hastings 
 hath not prevailed, nor sought to prevail, — that he 
 is spellbound. By St. Thomas, from a maid of such 
 character, Marmaduke Nevile is happily rescued!" 
 
 " Sir Marmaduke," then said Alwyn, in a grave and 
 earnest voice, — " it behooves me, as true friend, though 
 humble, and as honest man, to give thee my secret in 
 return for thine own. I love this girl. Ay, ay! thou 
 thinkest that love is a strange word in a craftsman's 
 
 VOL. II. — 8
 
 114 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 lips, but ' cold flint hides hot fire.' I would not have 
 been thy rival, Heaven forefend ! hadst thou still cher- 
 ished a hope, — or if thou now wilt forbid my aspiring ; 
 but if thou wilt not say me nay, I will try my chance 
 in delivering a pure soul from a crafty wooer." 
 
 Marmaduke stared in great surprise at his foster- 
 brother; and though, no doubt, he spoke truth, when 
 he said he was cured of his love for Sibyll, he yet felt 
 a sort of jealousy at Alwyn's unexpected confession, 
 and his vanity was hurt at the notion that the plain- 
 visaged trader should attempt where the handsome 
 gentleman had failed. However, his blunt, generous, 
 manly nature, after a brief struggle, got the better of 
 these sore feelings, and holding out his hand to Alwyn, 
 he said, " My dear foster-brother, try the hazard and 
 cast thy dice, if thou wilt. Heaven prosper thee, if 
 success be for thine own good ! But if she be really 
 given to witchcraft (plague on thee, man, sneer not at 
 the word), small comfort to bed and hearth can such 
 practices bring! " 
 
 " Alas ! " said Alwyn, " the witchcraft is on the side 
 of Hastings, — the witchcraft of fame and rank, and a 
 glozing tongue and experienced art. But she shall not 
 fall, if a true arm can save her; and ' though Hope be 
 a small child, she can carry a great anchor! ' " 
 
 These words were said so earnestly, that they opened 
 new light into Marmaduke's mind, and his native 
 generosity standing in lieu of intellect, he compre- 
 hended sympathetically the noble motives which actu- 
 ated the son of commerce. 
 
 " My poor Alwyn," he said, " if thou canst save this 
 young maid, — whom, by my troth, I loved well, and 
 who tells me yet that she loveth me as a sister loves, 
 — right glad shall I be. But thou stakest thy peace
 
 THE LAST OF THE BAKOXS. 115 
 
 of mind against hers: fair luck to thee, say I again, — ■ 
 and if thou wilt risk thy chance at once (for suspense is 
 love's purgatory) , seize the moment. I saw Sibyll, just 
 ere we met, pass to the ramparts alone; at this sharp 
 season the place is deserted, — go." 
 
 " I will, this moment! " said Alwyn, rising and 
 turning very pale; but as he gained the door, he halted, 
 — "I had forgot, Master Nevile, that I bring the king 
 his signet-ring, new set, of the falcon and fetter-lock." 
 
 " They will keep thee three hours in the anteroom. 
 The Duke of Clarence is now with the king. Trust the 
 ring to me, — I shall see his Highness ere he dines. " 
 
 Even in his love, Alwyn had the Saxon's considera- 
 tions of business; he hesitated, "May I not endanger 
 thereby the king's favor and loss of custom? " said the 
 trader. 
 
 "Tush, man! little thou knowest King Edward; he 
 cares nought for the ceremonies: moreover, the Neviles 
 are now all-puissant in favor. I am here in attendance 
 on sweet Lady Anne, whom the king loves as a daughter, 
 though too young for sire to so well-grown a donzell ; 
 and a word from her lip, if need be, will set all as 
 smooth as this gorget of lawn ! " 
 
 Tims assured, Alwyn gave the ring to his friend, 
 and took his way at once to the ramparts. Marmaduke 
 remained behind to finish the canary and marvel how so 
 sober a man should form so ardent a passion. Nor was 
 he much less surprised to remark that his friend, though 
 still speaking with a strong provincial accent, and still 
 sowing his discourse with rustic saws and proverbs, had 
 risen in language and in manner with the rise of his 
 fortunes. "An he go on so, and become lord mayor," 
 muttered Marmaduke, " verily he will half look like a 
 gentleman ! "
 
 116 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 To these meditations the young knight was not long 
 left in peace. A messenger from Warwick House 
 sought and found him, with the news that the earl 
 was on his road to London, and wished to see Sir 
 Marmaduke the moment of his arrival, which was 
 hourly expected. The young knight's hardy brain, 
 somewhat flustered by the canary, Alwyn's secret, and 
 this sudden tidings, he hastened to obey his chief's 
 summons, and forgot, till he gained the earl's mansion, 
 the signet-ring intrusted to him by Alwyn. " What 
 matters it? " said he then, philosophically, — " the king 
 hath rings eno' on his fingers not to miss one for an hour 
 or so, and I dare not send any one else with it. Marry, 
 I must plunge my head in cold water, to get rid of the 
 fumes of the wine."
 
 THE LAST OF THE BAIIONS. 117 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The Lover and the Gallant — Woman's Choice. 
 
 Alwyn bent his way to the ramparts, a part of which 
 then resembled the boulevards of a French town, having 
 rows of trees, green sward, a winding walk, and seats 
 placed at frequent intervals, for the repose of the loun- 
 gers. During the summer evenings, the place was a 
 favorite resort of the court idlers ; but now, in winter, 
 it was usually deserted, save by the sentries, placed at 
 distant intervals. The trader had not gone far in his 
 quest, when he perceived, a few paces before him, the 
 very man he had most cause to dread; and Lord Hast- 
 ings, hearing the sound of a footfall amongst the crisp, 
 faded leaves that strewed the path, turned abruptly as 
 Alwyn approached his side. 
 
 At the sight of his formidable rival, Alwyn had 
 formed one of those resolutions which occur only to 
 men of his decided, plain-spoken, energetic character. 
 His distinguishing shrewdness and penetration had given 
 him considerable insight into the nobler as well as the 
 weaker qualities of Hastings; and his hope in the former 
 influenced the determination to which he came. The 
 reflections of Hastings at that moment were of a nature 
 to augur favorably to the views of the humbler lover; 
 for, during the stirring scenes in which his late absence 
 from Sibyll had been passed, Hastings had somewhat 
 recovered from her influence ; and feeling the difficulties 
 of reconciling his honor and his worldly prospects to fur- 
 ther prosecution of the love, rashly expressed but not
 
 118 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 deeply felt, lie had determined frankly to cut the Gordian 
 knot he could not solve, and inform Sibyll that marriage 
 between them was impossible. With that view he had 
 appointed this meeting, and his conference with the king 
 but confirmed his intention. 
 
 It was in this state of mind that he was thus accosted 
 by Alwyn : — 
 
 " My lord, may I make bold to ask, for a few moments, 
 your charitable indulgence to words you may deem 
 presumptuous 1 " 
 
 " Be brief, then, Master Alwyn, — I am waited for." 
 
 " Alas, my lord ! I can guess by whom : by the one 
 whom I seek myself, — by Sibyll Warner?" 
 
 "How, Sir Goldsmith!" said Hastings, haughtily, — 
 " what knowest thou of my movements, and what care 
 I for thine 1 " 
 
 "Hearken, my Lord Hastings, — hearken!" said 
 Alwyn, repressing his resentment, and in a voice so 
 earnest that it riveted the entire attention of the listener, 
 — "hearken and judge not as noble judges craftsman, 
 but as man should judge man. As the saw saith, < We 
 all lie alike in our graves.' From the first moment I 
 saw this Sibyll Warner I loved her. Yes; smile dis- 
 dainfully, but listen still. She was obscure and in 
 distress. I loved her not for her fair looks alone, — I 
 loved her for her good gifts, for her patient industry, 
 for her filial duty, for her struggles to give bread to 
 her father's board. I did not say to myself, < This girl 
 will make a comely fere, — a delicate paramour!' I said, 
 ' This good daughter will make a wife whom an honest 
 man may take to his heart and cherish. ' " Poor Alwyn 
 stopped, with tears in his voice, struggled with his 
 emotions, and pursued : " My fortunes were more prom- 
 ising than hers; there was no cause why I might not
 
 THE LAST OF THE BAEOXS. 119 
 
 hope. True, I had a rival then: young as myself, — 
 better born, comelier; but she loved him not. I foresaw 
 that his love for her — if love it were — would cease. 
 Methought that her mind would understand mine; as 
 mine — verily I say it — yearned for hers! I could not 
 look on the maidens of mine own rank, and who had 
 lived around me, but what — oh, no, my lord, again I 
 say, not the beauty, but the gifts, the mind, the heart 
 of Sibyll, threw them all into the shade. You may 
 think it strange that I — a plain, steadfast, trading, 
 working, careful man — should have all these feelings ; 
 but I will tell you wherefore such as I sometimes have 
 them, nurse them, brood on them, more than you lords 
 and gentlemen, with all your graceful arts in pleasing. 
 We know no light loves ! no brief distractions to the 
 one arch passion ! We sober sons of the stall and the 
 ware are no general gallants, — we love plainly, we love 
 but once, and we love heartily. But who knows not the 
 proverb, ' What 's a gentleman but his pleasure 1 ' — 
 and what 's pleasure but change 1 When Sibyll came to 
 the palace, I soon heard her name linked with yours ; I 
 saw her cheek blush when you spoke. Well — well — 
 well ! after all, as the old wives tell us, ' blushing is 
 virtue's livery.' I said, 'She is a chaste and high- 
 hearted girl.' This will pass, and the time will come 
 when she can compare your love and mine. Now, my 
 lord, the time has come, — I know that you seek her. 
 Yea, at this moment, I know that her heart beats for 
 your footstep. Say but one word, say that you love 
 Sibyll Warner with the thought of wedding her, — say 
 that, on your honor, noble Hastings, as gentleman and 
 peer, and I will kneel at your feet, and beg your pardon 
 for my vain follies, and go back to my ware, and work, 
 and not repine. Say it! You are silent! Then I
 
 120 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 implore you, still as peer and gentleman, to let the 
 honest love save the maiden from the wooing that will 
 blight her peace and blast her name! And now, Lord 
 Hastings, I wait your gracious answer." 
 
 The sensations experienced by Hastings, as Alwyn 
 thus concluded, were manifold and complicated; but, 
 at the first, admiration and pity were the strongest. 
 
 "My poor friend," said he, kindly, "if you thus love 
 a demoiselle deserving all my reverence, your words 
 and your thoughts bespeak you no unworthy pretender; 
 but take my counsel, good Alwyn. Come not — thou 
 from the Chepe — come not to the court for a wife. 
 Forget this fantasy." 
 
 " My lord, it is impossible! Forget I cannot, — regret 
 I may." 
 
 " Thou canst not succeed, man, " resumed the noble- 
 man, more coldly, " nor couldst if William Hastings 
 had never lived. The eyes of women accustomed to 
 gaze on the gorgeous externals of the world, are blinded 
 to plain worth like thine. It might have been different 
 had the donzell never abided in a palace ; but, as it is, 
 brave fellow, learn how these wounds of the heart scar 
 over, and the spot becomes hard and callous evermore. 
 What art thou, Master Nicholas Alwyn," continued 
 Hastings, gloomily, and with a withering smile — 
 " what art thou, to ask for a bliss denied to me, to 
 all of us: the bliss of carrying poetry into life, youth 
 into manhood, by winning — the First Loved ? But 
 think not, sir lover, that I say this in jealousy or dis- 
 paragement. Look yonder, by the leafless elm, the 
 white robe of Sibyll Warner. Go and plead thy suit. " 
 
 " Do I understand you, my lord 1 " said Alwyn, some- 
 what confused and perplexed by the tone and the manner 
 Hastings adopted. " Does report err, and you do not 
 love this maiden 1 "
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 121 
 
 " Fair master^ " returned Hastings, scornfully, " thou 
 hast no right that I trow of to pry into my thoughts 
 and secrets; I cannot acknowledge my judge in thee, 
 good jeweller and goldsmith, — enough, surely, in all 
 courtesy, that I yield thee the precedence. Tell thy 
 tale, as movingly, if thou wilt, as thou hast told it to 
 me ; say of me all that thou fanciest thou hast reason to 
 suspect; and if, Master Alwyn, thou woo and win the 
 lady, fail not to ask me to thy wedding! " 
 
 There was in this speech, and the bearing of the 
 speaker, that superb levity, that inexpressible and con- 
 scious superiority, that cold ironical tranquillity, which 
 awe and humble men more than grave disdain or imperi- 
 ous passion. Alwyn ground his teeth as he listened, 
 and gazed in silent despair and rage upon the calm lord. 
 Neither of these men could strictly be called handsome. 
 Of the two, Alwyn had the advantage of more youthful 
 prime, of a taller stature, of a more powerful, though 
 less supple and graceful, frame. In their very dress, 
 there was little of that marked distinction between classes 
 which then usually prevailed, for the dark cloth tunic 
 and surcoat of Hastings made a costume even simpler 
 tban the bright-colored garb of the trader, with its broad 
 trimmings of fur, and its aiglettes of elaborate lace. 
 Between man and man, then, where was the visible, the 
 mighty, the insurmountable difference in all that can 
 charm the fancy and captivate the eye, which, as he 
 gazed, Alwyn confessed to himself there existed between 
 the two 1 Alas! how the distinctions least to be analyzed 
 are ever the sternest! What lofty ease in that high-bred 
 air ; what histories of triumph seemed to speak in that 
 quiet eye, sleeping in its own imperious lustre ; what 
 magic of command in that pale brow ; what spells of 
 persuasion in that artful lip ! Alwyn muttered to him-
 
 122 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 self, bowed his head involuntarily, and passed on at once 
 from Hastings to Sibyll, who now, at the distance of 
 some yards, had arrested her steps, in surprise to see the 
 conference between the nobleman and the burgher. 
 
 But as he approached Sibyll, poor Alwyn felt all the 
 firmness and courage he had exhibited with Hastings 
 melt away. And the trepidation which a fearful but 
 deep affection ever occasions in men of his character, 
 made his movements more than usually constrained 
 and awkward, as he cowered beneath the looks of the 
 maid he so truly loved. 
 
 " Seekest thou me, Master Alwyn 1 " asked Sibyll, 
 gently, seeing that, though he paused by her side, he 
 spoke not. 
 
 " I do, " returned Alwyn, abruptly, and again he was 
 silent. 
 
 At length, lifting his eyes and looking round him, 
 he saw Hastings at the distance, leaning against the 
 rampart, with folded arms, and the contrast of his 
 rival's cold and arrogant indifference, and his own 
 burning veins and bleeding heart, roused up his manly 
 spirit, and gave to his tongue the eloquence which 
 emotion gams when it once breaks the fetters it forges 
 to itself. 
 
 " Look — look, Sibyll ! " he said, pointing to Hast- 
 ings, — "look! that man you believe loves you? — if 
 so — if he loved thee, would he stand yonder — mark 
 him — aloof, contemptuous, careless — ■ while he knew 
 that I was by your side 1 " 
 
 Sibyll turned upon the goldsmith eyes full of inno- 
 cent surprise, eyes that asked, plainly as eyes could 
 speak, " And wherefore not, Master Alwyn ? " 
 
 Alwyn so interpreted the look, and replied, as if she 
 had spoken, " Because he must know how poor and
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 123 
 
 tame is that feeble fantasy, which alone can come from 
 a soul, worn bare with pleasure, to that which I feel 
 and now own for thee, — the love of youth, born of the 
 heart's first vigor; because he ought to fear that that 
 love should prevail with thee; because that love ought 
 to prevail. Sibyll, between us, there are not imparity 
 and obstacle. Oh, listen to me, — listen still ! Frown 
 not, — turn not away. " And, stung and animated by 
 the sight of his rival, fired by the excitement of a con- 
 test on which the bliss of his own life and the weal of 
 Sibyll's might depend, his voice was as the cry of a 
 mortal agony, and affected the girl to the inmost recesses 
 of her soul. 
 
 "Oh, Alwyn, I frown not!" she said, sweetly, — 
 " oh, Alwyn, I turn not away ! Woe is me to give 
 pain to so kind and brave a heart ; but — " 
 
 " No, speak not yet. I have studied thee, — I have 
 read thee as a scholar would read a book. I know 
 thee proud, I know thee aspiring, — I know thou art 
 vain of thy gentle blood, and distasteful of my yeoman's 
 birth. There, I am not blind to thy faults, but I love 
 thee despite them; and to please those faults, I have 
 toiled, schemed, dreamed, risen, — I offer to thee the 
 future with the certainty of a man who can command it. 
 Wouldst thou wealth 1 — be patient (as ambition ever 
 is) : in a few years thou shalt have more gold than the 
 wife of Lord Hastings can command; thou shalt lodge 
 more statelily, fare more sumptuously ; * thou shalt walk 
 on cloth of gold if thou wilt ! Wouldst thou titles 1 — 
 I will win them. Richard de la Pole, who founded the 
 
 1 This was no vain promise of Master Alwyn. At that time, a 
 successful trader made a fortune with signal rapidity, and eujoyed 
 greater luxuries than most of the barons. All the gold in the 
 country flowed into the coffers of the London merchants.
 
 124 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 greatest duchy in the realm, was poorer than I when he 
 first served in a merchant's ware. Gold buys all things 
 now. Oh, would to heaven it could hut buy me thee ! ' 
 
 " Master Alwyn, it is not gold that buys love. Be 
 soothed. What can I say to thee to soften the harsh 
 word 'Nay?'" 
 
 " You reject me, then, and at once. I ask not your 
 hand now. I will wait, tarry, hope, — I care not if for 
 years , — wait till I can fulfil all I promise thee ! " 
 
 Sibyll, affected to tears, shook her head mournfully; 
 and there was a long and painful silence. Never was 
 wooing more strangely circumstanced than this : the one 
 lover pleading while the other was in view, — the one, 
 ardent, impassioned ; the other, calm and passive, — and 
 the silence of the last, alas! having all the success which 
 the words of the other lacked. It might be said that the 
 choice before Sibyll was a type of the choice ever given, 
 but in vain, to the child of genius. Here a secure and 
 peaceful life, an honored home, a tranquil lot, free from 
 ideal visions, it is true, but free also from the doubt and the 
 terror, the storms of passion; — there, the fatal influence 
 of an affection, born of imagination, sinister, equivocal, 
 ominous, but irresistible. And the child of genius ful- 
 filled her destiny ! 
 
 " Master Alwyn, " said Sibyll, rousing herself to the 
 necessary exertion, " I shall never cease gratefully to 
 recall thy generous friendship, — never cease to pray 
 fervently for thy weal below. But forever and forever 
 let this content thee, — I can no more." 
 
 Impressed by the grave and solemn tone of Sibyll, 
 Alwyn hushed the groan that struggled to his lips, and 
 gloomily replied, " I obey you, fair mistress, and I re- 
 turn to my work-day life ; but ere I go, I pray you mis- 
 think me not if I say this much; — not alone for the
 
 THE LAST OF THE B AEONS. 125 
 
 bliss of hoping for a day in which I might call thee 
 mine have I thus importuned ; but, not less — I swear 
 not less — from the soul's desire to save thee from what 
 I fear will but lead to woe and wayment, to peril and 
 pain, to weary days and sleepless nights. 'Better a 
 little fire that warms than a great that burns. ' Dost thou 
 think that Lord Hastings, the vain, the dissolute — " 
 
 "Cease, sir!" said Sibyll, proudly, "me reprove if 
 thou wilt, but lower not my esteem for thee by slander 
 against another! " 
 
 " What ! " said Alwyn, bitterly ; " doth even one 
 word of counsel chafe thee 1 I tell thee that if thou 
 dreamest that Lord Hastings loves Sibyll Warner as 
 man doves the maiden he would wed, — thou deceivest 
 thyself to thine own misery. If thou wouldst prove it, 
 go to him now, — go and say, ' Wilt thou give me that 
 home of peace and honor, — that shelter for my father's 
 old age, under a son's roof, which the trader I despise 
 proffers me in vain 1 ' " 
 
 "If it were already proffered me, — by him?" said 
 Sibyll, in a low voice, and blushing deeply. 
 
 Alwyn started. " Then I wronged him ; and — 
 and — " he added, generously, though with a faint 
 sickness at his heart, " I can yet be happy in thinking 
 thou art so. Farewell, maiden, the saints guard thee 
 from one memory of regret at what hath passed be- 
 tween us! " 
 
 He pulled his bonnet hastily over his brows, and 
 departed with unequal and rapid strides. As he passed 
 the spot where Hastings stood leaning his arm upon 
 the wall, and his face upon his hand, the nobleman 
 looked up, and said, — ■ 
 
 " Well, Sir Goldsmith, own at least that thy trial 
 hath been a fair one ! " Then, struck with the anguish
 
 126 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 written upon Alwyn's face, he walked up to him, and, 
 with a frank, compassionate impulse, laid his hand on 
 his shoulder. "Alwyn," he said, "I have felt what 
 you feel now, — I have survived it, and the world hath 
 not prospered with me less! Take with you a compas- 
 sion that respects, and does not degrade you." 
 
 " Do not deceive her, my lord, — she trusts and loves 
 you! You never deceived man, — the wide world says 
 it, — do not deceive woman! Deeds kill men, — words 
 women!" Speaking thus simply, Alwyn strode on, 
 and vanished. 
 
 Hastings slowly and silently advanced to Sibyll. Her 
 rejection of Alwyn had by no means tended to reconcile 
 him to the marriage he himself had proffered. He might 
 well suppose that the girl, even if unguided by affection, 
 would not hesitate between a mighty nobleman and an 
 obscure goldsmith. His pride was sorely wounded that 
 the latter should have even thought himself the equal of 
 one whom he had proposed, though but in a passionate 
 impulse, to raise to his own state. And yet, as he neared 
 Sibyll, and, with a light footstep, she sprang forward to 
 meet him, her eyes full of sweet joy and confidence, he 
 shrank from an avowal which must wither up a heart 
 opening thus all its bloom of youth and love to greet 
 him. 
 
 " Ah, fair lord, " said the maiden, " was it kindly in 
 thee to permit poor Alwyn to inflict on me so sharp a 
 pain, and thou to stand calmly distant? Sure, alas! 
 that had thy humble rival proffered a crown, it had been 
 the same to Sibyll ! Oh, how the grief it was mine to 
 cause grieved me; and yet, through all, I had one 
 selfish, guilty gleam of pleasure,— to think that I had 
 not been loved so well, if I were all unworthy the sole 
 love I desire or covet! "
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 127 
 
 " And yet, Sibyl], this young man can, in all save 
 wealth and a sounding name, give thee more than I 
 can : a heart undarkened by moody memories, — a 
 temper unsoured by the world's dread and bitter lore 
 of man's frailty and earth's sorrow. Ye are not far 
 separated by ungenial years, and might glide to a com- 
 mon grave hand in hand; but I, older in heart than in 
 age, am yet so far thine elder in the last, that these 
 hairs will be gray, and this form bent, while thy beauty 
 is in its prime, and — but thou weepest ! " 
 
 " I weep that thou shouldst bring one thought of time 
 to sadden my thoughts, which are of eternity. Love 
 knows no age, — it foresees no grave! its happiness and 
 its trust behold on the earth but one glory, melting 
 into the hues of heaven, where they who love last- 
 ingly pass calmly on to live forever! See, I weep not 
 now!" 
 
 " And did not this honest burgher, " pursued Hastings, 
 softened and embarrassed, but striving to retain his cruel 
 purpose, " tell thee to distrust me ? — tell thee that my 
 vows were false 1 " 
 
 " Methinks, if an angel told me so, T should disbelieve ! " 
 
 " Why, look thee, Sibyll, suppose his warning true, 
 — suppose that, at this hour, I sought thee with intent 
 to say that that destiny which ambition weaves for 
 itself forbade me to fulfil a word hotly spoken 1 that 
 I could not wed thee ? — should I not seem to thee a 
 false wooer, — a poor trifler with thy earnest heart, — 
 and so, couldst thou not recall the love of him whose 
 truer and worthier homage yet lingers in thine ear, and 
 with him be happy 1 " 
 
 Sibyll lifted her dark eyes, yet humid, upon the 
 tuirevealing face of the speaker, and gazed on him 
 with wistful and inquiring sadness, then, shrinking
 
 128 THE LAST OF THE B AEONS. 
 
 from his side, she crossed her arms meekly on her 
 bosom, and thus said, — 
 
 " If ever, since we parted, one such thought hath 
 glanced across thee, — one thought of repentance at the 
 sacrifice of pride, or the lessening of power, — which" 
 (she faltered, broke off the sentence, and resumed) — 
 " in one word, if thou wouldst retract, say it now, and I 
 will not accuse thy falsehood, but bless thy truth." 
 
 " Thou couldst be consoled, then, by thy pride of 
 woman, for the loss of an unworthy lover? " 
 
 " My lord, are these questions fair 1 " 
 
 Hastings was silent. The gentler part of his nature 
 struggled severely with the harder. The pride of Sibyll 
 moved him no less than her trust ; and her love in both 
 was so evident — so deep, so exquisitely contrasting the 
 cold and frivolous natures amidst which his lot had 
 fallen — that he recoded from casting away forever a 
 heart never to be replaced. Standing on that bridge of 
 life, with age before and youth behind, he felt that never 
 again could he be so loved, or, if so loved, by one so 
 worthy of whatever of pure affection, of young romance, 
 was yet left to his melancholy and lonely soul. 
 
 He took her hand, and, as she felt its touch, her 
 firmness forsook her, her head drooped upon her bosom, 
 and she burst into an agony of tears. 
 
 " Oh, Sibyll, forgive me ! Smile on me again, 
 Sibyll! " exclaimed Hastings, subdued and melted. 
 But, alas! the heart, once bruised and galled, recovers 
 itself but slowly, and it was many minutes before the 
 softest words the eloquent lover could shape to sound 
 sufficed to dry those burning tears, and bring back the 
 enchanting smile, — nay, even then the smile was forced 
 and joyless. They walked on for some moments, both 
 in thought, till Hastings said, " Thou lovest me, SibylL
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 129 
 
 and art worthy of all the love that man can feel for 
 maid; and yet, canst thou solve me this question, nor 
 chide me that I ask it, — dost thou not love the world 
 and the world's judgment more than me ? What is that 
 which women call honor? What makes them shrink 
 from all love that takes not the form and circumstance 
 of the world's hollow rites? Does love cease to he love, 
 unless over its wealth of trust and emotion the priest 
 mouths his empty hlessing ? Thou, in thy graceful pride, 
 art angered if I, in wedding thee, should remember the 
 sacrifice which men like me — I own it fairly — deem as 
 great as man can make; and yet thou wouldst fly my 
 love, if it wooed thee to a sacrifice of thine own ? " 
 
 Artfully was the question put, and Hastings smiled to 
 himself in imagining the reply it must bring; and then 
 Sibyll answered with the blush which the very subject 
 called forth. 
 
 " Alas, my lord, I am but a poor casuist, but I feel 
 that if I asked thee to forfeit whatever men respect 
 — honor, and repute for valor — to be traitor and das- 
 tard, thou couldst love me no more ; and marvel you, 
 if when man wooes woman to forfeit all that her sex 
 holds highest, — to be, in woman, what dastard and 
 traitor is in man, — she hears her conscience and her 
 God speak in a louder voice than can come from a 
 human lip ? The goods and pomps of the world we 
 are free to sacrifice, and true love heeds and counts 
 them not, but true love cannot sacrifice that which 
 makes up love, — it cannot sacrifice the right to be 
 loved below, the hope to love on in the realm above, 
 the power to pray with a pure sold for the happiness 
 it yearns to make, the blessing to seem ever good and 
 honored in the eyes of the one by whom alone it 
 would be judged, — and therefore, sweet lord, true love 
 
 VOL II. — 9
 
 130 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 never contemplates this sacrifice ; and, if once it believe 
 itself truly loved, it trusts with a fearless faith in the 
 love on which it leans." 
 
 " Sibyll, would to Heaven I had seen thee in my 
 youth! Would to Heaven I were more worthy of 
 thee! " And in that interview Hastings had no heart 
 to utter what he had resolved, " Sibyll, I sought thee 
 but to say, Farewell."
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 131 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Warwick returns — Appeases a Discontented Prince — And con- 
 fers with a Revengeful Conspirator. 
 
 It was not till late in the evening that Warwick arrived 
 at his vast residence in London, where he found not 
 only Marinaduke Nevile ready to receive him, hut a 
 more august expectant, in George Duke of Clarence. 
 Scarcely had the earl crossed the threshold, when the 
 duke seized his arm, and leading him into the room 
 that adjoined the hall, said, — 
 
 " Verily, Edward is besotted no less than ever by his 
 wife's leech-like family. Thou knowest my appoint- 
 ment to the government of Ireland; Isabel, like myself, 
 cannot endure the subordinate vassalage we must brook 
 at the court, with the queen's cold looks and sour 
 Avords. Thou knowest also, with what vain pretexts 
 Edward hath put me off; and now, this very day, lie 
 tells me that he hath changed his humor: that I am not 
 stern enough for the Irish kernes, — that he loves me 
 too well to banish me, forsooth; and that Worcester, 
 the people's butcher, but the queen's favorite, must 
 have the post so sacredly pledged to me. I see, in 
 this, Elizabeth's crafty malice. Is this struggle between 
 king's blood and queen's kith to go on forever? " 
 
 " Calm thyself, George; I will confer with the king 
 to-morrow, and hope to compass thy not too arrogant 
 desire. Certes, a king's brother is the fittest vice- 
 king for the turbulent kernes of Ireland, who are ever
 
 132 THE LAST OF THE BAKONS. 
 
 flattered into obeisance by ceremony and show. The 
 government was pledged to thee, — Edward can scarcely 
 be serious. Moreover, Worcester, though forsooth a 
 learned man, — (Mort Dieu! methinks that same learn- 
 ing fills the head to drain the heart !), — is so abhorred 
 for his cruelties, that his very landing in Ireland will 
 bring a new rebellion, to add to our already festering 
 broils and sores. Calm thyself, I say. Where didst 
 thou leave Isabel 1 " 
 
 "With my mother." 
 
 " And Anne 1 — the queen chills not her young heart 
 with cold grace? " 
 
 "Nay, — the queen dare not unleash her malice 
 against Edward's will; and, to do him justice, he 
 hath shown all honor to Lord Warwick's daughter." 
 
 " He is a gallant prince, with all his faults," said the 
 father, heartily, "and we must bear with him, George; 
 for verily he hath bound men by a charm to love him. 
 Stay, thou, and share my hasty repast, and over the 
 wine we will talk of thy views. Spare me now for a 
 moment; I have to prepare work eno' for a sleepless 
 night. This Lincolnshire rebellion promises much 
 trouble. Lord Willoughby has joined it, — more than 
 twenty thousand men are in arms. I have already sent 
 to convene the knights and barons on whom the king 
 can best depend, and must urge their instant departure 
 for their halls, to raise men and meet the foe. While 
 Edward feasts, his minister must toil. Tarry awhile 
 till I return." 
 
 The earl re-entered the hall, and beckoned to Mar- 
 maduke, who stood amongst a group of squires. 
 
 " Follow me; I may have work for thee." Warwick 
 took a taper from one of the servitors, and led the way 
 to his own more private apartment. On the landing of
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 133 
 
 the staircase, by a small door, stood his body squire, — 
 " Is the prisoner within 1 " 
 
 "Yes, my lord." 
 
 " Good ! " — The earl opened the door by which the 
 squire had mounted guard, and bade Marmaduke wait 
 without. 
 
 The inmate of the chamber, whose dress bore the 
 stains of fresh travel and hard riding, lifted his face 
 hastily as the earl entered. 
 
 " Eobin Hilyard," said Warwick, "I have mused 
 much how to reconcile my service to the king, with 
 the gratitude I owe to a man who saved me from great 
 danger. In the midst of thy unhappy and rebellious 
 designs, thou Avert captured and brought to me; the 
 papers found on thee attest a Lancastrian revolt: so 
 ripening towards a mighty gathering, — and so formid- 
 able from the adherents whom the gold and intrigues 
 of King Louis have persuaded to risk land and life for 
 the Red Eose, that all the king's friends can do to save 
 his throne is now needed. In this revolt thou hast 
 been the scheming brain, the master hand, the match to 
 the bombard, the firebrand to the flax. Thou smilest, 
 man ! Alas ! seest thou not that it is my stern duty 
 to send thee, bound hand and foot, before the king's 
 council, — for the brake to wring from thee thy guilty 
 secrets, and the gibbet to close thy days?" 
 
 " I am prepared," said Hilyard; "when the bombard 
 explodes, the match has become useless, — when the 
 flame smites the welkin, the firebrand is consumed! " 
 
 " Bold man ! what seest thou in this rebellion that 
 can profit thee 1 " 
 
 " I see, looming through the chasms and rents made 
 in the feudal order by civil war, the giant image of a 
 free people."
 
 13-4 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 "And thou wouldst be a martyr for the multitude, 
 who deserted thee at Olney ? " 
 
 " As thou for the king who dishonored thee at Shene ! " 
 
 Warwick frowned, and there was a moment's pause; 
 at last, said the earl, " Look you, Robin, I would fain 
 not have on my hands the blood of a man who saved 
 my life. I believe thee, though a fanatic and half- 
 madman, — I believe thee true in word as rash of deed. 
 Swear to me on the cross of this dagger, that thou wilt 
 lay aside all scheme and plot for this rebellion, all aid 
 and share in civil broil and dissension, and thy life 
 and liberty are restored to thee. In that intent I have 
 summoned my own kinsman, Marmaduke Nevile. He 
 waits without the door: he shall conduct thee safely to 
 the sea-shore, — thou shalt gain in peace my govern- 
 ment of Calais, and my seneschal there shall find thee 
 all thou canst need: meat for thy hunger, and moneys 
 for thy pastime. Accept my mercy, — take the oath, 
 and begone." 
 
 "My lord," answered Hilyard, much touched and 
 affected, — " blame not thyself if this carcass feed the 
 crows: my blood be on mine own head! I cannot take 
 this oath. I cannot live in peace; strife and broil are 
 grown to me food and drink. Oh, my lord! thou 
 knowest not what dark and baleful memories made me 
 an agent in God's hand against this ruthless Edward; " 
 and then passionately, with whitening lips and con- 
 vulsive features, Hilyard recounted to the startled War- 
 wick the same tale which had roused the sympathy of 
 Adam Warner. 
 
 The earl, whose affections were so essentially homely 
 and domestic, was even more shocked than the scholar 
 by the fearful narrative. 
 
 "Unhappy man!" he said, with moistened eyes, —
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 135 
 
 8 from the core of my heart I pity thee. But thou, the 
 scathed sufferer from civil war, wilt thou be now its 
 dread reviver? " 
 
 " If Edward had wronged thee, great earl, as me, poor 
 franklin, what would be thine answer? In vain mor- 
 alize to him whom the spectre of a murdered child and 
 the shriek of a maniac wife haunt and hound on to 
 vengeance ! So send me to rack and halter. Be there 
 one curse more on the soul of Edward!" 
 
 " Thou shalt not die through my witness," said the 
 earl, abruptly, and he quitted the chamber. 
 
 Securing the door by a heavy bolt on the outside, he 
 gave orders to his squire to attend to the comforts of the 
 prisoner; and then turning into his closet with Marma- 
 duke, said, " I sent for thee, young cousin, with design 
 to commit to thy charge one whose absence from Eng- 
 land I deemed needful, — that design I must abandon. 
 Go back to the palace, and see, if thou canst, the king 
 before he sleeps, — say that this rising in Lincolnshire 
 is more than a riot; it is the first burst of a revolution ! 
 that I hold council here to-night, and every shire, ere 
 the morrow, shall have its appointed captain. I will 
 see the king at morning. Yet stay, — gain sight of my 
 child Anne; she will leave the court to-morrow. I 
 will come for her, — bid her train be prepared; she and 
 the countess must away to Calais, — England again hath 
 ceased to be a home for women ! What to do with this 
 poor rebel! " muttered the earl, when alone, — " release 
 him I cannot, slay him I will not. Hum, — there is 
 space enough in these walls to enclose a captive."
 
 136 THE LAST OF THE BAKONS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The Fear and the Flight. 
 
 King Edward feasted high, and Sibyll sat in her 
 father's chamber, — she silent with thought of love, 
 Adam silent in the toils of science. The Eureka was 
 wellnigh finished, — rising from its ruins, more perfect, 
 more elaborate, than before. Maiden and scholar, each 
 seeming near to the cherished goal, — one to love's 
 genial altar, the other to fame's lonely shrine. 
 
 Evening advanced, night began, — night deepened. 
 King Edward's feast was over, but still in his per- 
 fumed chamber the wine sparkled in the golden cup. 
 It was announced to him that Sir Marmaduke Nevile, 
 just arrived from the earl's house, craved an audience. 
 The king, preoccupied in deep revery, impatiently post- 
 poned it till the morrow. 
 
 "To-morrow!" said the gentleman in attendance. 
 " Sir Marmaduke bids me to say, fearful that the late 
 hour would forbid his audience, that Lord Warwick 
 himself will visit your Grace. I fear, sire, that the 
 disturbances are great indeed, for the squires and gen- 
 tlemen in Lady Anne's train have orders to accompany 
 her to Calais to-morrow." 
 
 "To-morrow, to-morrow!" repeated the king, — 
 " well, sir, you are dismissed." 
 
 The Lady Anne (to whom Sibyll had previously 
 communicated the king's kindly consideration for 
 Master Warner) had just seen Marmaduke, and learned 
 the new dangers that awaited the throne and the realm.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 137 
 
 The Lancastrians were then openly in arms for the 
 prince of her love, and against her mighty father! 
 
 The Lady Anne sat awhile, sorrowful and musing, 
 and then, before yon crucifix, the Lady Anne knelt in 
 prayer. 
 
 Sir Marmaduke Nevile descends to the court below, 
 and some three or four busy, curious gentlemen, not yet 
 a-bed, seize him by the arm, and pray him to say what 
 storm is in the wind. 
 
 The night deepened still: the wine is drained in 
 King Edward's goblet; King Edward has left his 
 chamber, — and Sibyll, entreating her father, but in 
 vain, to suspend his toil, has kissed the damps from 
 his brow, and is about to retire to her neighboring 
 room. She has turned to the threshold, when, hark! 
 — a faint — a distant cry, a woman's shriek, the noise 
 of a clapping door! The voice, — it is the voice of 
 Anne! Sibyll passed the threshold, — she is in the 
 corridor; the winter moon shines through the open 
 arches, — the air is white and cold with frost. Sud- 
 denly the door at the farther end is thrown wide open : 
 a form rushes into the corridor, — it passes Sibyll, 
 halts, turns round. "Oh, Sibyll!" cried the Lady 
 Anne, in a voice wild with horror, "save me, — aid, 
 help! Merciful Heaven, the king!" 
 
 Instinctively, wonderingly, tremblingly, Sibyll drew 
 Anne into the chamber she had just quitted, and as 
 they gained its shelter, — as Anne sank upon the floor, 
 the gleam of cloth of gold flashed through the dim 
 atmosphere, and Edward, yet in the royal robe in which 
 he had dazzled all the eyes at his kingly feast, stood 
 within the chamber. His countenance was agitated 
 with passion, and its clear hues flushed red with wine. 
 At his entrance, Anne sprang from the floor, and rushed
 
 138 THE LAST OF THE B AEONS. 
 
 to Warner, who, in dumb bewilderment, had suspended 
 his task, and stood before the Eureka, from which 
 steamed and rushed the dark rapid smoke, while round 
 and round, laboring and groaning, rolled its fairy- 
 wheels. 1 
 
 " Sir," cried Anne, clinging to him convulsively 
 "you are a father, — by your child's soul, protect Lord 
 Warwick's daughter! " 
 
 Roused from his abstraction by this appeal, the poor 
 scholar wound his arm round the form thus clinging to 
 him, and raising his head with dignity, replied, " Thy 
 name, youth, and sex protect thee!" 
 
 "Unhand that lady, vile sorcerer," exclaimed the 
 king, — " Jam her protector. Come Anne, sweet Anne, 
 fair lady, — thou mistakest, come!" he whispered. 
 " Give not to these low natures matter for guesses that 
 do but shame thee. Let thy king and cousin lead thee 
 back to thy sweet rest." 
 
 He sought, though gently, to loosen the arms that 
 wound themselves round the old man; but Anne, not 
 heeding, not listening, distracted by a terror that seemed 
 to shake her whole frame, and to threaten her very 
 reason, continued to cry out loudly upon her father's 
 name, — her great father, wakeful, then, for the baffled 
 ravisher's tottering throne! 
 
 Edward had still sufficient possession of his reason to 
 he alarmed lest some loiterer or sentry in the outer 
 court might hear the cries which his attempts to soothe 
 but the more provoked. Grinding his teeth, and losing 
 
 1 The gentle reader will doubtless bear in mind that Master 
 Warner's complicated model had but little resemblance to the 
 models of the steam-engine in our own day, and that it was usu- 
 ally connected with other contrivances, for the better display of 
 the principle it was intended to illustrate.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 139 
 
 patience, he said to Adam, " Thou knowest me, friend, 
 — I am thy king. Since the Lady Anne, in her bewil- 
 derment, prefers thine aid to mine, help to bear her 
 back to her apartment; and thou, young mistress, lend 
 thine arm. This wizard's den is no fit chamber for our 
 high-born guest." 
 
 " No, no; drive me not hence, Master Warner. That 
 man — that king : give me not up to his — his — " 
 
 " Beware! " exclaimed the king. 
 
 It was not till now that Adam's simple mind com- 
 prehended the true cause of Anne's alarm, which Sibyll 
 still conjectured not, but stood trembling by her friend's 
 side, and close to her father. 
 
 "Do not fear, maiden," said Adam Warner, laying 
 his hand upon the loosened locks tbat swept over his 
 bosom; "for though I am old and feeble, God and his 
 angels are in every spot where virtue trembles and 
 resists. My lord king, thy sceptre extends not over 
 a human soul ! " 
 
 " Dotard, prate not to me! " said Edward, laying his 
 hand on his dagger. 
 
 Sibyll saw the movement, and instinctively placed 
 herself between her father and the king. That slight 
 form, those pure, steadfast eyes, those features, noble 
 at once and delicate, recalled to Edward the awe which 
 had seized him in his first dark design ; and again that 
 awe came over him. He retreated. 
 
 " I mean harm to none," said he, almost submissively ; 
 " and if I am so unhappy as to scare with my presence 
 the Lady Anne, I will retire, praying you, donzell, to 
 see to her state, and lead her back to her chamber when 
 it so pleases herself. Saying this much, I command 
 you, old man, and you, maiden, to stand back while I 
 but address one sentence to the Lady Anne."
 
 140 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 With these words he gently advanced to Anne, and 
 took her hand; hut, snatching it from him, the poor 
 lady broke from Adam, rushed to the casement, opened 
 it, and seeing some figures indistinct and distant in the 
 court below, she called out in a voice of such sharp 
 agony, that it struck remorse and even terror into 
 Edward's soul. 
 
 "Alas!" he muttered, " she will not listen to me, 
 her mind is distraught! What frenzy has been mine! 
 Pardon, pardon, Anne, — oh, pardon!" 
 
 Adam Warner laid his hand on the king's arm, and 
 he drew the imperious despot away as easily as a nurse 
 leads a docile child. 
 
 " King! " said the brave old man, " may God pardon 
 thee; for if the last evil hath been wrought upon this 
 noble lady, David sinned not more heavily than thou." 
 
 " She is pure, inviolate, — I swear it! " said the king, 
 humbly. " Anne, only say that I am forgiven." 
 
 Hut Anne spoke not: her eyes were fixed, her lips 
 had fallen; she was insensible as a corpse, — dumb and 
 frozen with her ineffable dread. Suddenly steps were 
 heard upon the stairs; the door opened, and Marmaduke 
 Nevile entered abruptly. 
 
 "Surely I heard my lady's voice, — surely! What 
 marvel this 1 — the king ! Pardon, my liege ! " — and 
 he bent his knee. 
 
 The sight of Marmaduke dissolved the spell of awe 
 and repentant humiliation, which had chained a king's 
 dauntless heart. His wonted guile returned to him 
 with his self-possession. 
 
 " Our wise craftsman's strange and weird invention — " 
 and Edward pointed to the Eureka — "has scared our 
 fair cousin's senses, as, by sweet St. George, it well 
 might! Go back, Sir Marmaduke, we will leave Lady
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 141 
 
 Anne for the moment to the care of Mistress Sibyll. 
 Donzell, remember my command. Come, sir, — " and 
 he drew the wondering Marmaduke from the chamber ; 
 but as soon as he had seen the knight descend the stairs 
 and regain the court, he returned to the room, and in 
 a low stern voice, said, " Look you, Master Warner, and 
 you, damsel, if ever either of ye breathe one word of 
 what has been your dangerous fate to hear and witness, 
 kings have but one way to punish slanderers, and silence 
 but one safeguard! — trifle not with death ! " 
 
 He then closed the door, and resought his own cham- 
 ber. The Eastern spices, which were burned in the 
 sleeping-rooms of the great, still made the air heavy 
 with their feverish fragrance. The king seated him- 
 self, and strove to recollect his thoughts, and examine 
 the peril he had provoked. The resistance and the 
 terror of Anne had effectually banished from his heart 
 the guilty passion it had before harbored; for emotions 
 like his, and in such a nature, are quick of change. 
 His prevailing feeling was one of sharp repentance, 
 and reproachful shame. But, as he roused himself 
 from a state of mind which light characters ever seek 
 to escape, the image of the dark-browed earl rose before 
 him, and fear succeeded to mortification; but even this, 
 however well-founded, could not endure long in a dis- 
 position so essentially scornful of all danger. Before 
 morning the senses of Anne must return to her. So 
 gentle a bosom could be surely reasoned out of resent- 
 ment, or daunted, at least, from betraying to her stern 
 father a secret that, if told, would smear the sward of 
 England with the gore of thousands. What woman 
 "will provoke war and bloodshed? And for an evil not 
 wrought, — for a purpose not fulfilled? The king was 
 grateful that his victim had escaped him. He would
 
 142 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 see Anne before the earl could, and appease her anger, 
 — obtain her silence! For Warner, and for Sibyll, 
 they would not dare to reveal: and, if they did, the 
 lips that accuse a king soon belie themselves, while a 
 rack can torture truth, and the doomsman be the only 
 judge between the subject and the head that wears a 
 crown ! 
 
 Thus reasoning with himself, his soul faced the soli- 
 tude. Meanwhile Marmaduke regained the court-yard, 
 where, as we have said, he had been detained in con- 
 ferring with some of the gentlemen in the king's ser- 
 vice, who, hearing that he brought important tidings 
 from the earl, had abstained from rest till they could 
 learn if the progress of the new rebellion would bring 
 their swords into immediate service. Marmaduke, 
 pleased to be of importance, had willingly satisfied 
 their curiosity, as far as he was able, and was just 
 about to retire to his own chamber, when the cry of 
 Anne had made him enter the postern door which led 
 up the stairs to Adam's apartment, and which was for- 
 tunately not locked; and now, on returning, he had 
 again a new curiosity to allay. Having briefly said 
 that Master Warner had taken that untoward hour to 
 frighten the women with a machine that vomited smoke 
 and howled piteously, Marmaduke dismissed the group 
 to their beds, and was about to seek his own, when, 
 looking once more towards the casement, he saw a white 
 hand gleaming in the frosty moonlight, and beckoning 
 to him. 
 
 The knight crossed himself, and reluctantly ascended 
 the stairs, and re-entered the wizard's den. 
 
 The Lady Anne had so far recovered herself, that a 
 kind of unnatural calm had taken possession of her 
 mind, and changed her ordinary sweet and tractable
 
 THE LA.ST OF THE BARONS. 143 
 
 nature into one stern, obstinate resolution, — to escape, 
 if possible, that unholy palace. And as soon as Mar- 
 maduke re-entered, Anne met him at the threshold, and 
 laying her hand convulsively on his arm, said, — 
 
 "By the name you bear, by your love to my father, 
 aid me to quit these walls." 
 
 In great astonishment, Marmaduke stared, without 
 reply. 
 
 " Do you deny me, sir? " said Anne, almost sternly. 
 
 "Lady and mistress mine," answered Marmaduke, 
 * I am your servant in all things. Quit these walls, — 
 the palace ! — How ? — the gates are closed. Nay, and 
 what would my lord say, if at night — " 
 
 " If at night!" repeated Anne, in a hollow voice; 
 and then pausing, burst into a terrible laugh. Recov- 
 ering herself abruptly, she moved to the door, — "I 
 will go forth alone, and trust in God and our Lady." 
 
 Sibyll sprang forward to arrest her steps, and Marma- 
 duke hastened to Adam, and whispered, "Poor lady, is 
 her mind unsettled? Hast thou, in truth, distracted 
 her with thy spells and glamour ? " 
 
 "Hush!" answered the old man; and he whispered 
 in the Nevile's ear. 
 
 Scarcely had the knight caught the words than his 
 cheek paled, — his eyes flashed fire. " The great earl's 
 daughter!" he exclaimed, — "infamy, horror: she is 
 right ! " He broke from the student, approached Anne, 
 who still struggled with Sibyll, and kneeling before 
 her, said, in a voice choked with passions at once fierce 
 and tender, — 
 
 " Lady, you are right. Unseemly it may be for one 
 of your quality and sex to quit this place with me, and 
 alone; but at least I have a man's heart, — a knight's 
 honor. Trust to me your safety, noble maiden, and I
 
 144 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 will cut your way, even through yon foul king's heart, 
 to your great father's side ! " 
 
 Anne did not seem quite to understand his words; 
 but she smiled on him as he knelt, and gave him her 
 hand. The responsibility he had assumed quickened 
 all the intellect of the young knight. As he took and 
 kissed the hand extended to him, he felt the ring upon 
 his finger: the ring intrusted to him by Alwyn, — the 
 king's signet-ring, before which would fly open every 
 gate. He uttered a joyous exclamation, loosened his 
 long night-cloak, and praying Anne to envelop her 
 form in its folds, drew the hood over her head; — he 
 was about to lead her forth, when he halted suddenly. 
 
 "Alack, "said he, turning to Sibyll,"even though 
 we may escape the Tower, no boatman now can be found 
 on the river. The way through the streets is dark and 
 perilous, and beset with midnight ruffians." 
 
 "Verily," said Warner, "the danger is past now. 
 Let the noble demoiselle rest here till morning. The 
 king dare not again — " 
 
 "Dare not!" interrupted Marmaduke. "Alas! you 
 little know King Edward." 
 
 At that name Anne shuddered, opened the door, and 
 hurried down the stairs; Sibyll and Marmaduke fol- 
 lowed her. 
 
 " Listen, Sir Marmaduke," said Sibyll. " Close 
 without the Tower is the house of a noble lady, the 
 dame of Longueville, where Anne may rest in safety, 
 while you seek Lord Warwick. I will go with you, 
 if you can obtain egress for us both." 
 
 "Brave damsel!" said Marmaduke, with emotion; 
 " but your own safety, — the king's anger ; no, — besides 
 a third, your dress not concealed, would create the war- 
 der's suspicion. Describe the house. "
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 145 
 
 " The third to the left, by the river's side, with an 
 arched porch, and the fleur-de-lis embossed on the 
 walls." 
 
 " It is not so dark but we shall find it. Fare you 
 well, gentle mistress." 
 
 While they yet spoke, they had both reached the side 
 of Anne. Sibyll still persisted in the wish to accom- 
 pany her friend; but Marmaduke's representation of 
 the peril to life itself, that might befall her father, if 
 Edward learned she had abetted Anne's escape, finally 
 prevailed. The knight and his charge gained the outer 
 gate. 
 
 " Haste, haste, Master Warder! " he cried, beating at 
 the door with his dagger till it opened jealously, — 
 " messages of importance to the Lord Warwick. We 
 have the king's signet. — Open ! " 
 
 The sleepy warder glanced at the ring, — the gates 
 were opened: they were without the fortress, — they 
 hurried on. 
 
 "Cheer up, noble lady; you are safe, — you shall be 
 avenged ! " said Marmaduke, as he felt the steps of his 
 companion falter. 
 
 But the reaction had come. The effort Anne had 
 hitherto made was for escape, — for liberty; the strength 
 ceased, the object gained: her head drooped, — she 
 muttered a few incoherent words, and then sense and 
 life left her. Marmaduke paused in great perplexity 
 and alarm. But lo, a light in a house before him! — 
 that house the third to the river, — the only one with 
 the arched porch described by Sibyll. He lifted the 
 light and holy burden in his strong arms, — he gained 
 the door: to his astonishment it was open, — a light 
 burned on the stairs; he heard, in the upper room, the 
 sound of whispered voices, and quick, soft footsteps 
 
 VOL. II. 10
 
 146 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 hurrying to and fro. Still bearing the insensible form 
 of his companion, he ascended the staircase, and entered 
 at once upon a chamber, in which, by a dim lamp, he 
 saw some two or three persons assembled round a bed 
 in the recess. A grave man advanced to him, as he 
 paused at the threshold, — 
 
 " Whom seek you 1 " 
 
 "The Lady Longueville." 
 
 " Hush ! " 
 
 " Who needs me ? " said a faint voice from the cur- 
 tained recess. 
 
 "My name is Nevile," answered Marmaduke, with 
 straightforward brevity. " Mistress Sibyll Warner told 
 me of this house, Avhere I come for an hour's shelter 
 to my companion, the Lady Anne, daughter of the Earl 
 of Warwick." 
 
 Marmaduke resigned his charge to an old woman, 
 who Avas the nurse in that sick-chamber, and who lifted 
 the hood, and chafed the pale, cold hands of the young 
 maiden; the knight then strode to the recess. The lady 
 of Longueville was on the bed of death, — an illness of 
 two days had brought her to the brink of the grave; 
 but there was in her eye and countenance a restless and 
 preternatural animation, and her voice was clear and 
 shrill, as she said, — 
 
 " Why does the daughter of Warwick, the Yorkist, 
 seek refuge in the house of the fallen and childless 
 Lancastrian ? " 
 
 " Swear, by thy hopes in Christ, that thou wilt tend 
 and guard her while I seek the earl, and I reply." 
 
 " Stranger, my name is Longueville : my birth noble, 
 — those pledges of hospitality and trust are stronger 
 than hollow oaths. Say on ! " 
 
 "Because, then," whispered the knight, after waving
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 147 
 
 the bystanders from the spot — "because the earl's 
 daughter flies dishonor in a king's palace, and her 
 insulter is the king ! " 
 
 Before the dying woman could reply, Anne, recovered 
 by the cares of the experienced nurse, suddenly sprang 
 to the recess, and kneeling by the bedside, exclaimed, 
 wildly, — 
 
 " Save me ! — hide me ! — save me ! " 
 
 "Go and seek the earl, whose right hand destroyed 
 my house and his lawful sovereign's throne, — go! I 
 will live till he arrives ! " said the childless widow, and 
 a wild gleam of triumph shot over her haggard features.
 
 148 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The Group round the Deathbed of the Lancastrian Widow. 
 
 The dawning sun gleamed through gray clouds upon 
 a small troop of men, armed in haste, who were grouped 
 round a covered litter by the outer door of the Lady 
 Longueville's house; while in the death-chamber, the 
 Earl of Warwick, with a face as pale as the dying 
 woman's, stood beside the bed, — Anne calmly leaning 
 on his breast, her eyes closed, and tears yet moist on 
 their long fringes. 
 
 " Ay — ay — ay! " said the Lancastrian noblewoman, 
 "ye men of wrath and turbulence, should reap what ye 
 have sown ! This is the king for whom ye dethroned 
 the sainted Henry ! this the man for whom ye poured 
 forth the blood of England's best ! Ha ! — ha ! — Look 
 down from heaven, my husband, my martyr-sons! The 
 daughter of your mightiest foe flies to this lonely hearth, 
 
 — flies to the death-bed of the powerless woman for 
 refuge from the foul usurper whom that foe placed upon 
 the throne!" 
 
 " Spare me," muttered Warwick in a low voice, and 
 between his grinded teeth. The room had been cleared, 
 and Doctor Godard (the grave man who had first accosted 
 Marmaduke, and who was the priest summoned to the 
 dying) alone — save the scarce conscious Anne herself 
 
 — witnessed the ghastly and awful conference. 
 
 " Hush, daughter," said the man of peace, lifting the 
 solemn crucifix, — "calm thyself to holier thoughts."
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 149 
 
 The lady impatiently turned from the priest, and 
 grasping the strong right arm of Warwick with her 
 shrivelled and trembling fingers, resumed, in a voice 
 that struggled to repress the gasps which broke its 
 breath, — 
 
 "But thou — oh, thou, Avilt bear this indignity! 
 thou, the chief of England's barons, wilt see no dis- 
 honor in the rank love of the vilest of England's kings! 
 Oh, yes, ye Yorkists have the hearts of varlets, — not 
 of men and fathers ! " 
 
 " By the symbol from which thou turnest, woman!" 
 exclaimed the earl, giving vent to the fury which the 
 presence of death had before suppressed, — " by Him, 
 to whom, morning and night, I have knelt in grateful 
 blessing for the virtuous life of this beloved child, I 
 will have such revenge on the recreant whom I kinged, 
 as shall live in the Bolls of England till the trump of 
 the Judgment Angel ! " 
 
 "Father," said Anne, startled by her father's vehe- 
 mence, from her half-swoon sleep, — "father, think no 
 more of the past: take me to my mother! I want the 
 clasp of my mother's arms! " 
 
 " Leave us — leave the dying, Sir Earl and son," said 
 Godard. "I, too, am Lancastrian, — I too would lay 
 down my life for the holy Henry ; but I shudder, in 
 the hour of death, to hear yon pale lips, that should 
 pray for pardon, preach to thee of revenge." 
 
 " Revenge! " shrieked out the Dame of Longueville, 
 as, sinking fast and fast, she caught the word, — 
 " revenge ! Thou hast sworn revenge on Edward of 
 York, Lord Warwick, sworn it, in the chamber of 
 death, — in the ear of one who will carry that word 
 to the hero-dead of a hundred battle-fields! Ha! — the 
 sun has risen ! Priest — Godard — thine arms — sup-
 
 150 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 port — raise — bear me to the casement ! Quick — quick ! 
 I would see my king once more! Quick — quick! and 
 then — then — I will hear thee pray ! " 
 
 The priest, half chiding, yet half in pity, bore the 
 dying woman to the casement. She motioned to him to 
 open it: he obeyed. The sun, just above the welkin, 
 shone over the lordly Thames, gilded the gloomy fortress 
 of the Tower, and glittered upon the window of Henry's 
 prison. 
 
 " There — there ! It is he , — it is my king ! Hither 
 — lord, rebel earl, — hither. Behold your sovereign. 
 Repent, revenge ! " 
 
 With her livid and outstretched hand, the Lancas- 
 trian pointed to the huge Wakefield Tower. The earl's 
 dark eye beheld in the dim distance a pale and reverend 
 countenance, recognized even from afar. The dying 
 woman fixed her glazing eyes upon the wronged and 
 mighty baron, and suddenly her arm fell to her side, 
 the face became set as into stone, the last breath of life 
 gurgled within, and fled, — and still those glazing eyes 
 were fixed on the earl's hueless face: and still in his 
 ear, and echoed by a thousand passions in his heart, 
 thrilled the word which had superseded prayer, and in 
 which the sinner's soul had flown, — revenge!
 
 BOOK IX. 
 
 THE WANDERERS AND THE EXILES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 How the great Baron becomes as great a Rebel. 
 
 Hilyard was yet asleep in the chamber assigned to 
 him as his prison, when a rough grasp shook off his 
 slumbers, and he saw the earl before him, with a counte- 
 nance so changed from its usual open majesty, — so dark 
 and sombre, that he said, involuntarily, " You send me 
 to the doomsman, — I am ready ! " 
 
 " Hist, man ! Thou hatest Edward of York 1 " 
 
 " An it were my last word, — yes ! " 
 
 " Give me thy hand, — we are friends ! Stare not at 
 me with those eyes of wonder, — ask not the why nor 
 wherefore ! This last night gave Edward a rebel more 
 in Richard Nevile. A steed waits thee at my gates, — 
 ride fast to young Sir Robert Welles with this letter. 
 Bid him not be dismayed ; bid him hold out, — for ere 
 many days are past, Lord Warwick, and it may be, also, 
 the Duke of Clarence, will join their force with his. 
 Mark, I say not that I am for Henry of Lancaster, — I 
 say only that I am against Edward of York. Farewell, 
 and when we meet again, blessed be the arm that first 
 cuts its way to a tyrant's heart! "
 
 152 THE LAST OF THE BAKONS. 
 
 Without another word, Warwick left the chamber. 
 Hilyard, at first, could not believe his senses; but as 
 he dressed himself in haste, he pondered over all those 
 causes of dissension which had long notoriously sub- 
 sisted between Edward and the earl, and rejoiced that 
 the prophecy he had long so shrewdly hazarded was at 
 last fulfilled. Descending the stairs, he gained the 
 gate, where Marmaduke awaited him, while a groom 
 held a stout haquenee (as the common riding-horse was 
 then called), whose points and breeding promised speed 
 and endurance. 
 
 " Mount, Master Kobin, " said Marmaduke ; " I little 
 thought we should ever ride as friends together ! Mount, 
 — our way for some miles out of London is the same. 
 You go into Lincolnshire, — I into the shire of Hertford." 
 
 " And for the same purpose ? " asked Hilyard, as he 
 sprang upon his horse, and the two men rode briskly on. 
 
 " Yes ! " 
 
 " Lord Warwick is changed at last. " 
 
 " At last ! " 
 
 " For long ? " 
 
 "Till death!" 
 
 " Good, — I ask no more ! " 
 
 A sound of hoofs behind made the franklin turn his 
 head, and he saw a goodly troop, armed to the teeth, 
 emerge from the earl's house and follow the lead of 
 Marmaduke. 
 
 Meanwhile Warwick was closeted with Montagu. 
 
 Worldly as the latter was, and personally attached 
 to Edward, he was still keenly alive to all that touched 
 the honor of his house ; and his indignation at the 
 deadly insult offered to his niece was even more loudly 
 expressed than that of the fiery earl. 
 
 " To deem, " he exclaimed, — " to deem Elizabeth
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 153 
 
 Woodville worthy of his throne, and to see in Anne 
 Nevile one only worthy to be his leman ! " 
 
 " Ay ! " said the earl, with a calmness perfectly ter- 
 rible, from its unnatural contrast to his ordinary heat, 
 when bnt slightly chafed, — "ay! thou sayest it! But 
 be tranquil, cold, — cold as iron, and as hard! We must 
 scheme now, not storm and threaten, — I never schemed 
 before! You are right, — honesty is a fool's policy! 
 Would I had known this but an hour before the news 
 reached me ! I have already dismissed our friends to 
 their different districts, to support King Edward's cause : 
 he is still king, — a little while longer king! Last night, 
 I dismissed them, — last night, at the very hour when — 
 God, give me patience ! " He paused, and added, in 
 a low voice, " Yet — yet — how long the moments are, — 
 how long ! Ere the sun sets, Edward, I trust, will be 
 in my power ! " 
 
 " How 1 " 
 
 " He goes, to-day, to the More, — he will not go the 
 less for what hath chanced ; he will trust to the arch- 
 bishop to make his peace with me, — churchmen are not 
 fathers! Marmaduke Nevile hath my orders, — a hun- 
 dred armed men, who would march against the fiend 
 himself, if I said the word, will surround the More, and 
 seize the guest ! " 
 
 " But what then ? Who, if Edward — I dare not say 
 the word, — tvho is to succeed him? " 
 
 " Clarence is the male heir ! " 
 
 " But with what face to the people — proclaim — " 
 
 " There — there it is ! " interrupted Warwick. " I 
 have thought of that, — I have thought of all things ; 
 my mind seems to have traversed worlds since daybreak ! 
 True ! all commotion to be successful must have a cause 
 that men can understand. Nevertheless, you, Montagu,
 
 154 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 ■ — ■ you have a smoother tongue than I ; go to our friends, 
 — to those who hate Edward : seek them, — sound 
 them!" 
 
 " And name to them Edward's infamy ! " 
 " 'Sdeath, dost thou think it ? Thou, a Monthermer 
 and Montagu; proclaim to England the foul insult to 
 the hearth of an English gentleman and peer! feed every 
 ribald Bourdour with song and roundel of Anne's virgin 
 shame ! how King Edward stole to her room at the dead 
 of night, and wooed, and pressed, and swore, and — 
 God of heaven, that this hand were on his. throat! No, 
 brother, no! there are some wrongs we may not tell, — 
 tumors and swellings of the heart, which are eased not 
 till blood can flow ! " 
 
 During this conference between the brothers, Edward, 
 in his palace, was seized with consternation and dismay 
 on hearing that the Lady Anne could not be found in 
 her chamber. He sent forthwith to summon Adam 
 Warner to his presence, and learned from the simple 
 sage, who concealed nothing, the mode in which Anne 
 had fled from the Tower. The king abruptly dismissed 
 Adam, after a few hearty curses and vague threats ; and 
 awaking to the necessity of inventing some plausible 
 story, to account to the wonder of the court for the 
 abrupt disappearance of his guest, he saw that the person 
 who could best originate and circulate such a tale was 
 the queen ; and he sought her at once, with the resolu- 
 tion to choose his confidant in the connection most rarely 
 honored by marital trust, in similar offences. He, how- 
 ever, so softened his narrative as to leave it but a venial 
 error. He had been indulging over-freely in the wine- 
 cup, — he had walked into the corridor, for the refresh- 
 ing coolness of the air; he had seen the figure of a 
 female whom he did not recognize; and a few gallant
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 155 
 
 words, he scarce remembered what, had been miscon- 
 strued. On perceiving whom he had thus addressed, he 
 had sought to soothe the anger or alarm of the Lady 
 Anne ; but still mistaking his intention, she had hurried 
 into Warner's chamber: he had followed her thither, — 
 and now she had fled the palace. Such was his story, 
 told lightly and laughingly, but ending with a grave 
 enumeration of the dangers his imprudence had incurred. 
 Whatever Elizabeth felt, or however she might inter- 
 pret the confession, she acted with her customary 
 discretion, — affected, after a few tender reproaches, to 
 place implicit credit in her lord's account, and volun- 
 teered to prevent all scandal by the probable story, that 
 the earl, being prevented from coming in person for his 
 daughter, as he had purposed, by fresh news of the 
 rebellion which might call him from London with 
 the early day, had commissioned his kinsman, Marma- 
 duke, to escort her home. The quick perception of her 
 sex told her that, whatever license might have terrified 
 Anne into so abrupt a flight, the haughty earl would 
 shrink no less than Edward himself from making public 
 an insult which slander could well distort into the dis- 
 honor of his daughter ; and that whatever pretext might 
 be invented, Warwick would not deign to contradict it. 
 And as, despite Elizabeth's hatred to the earl, and desire 
 of permanent breach between Edward and his minister, 
 she could not, as queen, wife, and woman, but be 
 anxious that some cause more honorable in Edward, 
 and less odious to the people, should be assigned for 
 quarrel, — she earnestly recommended the king to repair 
 at once to the More, as had been before arranged, and to 
 spare no pains, disdain no expressions of penitence and 
 humiliation, to secure the mediation of the archbishop. 
 His mind somewhat relieved by this interview and coun-
 
 156 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 sel, the king kissed Elizabeth with affectionate gratitude, 
 and returned to his chamber to prepare for his departure 
 to the archbishop's palace. But then remembering that 
 Adam and Sibyll possessed his secret, he resolved at once 
 to banish them from the Tower. For a moment he 
 thought of the dungeons of his fortress, — of the rope 
 of his doomsman ; but his conscience at that hour was 
 sore and vexed. His fierceness humbled by the sense of 
 shame, he shrunk from a new crime ; and, moreover, his 
 strong common sense assured him that the testimony of a 
 shunned and abhorred wizard ceased to be of weight the 
 moment it was deprived of the influence it took from the 
 protection of a king. He gave orders for a boat to be in 
 readiness by the gate of St. Thomas, again summoned 
 Adam into his presence, and said, briefly, " Master 
 Warner, the London mechanics cry so loudly against 
 thine invention, for lessening labor and starving the 
 poor, the sailors on the wharfs are so mutinous, at the 
 thought of vessels without rowers, that, as a good king 
 is bound, I yield to the voice of my people. Go home, 
 then, at once; the queen dispenses with thy fair 
 daughter's service, — the damsel accompanies thee. A 
 boat awaits ye at the stairs ; a guard shall attend ye to 
 your house. Think what has passed within these walls 
 has been a dream ; a dream that, if told, is deathf ul, — 
 if concealed and forgotten, hath no portent ! " 
 
 Without waiting a reply, the king called from the 
 anteroom one of his gentlemen, and gave him special 
 directions as to the departure and conduct of the worthy 
 scholar and his gentle daughter. Edward next sum- 
 moned before him the warder of the gate, learned that 
 he alone was privy to the mode of his guest's flight, and 
 deeming it best to leave at large no commentator on the 
 tale he had invented, sentenced the astonished warder to
 
 THE LAST OF THE B AEONS. 157 
 
 three months' solitary imprisonment, — for appearing 
 before him with soiled hosen ! An hour afterwards, the 
 king, with a small though gorgeous retinue, was on his 
 way to the More. 
 
 The archbishop had, according to his engagement, 
 assembled in his palace the more powerful of the discon- 
 tented seigneurs ; and his eloquence had so worked upon 
 them, that Edward beheld, on entering the hall, only 
 countenances of cheerful loyalty and respectful welcome. 
 After the first greetings, the prelate, according to the 
 custom of the day, conducted Edward into a chamber, 
 that he might refresh himself with a brief rest and the 
 bath, previous to the banquet. 
 
 Edward seized the occasion and told his tale ; but, 
 however softened, enough was left to create the liveliest 
 dismay in his listener. The lofty scaffolding of hope, 
 upon which the ambitious prelate was to mount to the 
 papal throne seemed to crumble into the dust. The king 
 and the earl were equally necessary to the schemes of 
 George Nevile. He chid the royal layman with more 
 than priestly unction for his offence ; but Edward so 
 humbly confessed his fault, that the prelate at length 
 relaxed his brow, and promised to convey his penitent 
 assurances to the earl. 
 
 " Not an hour should be lost, " he said; " the only one 
 who can soothe his wrath is your Highness's mother, our 
 noble kinswoman. Permit me to despatch to her Grace 
 a letter, praying her to seek the earl, while I write by the 
 same courier to himself. " 
 
 " Be it all as you will, " said Edward, doffing his sur- 
 coat, and dipping his hands in a perfumed ewer, " I shall 
 not know rest till I have knelt to the Lady Anne, and 
 won her pardon." 
 
 The prelate retired, and scarcely had he left the room
 
 158 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 when Sir John Batcliffe, 1 one of the king's retinue, 
 and in waiting on his person, entered the chamber, 
 pale and trembling. 
 
 "My liege," he said, in a whisper, "I fear some 
 deadly treason awaits you. I have seen, amongst the 
 trees below this tower, the gleam of steel ; I have crept 
 through the foliage, and counted no less than a hun- 
 dred armed men, — their leader is Sir Marmaduke Nevile, 
 Earl Warwick's kinsman ! " 
 
 " Ha ! " muttered the king, and his bold face fell, — 
 " comes the earl's revenge so soon ? " 
 
 "And," continued Batcliffe, "I overheard Sir Mar- 
 maduke say, 'The door of the Garden Tower is un- 
 guarded, — wait the signal ! ' Fly, my liege ! Hark ! 
 even now, I hear the rattling of arms! " 
 
 The king stole to the casement, — the day was clos- 
 ing ; the foliage grew thick and dark around the wall ; 
 he saw an armed man emerge from the shade, — a second, 
 and a third. 
 
 " You are right, Batcliffe ! Flight, — but how ? " 
 
 "This way, my liege. By the passage I entered, a 
 stair winds to a door on the inner court; there, I have 
 already a steed in waiting. Deign, for precaution, to use 
 my hat and manteline." 
 
 The king hastily adopted the suggestion, followed the 
 noiseless steps of Batcliffe, gained the door, sprang upon 
 his steed, and dashing right through a crowd assembled 
 
 1 Afterwards Lord Fifczwalter. See Lingard, note, vol. iii. p. 
 507, quarto edition, for the proper date to be assigned to this royal 
 visit to the More ; — a date we have here adopted, — not as Sharon 
 Turner and others place, — namely (upon the authority of Hearne's 
 " Fragm.," 302, which subsequent events disprove) after the open 
 rebellion of Warwick, but just before it, — that is, not after Easter, 
 but before Lent.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 159 
 
 by the gate, galloped alone and fast, tintracked by hu- 
 man enemy, but goaded by the foe that mounts the 
 rider's steed, — over field, over fell, over dyke, through 
 hedge, and in the dead of night reined in at last before 
 the royal towers of Windsor.
 
 160 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Many Things Briefly Told. 
 
 The events that followed the king's escape were rapid 
 and startling. The barons assembled at the More, en- 
 raged at Edward's seeming distrust of them, separated 
 in loud anger. The archbishop learned the cause from 
 one of his servitors, who detected Marmaduke's ambush, 
 but he was too wary to make known a circumstance 
 suspicious to himself. He flew to London, and engaged 
 the mediation of the Duchess of York to assist his 
 own. 1 
 
 The earl received their joint overtures with stern and 
 ominous coldness, and abruptly repaired to Warwick, 
 taking with him the Lady Anne. There he was joined, 
 the same day, by the Duke and Duchess of Clarence. 
 
 The Lincolnshire rebellion gained head: Edward 
 made a dexterous feint in calling, by public commission, 
 \ipon Clarence and Warwick to aid in dispersing it ; if 
 they refused, the odium of first aggression would seem- 
 ingly rest with them. Clarence, more induced by per- 
 sonal ambition than sympathy with Warwick's wrong, 
 incensed by his brother's recent slights, looking to 
 Edward's resignation and his own consequent accession 
 to the throne, and inflamed by the ambition and pride 
 of a wife whom he at once feared and idolized, went 
 hand in heart with the earl; but not one lord and cap- 
 tain whom Montagu had sounded lent favor to the 
 deposition of one brother for the advancement of the 
 
 1 Lingard. See for the dates, Fab van, 657.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 161 
 
 next. Clarence, though popular, was too young to be 
 respected: many there were who would rather have sup- 
 ported the earl, if an aspirant to the throne ; hut that 
 choice, forbidden by the earl himself, there could be but 
 two parties in England, — the one for Edward IV., the 
 other for Henry VI. 
 
 Lord Montagu had repaired to Warwick Castle, to 
 communicate in person this result of his diplomacy. 
 The earl, whose manner was completely changed, no 
 longer frank and hearty, but close and sinister, listened 
 in gloomy silence. 
 
 " And now, " said Montagu, with the generous emo- 
 tion of a man whose nobler nature was stirred deeply, 
 " if you resolve on war with Edward, I am willing 
 to renounce my own ambition, the hand of a king's 
 daughter for my son, — so that I may avenge the honor 
 of our common name. I confess that I have so loved 
 Edward that 1 would fain pray you to pause, did I not 
 distrust myself, lest in such delay, his craft should 
 charm me back to the old affection. Nathless, to your 
 arm, and your great soul, I have owed all, and if you 
 are resolved to strike the blow, I am ready to share the 
 hazard. " 
 
 The earl turned away his face, and wrung his brother's 
 hand. 
 
 " Our father, methinks, hears thee from the grave ! " 
 said he, solemnly, and there was a long pause. At 
 length Warwick resumed : " Return to London : seem 
 to take no share in my actions, whatever they be ; if 
 I fail, why drag thee into my ruin 1 — and yet, trust 
 me, I am rash and fierce no more. He who sets his 
 heart on a great object suddenly becomes wise. When 
 a throne is in the dust, — when from St. Paul's Cross a 
 voice goes forth, to Carlisle and the Land's End, pro- 
 
 VOL. II. — 11
 
 162 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 claiming that the reign of Edward IV. is past and 
 gone, — then, Montagu, I claim thy promise of aid and 
 fellowship: not before! " 
 
 Meanwhile, the king, eager to dispel thought in 
 action, rushed in person against the rebellious forces. 
 Stung by fear into cruelty, he beheaded, against all 
 kingly faith, his hostages, Lord Welles and Sir Thomas 
 Dymoke ; summoned Sir Robert Welles, the leader of 
 the revolt, to surrender ; received for answer, " that 
 Sir Robert Welles would not trust the perfidy of the 
 man who had murdered his father ! " — pushed on to 
 Erpingham, defeated the rebels in a signal battle, and 
 crowned his victory by a series of ruthless cruelties, — 
 committed to the fierce and learned Earl of Worcester, 
 " Butcher of England. " 1 With the prompt vigor and 
 
 1 Stowe. " Warkworth Chronicle." — Cont. Croyl. Lord Wor- 
 cester ordered Clapham (a squire to Lord Warwick) and nineteen 
 others, gentlemen and yeomen, to be empaled, and from the horror 
 the spectacle inspired, and the universal odium it attached to 
 Worcester, it is to he feared that the unhappy men were still sen- 
 sible to the agony of this infliction, though they appear first to 
 have been drawn, and partially hanged ; — outrage confined only to 
 the dead bodies of rebels, being too common at that day to have 
 excited the indignation which attended the sentence Worcester 
 passed on his victims. It is in vain that some writers would seek 
 to cleanse the memory of this learned nobleman from the stain of 
 cruelty, by rhetorical remarks on the improbability that a cultiva- 
 tor of letters should be of a ruthless disposition. The general phi- 
 losophy of this defence is erroneous. In ignorant ages, a man of 
 superior acquirements is not necessarily made humane by the cul- 
 tivation of his intellect ; on the contrary, he too often learns to 
 look upon the uneducated herd as things of another clay. Of this 
 truth all history is pregnant, — witness the accomplished tyrants 
 of Greece, the profound and cruel intellect of the Italian Borgias. 
 Richard III. and Henry VIII. were both highly educated for their 
 age. But in the case of Tiptoft, Lord Worcester, the evidence of 
 his cruelty is no less incontestable than that which proves his
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 163 
 
 superb generalship which Edward ever displayed in 
 war, he then cut his gory way to the force which 
 Clarence and Warwick (though their hostility was still 
 undeclared) had levied, with the intent to join the 
 defeated rebels. He sent his herald, Garter King-at- 
 arms, to summon the earl and the duke to appear 
 before him within a certain day. The time expired ; 
 he proclaimed them traitors, and offered rewards for 
 their apprehension! 1 
 
 So sudden had been Warwick's defection — so rapid 
 the king's movements — that the earl had not time to 
 mature his resources, assemble his vassals, consolidate 
 his schemes. His very preparations, upon the night 
 on which Edward had repaid his services by such 
 hideous ingratitude, had manned the country with 
 armies against himself. Girt but with a scanty force 
 collected in haste (and which consisted merely of his 
 retainers, in the single shire of Warwick), the march 
 of Edward cut him off from the counties in which his 
 name was held most dear, — in which his trumpet could 
 raise up hosts. He was disappointed in the aid he 
 had expected from his powerful but self-interested 
 brother-in-law, Lord Stanley. Revenge had become 
 more dear to him than life : life must not be hazarded, 
 lest revenge be lost. On still marched the king; and 
 the day that his troops entered Exeter, Warwick, the 
 females of his family, with Clarence, and a small but 
 
 learning, — the Croyland historian alone is unimpeachable. Wor- 
 cester's popular name of " The Butcher " is sufficient testimony in 
 itself. The people are often mistaken, to be sure, but can scarcely 
 be so upon the one point, — whether a man who has sat in judg- 
 ment on themselves be merciful or cruel. 
 
 1 One thousand pounds in money, or one hundred pounds a yeai 
 in land ; an immense reward for that day.
 
 164 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 armed retinue, took ship from Dartmouth, sailed for 
 Calais (before which town, while at anchor, Isabel 
 was confined of her first-born), — to the earl's rage and 
 dismay his deputy Vauclerc fired upon his ships. 
 Warwick then steered on towards Normandy, cap- 
 tured some Flemish vessels by the way, in token of 
 defiance to the earl's old Burgundian foe, — and landed 
 at Harfleur, where he and his companions were received 
 with royal honors by the Admiral of France, and finally 
 took their way to the court of Louis XL, at Amboise. 
 
 " The clanger is past forever ! " said King Edward, 
 as the wine sparkled in his goblet. " Rebellion hath 
 lost its head, — and now, indeed, and for the first time, 
 a monarch I reign alone ! " 1 
 
 1 Before leaving England, Warwick and Clarence are generally 
 said to have fallen in with Anthony Woodville and Lord Audley, 
 and ordered them to execution ; from which they were saved by 
 a Dorsetshire gentleman. Carte, who, though his history is not 
 without great mistakes, is well worth reading by those whom the 
 character of Lord Warwick may interest, says, that the earl had 
 " too much magnanimity to put them to death immediately, ac- 
 cording to the common practice of the times, and only imprisoned 
 them in the castle of Wardour, from whence they were soon res- 
 cued by John Thornhill, a gentleman of Dorsetshire." The whole 
 of this story is, however, absolutely contradicted by the " Wark- 
 worth Chronicle " (p. 9, edited by Mr Halliwell), according to 
 which authority Anthony Woodville was at that time commanding 
 a fleet upon the Channel, which waylaid Warwick on his vovage ; 
 but the success therein attributed to the gallant Anthony, in dis- 
 persing or seizing all the earl's ships, save the one that "bore the 
 earl himself and his family, is proved to be purely fabulous, by 
 the earl's well-attested capture of the Flemish vessels, as he passed 
 from Calais to the coasts of Normandy, an exploit he could never 
 have performed with a single vessel of his own. It is very prob- 
 able that the story of Anthony Woodville's capture and peril at 
 this time originates in a misadventure many years before, and
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 165 
 
 recorded in the Pastou letters, as well as in the Chronicles. In the 
 year 1459, Anthony Woodville and his father, Lord Rivers (then 
 zealous Lancastrians), really did fall into the hands of the Earl 
 of March (Edward IV.), Warwick, and Salisbury, and got off with 
 a sound " rating " upon the rude language which such " knaves' 
 sons " and " little squires " had held to those " who were of kings 
 blood."
 
 166 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The Plot of the Hostelry — The Maid and the Scholar in their 
 
 Home. 
 
 The country was still disturbed, and the adherents, 
 whether of Henry or the earl, still rose in many an 
 outbreak, though prevented from swelling into one com- 
 mon army by the extraordinary vigor not only of Edward, 
 but of Gloucester and Hastings, — when one morning, 
 just after the events thus rapidly related, the hostelry 
 of Master Sancroft, in the suburban parish of Marybone, 
 rejoiced in a motley crowd of customers and topers. 
 
 Some half-score soldiers, returned in triumph from 
 the royal camp, sat round a table placed agreeably 
 enough in the deep recess* made by the large jutting lat- 
 tice; with them were mingled about as many women, 
 strangely and gaudily clad. These last were all young, 
 one or two, indeed, little advanced from childhood. 
 But there was no expression of youth in their hard, 
 sinister features: coarse paint supplied the place of 
 bloom ; the very youngest had a wrinkle on her brow ; 
 their forms wanted the round and supple grace of early 
 years. Living principally in the open air, trained from 
 infancy to feats of activity, their muscles were sharp 
 and prominent, — their aspects had something of mas- 
 culine audacity and rudeness; health itself seemed in 
 them more loathsome than disease. Upon those faces of 
 bronze, vice had set its ineffable, unmistaken seal. To 
 those eyes never had sprung the tears of compassion 
 or woman's gentle sorrow; on those brows never had
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 167 
 
 flushed the glow of modest shame : their very voices 
 half belied their sex, — harsh, and deep, and hoarse, 
 their laughter loud and dissonant. Some amongst them 
 were not destitute of a certain beauty, but it was a 
 beauty of feature with a common hideousness of ex- 
 pression, — an expression at once cunning, bold, callous, 
 and licentious. Womanless, through the worst vices 
 of woman, — passionless, through the premature waste 
 of passion, — they stood between the sexes like foul and 
 monstrous anomalies, made up and fashioned from the 
 rank depravities of both. These creatures seemed to 
 have newly arrived from some long wayfaring: their 
 shoes and the hems of their robes were covered with 
 dust and mire ; their faces were heated ; and the veins 
 in their bare, sinewy, sunburned arms were swollen by 
 fatigue. Each had beside her on the floor a timbrel, — 
 each wore at her girdle a long knife in its sheath : well 
 that the sheaths hid the blades, for not one — not even 
 that which yon cold-eyed child of fifteen wore — but had 
 on its steel the dark stain of human blood! 
 
 The presence of soldiers, fresh from the scene of action, 
 had naturally brought into the hostelry several of the 
 idle gossips of the suburb, and these stood round the 
 table, drinking into their large ears the boasting narra- 
 tives of the soldiers. At a small table, apart from the 
 revellers, but evidently listening with attention to all 
 the news of the hour, sat a friar, gravely discussing a 
 mighty tankard of huffcap, and, ever and anon, as he 
 lifted his head for the purpose of drinking, glancing a 
 wanton eye at one of the tymbesteres. 
 
 " But an you had seen, " said a trooper, who was the 
 mouthpiece of his comrades — " an you had seen the 
 raptrils run when King Edward himself led the charge! 
 Marry, it was like a cat in a rabbit burrow ! Easy to
 
 168 THE LAST OF THE BAKONS. 
 
 see, I trow, that Earl Warwick was not amongst them! 
 His men, at least, fight like devils ! " 
 
 " But there was one tall fellow, " said a soldier, setting 
 down his tankard, " who made a good fight and dour, 
 and but for me and my comrades, would have cut his 
 way to the king." 
 
 "Ay, ay, — true! Ave saved his Highness, and ought 
 to have been knighted, — but there's no gratitude now- 
 adays ! " 
 
 " And who was this doughty warrior ? " asked one of 
 the bystanders, who secretly favored the rebellion. 
 
 " Why, it was said that he was Robin of Redesdale. 
 He who fought my Lord Montagu off York. " 
 
 "Our Robin!" exclaimed several voices. "Ay, he 
 was ever a brave fellow, — poor Robin!" 
 
 "'Your Robin,' and 'poor Robin,' varlets! " cried 
 the principal trooper. " Have a care ! What do ye 
 mean by your Robin ? " 
 
 " Marry, sir soldier, " quoth a butcher, scratching his 
 head, and in a humble voice, — " craving your pardon, 
 and the king's, this Master Robin sojourned a short 
 time in this hamlet, and was a kind neighbor, and 
 mighty glib of the tongue. Don't ye mind, neighbors," 
 he added, rapidly, eager to change the conversation, 
 " how he made us leave off when we were just about 
 burning Adam Warner, the old nigromancer, in his den 
 yonder 1 Who elso could have done that 1 But an we 
 had known Robin had been a rebel to sweet King Edward, 
 we 'd have roasted him along with the wizard ! " 
 
 One of the timbrel-girls, the leader of the choir, her 
 arm round a soldier's neck, looked up at the last speech, 
 and her eye followed the gesture of the butcher, as he 
 pointed through the open lattice to the sombre, ruinous 
 abode of Adam Warner.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BAKONS. 169 
 
 " Was that the house ye would have burned 1 " she 
 asked, abruptly. 
 
 " Yes ; but Robin told us the king would hang those 
 who took on them the king's blessed privilege of burning 
 nigromancers ; and, sure enough, old Adam Warner was 
 advanced to be wizard-in-chief to the king's own highness 
 a week or two afterwards." 
 
 The friar had made a slight movement at the name 
 of Warner; he now pushed his stool nearer to the 
 principal group, and drew his hood completely over his 
 countenance. 
 
 "Yea! " exclaimed the mechanic, whose son had been 
 the innocent cause of the memorable siege to poor Adam's 
 dilapidated fortress, related in the first book of this nar- 
 rative, — "yea; and what did he when there? Did he 
 not devise a horrible engine for the destruction of the 
 poor, — an engine that was to do all the work in England 
 by the devil's help 1 — so that if a gentleman wanted 
 a coat of mail, or a cloth tunic; if his dame needed a 
 Norwich worsted, if a yeoman lacked a plough or a 
 wagon, or his good wife a pot or a kettle, — they were to 
 go, not to the armorer, and the draper, and the tailor, 
 and the weaver, and the wheelwright, and the black- 
 smith, — but, hey presto! Master Warner sets his imps 
 a churning, and turned ye out mail and tunic, worsted 
 and wagon, kettle and pot, spick and span new from his 
 brewage of vapor and sea-coal! Oh, have I not heard 
 enough of the sorcerer from my brother, who works in 
 the Chepe for Master Stockton, the mercer ? — and 
 Master Stockton was one of the worshipful deputies to 
 whom the old nigromancer had the front to boast his 
 devices. " 
 
 " It is true, " said the friar, suddenly. 
 
 " Yes, reverend father, it is true, " said the mechanic,
 
 170 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 doffing his cap, and inclining his swarthy face to this 
 unexpected witness of his veracity. A murmur of wrath 
 and hatred was heard amongst the bystanders. The 
 soldiers indifferently turned to their female companions. 
 There was a brief silence; and, involuntarily, the gos- 
 sips stretched over the table to catch sight of the house 
 of so demoniac an oppressor of the poor. 
 
 " See, " said the baker, " the smoke still curls from 
 the roof-top ! I heard he had come back. Old Madge, 
 his handmaid, has bought cimnel-cakes of me the last 
 week or so; nothing less than the finest wheat serves 
 him now, I trow. However, right 's right, and — " 
 
 " Come back ! " cried the fierce mechanic, " the owl 
 hath kept close in his roost! An it were not for the 
 king's favor, I would soon see how the wizard liked 
 to have fire and water brought to bear against him- 
 self! " 
 
 " Sit down, sweetheart," whispered one of the young 
 tymbesteres to the last speaker, — 
 
 " Come kiss me, my darling, 
 Warm kisses I trade for — " 
 
 " A vaunt ! " quoth the mechanic, gruffly, and shaking 
 off the seductive arm of the tymbestere, — "avaunt! I 
 have neither liefe nor halfpence for thee and thine. Out 
 on thee, — a child of thy years, a rope's end to thy back 
 were a friend's best kindness ! " 
 
 The girl's eyes sparkled, she instinctively put her hand 
 to her knife ; then turning to a soldier by her side, she 
 said, " Hear you that, and sit still 1 " 
 
 " Thunder and wounds ! " growled the soldier thus 
 appealed to, — " more respect to the sex, knave ; if I 
 don't break thy fool's costard with my sword-hilt, it is 
 only because Red Grisell can take care of herself against
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 171 
 
 twenty such losels as thou. These honest girls have 
 been to the wars with us; King Edward grudges no man 
 his jolly fere. Speak up for thyself, Grisell! How 
 many tall fellows didst thou put out of their pain, after 
 the battle of Losecote 1 " 
 
 " Only five, Hal, " replied the cold-eyed girl, and 
 showing her glittering teeth with the grin of a young 
 tigress; " but one was a captain. I shall do better next 
 time : it was my first battle, thou knowest ! " 
 
 The more timid of the bystanders exchanged a glance 
 of horror, and drew back. The mechanic resumed, 
 sullenly, — 
 
 " I seek no quarrel with lass or lover. I am a plain, 
 blunt man, with a wife and children, who are dear to 
 me; and if I have a grudge to the nigromancer, it is 
 because he glamoured my poor boy Tim. See ! " — and 
 he caught up a blue-eyed, handsome boy, who had been 
 clinging to his side, and baring the child's arm, showed 
 it to the spectators ; there was a large scar on the limb, 
 and it was shrunk and withered. 
 
 " It was my own fault, " said the little fellow, depre- 
 catingly. 
 
 The affectionate father silenced the sufferer with a cuff 
 on the cheek, and resumed, " Ye note, neighbors, the 
 day when the foul wizard took this little one in his arms : 
 well, three weeks afterwards, — that very day three 
 weeks, — as he was standing like a lamb by the fire, the 
 good wife's caldron seethed over without reason or rhyme, 
 and scalded his arm till it rivelled up like a leaf in 
 November; and if that is not glamour, why have we 
 laws against witchcraft? " 
 
 " True — true ! " groaned the chorus. 
 
 The boy, who had borne his father's blow without a 
 murmur, now again attempted remonstrance. " The hot
 
 172 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 water went over the gray cat, too, but Master Warnei 
 never bewitched her, daddy." 
 
 " He takes his part ! — You hear the daff laddy 1 He 
 takes the old nigromancer's part, — a sure sign of the 
 witchcraft ; but I '11 leather it out of thee, I will ! " and 
 the mechanic again raised his weighty arm. The child 
 did not this time await the blow; he dodged under the 
 butcher's apron, gained the door, and disappeared. " And 
 he teaches our own children to fly in our faces! " said the 
 father, in a kind of whimper. 
 
 The neighbors sighed in commiseration. 
 
 " Oh ! " he exclaimed, in a fiercer tone, grinding his 
 teeth, and shaking his clinched fist towards Adam 
 Warner's melancholy house, — " I say again, if the king 
 did not protect the vile sorcerer, I would free the land 
 from his devilries, ere his black master could come to 
 his help." 
 
 " The king cares not a straw for Master Warner or 
 his inventions, my son," said a rough, loud voice. All 
 turned, and saw the friar standing in the midst of the 
 circle. " Know ye not, my children, that the king 
 sent the wretch neck and crop out of the palace, for 
 having bewitched the Earl of Warwick and his Grace 
 the Lord Clarence, so that they turned unnaturally 
 against their own kinsman, his Highness. But ' Manus 
 malorum suos bonos breaket, ' — that is to say, the fists 
 of wicked men only whack their own bones. Ye have 
 all heard tell of Friar Bungey, my children 1 " 
 
 " Ay, ay ! " answered two or three in a breath, — "a 
 wizard, it's true, and a mighty one; but he never did 
 harm to the poor, though they do say he made a quaint 
 image of the earl, and — " 
 
 "Tut — tut! " interrupted the friar, "all Bungey did 
 was to try to disenchant the Lord Warwick, whom yon
 
 fro 
 
 THE LAST OF THE BATONS. 17/ 
 
 miscreant had spellbound. Poor Bungey ! he is a friend 
 to the people: and when he found that Master Adam 
 was making a device for their ruin, he spared no toil, I 
 assure ye, to frustrate the iniquity. Oh, how he fasted 
 and watched! Oh, how many a time he fought, tooth 
 and nail, with the devil in person, to get at the infernal 
 invention ! for if he had that invention once in his hands, 
 he could turn it to good account, I can promise ye ; and 
 give ye rain for the green blade, and sun for the ripe- 
 sheaf. But the fiend got the better at first; and King 
 Edward, bewitched himself for the moment, would have 
 hanged Friar Bungey for crossing old Adam, if he had 
 not called three times, in a loud voice, ' Presto pepran- 
 xenon ! ' changed himself into a bird, and flown out of 
 the window. As soon as Master Adam Warner found 
 the field clear to himself, he employed his daughter to 
 bewitch the Lord Hastings; he set brother against 
 brother, and made the king and Lord George fall to 
 loggerheads ; he stirred up the rebellion ; and where he 
 would have stopped the foul fiend only knows, if your 
 friend Friar Bungey, who, though a wizard, as you say, 
 is only so for your benefit (and a holy priest into the 
 bargain), had not, by aid of a good spirit, whom he con- 
 jured up in the Island of Tartary, disenchanted the 
 king, and made him see in a dream what the villanous 
 Warner was devising against his crown and his people, 
 — whereon his Highness sent Master Warner and his 
 daughter back to their roost, and, helped by Friar Bun- 
 gey, beat his enemies out of the kingdom. So, if ye 
 have a mind to save your children from mischief and 
 malice, ye may set to work with good heart, always 
 provided that ye touch not old Adam's iron invention. 
 Woe betide ye, if ye think to destroy that! Bring it 
 safe to Friar Bungey, whom ye will find returned to the
 
 174 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 palace, and journeymen's wages will be a penny a day 
 higher for the next ten years to come ! " With these 
 words the friar threw down his reckoning, and moved 
 majestically to the door. 
 
 " An I might trust you 1 " said Tim's father, laying 
 hold of the friar's serge. 
 
 " Ye may, ye may ! " cried the leader of the tymbes- 
 teres, starting up from the lap of her soldier, " for it is 
 Friar Bungey himself ! " 
 
 A movement of astonishment and terror was universal. 
 
 " Friar Bungey himself ! " repeated the burly impostor. 
 " Right, lassie, right ; and he now goes to the palace of 
 the Tower, to mutter good spells in King Edward's ear, 
 — spells to defeat the malignant ones, and to lower the 
 price of beer. Wax wobiscum ! " 
 
 With that salutation, more benevolent than accurate, 
 the friar vanished from the room; the chief of the 
 tymbesteres leaped lightly on the table, put one foot 
 on the soldier's shoulder, and sprang through the open 
 lattice. She found the friar in the act of mounting 
 a sturdy mule, which had been tied to a post by the 
 door. 
 
 " Fie, Graul Skellet ! Fie, Graul ! " said the conjurer. 
 " Respect for my serge. We must not be noted together 
 out of door in the daylight. There 's a groat for thee. 
 Vade, execrabilis, — that is, Good day to thee, pretty 
 rogue ! " 
 
 " A word, friar, a word. Wouldst thou have the 
 old man burned, drowned, or torn piecemeal ! He hath 
 a daughter, too, who once sought to mar our trade with 
 her gittern ; a daughter, then in a kirtle that I would 
 not have nimmed from a hedge, but whom I last saw in 
 sarcenet and lawn, with a great lord for her fere." The 
 tymbestere's eyes shone with malignant envy, as she
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 175 
 
 added, " Graul Skellet loves not to see those who have 
 worn worsted and say, walk in sarcenet and lawn ! Graul 
 Skellet loves not wenches who have lords for their feres, 
 and yet who shrink from Graul and her sisters as the 
 sound from the leper. " 
 
 " Fegs, " answered the friar, impatiently, " I know 
 nought against the daughter, — a pretty lass, hut too 
 high for my kisses. And as "for the father, I want not 
 the man's life, — that is, not very specially, — hut his 
 model, his mechanical. He may go free, if that can he 
 compassed ; if not, — why, the model at all risks ! Serve 
 me in this." 
 
 " And thou will teach me the last tricks of the cards, 
 and thy great art of making phantoms glide by on the 
 wall 1. " 
 
 " Bring the model intact, and I will teach thee more, 
 Graul, — the dead man's candle, and the charm of the 
 newt ; and I '11 give thee, to hoot, the caul of the parri- 
 cide, that thou hast prayed me so oft for. Hum ! — thou 
 hast a girl in thy troop who hath a blinking eye that well 
 pleases me ; — but go now, and obey me. Work before 
 play, — and grace before pudding ! " 
 
 The tymbestere nodded, snapped her fingers in the air, 
 and, humming no holy ditty, returned to the house 
 through the doorway. 
 
 This short conference betrays to the reader the rela- 
 tions, mutually advantageous, which subsisted between 
 the conjurer and the tymbesteres. Their troop (the 
 mothers, perchance, of the generation we treat of) had 
 been familiar to the friar in his old capacity of mounte- 
 bank or tregetour, and in his clerical and courtly eleva- 
 tion, he did not disdain an ancient connection that served 
 him well with the populace; for these grim children of 
 vice seemed present in every place where pastime was
 
 176 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 gay, or strife was rampant; in peace, at the merry- 
 makings and the hostelries, — in war, following the 
 camp, and seen, at night, prowling through the battle- 
 fields to despatch the wounded and to rifle the slain : — 
 in merry-making, hostelry, or in camp, they could thus 
 still spread the fame of Friar Bungey, and uphold his 
 repute both for terrible lore and for hearty love of the 
 commons. 
 
 Nor was this all: both tymbesteres and conjurer were 
 fortune-tellers by profession. They could interchange 
 the anecdotes each picked up in their different lines. 
 The tymbestere could thus learn the secrets of gentle 
 and courtier, — the conjurer those of the artisan and 
 mechanic. 
 
 Unconscious of the formidable dispositions of their 
 neighbors, Sibyll and Warner were inhaling the sweet 
 air of the early spring in their little garden. His dis- 
 grace had affected the philosopher less than might be 
 supposed. True, that the loss of the king's favor was 
 the deferring indefinitely — perhaps for life — any prac- 
 tical application of his adored theory ; and yet, somehow 
 or other, the theory itself consoled him. At the worst, 
 he should find some disciple, some ingenious student, 
 more fortunate than himself, to whom he could beq\ieath 
 the secret, and who, when Adam was in his grave, would 
 teach the world to revere his name. Meanwhile, his 
 time was his own: he was lord of a home, though ruined 
 and desolate ; he was free, with his free thoughts ; and 
 therefore, as he paced the narrow garden, his step was 
 lighter, his mind less absent, than when parched with 
 feverish fear and hope, for the immediate practical suc- 
 cess of a principle which was to be tried before the 
 hazardous tribunal of prejudice and ignorance. 
 
 " My child," said the sage, " I feel, for the first time
 
 THE LAST OF THE BAEONS. 177 
 
 for years, the distinction of the seasons. I feel that 
 we are walking in the pleasant spring. Young days 
 come hack to me like dreams; and I could almost think 
 thy mother were once more hy my side ! " 
 
 Sibyll pressed her father's hand, and a soft hut 
 melancholy sigh stirred her rosy lips. She, too, felt 
 the. balm of the young year; yet her father's words 
 broke upon sad and anxious musings. Not to youth 
 as to age, not to loving fancy as to baffled wisdom, has 
 seclusion charms that compensate for the passionate 
 and active world ! On coming back to the old house, 
 on glancing round its mildewed Avails, comfortless and 
 bare, the neglected, weed-grown garden, Sibyll had 
 shuddered in dismay. Had her ambition fallen again 
 into its old abject state 1 Were all her hopes to restore 
 her ancestral fortunes, to vindicate her dear father's 
 fame, shrunk into this slough of actual poverty, — the 
 butterfly's wings folded back into the chrysalis shroud 
 of torpor? The vast disparity between herself and 
 Hastings had not struck her so forcibly at the court; 
 here, at home, the very walls proclaimed it. When 
 Edward had dismissed the unwelcome witnesses of his 
 attempted crime, he had given orders that they should 
 be conducted to their house through the most private 
 ways. He naturally desired to create no curious com- 
 ment upon their departure. Unperceived by their 
 neighbors, Sibyll and her father had gained access 
 by the garden gate. Old Madge received them in 
 dismay ; for she had been in the habit of visiting 
 Sibyll weekly at the palace, and had gained, in the 
 old familiarity subsisting, then, between maiden and 
 nurse, some insight into her heart. She had cherished 
 the fondest hopes for the fate of her young mistress; 
 — and now, to labor and to penury had the fate 
 
 VOL. II. — 12
 
 178 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 returned! The guard who accompanied them, accord- 
 ing to Edward's orders, left some pieces of gold, which 
 Adam rejected, but Madge secretly received and judi- 
 ciously expended. And this was all their wealth. But 
 not of toil nor of penury in themselves thought Sibyll : 
 she thought but of Hastings, — wildly, passionately, 
 trustfully, unceasingly, of the absent Hastings. Oh! 
 he would seek her, — he would come ; her reverse 
 would but the more endear her to him! Hastings 
 came not. She soon learned the wherefore. War 
 threatened the land, — he was at his post at the head 
 of armies. 
 
 Oh, with what panoply of prayer she sought to 
 shield that beloved breast ! And now the old man 
 spoke of the blessed spring, the holiday time of lovers 
 and of love, and the young girl, sighing, said to her 
 mournful heart, " The world hath its sun, — where is 
 mine ? " 
 
 The peacock strutted up to his poor protectors, and 
 spread his plumes to the gilding beams. And then 
 Sibyll recalled the day when she had walked in that 
 spot with Marmaduke, and he had talked of his youth, 
 ambition, and lusty hopes, while, silent and absorbed, 
 she had thought within herself, " Could the world be 
 open to me as to him, — I, too, have ambition, and it 
 should find its goal." Now, what contrast between 
 the two, — the man enriched and honored, if to-day in 
 peril or in exile, to-morrow free to march forward still 
 on his career: the Avorld the country to him whose 
 heart was bold and whose name was stainless! And 
 she, the woman, brought back to the prison-home, 
 scorn around her, impotent to avenge, and forbidden 
 to fly ! Wherefore ? — Sibyll felt her superiority of 
 mind, of thought, of nature, — wherefore the contrast?
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 179 
 
 The success was that of man, the discomfiture that of 
 woman. Woe to the man who precedes his age, but 
 never yet has an age been in which genius and ambition 
 are safe to woman ! 
 
 The father and the child turned into their house: 
 the day was declining; Adam mounted to his studious 
 chamber. Sibyll sought the solitary servant. 
 
 " What tidings, oh, what tidings 1 The war, you 
 say, is over; the great earl, his sweet daughter, safe 
 upon the seas, but Hastings, oh, Hastings! what of 
 him 1 " 
 
 " My bonnibell, my ladybird, I have none but good 
 tales to tell thee. I saw and spoke with a soldier who 
 served under Lord Hastings himself; he is unscathed, 
 he is in London. But they say that one of his bands 
 is quartered in the suburb, and that there is a report 
 of a rising in Hertfordshire." 
 
 " When will peace come to England and to me ! " 
 sighed Sibyll.
 
 180 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 This World's Justice, and the Wisdom of our Ancestors. 
 
 The night had now commenced, and Sibyll was still 
 listening — or, perhaps, listening not — to the soothing 
 babble of the venerable servant. They were both seated 
 in the little room that adjoined the hall, and their only 
 light came through the door opening on the garden, — 
 a gray, indistinct twilight, relieved by the few earliest 
 stars. The peacock, his head under his wing, roosted 
 on the balustrade, and the song of the nightingale, from 
 amidst one of the neighboring copses, which studded 
 the ground towards the chase of Mary bone, came soft 
 and distant on the serene air. The balm and freshness 
 of spring were felt in the dews, in the skies, in the 
 sweet breath of young herb and leaf ; — through the 
 calm of ever-watchful nature, it seemed as if you might 
 mark, distinct and visible, minute after minute, the 
 blessed growth of April into May. 
 
 Suddenly Madge uttered a cry of alarm, and pointed 
 towards the opposite wall. Sibyll, startled from her 
 re very, looked up, and saw something dusk and dwarf- 
 like perched upon the crumbling eminence. Presently 
 this apparition leaped lightly into the garden, and the 
 alarm of the women was lessened on seeing a young boy 
 creep stealthily over the grass, and approach the open 
 door. 
 
 " Hey, child! " said Madge, rising. " What wantest 
 
 thou?"
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 131 
 
 "Hist, gammer, hist! Ah! the young mistress? 
 That's well. Hist! I say again." The boy entered 
 the room. " I 'm in time to save you. In half an 
 hour your house will be broken into, perhaps burned. 
 The boys are clapping their hands now at the thoughts 
 of the bonfire. Father and all the neighbors are getting 
 ready. Hark! hark! Ko, it is only the wind! The 
 tymbesteres are to give note. When you hear their 
 bells tinkle, the mob will meet. Run for your lives, 
 you and the old man, and don't ever say it was poor 
 Tim who told you this, for father would beat me to 
 death. Ye can still get through the garden into the 
 fields. Quick!" 
 
 " I will go to the master," exclaimed Madge, hurry- 
 ing from the room. 
 
 The child caught Sibyll's cold hand through the 
 dark. " And I say, mistress, if his worship is a wizard, 
 don't let him punish father and mother, or poor Tim, 
 or his little sister; though Tim was once naughty, and 
 hooted Master Warner. Many, many, many a time 
 and oft have I seen that kind, mild face in my sleep, 
 just as when it bent over me, while I kicked and 
 screamed ; and the poor gentleman said, ' Thinkest thou 
 I would harm thee? ' But he '11 forgive me now, will 
 he not? And when I turned the seething water over 
 myself, and they said it was all along of the wizard, my 
 heart pained more than the arm. But they whip me, 
 and groan out that the devil is in me, if I don't say 
 that the kettle upset of itself! Oh, those tymbesteres! 
 Mistress, did you ever see them? They fright me. If 
 you could hear how they set on all the neighbors ! And 
 their laugh, — it makes the hair stand on end ! But you 
 will get away, and thank Tim too! Oh, I shall laugh 
 then, when they find the old house empty! "
 
 182 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 " May our dear Lord bless thee, — bless thee, child," 
 sobbed Sibyll, clasping the boy in her arms, and kiss- 
 ing him, while her tears bathed his cheeks. 
 
 A light gleamed on the threshold, — Madge, holding a 
 candle, appeared with Warner, his hat and cloak thrown 
 on in haste. " What is this ? " said the poor scholar. 
 " Can it be true 1 Is mankind so cruel 1 What have I 
 done, woe is me ! what have I done to deserve this? " 
 
 "Come, dear father, quick," said Sibyll, drying her 
 tears, and wakened, by the presence of the old man, into 
 energy and courage. " But put thy hand on this boy's 
 head, and bless him ; for it is he who has haply saved 
 us." 
 
 The boy trembled a moment as the long-bearded face 
 turned towards him, but when he caught and recognized 
 those meek, sweet eyes, his superstition vanished, and 
 it was but a holy and grateful awe that thrilled his 
 young blood, as the old man placed both withered hands 
 over his yellow hair, and murmured, 
 
 u God shield thy youth, God make thy manhood 
 worthy, — God give thee children in thine old age 
 with hearts like thine ! " 
 
 Scarcely had the prayer ceased, when the clash of 
 timbrels, with their jingling bells, was heard in the 
 street. Once, twice, again, and a fierce yell closed in 
 chorus, — caught up and echoed from corner to corner, 
 from house to house. 
 
 "Run — run!" cried the boy, turning white with 
 terror. 
 
 "But the Eureka, — my hope, my mind's child!" 
 exclaimed Adam, suddenly, and halting at the door. 
 
 " Eh ■ — eh ! " said Madge, pushing him forward. " It 
 is too heavy to move; thou couldst not lift it. Think 
 of thine own flesh and blood, — of thy daughter, of her
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 183 
 
 dead mother. Save her life , if thou carest not for thine 
 own ! " 
 
 "Go, Sibyll, go, — and thou, Madge; I will stay. 
 What matters my life, it is but the servant of a thought ! 
 Perish master, — perish slave! " 
 
 " Father, unless you come with me, I stir not. Fly 
 or perish ! Your fate is mine ! Another minute! Oh, 
 heaven of mercy , that roar again ! We are both lost ! " 
 
 "Go, sir, go; they care not for your iron, — iron 
 cannot feel. They will not touch that! Have not 
 your daughter's life upon your soul ! " 
 
 "Sibyll, Sibyll, — forgive me! Come!" said War- 
 ner, conscience -stricken at the appeal. 
 
 Madge and the boy ran forwards: the old woman 
 unbarred the garden gate, — Sibyll and her father went 
 forth. The fields stretched before them, calm and 
 solitary, — the boy leaped up, kissed Sibyll's pale 
 cheek, and then bounded across the grass, and vanished. 
 
 " Loiter not, Madge. Come ! " cried Sibyll. 
 
 "Nay," said the old woman, shrinking back; "they 
 bear no grudge to me ; I am too old to do aught but 
 burden ye. I will stay, and perchance save the house 
 and the chattels, and poor master's deft contrivance. 
 Whist ! thou knowest his heart would break if none 
 were by to guard it." 
 
 With that the faithful servant thrust the broad pieces 
 that yet remained of the king's gift into the gipsire 
 Sibyll wore at her girdle, and then closed and rebarred 
 the door before they could detain her. 
 
 " It is base to leave her," said the scholar-gentleman. 
 
 The noble Sibyll could not refute her father. Afar 
 they heard the trampling of feet: suddenly a dark red 
 light shot up into the blue air, a light from the flame 
 of many torches.
 
 184 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 " The wizard, the wizard! Death to the wizard, who 
 would starve the poor!" yelled forth, and was echoed 
 by a stern hurrah. 
 
 Adam stood motionless, Sibyll by his side. 
 
 "The wizard and his daughter!" shrieked a sharp 
 single voice, the voice of Graul the tymhestere. 
 
 Adam turned. "Ply, my child, — they now threaten 
 thee. Come, come, come;" and, taking her by the 
 hand, he hurried her across the fields, skirting the 
 hedge, their shadows dodging, irregular, and quaint, 
 on the starlit sward. The father had lost all thought 
 — all care, but for the daughter's life. They paused 
 at last, out of breath and exhausted: the sounds at the 
 distance were lulled and hushed. They looked towards 
 the direction of the home they had abandoned, expecting 
 to see the flames destined to consume it reddening the 
 sky; but all was dark, — or, rather, no light save the 
 holy stars and the rising moon offended the majestic 
 heaven. 
 
 " They cannot harm the poor old woman ; she hath no 
 lore. On her gray hairs has fallen not the curse of 
 men's hate ! " said Warner. 
 
 " Right, father; when they found us flown, doubtless 
 the cruel ones dispersed. But they may search yet for 
 thee. Lean on me, I am strong and young. Another 
 effort, and we gain the safe coverts of the Chase." 
 
 While yet the last word hung on her lips, they saw, 
 on the path they had left, the burst of torch-light, and 
 heard the mob hounding on their track. But the thick 
 copses, with their pale green just budding into life, 
 were at hand. On they fled: the deer started from 
 amidst the entangled fern, but stood and gazed at them 
 without fear; the playful hares in the green alleys 
 ceased not their nightly sports at the harmless foot-
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 185 
 
 steps; and when at last, in the dense thicket, they sank 
 down on the mossy roots of a giant oak, the nightingales 
 overhead chanted as if in melancholy welcome. They 
 were saved! 
 
 But in their home, fierce fires glared amidst the toss- 
 ing torch-light; the crowd, baffled by the strength of 
 the door, scaled the wall, broke through the lattice- 
 work of the hall window, and streaming through room 
 after room, roared forth, "Death to the wizard!" 
 Amidst the sordid dresses of the men, the soiled and 
 faded tinsel of the tymbesteres gleamed and sparkled. 
 It was a scene the she-fiends revelled in, — dear are 
 outrage and malice, and the excitement of turbulent 
 passions, and the savage voices of frantic men, and the 
 thirst of blood, to those everlasting furies of a mob, 
 under whatever name we know them, in whatever time 
 they taint with their presence, — women in whom 
 womanhood is blasted ! 
 
 Door after door was burst open with cries of disap- 
 pointed rage ; at last they ascended the turret-stairs — 
 they found a small door barred and locked. Tim's 
 father, a huge axe in his brawny arm, shivered the 
 panels ; the crowd rushed in, — and there , seated amongst 
 a strange and motley litter, they found the devoted 
 Madge. The poor old woman had collected into this 
 place, as the stronghold of the mansion, whatever porta- 
 ble articles seemed to her most precious, either from 
 value or association. Sibyll's gittern (Marmaduke's 
 gift) lay amidst a lumber of tools and implements; a 
 faded robe of her dead mother's, treasured by Madge 
 and Sibyll both, as a relic of holy love; a few platters 
 and cups of pewter, the pride of old Madge's heart to 
 keep bright and clean, odds and ends of old hangings; 
 a battered silver brooch (a love-gift to Madge herself
 
 186 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 when she was young), — these, and suchlike scraps of 
 finery, hoards inestimable to the household memory and 
 affection, lay confusedly heaped around the huge grim 
 model, before which, mute and tranquil, sat the brave 
 old woman. 
 
 The crowd halted, and stared round in superstitious 
 terror, and dumb marvel. 
 
 The leader of the tymbesteres sprang forward , — 
 
 " Where is thy master, old hag, and where the bonny 
 maid who glamours lords and despises us bold lassies ? " 
 
 " Alack ! master and the damsel have gone hours ago ! 
 I am alone in the house ; what 's your will 1 " 
 
 " The crone looks parlous witchlike ! " said Tim's 
 father, crossing himself, and somewhat retreating from 
 her gray, unquiet eyes. And, indeed, poor Madge, 
 with her wrinkled face, bony form, and high cap, 
 corresponded far more with the vulgar notions of a 
 dabbler in the black art than did Adam Warner, with 
 his comely countenance and noble mien. 
 
 "So she doth, indeed; and verily," said a hump- 
 backed tinker, " if we were to try a dip in the horse- 
 pool yonder it could do no harm. " 
 
 " Away with her, away ! " cried several voices at that 
 humane suggestion. 
 
 " Nay, nay ," quoth the baker ; " she is a douce creature 
 after all, and hath dealt with me many years. I don't 
 care what becomes of the wizard, — every one knows," 
 he added with pride, " that I was one of the first to set 
 fire to his house when Robin gainsayed it ! — ■ but right 's 
 right, — burn the master, not the drudge ! " 
 
 This intercession might have prevailed, but unhap- 
 pily, at that moment Graul Skellet, who had secured 
 two stout fellows to accomplish the object so desired by 
 Friar Bungey, laid hands on the model, and, at her
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 187 
 
 shrill command, the men advanced and dislodged it 
 from its place. At the same time, the other tymbes- 
 teres, caught by the sight of things pleasing to their 
 wonted tastes, threw themselves, one upon the faded 
 robe Sibyll's mother had worn in her chaste and happy 
 youth; another, upon poor Madge's silver brooch; a 
 third, upon the gittern. 
 
 These various attacks roused up all the spirit and 
 wrath of the old woman; her cries of distress, as she 
 darted from one to the other, striking to the right and 
 left with her feeble arms, her form trembling with 
 passion, were at once ludicrous and piteous, and these 
 were responded to by the shrill exclamations of the 
 fierce tymbesteres, as they retorted scratch for scratch, 
 and blow for blow. The spectators grew animated by 
 the sight of actual outrage and resistance : the hump- 
 backed tinker, whose unwholesome fancy one of the 
 aggrieved tymbesteres had mightily warmed, hastened 
 to the relief of his virago; and, rendered furious by 
 finding ten nails fastened suddenly on his face, he 
 struck down the poor creature by a blow that stunned 
 her, seized her in his arms, — for deformed and weakly 
 as the tinker was, the old woman, now sense and spirit 
 were gone, was as light as skin and bone could be, — « 
 and, followed by half a score of his comrades, whooping 
 and laughing, bore her down the stairs. Tim's father, 
 who, whether from parental affection, or, as is more 
 probable, from the jealous hatred and prejudice of 
 ignorant industry, was bent upon Adam's destruction, 
 hallooed on some of his fiercer fellows into the garden, 
 tracked the footsteps of the fugitives by the trampled 
 grass, and bounded over the wall in fruitless chase. 
 But on went the more giddy of the mob, rather in sport 
 than in cruelty, with a chorus of drunken apprentices
 
 188 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 and riotous boys, to the spot where the humpbacked 
 tinker had dragged his passive burden. The foul, 
 green pond near Master Sancroft's hostel reflected the 
 glare of torches; six of the tymbesteres, leaping and 
 wheeling, with doggerel song and discordant music, 
 gave the signal for the ordeal of the witch, — 
 
 " Lake or river, dyke or ditch, 
 Water never drowns the witch. 
 Witch or wizard would ye know ? — 
 Sink or swim, is ay or no. 
 Lift her, swing her, once and twice, 
 
 Lift her, swing her o'er the brim — 
 Lille — lera — twice and thrice — 
 Ha! ha! mother, sink or swim ! " 
 
 And while the last line was chanted, amidst the full 
 jollity of laughter and clamor, and clattering timbrels, 
 there was a splash in the sullen water; the green slough 
 on the surface parted with an oozing gurgle, and then 
 came a dead silence. 
 
 " A murrain on the hag! — she does not even strug- 
 gle!" said, at last, the humpbacked tinker. 
 
 "No, no! she cares not for water, — try fire! Out 
 with her! out!" cried Red Grisell. 
 
 " Aroint her! she is sullen ! " said the tinker, as his 
 lean fingers clutched up the dead body, and let it fall 
 upon the margin. 
 
 " Dead ! " said the baker, shuddering ; " we have done 
 wrong, — I told ye so ! She dealt with me many a 
 year. Poor Madge! Right's right. She was no 
 witch ! " 
 
 "But that was the only way to try it," said the hump- 
 backed tinker; "and if she was not a witch, why did 
 she look like one? — I cannot abide ugly folks."
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 189 
 
 The bystanders shook their heads. But whatever 
 their remorse, it was diverted by a double sound: first, 
 a loud hurrah from some of the mob who had loitered 
 for pillage, and who now emerged from Adam's house, 
 following two men, who, preceded by the terrible Graul, 
 dancing before them, and tossing aloft her timbrel, bore 
 in triumph the captured Eureka; and, secondly, the 
 blast of a clarion at the distance, while up the street 
 marched — horse and foot, with pike and banner — a 
 goodly troop. The Lord Hastings in person led a royal 
 force, by a night march, against a fresh outbreak of the 
 rebels, not ten miles from the city, under Sir Geoffrey 
 Gates, who had been lately arrested by the Lord Howard 
 at Southampton, — escaped, collected a disorderly body 
 of such restless men as are always disposed to take part 
 in civil commotion, and now menaced London itself. 
 At the sound of the clarion the valiant mob dispersed 
 in all directions, for even at that day mobs had an 
 instinct of terror at the approach of the military, and 
 a quick reaction from outrage to the fear of retaliation. 
 
 But, at the sound of martial music, the tymbesteres 
 silenced their own instruments, and, instead of flying, 
 they darted through the crowd, each to seek the other, 
 and unite as for counsel. Graul, pointing to Mr. San- 
 croft's hostelry, whispered the bearers of the Eureka to 
 seek refuge there for the present, and to bear their 
 trophy with the dawn to Friar Bungey, at the Tower; 
 and then, gliding nimbly through the fugitive rioters, 
 sprang into the centre of the circle formed by her 
 companions. 
 
 " Ye scent the coming battle." said the archtymbestere. 
 
 "Ay — ay — ay ! " answered the sisterhood. 
 
 " But we have gone miles since noon, — I am faint and 
 weary ! " said one amongst them.
 
 190 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 Eed Grisell, the youngest of the hand, struck her 
 comrade on the cheek, " Faint and weary, ronion, with 
 blood and booty in the wind ! " 
 
 The tymbesteres smiled grimly on their young sister; 
 but the leader whispered " Hush ! " and they stood for 
 a second or two with outstretched throats — with dilated 
 nostrils, with pent breath — listening to the clarion, and 
 the hoofs, and the rattling armor; — .the human vultures 
 foretasting their feast of carnage ; then, obedient to a 
 sign from their chief tainess, they crept lightly and 
 rapidly into the mouth of a neighboring alley, where 
 they cowered by the squalid huts, concealed. The 
 troop passed on, — a gallant and serried band : horse 
 and foot, about fifteen hundred men. As they filed 
 up the thoroughfare, and the tramp of the last soldiers 
 fell hollow on the starlit ground, the tymbesteres stole 
 from their retreat, and, at the distance of some few 
 hundred yards, followed the procession, with long, 
 silent, stealthy strides, — as the meaner beasts, in the 
 instinct of hungry cunning, follow the Hon for the 
 garbage of his prey.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 191 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 The Fugitives are Captured — The Tymbesteres Reappear — 
 Moonlight on the Revel of the Living — Moonlight on the 
 Slumber of the Dead. 
 
 The father and child made their resting-place under the 
 giant oak. They knew not whither to fly for refuge, — 
 the day and the night had become the same to them : the 
 night menaced with robbers, the day with the mob. If 
 return to their houie was forbidden, where in the wide 
 world a shelter for the would-be world-improver '{ Yet 
 they despaired not, their hearts failed them not. The 
 majestic splendor of the night, as it deepened in its 
 solemn calm, — as the shadows of the windless trees 
 fell larger and sharper upon the silvery earth, as the 
 skies grew mellower and more luminous in the strength- 
 ening starlight, — inspired them with the serenity of 
 faith; for night, to the earnest soul, opens the bible of 
 the universe, and on the leaves of Heaven is written, 
 " God is everywhere ! " 
 
 Their hands were clasped, each in each, — their pale 
 faces were upturned; they spoke not, neither were they 
 conscious that they prayed, but their silence was thought, 
 and the thought was worship. 
 
 Amidst the grief and solitude of the pure, there comes, 
 at times, a strange and rapt serenity — a sleep-awake — 
 over which the instinct of life beyond the grave glides 
 like a noiseless dream ; and ever that heaven that the 
 soul yearns for is colored by the fancies of the fond
 
 192 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 human heart, — each fashioning the ahove from the 
 desires unsatisfied below. 
 
 " There, " thought the musing maiden, " cruelty and 
 strife shall cease; there, vanish the harsh differences 
 of life; there, those whom we have loved and lost are 
 found, and through the Son, who tasted of mortal sorrow, 
 we are raised to the home of the Eternal Father ! " 
 
 "And there," thought the aspiring sage, "the mind, 
 dungeoned and chained below, rushes free into the 
 realms of space; there, from every mystery falls the 
 veil; there, the Omniscient smiles on those who, 
 through the darkness of life, have fed that lamp, the 
 soul; there, Thought, but the seed on earth, bursts 
 into the flower, and ripens to the fruit ! " 
 
 And on the several hope of both maid and sage the 
 eyes of the angel stars smiled with a common promise. 
 
 At last, insensibly, and while still musing, so that 
 slumber but continued the revery into visions, father 
 and daughter slept. 
 
 The night passed away; the dawn came slow and 
 gray ; the antlers of the deer stirred above the fern ; the 
 song of the nightingale was hushed; and just as the 
 morning star waned back, while the reddening east 
 announced the sun, and labor and trouble resumed 
 their realm of day, a fierce band halted before those 
 sleeping forms. 
 
 These men had been Lancastrian soldiers, and, 
 reduced to plunder for a living, had, under Sir 
 Geoffrey Gates, formed the most stalwart part of the 
 wild disorderly force whom Hilyard and Coniers had 
 led to Olney. They had heard of the new outbreak, 
 headed by their ancient captain, Sir Geoffrey (who 
 was supposed to have been instigated to his revolt by 
 the gold and promises of the Lancastrian chiefs), and
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 193 
 
 were on their way to join the rehels; hut as war for 
 them was but the name for booty, they felt the wonted 
 instinct of the robber, when they caught sight of the 
 old man and the fair maid. 
 
 Both Adam and his daughter wore, unhappily, the 
 dresses in which they had left the court, and Sibyll's 
 especially was that which seemed to betoken a certain 
 rank and station. 
 
 " Awake, — rouse ye ! " said the captain of the band, 
 roughly shaking the arm which encircled Sibyll's slen- 
 der waist. Adam started, opened his eyes, and saw 
 himself begirt by figures in rusty armor, with savage 
 faces peering under their steel sallets. 
 
 " How came ye hither ? Yon oak drops strange 
 acorns," quoth the chief. 
 
 " Valiant sir! " replied Adam, still seated, and draw- 
 ing his gown instinctively over Sibyll's face, which 
 nestled on his bosom, in slumber so deep and heavy, 
 that the gruff voice had not broken it, — "valiant sir! 
 we are forlorn and houseless : an old man and a simple 
 girl. Some evil-minded persons invaded our home; we 
 fled in the night, and — " 
 
 " Invaded your house ! ha, it is clear," said the chief. 
 "We know the rest." 
 
 At this moment Sibyll woke, and starting to her feet 
 in astonishment and terror at the sight on which her 
 eyes opened, her extreme beauty made a sensible effect 
 upon the bravoes. 
 
 "Do not be daunted, young demoiselle," said the 
 captain, with an air almost respectful, — "it is neces- 
 sary thou and Sir John should follow us, but we will 
 treat you well, and consult later on the ransom ye will 
 pay us. Jock, discharge the young sumpter-mule ; put 
 its load on the black one. We have no better equip- 
 
 VOL. II. — 13
 
 194 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 ment for thee, lady; but the first haquenee we rind 
 shall replace the mule, and meanwhile my knaves will 
 heap their cloaks for a pillion." 
 
 " But what mean you? — you mistake us! " exclaimed 
 Sibyll — " we are poor; we cannot ransom ourselves." 
 
 "Poor! — tut!" said the captain, pointing signifi- 
 cantly to the costly robe of the maiden, — " moreover, 
 his worship's wealth is well known. Mount in haste, 
 — we are pressed. " 
 
 And without heeding the expostulations of Sibyll 
 and the poor scholar, the rebel put his troop into 
 motion, and marched himself at their head, with his 
 lieutenant. 
 
 Sibyll found the subalterns sterner than their chief; 
 for as Warner offered to resist, one of them lifted his 
 gisarme, with a frightful oath, and Sibyll was the first 
 to persuade her father to submit. She mildly, however, 
 rejected the mule, and the two captives walked together 
 in the midst of the troop. 
 
 " Bardie ! " said the lieutenant, "I see little help to 
 Sir Geoffrey in these recruits, captain! " 
 
 " Fool! " said the chief, disdainfully, — " if the rebel- 
 lion fail, these prisoners may save our necks. Will 
 Somers last night was to break into the house of Sir 
 John Bourchier, for arms and moneys, of which the 
 knight hath a goodly store. Be sure, Sir John slinked 
 off in the siege, and this is he and his daughter. Thou 
 knowest he is one of the greatest knights, and the 
 richest, whom the Yorkists boast of; — and we may 
 name our own price for his ransom." 
 
 " But where lodge them, while we go to the battle 1 " 
 
 "Ned Porpustone hath a hostelry not far from the 
 camp, and Ned is a good Lancastrian, and a man to be 
 trusted. "
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 195 
 
 "We have not searched the prisoners," said the 
 lieutenant; — "they may have some gold in their 
 pouches." 
 
 "Marry, when Will Somers storms a hive, little 
 time does he leave to the bees to fly away with much 
 honey! Nathless, thou mayest search the old knight, 
 but civilly, and with gentle excuses." 
 
 " And the damsel 1 " 
 
 " ISTay ! that were unmannerly ; and the milder our 
 conduct, the larger the ransom, — when we have great 
 folks to deal with." 
 
 The lieutenant accordingly fell back to search Adam's 
 gipsire, which contained only a book and a file, and then 
 rejoined his captain, without offering molestation to 
 Sibyll. 
 
 The mistake made by the bravo was at least so far 
 not wholly unfortunate, that the notion of the high 
 quality of the captives — for Sir John Bourchier was 
 indeed a person of considerable station and importance 
 (a notion favored by the noble appearance of the 
 scholar, and the delicate and high-born air of Sibyll) — 
 procured for them all the respect compatible with the 
 circumstances. They had not gone far before they 
 entered a village, through which the ruffians marched 
 with the most perfect impunity ; for it was a strange 
 feature in those civil wars, that the mass of the popula- 
 tion, except in the northern districts, remained perfectly 
 supine and neutral, and as the little band halted at a 
 small inn to drink, the gossips of the village collected 
 round them, with the same kind of indolent, careless 
 curiosity, which is now evinced, in some hamlet, at the 
 halt of a stage-coach. Here the captain learned, how- 
 ever, some intelligence important to his objects, — namely 
 the nigh1>march of the troop under Lord Hastings, and
 
 196 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 the probability that the conflict was already begun. " If 
 so, " muttered the rebel, " we can see how the tide turns, 
 before we endanger ourselves ; and at the worst, our 
 prisoners will bring something of prize-money." 
 
 While thus soliloquizing, he spied one of those cum- 
 brous vehicles of the day called ivhlrlicotes, 1 standing 
 in the yard of the hostelry; and seizing upon it, vi et 
 armis, in spite of all the cries and protestations of the 
 unhappy landlord, he ordered his captives to enter, 
 and recommenced his march. As the band proceeded 
 farther on their way, they were joined by fresh troops, 
 of the same class as themselves, and they pushed on 
 gayly, till, about the hour of eight, they halted before 
 the hostelry the captain had spoken of. It stood a 
 little out of the high-road, not very far from the vil- 
 lage of Hadley, and the heath or chase of Gladsmoor, 
 on which was fought, some time afterwards, the battle 
 of Barnet. It was a house of good aspect, and con- 
 siderable size, for it was much frequented by all 
 caravanserais and travellers from the north to the 
 metropolis. The landlord, at heart a stanch Lancas- 
 trian, who had served in the French Avars, and contrived, 
 no one knew how, to save moneys in the course of an 
 adventurous life, gave to his hostelry the appellation 
 and sign of the Talbot, in memory of the old hero of 
 that name ; and, hiring a tract of land, joined the occu- 
 pation of a farmer to the dignity of a host. The house, 
 which was built round a spacious quadrangle, repre- 
 sented the double character of its owner, one side 
 
 1 Whirlicotes were iu use from a very early period, but only 
 among the great, till, in the reign of Richard II., his queen, Anne, 
 introduced side-saddles, when the whirlicote fell out of fashion, 
 but might be found at different hostelries on the main roads, for 
 the accommodation of the infirm or aged.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 197 
 
 being occupied by barns and a considerable range of 
 stabling, while cows, oxen, and ragged colts, grouped 
 amicably together, in a space railed off in the centre of 
 the yard. At another side ran a large wooden stair- 
 case, with an open gallery, propped on wooden columns, 
 conducting to numerous chambers, after the fashion of 
 the Tabard, in Southwark, immortalized by Chaucer. 
 Over the archway, on entrance, ran a labyrinth of 
 sleeping lofts, for foot passengers and muleteers, and 
 the side facing the entrance was nearly occupied by a 
 vast kitchen, the common hall, and the bar, with the 
 private parlor of the host, and two or three chambers 
 in the second story. The whirlicote jolted and rattled 
 into the yard. Sibyll and her father were assisted out 
 of the vehicle, and, after a few words interchanged 
 with the host, conducted by Master Porpustone himself 
 up the spacious stairs into a chamber, well furnished and 
 fresh littered, with repeated assurances of safety, pro- 
 vided they maintained silence, and attempted no escape. 
 
 " Ye are in time, " said Ned Porpustone to the cap- 
 tain, — "Lord Hastings made proclamation at daybreak 
 that lie gave the rebels two hours to disperse." 
 
 " Pest ! I like not those proclamations. And the 
 fellows stood their ground 1 " 
 
 "No; for Sir Geoffrey, like a wise soldier, mended 
 the ground by retreating a mile to the left, and placing 
 the wood between the Yorkists and himself. Hast- 
 ings, by this, must have remarshalled his men. But 
 to pass the wood is slow work, and Sir Geoffrey's 
 cross-bows are no doubt doing damage in the covert. 
 Come in, while your fellows snatch a morsel without; 
 five minutes are not thrown away on filling their 
 bellies." 
 
 " Thanks, Ned, — thou art a good fellow ! and if all
 
 198 the last of the barons. 
 
 else fail, why, Sir John's ransom shall pay the reckon* 
 ing. Any news of bold Kobin ? " 
 
 " Ay ! he has 'scaped with a whole skin, and gone 
 back to the north, " answered the host, leading the way 
 to his parlor, where a flask of strong wine and some 
 cold meats awaited his guest. " If Sir Geoffrey Gates 
 can beat off the York troopers, tell him, from me, not 
 to venture to London, but to fall back into the marches. 
 He will be welcome there, I foreguess; for every north- 
 man is either for "Warwick or for Lancaster: and the 
 two must unite now, I trow." 
 
 " But Warwick is flown ! " quoth the captain. 
 
 " Tush ! he has only flown, as the falcon flies when 
 he has a heron to fight with,— wheeling and soaring. 
 Woe to the heron when the falcon swoops! But you 
 drink not ! " 
 
 " ]S"o ; I must keep the head cool to-day, for Hast- 
 ings is a perilous captain. Thy fist, friend ! — If I fall, 
 I leave you Sir John and his girl, to wipe off old scores ; 
 if we beat off the Yorkists, 1 vow to our Lady of Wal- 
 singham an image of wax, of the weight of myself." 
 The marauder then started up, and strode to his men, 
 who were snatching a hasty meal on the space before 
 the hostel. He paused a moment or so, while his host 
 whispered, — 
 
 " Hastings was here before daybreak ; but his men 
 only got the sour beer; yours fight upon huffcap." 
 
 " Up, men ! — To your pikes ! Dress to the right ! " 
 thundered the captain, with a sufficient pause between 
 each sentence. " The York losels have starved on stale 
 beer, — shall they beat huffcap and Lancaster? Frisk 
 and fresh, — up with the Antelope 1 banner, and long 
 live Henry VI. ! " 
 
 1 The antelope was one of the Lancastrian badges. The special 
 cognizance of Henry VI. was two feathers in saltire.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 199 
 
 The sound of the shout that answered this harangue 
 shook the thin walls of the chamber in which the 
 prisoners were confined, and they heard with joy the 
 departing tramp of the soldiers. In a short time, Master 
 Porpustone himself, a corpulent, burly fellow, with a face 
 by no means unprepossessing, mounted to the chamber, 
 accompanied by a comely housekeeper, linked to him, 
 as scandal said, by ties less irksome than Hymen's, and 
 both bearing ample provisions, with rich pigment and 
 lucid clary, 1 which they spread with great formality on 
 an oak table before their involuntary guests. 
 
 " Eat, your worship, eat ! " cried mine host, heartily. 
 " Eat, ladybird ! — nothing like eating to kill time and 
 banish care. Fortune of war, Sir John, fortune of war, 
 — never be daunted! Up to-day, — down to-morrow. 
 Come what may, — York or Lancaster, — still a rich man 
 always falls on his legs. Five hundred marks or so to 
 the captain; a noble or two, out of pure generosity, to 
 Ned Porpustone (I scorn extortion), and you and the 
 fair young dame may breakfast at home to-morrow, 
 unless the captain or his favorite lieutenant is taken 
 prisoner; and then, you see, they will buy off their 
 necks by letting you out of the bag. Eat, I say, — 
 eat! " 
 
 " Verily, " said Adam, seating himself solemnly, and 
 preparing to obey, " I confess I 'm a hungered, and the 
 pasty hath a savory odor; but I pray thee to tell me 
 why I am called Sir John 1 — Adam is my baptismal 
 name." 
 
 "Ha! ha! good, very good, your honor, — to be sure, 
 and your father's name before you. We are all sons of 
 Adam, and every son, I trow, has a just right and a 
 lawful to his father's name." 
 
 1 Clary was wine clarified.
 
 200 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 With that, followed by the housekeeper, the honest 
 landlord, chuckling heartily, rolled his goodly bulk from 
 the chamber, which he carefully locked. 
 
 " Comprehendest thou yet, Sibyll 1 " 
 
 " Yes, dear sir and father, — they mistake us for fugi- 
 tives of mark and importance ; and when they discover 
 their error, no doubt we shall go free. Courage, dear 
 father!" 
 
 " Me seemeth, " quoth Adam, almost merrily, as the 
 good man filled his cup from the wine flagon, — " me 
 seemeth that, if the mistake could continue, it would be 
 no weighty misfortune, — ha ! ha! " — he stopped abruptly 
 in the unwonted laughter, put down the cup, — his face 
 fell. " Ah, heaven forgive me ! — • and the poor Eureka 
 and faithful Madge ! " 
 
 "Oh, father! fear not; we are not without protection. 
 Lord Hastings is returned to London, — we will seek 
 him; he will make our cruel neighbors respect thee. 
 And Madge, — poor Madge will be so happy at our re- 
 turn, for they could not harm her: a woman, — old and 
 alone; no, no, — man is not fierce enough for that! " 
 
 " Let us so pray ; but thou eatest not, child ! " 
 
 "Anon, father, — anon; I am sick and weary. But, 
 nay, nay, I am better now, — better. Smile again, 
 father. I am hungered, too; yes, indeed and in sooth, 
 yes. — Ah, sweet St. Mary, give me life and strength, 
 and hope and patience, for his dear sake ! " 
 
 The stirring events which had within the last few 
 weeks diversified the quiet life of the scholar had some- 
 what roused him from his wonted abstraction, and made 
 the aotual world a more sensible and living thing than 
 it had hitherto seemed to his mind; but now, his repast 
 ended, the quiet of the place (for the inn was silent and 
 almost deserted) with the fumes of the wine — a luxury
 
 THE LAST OF THE BAIiOXS. 201 
 
 he rarely tasted — operated soothingly upon his thought 
 and fancy, and plunged him into those reveries, so dear 
 alike to poet and mathematician. To the thinker, the 
 most trifling external ohject often suggests ideas, which, 
 like Homer's chain, extend, link after link, from earth 
 to heaven. The sunny motes, that in a glancing column 
 came through the lattice, called Warner from the real 
 day, — the day of strife and hlood, with thousands hard 
 hy driving each other to the Hades, — and led his schem- 
 ing fancy into the ideal and abstract day : the theory of 
 light itself; and the theory suggested mechanism, and 
 mechanism called up the memory of his oracle, — old 
 Roger Bacon ; and that memory revived the great friar's 
 hints in the Opus magus, — hints which outlined the 
 grand invention of the telescope : and so, as over some 
 dismal precipice a bird swings itself to and fro upon the 
 airy bough, the schoolman's mind played with its quiver- 
 ing fancy, and folded its calm wings above the verge of 
 terror. 
 
 Occupied with her own dreams, Sibyll respected those 
 of her father; and so in silence, not altogether mourn- 
 ful, the morning and the noon passed, and the sun was 
 sloping westward, when a confused sound below called 
 Sibyll's gaze to the lattice, which looked over the balus- 
 trade of the staircase, into the vast yard. She saw 
 several armed men — their harness hewed and battered 
 ■ — quaffing ale or wine in haste, and heard one of them 
 say to the landlord, — 
 
 "All is lost! Sir Geoffrey Gates still holds out, but 
 it is butcher work. The troops of Lord Hastings gather 
 round him as a net round a fish ! " 
 
 Hastings ! — that name! — he was at hand! — he was 
 near ! — they would be saved ! Sibyll's heart beat 
 loudly.
 
 202 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 " And the captain 1 " asked Porpustone. 
 
 " Alive, when I last saw him ; hut we must he off. 
 In another hour all will he hurry and skurry, flight and 
 chase. " 
 
 At this moment from one of the barns there emerged, 
 one by one, the female vultures of the battle. The 
 tymbesteres, who had tramped all night to the spot, had 
 slept off their fatigue during the day, and appeared on 
 the scene as the neighboring strife waxed low, and the 
 dead and the dying began to cumber the gory ground. 
 Graul Skellet, tossing up her timbrel, darted to the 
 fugitives and grinned a ghastly grin when she heard the 
 news, — for the tymbesteres were all loyal to a king who 
 loved women, and who had a wink and a jest for every 
 tramping wench! The troopers tarried not, however, 
 for further converse, but having satisfied their thirst, 
 hurried and clattered from the yard. At the sight of 
 the ominous tymbesteres Sibyll had drawn back, with- 
 out daring to close the lattice she had opened ; and the 
 women, seating themselves on a bench, began sleeking 
 their long hair and smoothing their garments from the 
 scraps of straw and litter which betokened the nature of 
 their resting-place. 
 
 "Ho, girls!" said the fat landlord, "ye will pay me 
 for board and bed, I trust, by a show of your craft. I 
 have two right worshipful lodgers up yonder, whose 
 lattice looks on the yard, and whom ye may serve to 
 divert." 
 
 Sibyll trembled, and crept to her father's side. 
 
 " And, " continued the landlord, " if they like the clash 
 of your musicals, it may bring ye a groat or so, to help 
 ye on your journey. By the way, — whither wend ye, 
 wenches ? "
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 203 
 
 " To a bonny, jolly fair, " answered the sinister voice 
 of Graul, — 
 
 " Where a mighty showman dyes 
 
 The greenery into red ; 
 Where, presto ! at the word 
 
 Lies his Fool without a head, — 
 Where he gathers in the crowd 
 
 To the trumpet and the drmm 
 With a jingle and a tinkle, 
 
 Graul's merry lassies come ! " 
 
 As the two closing lines were caught by the rest of 
 the t} r mbesteres, striking their timbrels, the crew formed 
 themselves into a semicircle, and commenced their dance. 
 Their movements, though wanton and fantastic, were 
 not without a certain wild grace ; and the address 
 with which, from time to time, they cast up their 
 instruments and caught them in descending, — joined 
 to the surprising agility with which, in the evolutions 
 of the dance, one seemed now to chase, now to fly from, 
 the other; darting to and fro through the ranks of her 
 companions, winding and wheeling : the chain now 
 seemingly broken in disorder, now united link to link, 
 as the whole force of the instruments clashed in 
 chorus, — made an exhibition inexpressibly attractive to 
 the vulgar. 
 
 The tymbesteres, however, as may well be supposed, 
 failed to draw Sibyll or Warner to the window ; and they 
 exchanged glances of spite and disappointment. 
 
 "Marry," quoth the landlord, after a hearty laugh at 
 the diversion, " I do wrong to be so gay, when so many 
 good friends perhaps are lying stark and cold. But what 
 then 1 Life is short, — laugh while we can ! " 
 
 " Hist! " whispered his housekeeper; " art wode, Ned? 
 Wouldst thou have it discovered that thou hast such
 
 204 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 quality birds in the cage — noble Yorkists — at the very 
 time when Lord Hastings himself may be riding this way 
 after the victory 1 " 
 
 "Always right, Meg, — and I'm an ass!" answered 
 the host, in the same undertone. " But my good nature 
 will be the death of me some day. Poor gentlefolks, 
 they must be unked dull, yonder ! " 
 
 " If the Yorkists come hither, — which we shall soon 
 know by the scouts, — we must shift Sir John and 
 the damsel to the back of the house, over thy taproom." 
 
 " Manage it as thou wilt, Meg, — but, thou seest, they 
 keep quiet and snug. Ho, ho, ho! that tall tymbestere 
 is supple enough to make an owl hold his sides with 
 laughing. Ah ! hollo, there, tymbesteres, — ribaudes, 
 tramps, the devil's chickens, — down, down ! " 
 
 The host was too late in his order. With a sudden 
 spring, Graul, who had long fixed her eye on the open 
 lattice of the prisoners, had wreathed herself round one 
 of the pillars that supported the stairs, swung lightly 
 over the balustrade, — and, with a faint shriek, the 
 startled Sibyll beheld the tymbestere's hard, fierce eyes, 
 glaring upon her through the lattice, as her long arm 
 extended the timbrel for largess. But no sooner had 
 Sibyll raised her face than she was recognized. 
 
 " Ho! the wizard and the wizard's daughter! Ho! the 
 girl who glamours lords, and wears sarcenet and lawn ! 
 Ho ! the nigromancer who starves the poor ! " 
 
 At the sound of their leader's cry, up sprang, up 
 climbed the hellish sisters! One after the other, they 
 darted through the lattice into the chamber. 
 
 " The ronions ! the foul fiend has distraught them ! " 
 groaned the landlord, motionless with astonishment. 
 But the more active Meg, calling to the varlets and 
 scullions, whom the tymbesteres had collected in the yard,
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 205 
 
 to follow her, bounded up the stairs, unlocked the door, 
 and arrived in time to throw herself between the captives 
 and the harpies, whom Sibyll's ricli super-tunic and 
 Adam's costly gown had inflamed into all the rage of 
 appropriation. 
 
 " What mean ye, wretches ? " cried the bold Meg, 
 purple with anger. " Do ye come for this into honest 
 folks' hostelries, to rob their guests in broad day, — 
 noble guests, guests of mark! Oh, Sir John ! Sir John! 
 what will ye think of us 1 " 
 
 "Oh, Sir John! Sir John!" groaned the landlord, 
 who had now moved his slow bulk into the room. 
 " They shall be scourged, Sir John ! They shall be put 
 in the stocks ; they shall be brent with hot iron, they — " 
 
 " Ha, ha ! " interrupted the terrible Graul : " guests of 
 mark, — noble guests, trow ye ! Adam Warner, the 
 wizard, and his daughter, whom we drove last night from 
 their den, as many a time, sisters, and many, we have 
 driven the rats from the charnel and cave." 
 
 " Wizard ! Adam ! Blood of my life ! " stammered the 
 landlord, — " is his name Adam, after all?" 
 
 " My name is Adam Warner," said the old man, with 
 dignity ; " no wizard, — a humble scholar, and a poor 
 gentleman, who has injured no one. Wherefore, women, 
 — if women ye are, — would ye injure mine and me ? " 
 
 " Faugh, — wizard! " returned Graul, folding her arms. 
 " Didst thou not send thy spawn, yonder, to spoil our 
 mart with her gittern ? Hast thou not taught her the 
 spells to win love from the noble and young? Ho, how 
 daintily the young witch robes herself ! Ho ! laces and 
 satins, and we shiver with the cold, and parch with the 
 heat — and — doff thy tunic, minion ! " 
 
 And Graul 's fierce gripe was on the robe, when the 
 landlord interposed his huge arm, and held her at bay.
 
 20G THE LAST OF THE BAHONS. 
 
 " Softly, my sucking dove, softly ! Clear the room, 
 and be off ! " 
 
 " Look to thyself, man. If thou harborest a wizard, 
 against law, — a wizard whom King Edward hath given 
 up to the people, — look to thy barns, they shall burn ; 
 look to thy cattle, — they shall rot ; look to thy secrets, 
 — they shall be told. Lancastrian, thou shalt hang ! 
 We go, we go! We have friends among the mailed 
 men of York. We go, — we will return! Woe to thee, 
 if thou harborest the wizard and the succuba ! " 
 
 With that, Graul moved slowly to the door. Host 
 and housekeeper, varlet, groom, and scullion, made way 
 for her, in terror; and still, as she moved, she kept 
 her eyes on Sibyll, till her sisters, following in succes- 
 sive file, shut out the hideous aspect; and Meg, ordering 
 away her gaping train, closed the door. 
 
 The host and the housekeeper then gazed gravely at 
 each other. Sibyll lay in her father's arms breathing 
 hard and convulsively. The old man's face bent over 
 her in silence. 
 
 Meg drew aside her master. " You must rid the 
 house at once of these folks. I have heard talk of yon 
 tymbesteres; they are awesome in spite and malice. 
 Every man to himself! " 
 
 " But the poor old gentleman, so mild, — and the 
 maid, so winsome! " 
 
 The last remark did not over-please the comely Meg. 
 She advanced at once to Adam, and said, shortly, — 
 
 " Master, whether wizard or not, is no affair of a poor 
 landlord, whose house is open to all; but ye have had 
 food and wine: please to pay the reckoning, and God 
 speed ye, — ye are free to depart." 
 
 "We can pay you, mistress!" exclaimed Sibyll, 
 springing up. "We have moneys yet. Here, here!"
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 207 
 
 and she took from her gipsire the broad pieces which 
 poor Madge's precaution had placed therein, and which 
 the bravoes had fortunately spared. 
 
 The sight of the gold somewhat softened the house- 
 wife. — " Lord Hastings is known to us, " continued 
 Sibyll, perceiving the impression she had made ; " suffer 
 us to rest here till he pass this way, and ye will find 
 yourselves repaid for the kindness. " 
 
 "By my troth," said the landlord, "ye are most 
 welcome to all my poor house containeth; and as for 
 these tymbesteres, I value them not a straw. No one 
 can say Ned Porpustone is an ill man or inhospitable. 
 Whoever can pay reasonably, is sure of good wine and 
 civility at the Talbot. " 
 
 With these and many similar protestations and as- 
 surances, which were less heartily re-echoed by the 
 housewife, the landlord begged to conduct them to an 
 apartment not so liable to molestation; and after hav- 
 ing led them down the principal stairs, through the bar, 
 and thence up a narrow flight of steps, deposited them 
 in a chamber at the back of the house, and lighted, 
 a sconce therein, — for it was now near the twilight. 
 He then insisted on seeing after their evening meal, 
 and vanished with his assistant. The worthy pair were 
 now of the same mind: for guests known to Lord Hast- 
 ings, it was worth braving the threats of the tymbesteres; 
 especially since Lord Hastings, it seems, had just beaten 
 the Lancastrians. 
 
 But, alas ! while the active Meg was busy on the 
 hippocras, and the worthy landlord was inspecting the 
 savory operations of the kitchen, a vast uproar was 
 heard without. A troop of disorderly Yorkist soldiers, 
 who had been employed in dispersing the flying rebels, 
 rushed helter-skelter into the house, and poured into
 
 208 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 the kitchen, bearing with them the detested tymbes- 
 teres, who had encountered them on their way. Among 
 these soldiers were those who had congregated at Master 
 Sancroft's the day before, and they were well prepared 
 to support the cause of their griesly paramours. Lord 
 Hastings himself had retired for the night to a farm- 
 house nearer the field of battle than the hostel ; and as 
 in those days discipline was lax enough after a victory, 
 the soldiers had a right to license. Master Porpustone 
 found himself completely at the mercy of these brawling 
 customers, the more rude and disorderly from the re- 
 membrance of the sour beer in the morning, and Graul 
 Skellet's assurances that Master Porpustone was a malig- 
 nant Lancastrian. They laid hands on all the provisions 
 in the house, tore the meats from the spit, devouring 
 them half raw; set the casks running over the floors; 
 and while they swilled and swore, and filled the place 
 with the uproar of a hell broke loose, Graul Skellet, 
 whom the lust for the rich garments of Sibyll still fired 
 and stung, led her followers up the stairs towards the 
 deserted chamber. Mine host perceived, but did not 
 dare openly to resist the foray; but as he was really a 
 good-natured knave, and as, moreover, he feared ill con- 
 sequences might ensue, if any friends of Lord Hastings 
 were spoiled, outraged — nay, peradventure, murdered 
 — in his house, he resolved, at all events, to assist the 
 escape of his guests. Seeing the ground thus clear of 
 the tymbesteres, he therefore stole from the riotous 
 scene, crept up the back stairs, gained the chamber to 
 which he had so happily removed his persecuted lodgers, 
 and making them, in a few words, sensible that he was 
 no longer able to protect them, and that the tymbesteres 
 were now returned with an armed force to back their 
 malice, conducted them safely to a wide casement only
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 209 
 
 some three or four feet from the soil of the solitary 
 garden, and hade them escape and save themselves. 
 
 " The farm, " he whispered, " where they say my 
 Lord Hastings is quartered, is scarcely a mile and a half 
 away; pass the garden wicket, leave Gladsmore Chase 
 to the left hand, take the path to the right, through the 
 wood, — and you will see its roof among the apple- 
 blossoms. Our Lady protect you ! and say a word to 
 my lord on behalf of poor Ned. " 
 
 Scarce had he seen his guests descend into the garden, 
 before he heard the yell of the tymbesteres, in the op- 
 posite part of the house, as the}' ran from room to room 
 after their prey. He hastened to regain the kitchen; 
 and presently the tymbesteres, breathless and panting, 
 rushed in, and demanded their victims. 
 
 " Marry, " quoth the landlord, with the self-possession 
 of a cunning old soldier, — "think ye I cumbered my 
 house with such cattle, after pretty lassies like you had 
 given me the inkling of what they were 1 No wizard 
 shall fly away with the sign of the Talbot, if I can 
 help it. They skulked off, I can promise ye, and did 
 not even mount a couple of broomsticks which I hand- 
 somely offered for their ride up to London." 
 
 " Thunder and bombards ! " cried a trooper, already 
 half-drunk, and seizing Graul in his iron arms ; " put 
 the conjurer out of thine head now, and buss me, Graul, 
 — buss me ! " 
 
 Then the riot became hideous; the soldiers, following 
 their comrade's example, embraced the grim glee-women, 
 tearing and hauling them to and fro, one from the other, 
 round and round, dancing, hallooing, chanting, howling, 
 by the blaze of a mighty fire, — many a rough face and 
 hard hand smeared with blood still wet, communicated 
 the stain to the cheeks and garb of those foul feres, and 
 vor,. it. — 14
 
 210 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 the whole revel becoming so unutterably horrible and 
 ghastly, that even the veteran landlord fled from the 
 spot, trembling and crossing himself. — And so, stream- 
 ing athwart the lattice, and silvering over that fearful 
 merry-making, rose the moon! 
 
 But when fatigue and drunkenness had done their 
 work, and the soldiers fell one over the other upon the 
 floor, the tables, the benches, into the heavy sleep of 
 riot, Graul suddenly rose from amidst the huddled 
 bodies, and then, silently as ghouls from a burial-ground, 
 her sisters emerged also from their resting-places beside 
 the sleepers. The dying light of the fire contended but 
 feebly with the livid rays of the moon, and played 
 fantastically over the gleaming robes of the tymbesteres. 
 They stood erect for a moment, listening, Graul with 
 her finger on her lips; then they glided to the door, 
 opened and reclosed it, — darted across the yard, scar- 
 ing the beasts that slept there; the watch-dog barked, 
 but drew back, bristling and showing his fangs, as Red 
 Grisell, undaunted, pointed her knife, and Graul flung 
 him a red peace-sop of meat. They launched themselves 
 through the open entrance, gained the space beyond, and 
 scoured away to the battle-field. 
 
 Meanwhile Sibyll and her father were still under the 
 canopy of heaven. They had scarcely passed the gar- 
 den and entered the fields, when they saw horsemen 
 riding to and fro in all directions. Sir Geoffrey Gates, 
 the rebel leader, had escaped ; the reward of three hun- 
 dred marks was set on his head, and the riders were in 
 search of the fugitive. The human form itself had be- 
 come a terror to the hunted outcasts : they crept under a 
 thick hedge till the horsemen had disappeared, and then 
 resumed their way. They gained the wood ; but there, 
 again, they halted at the sound of voices, and withdrew
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 211 
 
 themselves under covert of some entangled and trampled 
 bushes. This time it was but a party of peasants, whom 
 curiosity had led to see the field of battle, and who were 
 now returning home. Peasants and soldiers both were 
 human, and therefore to be shunned by those whom the 
 dge itself put out of the pale of law. At last, the party 
 also left the path free ; and now it was full night. They 
 pursued their way, they cleared the wood, — before them ' 
 lay the field of battle ; and a deeper silence seemed to fall 
 over the world! The first stars bad risen, but not yet 
 the moon. The gleam of armor from prostrate bodies, 
 which it had mailed in vain, reflected the quiet rays ; 
 here and there flickered watchfires, where sentinels were 
 set, but they were scattered and remote. The outcasts 
 paused and shuddered, but there seemed no holier way 
 for their feet; and the roof of the farmer's homestead 
 slept on the opposite side of the field, amidst white 
 orchard blossoms, whitened still more by the stars. 
 They went on, hand in hand, — the dead, after all, were 
 less terrible than the living. Sometimes a stern, up- 
 turned face, distorted by the last violent agony, the eyes 
 unclosed and glazed, encountered them with its stony 
 stare; but the weapon was powerless in the stiff hand, 
 the menace and the insult came not from the hueless lips, 
 — persecution reposed, at last, in the lap of slaughter. 
 They had gone midway through the field, when they 
 heard, from a spot where the corpses lay thickest piled, 
 a faint voice calling upon God for pardon ; and , suddenly, 
 it was answered by a tone of fiercer agony, — that did not 
 pray, but curse. 
 
 By a common impulse, the gentle wanderers moved 
 silently to the spot. 
 
 The sufferer, in prayer, was a youth scarcely passed 
 from boyhood: his helm had been cloven, his head was
 
 212 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 bare, and his long, light hair, clotted with gore, fell 
 over his shoulders. Beside him lay a strong-built, pow- 
 erful form, which writhed in torture, pierced under the 
 arm by a Yorkist arrow, and the shaft still projected from 
 the wound, — and the man's curse answered the boy's 
 prayer. 
 
 " Peace to thy parting soul , brother ! " said Warner, 
 bending over the man. 
 
 " Poor sufferer ! " said Sibyll to the boy ; " cheer thee : 
 we will send succor ; thou niayst live yet ! " 
 
 " Water ! water ! — hell and torture ! — water, I say ! " 
 groaned the man ; " one drop of water ! " 
 
 It was the captain of the marauders who had captured 
 the wanderers. 
 
 " Thine arm ! lift me ! move me ! That evil man 
 scares my soul from heaven ! " gasped the boy. 
 
 And Adam preached penitence to the one that cursed, 
 and Sibyll knelt down and prayed with the one that 
 prayed. — And up rose the moon ! 
 
 Lord Hastings sat, with his victorious captains — over 
 mead, morat, and wine — in the humble hall of the farm. 
 
 " So, " said he, " we have crushed the last embers of 
 the rebellion ! This Sir Geoffrey Gates is a restless and 
 resolute spirit; pity he escapes again for further mischief. 
 But the house of Nevile, that overshadowed the rising 
 race, hath fallen at last, — a waisall, brave sirs, to the 
 new men ! " 
 
 The door was thrown open, and an old soldier entered 
 abruptly. 
 
 " My lord ! my lord ! Oh ! my poor son ! he cannot 
 be found! The women, who ever follow the march of 
 soldiers, will be on the ground to despatch the wounded, 
 that they may rifle the corpses! God! if my son — 
 my boy — my only son — "
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 213 
 
 8 I wist not, my brave Mervil, that thou hadst a son 
 in our bands ; yet I know each man by name and sight. 
 Courage! Our wounded have been removed, and sen- 
 tries are placed to guard the field! " 
 
 " Sentries! my lord, knowest thou not that they 
 wink at the crime that plunders the dead? Moreover, 
 these corpse-riflers creep stealthily and unseen, as the 
 red earth-worms, to the carcass. Give me some few of 
 thy men, — give me warrant to search the field ! My son 
 
 — my boy — not sixteen summers — and his mother — " 
 The man stopped, and sobbed. 
 
 " Willingly ! " said the gentle Hastings, — willingly ! 
 And woe to the sentries if it be as thou sayest! I will 
 go myself , and see! Torches there, — what ho! — the 
 good captain careth even for his dead! — Thy son! I 
 marvel I knew him not! — Whom served he under? " 
 
 " My lord ! my lord ! pardon him ! He is but a boy, 
 
 — they misled him ! — he fought for the rebels. He 
 crossed my path to-day: my arm was raised, — we knew 
 each other, and he fled from his father's sword ! — Just 
 as the strife was ended I saw him again, — I saw him 
 fall ! — Oh, mercy, mercy ! do not let him perish of his 
 wounds or by the rifler's knife, even though a rebel ! " 
 
 " Homo sum ! " quoth the noble chief, " I am a man ! 
 and, even in these bloody times, Nature commands when 
 she speaks in a father's voice! Mervil, I marked thee 
 to-day ! Thou art a brave fellow. 1 meant thee advance- 
 ment: I give thee, instead, thy son's pardon, if he lives, 
 
 — ten masses if he died as a soldier's son should die, no 
 matter under what flag: antelope or lion, pierced man- 
 fully in the breast, — his feet to the foe! Come, I will 
 search with thee ! " 
 
 The boy yielded up his soul while Sibyll prayed, and 
 her sweet voice soothed the last pang ; and the man 
 ceased to curse while Adam spoke of God's power and
 
 214 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 mercy, and his breath ebbed, gasp upon gasp, aAvay. 
 While thus detained, the wanderers saw not pale, fleet- 
 ing figures, that had glided to the ground, and moved, 
 gleaming, irregular, and rapid, as marsh-fed vapors, 
 from heap to heap of the slain. With a loud, wild 
 cry, the robber Lancastrian half sprang to his feet, in 
 the paroxysm of the last struggle, and then fell on his 
 face, — a corpse ! 
 
 The cry reached the tymbesteres, and Graul rose from 
 a body from which she had extracted a few coins smeared 
 with blood, and darted to the spot; and so, as Adam 
 raised his face from contemplating the dead, whose last 
 moments he had sought to soothe, the Alecto of the 
 battle-field stood before him, her knife bare in her gory 
 hand. Red Grisell, who had just left (with a spurn 
 of wrath, — for the pouch was empty) the corpse of a 
 soldier, round whose neck she had twined her hot clasp 
 the day before, sprang towards Sibyll; the rest of the 
 sisterhood flocked to the place, and laughed in glee as 
 they beheld their unexpected prey. The danger was 
 horrible and imminent; no pity was seen in those 
 savage eyes. The wanderers prepared for death, — 
 when, suddenly, torches flashed over the ground. A 
 cry was heard, " See, the riflers of the dead! " Armed 
 men bounded forward, and the startled wretches uttered 
 a shrill, unearthly scream, and fled from the spot, leap- 
 ing over the carcasses, and doubling and winding, till 
 they had vanished into the darkness of the wood. 
 
 "Provost!" said a commanding voice, "hang me up 
 those sentinels at daybreak!" 
 
 "My son! my boy! speak Hal, — speak to me. He 
 is here, — he is found!" exclaimed the old soldier, 
 kneeling beside the corpse at Sibyll 's feet. 
 
 "My lord! my beloved! my Hastings!" And Sibyll 
 fell insensible before the chief.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 215 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The Subtle Craft of Richard of Gloucester. 
 
 It was some weeks after the defeat of Sir Geoffrey 
 Gates, and Edward was at Shene, with his gay court. 
 Reclined at length within a pavilion placed before a 
 cool fountain, in the royal gardens, and surrounded by 
 his favorites, the king listened indolently to the music 
 of his minstrels, and sleeked the plumage of his favorite 
 falcon, perched upon his wrist. And scarcely would it 
 have been possible to recognize in that lazy voluptuary 
 the dauntless soldier, before whose lance, as deer before 
 the hound, had so lately fled, at bloody Erpingham, the 
 chivalry of the Lancastrian Rose; but remote from the 
 pavilion, and in one of the deserted bowling alleys, 
 Prince Richard and Lord Montagu walked apart, in 
 earnest conversation. The last of these noble per- 
 sonages had remained inactive during the disturbances, 
 and Edward had not seemed to entertain any suspicion 
 of his participation in the anger and revenge of War- 
 wick. The king took from him, it is true, the lands 
 and earldom of Northumberland, and restored them to 
 the Percy, but he had accompanied this act with gra- 
 cious excuses, alleging the necessity of conciliating the 
 head of an illustrious house, which had formally entered 
 into allegiance to the dynasty of York, and bestowed 
 upon his early favorite, in compensation, the dignity
 
 216 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 of marquis. 1 The politic king, in thus depriving 
 Montagu of the wealth and the retainers of the Percy, 
 reduced him, as a younger brother, to a comparative 
 poverty and insignificance, which left him dependent 
 on Edward's favor, and deprived him, as he thought, 
 of the power of active mischief; at the same time, more 
 than ever, he insisted on Montagu's society, and sum- 
 moning his attendance at the court, kept his movements 
 in watchful surveillance. 
 
 " Nay, my lord," said Eichard, pursuing with much 
 unction the conversation he had commenced, "you 
 wrong me much, Holy Paul be my witness, if you 
 doubt the deep sorrow I feel at the unhappy events 
 which have led to the severance of my kinsmen ! Eng- 
 land seems to me to have lost its smile, in losing the 
 glory of Earl Warwick's presence, and Clarence is my 
 brother, and was my friend, and thou knowest, Mon- 
 tagu, thou knowest, how dear to my heart was the hope 
 to win for my wife and lady the gentle Anne." 
 
 "Prince," said Montagu, abruptly, "though the pride 
 of Warwick and the honor of our house may have for- 
 bidden the public revelation of the cause which fired 
 my brother to rebellion, thou, at least, art privy to a 
 secret — " 
 
 " Cease ! " exclaimed Eichard, in great emotion, prob- 
 ably sincere, for his face grew livid, and its muscles 
 were nervously convulsed. " I would not have that 
 remembrance stirred from its dark repose. I would 
 fain forget a brother's hasty frenzy, in the belief of his 
 lasting penitence." He paused and turned his face, 
 
 1 Montagu said, bitterly, of this new dignity, " He takes from 
 me the Earldom and domains of Northumberland, and makes me 
 a Marquis, with a pie's nest to maintain it withal." — Stowe : 
 Edw. IV. " Warkworth Chronicle.''
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 217 
 
 gasped for breath, and resumed, "The cause justified 
 the father; it had justified me in the father's cause, had 
 Warwick listened to my suit, and given me the right to 
 deem insult to his daughter injury to myself." 
 
 "And if, my prince," returned Montagu, looking 
 round him, and in a subdued whisper, — "if yet the 
 hand of Lady Anne were pledged to you 1 " 
 
 "Tempt me not, tempt me not!" cried the prince, 
 crossing himself. Montagu continued, — 
 
 "Our cause, I mean Lord Warwick's cause, is not 
 lost, as the king deems it." 
 
 " Proceed," said Richard, casting down his eyes, 
 while his countenance settled back into its thoughtful 
 calm. 
 
 " I mean," renewed Montagu, " that in my brother's 
 flight, his retainers were taken by surprise. In vain 
 the king would confiscate his lands, — he cannot con- 
 fiscate men's hearts. If Warwick to-morrow set his 
 armed heel upon the soil, trowest thou, sagacious and 
 clear-judging prince, that the strife which would follow 
 would be but another field of Losecote 1 1 Thou hast 
 heard of the honors with which King Louis has received 
 the earl. Will that king grudge him ships and moneys 1 
 And meanwhile, thinkest thou that his favorers sleep 1 " 
 
 " But if he land, Montagu," said Richard, who seemed 
 to listen with an attention that awoke all the hopes of 
 Montagu, coveting so powerful an ally, — " if he land, 
 and make open war on Edward, we must say the word 
 boldly, — what intent can he proclaim? It is not 
 enough to say King Edward shall not reign; the earl 
 must say also what king England should elect ! " 
 
 " Prince," answered Montagu, " before I reply to that 
 
 l The battle of Erpingham, so popularly called, in contempt of 
 the rebellious runaways.
 
 218 THE LAST OF THE BAKONS. 
 
 question, vouchsafe to hear my own hearty desire and 
 wish. Though the king has deeply wronged my brother, 
 though he has despoiled me of the lands, which were, 
 perad venture, not too large a reward for twenty victories 
 in his cause, and restored them to the house that ever 
 ranked amongst the strongholds of his Lancastrian foe, 
 yet often, when I am most resentful, the memory of my 
 royal seigneur's past love and kindness comes over me, 
 — above all, the thought of the solemn contract between 
 his daughter and my son ; — and I feel (now the first 
 heat of natural anger at an insult offered to my niece is 
 somewhat cooled), that if Warwick did land, I could 
 almost forget my brother for my king." 
 
 "Almost!" repeated Richard, smiling. 
 
 " I am plain with your Highness, and say but what 
 I feel. I would even now fain trust, that by your 
 mediation, the king may be persuaded to make such 
 concessions and excuses as in truth would not mis- 
 beseem him, to the father of Lady Anne, and his own 
 kinsman; and that yet, ere it be too late, I may be 
 spared the bitter choice between the ties of blood, and 
 my allegiance to the king." 
 
 "But failing this hope (which I devoutly share), — 
 and Edward, it must be owned, could scarcely trust to 
 a letter, still less to a messenger, the confession of a 
 crime, — failing this, and your brother land, and I side 
 with him for love of Anne, pledged to me as a bride, — ■ 
 what king would he ask England to elect? " 
 
 " The Duke of Clarence loves you dearly, Lord Rich- 
 ard," replied Montagu. " Knowest thou not how often 
 he hath said, ' By sweet St. George, if Gloucester would 
 join me, I would make Edward know we were all one 
 man's sons, who should be more preferred and promoted 
 than strangers of his wife's blood.' " 1 
 
 i Hall.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 219 
 
 Richard's countenance for a moment evinced disap- 
 pointment; but he said, dryly, "Then Warwick would 
 propose that Clarence should he king? — And the great 
 barons, and the honest burghers, and the sturdy yeomen, 
 would, you think, not stand aghast at the manifesto 
 which declares not that the dynasty of York is corrupt 
 and faulty, but that the younger son should depose the 
 elder, — that younger son, mark me ! not only unknown 
 in war, and green in council, but gay, giddy, vacil- 
 lating; not subtle of wit, and resolute of deed, as he 
 who so aspires should be ! — Montagu, — a vain dream ! " 
 — Richard paused, and then resumed, in a low tone, as 
 to himself, " Oh ! not so — not so are kings cozened from 
 their thrones; a pretext must blind men, — say they are 
 illegitimate, say they are too young, — too feeble, too 
 anything; glide into their place; and then, not war — 
 not war. You slay them not, — they disappear ! " The 
 duke's face, as he muttered, took a sinister and a dark 
 expression, — his eyes seemed to gaze on space. Sud- 
 denly recovering himself as from a revery, he turned, 
 with his wonted sleek and gracious aspect, to the startled 
 Montagu, and said, "I was but quoting from Italian 
 history, good my lord, — wise lore, but terrible, and 
 murderous. Return we to the point. Thou seest 
 Clarence could not reign, and as well," added the 
 prince, with a slight sigh — "as well or better (for, 
 without vanity, I have more of a king's metal in me) 
 might I — even I — aspire to my brother's crown!" 
 Here he paused, and glanced rapidly and keenly at the 
 marquis; but whether or not in these words he had 
 sought to sound Montagu, and that glance sufficed to 
 show him it were bootless or dangerous to speak more 
 plainly, he resumed with an altered voice, "Enough of 
 this: Warwick will discover the idleness of such design;
 
 220 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 and if he land, his trumpets must ring to a more kindling 
 measure. John Montagu, thinkest thou that Margaret 
 of Anjou and the Lancastrians will not rather win thy 
 brother to their side? There is the true danger to 
 Edward, — none elsewhere. " 
 
 "And if so?" said Montagu, watching his listener's 
 countenance. Richard started, and gnawed his lip. 
 "Mark me," continued the marquis, — "I repeat that 
 I would fain hope yet, that Edward may appease the 
 earl; but if not, and rather than rest dishonored and 
 aggrieved, Warwick link himself with Lancaster, and 
 
 Do " 
 
 thou join him as Anne's betrothed and lord, what 
 matters who the puppet on the throne ! — Ave and thou 
 shall be the rulers; or, if thou reject," added the mar- 
 quis, artfully, as he supposed, exciting the jealousy of 
 the duke, " Henry has a son, — a fair, and they say, a 
 gallant prince, — carefully tutored in the knowledge of 
 our English laws, and who, my Lord of Oxford, some- 
 what in the confidence of the Lancastrians, assures me, 
 would rejoice to forget old feuds, and call Warwick 
 ' father,' and my niece ' Lady and Princess of Wales.' 
 
 With all his dissimulation, Richard could ill conceal 
 the emotions of fear — of jealousy, of dismay — which 
 these words excited. 
 
 " Lord Oxford ! " he cried, stamping his foot. " Ha ! 
 John de Vere, — pestilent traitor, plottest thou thus 1 ? 
 But we can yet seize thy person, and will have thy 
 head." 
 
 Alarmed at this burst, and suddenly made aware that 
 he had laid his breast too bare to the boy, whom he had 
 thought to dazzle and seduce to his designs, Montagu 
 said, falteringly: "But, my lord, our talk is but in 
 confidence; at your own prayer, with your own plighted 
 word, of prince and of kinsman, that, whatever my
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 221 
 
 frankness may utter, should not pass farther. Take," 
 added the nohleman, with proud dignity — "take my 
 head rather than Lord Oxford's, for I deserve death, 
 if I reveal to one who can betray, the loose words of 
 another's intimacy and trust!" 
 
 "Forgive me, my cousin," said Richard, meekly; 
 " my love to Anne transported me too far. Lord 
 Oxford's words, as you report them, had conjured up 
 a rival, and — but enough of this. And now," added 
 the prince, gravely, and with a steadiness of voice and 
 manner that gave a certain majesty to his small stature 
 — "now, as thou hast spoken openly, openly also will 
 I reply. I feel the wrong to the Lady Anne as to 
 myself; deeply, burningly, and lastingly will it live in 
 my mind: it may be, sooner or later, to rise to gloomy 
 deeds, even against Edward and Edward's blood. But 
 no, I have the king's solemn protestations of repentance; 
 his guilty passion has burned into ashes, and he now 
 sighs — gay Edward — for a lighter fere. I cannot join 
 with Clarence, less can I join with the Lancastrians. 
 My birth makes me the prop of the throne of York, — 
 to guard it as a heritage (who knows) that may descend 
 to mine — nay, to me! And, mark me well! if War- 
 wick attempt a war of fratricide, he is lost; if, on the 
 other hand, he can submit himself to the hands of 
 Margaret, stained with his father's gore, the success of 
 an hour will close in the humiliation of a life. There 
 is a third way left, and that way thou hast piously and 
 wisely shown. Let him, like me, resign revenge, and, 
 not exacting a confession and a cry of peccavi, which no 
 king, much less King Edward the Plantagenet, can 
 whimper forth, — let him accept such overtures as his 
 liege can make. His titles and castles shall be restored, 
 equal possessions to those thou hast lost assigned to
 
 222 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 thee, and all my guerdon (if I can so negotiate) as all 
 my ambition, — his daughter's hand. Muse on this, 
 and for the peace and weal of the realm so limit all thy 
 schemes, my lord and cousin ! " 
 
 With these words the prince pressed the hand of the 
 marquis, and walked slowly towards the king's pavilion. 
 
 " Shame on my ripe manhood and lore of life," mut- 
 tered Montagu, enraged against himself, and deeply 
 mortified. " How sentence by sentence, and step by 
 step yon crafty pygmy led me on, till all our projects, 
 — all our fears and hopes are revealed to him, who but 
 views them as a foe. Anne betrothed to one who, even 
 in fiery youth, can thus beguile and dupe ! Warwick 
 decoyed hither upon fair words, at the will of one whom 
 Italy (boy, there thou didst forget thy fence of cunning !) 
 has taught how the great are slain not, but disappear ! 
 No, even this defeat instructs me now. But right — 
 right ! the reign of Clarence is impossible, and that of 
 Lancaster is ill-omened and portentous; and after all, 
 my son stands nearer to the throne than any subject, 
 in his alliance with the Lady Elizabeth. Would to 
 Heaven the king could yet — But out on me! this is 
 no hour for musing on mine own aggrandizement; rather 
 let me fly at once and warn Oxford — imperilled by my 
 imprudence — against that dark eye which hath set watch 
 upon his life." 
 
 At that thought, which showed that Montagu, with 
 all his worldliness, was not forgetful of one of the first 
 duties of knight and gentleman, the marquis hastened 
 up the alley, — in the opposite direction to that taken 
 by Gloucester, — and soon found himself in the court- 
 yard, where a goodly company were mounting their 
 haquenees and palfreys, to enjoy a summer ride through 
 the neighboring chase. The cold and half-slighting
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 223 
 
 salutations of these minions of the hour, which now 
 mortified the Nevile, despoiled of the possessions that 
 had rewarded his long and brilliant services, — contrast- 
 ing forcibly the reverential homage he had formerly 
 enjoyed, stung Montagu to the quick. 
 
 "Whither ride you, brother marquis?" said young 
 Lord Dorset (Elizabeth's son by her first marriage), as 
 Montagu called to his single squire, who was in waiting 
 with his horse. " Some secret expedition, methinks, 
 for I have known the day when the Lord Montagu 
 never rode from his king's palace with less than thirty 
 squires." 
 
 " Since my Lord Dorset prides himself on his mem- 
 ory," answered the scornful lord, " he may remember 
 also the day when, if a Nevile mounted in haste, he 
 bade the first Woodville he saw hold the stirrup." 
 
 And regarding "the brother marquis" with a stately 
 eye that silenced and awed retort, the long-descended 
 Montagu passed the courtiers, and rode slowly on till 
 out of sight of the palace ; he then pushed into a hand 
 gallop, and halted not till he had reached London, 
 and gained the house in which then dwelt the Earl of 
 Oxford, the most powerful of all the Lancastrian nobles 
 not in exile, and who had hitherto temporized with the 
 reigning house. 
 
 Two days afterwards the news reached Edward that 
 Lord Oxford and Jasper of Pembroke — uncle to the 
 boy afterwards Henry VII. — had sailed from England. 
 
 The tidings reached the king in his chamber, where 
 he was closeted with Gloucester. The conference 
 between them seemed to have been warm and earnest, 
 for Edward's face was flushed, and Gloucester's brow 
 was perturbed and sullen. 
 
 " Now Heaven be praised ! " cried the king, extend-
 
 224 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 ing to Richard the letter which communicated the flight 
 of the disaffected lords. " We have two enemies the 
 less in our roiaulme, and many a barony the more to 
 confiscate to our kingly wants. Ha, ha ! these Lancas- 
 trians only serve to enrich us. Frowning still, Richard ; 
 smile, boy! " 
 
 " Fol de mon dme, Edward," said Richard, with a 
 bitter energy, strangely at variance with his usual 
 unctious deference to the king, " your Highness's gayety 
 is ill-seasoned ; you reject all the means to assure your 
 throne, — you rejoice in all the events that imperil it. 
 I prayed you to lose not a moment in conciliating, 
 if possible, the great lord whom you own you have 
 wronged, and you replied that you would rather lose 
 your crown than win back the arm that gave it yon." 
 
 " Gave it me! an error, Richard! that crown was at 
 once the heritage of my own birth, and the achieve- 
 ment of my own sword. But were it as you say, it is 
 not in a king's nature to bear the presence of a power 
 more formidable than his own, — to submit to a voice 
 that commands rather than counsels; and the happiest 
 chance that ever befell me is the exile of this earl. 
 How, after what hath chanced, can I ever see his 
 face again without humiliation, or he mine without 
 resentment? " 
 
 " So you told me anon, and I answered, if that be so, 
 and your Highness shrinks from the man you have 
 injured, beware at least that Warwick, if he may not 
 return as a friend, come not back as an irresistible foe. 
 If you will not conciliate, crush! Hasten by all arts 
 to separate Clarence from Warwick. Hasten to prevent 
 the union of the earl's popularity and Henr} r 's rights. 
 Keep eye upon all the Lancastrian lords, and see that 
 none quit the realm, where they are captives, to join
 
 THE LAST OF THE BATONS. 225 
 
 a camp where they can rise into leaders. And at the 
 very moment I urge you to place strict watch upon 
 Oxford, — to send your swiftest riders to seize Jasper of 
 Pembroke, — you laugh with glee to hear that Oxford 
 and Pembroke are gone to swell the army of your 
 foes!" 
 
 "Better foes out of my realm than in it," answered 
 Edward, dryly. 
 
 "My liege, I say no more," and Richard rose. "I 
 would forestall a danger; it but remains for me to 
 share it." 
 
 The king was touched. " Tarry yet, Richard," he 
 said; and then, fixing his brother's eye, he continued, 
 with a half-smile and a heightened color, " Though we 
 know thee true and leal to us, Ave yet know also, Rich- 
 ard, that thou hast personal interest in thy counsels. 
 Thou wouldst by one means or another soften or con- 
 strain the earl into giving thee the hand of Anne. 
 Well, then, grant that Warwick and Clarence expel 
 King Edward from his throne, they may bring a bride 
 to console thee for the ruin of a brother." 
 
 " Thou hast no right to taunt or to suspect me, my 
 liege," returned Richard, with a quiver in his lip. 
 " Thou hast included me in thy meditated wrong to 
 Warwick ; and had that wrong been done — " 
 
 " Peradventure it had made thee espouse Warwick's 
 quarrel 1 " 
 
 " Bluntly, yes! " exclaimed Richard, almost fiercely, 
 and playing with his dagger. "But," he added, with 
 a sudden change of voice, " I understand and know thee 
 better than the earl did or could. I know what in thee 
 is but thoughtless impulse, haste of passion, the habit 
 kings form of forgetting all things save the love or hate, 
 the desire or anger, of a moment. Thou hast told me 
 
 VOL. II. — 15
 
 226 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 thyself, and with tears, of thy offence; thou hast par- 
 doned my boy's burst of anger; I have pardoned thy 
 evil thought; thou hast told me thyself that another 
 face has succeeded to the brief empire of Anne's blue 
 eye, and hast further pledged me thy kingly word, that 
 if I can yet compass the hand of a cousin, dear to me 
 from childhood, thou wilt confirm the union." 
 
 "It is true," said Edward. "But if thou wed thy 
 bride, keep her aloof from the court, — nay, frown not, 
 my boy, I mean simply that I would not blush before 
 my brother's wife! " 
 
 Richard bowed low in order to conceal the expression 
 of his face, and went on without further notice of the 
 explanation. 
 
 "And all this considered, Edward, I swear by St. 
 Paul, the holiest saint to thoughtful men, and by St. 
 George, the. noblest patron to high-born warriors, that 
 thy crown and thine honor are as dear to me as if they 
 were mine own. Whatever sins Richard of Gloucester 
 may live to harbor and repent, no man shall ever say of 
 him that he was a recreant to the honor of his country, 1 
 or slow to defend the rights of his ancestors from the 
 treason of a vassal or the sword of a foreign foe. There- 
 fore, I say again, if thou reject my honest counsels; 
 if thou suffer Warwick to unite with Lancaster and 
 France ; if the ships of Louis bear to your shores an 
 enemy, the might of whom your reckless dariug under- 
 values, — foremost in the field in battle, nearest to your 
 side in exile, shall Richard Plantagenet be found! " 
 
 These words, being uttered with sincerity, and con- 
 
 1 So Lord Bacon observes of Richard, with that discrimination, 
 even in the strongest censure, of which profound judges of man- 
 kind are alone capable, that he was " a king jealous of the honor 
 of the English nation."
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 227 
 
 veying a promise never forfeited, were more impressive 
 than the subtlest eloquence the wily and accomplished 
 Gloucester ever employed as the cloak to guile, and 
 they so affected Edward, that he threw his arms around 
 his brother; and after one of those bursts of emotion 
 which were frequent in one whose feelings were never 
 deep and lasting, but easily aroused and warmly spoken, 
 he declared himself ready to listen to and adopt all 
 means which Richard's art could suggest for the better 
 maintenance of their common weal and interests. 
 
 And then, with that wondrous, if somewhat too rest- 
 less and over-refining energy which belonged to him, 
 Richard rapidly detailed the scheme of his profound 
 and dissimulating policy. His' keen and intuitive 
 insight into human nature had shown him the stern 
 necessity which, against their very will, must unite 
 Warwick with Margaret of Anjou. His conversation 
 with Montagu had left no doubt of that peril on his 
 penetrating mind. He foresaw that this union might 
 be made durable and sacred by the marriage of Anne 
 and Prince Edward; and to defeat this alliance was 
 his first object, partly through Clarence, partly through 
 Margaret herself. A gentlewoman in the Duchess of 
 Clarence's train had been arrested on the point of 
 embarking to join her mistress. Richard had already 
 seen and conferred with this lady, whose ambition, 
 duplicity, and talent for intrigue, were known to him. 
 Having secured her by promises of the most lavish 
 dignities and rewards, he proposed that she should be 
 permitted to join the duchess with secret messages to 
 Isabel and the duke, warning them both that Warwick 
 and Margaret would forget their past feud in present 
 sympathy, and that the rebellion against King Edward, 
 instead of placing them on the throne, would humble
 
 228 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 them to be subordinates and aliens to the real profiters, 
 
 — the Lancastrians. 1 He foresaw what effect these 
 warnings would have upon the vain duke and the 
 ambitious Isabel, whose character was known to him 
 from childhood. He startled the king by insisting 
 upon sending, at the same time, a trusty diplomatist 
 to Margaret of Anjou, proffering to give the Princess 
 Elizabeth (betrothed to Lord Montagu's son) to the 
 young Prince Edward. 2 Thus, if the king, who had, 
 as yet, no son, were to die, Margaret's son, in right of 
 his wife, as well as in that of his own descent, would 
 peaceably ascend the throne. " Need I say that I mean 
 not this in sad and serious earnest," observed Richard, 
 interrupting the astonished king, — "I mean it but to 
 amuse the Anjouite, and to deafen her ears to any 
 overtures from Warwick. If she listen, we gain time, 
 
 — that time will inevitably renew irreconcilable quarrel 
 between herself and the earl. His hot temper and 
 desire of revenge will not brook delay. He will land, 
 unsupported by Margaret and her partisans, and without 
 any fixed principle of action which can strengthen force 
 by opinion." 
 
 "You are right, Richard," said Edward, whose faith- 
 less cunning comprehended the more sagacious policy 
 it could not originate. " All be it as you will." 
 
 "And in the meanwhile," added Richard, "watch 
 ■well, but anger not Montagu and the archbishop. It 
 were dangerous to seem to distrust them till proof be 
 clear, — it were dull to believe them true. I go at once 
 to fulfil my task." 
 
 1 Comixes, 3, c. 5 ; Hall ; Hollinshed. 
 
 2 Original Letters from Harleian MSS. — Edited by Sir H. 
 Ellis (second series).
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 229 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Warwick and his Family iu Exile. 
 
 We now summon the reader on a longer if less classic 
 journey than from Thebes to Athens, and waft him on 
 a rapid wing from Shene to Amboise. We must sup- 
 pose that the two emissaries of Gloucester have already 
 arrived at their several destinations : the lady has reached 
 Isabel, — the envoy, Margaret. 
 
 In one of the apartments appropriated to the earl in 
 the royal palace, within the embrasure of a vast Gothic 
 casement, sat Anne of Warwick; the small wicket in 
 the window was open, and gave a view of a wide and 
 fair garden, interspersed with thick bosquets, and regu- 
 lar alleys, over which the rich skies of the summer 
 evening, a little before sunset, cast alternate light and 
 shadow. Towards this prospect the sweet face of the 
 Lady Anne was turned musingly. The riveted eye, 
 the bended neck, the arms reclining on the knee, the 
 slender fingers interlaced, — gave to her whole person 
 the character of revery and repose. 
 
 In the same chamber were two other ladies ; the one 
 was pacing the floor with slow but uneven steps, with 
 lips moving from time to time, as if in self-commune, 
 with the brow contracted slightly : her form and face 
 took also the character of revery, but not of repose. 
 
 The third female (the gentle and lovely mother of 
 the other two) was seated, towards the centre of the 
 room, before a small table, on which rested one of those
 
 230 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 religious manuscripts, full of the moralities and the 
 marvels of cloister sanctity, which made so large a por- 
 tion of the literature of the monkish ages. But her 
 eye rested not on the Gothic letter and the rich blazon 
 of the holy book. With all a mother's fear, and all a 
 mother's fondness, it glanced from Isabel to Anne, — 
 from Anne to Isabel, — ■ till at length, in one of those soft 
 voices, so rarely heard, which makes even a stranger 
 love the speaker, the fair countess said, — 
 
 " Come hither, my child Isabel ; give me thy hand, 
 and whisper me what hath chafed thee." 
 
 " My mother, " replied the duchess, " it would become 
 me ill to have a secret not known to thee, and yet, 
 methinks, it would become me less to say aught to 
 provoke thine anger." 
 
 " Anger, Isabel ! who ever knew anger for those they 
 love ? " 
 
 " Pardon me, my sweet mother, " said Isabel, relax- 
 ing her haughty brow, and she approached and kissed 
 her mother's cheek. 
 
 The countess drew her gently to a seat by her side. 
 
 " And now tell me all, — unless, indeed, thy Clarence 
 hath, in some lover's hasty mood, vexed thy affection; 
 for of the household secrets, even a mother should not 
 question the true wife." 
 
 Isabel paused, and glanced significantly at Anne. 
 
 "Nay, — see!" said the countess, smiling, though 
 sadly, — " she, too, hath thoughts that she will not tell 
 to me; but they seem not such as should alarm my 
 fears as thine do. For the moment ere I spoke to 
 thee, thy brow frowned, and her lip smiled. She hears 
 us not, — speak on." 
 
 " Is it then true, my mother, that Margaret of Anjou 
 is hastening hither ? and can it be possible that King
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 231 
 
 Louis can persuade my lord and father to meet, save in 
 the field of battle, the arch enemy of our house ? " 
 
 " Ask the earl thyself, Isabel ; Lord Warwick hath 
 no concealment from his children. Whatever he doth 
 is ever wisest, best, and knightliest, — so, at least, may 
 his children alway deem! " 
 
 Isabel's color changed, and her eye flashed. But 
 ere she could answer, the arras was raised, and Lord 
 Warwick entered. But no longer did the hero's mien 
 and manner evince that cordial and tender cheerfulness 
 which, in all the storms of his changeful life, he had 
 hitherto displayed when coming from power and danger, 
 from council or from camp, to man's earthly paradise, — 
 a virtuous home. 
 
 Gloomy and absorbed, his very dress — which, at that 
 day, the Anglo-Norman deemed it a sin against self- 
 dignity to neglect — betraying, by its disorder, that 
 thorough change of the whole mind, that terrible inter- 
 nal revolution which is made, but in strong natures, 
 by the tyranny of a great care or a great passion, the 
 earl scarcely seemed to heed his countess, who rose 
 hastily, but stopped in the timid fear and reverence 
 of love at the sight of his stern aspect, — he threw him- 
 self abruptly on a seat, passed his hand over his face, 
 and sighed heavily. 
 
 That sigh dispelled the fear of the Avife, and made 
 her alive only to her privilege of the soother. She drew 
 near, and, placing herself on the green rushes at his feet, 
 took his hand and kissed it, but did not speak. 
 
 The earl's eyes fell on the lovely face looking up to 
 him through tears, his brow softened, he drew his hand 
 gently from hers, placed it on her head, and said, in a 
 low voice, — 
 
 " God and our Lady bless thee, sweet wife ! "
 
 232 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 Then, looking round, lie saw Isabel watching him 
 intently, and, rising at once, he threw his arm round 
 her waist, pressed her to his bosom, and said, " My 
 daughter, for thee and thine, day and night have I 
 striven and planned in vain. I cannot reward thy 
 husband as I would, — I cannot give thee, as I had 
 hoped, a throne ! " 
 
 " What title so dear to Isabel, " said the countess, 
 " as that of Lord Warwick's daughter 1 " 
 
 Isabel remained cold and silent, and returned not 
 the earl's embrace. 
 
 Warwick was, happily, too absorbed in his own feel- 
 ings to notice those of his child. Moving away, he 
 continued, as he paced the room (his habit in emotion, 
 which Isabel, who had many minute external traits 
 in common with her father, had unconsciously caught 
 from him), — 
 
 " Till this morning, I hoped still that my name and 
 services, that Clarence's popular bearing, and his birth 
 of Plantagenet, would suffice to summon the English 
 people round our standard, — that the false Edward 
 would be driven, on our landing, to fly the realm ; 
 and that, without change to the dynasty of York, 
 Clarence, as next male heir, would ascend the throne. 
 True, I saw all the obstacles, — all the difficulties; I 
 was warned of them before I left England; but still 
 I hoped. Lord Oxford has arrived, — he has just left 
 me. We have gone over the chart of the way before 
 us, weighed the worth of every name, for and against; 
 and, alas ! I cannot but allow that all attempt to place 
 the younger brother on the throne of the elder would 
 but lead to bootless slaughter and irretrievable defeat." 
 
 " Wherefore think you so, my lord ? " asked Isabel, 
 in evident excitement. " Your own retainers are sixty
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 233 
 
 thousand : an army larger than Edward, and all his lords 
 of yesterday, can bring into the field. " 
 
 "My child," answered the earl, with that profound 
 knowledge of his countrymen which he had rather 
 acquired from his English heart, than from any subtlety 
 of intellect, " armies may gain a victory, but they do 
 not achieve a throne, — unless, at least, they enforce a 
 slavery ; and it is not for me and for Clarence to be the 
 violent conquerors of our countrymen, but the regenera- 
 tors of a free realm, corrupted by a false man's rule. " 
 
 "And what then," exclaimed Isabel, — " what do you 
 propose, my father? Can it be possible that you can 
 unite yourself with the abhorred Lancastrians, — with 
 the savage Anjouite, who beheaded my grandsire, 
 Salisbury 1 Well do I remember your own words, 
 'May God and St. George forget me, when I forget 
 those gray and gory hairs ! ' " 
 
 Here Isabel was interrupted by a faint cry from 
 Anne, who, unobserved by the rest, and hitherto con- 
 cealed from her father's eye by the deep embrasure of 
 the window, had risen some moments before, and lis- 
 tened, with breathless attention, to the conversation 
 between Warwick and the duchess. 
 
 " It is not true, — it is not true ! " exclaimed Anne, 
 passionately. " Margaret disowns the inhuman deed. " 
 
 " Thou art right, Anne, " said Warwick ; " though I 
 guess not how thou didst learn the error of a report so 
 popularly believed, that till of late I never questioned 
 its truth. King Louis assures me solemnly, that that 
 foul act was done by the butcher Clifford, against Mar- 
 garet's knowledge, and, when known, to her grief and 
 anger. " 
 
 " And you, who call Edward false, can believe Louis 
 true ! "
 
 234 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 " Cease, Isabel, — cease ! " said the countess. " Is it 
 thus my child can address my lord and husband 1 For- 
 give her, beloved Richard." 
 
 "Such heat in Clarence's wife misbeseems her not," 
 answered Warwick. " And I can comprehend and par- 
 don in my haughty Isabel a resentment which her reason 
 must, at last, subdue ; for think not, Isabel, that it is 
 without dread struggle and fierce agony that I can con- 
 template peace and league with mine ancient foe. But 
 here two duties speak to me in voices not to be denied : 
 my honor and my hearth, as noble and as man, demand 
 redress, — and the weal and glory of my country demand 
 a ruler who does not degrade a warrior, nor assail a 
 virgin, nor corrupt a people by lewd pleasures, nor 
 exhaust a land by grinding imposts ; and that honor 
 shall be vindicated, and that country shall be righted, no 
 matter at what sacrifice of private grief and pride. " 
 
 The words and the tone of the earl for a moment 
 awed even Isabel, but, after a pause, she said, sullenly, 
 " And for this, then, Clarence hath joined your quarrel, 
 and shared your exile ! — for this, — that he may place 
 the eternal barrier of the Lancastrian line between him- 
 self and the English throne ! " 
 
 " I would fain hope," answered the earl, calmly, 
 " that Clarence will view our hard position more chari- 
 tably than thou. If he gain not all that I could desire, 
 should success crown our arms, he will, at least, gain 
 much; for often and ever did thy husband, Isabel, 
 urge me to stern measures against Edward, when I 
 soothed him and restrained. Mort Dleu ! how often 
 did he complain of slight and insult from Elizabeth 
 and her minions, of open affront from Edward, of 
 parsimony to his wants as prince, — of a life, in short, 
 humbled and made bitter by all the indignity and the
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 235 
 
 gall which scornful power can inflict on dependent 
 pride. If he gain not the throne, he will gain, at 
 least, the succession, in thy right, to the baronies of 
 Beauchamp, the mighty duchy and the vast heritage 
 of York, the viceroyalty of Ireland. Never prince of 
 the blood had wealth and honors equal to those that 
 shall await thy lord. For the rest, I drew him not 
 into my quarrel, — long before, would he have drawn 
 me into his; nor doth it become thee, Isabel, as child 
 and as sister, to repent, if the husband of my daughter 
 felt as brave men feel, without calculation of gain and 
 profit, the insult offered to his lady's house. But if 
 here I overgauge his chivalry and love to me and mine, 
 or discontent his ambition and his hopes, Mart Dieuf 
 we hold him not a captive. Edward will hail his over- 
 tures of peace; let him make terms with his brother, 
 and return." 
 
 " I will report to him what you say, my lord, " said 
 Isabel, with cold brevity; and, bending her haughty 
 head in formal reverence, she advanced to the door. 
 Anne sprang forward and caught her hand. 
 
 "Oh, Isabel!" she whispered; "in our father's sad 
 and gloomy hour can you leave him thus ? " — and the 
 sweet lady burst into tears. 
 
 " Anne, " retorted Isabel, bitterly, " thy heart is Lan- 
 castrian; and what, peradventure, grieves my father, 
 hath but joy for thee. " 
 
 Anne drew back, pale and trembling, and her sister 
 swept from the room. 
 
 The earl, though he had not overheard the whispered 
 sentences which passed between his daughters, had 
 watched them closely, and his lip quivered with emotion 
 as Isabel closed the door. 
 
 "Come hither, my Anne, " he said, tenderly; "thou,
 
 236 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 who hast thy mother's face, never hast a harsh thought 
 for thy father. " 
 
 As Anne threw herself on Warwick's hreast, he con- 
 tinued, " And how earnest thou to learn that Margaret 
 disowns a deed that, if done by her command, would 
 render my union with her cause a sacrilegious impiety to 
 the dead ? " 
 
 Anne colored, and nestled her head still closer to her 
 father's bosom. Her mother regarded her confusion and 
 her silence with an anxious eye. 
 
 The wing of the palace in which the earl's apartments 
 were situated was appropriated to himself and household, 
 flanked to the left by an abutting pile containing state- 
 chambers, never used by the austere and thrifty Louis, 
 save on great occasions of pomp or revel ; and, as we 
 have before observed, looking on a garden, — which was 
 generally solitary and deserted. From this garden, while 
 Anne yet strove for words to answer her father, and the 
 countess yet watched her embarrassment, suddenly came 
 the soft strain of a Provencal lute ; while a low voice, 
 rich, and modulated at once by a deep feeling and an 
 exquisite art that would have g'ven effect to even simpler 
 words, breathed 
 
 THE LAY OF THE HEIR OF LANCASTER. 
 
 " His birthright but a Father's name, 
 A Grandsire's hero-sword ; 
 He dwelt within the Stranger's land, 
 The friendless, homeless Lord ! 
 
 " Yet one dear hope, too dear to tell, 
 Consoled the exiled man ; 
 The Angels have their home in Heaven, 
 And gentle thoughts in Anne."
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 237 
 
 At that name the voice of the singer trembled, and 
 paused a moment; the earl, who at first had scarcely 
 listened to what he deemed but the ill-seasoned gallantry 
 of one of the royal minstrels, started in proud surprise, 
 and Anne herself, tightening her clasp round her 
 father's neck, burst into passionate sobs. The eye 
 of the countess met that of her lord, but she put her 
 finger to her lips in sign to him to listen. The song was 
 resumed, — 
 
 " Recall the single sunny time, 
 In childhood's April weather, 
 When he and thou, the boy and girl, 
 Roved, hand in hand, together ; — 
 
 " When round thj r young companion knelt 
 The Princes of the Isle, 
 And Priest and People prayed their God 
 On England's Heir to smile." 
 
 The earl uttered a half-stifled exclamation, but the 
 minstrel heard not the interruption, and continued, — 
 
 " Methinks the sun hath never smiled 
 Upon the exiled man, 
 Like that bright morning when the boy 
 Told all his soul to Anne. 
 
 " No ; while his birthright but a name, 
 A Grandsire's hero-sword, 
 He would not woo the lofty maid 
 To love the banished lord. 
 
 " But when, with clarion, fife and drum, 
 He claims and wins his own j 
 When o'er the Deluge drifts his Ark, 
 To rest upon a throne, —
 
 238 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 " Then, wilt thou deign to hear the hope, 
 That blessed the exiled man, 
 When pining for his Father's crown 
 To deck the brows of Anne ! " 
 
 The song ceased, and there was silence within the 
 chamber, broken but by Anne's low yet passionate 
 weeping. The earl gently strove to disengage her arms 
 from his neck, but she, mistaking his intention, sank 
 on her knees, and covering her face with her hands, 
 exclaimed, — 
 
 " Pardon ! — pardon ! — pardon him, if not me ! " 
 
 " What have I to pardon 1 What hast thou concealed 
 from me 1 Can I think that thou hast met, in secret, 
 one who — " 
 
 "In secret! Never, never, father! This is the third 
 time only that I have heard his voice since we have been 
 at Amboise, save when — save when — " 
 
 "Goon." 
 
 " Save when King Louis presented him to me in the 
 
 revel, under the name of the Count de F , and he 
 
 asked me if I could forgive his mother for Lord Clifford's 
 crime. " 
 
 " It is, then, as the rhyme proclaimed ; and it is 
 Edward of Lancaster who loves and wooes the daughter 
 of Warwick ! " 
 
 Something in her father's voice made Anne remove 
 her hands from her face, and look up to him with a 
 thrill of timid joy. Upon his brow, indeed, frowned no 
 anger, — upon his lip smiled no scorn. At that moment 
 all his haughty grief at the curse of circumstance, which 
 drove him to his hereditary foe, had vanished. Though 
 Montagu had obtained from Oxford some glimpse of 
 the desire which the more sagacious and temperate 
 Lancastrians already entertained for that alliance, and
 
 THE LAST OF THE BAKONS. 239 
 
 though Louis had already hinted its expediency to the 
 earl, yet, till now, Warwick himself had naturally con- 
 ceived that the prince shared the enmity of his mother, 
 and that such an union, however politic, was impossi- 
 hle ; but now, indeed, there burst upon him the full 
 triumph of revenge and pride. Edward of York dared 
 to woo Anne to dishonor, — Edward of Lancaster dared 
 not even woo her as his wife till his crown was won ! 
 To place upon the throne the very daughter the un- 
 grateful monarch had insulted ; to make her he would 
 have humbled not only the instrument of his fall, but 
 the successor of his purple; to unite in one glorious 
 strife, the wrongs of tbe man and the pride of the 
 father, — these were the thoughts that sparkled in the 
 eye of the king-maker, and flushed with a fierce rap- 
 ture the dark cheek, already hollowed by passion and 
 care. He raised his daughter from the floor, and placed 
 her in her mother's arms, but still spoke not. 
 
 " This, then, was thy secret, Anne, " whispered the 
 countess ; " and I half foreguessed it, when, last night, 
 I knelt beside thy couch to pray, and overheard thee 
 murmur in thy dreams. " 
 
 " Sweet mother, thou forgivest me ; but my father, — 
 ah, he speaks not! — One word! Father, father, not 
 even his love could console me if I angered thee ! " 
 
 The earl, who had remained rooted to the spot, his 
 eyes shining thoughtfully under his dark brows, and his 
 hand slightly raised, as if piercing into the future, and 
 mapping out its airy realm, turned quickly, — 
 
 "I go to the heir of Lancaster; if this boy be bold 
 and true, — .worthy of England and of thee, we will 
 change the sad ditty of that scrannel lute into such a 
 storm of trumpets as beseems the triumph of a conqueror, 
 and the marriage of a prince! "
 
 240 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 How the Heir of Lancaster meets the King-maker. 
 
 In truth, the young prince, in obedience to a secret 
 message from the artful Louis, had repaired to the 
 
 court of Amboise under the name of the Count de F . 
 
 The French king had long before made himself ac- 
 quainted with Prince Edward's romantic attachment to 
 the earl's daughter, through the agent employed by 
 Edward to transmit his portrait to Anne at Rouen ; and 
 from him, probably, came to Oxford the suggestion 
 which that nobleman had hazarded to Montagu; and 
 now that it became his policy seriously and earnestly to 
 espouse the cause of his kinswoman Margaret, he saw 
 all the advantage to his cold statecraft , which could be 
 drawn from a boyish love. Louis had a well-founded 
 fear of the warlike spirit and military talents of Edward 
 IV. ; and this fear had induced him hitherto to refrain 
 from openly espousing the cause of the Lancastrians, 
 though it did not prevent his abetting such seditions and 
 intrigues as could confine the attention of the martial 
 Plantagenet to the perils of his own realm. But now 
 that the breach between Warwick and the king had 
 taken place ; now that the earl could no longer curb the 
 desire of the Yorkist monarch to advance his hereditary 
 claims to the fairest provinces of France — nay, perad- 
 venture, to France itself — while the defection of Lord 
 Warwick gave to the Lancastrians the first fair hope of 
 success in urging their own pretensions to the English 
 throne, — he bent all the powers of his intellect and his
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 241 
 
 will towards the restoration of a natural ally, and the 
 downfall of a dangerous foe. But he knew that Margaret 
 and her Lancastrian favorers could not of themselves 
 suffice to achieve a revolution, — that they could only 
 succeed under cover of the popularity and the power of 
 Warwick ; while he perceived all the art it would require 
 to make Margaret forego her vindictive nature and long 
 resentment, and to supple the pride of the great earl into 
 recognizing, as a sovereign, the woman who had branded 
 him as a traitor. 
 
 Long before Lord Oxford's arrival, Louis, with all 
 that address which belonged to him, had gradually pre- 
 pared the earl to familiarize himself to the only alterna- 
 tive before him, save that, indeed, of powerless sense of 
 wrong, and obscure and lasting exile. The French king 
 looked with more uneasiness to the scruples of Margaret ; 
 and to remove these he trusted less to his own skill, 
 than to her love for her only son. 
 
 His youth passed principally in Anjou, — that court 
 of minstrels, — young Edward's gallant and ardent temper 
 had become deeply imbued with the southern poetry and 
 romance. Perhaps, the very feud between his house 
 and Lord Warwick's, though both claimed their common 
 descent from John of Gaunt, had tended, by the contra- 
 dictions in the human heart, to endear to him the recol- 
 lection of the gentle Anne. He obeyed with joy the 
 summons of Louis, repaired to the court, was presented 
 to Anne as the Count de F , found himself recog- 
 nized at the first glance (for his portrait still lay upon 
 her heart, as his remembrance in its core), and, twice 
 before the song we have recited, had ventured, agreeably 
 to the sweet customs of Anjou, to address the lady of 
 his love, under the shade of the starlit and summer 
 copses. But, on this last occasion, he had departed from 
 
 VOL. II. — 16
 
 242 THE LAST OF THE BAKONS. 
 
 his former discretion ; hitherto he had selected an hour 
 of deeper night, and ventured but beneath the lattice of 
 the maiden's chamber when the rest of the palace was 
 hushed in sleep. And the fearless declaration of his 
 rank and love now hazarded, was prompted by one who 
 contrived to turn to grave uses the wildest whim of the 
 minstrel, the most romantic enthusiasm of youth. 
 
 Louis had just learned from Oxford the result of his 
 interview with Warwick ; and about the same time the 
 French king had received a letter from Margaret, an- 
 nouncing her departure from the Castle of Verdun for 
 Tours, where she prayed him to meet her forthwith, 
 and stating that she had received from England tidings 
 that might change all her schemes, and more than ever 
 forbid the possibility of a reconciliation with the Earl of 
 Warwick. 
 
 The king perceived the necessity of calling into im- 
 mediate effect the aid on which he had relied, in the 
 presence and passion of the young prince. He sought 
 him at once, — lie found him in a remote part of the 
 gardens, and overheard him breathing to himself the lay 
 he had just composed. 
 
 " Pasque Dieu ! " said the king, laying his hand on 
 the young man's shoulder, — "if thou wilt but repeat 
 that song where and when I bid thee, I promise that, 
 before the month ends, Lord Warwick shall pledge thee 
 his daughter's hand; and, before the year is closed, 
 thou shalt sit beside Lord Warwick's daughter in the 
 halls of Westminster." 
 
 And the royal troubadour took the counsel of the 
 king. 
 
 The song had ceased; the minstrel emerged from the 
 bosquets, and stood upon the sward, as, from the postern 
 of the palace, walked with a slow step, a form from
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 243 
 
 which it hecame him not, as prince or as lover, in peace 
 or in war, to shrink. The first stars had now risen ; the 
 light, though serene, was pale and dim. The two men 
 — the one advancing, the other motionless — gazed on 
 
 each other in grave silence. As Count de F , amidst 
 
 the young nohles in the king's train, the earl had scarcely 
 noticed the heir of England. He viewed him now with 
 a different eye : — in secret complacency, for, with a 
 soldier's weakness, the soldier baron valued men too much 
 for their outward seeming, — he surveyed a figure already 
 masculine and stalwart, though still in the graceful sym- 
 metry of fair eighteen. 
 
 " A youth of a goodly presence, " muttered the earl, 
 " with the dignity that commands in peace, and the 
 sinews that can strive against hardship and death in 
 war. " 
 
 He approached, and said, calmly, " Sir minstrel, he 
 who wooes either fame or beauty may love the lute, but 
 should wield the sword. At least, so, methinks, had 
 the Fifth Henry said to him who boasts for his heritage 
 the sword of Agincourt." 
 
 "Oh, noble earl!" exclaimed the prince, touched by 
 words far gentler than he had dared to hope, despite 
 his bold and steadfast mien, and giving way to frank 
 and graceful emotion, — " oh noble earl ! since thou 
 knowest me, — since my secret is told, since, in that 
 secret, I have proclaimed a hope as dear to me as a 
 crown, and dearer far than life, can I hope that thy 
 rebuke but veils thy favor, and that, under Lord 
 Warwick's eye, the grandson of Henry V. shall ap- 
 prove himself worthy of the blood that kindles in his 
 veins 1 " 
 
 " Fair sir and prince, " returned the earl, whose hardy 
 and generous nature the emotion and fire of Edward
 
 244 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 warmed and charmed, " there are, alas ! deep memories 
 of hlood and wrong, — the sad deeds and wrathful words 
 of party feud and civil war, between thy royal mother 
 and myself; and, though we may unite now against a 
 common foe, much I fear that the Lady Margaret would 
 brook ill a closer friendship, a nearer tie than the 
 exigency of the hour, between Richard ISTevile and her 
 son." 
 
 "No, sir earl; let me hope you misthink her. Hot 
 and impetuous, but not mean and treacherous, the mo- 
 ment that she accepts the service of thine arm she must 
 forget that thou hast been her foe; and if I, as my 
 father's heir, return to England, it is in the trust that 
 a new era will commence. Free from the passionate 
 enmities of either faction, Yorkist and Lancastrian are 
 but Englishmen to me. Justice to all who serve us, — 
 pardon for all who have opposed." 
 
 The prince paused, and, even in the dim light, his 
 kingly aspect gave effect to his kingly words. " And if 
 this resolve be such as you approve, — if you, great earl, 
 be that which even your foes proclaim, a man whose 
 power depends less on lands and vassals — broad though 
 the one, and numerous though the other — than on well- 
 known love for England, her glory, and her peace, it 
 rests with you to bury, forever, in one grave, the feuds 
 of Lancaster and York! What Yorkist, who hath 
 fought at Touton or St. Alban's, under Lord War- 
 wick's standard, will lift sword against the husband of 
 Lord Warwick's daughter? what Lancastrian will not 
 forgive a Yorkist, when Lord Warwick, the kinsman of 
 Duke Richard, becomes father to the Lancastrian heir, 
 and bulwark to the Lancastrian throne ? Oh, Warwick, 
 if not for my sake, nor for the sake of full redress 
 against the ingrate whom thou repentest to have placed
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 245 
 
 on my father's throne, at least for the sake of England, 
 — for the healing of her bleeding wounds ; for the union 
 of her divided people, hear the grandson of Henry V., 
 who sues to thee for thy daughter's hand ! " 
 
 The royal wooer bent his knee as he spoke, — the 
 mighty subject saw and prevented the impulse of the 
 prince, who had forgotten himself in the lover; the hand 
 which he caught he lifted to his lips, and the next mo- 
 ment, in manly and soldier-like embrace, the prince's 
 young arm was thrown over the broad shoulder of the 
 king-maker.
 
 246 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The Interview of Earl Warwick and Queen Margaret. 
 
 Louis hastened to meet Margaret at Tours; thither 
 came, also, her father Rene, her brother John of 
 Calabria, Yolante her sister, and the Count of Vaude- 
 monte. The meeting between the queen and Rene 
 was so touching as to have drawn tears to the hard 
 eyes of Louis XL ; but, that emotion over, Margaret 
 evinced how little affliction had humbled her high 
 spirit, or softened her angry passions: she interrupted 
 Louis in every argument for reconciliation with War- 
 wick. "Not with honor to myself, and to my son," 
 she exclaimed, " can I pardon that cruel earl, — the 
 main cause of King Henry's downfall! in vain patch 
 up a hollow peace between us, — a peace of form and 
 parchment ! My spirit never can be contented with 
 him, ne pardon! " 
 
 For several days she maintained a language which 
 betrayed the chief cause of her own impolitic passions, 
 that had lost her crown. Showing to Louis the letter 
 despatched to her, proffering the hand of the Lady 
 Elizabeth to her son, she asked " if that were not a 
 more profitable party, " 1 and, " if it were necessary that 
 she should forgive, — whether it were not more queenly 
 to treat with Edward than with a twofold rebel ? " 
 
 1 See, for this curious passage of secret history, Sir H. Ellis's 
 " Original Letters from the Harleian MSS.," second series, vol. i., 
 letter 42.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 247 
 
 In fact, the queen would, perhaps, have fallen into 
 Gloucester's artful snare, despite all the arguments and 
 even the half-menaces l of the more penetrating Louis, 
 but for a counteracting influence which Richard had 
 not reckoned upon. Prince Edward, who had lingered 
 behind Louis, arrived from Amboise, and his persua- 
 sions did more than all the representations of the 
 crafty king. The queen loved her son with that in- 
 tenseness which characterizes the one soft affection of 
 violent natures. Never had she yet opposed his most 
 childish whim, and now he spoke with the eloquence 
 of one who put his heart and his life's life into his 
 words. At last, reluctantly, she consented to an in- 
 terview with Warwick. The earl, accompanied by 
 Oxford, arrived at Tours, and the two nobles were 
 led into the presence of Margaret by King Louis. 
 
 The reader will picture to himself a room darkened 
 by thick curtains, drawn across the casement, for the 
 proud woman wished not the earl to detect on her face 
 either the ravages of years, or the emotions of offended 
 pride. In a throne-chair, placed on the dais, sat the 
 motionless queen, her hands clasping, convulsively, the 
 arms of the fauteuil, her features pale and rigid ; — and 
 behind the chair leaned the graceful figure of her son. 
 The person of the Lancastrian prince was little less 
 remarkable than that of his hostile namesake, but its 
 character was distinctly different. 2 Spare, like Henry V., 
 
 1 Louis would have thrown over Margaret's cause, it' Warwick 
 had demanded it ; he instructed MM de Concressault aud I)u 
 Plessis to assure the earl that he would aid him to the utmost to 
 reconquer England, either for the Queen Margaret or for any one 
 else he chose (on pour qui il voudra) : for that he loved the earl 
 better than Margaret or her son. — Brante, t. ix. 276. 
 
 2 " According to some of the French chroniclers, the Prince of 
 Wales, who was one of the handsomest aud most accomplished
 
 248 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 almost to the manly defect of leanness, his propor- 
 tions were slight to those which gave such portly 
 majesty to the vast-chested Edward, but they evinced 
 the promise of almost equal strength; the muscles 
 hardened to iron by early exercise in arms, the sap 
 of youth never wasted by riot and debauch, his short 
 purple manteline, trimmed with ermine, was embroi- 
 dered with his grandfather's favorite device, " the silver 
 swan ; " he wore on his breast the badge of St. George, 
 and the single ostrich plume, which made his cognizance 
 as Prince of Wales, waved over a fair and ample fore- 
 head, on which were, even then, traced the lines of 
 musing thought and high design*, his chestnut hair 
 curled close to his noble head; his eye shone dark and 
 brilliant, beneath the deep-set brow, which gives to the 
 human countenance such expression of energy and in- 
 tellect, — all about him, in aspect and mien, seemed to 
 betoken a mind riper than his years, a masculine sim- 
 plicity of taste and bearing, the earnest and grave tem- 
 perament, mostly allied, in youth, to pure and elevated 
 desires, to an honorable and chivalric soul. 
 
 Below the dais stood some of the tried and gallant 
 gentlemen who had braved exile and tasted penury in 
 their devotion to the House of Lancaster, and who had 
 now flocked once more round their queen, in the hope 
 of better days. There, were the Dukes of Exeter and 
 Somerset, their very garments soiled and threadbare, — 
 many a day had those great lords hungered for the 
 beggar's crust! * There, stood Sir John Fortescue, the 
 
 princes in Europe, was very desirous of becoming the husband of 
 Anne Nevile," etc. — Miss Strickland, " T _ife of Margaret of 
 Anjou." 
 
 1 Philip de Comines says he himself had seen the Pukes of 
 Exeter and Somerset in the Low Countries in as wretched a plight 
 a? common beggars.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 249 
 
 patriarch authority of our laws, who had composed his 
 famous treatise for the benefit of the young prince, over- 
 fond of exercise with lance and brand, and the recreation 
 of knightly song. There, were Jasper of Pembroke, 
 and Sir Henry Rous, and the Earl of Devon, and the 
 Knight of Lytton, whose house had followed, from sire 
 to son, the fortunes of the Lancastrian Rose ; * and, con- 
 trasting the sober garments of the exiles, shone the jewels 
 and cloth of gold that decked the persons of the more 
 prosperous foreigners, Ferri, Count of Vaudemonte, 
 Margaret's brother, the Duke of Calabria, and the 
 powerful form of Sir Pierre de Breze, who had accom- 
 panied Margaret in her last disastrous campaigns, with 
 all the devotion of a chevalier for the lofty lady adored 
 in secret. 2 
 
 When the door opened, and gave to the eyes of those 
 proud exiles the form of their puissant enemy, they with 
 difficulty suppressed the murmur of their resentment, 
 and their looks turned with sympathy and grief to the 
 hueless face of their queen. 
 
 The earl himself was troubled, — his step was less firm, 
 his crest less haughty, his eye less serenely steadfast. 
 
 1 Sir Robert de Lytton (whose grandfather had been Comp- 
 troller to the Household of Henry IV., and Agister of the Forests 
 allotted to Queen Joan) was one of the most powerful knights of 
 the time, and afterwards, according to Perkin Warbec-k, one of 
 the ministers most trusted by Henry VII. He was lord of Lyt- 
 ton, in Derbyshire (where his ancestors had been settled since the 
 Conquest), of Knebworth in Herts (the ancient seat and manor of 
 Plantagenet de Brotherton, Earl of Norfolk and Earl-Marshal), 
 of Myndelesden and Langley, of Standyarn, Dene, and Brekes- 
 borne, in Northamptonshire, and became, in the reign of Henry 
 VII., Privy-Councillor, Under-Treasurer, and Keeper of the great 
 Wardrobe. 
 
 2 See for the chivalrous devotion of this knight (Seneschal of 
 Normandy) to Margaret, Miss Strickland's Life of that queen.
 
 250 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 But beside him, in a dress more homely than that of 
 the poorest exile there, and in a garb and in aspect, as 
 he lives forever in the portraiture of Victor Hugo and 
 our own yet greater Scott, moved Louis, popularly called 
 "The Fell." 
 
 " Madame and cousin, " said the king, " we present 
 to you the man for whose haute courage and dread fame 
 we have such love and respect that we value him as 
 much as any king, and would do as much for him as for 
 man living ; 1 and with my lord of Warwick, see also 
 this noble Earl of Oxford, who, though he may have 
 sided a while with the enemies of your Highness, comes 
 now to pray your pardon, and to lay at your feet his 
 sword. " 
 
 Lord Oxford (who had ever unwillingly acquiesced in 
 the Yorkist dynasty), more prompt than Warwick, here 
 threw himself on his knees before Margaret, and his 
 tears fell on her hand, as he murmured " Pardon. " 
 
 "Rise, Sir John de Vere," said the queen, glancing, 
 with a flashing eye, from Oxford to Lord Warwick. 
 " Your pardon is right easy to purchase, for well I know 
 that you yielded but to the time : you did not turn the 
 time against us, — you and yours have suffered much for 
 King Henry's cause. Rise, Sir Earl." 
 
 " And, " said a voice, so deep and so solemn, that it 
 hushed the very breath of those who heard it, — "and 
 has Margaret a pardon also for the man who did more 
 than all others to dethrone King Henry, and can do 
 more than all to restore his crown ? " 
 
 " Ha ! " cried Margaret, rising in her passion, and 
 casting from her the hand her son had placed upon her 
 shoulder, — " ha! Ownest thou thy wrongs, proud lord? 
 Comest thou at last to kneel at Queen Margaret's feet ? 
 
 1 Ellis's " Original Letters," vol. i., letter 42, second series.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 251 
 
 Look round and behold her court: some half-score brave 
 and unhappy gentlemen driven from their hearths and 
 homes; their heritage the prey of knaves and varlets; 
 their sovereign in a prison ; their sovereign's wife, their 
 sovereign's son, persecuted and hunted from the soil ! 
 And comest thou now to the forlorn majesty of sorrow 
 to boast, ' Such deeds were mine 1 ' " 
 
 " Mother and lady, " began the prince, — 
 " Madden me not, my son. Forgiveness is for the 
 prosperous, not for adversity and woe." 
 
 " Hear me," said the earl, — who, having once bowed 
 his pride to the interview, had steeled himself against 
 the passion which, in his heart, he somewhat despised 
 as a mere woman's burst of inconsiderate fury, — " for I 
 have this right to be heard, — that not one of these 
 knights, your lealest and noblest friends, can say of me, 
 that I ever stooped to gloss mine acts, or palliate bold 
 deeds with wily words. Dear to me as comrade in arms, 
 ■ — sacred to me as a father's head, was Richard of York, 
 mine uncle by marriage with Lord Salisbury's sister. I 
 speak not now of his claims by descent (for those even 
 King Henry could not deny) , but I maintain them, even 
 in your Grace's presence, to be such as vindicate, from 
 disloyalty and treason, me and the many true and gallant 
 men who upheld them through danger, by field and 
 scaffold. Error it might be, — but the error of men who 
 believed themselves the defenders of a just cause. Nor 
 did I, Queen Margaret, lend myself wholly to my kins- 
 man's quarrel, nor share one scheme that went to the 
 dethronement of King Henry, until — pardon, if I speak 
 bluntly ; it is my wont, and would be more so now, but 
 for thy fair face and woman's form, which awe me more 
 than if confronting the frown of Cceur de Lion, or the 
 first great Edward : pardon me, I say, if I speak bluntly,
 
 252 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 and aver, that I was not King Henry's foe until false 
 counsellors had planned my destruction, in hody and 
 goods, land and life. In the midst of peace, at Coventry, 
 my father and myself scarcely escaped the knife of the 
 murderer. 1 In the streets of London, the very menials 
 and hangmen employed in the service of your Highness 
 beset me unarmed; 2 a little time after, and my name 
 was attainted by an illegal Parliament. 3 And not till 
 after these things did Richard Duke of York ride to the 
 Hall of Westminster, and lay his hand upon the throne; 
 nor till after these things did I and my father Salisbury 
 say to each other, ' The time has come when neither 
 peace nor honor can be found for us under King Henry's 
 reign.' Blame me, if you will, Queen Margaret; reject 
 me, if you need not my sword; but that which I did in 
 the gone days was such as no nobleman so outraged and 
 despaired, 4 would have forborne to do ; — remembering 
 that England is not the heritage of the king alone, but 
 that safety and honor, and freedom and justice, are the 
 rights of his Norman gentlemen and his Saxon people. 
 And rights are a mockery and a laughter if they do not 
 justify resistance, whensoever, and by whomsoever, they 
 are invaded and assailed." 
 
 It had been with a violent effort that Margaret had 
 refrained from interrupting this address, which had, 
 however, produced no inconsiderable effect upon the 
 knightly listeners around the dais. And now, as the 
 earl ceased, her indignation was arrested by dismay on 
 
 1 See Hall (236), who says that Margaret had laid a snare for 
 Salisbury and Warwick, at Warwick, and " if they had not sud- 
 denly departed, their life's thread had been broken." 
 
 2 Hall, Fabyan. 
 
 3 Pari. Rolls, 370 ; W. Wtr, 478. 
 
 * Warwick's phrase : — See Sir H. Ellis's " Original Letters," 
 vol. i., second series.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 253 
 
 seeing the young prince suddenly leave his post and 
 advance to the side of Warwick. 
 
 " Right well hast thou spoken , noble earl and cousin, 
 
 — right well, though right plainly. And I, " added the 
 prince, " saving the presence of my queen and mother, 
 
 — I, the representative of my sovereign father, in his 
 name will pledge thee a king's oblivion and pardon for 
 the past, if thou, on thy side, acquit my princely mother 
 of all privity to the snares against thy life and honor 
 of which thou hast spoken, and give thy knightly word 
 to be henceforth leal to Lancaster. Perish all memories 
 of the past that can make walls between the souls of 
 brave men ! " 
 
 Till this moment, his arms folded in his gown, his 
 thin, foxdike face bent to the ground, Louis had lis- 
 tened, silent and undisturbed. He now deemed it the 
 moment to second the appeal of the prince. Passing 
 his hand hypocritically over his tearless eyes, the king 
 turned to Margaret, and said, — 
 
 " Joyful hour ! — happy union ! — May Madame La 
 Vierge and Monseigneur St. Martin sanctify and hallow 
 the bond by which alone my beloved kinswoman can 
 regain her rights and roiaulme. Amen." 
 
 Unheeding this pious ejaculation, her bosom heaving, 
 her eyes wandering from the earl to Edward, Margaret 
 at last gave vent to her passion. 
 
 " And is it come to this, Prince Edward of Wales, 
 that thy mother's wrongs are not thine? Standest thou 
 side by side with my mortal foe, who, instead of repent- 
 ing treason, dares but to complain of injury? Am I 
 fallen so low that my voice to pardon or disdain is 
 counted but as a sough of idle air ? God of my fathers, 
 hear me! Willingly from my heart I tear the last 
 thought and care for the pomps of earth. Hateful to
 
 254 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 me a crown for which the wearer must cringe to enemy 
 and rehel ! Away, Earl Warwick ! Monstrous and 
 unnatural seems it to the wife of captive Henry to see 
 thee by the side of Henry's son!" 
 
 Every eye turned in fear to the aspect of the earl, 
 every ear listened for the answer which might he expected 
 from his well-known heat and pride, — an answer to 
 destroy forever the last hope of the Lancastrian line. 
 But whether it was the very consciousness of his power 
 to raise or to crush that fiery speaker, or those feelings 
 natural to brave men, half of chivalry, half contempt, 
 which kept down the natural anger by thoughts of the 
 sex and sorrows of the Anjouite, or that the wonted 
 irascibility of his temper had melted into one steady 
 and profound passion of revenge against Edward of 
 York, which absorbed all lesser and more trivial causes 
 of resentment, — the earl's face, though pale as the dead, 
 was unmoved and calm, and, with a grave and melan- 
 choly smile, he answered, — 
 
 " More do I respect thee, queen, for the hot words 
 which show a truth rarely heard from royal lips, than 
 hadst thou deigned to dissimulate the forgiveness and 
 kindly charity which sharp remembrance permits thee 
 not to feel! No, princely Margaret, not yet can there 
 be frank amity between thee and me! Nor do I boast 
 the affection yon gallant gentlemen have displayed. 
 Frankly, as thou hast spoken, do I say, that the wrongs 
 I have suffered from another alone move me to allegiance 
 to thyself ! Let others serve thee for love of Henry, 
 reject not my service, given but for revenge on Edward, 
 — as much, henceforth, am I his foe as formerly his 
 friend and maker! l And if, hereafter, on the throne, 
 thou shouldst remember and resent the former wars, at 
 
 1 Sir H. Ellis's " Original Letters," vol. i., second series.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 255 
 
 least thou hast owed me no gratitude, and thou canst 
 not grieve my heart, and seethe my brain, as the man 
 whom I once loved better than a son! Thus, from 
 thy presence I depart, chafing not at thy scornful wrath, 
 — mindful, young prince, but of thy just and gentle 
 heart, and sure, in the calm of my own soul (on which 
 this much, at least, of our destiny is reflected as on a 
 glass), that when, high lady, thy colder sense returns 
 to thee, thou wilt see that the league between us must 
 be made ! — that thine ire, as woman, must fade before 
 thy duties as a mother, thy affection as a wife, and thy 
 paramount and solemn obligations to the people thou 
 hast ruled as queen ! In the dead of night, thou shalt 
 hear the voice of Henry, in his prison, asking Margaret 
 to set him free ! The vision of thy son shall rise before 
 thee in his bloom and promise, to demand, 'Why his 
 mother deprives him of a crown?' and crowds of pale 
 peasants, grinded beneath tyrannous exaction, and 
 despairing fathers mourning for dishonored children, 
 shall ask the Christian queen, 'If God will sanction 
 the unreasoning wrath which rejects the only instrument 
 that can redress her people 1 ' " 
 
 This said, the earl bowed his head, and turned; but, 
 at the first sign of his departure, there was a general 
 movement among the noble bystanders: impressed by 
 the dignity of his bearing, by the greatness of his power, 
 and by the unquestionable truth that in rejecting him 
 Margaret cast away the heritage of her son, the exiles, 
 with a common impulse, threw themselves at their 
 queen's feet, and exclaimed, almost in the same words, — 
 
 "Grace! noble queen! — Grace for the great Lord 
 Warwick ! " 
 
 "My sister," whispered John of Calabria, "thou art 
 thy son's ruin if the earl depart ! "
 
 256 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 u Pasqxie Dieu ! Vex not my kinswoman. If she 
 prefer a convent to a throne, cross not the holy choice! " 
 said the wily Louis, with a mocking irony on his 
 pinched lips. 
 
 The prince alone spoke not, but stood proudly on the 
 same spot, gazing on the earl, as he slowly moved to 
 the door. 
 
 "Oh, Edward — Edward, my son!" exclaimed the 
 unhappy Margaret, "if for thy sake — for thine — I 
 must make the past a blank, speak thou for me ! " 
 
 " I have spoken," said the prince, gently, " and thou 
 didst chide me, noble mother; yet I spoke, methinks, 
 as Henry V. had done, if of a mighty enemy he had 
 had the power to make a noble friend." 
 
 A short convulsive sob was heard from the throne- 
 chair; and as suddenly as it burst it ceased. Queen 
 Margaret rose, — not a trace of that stormy emotion 
 upon the grand and marble beauty of her face. Her 
 voice, unnaturally calm, arrested the steps of the 
 departing earl. 
 
 " Lord Warwick, defend this boy: restore his rights, 
 release his sainted father, — and for years of anguish 
 and of exile, Margaret of Anjou forgives the champion 
 of her son ! " 
 
 In an instant Prince Edward was again by the earl's 
 side, — a moment more, and the earl's proud knee bent 
 in homage to the queen ; joyful tears were in the eyes 
 of her friends and kindred, a triumphant smile on the 
 lips of Louis; and Margaret's face, terrible in its stony 
 and locked repose, was raised above, as if asking the 
 All-Merciful pardon, — for the pardon which the human 
 sinner had bestowed! 1 
 
 1 Ellis's " Original Letters from the Harleian MSS.," letter 42.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 257 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Love and Marriage — Doubts of Conscience — Domestic Jealousy 
 — and Household Treason. 
 
 The events that followed this tempestuous interview 
 were such as the position of the parties necessarily 
 compelled. The craft of Louis, the energy and love 
 of Prince Edward, the representations of all her kin- 
 dred and friends, conquered, though not without repeated 
 struggles, Margaret's repugnance to a nearer union be- 
 tween Warwick and her son. The earl did not deign 
 to appear personally in this matter. He left it, as 
 became him, to Louis and the prince, and finally 
 received from them the proposals, which ratified the 
 league, and consummated the schemes of his revenge. 
 
 Upon the Very Cross 1 in St. Mary's Church of 
 Angers, Lord Warwick swore without change to hold 
 the party of King Henry. Before the same sacred 
 symbol, King Louis and his brother, Duke of Guienne, 
 robed in canvas, swore to sustain to their utmost the 
 Earl of Warwick in behalf of King Henry ; and Mar- 
 garet recorded her oath " to treat the earl as true and 
 faithful, and never for deeds past to make him any 
 reproach. " 
 
 Then were signed the articles of marriage between 
 Prince Edward and the Lady Anne: the latter to 
 
 1 Miss Strickland observes upon this interview, — " It does not 
 appear that Warwick mentioned the execution of his father, the 
 Earl of Salisbury, which is almost a confirmation of the state- 
 ments of those historians who deny that he was beheaded by 
 Margaret." 
 
 VOL. II. — 17
 
 258 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 remain with Margaret, but the marriage not to be con- 
 summated " till Lord Warwick had entered England 
 and regained tbe realm, or most part, for King Henry," 
 — a condition which pleased the earl, who desired to 
 award his beloved daughter no less a dowry than a 
 crown. 
 
 An article far more important than all to the safety 
 of the earl, and to the permanent success of the enter- 
 prise, was one that virtually took from the fierce and 
 unpopular Margaret the reins of government, by con- 
 stituting Prince Edward (whose qualities endeared him 
 more and more to Warwick, and were such as promised 
 to command the respect and love of the people) sole 
 regent of all the realm, upon attaining his majority. 
 For the Duke of Clarence were reserved all the lands 
 and dignities of the duchy of York, the right to the 
 succession of the throne to him and his posterity — 
 failing male heirs to the Prince of Wales — with a 
 private pledge of the viceroyalty of Ireland. 
 
 Margaret had attached to her consent one condition 
 highly obnoxious to her high-spirited son, and to which 
 he was only reconciled by the arguments of Warwick; 
 she stipulated that he should not accompany the earl to 
 England, nor appear there till his father was proclaimed 
 king. In this, no doubt, she was guided by maternal 
 fears and by some undeclared suspicion, either of the 
 good faith of Warwick, or of his means to raise a 
 sufficient army to fulfil his promise. The brave prince 
 wished to be himself foremost in the battles fought in 
 his right and for his cause. But the earl contended, to 
 the surprise and joy of Margaret, that it best behooved 
 the prince's interests to enter England without one 
 enemy in the field, leaving others to clear his path, 
 free himself from all the personal hate of hostile fac-
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 259 
 
 tions, and without a drop of blood upon the sword of 
 one heralded and announced as the peace-maker and 
 impartial reconciler of all feuds. So then (these high 
 conditions settled), in presence of the Kings Rene and 
 Louis, of the Earl and Countess of Warwick, and in 
 solemn state, at Amboise, Edward of Lancaster plighted 
 his marriage troth to his beloved and loving Anne. 
 
 It was deep night, and high revel in the Palace of 
 Amboise crowned the ceremonies of that memorable 
 day. The earl of Warwick stood alone in the same 
 chamber in which he had first discovered the secret of 
 the young Lancastrian. Erom the brilliant company, 
 assembled in the halls of state, he had stolen unper- 
 ceived away, for his great heart was full to overflowing. 
 The part he had played for many days was over, and 
 with it the excitement and the fever. His schemes 
 were crowned ; the Lancastrians were won to his revenge ; 
 the king's heir was the betrothed of his favorite child ; 
 — and the hour was visible in the distance, when, by 
 the retribution most to be desired, the father's hand 
 should lead that child to the throne of him who would 
 have degraded her to the dust. If victory awaited his 
 sanguine hopes, as father to his future queen, the 
 dignity and power of the earl became greater in the 
 court of Lancaster than, even in his palmiest day, 
 amidst the minions of ungrateful York ; the sire of two 
 lines; if Anne's posterity should fail, the crown would 
 pass to the sons of Isabel, — in either case, from him (if 
 successful in his invasion) would descend the royalty 
 of England. Ambition, pride, revenge, might well 
 exult in viewing the future, as mortal wisdom could 
 discern it. The house of Nevile never seemed bright- 
 ened by a more glorious star: and yet the earl was 
 heavy and sad at heart. However he had concealed it
 
 260 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 from the eyes of others, the haughty ire of Margaret 
 must have galled him in his deepest soul. And even, 
 as he had that day contemplated the holy happiness in 
 the face of Anne, a sharp pang had shot through his 
 breast. Were those the witnesses of fair-omened spou- 
 sailles 1 How different from the hearty greeting of his 
 warrior-friends, was the measured courtesy of foes, who 
 had felt and fled before his sword ! If aught chanced to 
 him, in the hazard of the field, what thought for his 
 child could ever speak in pity from the hard and scornful 
 eyes of the imperious Anjouite! 
 
 The mist which till then had clouded his mind, or 
 left visible to his gaze but one stern idea of retribution, 
 melted into air. He beheld the fearful crisis to which 
 his life had passed, — he had reached the eminence to 
 mourn the happy gardens left behind. Gone, forever 
 gone, the old, endearing friendships, — the sweet and 
 manly remembrances of brave companionship and early 
 love! Who among those who had confronted war by 
 his side, for the house of York, would hasten to clasp 
 his hand and hail his coming, as the captain of hated 
 hancaster? True, could he bow his honor to proclaim 
 the true cause of his desertion, the heart of every father 
 would beat in sympathy with his; but less than ever 
 could the tale that vindicated his name be told. How 
 stoop to invoke malignant pity to the insult offered to 
 a future queen! Dark in his grave must rest the secret 
 no words could syllable, save by such vague and myste- 
 rious hint and comment as pass from baseless gossip into 
 dubious history. 1 True, that in his change of party he 
 was not, like Julian of Spain, an apostate to his native 
 
 1 Hall well explains the mystery which wrapped the king's in- 
 sult to a female of the House of Warwick, by the simple sentence, 
 " The certainty was not, for both their honors, openly known ! "
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 261 
 
 land. He did not meditate the subversion of his coun- 
 try by the foreign foe, it was but the substitution of one 
 English monarch for another, — a virtuous prince for 
 a false and a sanguinary king. True, that the change 
 from rose to rose had been so common amongst the 
 greatest and the bravest, that even the most rigid could 
 scarcely censure what the age itself had sanctioned. 
 But what other man of his stormy day had been so 
 conspicuous in the downfall of those he was now as 
 conspicuously to raise ? What other man had Richard 
 of York taken so dearly to his heart; to what other man 
 had the august father said, " Protect my sons " 1 Before 
 him seemed literally to rise the phantom of that honored 
 prince, and with clay-cold lips to ask, " Art thou, of all 
 the world, the doomsman of my first-born ? " A groan 
 escaped the breast of the self -tormentor, he fell on his 
 knees and prayed, "Oh, pardon, thou All-seeing! — ■ 
 plead for me, Divine Mother! if in this I have darkly 
 erred, taking my heart for my conscience, and mindful 
 only of a selfish wrong! Oh, surely, no! Had Richard 
 of York himself lived to know what I have suffered from 
 his unworthy son : causeless insult, broken faith, public 
 and unabashed dishonor; — yea, pardoning, serving, 
 loving on through all, till, at the last, nothing less 
 than the foulest taint that can light upon 'scutcheon 
 and name was the cold, premeditated reward for untired 
 devotion, — surely, surely, Richard himself had said, 
 ' Thy honor, at last, forbids all pardon! ' " 
 
 Then, in that rapidity with which the human heart, 
 once seizing upon self-excuse, reviews, one after one, 
 the fair apologies, the earl passed from the injury to 
 himself to the mal-government of his land, and mut- 
 tered over the thousand instances of cruelty and misrule 
 which rose to his remembrance : forgetting, alas ! or
 
 262 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 steeling himself to the memory, that till Edward's 
 vices had assailed his own hearth and honor, he had 
 been contented with lamenting them, — he had not ven- 
 tured to chastise. At length, calm and self-acquitted, 
 he rose from his self -confession, and leaning by the 
 open casement, drank in the reviving and gentle balm 
 of the summer air. The state apartments he had left, 
 formed, as we have before observed, an angle to the 
 wing in which the chamber he had now retired to was 
 placed. They were brilliantly illumined, — their win- 
 dows open to admit the fresh, soft breeze of night, — ■ 
 and he saw, as if by daylight, distinct and gorgeous, in 
 their gay dresses, the many revellers within. But one 
 group caught and riveted his eye. Close by the centre 
 window he recognized his gentle Anne, with downcast 
 looks; he almost fancied he saw her blush, as her young 
 bridegroom, young and beautiful as herself, whispered 
 love's flatteries in her ear. He saw farther on, but yet 
 near, his own sweet countess, and muttered, " After 
 twenty years of marriage, may Anne be as dear to him 
 as thou art now to me! " And still he saw, or deemed 
 he saw, his lady's eye, after resting with tender hap- 
 piness on the young pair, rove wistfully around, as if 
 missing and searching for her partner in her mother's 
 joy. But what form sweeps by with so haughty a 
 majesty, then pauses by the betrothed, addresses them 
 not, but seems to regard them with so fixed a watch? 
 He knew by her ducal diadem, by the baudekin colors 
 of her robe, by her unmistakable air of pride, his 
 daughter Isabel. He did not distinguish the expres- 
 sion of her countenance, but an ominous thrill passed 
 through his heart ; for the attitude itself had an expres- 
 sion, and not that of a sister's sympathy and love. He 
 turned away his face with an unquiet recollection of the
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 263 
 
 altered mood of his discontented daughter. He looked 
 again : the duchess had passed on, — lost amidst the 
 confused splendor of the revel. And high and rich 
 swelled the merry music that invited to the stately 
 pavon. He gazed still : his lady had left her place ; 
 the lovers, too, had vanished, — and where they had 
 stood, stood now, in close conference, his ancient ene- 
 mies, Exeter and Somerset. The sudden change, from 
 objects of love to those associated with hate, had some- 
 thing which touched one of those superstitions to which, 
 in all ages, the heart, when deeply stirred, is weakly 
 sensitive. And again, forgetful of the revel, the earl 
 turned to the serener landscape of the grove and the 
 moonlit greensward, and mused and mused, till a soft 
 arm thrown round him woke his revery. For this had 
 his lady left the revel. Divining, by the instinct born 
 of love, the gloom of her husband, she had stolen from 
 pomp and pleasure to his side. 
 
 "Ah! wherefore wouldst thou rob me," said the 
 countess, " of one hour of thy presence, since so few 
 hours remain, — since when the sun that succeeds the 
 morrow's shines upon these walls, the night of thine 
 absence will have closed upon me 1 " 
 
 "And if that thought of parting, sad to me as thee, 
 suffice not, belle amie, to dim the revel," answered the 
 earl, " weetest thou not how ill the grave and solemn 
 thoughts of one who sees before him the emprise that 
 would change the dynasty of a realm, can suit with 
 the careless dance and the wanton music 1 But not at 
 that moment did I think of those mightier cares; my 
 thoughts were nearer home. Hast thou noted, sweet 
 wife, the silent gloom, the clouded brow of Isabel, since 
 she learned that Anne was to be the bride of the heir of 
 Lancaster ? "
 
 264 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 The mother suppressed a sigh. " We must pardon, 
 or glance lightly over, the mood of one who loves her 
 lord, and mourns for his baffled hopes! Well-a-day ! 
 I grieve that she admits not even me to her confidence. 
 Ever with the favorite lady who lately joined her train, 
 — methinks, that new friend gives less holy counsels 
 than a mother ! " 
 
 " Ha! and yet what counsels can Isabel listen to from 
 a comparative stranger? Even if Edward, or rather his 
 cunning Elizabeth, had suborned this waiting-woman, 
 our daughter never could hearken, even in an hour of 
 anger, to the message from our dishonorer and our foe." 
 
 "Nay, but a flatterer often fosters, by praising the 
 erring thought. Isabel hath something, dear lord, of 
 thy high heart and courage and ever from childhood; 
 her vaulting spirit, her very character of stately beauty, 
 have given her a conviction of destiny and power loftier 
 than those reserved for our gentle Anne. Let us trust 
 to time and forbearance, and hope that the affection of 
 the generous sister will subdue the jealousy of the 
 disappointed princess." 
 
 "Pray Heaven, indeed, that it so prove! Isabel's 
 ascendancy over Clarence is great, and might be dan- 
 gerous. Would that she consented to remain in France 
 with thee and Anne! Her lord, at least, it seems I 
 have convinced and satisfied. Pleased at the vast for- 
 tunes before him, the toys of viceregal power, his 
 lighter nature reconciles itself to the loss of a crown, 
 Avhich, I fear, it could never have upheld. For the 
 more I have read his qualities in our household inti- 
 macy, the more it seems that I could scarcely have 
 justified the imposing on England a king not worthy 
 of so great a people. He is young yet, but how differ- 
 ent the youth of Lancastrian Edward 1 In him what
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 265 
 
 earnest and manly spirit! What heaven-born views 
 of the duties of a king! Oh, if there be a sin in the 
 passion that hath urged me on, let me, and me alone, 
 atone, — and may I be at least the instrument to give 
 to England a prince whose virtues shall compensate 
 for all ! " 
 
 While yet the last word trembled upon the earPs lips, 
 a light flashed along the floors, hitherto illumined but 
 by the stars and the full moon. And presently Isabel, 
 in conference with the lady whom her mother had 
 referred to, passed into the room, on her way to her 
 private chamber. The countenance of this female diplo- 
 matist, whose talent for intrigue Philip de Comines 1 
 has commemorated, but whose name, happily for her 
 memory, history has concealed, was soft and winning 
 in its expression, to the ordinary glance, though the 
 sharpness of the features, the thin compression of the 
 lips, and the harsh, dry redness of the hair, corre- 
 sponded with the attributes which modern physiog- 
 nomical science truly or erringly assigns to a wily and 
 treacherous character. She bore a light in her hand, 
 and its rays shone full on the disturbed and agitated 
 face of the duchess. Isabel perceived at once the forms 
 of her parents, and stopped short in some whispered 
 conversation, and uttered a cry almost of dismay. 
 
 " Thou leavest the revel betimes, fair daughter," said 
 the earl, examining her countenance with an eye some- 
 what stern. 
 
 "My lady," said the confidant, with a lowly rever- 
 ence, "was anxious for her babe." 
 
 "Thy lady, good waiting-wench," said Warwick 
 " needs not thy tongue to address her father. Pass 
 
 on." 
 
 1 Comines, iii. 5 ; Hall, Lingard, Hume, etc.
 
 2C6 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 The gentlewoman bit her lips, but obeyed, and 
 quitted the room. The earl approached and took 
 Isabel's hand, — it was cold as stone. 
 
 "My child," said he, tenderly, "thou dost well to 
 retire to rest; of late thy cheek hath lost its bloom. 
 But just now, for many causes, I was wishing thee not 
 to brave our perilous return to England; and now, I 
 know not whether it would make me the more uneasy 
 to fear for thy health if absent, or thy safety if with 
 me ! " 
 
 " My lord," replied Isabel, coldly, " my duty calls 
 me to my husband's side, and the more, since now it 
 seems he dares the battle, but reaps not its rewards! 
 Let Edward and Anne rest here in safety, — Clarence 
 and Isabel go to achieve the diadem and orb for others! " 
 
 " Be not bitter with thy father, girl, — be not envious 
 of thy sister!" said the earl, in grave rebuke; then 
 softening his tone, he added, "The women of a noble 
 house should have no ambition of their own, — their 
 glory and their honor they should leave, unmurmuring, 
 in the hands of men! Mourn not if thy sister mounts 
 the throne of him who would have branded the very 
 name to which thou and she were born! " 
 
 " I have made no reproach, my lord. Forgive me, I 
 pray you, if I now retire; I am sore weary, and would 
 fain have strength and health not to be a burden to you 
 when you depart." 
 
 The duchess bowed with proud submission, and 
 moved on. 
 
 " Beware! " said the earl, in a low voice. 
 
 " Beware! — and of what? " said Isabel, startled. 
 
 " Of thine own heart, Isabel. Ay, go to thine infant's 
 couch, ere thou seek thine own, and, before the sleep of 
 Innocence, calm thyself back to Womanhood."
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 267 
 
 The duchess raised her head quickly, hut habitual 
 awe of her father checked the angry answer; and kiss- 
 ing, with formal reverence, the hand the countess 
 extended to her, she left the room. She gained the 
 chamber in which was the cradle of her son, gorgeously 
 canopied with silks, inwrought with the blazoned arms 
 of royal Clarence , — and beside the cradle sat the 
 confidant. 
 
 The duchess drew aside the drapery, and contem- 
 plated the rosy face of the infant slumberer. 
 
 Then, turning to her confidant, she said, — 
 
 " Three months since, and I hoped my first-born 
 would be a king! Away with those vain mockeries 
 of royal birth! How suit they the destined vassal of 
 the abhorred Lancastrian 1 " 
 
 "Sweet lady," said the confidant, "did I not warn 
 thee from the first, that this alliance, to the injury of 
 my lord duke and this dear boy, was already imminent 1 ? 
 I had hoped thou mightst have prevailed with the 
 earl ! " 
 
 " He heeds me not, — he cares not for me ! " exclaimed 
 Isabel ; " his whole love is for Anne, — Anne, who, 
 without energy and pride, I scarcely have looked on 
 as my equal! And now, to my younger sister, I must 
 bow my knee, — pleased if she deign to bid me hold the 
 skirt of her queenly robe! Never, — no, never!" 
 
 "Calm thyself; the courier must part this night. 
 My Lord of Clarence is already in his chamber; he 
 waits but thine assent to write to Edward, that he 
 rejects not his loving messages." 
 
 The duchess walked to and fro, in great disorder. 
 
 " But to be thus secret and false to my father 1 " 
 
 " Doth he merit that thou shouldst sacrifice thy child
 
 268 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 to him? Reflect! — the king has no son ? The Eng- 
 lish barons acknowledge not in girls a sovereign; 1 and, 
 with Edward on the throne, thy son is heir-presumptive. 
 Little chance that a male heir shall now be born to 
 Queen Elizabeth, while from Anne and her bridegroom 
 a long line may spring. Besides, no matter what 
 parchment treaties may ordain, how can Clarence and 
 his offspring ever be regarded by a Lancastrian king but 
 as enemies to feed the prison or the block, when some 
 false invention gives the seemly pretext for extirpating 
 the lawful race 1 " 
 
 " Cease, cease, cease! " cried Isabel in terrible strug- 
 gles with herself. 
 
 " Lady, the hour presses! And, reflect, a few lines 
 are but words, to be confirmed or retracted as occasion 
 suits! If Lord Warwick succeed, and King Edward 
 lose his crown, ye can shape as ye best may your con- 
 duct to the time. But if the earl lose the day, — if 
 again he be driven into exile, — a few words now release 
 you and yours from everlasting banishment; restore your 
 boy to his natural heritage ; deliver you from the inso- 
 lence of the Anjouite, who, methinks, even dared this 
 very day to taunt your Highness — " 
 
 " She did, she did ! Oh that my father had been by 
 to hear! She bade me stand aside (that Anne might 
 pass) , — ' not for the younger daughter of Lord War- 
 wick, but for the lady admitted into the royalty of 
 Lancaster ! ' Elizabeth Woodville, at least, never dared 
 this insolence ! " 
 
 1 Miss Strickland ("Life of Elizabeth of York,") remarks, 
 " How much Norman prejudice in favor of Salic law had corrupted 
 the common, or constitutional law of England, regarding the suc- 
 cession." The remark involves a controversy.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BAEONS. 269 
 
 " And this Margaret, the Duke of Clarence is to place 
 on the throne which your child yonder might otherwise 
 aspire to mount! " 
 
 Isahel clasped her hands in mute passion. 
 
 " Hark! " said the confidant, throwing open the door. 
 
 And along the corridor came, in measured pomp, a 
 stately procession, the chamberlain in front, announcing 
 " Her Highness the Princess of Wales ; " and Louis XI. , 
 leading the virgin bride (wife but in name and honor, 
 till her dowry of a kingdom was made secure) to her 
 gentle rest. The ceremonial pomp, the regal homage 
 that attended the younger sister thus raised above her- 
 self, completed in Isabel's jealous heart the triumph of 
 the Tempter. Her face settled into hard resolve, and 
 she passed at once from the chamber into one near at 
 hand, where the Duke of Clarence sat alone, the rich 
 wines of the livery, not untasted, before him, and the 
 ink yet wet upon a scroll he had just indited. 
 
 He turned his irresolute countenance to Isabel as she 
 bent over him and read the letter. It was to Edward; 
 and after briefly warning him of the meditated invasion, 
 significantly added, " And if I may seem to share this 
 emprise, which, here and alone, I cannot resist, thou 
 shalt find me still, when the moment comes, thy affec- 
 tionate brother and loyal subject." 
 
 " Well, Isabel," said the duke, " thou knowest I have 
 delayed this, till the last hour, to please thee ; for verily, 
 lady mine, thy will is my sweetest law. But now, if 
 thy heart misgives thee — " 
 
 "It does, it does!" exclaimed the duchess, bursting 
 into tears. 
 
 "If thy heart misgives thee," continued Clarence, 
 who with all his weakness had much of the duplicity of
 
 270 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 his brothers, "why, let it pass. Slavery to scornful 
 Margaret, vassalage to thy sister's spouse, triumph to 
 the House which both thou and I were taught from 
 childhood to deem accursed, — why welcome all! so 
 that Isabel does not weep, and our boy reproach us 
 not in the days to come! " 
 
 For all answer, Isabel, who had seized the letter, let 
 it drop on the table, pushed it, with averted face, 
 towards the duke, and turned back to the cradle of her 
 .child, whom she woke with her sobs, and who wailed 
 its shrill reply in infant petulance and terror, — snatched 
 from its slumber to the arms of the remorseful mother. 
 
 A smile of half contemptuous joy passed over the thin 
 lips of the she-Judas, and, without speaking, she took 
 her way to Clarence. He had sealed and bound his 
 letter, first adding these words, " My lady and duchess, 
 whatever her kin, has seen this letter, and approves it, 
 for she is more a friend to York than to the earl, now 
 he has turned Lancastrian;" and placed it in a small 
 iron coffer. 
 
 He gave the coffer, curiously clasped and locked, to 
 the gentlewoman, with a significant glance, " Be quick, 
 or she repents! The courier waits! — his steed saddled! 
 The instant you give it, he departs, — he hath his permit 
 to pass the gates." 
 
 "All is prepared; ere the clock strike, he is on his 
 way. " 
 
 The confidant vanished, — the duke sank in his chair, 
 and rubbed his hands. 
 
 " Oh, ho! father-in-law, thou deemest me too dull for 
 a crown. I am not dull enough for thy tool. I have 
 had the wit, at least, to deceive thee, and to hide 
 resentment beneath a smiling brow! Dullard thou, to
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 271 
 
 believe aught less than the sovereignty of England could 
 have bribed Clarence to thy cause! " He turned to the 
 table and complacently drained his goblet. 
 
 Suddenly, haggard and pale as a spectre, Isabel stood 
 before hirn. 
 
 "I was mad — mad, George! The letter! the letter, 
 — it must not go ! " 
 
 At that moment the clock struck. 
 
 " Bel enfant" said the duke, " it is too late! "
 
 BOOK X. 
 
 THE RETURN OF THE KING-MAKER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The Maid's Hope, the Courtier's Love, and the Sage's Comfort. 
 
 Fair are thy fields, England ; fair the rural farm and 
 the orchards in which the blossoms have ripened into 
 laughing fruits; and fairer than all, England, the faces 
 of thy soft-eyed daughters. 
 
 From the field where Sibyll and her father had wan- 
 dered amidst the dead, the dismal witnesses of war had 
 vanished ; and over the green pastures roved the gentle 
 flocks. And the farm to which Hastings had led the 
 wanderers looked upon that peaceful field through its 
 leafy screen ; and there father and daughter had found a 
 home. 
 
 It was a lovely summer evening, and Sibyll put aside 
 the broidery-frame, at which, for the last hour, she had 
 not worked ; and gliding to the lattice, looked wistfully 
 along the winding lane. The room was in the upper 
 story, and was decorated with a care which the ex- 
 terior of the house little promised, and which almost 
 approached to elegance. The fresh, green rushes that 
 strewed the floor were intermingled with dried wild 
 thyme and other fragrant herbs. The bare walls were 
 vol. 11. — 18
 
 274 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 hung with serge of a hright and cheerful blue ; a rich 
 carpet de cuir covered the oak table, on which lay 
 musical instruments, curiously inlaid, with a few MSS., 
 chiefly of English and Provencal poetry. The taborets 
 were covered with cushions of Norwich worsted, in gay 
 colors. All was simple, it is true, yet all betokened a 
 comfort — nay, a refinement, an evidence of wealth — 
 very rare in the houses even of the second order of 
 nobility. 
 
 As Sibyll gazed, her face suddenly brightened: she 
 uttered a joyous cry, — hurried from the room, descended 
 the stairs, and passed her father, who was seated with- 
 out the porch, and seemingly plunged in one of his most 
 abstracted reveries. She kissed his brow, — (he heeded 
 her not), — bounded with light step over the sward of 
 the orchard, and pausing by a wicket gate, listened with 
 throbbing heart to the advancing sound of a horse's hoofs ; 
 nearer came the sound, and nearer. A cavalier appeared 
 in sight, sprang from his saddle, and, leaving his palfrey 
 to find his way to the well-known stable, sprang lightly 
 over the little gate. 
 
 " And thou hast watched for me, Sibyll 1 " 
 The girl blushingly withdrew from the eager embrace, 
 and said, touchingly, " My heart watcheth for thee 
 alway. Oh, shall I thank or chide thee for so much 
 care! Thou wilt see how thy craftsmen have changed 
 the rugged homestead into the daintiest bower! " 
 
 "Alas! my Sibyll ! would that it were worthier of 
 thy beauty, and our mutual troth! Blessings on thy 
 trust and sw r eet patience; may the day soon come when 
 I may lead thee to a nobler home, and hear knight and 
 baron envy the bride of Hastings." 
 
 " My own lord ! " said Sibyll, with grateful tears in 
 confiding eyes; but, after a pause, she added, timidly,
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 275 
 
 " Does the king still bear so stern a memory against so 
 humble a subject 1 " 
 
 " The king is more wroth than before, since tidings 
 of Lord Warwick's restless machinations in France have 
 soured his temper. He cannot hear thy name without 
 threats against thy father as a secret adherent of Lan- 
 caster, and accuseth thee of witching his chamberlain, — 
 as, in truth, thou hast. The Duchess of Bedford is 
 more than ever under the influence of Friar Bungey, to 
 whose spells and charms, and not to our good swords, 
 she ascribes the marvellous flight of Warwick and the 
 dispersion of our foes; and the friar, methinks, has 
 fostered, and yet feeds Edward's suspicions of thy 
 harmless father. The king chides himself for having 
 suffered poor Warner to depart unscathed, and even 
 recalls the disastrous adventure of the mechanical, and 
 swears that, from the first, thy father was in treasonable 
 conspiracy with Margaret. Nay, sure I am, that if I 
 dared to wed thee while his anger lasts, he would con- 
 demn thee as a sorceress, and give me up to the secret 
 hate of my old foes, the Woodvilles. But fie ! be not 
 so appalled, my Sibyll ; Edward's passions, though fierce, 
 are changef ul, and patience will reward us both. " 
 
 " Meanwhile, thou lovest me, Hastings ! " said Sibyll, 
 with great emotion. " Oh, if thou knewest how I tor- 
 ment myself in thine absence ! — I see thee surrounded 
 by the fairest and the loftiest, and say to myself, ' Is it 
 possible that he can remember me 1 ' But thou lovest 
 me still — still — still, and ever ! Dost thou not 1 " 
 
 And Hastings said and swore. 
 
 " And the Lady Bonville 1 " asked Sibyll, trying to 
 smile archly, but with the faltering tone of jealous 
 fear. 
 
 " I have not seen her for months, " replied the noble,
 
 276 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 with a slight change of countenance. " She is at one of 
 their western manors. They say her lord is sorely ill; 
 and the Lady Bonville is a devout hypocrite, and plays 
 the tender wife. But enough of such ancient and worn- 
 out memories. Thy father, — sorrows he still for his 
 Eureka 1 I can learn no trace of it. " 
 
 " See, " said Sihyll, recalled to her filial love, and 
 pointing to Warner as they now drew near the house, — 
 " see, he shapes another Eureka from his thoughts ! " 
 
 " How fares it, dear Warner 1 " asked the noble, tak- 
 ing the scholar's hand. 
 
 " Ah ! " cried the student, roused at the sight of his 
 powerful protector. " Bringest thou tidings of it ? Thy 
 cheerful eye tells me that — no, no; thy face changes! 
 They have destroyed it! Oh that I could be young once 
 more ! " 
 
 "What! "said the world-wise man, astonished. "If 
 thou hadst another youth, wouldst thou cherish the same 
 delusion, and go again through a life of hardship, perse- 
 cution, and wrong 1 " 
 
 " My noble son, " said the philosopher, " for hours 
 when I have felt the wrong, the persecution, and the 
 hardship, count the days and the nights when I have 
 felt only the hope, and the glory, and the joy! God 
 is kinder to us all than man can know ; for man looks 
 only to the sorrow on the surface, and sees not the con- 
 solation in the deeps of the unwitnessed soul." 
 
 Sibyll had left Hastings by her father's side, and 
 tripped lightly to the farther part of the house, inha- 
 bited by the rustic owners who supplied the homely 
 service, to order the evening banquet, — the happy ban- 
 quet; for hunger gives not such flavor to the viand, 
 nor thirst such sparkle to the wine, as the presence of 
 a beloved guest.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 277 
 
 And as the courtier seated himself on the rude settle, 
 under the honeysuckles that wreathed the porch, a 
 delicious calm stole over his sated mind. The pure soul 
 of the student, released awhile from the tyranny of an 
 earthly pursuit, — the drudgery of a toil that, however 
 grand, still but ministered to human and material 
 science, — had found for its only other element the 
 contemplation of more solemn and eternal mysteries. 
 Soaring naturally, as a bird freed from a golden cage, 
 into the realms of heaven, he began now, with earnest 
 and spiritual eloquence, to talk of the things and visions 
 lately made familiar to his thoughts. Mounting from 
 philosophy to religion, he indulged in his large ideas 
 upon life and nature : of the stars that now came forth 
 in heaven; of the laws that gave harmony to the uni- 
 verse; of the evidence of a God in the mechanism of 
 creation; of the spark from central divinity, that, kin- 
 dling in a man's soul, we call " genius ; " of the eternal 
 resurrection of the dead, which makes the very principle 
 of being, and types, in the leaf and in the atom, the 
 immortality of the great human race. He was sublimer, 
 that gray old man, hunted from the circle of his kind, 
 in his words, than ever is action in its deeds; for words 
 can fathom truth, and deeds but blunderingly and lamely 
 seek it. 
 
 And the sad, and gifted, and erring intellect of Hast- 
 ings, rapt from its little ambition of the hour, had no 
 answer when his heart asked, " What can courts and a 
 king's smile give me in exchange for serene tranquillity 
 and devoted love ? "
 
 278 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The Man awakes in the Sage, and the She-Wolf again hath 
 tracked the Lamb. 
 
 From the night in which Hastings had saved from the 
 knives of the tymbesteres Sibyll and her father, his 
 honor and chivalry had made him their protector. 
 The people of the farm (a widow and her children, 
 with, the peasants in their employ) were kindly and 
 simple folks. What safer home for the wanderers than 
 that to which Hastings had removed them ? The influ- 
 ence of Sibyll over his variable heart or fancy was 
 renewed. Again vows were interchanged, and faith 
 plighted. Anthony Woodville, Lord Rivers, who, how- 
 ever gallant an enemy, was still more than ever, since 
 Warwick's exile, a formidable one, and who shared his 
 sister's dislike to Hastings, was naturally, at that time, 
 in the fullest favor of King Edward, anxious to atone 
 for the brief disgrace his brother-in-law had suffered 
 during the later days of Warwick's administration. 
 And Hastings, offended by the manners of the rival 
 favorite, took one of the disgusts so frequent in the 
 life of a courtier, and, despite his office of chamberlain, 
 absented himself much from his sovereign's company. 
 Thus, in the reaction of his mind, the influence of 
 Sibyll was greater than it otherwise might have been. 
 His visits to the farm grew regular and frequent. The 
 widow believed him nearly related to Sibyll, and sus- 
 pected Warner to be some attainted Lancastrian, compelled 
 to hide in secret till his pardon was obtained; and no
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 279 
 
 scandal was attached to the noble's visits, nor any 
 surprise evinced at his attentive care for all that could 
 lend a grace to a temporary refuge unfitting the quality 
 of his supposed kindred. 
 
 And, in her entire confidence and reverential affection, 
 Sibyll's very pride was rather soothed than wounded by 
 obligations which were but proofs of love, and to which 
 plighted troth gave her a sweet right. As for Warner, 
 he had hitherto seemed to regard the great lord's atten- 
 tions only as a tribute to his own science, and a testimony 
 of the interest which a statesman might naturally feel 
 in the invention of a thing that might benefit the 
 realm. And Hastings had been delicate in the pretexts 
 of his visits. One time he called to relate the death of 
 poor Madge, though he kindly concealed the manner of 
 it, which he had discovered, but which opinion, if not 
 law, forbade him to attempt to punish: drowning was 
 but the orthodox ordeal of a suspected witch, and it 
 was not without many scruples that the poor woman 
 was interred in holy ground. The search for the 
 Eureka was a pretence that sufficed for countless visits ; 
 and then, too, Hastings had counselled Adam to sell 
 the ruined house, and undertaken the negotiation; and 
 the new comforts of their present residence, and the 
 expense of the maintenance, were laid to the account 
 of the sale. Hastings had begun to consider Adam 
 Warner as utterly blind and passive to the things that 
 passed under his eyes; and his astonishment was great 
 when, the morning after the visit we have just recorded, 
 Adam, suddenly lifting his eyes, and seeing the guest 
 whispering soft tales in Sibyll's ear, rose abruptly, 
 approached the nobleman, took him gently by the arm, 
 led him into the garden, and thus addressed him ; — 
 
 " Noble lord, you have been tender and generous in
 
 280 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 our misfortunes. The poor Eureka is lost to me and the 
 world forever. God's will be done ! Methinks Heaven 
 designs thereby to rouse me to the sense of nearer duties ; 
 and I have a daughter whose name I adjure you not to 
 sully, and whose heart I pray you not to break. Come 
 hither no more, my Lord Hastings. " 
 
 This speech, almost the only one which showed plain 
 sense and judgment in the affairs of this life that the 
 man of genius had ever uttered, so confounded Hastings, 
 that he with difficulty recovered himself enough to 
 say,— 
 
 " My poor scholar, what hath so suddenly kindled 
 suspicions which wrong thy child and me 1 " 
 
 " Last eve, when we sat together, I saw your hand 
 steal into hers, and suddenly I remembered the day 
 when I was young, and wooed her mother! And last 
 night I slept not, and sense and memory became active 
 for my living child, as they were wont to be only for 
 the iron infant of my mind, and I said to myself, 
 ' Lord Hastings is King Edward's friend ; and King 
 Edward spares not maiden honor. Lord Hastings is 
 a mighty peer, and he will not wed the dowerless and 
 worse than nameless girl! ' Be merciful! Depart, 
 depart ! " 
 
 "But," exclaimed Hastings, "if I love thy sweet 
 Sibyll in all honesty; if I have plighted to her my 
 troth — " 
 
 " Alas, alas! " groaned Adam. 
 
 " If I wait but my king's permission to demand her 
 wedded hand, couldst thou forbid me the presence of 
 my affianced 1 " 
 
 " She loves thee, then 1 " said Adam, in a tone of great 
 anguish ; " she loves thee, — speak ! " 
 
 " It is my pride to think it. "
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 281 
 
 " Then go, — go at once : come back no more till thou 
 hast wound up thy courage to brave the sacrifice; no, 
 not till the priest is ready at the altar, — not till the 
 bridegroom can claim the bride. And as that time will 
 never come — never — never, — leave me to whisper to 
 the breaking heart, ' Courage ! honor and virtue are left 
 thee yet, and thy mother from heaven looks down on 
 a stainless child ! ' " 
 
 The resuscitation of the dead could scarcely have 
 startled and awed the courtier more than this abrupt 
 development of life and passion and energy, in a man 
 who had hitherto seemed to sleep in the folds of his 
 thought, as a chrysalis hi its web. But as we have 
 always seen that ever, when this strange being woke 
 from his ideal abstraction, he awoke to honor and cour- 
 age and truth, — so now, whether, as he had said, the 
 absence of the Eureka left his mind to the sense of 
 practical duties, or whether their common suffering had 
 more endeared to him his gentle companion, and affec- 
 tion sharpened reason, Adam Warner became puissant 
 and majestic in his rights and sanctity of father; greater 
 in his homely household character, than when, in his 
 mania of inventor, and the sublime hunger of aspiring 
 genius, he had stolen to his daughter's couch, and waked 
 her with the cry of " Gold! " 
 
 Before the force and power of Adam's adjuration, — 
 his outstretched hand, the anguish, yet authority, 
 written on his face, — all the art and self-possession of 
 the accomplished lover deserted him, as one spellbound. 
 
 He was literally without reply ; till, suddenly, the 
 sight of Sibyll, who, surprised by this singular confer- 
 ence, but unsuspecting its nature, now came from the 
 house, relieved and nerved him ; and his first impulse 
 was then, as ever, worthy and noble, — such as showed,
 
 282 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 though dimly, how glorious a creature he had "been, if 
 cast in a time and amidst a race which could have 
 fostered the impulse into habit. 
 
 " Brave old man ! " he said, kissing the hand still 
 raised in command, — " thou hast spoken as beseems 
 thee; and my answer I will tell thy child." Then 
 hurrying to the wondering Sibyll, he resumed : " Your 
 father says well, that not thus, dubious and in secret, 
 should I visit the home blessed by thy beloved presence, 
 — I obey : I leave thee, Sibyll. I go to my king, as 
 one who hath served him long and truly, and claims 
 his guerdon, — thee ! " 
 
 " Oh, my lord! " exclaimed Sibyll, in generous terror; 
 "bethink thee well, — remember Avhat thou saidst but 
 last eve. This king so fierce, — my name so hated! 
 No, no ! leave me. Farewell forever, if it he right, 
 as what thou and my father say must be. But thy 
 life, thy liberty, thy welfare, — they are my happiness ; 
 thou hast no right to endanger them ! " And she fell 
 at his knees. He raised, and strained her to his heart; 
 then resigning her to her father's arms, he said, in a 
 voice choked with emotion, — 
 
 " Not as peer and as knight, hut as man, I claim my 
 prerogative of home and hearth! Let Edward frown, 
 call back his gifts, banish me his court, — thou art 
 more worth than all ! Look for me, sigh not, weep 
 not, — smile till we meet again ! " He left them with 
 these words, hastened to the stall where his steed stood, 
 caparisoned it with his own hands, and rode, with the 
 speed of one whom passion spurs and goads, towards the 
 Tower of London. 
 
 But as Sibyll started from her father's arms, when 
 she heard the departing hoofs of her lover's steed, — to 
 listen and to listen for the last sound that told of him,
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 283 
 
 a terrible apparition, ever ominous of woe and horror, 
 met her eye. On the other side of the orchard fence, 
 which concealed her figure, but not her well-known 
 face which peered above, stood the tymbestere, Graul. 
 A shriek of terror at this recognition burst from Sibyll, 
 as she threw herself again upon Adam's breast: but 
 when he looked round, to discover the cause of her 
 alarm, — Graul was gone.
 
 284 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Virtuous Resolves submitted to the Test of Vanity and the 
 
 World. 
 
 On reaching his own house, Hastings learned that the 
 court was still at Shene. He waited but till the retinue 
 which his rank required were equipped and ready, and 
 reached the court, from which of late he had found so 
 many excuses to absent himself, before night. Edward 
 was then at the banquet, and Hastings was too experi- 
 enced a courtier to disturb him at such a time. In a 
 mood unfit for compatronship, he took his way to the 
 apartments usually reserved for him, when a gentleman 
 met him by the way, and apprised him, with great re- 
 spect, that the Lord Scales and Rivers had already ap- 
 propriated those apartments to the principal waiting-lady 
 of his countess, — but that other chambers, if less com- 
 modious and spacious, were at his command. 
 
 Hastings had not the superb and more than regal pride 
 of Warwick and Montagu ; but this notice sensibly piqued 
 and galled him. 
 
 " My apartments as Lord Chamberlain, — as one of the 
 captain-generals in the king's army, given to the waiting- 
 lady of Sir Anthony Woodville's wife ! — At whose order, 
 sir?" 
 
 "Her Highness the queen's — pardon me, my lord," 
 and the gentleman, looking round and sinking his voice, 
 continued, — "pardon me, her Highness added, 'If my 
 Lord Chamberlain returns not ere the week ends, he 
 may find not only the apartment, but the office, no
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 285 
 
 longer free.' My lord, we all love yon, — forgive my 
 zeal, and look well if yon would guard yonr own." 
 
 " Thanks, sir. — Is my lord of Gloucester in the 
 palace 1 " 
 
 " He is, — and in his cham her. He sits not long at 
 the feast." 
 
 " Oblige me by craving his Grace's permission to wait 
 on him at leisure, — I attend his answer here." 
 
 Leaning against the wall of the corridor, Hastings gave 
 himself up to other thoughts than those of love! So 
 strong is habit, so powerful vanity or ambition, once in- 
 dulged, that this puny slight made a sudden revulsion in 
 the mind of the royal favorite: once more the agitated 
 and brilliant court life stirred and fevered him ; — that 
 life, so wearisome when secure, became sweet when im- 
 perilled. To counteract his foes, to humble his rivals, 
 to regain the king's countenance, to baffle, with the easy 
 art of his skilful intellect, every hostile stratagem, — 
 such were the ideas that crossed and hurtled themselves, 
 and Sibyll was forgotten. 
 
 The gentleman reappeared. " Prince Richard be- 
 sought my lord's presence with loving welcome ; " and 
 to the duke's apartment went Lord Hastings. Richard, 
 clad in a loose chamber robe, which concealed the defects 
 of his shape, rose from before a table covered with papers, 
 and embraced Hastings with cordial affection. 
 
 " Never more gladly hail to thee, dear William. I 
 need thy wise counsels with the king, and I have glad 
 tidings for thine own ear. " 
 
 " Pardieu, my prince, the king, methinks, will scarce 
 heed the counsels of a dead man. " 
 
 "Dead?" 
 
 " Ay. At courts it seems men are dead, — their rooms 
 filled, their places promised or bestowed, if they come
 
 286 THE LAST OF THE BAEONS. 
 
 not, morn and night, to convince the king that they are 
 alive." And Hastings, with constrained gayety, repeated 
 the information he had received. 
 
 " What would you, Hastings 1 " said the duke, shrug- 
 ging his shoulders, hut with some latent meaning in his 
 tone. "Lord Rivers were nought in himself; but his 
 lady is a mighty heiress, 1 and requires state, as she he- 
 stows pomp. Look round, and tell me what man ever 
 maintained himself in power without the strong connec- 
 tions, the convenient dower, the acute, unseen, unsleep- 
 ing woman-influence of some noble wife ? How can a 
 poor man defend his repute, his popular name, that airy 
 but all-puissant thing we call dignity or station, against 
 the pricks and stings of female intrigue and female gos- 
 sip ? But he marries, and lo, a host of fairy champions, 
 who pinch the rival losels unawares : his wife hath her 
 army of courtpie and jupon, to array against the dames 
 of his foes! Wherefore, my friend, while thou art un- 
 wedded, think not to cope with Lord Eivers who hath a 
 wife, with three sisters, two aunts, and a score of she- 
 cousins ! " 
 
 " And if, " replied Hastings, more and more unquiet 
 under the duke's truthful irony, — " if I were now come 
 to ask the king permission to wed — " 
 
 " If thou wert, — and the bride-elect were a lady, with 
 power and wealth and manifold connections, and the 
 practice of a court, thou wouldst be the mightiest lord 
 in the kingdom since Warwick's exile." 
 
 " And if she had but youth, beauty, and virtue? " 
 
 "Oh, then, my Lord Hastings, pray thy patron saint 
 
 1 Elizabeth secured to her brother, Sir Anthony, the greatest 
 heiress in the kingdom, — in the daughter of Lord Scales : a wife, 
 by the way, who is said to have been a mere child at the time of 
 the marriage.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 287 
 
 for a war, — for in peace thou wouldst be lost amongst 
 the crowd. But truce to these jests, — for thou art not 
 the man to prate of youth, virtue, and such like, in sober 
 earnest, amidst this work-day world, where nothing is 
 young and nothing virtuous, — and listen to grave 
 matters." 
 
 The duke then communicated to Hastings the last ti- 
 dings received of the machinations of Warwick. He was 
 in high spirits; for those last tidings but reported Mar- 
 garet's refusal to entertain the proposition of a nuptial 
 alliance with the earl, though, on the other hand, the 
 Duke of Burgundy, who was in constant correspondence 
 with his spies, wrote word that Warwick was collecting 
 provisions, from his own means, for more than 60,000 
 men; and that, with Lancaster or without, the earl was 
 prepared to match his own family interest against the 
 armies of Edward. 
 
 " And, " said Hastings, " if all his family joined with 
 him, what foreign king could be so formidable an invader ? 
 Maltravers and the Mowbrays, Fauconberg, Westmore- 
 land, Fitzhugh, Stanley, Bonville, Worcester — " 
 
 " But happily, " said Gloucester, " the Mowbrays have 
 been allied also to the queen's sister ; Worcester detests 
 Warwick; Stanley always murmurs against us,— a sure 
 sign that he will fight for us; and Bonville, — I have in 
 view a trusty Yorkist to whom the retainers of that 
 house shall be assigned. But of that anon. What I 
 now wish from thy wisdom is, to aid me in rousing 
 Edward from his lethargy ; he laughs at his danger, and 
 neither communicates with his captains nor mans his 
 coasts. His courage makes him a dullard." 
 
 After some farther talk on these heads, and more 
 detailed account of the preparations which Gloucester 
 deemed necessary to urge on the king, the duke, then
 
 288 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 moving his chair nearer to Hastings, said, with a 
 smile, — 
 
 " And now, Hastings, to thyself : it seems, that thou 
 hast not heard the news which reached us four days 
 since : the Lord Bonville is dead, — died three months 1 
 ago at his manor house in Devon. Thy Katherine is 
 free, and in London. Well, man, where is thy joy 1 " 
 
 " Time is, — time was ! " said Hastings, gloomily. 
 " The day has passed when this news could rejoice me." 
 
 " Passed ! nay, thy good stars themselves have fought 
 for thee in delay. Seven goodly manors swell the fair 
 widow's jointure ; the noble dowry she brought returns 
 to her. Her very daughter will bring thee power. 
 Young Cecily Bonville, the heiress, 2 Lord Dorset 
 demands in betrothal. Thy wife will be mother-in-law 
 to thy queen's son; on the other hand, she is already 
 aunt to the Duchess of Clarence ; and George, be sure, 
 sooner or later, will desert Warwick, and win his pardon. 
 Powerful connections, vast possessions, a lady of immacu- 
 late name and surpassing beauty, and thy first love ! — 
 (thy hand trembles ! ) — thy first love, thy sole love, 
 and thy last ! " 
 
 "Prince, prince! forbear! Even if so — in brief, 
 Katherine loves me not ! " 
 
 " Thou mistakest ! I have seen her, and she loves 
 thee not the less because her virtue so long concealed 
 the love." 
 
 1 To those who have read the " Paston Letters," it will not seem 
 strange that in that day the death of a nobleman at his country 
 seat should be so long in reaching the metropolis, — the ordinary 
 purveyors of communication were the itinerant attendants of fairs. 
 And a father might be ignorant for months together of the death 
 of his son. 
 
 2 Afterwards married to Dorset.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 289 
 
 Hastings littered an exclamation of passionate joy, 
 but again his face darkened. 
 
 Gloucester watched him in silence; besides any 
 motives suggested by the affection he then sincerely 
 bore to Hastings, policy might well interest the duke 
 in the securing to so loyal a Yorkist the hand and the 
 wealth of Lord Warwick's sister; but, prudently not 
 pressing the subject further, he said, in an altered and 
 careless voice, " Pardon me if I have presumed on 
 matters on which each man judges for himself. But 
 as, despite all obstacle, one day or other Anne Nevile 
 shall be mine, it would have delighted me to know 
 a near connection in Lord Hastings. And now, the 
 hour grows late, I prithee let Edward find thee in his 
 chamber. " 
 
 When Hastings attended the king, he at once per- 
 ceived that Edward's manner was changed to him. At 
 first, he attributed the cause to the ill-offices of the 
 queen and her brother ; but the king soon betrayed the 
 true source of his altered humor. 
 
 " My lord, " he said, abruptly, " I am no saint, as 
 thou knowest; but there are some ties, par amour, 
 which, in my mind, become not knights and nobles 
 about a king's person." 
 
 " My liege, I arede you not ! " 
 
 " Tush, William ! " replied the king, more gently ; 
 " thou hast more than once wearied me with application 
 for the pardon of the nigromancer Warner, — the whole 
 court is scandalized at thy love for his daughter. Thou 
 hast absented thyself from thine office on poor pretexts ! 
 I know thee too well not to be aware that love alone 
 can make thee neglect thy king, — thy time has been 
 spent at the knees or in the arms of this young sorceress ! 
 One word for all times, — he whom a witch snares cannot 
 
 VOL. II. — 19
 
 290 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 be a king's true servant! I ask of thee as a right, or as 
 a grace, — see this fair ribaude no more! What, man, 
 are there not ladies enough in merry England, that thou 
 shouldst undo thyself for so unchristian a fere ! " 
 
 " My king ! how can this poor maid have angered thee 
 thus 1 " 
 
 " Knowest thou not " — began the king, sharply, and 
 changing color as he eyed his favorite's mournful 
 astonishment, — 
 
 " Ah, well ! " he muttered to himself, " they have 
 been discreet hitherto, but how long will they be so? 
 I am in time yet. It is enough, " — he added, aloud and 
 gravely — " it is enough that our learned a Bungey holds 
 her father as a most pestilent wizard, whose spells are 
 muttered for Lancaster and the rebel Warwick; that 
 the girl hath her father's unholy gifts, and I lay my 
 command on thee, as liege king, and I pray thee, as 
 loving friend, to see no more either child or sire ! Let 
 this suffice, — and now I will hear thee on state matters." 
 
 Whatever Hastings might feel, he saw that it was 
 no time to venture remonstrance with the king, and 
 strove to collect his thoughts, and speak indifferently 
 on the high interests to which Edward invited him; 
 but he was so distracted and absent that he made but 
 a sorry counsellor, and the king, taking pity on him, 
 dismissed his chamberlain for the night. 
 
 Sleep came not to the couch of Hastings; his acute- 
 ness perceived that whatever Edward's superstition, 
 and he was a devout believer in witchcraft, some more 
 worldly motive actuated him in his resentment to poor 
 Sibyll. But, as we need scarcely say, that neither from 
 the abstracted Warner, nor his innocent daughter, had 
 
 1 It will be remembered that Edward himself was a man of no 
 learning.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 291 
 
 Hastings learned the true cause, he wearied himself 
 with vain conjectures, and knew not that Edward invol- 
 untarily did homage to the superior chivalry of his 
 gallant favorite, when he dreaded that, above all men, 
 Hastings should be made aware of the guilty secret 
 which the philosopher and his child could tell. If 
 Hastings gave his name and rank to Sibyll, how power- 
 ful a weight would the tale of a witness now so obscure 
 suddenly acquire ! 
 
 Turning from the image of Sibyll, thus beset with 
 thoughts of danger, embarrassment, humiliation, dis- 
 grace, ruin, Lord Hastings recalled the words of 
 Gloucester: and the stately image of Katherine, sur- 
 rounded with every memory of early passion, — every 
 attribute of present ambition, — rose before him; and 
 he slept at last, to dream — not of Sibyll and the humble 
 orchard, but of Katherine in her maiden bloom; of the 
 trysting-tree, by the halls of Middleham ; of the broken 
 ring; of the rapture and the woe of his youth's first 
 high-placed love.
 
 !92 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The Strife which Sibyll had courted, between Katherine an 1 bar- 
 self, commences in serious earnest. 
 
 Hastings felt relieved when, the next clay, several 
 couriers arrived, with tidings so important as to merge 
 all considerations into those of state. A secret mes- 
 senger from the French court threw Gloucester into one 
 of those convulsive passions of rage, — to which, with 
 all his intellect and dissimulation, he was sometimes 
 subject, — by the news of Anne's betrothal to Prince 
 Edward ; nor did the letter from Clarence to the king, 
 attesting the success of one of his schemes, comfort 
 Richard for the failure of the other. A letter from 
 Burgundy confirmed the report of the spy, announced 
 Duke Charles's intention of sending a fleet to prevent 
 Warwick's invasion, and rated King Edward sharply 
 for his supineness in not preparing suitably against so 
 formidable a foe. The gay and reckless presumption 
 of Edward, worthier of a knight-errant than a monarch, 
 laughed at the word Invasion. "Pest on Burgundy's 
 ships! I only wish that the earl Avould land!" 1 he 
 said to his council. None echoed the wish! But, 
 later in the day, came a third messenger with informa- 
 tion that roused all Edward's ire; careless of each 
 danger in the distance, he ever sprang into energy and 
 vengeance when a foe was already in the field. And 
 the Lord Fitzhugh (the young nobleman before seen 
 among the rebels at Olney, and who had now succeeded 
 
 1 Com. iii. c. 5.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 293 
 
 to the honors of his house) had suddenly risen in the 
 north, at the head of a formidable rebellion. No man 
 had so large an experience in the warfare of those dis- 
 tricts, the temper of the people, and the inclinations of 
 the various towns and lordships as Montagu ; he was the 
 natural chief to depute against tbe rebels. Some ani- 
 mated discussion took place as to the dependence to be 
 placed in the marquis at sucb a crisis; but while the 
 more wary held it safer, at all hazards, not to leave him 
 unemployed, and to command his services in an expedi- 
 tion that would remove him from the neighborhood of 
 his brother, should the latter land, as was expected, on 
 the coast of Norfolk, Edward, with a blindness of con- 
 ceit that seems almost incredible, believed firmly in the 
 infatuated loyalty of the man whom he had slighted and 
 impoverished, and whom, by his offer of his daughter 
 to the Lancastrian prince, he had yet more recently 
 cozened and deluded. Montagu was hastily summoned, 
 and received orders to march at once to the north, levy 
 forces, and assume their command. The marquis obeyed 
 with fewer words than were natural to him, — left the 
 presence, sprang on his horse, and as he rode from the 
 palace, drew a letter from his bosom. " Ah, Edward," 
 said he, setting his teeth ; " so, after the solemn betrothal 
 of thy daughter to my son, thou wouldst have given her 
 to thy Lancastrian enemy. Coward, to bribe his peace! 
 — recreant, to belie thy word! 1 thank thee for this 
 news, Warwick; for, without that injury, I feel I could 
 never, when the hour came, have drawn sword against 
 this faithless man, — especially for Lancaster. Ay, 
 tremble thou who deridest all truth and honor! He 
 who himself betrays, cannot call vengeance, treason! " 
 
 Meanwhile, Edward departed, for farther prepara- 
 tions, to the Tower of London. New evidences of the
 
 294 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 mine beneath his feet here awaited the incredulous 
 king. On the door of St. Paul's, of many of the 
 metropolitan churches, on the Standard at Chepe, and 
 on London Bridge, during the past night had been 
 affixed, none knew by whom, the celebrated proclama- 
 tion, signed by Warwick and Clarence (drawn up in the 
 bold style of the earl), announcing their speedy return, 
 containing a brief and vigorous description of the mis- 
 rule of the realm, and their determination to reform all 
 evils and redress all wrongs. 1 Though the proclama- 
 tion named not the restoration of the Lancastrian line 
 (doubtless from regard for Henry's safety), all men in 
 the metropolis were already aware of the formidable 
 league between Margaret and Warwick. Yet, even 
 still, Edward smiled in contempt, for he had faith in 
 the letter received from Clarence, and felt assured that 
 the moment the duke and the earl landed, the former 
 would betray his companion stealthily to the king; so, 
 despite all these exciting subjects of grave alarm, the 
 nightly banquet at the Tower was never merrier and 
 more joyous. Hastings left the feast ere it deepened 
 into revel, and, absorbed in various and profound con- 
 templation, entered his apartment. He threw himself 
 on a seat, and leaned his face on his hands. 
 
 "Oh, no — no!" he muttered, "now, in the hour 
 when true greatness is most seen, — when prince and 
 peer crowd around me for counsel; when noble, knight, 
 and squire crave permission to march in the troop of 
 which Hastings is the leader, — now I feel how impos- 
 sible, how falsely fair, the dream that I could forget 
 all — all for a life of obscurity — for a young girl's 
 love ! Love ! as if I had not felt its delusions to pall- 
 
 1 See for this proclamation, Ellis's " Original Letters," vol. i., 
 second series, letter 42.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 295 
 
 ing! love, as if I could love again; or, if love, — alas, 
 it must be a light reflected but from memory ! And 
 Katherine is free once more ! " His eye fell as lie 
 spoke, perhaps in shame and remorse, that, feeling 
 thus now, he had felt so differently when he bade 
 Sibyll smile till his return ! 
 
 " It is the air of this accursed court which taints our 
 best resolves!" he murmured, as an apology for him- 
 self; but scarcely was the poor excuse made than the 
 murmur broke into an exclamation of surprise and joy. 
 A letter lay before him, — he recognized the hand of 
 Katherine. What years had passed since her writing 
 had met his eye, since the lines that bade him " fare- 
 well, and forget! " Those lines had been blotted with 
 tears, and these, as he tore open the silk that bound 
 them, — these, the trace of tears, too, was on them! 
 Yet they were but few, and in tremulous characters. 
 They ran thus : — 
 
 " To-morrow, before noon, the Lord Hastings is prayed to 
 visit one whose life he hath saddened by the thought and the 
 accusation that she hath clouded and imbittered his. 
 
 "Katherine de Bonville." 
 
 Leaving Hastings to such meditations of fear or of 
 hope, as these lines could call forth, we lead the reader 
 to a room not very distant from his own, — the room of 
 the illustrious Friar Bungey. 
 
 The ex-tregetour was standing before the captured 
 Eureka, and gazing on it with an air of serio-comic 
 despair and rage. We say the Eureka, as comprising 
 all the ingenious contrivances towards one single object 
 invented by its maker, an harmonious compound of 
 many separate details ; — but the iron creature no longer 
 deserved that superb appellation, for its various mem-
 
 296 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 bers were now disjointed and dislocated, and lay pell- 
 mell in multiform confusion. 
 
 By the side of the friar stood a female, enveloped in 
 a long, scarlet mantle, with the hood partially drawn 
 over the face, hut still leaving visible the hard, thin, 
 villanous lips, the stern, sharp chin, and the jaw reso- 
 lute and solid as if hewn from stone. 
 
 " I tell thee, Graul," said the friar, " that thou hast 
 had far the best of the bargain. I have put this 
 diabolical contrivance to all manner of shapes, and 
 have muttered over it enough Latin to have charmed 
 a monster into civility. And the accursed thing, after 
 nearly pinching off three fingers, and scalding me with 
 seething water, and spluttering and spattering enough 
 to have terrified any man but Friar Bungey out of his 
 skin, is obstlnatus ut mulus, — dogged as a mule; and 
 was absolutely good for nought, till [ happily thought 
 of separating this vessel from all the rest of the gear, 
 and it serves now for the boiling my eggs ! But, by 
 the soul of Father Merlin, whom the saints assoil, 
 I need not have given myself all this torment for 
 a thing which, at best, does the Avork of a farthing 
 pipkin ! " 
 
 " Quick, master; the hour is late! I must go while 
 yet the troopers, and couriers, and riders, hurrying to 
 and fro, keep the gates from closing. What wantest 
 thou with Graul?" 
 
 " More reverence, child ! " growled the friar. " What 
 I want of thee is briefly told, if thou hast the wit to 
 serve me. This miserable Warner must himself expound 
 to me the uses and trick of his malignant contrivance. 
 Thou must find and bring him hither ! " 
 
 " And if he will not expound 1 " 
 
 " The deputy-governor of the Tower will lend me a
 
 THE LAST OF THE BAEONS. 297 
 
 stone dungeon, and, if need be, the use of the brake to 
 unlock the dotard's tongue." 
 
 " On what plea 1 " 
 
 " That Adam Warner is a wizard, in the pay of Lord 
 Warwick, whom a more mighty master like myself 
 alone can duly examine and defeat." 
 
 " And if I bring thee the sorcerer, — what wilt thou 
 teach me in return 1 " 
 
 " What desirest thou most 1 " 
 
 Graul mused, and said, " There is war in the wind. 
 Graul follows the camp, — her trooper gets gold and 
 booty. But the trooper is stronger than Graul; and 
 when the trooper sleeps, it is with his knife by his 
 side, and his sleep is light and broken, for he has 
 wicked dreams. Give me a potion to make sleep deep, 
 that his eyes may not open when Graul filches his gold, 
 and his hand may be too heavy to draw the knife from 
 its sheath ! " 
 
 " Immunda — detestabilis ! — thine own paramour ! " 
 
 " He hath beat me with his bridle-rein, he hath given 
 a silver broad piece to Grisell ; Grisell hath sat on his 
 knee : Graul never pardons ! " 
 
 The friar, rogue as he was, shuddered. " I cannot 
 help thee to murder, I cannot give thee the potion; 
 name some other reward." 
 
 "I go-" 
 
 "Nay, nay, — think, pause." 
 
 " I know where Warner is hid. By this hour to- 
 morrow night, I can place him in thy power. Say the 
 word, and pledge me the draught." 
 
 "Well, well, mulier abominabllh ! — that is, irre- 
 sistible bonnibel. I cannot give thee the potion; but 
 I will teach thee an art which can make sleep heavier 
 than the anodyne, and which wastes not like the essence,
 
 298 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 but strengthens by usage ; an art thou shalt have at thy 
 fingers' ends, and which often draws from the sleeper 
 the darkest secrets of his heart." 1 
 
 " It is magic," said Graul, with joy. 
 
 " Ay, magic." 
 
 "I will bring thee the wizard. But listen; he 
 never stirs abroad, save with his daughter. I must 
 bring both." 
 
 " Nay ; I want not the girl." 
 
 " But I dare not throttle her, for a great lord loves 
 her, — who would find out the deed and avenge it; and, 
 if she be left behind, she will go to the lord, and the 
 lord will discover what thou hast done with the wizard, 
 and thou wilt hang ! " 
 
 " Never say ' hang ' to me, Graul; it is ill-mannered 
 and ominous. Who is the lord 1 " 
 
 " Hastings. " 
 
 " pest ! — and already he hath been searching for the 
 thing yonder; and I have brooded over it night and 
 day, like a hen over a chalk egg, — only that the egg 
 does not snap off the hen's claws, as that diabolism 
 would fain snap off my digits. But the war will carry 
 Hastings away in its whirlwind; and, in danger, the 
 duchess is my slave, and will bear me through all. So, 
 thou mayst bring the girl: and strangle her not; for 
 no good ever comes of a murder, — unless, indeed, it be 
 absolutely necessary ! " 
 
 " I know the men who will help me , — bold ribands, 
 whom I will guerdon myself; for I want not thy coins, 
 but thy craft. When the curfew has tolled, and the 
 bat hunts the moth, we will bring thee the quarry — " 
 
 1 We have before said that animal magnetism was known to 
 Bnngey, and familiar to the necromancers, or rather theurgists, of 
 the middle ages.
 
 THE LAST OF THE B AEONS. 299 
 
 Graul turned ; but, as she gained the door, she stopped, 
 and said abruptly, throwing back her hood, — 
 
 " What age dost thou deem me '? " 
 
 " Marry," quoth the friar, — " an I had not seen thee 
 on thy mother's knee, when she followed my stage of 
 Tregetour, I should have guessed thee for thirty, but 
 thou hast led too jolly a life to look still in the blossom, 
 — why speer'st thou the question 1 " 
 
 " Because, when trooper and riband say tome,' Graul, 
 thou art too worn and too old to drink of our cup and sit 
 in the lap, to follow the young fere to the battle, and 
 weave the blithe dance in the fair,' I would depart 
 from my sisters, and have a hut of my own, — and a 
 black cat without a white hair; and steal herbs by the 
 new moon, and bones from the charnel ; and curse those 
 whom I hate, — and cleave the misty air on a besom, 
 like Mother Halkin, of Edmonton. Ha, ha! Master, 
 thou shalt present me, then, to the Sabbat. Graul has 
 the metal for a bonny witch ! " 
 
 The tymbestere vanished with a laugh. The friar 
 muttered a paternoster, for once, perchance, devoutly; 
 and, after having again deliberately scanned the disjecta 
 membra of the Eureka, gravely took forth a duck's egg 
 'from his cupboard, and applied the master-agent of the 
 machine, which Warner hoped was to change the face of 
 the globe, to the only practical utility it possessed to the 
 mountebank's comprehension.
 
 300 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The Meeting of Hastings and Katlierine. 
 
 The next morning, while Edward was engaged in levy- 
 ing from his opulent citizens all the loans he could 
 extract, knowing that gold is the sinew of war; while 
 Worcester was manning the fortress of the Tower, in 
 which the queen, then near her confinement, was to 
 reside during the campaign ; while Gloucester was writ- 
 ing commissions to captains and barons to raise men ; 
 while Sir Anthony Lord Rivers was ordering improve- 
 ments in his dainty damasquine armor, and the whole 
 Fortress Palatine was animated and alive with the stir 
 of the coming strife, — Lord Hastings escaped from the 
 bustle, and repaired to the house of Katlierine. With 
 what motive, with what intentions, was not knoAvn 
 clearly to himself; — perhaps, for there was bitterness 
 in his very love for Katlierine, to enjoy the retaliation 
 due to his own wounded pride, and say to the idol of 
 his youth, as he had said to Gloucester, "Time is, — 
 time was ; " perhaps, with some remembrance of the faith 
 due to Sibyll, wakened up the more now that Katlierine 
 seemed actually to escape from the ideal image into the 
 real woman, — to be easily wooed and won. But, cer- 
 tainly, SibylFs case was not wholly lost, though greatly 
 shaken and endangered, when Lord Hastings alighted 
 at Lady Bonville's gate; but his face gradually grew 
 paler, his mien less assured, as he drew near and nearer 
 to the apartment and the presence of the widowed 
 Katlierine.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 301 
 
 She was seated alone, and in the same room in which 
 he had last seen her. Her deep mourning only served, 
 by contrasting the pale and exquisite clearness of her 
 complexion, to enhance her beauty. Hastings bowed 
 low, and seated himself by her side in silence. 
 
 The Lady of Bonville eyed him for some moments 
 with an unutterable expression of melancholy and ten- 
 derness. All her pride seemed to have gone; the very 
 character of her face was changed: grave severity had 
 become soft timidity, and stately self-control was broken 
 into the unmistaken struggle of hope and fear. 
 
 "Hastings, — William!" she said, in a gentle and 
 low whisper, and, at the sound of that last name from 
 those lips, the noble felt his veins thrill and his heart 
 throb. "If," she continued, "the step I have taken 
 seems to thee unwomanly and too bold, know, at least, 
 what was my design and my excuse. There was a time " 
 (and Katherine blushed) " when, thou knowest well 
 that, had this hand been mine to bestow, it would 
 have been his who claimed the half of this ring." And 
 Katherine took from a small crystal casket the well- 
 remembered token. 
 
 " The broken ring foretold but the broken troth," said 
 Hastings, averting his face. 
 
 " Thy conscience rebukes thy words," replied Kath- 
 erine, sadly; " I pledged my faith, if thou couldst win 
 my father's word. What maid, and that maid a Nevile, 
 could so forget duty and honor as to pledge thee more ? 
 We were severed. Pass — oh, pass over that time! 
 My father loved me dearly ; but when did pride and 
 ambition ever deign to take heed of the wild fancies of 
 a girl's heart? Three suitors, wealthy lords, — whose 
 alliance gave strength to my kindred, in the day when 
 their very lives depended on their swords, — were rivals
 
 302 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 for Earl Salisbury's daughter. Earl Salisbury bade his 
 daughter choose. Thy great friend, and my own kins- 
 man, Duke Richard of York, himself pleaded for thy 
 rivals. He proved to me that my disobedience — if, 
 indeed, for the first time, a child of my house could 
 disobey its chief — would be an eternal barrier to thy 
 fortune; that while Salisbury was thy foe, he himself 
 could not forward thy valiancy and merit; that it was 
 with me to forward thy ambition, though I could not 
 reward thy love; that, from the hour I was another's, 
 my mighty kinsmen themselves — for they were gen- 
 erous — would be the first to aid the duke in thy career. 
 Hastings, even then, I would have prayed, at least, to 
 be the bride, not of man, but God. But I was trained 
 — as what noble demoiselle is not? — to submit wholly 
 to a parent's welfare and his will. As a nun, I could 
 but pray for the success of my father's cause; as a wife, 
 I should bring to Salisbury and to York the retainers 
 and the strongholds of a baron ! I obeyed. Hear me 
 on. Of the three suitors for my hand, two were young 
 and gallant, — women deemed them fair and comely ; 
 and had my choice been one of these, thou mightest 
 have deemed that a new love had chased the old. Since 
 choice was mine, I chose the man love could not choose, 
 and took this sad comfort to my heart, — ' He, the for- 
 saken Hastings, will see, in my very choice, that I was 
 but the slave of duty; my choice itself my penance.' " 
 
 Katherine paused, and tears dropped fast from her 
 eyes. Hastings held his hand over his countenance, 
 and only by the heaving of his heart was his emotion 
 visible. Katherine resumed: — 
 
 " Once wedded, I knew what became a wife. We met 
 again ; and to thy first disdain and anger, — (which it 
 had been dishonor in me to soothe by one word that
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 303 
 
 said, ' The wife remembers the maiden's love ' ) , — to 
 these, thy first emotions, succeeded the more cruel 
 revenge, which would have changed sorrow and strug- 
 gle to remorse, and shame. And then, then, — weak 
 woman that I Avas, — I wrapped myself in scorn and 
 pride. Nay, I felt deep anger — was it unjust? — that 
 thou couldst so misread, and so repay, the heart which 
 had nothing left, save virtue, to compensate for love. 
 And yet, yet, often when thou didst deem me most 
 hard, most proof against memory and feeling — but 
 why relate the trial? Heaven supported me, and if 
 thou lovest me no longer, thou canst not despise me." 
 
 At these last words Hastings was at her feet, bending 
 over her hand, and stifled by his emotions. Katherine 
 gazed at him for a moment through her own tears, and 
 then resumed: — 
 
 "But thou hadst, as man, consolations no woman 
 would desire or covet. And oh, what grieved me most 
 was, not — no, not the jealous, the wounded vanity; 
 but it was at least this self-accusation, this remorse, 
 that — but for one goading remembrance, of love 
 returned and love forsaken — thou hadst never so 
 descended from thy younger nature, never so trifled 
 with the solemn trust of Time. Ah, when I have 
 heard, or seen, or fancied one fault in thy maturer 
 manhood, unworthy of thy bright youth, anger of 
 myself has made me bitter and stern to thee ; and if 
 I taunted, or chid, or vexed thy pride, how little didst 
 thou know that through the too shrewish humor spoke 
 the too soft remembrance! For this, for this; and 
 believing that through all, alas! my image was not 
 replaced, — when my hand was free, I was grateful that 
 I might still — " the lady's pale cheek grew brighter 
 than the rose, her voice faltered, and became low and
 
 304 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 indistinct) — "I might still think it mine to atone to 
 thee for the past. And if," she added, with a sudden 
 and generous energy, — "if in this I have bowed my 
 pride, it is because by pride thou wert wounded; and 
 now at last, thou hast a just revenge." 
 
 Oh, terrible rival for thee, lost Sibyll! Was it won- 
 derful that, while that head drooped upon his breast, 
 while in that enchanted change which Love the softener 
 makes in lips long scornful, eyes long proud and 
 cold, he felt that Katherine Nevile — tender, gentle, 
 frank without boldness, lofty without arrogance — had 
 replaced the austere dame of Bonville, whom he half- 
 hated while he wooed, — oh, was it wonderful that the 
 sold of Hastings fled back to the old time, forgot the 
 intervening vows, and more chill affections, and repeated 
 only with passionate lips, " Katherine, loved still, loved 
 ever, — mine, mine, at last! " 
 
 Then followed delicious silence, — then vows, con- 
 fessions, questions, answers: the thrilling interchange 
 of hearts long divided, and now rushing into one. And 
 time rolled on, till Katherine, gently breaking from 
 her lover, said, — 
 
 " And now, that thou hast the right to know and 
 guide my projects, approve, I pray thee, my present 
 purpose. War awaits thee, and we must part awhile! " 
 At these words her brow darkened, and her lip quiv- 
 ered. " Oh, that I should have lived to mourn the day 
 when Lord Warwick, untrue to Salisbury and to York, 
 joined his arms with Lancaster and Margaret, — the 
 day when Katherine could blush for the brother she had 
 deemed the glory of her house! No, no" (she con- 
 tinued, as Hastings interrupted her with generous 
 excuses for the earl, and allusion to the known slights 
 he had received), — "no, no; make not his cause the
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 305 
 
 worse, by telling me that an unworthy pride, the grudge 
 of some thwart to his policy or power, has made him 
 forget what was due to the memory of his kinsman 
 York, to the mangled corpse of his father Salisbury. 
 Thinkest thou, that but for this, I could — " She 
 stopped, but Hastings divined her thought, and guessed 
 that, if spoken, it had run thus: — " That I could, even 
 now, have received the homage of one who departs to 
 meet, with banner and clarion, my brother as his foe? " 
 The lovely sweetness of the late expression had gone 
 from Katherine's face, and its aspect showed that her 
 high and ancestral spirit had yielded but to one passion. 
 She pursued, — 
 
 " While this strife lasts, it becomes my widowhood, 
 and kindred position with the earl, to retire to the 
 convent my mother founded. To-morrow I depart." 
 
 " Alas ! " said Hastings, " thou speakest of the strife 
 as if but a single field. But Warwick returns not to 
 these shores, nor bows himself to league with Lancaster, 
 — for a chance hazardous and desperate , as Edward too 
 rashly deems it. It is in vain to deny that the earl is 
 prepared for a grave and lengthened war, and much I 
 doubt whether Edward can resist his power; for the 
 idolatry of the very land will swell the ranks of so 
 dread a rebel. What if he succeed, — what if we be 
 driven into exile, as Henry's friends before us; what 
 if the king-maker be the king-dethroner 1 — then, Kath- 
 erine, then once more thou wilt be at the hest of thy 
 hostile kindred, and once more, dowered as thou art, 
 and thy womanhood still in its richest bloom, thy hand 
 will be lost to Hastings." 
 
 "Nay, if that be all thy fear, take with thee this 
 pledge : that Warwick's treason to the house for which 
 my father fell, dissolves his power over one driven to 
 vol. ii. — 20
 
 306 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 disown him as a brother, — knowing Earl Salisbury, 
 had he foreseen such disgrace, had disowned him as 
 a son. And if there be defeat, and flight, and exile, 
 — wherever thou wanderest, Hastings, shall Katherine 
 be found beside thee. Fare thee well, and our Lady 
 shield thee : may thy lance be victorious against all 
 foes, — save one. Thou wilt forbear my — that is, 
 the earl!" And Katherine, softened at that thought, 
 sobbed aloud. 
 
 " And come triumph or defeat, I have thy pledge?" 
 said Hastings, soothing her. 
 
 " See," said Katherine, taking the broken ring from 
 the casket; "now, for the first time since I bore the 
 name of Bonville, I lay this relic on my heart, — art 
 thou answered ? "
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 307 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Hastings learns what has befallen Sibyll — Repairs to the King, 
 and encounters an Old Rival. 
 
 i 
 
 " It is destiny, " said Hastings to himself, when early 
 the next morning he was on his road to the farm, — " it 
 is destiny ; and who can resist his fate 1 " 
 
 " It is destiny ! " — phrase of the weak human heart ! 
 "It is destiny!" dark apology for every error! The 
 strong and the virtuous admit no destiny ! On earth, 
 guides Conscience, — in heaven watches God. And 
 Destiny is but the phantom we invoke to silence the one, 
 to dethrone the other ! 
 
 Hastings spared not his good steed. With great diffi- 
 culty had he snatched a brief respite from imperious 
 business, to accomplish the last poor duty now left to 
 him to fulfil, — to confront the maid whose heart he had 
 seduced in vain, and say, at length, honestly and firmly, 
 " I cannot wed thee. Forget me, and farewell. " 
 
 Doubtless, his learned and ingenious mind conjured 
 up softer words than these, and more purfled periods 
 wherein to dress the iron truth. But in these two 
 sentences the truth lay. He arrived at the farm, he 
 entered the house, — he felt it as a reprieve, that he met 
 not the bounding step of the welcoming Sibyll. He sat 
 down in the humble chamber, and waited awhile in 
 patience, — no voice was heard. The silence at length 
 surprised and alarmed him. He proceeded farther. He 
 was met by the widowed owner of the house, who was 
 weeping; and her first greeting prepared him for what 
 had chanced. " Oh, my lord, you have come to tell me
 
 308 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 they are safe, — they have not fallen into the hands of 
 their enemies: the good gentleman, so meek, — the poor 
 lady, so fair ! " 
 
 Hastings stood aghast, — a few sentences more ex- 
 plained all that he already guessed. A strange man 
 had arrived the evening hefore at the house, praying 
 Adam and his daughter to accompany him to the Lord 
 Hastings, who had heen thrown from his horse, and 
 was now in a cottage in the neighboring lane, — not hurt 
 dangerously, but unable to be removed, — and who had 
 urgent matters to communicate. Not questioning the 
 truth of this story, Adam and Sibyll had hurried forth, 
 and returned no more. Alarmed by their long absence, 
 the widow, who had first received the message from the 
 stranger, went herself to the cottage, and found that the 
 story was a fable. Every search had since been made 
 for Adam and his daughter, but in vain. The widow, 
 confirmed in her previous belief that her lodgers had 
 been attainted Lancastrians, could but suppose that they 
 had been thus betrayed to their enemies. Hastings 
 heard this with a dismay and remorse impossible to ex- 
 press. His only conjecture was, that the king had dis- 
 covered their retreat, and taken this measure to break 
 off the intercourse he had so sternly denounced. Full 
 of these ideas, he hastily remounted, and stopped not 
 till once more at the gates of the Tower. Hastening to 
 Edward's closet, the moment he saw the king, he ex- 
 claimed, in great emotion, "My liege — my liege, do 
 not, at this hour, when I have need of my whole energy 
 to serve thee, do not madden my brain, and palsy my 
 arm. This old man — the poor maid • — Sibyll — Warner 
 — speak, my liege — only tell me they are safe — promise 
 me they shall go free, and I swear to obey thee in all 
 else ! I will thank thee in the battle-field ! "
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 309 
 
 " Thou art mad, Hastings ! " said the king, in great 
 astonishment. — "Hush!" and he glanced significantly 
 at a person who stood before several heaps of gold, 
 ranged upon a table in the recess of the room. — " See, " 
 he whispered, " yonder is the goldsmith, who hath 
 brought me a loan from himself and his fellows ! — 
 Pretty tales for the city thy folly will send abroad ! " 
 
 But before Hastings could vent his impatient answer, 
 this person, to Edward's still greater surprise, had ad- 
 vanced from his place, and forgetting all ceremony, had 
 seized Hastings by the hem of his surcoat, exclaiming, — ■ 
 
 " My lord, my lord, — what new horror is this ? — 
 Sibyll ! — methought she was worthless, and had fled to 
 thee!" 
 
 " Ten thousand devils ! " shouted the king, — " am I 
 ever to be tormented by that damnable wizard and his 
 witch child? And is it, Sir Peer and Sir Goldsmith, 
 in your king's closet that ye come, the very eve before 
 he marches to battle, to speer and glower at each other 
 like two madmen as ye are ? " 
 
 Neither peer nor goldsmith gave way, till the courtier, 
 naturally recovering himself the first, fell on his knee, 
 and said, with firm, though profound respect, " Sire, if 
 poor William Hastings has ever merited from the king 
 one kindly thought, one generous word, forgive now 
 whatever may displease thee in his passion or his suit, 
 and tell him what prison contains those whom it would 
 forever dishonor his knighthood to know punished and 
 endangered but for his offence. " 
 
 " My lord ! " answered the king, softened, but still 
 surprised, " think you seriously that I, who but reluc- 
 tantly, in this lovely month, leave my green lawns of 
 Shene, to save a crown, could have been vexing my 
 brain by stratagems to seize a lass, — whom I swear by
 
 310 THE LAST OF THE BAROXS. 
 
 St. George I do not envy thee in the least 1 If that does 
 not suffice, incredulous dullard, why then take my kingly 
 word, never before passed for so slight an occasion, that 
 I know nothing whatsoever of thy damsel's where- 
 about, nor her pestilent father's, — where they abode 
 of late, where they now be, and, what is more, if any 
 man has usurped his king's right to imprison the king's 
 subjects, find him out, and name his punishment. Art 
 thou convinced 1 " 
 
 " I am, my liege, " said Hastings. 
 
 " But — " began the goldsmith. 
 
 " Holloa, you, too, sir! This is too much ! We have 
 condescended to answer the man who arms three thou- 
 sand retainers — " 
 
 " And I, please your Highness, bring you the gold to 
 pay them," said the trader, bluntly. 
 
 The king bit his lip, and then burst into his usual 
 merry laugh. 
 
 " Thou art in the right, Master Alwyn. Finish count- 
 ing the pieces, and then go and consult with my chamber- 
 lain, — he must off with the cock-crow; but, since ye 
 seem to understand each other, he shall make thee his 
 lieutenant of search, and I will sign any order he pleases 
 for the recovery of the lost wisdom and the stolen beauty. 
 Go and calm thyself, Hastings. " 
 
 " I will attend you presently, my lord, " said Alwyn, 
 aside, " in your own apartment. " 
 
 "Do so," said Hastings; and, grateful for the king's 
 consideration, he sought his rooms. There, indeed, 
 Alwyn soon joined him, and learned from the noble- 
 man what filled him at once with joy and terror. 
 Knowing that Warner and Sibyll had left the Tower, 
 he had surmised that the girl's virtue had at last suc- 
 cumbed, and it delighted him to hear from Lord Has-
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 311 
 
 tings, whose word to men was never questionable, the 
 solemn assurance of her unstained chastity. But he 
 trembled at this mysterious disappearance, and knew 
 not to whom to impute the snare, till the penetration 
 of Hastings suddenly alighted near, at least, to the 
 clew. " The Duchess of Bedford, " said he, " ever in- 
 creasing in superstition as danger increases, may have 
 desired to refind so great a scholar, and reputed an 
 astrologer and magician, — if so, all is safe. On the 
 other hand, her favorite, the friar, ever bore a jealous 
 grudge to poor Adam, and may have sought to abstract 
 him from her Grace's search, — here, there may be moles- 
 tation to Adam, but surely no danger to Sibyll. Harkye, 
 Alwyn : thou lovest the maid more worthily, and — " 
 Hastings stopped short, — for such is infirm human 
 nature, that, though he had mentally resigned Sibyll for- 
 ever, he could not yet calmly face the thought of re- 
 signing her to a rival. " Thou lovest her," he renewed, 
 more coldly, " and to thee , therefore, I may safely trust 
 the search, which time, and circumstance, and a soldier's 
 duty forbid to me. And believe — oh, believe, that I say 
 not this from a passion which may move thy jealousy, 
 but rather with a brother's holy love. If thou canst but 
 see her safe, and lodged where nor danger nor wrong 
 can find her, thou hast no friend in the wide world 
 whose service through life thou mayest command like 
 mine." 
 
 " My lord, " said Alwyn, dryly, " I want no friends ! 
 Young as I am, I have lived long enough to see that 
 friends follow fortune, but never make it ! I will find 
 this poor maid and her honored father, if I spend my 
 last groat on the search. Get me but such an order from 
 the king as may place the law at my control, and awe 
 even her Grace of Bedford, — and I promise the rest ! "
 
 312 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 Hastings, much relieved, deigned to press the gold- 
 smith's reluctant hand; and, leaving him alone for a 
 few minutes, returned with a warrant from the king, 
 which seemed to Alwyn sufficiently precise and author- 
 itative. The goldsmith then departed, and first he 
 sought the friar, but found him not at home. Bungey 
 had taken with him, as was his wont, the keys of his 
 mysterious apartment. Alwyn then hastened elsewhere, 
 to secure those experienced in such a search, and to head 
 it in person. At the Tower, the evening was passed 
 in bustle and excitement, — the last preparations for 
 departure. The queen, who was then far advanced 
 towards her confinement, was, as we before said, to 
 remain at the Tower, which was now strongly manned. 
 E-oused from her wonted apathy by the imminent dan- 
 gers that awaited Edward, the night was passed by her 
 in tears and prayers, — by him, in the sound sleep of 
 confident valor. The next morning departed for the 
 north the several leaders, — Gloucester, Rivers, Has- 
 tings and the king.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 313 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The Landing of Lord Warwick, and the Events that ensue 
 
 thereon. 
 
 And Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, " prepared 
 such a greate navie as lightly hath not been seene before 
 gathered in manner of all nations, which armie laie at 
 the mouth of the Seyne, ready to fight with the Earle of 
 Warwick, when he should set out of his harborowe." * 
 
 But the winds fought for the Avenger. In the night 
 came " a terrible tempest, " which scattered the duke's 
 ships " one from another, so that two of them were 
 not in compagnie together in one place ; " and Avhen 
 the tempest had done its work, it passed away, and the 
 gales were fair, and the heaven was clear. When, the 
 next day, the earl " halsed up the sayles, " and came in 
 sight of Dartmouth. 
 
 It was not with an army of foreign hirelings that 
 Lord Warwick set forth on his mighty enterprise. 
 Scanty, indeed, were the troops he brought from France, 
 — for he had learned from England that " men so much 
 daily and hourely desired and wished so sore his arrival 
 and return, that almost all men were in harness, looking 
 for his landyng. " ' 2 As his ships neared the coast, and 
 
 1 Hall, p. 282, ed. 1809. 
 
 2 The popular feeling in favor of the earl is described by Hall 
 with somewhat more eloquence and vigor than are common with 
 that homely chronicler : " The absence of the Earle of Warwick 
 made the common people daily more and more to long, and bee 
 desirous to have the sight of him, and presently to behold his
 
 314 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 the banner of the Bagged Staff, worked in gold, shone 
 in the sun, the shores swarmed with armed crowds, not 
 to resist, but to welcome. From cliff to cliff, wide and 
 far, blazed rejoicing bonfires; and from cliif to cliff, wide 
 and far, burst the shout, when, first of all his men, bare- 
 headed, but, save the burgonet, in complete mail, the 
 popular hero leaped to shore. 
 
 " When the earle had taken land, he made a proclama- 
 tion, in the name of King Henry VI., upon high paynes, 
 commanding and charging all men, apt or able to bear 
 armour, to prepare themselves to fight against Edward 
 Duke of York, who had untruly usurped the croune and 
 dignity of this realm. " 1 
 
 And where was Edward 1 — afar, following the forces 
 of Fitzhugh and Robin of Redesdale, who, by artful 
 retreat, drew him farther and farther northward, and 
 left all the other quarters of the kingdom free to send 
 
 personage. For they judged that the sunne was clerely taken 
 from the world when hee was ahsent. In such high estimation 
 amongst the people was his name, that neither no one manne they 
 had iu so much honour, neither no one persone they so much praised, 
 or, to the clouds, so highly extolled. What shall I say? His 
 only name sounded in every song in the mouth of the common 
 people, and his persone [effigies] was represented with great reve- 
 rence when publique plaies or open triumphes should bee shewed 
 or set furthe abrode in the stretes," etc. This lively passage, if 
 not too highly colored, serves to show us the rude saturnaliau 
 kind of liberty that existed, even under a kiug so vindictive as 
 Edward IV. Though an individual might be hauged for the jest 
 that he would make his son heir to the crown (namely, the grocer's 
 shop, which bore that sign), yet no tyranny could deal with the 
 sentiment of the masses. In our own day, it would be less safe 
 than in that, to make public exhibition, " in plaies and triumphes," 
 of sympathy with a man attainted as a traitor, and in open rebel- 
 lion to the crown ! 
 1 Hall, p 82.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 315 
 
 their thousands to the banners of Lancaster and War- 
 wick. And even as the news of the earl's landing 
 reached the king, it spread also through all the towns 
 of the north, — and all the towns in the north were in 
 " a great rore, and made fires, and sang songs, crying, 
 1 King Henry, King Henry ! a Warwicke, a Warwicke ! ' " 
 But his warlike and presumptuous spirit forsook not the 
 chief of that bloody and fatal race — the line of the 
 English Pelops — " bespattered with kindred gore. " i 
 A messenger from Burgundy was in his tent when the 
 news reached him. " Back to the duke! " cried Edward; 
 " tell him to re-collect his navy, guard the sea, scour the 
 streams, that the earl shall not escape, nor return to 
 France, — for the doings in England, let me alone! I 
 have ability and puissance to overcome all enemies and 
 rebels in mine own realm. " 2 
 
 And therewith he raised his camp, abandoned the pur- 
 suit of Fitzhugh, summoned Montagu to join him (it 
 being now safer to hold the marquis near him, and near 
 the axe, if his loyalty became suspected), and marched 
 on to meet the earl. Nor did the earl tarry from the 
 encounter. His army, swelling as he passed, — and as 
 men read his proclamations to reform all grievances and 
 right all wrongs, — he pressed on to meet the king, while 
 fast and fast upon Edward's rear came the troops of 
 Fitzhugh and Hilyard; no longer flying, but pursuing. 
 The king was the more anxious to come up to Warwick, 
 inasmuch as he relied greatly upon the treachery of 
 Clarence, either secretly to betray or openly to desert 
 the earl. And he knew that if he did the latter on the 
 eve of a battle, it could not fail morally to weaken War- 
 wick, and dishearten his army by fear that desertion 
 should prove, as it ever does, the most contagious dis' 
 1 JEsch. " Agam." 2 Hall, p. 283.
 
 o 
 
 16 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 ease that can afflict a camp. It is probable, however, 
 that the enthusiasm which had surrounded the earl with 
 volunteers so numerous, had far exceeded the anticipa- 
 tions of the inexperienced Clarence, and would have 
 forbid him that opportunity of betraying the earl. How- 
 ever this be, the rival armies drew near and nearer. 
 The king halted in his rapid march at a small village, 
 and took up his quarters in a fortified house, to which 
 there was no access but by a single bridge. 1 Edward 
 himself retired for a short time to his couch, for he had 
 need of all his strength in the battle he foresaw. But 
 scarce had he closed his eyes when Alexander Carlile, 2 
 the sergeant of the royal minstrels, followed by Hast- 
 ings and Kivers (their jealousy laid at rest for a time in 
 the sense of their king's danger), rushed into his room. 
 
 " Arm, sire, arm ! — Lord Montagu has thrown off the 
 mask, and rides through thy troops, shouting « Long live 
 King Henry ! ' " 
 
 "Ah, traitor!" cried the king, leaping from his bed. 
 "From Warwick, hate was my due, — but not from 
 Montagu ! Kivers, help buckle on my mail. Hast- 
 ings, post my body-guard at the bridge. We will sell 
 our lives dear." 
 
 Hastings vanished. Edward had scarcely hurried on 
 his helm, cuirass, and greaves, when Gloucester entered, 
 calm in the midst of peril. 
 
 " Your enemies are marching to seize you, brother. 
 Hark ! behind you rings the cry, ' A Fitzhugh, a Kobin, 
 — death to the tyrant! ' Hark ! in front, • A Montagu, 
 a Warwick. — Long live King Henry ! ' I come to 
 redeem my word, — to share your exile or your death. 
 Choose either while there is yet time. Thy choice is 
 
 mine! " 
 
 1 Sharon Turner; Comines. 2 Hearne's "Fragment."
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 317 
 
 And while lie spoke, behind, before, came the various 
 cries near and nearer. The lion of March was in the 
 toils. 
 
 " Now, my two-handed sword ! " said Edward. " Glou- 
 cester, in this weapon learn my choice! " 
 
 But now all the principal barons and captains, still 
 true to the king, whose crown was already lost, flocked 
 in a body to the chamber. They fell on their knees, 
 and with tears implored him to save himself for a 
 happier day. 
 
 " There is yet time to escape," said d'Eyncourt, — " to 
 pass the bridge, to gain the seaport ! Think not that 
 a soldier's death will be left thee. Numbers Avill suffice 
 to encumber thine arm,— to seize thy person. Live not 
 to be Warwick's prisoner, — shown as a wild beast in 
 its cage to the hooting crowd!" 
 
 "If not on thyself," exclaimed Rivers, "have pity 
 on these loyal gentlemen, and for the sake of their 
 lives preserve thine own. What is flight? Warwick 
 fled ! " 
 
 "True, — and returned/" added Gloucester. "You 
 are right, my lords. Come, sire, we must fly. Our 
 rights fly not with us, but shall fight for us in 
 absence ! " 
 
 The calm will of this strange and terrible boy had 
 its effect upon Edward. He suffered his brother to 
 lead him from the chamber, grinding his teeth in impo- 
 tent rage. He mounted his horse while Rivers held 
 the stirrup, and, with some six or seven knights and 
 earls, rode to the bridge, already occupied by Hastings 
 and a small but determined guard. 
 
 "Come, Hastings," said the king, with a ghastly 
 smile, — "they tell us we must fly! " 
 
 " True, sire, haste, — haste ! I stay but to deceive the
 
 318 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 enemy by feigning to defend the pass, and to counsel, 
 as I best may, the faithful soldiers we leave behind. " 
 
 " Brave Hastings ! " said Gloucester, pressing bis 
 hand ; " you do well, and I envy you the glory of tins 
 post. Come, sire." 
 
 "Ay, ay," said the king, with a sudden and fierce 
 cry, " we go, — but at least slaughtering as we go. See ! 
 yon rascal troop ! — ride we through the midst. Havoc 
 and revenge ! " 
 
 He set spurs to his steed, galloped over the bridge, 
 and, before his companions could join him, dashed alone 
 into the very centre of the advanced guard sent to invest 
 the fortress; and while they were yet shouting, "Where 
 is the tyrant, — where is Edward 1 " 
 
 " Here ! " answered a voice of thunder, — " here, rebels 
 and faytors, in your ranks ! " 
 
 This sudden and appalling reply, even more than the 
 sweep of the gigantic sword, before which were riven 
 sallet and mail, as the woodman's axe rives the fagot, 
 created amongst the enemy that singular panic, which 
 in those ages often scattered numbers before the arm 
 and the name of one. They recoiled in confusion and 
 dismay. Many actually threw clown their arms and 
 fled. Through a path broad and clear, amidst the 
 forest of pikes, Gloucester and the captains followed 
 the flashing track of the king, over the corpses, head- 
 less or limbless, that he felled as he rode. 
 
 Meanwhile, with a truer chivalry, Hastings, taking 
 advantage of the sortie which confused and delayed 
 the enemy, summoned such of the loyal as were left in 
 the fortress, advised them, as the only chance of life, 
 to affect submission to Warwick; but when the time 
 came, to remember their old allegiance, 1 and promising 
 that he would not desert them, save with life, till their 
 1 Sharon Turner, vol. iii. p. 289.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 319 
 
 safety was pledged by the foe, reclosed his visor, and 
 rode back to the front of the bridge. 
 
 And now the king and his comrades had cut their 
 way through all barrier, but the enemy still wavered 
 and lagged, till suddenly the cry of " Robin of Redes- 
 dale ! " was heard, and, sword in hand, Hilyard, followed 
 by a troop of horse, dashed to the head of the besiegers, 
 and, learning the king's escape, rode off in pursuit. 
 His brief presence and sharp rebuke reanimated the 
 falterers, and in a few minutes they gained the bridge. 
 
 " Halt, sirs, " cried Hastings ; " I would offer capitu- 
 lation to your leader ! Who is he ? " 
 
 A knight on horseback advanced from the rest. 
 
 Hastings lowered the point of his sword. 
 
 " Sir, we yield this fortress to your hands upon one 
 condition, — our men yofider are willing to submit, and 
 shout Avith you for Henry VI. Pledge me your word 
 that you and your soldiers spare their lives and do 
 them no wrong, and we depart." 
 
 " And if I pledge it not ? " said the knight. 
 
 " Then for every warrior who guards this bridge count 
 ten dead men amongst your ranks." 
 
 "Do your worst, — our bloods are up! We want life 
 for life! — revenge for the subjects butchered by your 
 tyrant chief ! Charge ! to the attack, — charge ! pike 
 and bill! " The knight spurred on, the Lancastrians 
 followed, and the knight reeled from his horse into 
 the moat below, felled by the sword of Hastings. 
 
 For several minutes the pass was so gallantly defended 
 that the strife seemed uncertain, though fearfully unequal, 
 when Lord Montagu himself, hearing what had befallen, 
 galloped to the spot, threw down his truncheon, cried 
 "Hold! " and the slaughter ceased. To this nobleman 
 Hastings repeated the terms he had proposed.
 
 320 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 " And, " said Montagu, turning with anger to the 
 Lancastrians, who formed a detachment of Fitzhugh's 
 force, — "can Englishmen insist upon butchering Eng- 
 lishmen 1 Rather thank we Lord Hastings that he 
 would spare good King Henry so many subjects' lives ! 
 The terms are granted, my lord; and your own life 
 also, and those of your friends around you, vainly 
 brave in a wrong cause. Depart! " 
 
 " Ah, Montagu, " said Hastings, touched, and in a 
 whisper, " what pity that so gallant a gentleman should 
 leave a rebel's blot upon his scutcheon. " 
 
 " When chiefs and suzerains are false and perjured, 
 Lord Hastings, " answered Montagu, " to obey them is 
 not loyalty, but serfdom; and revolt is not disloyalty, 
 but a freeman's duty. One day thou mayst know that 
 truth, but too late ! " x 
 
 Hastings made no reply, — waved his hand to his 
 fellow-defenders of the bridge, and, followed by them, 
 went slowly and deliberately on, till clear of the mur- 
 muring and sullen foe ; then, putting spurs to their 
 steeds, these faithful warriors rode fast to rejoin their 
 king; overtook Hilyard on the way, and after a fierce 
 skirmish, a blow from Hastings unhorsed and unhelmed 
 the stalwart Robin, and left him so stunned as to check 
 further pursuit. They at last reached the king, and 
 gaining, with him and his party, the town of Lynn, 
 happily found one English and two Dutch vessels on 
 the point of sailing. Without other raiment than the 
 mail they wore, — without money, — the men, a few 
 hours before hailed as sovereign or as peers, fled from 
 their native land as outcasts and paupers. New dangers 
 beset them on the sea : the ships of the Easterlings, at 
 
 1 It was in the midst of his own conspiracy against Richard of 
 Gloucester that the head of Lord Hastings fell.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 321 
 
 war both with France and England, bore down upon 
 their vessels. At the risk of drowning, they ran ashore 
 near Alcmaer. The large ships of the Easterlings fol- 
 lowed as far as the low water would permit, " intendeing 
 at the fludde to have obtained their prey. " x In this 
 extremity, the lord of the province (Louis of Grauthuse) 
 came aboard their vessels, protected the fugitives from 
 the Easterlings, conducted them to the Hague, — and 
 apprised the Duke of Burgundy how his brother-in-law 
 had lost his throne. Then were verified Lord War- 
 wick's predictions of the faith of Burgundy ! The duke, 
 for whose alliance Edward had dishonored the man to 
 whom he owed his crown, so feared the victorious earl, 
 that " he had rather have heard of King Edward's death 
 than of his discomfiture. " 2 And his first thought was 
 to send an embassy to the king-maker, praying the amity 
 and alliance of the restored dynasty. 
 
 1 Hall. 2 Hall, p. 279. 
 
 VOL. II. — 21
 
 322 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 What befell Adam "Warner and Sibyll, when made subject to the 
 great Friar Bungey. 
 
 We must now return to the Tower of London, — not, 
 indeed, to its lordly halls and gilded chambers, but to 
 the room of Friar Bungey. We must go back some- 
 what in time; and on the day following the departure 
 of the king and his lords, conjure up in that strangely 
 furnished apartment the form of the burly friar stand- 
 ing before the disorganized Eureka, with Adam Warner 
 by his side. 
 
 Graul, as we have seen, had kept her word, and 
 Sibyll and her father, having fallen into the snare, were 
 suddenly gagged, bound, led through bypaths to a 
 solitary hut, where a covered wagon was in waiting, 
 and finally, at nightfall, conducted to the Tower. The 
 friar, whom his own repute, jolly affability, and favor 
 with the Duchess of Bedford, made a considerable per- 
 son with the authorities of the place, had already 
 obtained from the deputy-governor an order to lodge 
 two persons, whom his zeal for the king sought to con- 
 vict of necromantic practices in favor of the rebellion, 
 in the cells set apart for such unhappy captives. Thither 
 the prisoners were conducted. The friar did not object 
 to their allocation in contiguous cells; and the jailer 
 deemed him mighty kind and charitable, when he 
 ordered that they might be well served and fed till 
 their examination.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 323 
 
 He did not venture, however, to summon his cap- 
 tives till the departure of the king, when the Tower 
 was, in fact, at the disposition of his powerful patroness, 
 and when he thought he might stretch his authority 
 as far as he pleased, unquestioned and unchid. 
 
 Now, therefore, on the day succeeding Edward's de- 
 parture, Adam Warner was brought from his cell, and 
 led to the chamber where the triumphant friar received 
 him in majestic state. The moment Warner entered, 
 he caught sight of the chaos to which his Eureka was 
 resolved, and, uttering a cry of mingled grief and joy, 
 sprang forward to greet his profaned treasure. The 
 friar motioned away the jailer (whispering him to wait 
 without), and they were left alone. Bungey listened 
 with curious and puzzled attention to poor Adam's 
 broken interjections of lamentation and anger, and at 
 last, clapping him roughly on the back, said, — 
 
 " Thou knowest the secret of this magical and ugly 
 device; but in thy hands it leads only to ruin and 
 perdition. Tell me that secret, and in my hands it 
 shall turn to honor and profit. Porkey verbey ! I am 
 a man of few words. Do this, and thou shalt go free 
 with thy daughter, and I will protect thee, and give 
 thee moneys and my fatherly blessing ; — refuse to do 
 it, and thou shalt go from thy snug cell into a black 
 dungeon full of newts and rats, where thou shalt rot 
 till thy nails are like birds' talons, and thy skin shriv- 
 elled up into mummy, and covered with hair like 
 Nebuchadnezzar! " 
 
 "Miserable varlet! Give thee my secret, — give thee 
 my fame, my life. Never! I scorn and spit at thy 
 malice ! " 
 
 The friar's face grew convulsed with rage, — " Wretch ! " 
 he roared forth, " darest thou unslip thy hound-like malig-
 
 o 
 
 24 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 nity upon great Bungey ? — Knowest thou not that he 
 could bid the walls open and close upon thee, — that he 
 could set yon serpents to coil round thy limbs, and yon 
 lizard to gnaw out thine entrails ? Despise not my mercy, 
 and descend to plain sense. What good didst thou ever 
 reap from thy engine ? — why shouldst thou lose liberty 
 — nay, life — if I will, for a thing that has cursed thee 
 with man's horror and hate 1 " 
 
 " Art thou Christian and friar to ask me why ? 
 Were not Christians themselves hunted by wild beasts, 
 and burned at the stake, and boiled in the caldron for 
 their belief? Knave, whatever is holiest, men ever per- 
 secute ! Read thy Bible ! " 
 
 " Bead the Bible ! " exclaimed Bungey, in pious hor- 
 ror at such a proposition, — "ah! blasphemer, now I 
 have thee ! — Thou art a heretic and Lollard. Hollo, 
 there ! " 
 
 The friar stamped his foot, — the door opened, but to 
 his astonishment and dismay appeared not the grim jailer, 
 but the Duchess of Bedford herself, preceded by Nicholas 
 Alwyn. 
 
 " I told your Grace truly, — see lady ! " cried the gold- 
 smith, — "Vile impostor, where hast thou hidden this 
 wise man's daughter? " 
 
 The friar turned his dull, bead-like eyes, in vacant 
 consternation, from Nicholas to Adam, from Adam to 
 the duchess. 
 
 " Sir Briar, " said Jacquetta, mildly, for she wished 
 to conciliate the rival seers, — " what means this over- 
 zealous violation of law? Is it true, as Master Alwyn 
 affirms, that thou hast stolen away and seducted this 
 venerable sage and his daughter, a maid I deemed 
 worthy of a post in my own household ? " 
 
 " Daughter and lady, " said the friar, sullenly, " this
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 325 
 
 ill faytor, I have reason to know, has been practising 
 spells for Lord Warwick and the enemy. I did but 
 summon him hither that my art might undo his charms; 
 and as for his daughter, it seemed more merciful to let 
 her attend him, than to leave her alone and unfriended ; 
 specially, " added the friar, with a grin, " since the poor 
 lord she hath witched is gone to the wars." 
 
 " Is it true then, wretch, that thou or thy caitiffs have 
 dared to lay hands on a maiden of birth and blood! " 
 exclaimed Alwyn. " Tremble ! — see here, the warrant 
 signed by the king, offering a reward for thy detection, 
 empowering me to give thee up to the laws. By St. 
 Dunstan! but for thy friar's frock, thou shouldst 
 hang. " 
 
 " Tut, tut, Master Goldsmith ! " said the duchess, 
 haughtily, — "lower thy tone. This holy man is under 
 my protection, and his fault was but over-zeal. What 
 were this sage's devices and spells?" 
 
 " Marry ! " said the friar, gruffly, — " that is what your 
 Grace just hindereth my knowing. But he cannot deny 
 that he is a pestilent astrologer, and sends word to the 
 rebels what hours are lucky or fatal for battle and 
 assault. " 
 
 "Ha!" said the duchess, "he is an astrologer! true, 
 and came nearer to the alchemist's truth than any multi- 
 plier that ever served me! My own astrologer is just 
 dead, — why died he at such a time 1 Peace, peace ! be 
 there peace between two so learned men! Forgive thy 
 brother, Master Warner ! " 
 
 Adam had hitherto disdained all participation in this 
 dialogue. In fact, he had returned to the Eureka, and 
 was silently examining if any loss of the vital parts had 
 occurred in its melancholy dismemberment. But now 
 he turned round, and said, " Lady, leave the lore of
 
 326 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 the stars to their great Maker. I forgive this man, and 
 thank your Grace for your justice. I claim these poor 
 fragments, and crave your leave to suffer me to depart 
 with my device and my child." 
 
 " No, no! " said the duchess, seizing his hand. " Hist! 
 whatever Lord Warwick paid thee, I will double. No 
 time now for alchemy ; hut for the horoscope it is the 
 veriest season. I name thee my special astrologer!" 
 
 " Accept, accept ! " whispered Alwyn : " for your 
 daughter's sake, for your own, — nay for the Eureka's! " 
 
 Adam bowed his head, and groaned forth, " But I go 
 not hence — no, not a foot — unless this goes with me. 
 Cruel wretch, how he hath deformed it ! " 
 
 " And now, " cried Alwyn, eagerly, " this wronged and 
 unhappy maiden % " 
 
 " Go ! be it thine to release and bring her to our pres- 
 ence, good Alwyn, " said the duchess; "she shall lodge 
 with her father, and receive all honor. Follow me, 
 Master Warner ! " 
 
 No sooner, however, did the friar perceive that Alwyn 
 had gone in search of the jailer, than he arrested the 
 steps of the duchess, and said, with the air of a much- 
 injured man, — 
 
 " May it please your Grace to remember, that unless 
 the greater magician have all power, and aid in thwart- 
 ing the lesser, the lesser can prevail; and therefore, if 
 your Grace finds, when too late, that Lord Warwick's 
 or Lord Fitzhugh's arms prosper, — that woe and dis- 
 aster befall the king, — say not it was the fault of Friar 
 Bungey ! — such things may be ! Nathless I shall still 
 sweat, and watch, and toil; and if, despite your un- 
 happy favor and encouragement to this hostile sorcerer, 
 the king should beat his enemies, why then, Friar Bun- 
 gey is not so powerless as your Grace holds him. I have
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 327 
 
 said — Porkey verbey ! — Vigilabo et conabo — et per- 
 spirabo — et hungerabo — pro vos et vestros, Amen ! ' 
 
 The duchess was struck by this eloquent appeal ; hut 
 more and more convinced of the dread science of Adam 
 by the evident apprehensions of the redoubted Bungey, 
 and firmly persuaded that she could bribe or induce the 
 former to turn a science that would otherwise be hostile 
 into salutary account, she contented herself with a few 
 words of conciliation and compliment, and, summoning 
 the attendants who had followed her, bade them take up 
 the various members of the Eureka (for Adam clearly 
 demonstrated that he would not depart without them), 
 and conducted the philosopher to a lofty chamber, fitted 
 up for the defunct astrologer. 
 
 Hither, in a short time, Alwyn had the happiness of 
 leading Sibyll, and witnessing the delighted reunion of 
 the child and father. And then, after he had learned 
 the brief details of their abduction, he related how, 
 baffled in all attempt to trace their clew, he had con- 
 vinced himself that either the duchess or Bungey was 
 the author of the snare, returned to the Tower, shown 
 the king's warrant, learned that an old man and a young 
 female had indeed been admitted into the fortress, and 
 hurried at once to the duchess, who, surprised at his 
 narration and complaint, and anxious to regain the ser- 
 vices of Warner, had accompanied him at once to the 
 friar. 
 
 "And though," added the goldsmith, " I could indeed 
 procure you lodgings more welcome to ye elsewhere, yet it 
 is well to win the friendship of the duchess, and royalty 
 is ever an ill foe. How came ye to quit the palace 1 " 
 
 Sibyll changed countenance, and her father answered 
 gravely, " We incurred the king's displeasure, and the 
 excuse was the popular hatred of me and the Eureka."
 
 328 THE LAST OF THE BAEONS. 
 
 " Heaven made the people, and the devil makes three- 
 fourths of what is popular! " bluntly said the Man of 
 the Middle Class, ever against both extremes. 
 
 "And how?" asked Sibyll, — "how, honored and 
 true friend, didst thou obtain the king's warrant, and 
 learn the snare into which we had fallen 1 " 
 
 This time it was Alwyn who changed countenance. 
 He mused a moment, and then, frankly answering, 
 "Thou must thank Lord Hastings," gave the explana- 
 tion already known to the reader. 
 
 But the grateful tears this relation called forth from 
 Sibyll, her clasped hands, her evident emotion of delight 
 and love, so pained poor Alwyn that he rose abruptly 
 and took his leave. 
 
 And now, the Eureka was a luxury as peremptorily 
 forbid to the astrologer, as it had been to the alchemist! 
 Again the true science was despised, and the false culti- 
 vated and honored. Condemned to calculations, which 
 no man (however wise), in that age, held altogether 
 delusive, and which yet Adam Warner studied with very 
 qualified belief, it happened by some of those coinci- 
 dences, which have from time to time appeared to con- 
 firm the credulous in judicial astrology, that Adam's 
 predictions became fulfilled. The duchess was prepared 
 for the first tidings, that Edward's foes fled before him. 
 She was next prepared for the very day in which War- 
 wick landed, and then her respect for the astrologer 
 became strangely mingled with suspicion and terror 
 when she found that he proceeded to foretell but omi- 
 nous and evil events ; and when, at last, still in corrobo- 
 ration of the unhappily too faithful horoscope, came the 
 news of the king's flight, and the earl's march upon 
 London, she fled to Eriar Bungey in dismay, and Friar 
 Bungey said, —
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 329 
 
 "Did I not warn you, daughter? Had you suffered 
 me to — " 
 
 "True, true! " interrupted the duchess. "Now take, 
 hang, rack, drown, or burn your horrible rival, if you 
 will, but undo the charm, and save us from the earl 1 " 
 
 The friar's eyes twinkled, but to the first thought of 
 spite and vengeance succeeded another: if he who had 
 made the famous waxen effigies of the Earl of Warwick, 
 were now to be found guilty of some atrocious and posi- 
 tive violence upon Master Adam Warner, might not 
 the earl be glad of so good an excuse to put an end to 
 himself 1 
 
 " Daughter, " said the friar at that reflection, and 
 shaking his head mysteriously and sadly, — "daughter, 
 it is too late." 
 
 The duchess, in great despair, flew to the queen. 
 Hitherto she had concealed from her royal daughter 
 the employment she had given to Adam ; for Elizabeth, 
 who had herself suffered from the popular belief in 
 Jacquetta's sorceries, had of late earnestly besought 
 her to lay aside all practices that could be called into 
 question. Now, however, when she confessed to the 
 agitated and distracted queen the retaining of Adam 
 Warner, and his fatal predictions, Elizabeth, who, from 
 discretion and pride, had carefully hidden from her 
 mother (too vehement to keep a secret) that offence in 
 the king, the memory of which had made Warner 
 peculiarly obnoxious to him, exclaimed, " Unhappy 
 mother, thou hast employed the very man my fated 
 husband would the most carefully have banished from 
 the palace, — the very man who could blast his name." 
 
 The duchess was aghast and thunderstricken. 
 
 " If ever I forsake Friar Bungey again ! " she mut- 
 tered; "oh, the great man!"
 
 330 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 But events which demand a detailed recital now 
 rapidly pressing on, gave the duchess not even the time 
 to seek further explanation of Elizabeth's words, much 
 less to determine the doubt that rose in her enlightened 
 mind whether Adam's spells might not be yet unravelled 
 by the timely execution of the sorcerer!
 
 THE LAST OF THE B AEONS. 331 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The Deliberations of Mayor and Council, while Lord Warwick 
 marches upon London. 
 
 It was a clear and bright day in the first week of Octo- 
 ber 1470, when the various scouts employed by the 
 mayor and council of London came back to the Guild, 
 at which that worshipful corporation were assembled — ■ 
 their steeds blown and jaded, themselves panting and 
 breathless — to announce the rapid march of the Earl of 
 Warwick. The lord mayor of that year, Richard Lee, 
 grocer and citizen, sat in the venerable hall in a huge 
 leather chair, over which a pall of velvet had been 
 thrown in haste, clad in his robes of state, and sur- 
 rounded by his aldermen and the magnates of the city. 
 To the personal love which the greater part of the body 
 bore to the young and courteous king, was added the 
 terror which the corporation justly entertained of the 
 Lancastrian faction. They remembered the dreadful 
 excesses which Margaret had permitted to her army in 
 the year 1461, — what time, to use the expression of 
 the old historian, " the wealth of London looked pale ; " 
 and how grudgingly she had been restrained from con- 
 demning her revolted metropolis to the horrors of sack 
 and pillage. And the bearing of this august repre- 
 sentation of the trade and power of London was not, at 
 the first, unworthy of the high influence it had obtained. 
 The agitation and disorder of the hour had introduced 
 into the assembly several of the more active and accred- 
 ited citizens, not of right belonging to it; but they
 
 o 
 
 32 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 sat, in silent discipline and order, on long benches 
 beyond the table crowded by the corporate officers. 
 Foremost among these, and remarkable by the firmness 
 and intelligence of his countenance, and the earnest 
 self-possession with which he listened to his seniors, 
 was Nicholas Alwyn, summoned to the council from 
 his great influence with the apprentices and younger 
 freemen of the city. 
 
 As the last scout announced his news, and was 
 gravely dismissed, the lord mayor rose; and being, 
 perhaps, a better educated man than many of the 
 haughtiest barons, and having more at stake than most 
 of them, his manner and language had a dignity and 
 earnestness which might have reflected honor on the 
 higher court of Parliament. 
 
 " Brethren and citizens, " he said, with the decided 
 brevity of one who felt it no time for many words, " in 
 two hours we shall hear the clarions of Lord Warwick 
 at our gates; in two hours we shall be summoned to 
 give entrance to an army assembled in the name of 
 King Henry. I have done my duty: I have manned 
 the walls, — I have marshalled what soldiers we can 
 command. I have sent to the deputy-governor of the 
 Tower — " 
 
 "And what answer gives he, my lord mayor 1 ?" 
 interrupted Humfrey Heyford. 
 
 " None to depend upon. He answers that Edward IV-, 
 in abdicating the kingdom, has left him no power to 
 resist ; and that between force and force, king and king, 
 might makes right." 
 
 A deep breath, like a groan, went through the 
 assembly. 
 
 Up rose Master John Stokton, the mercer. He 
 rose, trembling from limb to limb.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 333 
 
 "Worshipful, my lord mayor," said he, "it seems to 
 me that our first duty is to look to our own selves ! " 
 
 Despite the gravity of the emergence, a laugh hurst 
 forth, and was at once silenced, at this frank avowal. 
 
 "Yes," continued the mercer, turning round, and 
 striking the table with his fist, in the action of a 
 nervous man, — "yes; for King Edward has set us the 
 example. A stout and a dauntless champion, whose 
 whole youth has been war, King Edward has fled from 
 the kingdom, — King Edward takes care of himself: it 
 is our duty to do the same! " 
 
 Strange though it may seem, this homely selfishness 
 went at once through the assembly like a flash of con- 
 viction. There was a burst of applause, and, as it 
 ceased, the sullen explosion of a bombard (or cannon) 
 from the city wall announced that the warder had 
 caught the first glimpse of the approaching army. 
 
 Master Stokton started as if the shot had gone near 
 to himself, and dropped at once into his seat, ejaculating 
 " The Lord have mercy upon us ! " There was a pause 
 of a moment, and then several of the corporation rose 
 simultaneously. The mayor, preserving his dignity, 
 fixed on the sheriff. 
 
 " Few words, my lord, and I have done, " said Richard 
 Gardyner, — "there is no fighting without men. The 
 troops at the Tower are not to be counted on. The 
 populace are all with Lord Warwick, even though he 
 brought the devil at his back. If you hold out, look 
 to rape and plunder before sunset to-morrow. If ye 
 yield, go forth in a body, and the earl is not the man 
 to suffer one Englishman to be injured in life or health 
 who once trusts to his good faith. My say is said." 
 
 " Worshipful, my lord, " said a thin, cadaverous 
 alderman, who rose next, — "this is a judgment of the
 
 334 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 Lord and His saints. The Lollards and heretics have 
 been too much suffered to run at large, and the wrath 
 of Heaven is upon us." 
 
 An impatient murmuring attested the unwillingness 
 of the larger part of the audience to listen further; but 
 an approving buzz from the elder citizens announced 
 that the fanaticism was not without its favorers. Thus 
 stimulated and encouraged, the orator continued; and 
 concluded an harangue, interrupted more stormily than 
 all that had preceded, by an exhortation to leave the 
 city to its fate, and to march in a body to the New 
 Prison, draw forth five suspected Lollards, and burn 
 them at Smithfield, in order to appease the Almighty 
 and divert the tempest ! 
 
 This subject of controversy, once started, might have 
 delayed the audience till the lagged staves of the War- 
 wickers drove them forth from their hall, but for the 
 sagacity and promptitude of the mayor. 
 
 " Brethren," he said, "it matters not to me whether 
 the counsel suggested be good or bad, on the main; but 
 this have I heard, — there is small safety in deathbed 
 repentance. It is too late now to do, through fear of 
 the devil, what we omitted to do through zeal for the 
 church. The sole question is, ' Fight or make terms.' 
 Ye say we lack men, — verily, yes, while no leaders are 
 found! Walworth, my predecessor, saved London from 
 Wat Tyler. Men were wanting then till the mayor and 
 his fellow-citizens marched forth to Mile End. It may 
 be the same now. Agree to fight, and we '11 try it, — 
 what say you, Nicholas Alwyn 1 — you know the temper 
 of our young men " 
 
 Thus called upon, Alwyn rose, and such was the good 
 name he had already acquired that every murmur hushed 
 into eager silence.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 335 
 
 " My lord mayor," he said, " there is a proverb in my 
 country which says, ' Fish swim best that 's bred in the 
 sea;' which means, I take it, that men do best what 
 they are trained for ! Lord Warwick and his men are 
 trained for fighting. Few of the fish about London 
 Bridge are bred in that sea. Cry, ' London to the 
 rescue! ' — put on hauberk and helm, and you will have 
 crowns enough to crack around you. What follows 1 — 
 Master Stokton hath said it: pillage and rape for the 
 city, — gibbet and cord for mayor and aldermen. Do I 
 say this, loving the house of Lancaster 1 ~No ; as Heaven 
 shall judge me, I think that the policy King Edward 
 hath chosen, and which costs him his crown to-day, 
 ought to make the house of York dear to burgess and 
 trader. He hath sought to break up the iron rule of 
 the great barons, — and never peace to England till that 
 be done. He has failed; but for a day. He has yielded 
 for the time; so must we. ' There 's a time to squint, 
 and a time to look even.' I advise that we march out 
 to the earl; that we make honorable terms for the city; 
 that we take advantage of one faction to gain what we 
 have not gained with the other; that we fight for our 
 profit, not with swords where we shall be worsted, but 
 in council and Parliament, by speech and petition. 
 New power is ever gentle and douce. What matters 
 to us , York or Lancaster 1 — all we want is good laws 
 Get the best we can from Lancaster, — and when King 
 Edward returns, as return he will, let him bid higher 
 than Henry for our love. Worshipful my lords and 
 brethren, while barons and knaves go to loggerheads, 
 honest men get their own. Time grows under us like 
 grass. York and Lancaster may pull down each other, 
 — and what is left? Why, three things that thrive in 
 all weather, — London, Industry, and the People! We
 
 336 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 have fallen on a rough time. Well, what says the 
 proverb? ' Boil stones in butter, and you may sup the 
 broth.' I have done." 
 
 This characteristic harangue, which was fortunate 
 enough to accord with the selfishness of each one, and 
 yet give the manly excuse of sound sense and wise 
 policy to all, was the more decisive in its effect, inas- 
 much as the young Alwyn, from his own determined 
 courage, and his avowed distaste to the Lancaster fac- 
 tion, had been expected to favor warlike counsels. 
 The mayor himself, who was faithfully and personally 
 attached to Edward, with a deep sigh, gave way to the 
 feeling of the assembly. And the resolution being 
 once come to, Henry Lee was the first to give it what- 
 ever advantage could be derived from prompt and speedy 
 action. 
 
 "Go we forth at once," said he, — "go, as becomes 
 us, in our robes of state, and with the insignia of the 
 city. Never be it said that the guardians of the city of 
 London could neither defend with spirit, nor make 
 terms with honor. We give entrance to Lord War- 
 wick. Well, then, it must be our own free act. Come! 
 Officers of our court, advance." 
 
 " Stay a bit, — stay a bit," whispered Stokton, digging 
 sharp claws into Alwyn's arm; " let them go first, — a 
 word with you, cunning Nick, a word." 
 
 Master Stokton, despite the tremor of his nerves, 
 was a man of such wealth and substance that Alwyn 
 might well take the request, thus familiarly made, as 
 a compliment not to be received discourteously; more- 
 over, he had his own reasons for hanging back from a 
 procession which his rank in a city did not require him 
 to join. 
 
 While, therefore, the mayor and the other dignitaries
 
 THE LAST OF THE BAkONS. 337 
 
 left the hall, with as much state and order as if not 
 going to meet an invading army, but to join a holiday 
 festival, Nicholas and Stokton lingered behind. 
 
 " Master Alwyn," said Stokton, then, with a sly wink 
 of his eye, " you have this day done yourself great 
 credit; you will rise, — I have my eye on you! I have 
 a daughter, — I have a daughter! Aha! a lad like you 
 may come to great things! " 
 
 "I am much bounden to you, Master Stokton," re- 
 turned Alwyn, somewhat abstractedly, — "but what's 
 your will 1 " 
 
 "My will! — hum, I say, Nicholas, what's your 
 advice 1 Quite right not to go to blows. Odds cos- 
 tards! that mayor is a very tiger! But don't you 
 think it would be wiser not to join this procession? 
 Edward IV. , an he ever come back, has a long memory. 
 He deals at my ware, too, — a good customer at a mer- 
 cer's; and, Lord! how much money he owes the city! 
 
 — hum, I would not seem ungrateful." 
 
 " But if you go not out with the rest, there be other 
 mercers who will have King Henry's countenance and 
 favor ; and it is easy to see that a new court will make 
 vast consumption in mercery." 
 
 Master Stokton looked puzzled. 
 
 "That were a hugeous pity, good Nicholas; and, 
 certes, there is Wat Smith, in Eastgate, who would 
 cheat that good King Henry, poor man! which were a 
 shame to the city; but, on the other hand, the Yorkists 
 mostly pay on the nail (except King Edward, God save 
 him!), and the Lancastrians are as poor as mice. More- 
 over, King Henry is a meek man, and does not avenge, 
 
 — King Edward, a hot and a stern man, and may call 
 it treason to go with the Red Rose ! I wish I knew 
 how to decide ! I have a daughter, an only daughter, 
 
 vol. II. — 22
 
 338 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 — a buxom lass, and well dowered. I would I had a 
 sharp son-in-law to advise me ! " 
 
 "Master Stokton, in one word, then, he never goes 
 far wrong who can run with the hare and hunt with the 
 hounds. Good-day to you; I have business elsewhere." 
 
 So saying, Nicholas, rather hastily, shook off the 
 mercer's quivering fingers, and hastened out of the 
 hall. 
 
 "Verily," murmured the disconsolate Stokton, "run 
 with the hare, quotha ! — that is, go with King Edward; 
 but hunt with the hounds, — that is, go with King 
 Henry. Odds costards; it's not so easily done by a 
 plain man, not bred in the north. I 'd best go — home, 
 and do nothing ! " 
 
 With that, musing and bewildered, the poor man 
 sneaked out, and was soon lost amidst the murmuring, 
 gathering, and swaying crowds, many amongst which 
 were as much perplexed as himself. 
 
 In the meanwhile, with his cloak muffled carefully 
 round his face, and with a long, stealthy, gliding stride, 
 Alwyn made his way through the streets, gained the 
 river, entered a boat in waiting for him, and arrived at 
 last at the palace of the Tower.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 339 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The Triumphal Entry of the Earl — The Royal Captive in the 
 Tower — The Meeting between King-maker and King. 
 
 All in the chambers of the metropolitan fortress 
 exhibited the greatest confusion and dismay. The 
 sentinels, it is true, were still at their posts, men-at- 
 arms at the outworks, the bombards were loaded, the 
 flag of Edward IV. still waved aloft from the battle- 
 ments; but the officers of the fortress and the captains 
 of its soldiery were, some assembled in the old hall, 
 pale with fear, and wrangling with each other; some 
 had fled, none knew whither; some had gone avowedly 
 and openly to join the invading army. 
 
 Through this tumultuous and feeble force Nicholas 
 Alwyn was conducted by a single faithful servitor of 
 the queen's (by whom he was expected); and one glance 
 of his quick eye, as he passed along, convinced him of 
 the justice of his counsels. He arrived at last, by a 
 long and winding stair, at one of the loftiest chambers, 
 in one of the loftiest towers, usually appropriated to the 
 subordinate officers of the household. 
 
 And there, standing by the open casement, command- 
 ing some extended view of the noisy and crowded scene 
 beyond, both on stream and land, he saw the queen of 
 the fugitive monarch. By her side was the Lady 
 Scrope, her most familiar friend and confidant, — her 
 three infant children, Elizabeth, Mary, and Cicely, 
 grouped round her knees, playing with each other, and 
 unconscious of the terrors of the times; and apart from
 
 340 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 the rest stood the Duchess of Bedford, conferring eagerly 
 with Friar Bungey, whom she had summoned in haste, 
 to know if his art could not yet prevail over enemies 
 merely mortal. 
 
 The servitor announced Alwyn, and retired: the 
 queen turned, — " What news, Master Alwyn? Quick! 
 What tidings from the Lord Mayor 1 " 
 
 " Gracious, my queen and lady," said Alwyn, falling 
 on his knees, — " you have but one course to pursue. 
 Below yon casement lies your barge, — to the right, see 
 the round, gray tower of Westminster Sanctuary; you 
 have time yet, and but time ! " 
 
 The old Duchess of Bedford turned her sharp, bright, 
 gray eyes from the pale and trembling friar to the gold- 
 smith, but was silent. The queen stood aghast! — 
 "Mean you," she faltered at last, "that the city of 
 London forsakes the king? Shame on the cravens!" 
 
 "Not cravens, my lady and queen," said Alwyn, 
 rising. " He must have iron nails that scratches a 
 bear, — and the white bear above all. The king has 
 fled, — the barons have fled; the soldiers have fled; the 
 captains have fled, — the citizens of London alone fly 
 not; but there is nothing, save life and property, left 
 to guard." 
 
 " Is this thy boasted influence with the commons and 
 youths of the city ? " 
 
 "My humble influence, may it please your Grace (I 
 say it now openly, and I will say it a year hence, when 
 King Edward will hold his court in these halls once 
 again), — my influence, such as it is, has been used 
 to save lives, which resistance would waste in vain. 
 Alack, alack! 'No gaping against an oven,' gracious 
 lady ! Your barge is below. Again I say, there is yet 
 time, — when the bell tolls the next hour, that time 
 will be past ! "
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 341 
 
 "Then Jesu defend these children! " said Elizabeth, 
 bending over her infants, and weeping bitterly, — "I 
 will go! " 
 
 "Hold! " said the Duchess of Bedford, "men desert 
 us, — but do the spirits also forsake? Speak, friar! 
 canst thou yet do aught for us? — and if not, thinkest 
 thou it is the right hour to yield and fly 1 " 
 
 " Daughter," said the friar, whose terror might have 
 moved pity, — " as I said before, thank yourself. This 
 Warner, this — in short, the lesser magician, hath been 
 aided and cockered to countervail the greater, as I fore- 
 warned. Fly! run! fly! Verily and indeed, it is the 
 properest of all times to save ourselves; and the stars 
 and the book, and my familiar, all call out, ' Off and 
 away ! ' " 
 
 "'Fore Heaven!" exclaimed Alwyn, who had hith- 
 erto been dumb with astonishment at this singular 
 interlude, — " sith he who hath shipped the devil must 
 make the best of him, thou art for once an honest man, 
 and a wise counsellor. Hark ! the second gun ! The 
 earl is at the gates of the city ! " 
 
 The queen lingered no longer, — she caught her 
 youngest child in her arms; the Lady Scrope followed 
 with the two others, — "Come, follow quick, Master 
 Alwyn," said the duchess, who, now that she was com- 
 pelled to abandon the world of prediction and sooth- 
 saying, became thoroughly the sagacious, plotting, ready 
 woman of this life, — " come, your face and name will 
 be of service to us, an we meet with obstruction." 
 
 Before Alwyn could reply, the door was thrown 
 abruptly open, and several of the officers of the house- 
 hold rushed pell-mell into the royal presence. 
 
 " Gracious queen ! " cried many voices at once, each 
 with a different sentence of fear and warning, " Fly ! — ■
 
 342 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 We cannot depend on the soldiers; the populace are up, 
 — they shout for King Henry; Dr. Godard is preaching 
 against you at St. Paul's Cross; Sir Geoffrey Gates has 
 come out of the sanctuary, and with him all the mis- 
 creants and outlaws, — the mayor is now with the rebels l 
 My ! — the sanctuary, the sanctuary ! " 
 
 " And who amongst you is of highest rank 1 " asked 
 the duchess, calmly; for Elizabeth, completely over- 
 whelmed, seemed incapable of speech or movement. 
 
 " I, Giles de Malvoisin, knight banneret," said an 
 old warrior, armed cap-a-pie, who had fought in France 
 under the hero Talbot. 
 
 "Then, sir," said the duchess, with majesty, "to 
 your hands I confide the eldest daughter of your king. 
 Lead on! — we follow you. Elizabeth, lean on me." 
 
 With this, supporting Elizabeth, and leading her 
 second grandchild, the duchess left the chamber. 
 
 The friar followed amidst the crowd, for well he 
 knew that if the soldiers of Warwick once caught hold 
 of him, he had fared about as happily as the fox amidst 
 the dogs; and Alwyn, forgotten in the general confu- 
 sion, hastened to Adam's chamber. 
 
 The old man, blessing any cause that induced his 
 patroness to dispense with his astrological labors, and 
 restored him to the care of his Eureka, was calmly and 
 quietly employed in repairing the mischief effected by 
 the bungling friar. And Sibyll, who at the first alarm 
 had flown to his retreat, joyfully hailed the entrance of 
 the friendly goldsmith. 
 
 Alywn was indeed perplexed what to advise, for the 
 principal sanctuary would, no doubt, be crowded by 
 ruffians of the worst character; and the better lodgments 
 which that place, a little town in itself, 1 contained, be 
 
 1 The Sanctuary of Westminster was fortified.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 343 
 
 already preoccupied by the Yorkists of rank; and the 
 smaller sanctuaries were still more liable to the same 
 objection. Moreover, if Adam should be recognized by 
 any of the rabble that would meet them by the way, his 
 fate, by the summary malice of a mob, was certain. 
 After all, the Tower would be free from the populace; 
 and as soon as, by a few rapid questions, Alwyn learned 
 from Sibyll that she had reason to hope her father would 
 find protection with Lord Warwick, and called to mind 
 that Marmaduke ISTevile was necessarily in the earl's 
 train, he advised them to remain quiet and concealed in 
 their apartments, and promised to see and provide for 
 them the moment the Tower was yielded up to the new 
 government. 
 
 The counsel suited both Sibyll and Warner. Indeed, 
 the philosopher could not very easily have been induced 
 to separate himself again from the beloved Eureka; and 
 Sibyll was more occupied at that hour with thoughts 
 and prayers for the beloved Hastings — afar, a wanderer 
 and an exile — than with the turbulent events amidst 
 which her lot was cast. 
 
 In the storms of a revolution which convulsed a 
 kingdom and hurled to the dust a throne, Love saw 
 but a single object, — Science but its tranquil toil. 
 Beyond the realm of men lies ever with its joy and 
 sorrow, its vicissitude and change, the domain of the 
 human heart. In the revolution , the toy of the scholar 
 was restored to him; in the revolution, the maiden 
 mourned her lover. In the movement of the mass, 
 each unit hath its separate passion. The blast that 
 rocks the tree, shakes a different world in every leaf !
 
 344 THE LAST OF THE BAliONS. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The Tower in Commotion. 
 
 0>r quitting the Tower, Alwyn regained the boat, and 
 took his way to the city; and here, whatever credit that 
 worthy and excellent personage may lose in certain eyes, 
 his historian is bound to confess that his anxiety for 
 Sibyll did not entirely distract his attention from inter- 
 est or ambition. To become the head of his class, to 
 rise to the first honors of his beloved city of London, 
 had become to Nicholas Alwyn a hope and aspiration 
 which made as much a part of his being as glory to a 
 warrior, power to a king, an Eureka to a scholar; and, 
 though more mechanically than with any sordid calcula- 
 tion or self-seeking, Nicholas Alwyn repaired to his 
 Ware in the Chepe. The streets, when he landed, 
 already presented a different appearance from the dis- 
 order and tumult noticeable when he had before passed 
 them. The citizens now had decided what course to 
 adopt; and though the shops, or rather booths, were 
 carefully closed, streamers of silk, cloth of arras and 
 gold, were hung from the upper casements; the bal- 
 conies were crowded with holiday gazers; the tickle 
 populace (the same herd that had hooted the meek 
 Henry, when led to the Tower) were now shouting, 
 " A Warwick ! " "A Clarence ! " and pouring throng 
 after throng to gaze upon the army, which, with the 
 mayor and aldermen, had already entered the city. 
 Having seen to the security of his costly goods, and
 
 THE LAST OF THE BAKONS. 345 
 
 praised his apprentices duly for their care of his inter- 
 ests and their abstinence from joining the crowd, 
 Nicholas then repaired to the upper story of his house, 
 and set forth from his casements and balcony the rich- 
 est stuffs he possessed. However, there was his own 
 shrewd, sarcastic smile on his firm lips, as he said to 
 his apprentices, " When these are done with, lay them 
 carefully by against Edward of York's re-entry." 
 
 Meanwhile, preceded by trumpets, drums, and her- 
 alds, the Earl of Warwick and his royal son-indaw rode 
 into the shouting city. Behind came the litter of the 
 Duchess of Clarence, attended by the Earl of Oxford, 
 Lord Fitzhugh, the Lords Stanley and Shrewsbury, 
 Sir Robert de Lytton, and a princely cortege of knights, 
 squires, and nobles; while, file upon file, rank upon 
 rank, followed the long march of the unresisted 
 armament. 
 
 Warwick, clad in complete armor of Milan steel, — 
 save the helmet, which was borne behind him by his 
 squire, — mounted on his own noble Saladin, preserved, 
 upon a countenance so well suited to command the 
 admiration of a populace, the same character as here- 
 tofore, of manly majesty and lofty frankness. But to 
 a nearer and more searching gaze than was likely to be 
 bent upon him in such an hour, the dark, deep traces 
 of care, anxiety, and passion might have been detected 
 in the lines which now thickly intersected the forehead, 
 once so smooth and furrowless; and his kingly eye, not 
 looking, as of old, right forward as he moved, cast 
 unquiet, searching glances about him and around, as 
 he bowed his bare head from side to side of the wel- 
 coming thousands. 
 
 A far greater change, to outward appearance, was 
 visible in the fair young face of the Duke of Clarence.
 
 346 THE LAST OF THE BAEONS. 
 
 His complexion, usually sanguine and blooming, like 
 his elder brother's, was now little less pale than that of 
 Richard. A sullen, moody, discontented expression, 
 which not all the heartiness of the greetings he received 
 could dispel, contrasted forcibly with the good-humored 
 laughing recklessness, which had once drawn a "God 
 bless him ! " from all on whom rested his light-blue, 
 joyous eye. He was unarmed, save by a corselet richly 
 embossed with gold. His short manteline of crimson 
 velvet; his hosen of white cloth laced with gold, and 
 his low horseman's boots of Spanish leather, curiously 
 carved and broidered, with long, golden spurs; his 
 plumed and jewelled cap; his white charger with hous- 
 ings enriched with pearls and blazing with cloth-of- 
 gold ; his broad collar of precious stones, with the order 
 of St. George; his general's truncheon raised aloft, and 
 his Plantagenet banner borne by the herald over his 
 royal head , — caught the eyes of the crowd , only the 
 more to rivet them on an aspect ill fitting the triumph 
 of a bloodless victory. At his left hand, where the 
 breadth of the streets permitted, rode Henry Lee, 
 the mayor, uttering no word, unless appealed to, and 
 then answering but with chilling reverence and dry 
 monosyllables. 
 
 A narrow winding in the streets, which left Warwick 
 and Clarence alone side by side, gave the former the 
 opportunity he had desired. 
 
 " How, prince and son," he said in a hollow whisper, 
 " is it with this brow of care that thou saddenest our 
 conquest, and enterest the capital we gain without a 
 blow ? " 
 
 "By St. George! " answered Clarence, sullenly, and 
 in the same tone; " thinkest thou it chafes not the son 
 of Richard of York, after such toils and bloodshed, to
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 347 
 
 minister to the dethronement of his kin and the restora- 
 tion of the foe of his race ? " 
 
 " Thou shouldst have thought of that before," returned 
 Warwick, but with sadness and pity in the reproach. 
 
 " Ay, before Edward of Lancaster was made my lord 
 and brother," retorted Clarence, bitterly. 
 
 "Hush!" said the earl, "and calm thy brow. Not 
 thus didst thou speak at Amboise; either thou wert 
 then less frank, or more generous. But regrets are 
 vain: we have raised the whirlwind, and must rule it." 
 
 And with that, in the action of a man who Avould 
 escape his own thoughts, Warwick made his black steed 
 demivolt; and the crowd shouted again the louder at 
 the earl's gallant horsemanship, and Clarence's dazzling 
 collar of jewels. 
 
 While thus the procession of the victors, the nominal 
 object of all this mighty and sudden revolution, — of 
 this stir and uproar; of these shining arms and flaunting 
 banners; of this heaven or hell in the deep passions 
 of men, — still remained in his prison-chamber of the 
 Tower, a true type of the thing factions contend for; 
 absent, insignificant, unheeded, and, save by a few of 
 the leaders and fanatical priests, absolutely forgotten ! 
 
 To this solitary chamber we are now transported; yet 
 solitary is a word of doubtful propriety: for though the 
 royal captive was alone, so far as the human species 
 make up a man's companionship and solace, — though 
 the faithful gentlemen, Manning, Bedle, and Allerton, 
 had, on the news of Warwick's landing, been thrust 
 from his chamber, and were now in the ranks of his 
 new and strange defenders, yet power and jealousy had 
 not left his captivity all forsaken. There was still the 
 starling in its cage, and the fat, asthmatic spaniel still 
 wagged its tail at the sound of its master's voice, or
 
 348 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 the rustle of his long gown. And still from the ivory 
 crucifix gleamed the sad and holy face of the God, — 
 present ahvay, — and who, by faith and patience, link- 
 eth evermore grief to joy, but earth to heaven. 
 
 The august prisoner had not been so utterly cut off 
 from all knowledge of the outer life as to be ignorant of 
 some unwonted and important stir in the fortress and 
 the city. The squire who had brought him his morn- 
 ing meal had been so agitated as to excite the captive's 
 attention, and had then owned that the Earl of Warwick 
 had proclaimed Henry king, and was on his march to 
 London. But neither the squire nor any of the officers 
 of the Tower dared release the illustrious captive, nor 
 even remove him as yet to the state apartments vacated 
 by Elizabeth. They knew not what might be the 
 pleasure of the stout earl or the Duke of Clarence, and 
 feared over-officiousness might be their worst crime. 
 But naturally imagining that Henry's first command, 
 at the new position of things, might be for liberty, and 
 perplexed whether to yield or refuse, they absented 
 themselves from his summons, and left the whole Tower 
 in which he was placed actually deserted. 
 
 From his casement the king could see, however, the 
 commotion, and the crowds upon the wharf and river, 
 with the gleam of arms and banners ; — and hear the 
 sounds of " A Warwick ! " " A Clarence ! " " Long live 
 good Henry VI.! " A strange combination of names, 
 which disturbed and amazed him much! But, by de- 
 grees, the unwonted excitement of perplexity and sur- 
 prise settled back into the calm serenity of his most 
 gentle mind and temper. That trust in an all-directing 
 Providence, to which lie had schooled himself, had (if we 
 may so say with reverence) driven his beautiful soul into 
 the opposite error, so fatal to the affairs of life ; the error
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 349 
 
 that deadens and benumbs the energy of free will and the 
 noble alertness of active duty. Why strain and strive for 
 the things of this world 1 God would order all for the 
 best. Alas! God hath placed us in this world, each, 
 from king to peasant, with nerves, and hearts, and 
 blood, and passions, to struggle with our kind ; and, no 
 matter how heavenly the goal, to labor with the million 
 in the race! 
 
 " Forsooth, " murmured the king, as, his hands clasped 
 behind him, he paced slowly to and fro the floor, " this 
 ill world seemeth but a feather, blown about by the 
 winds, and never to be at rest. Hark! Warwick and 
 King Henry, — the lion and the lamb ! Alack, and we 
 are fallen on no Paradise, where such union were not 
 a miracle ! Foolish bird ! " — and with a pitying smile 
 upon that face whose holy sweetness might have disarmed 
 a fiend, he paused before the cage and contemplated his 
 fellow-captive, — " foolish bird, the uneasiness and tur- 
 moil without have reached even to thee. Thou beatest 
 thy wings against the wires, — thou turnest thy bright 
 eyes to mine restlessly. Why 1 Pantest thou to be free, 
 silly one, that the hawk may swoop on its defenceless 
 prey 1 Better, perhaps, the cage for thee, and the 
 prison for thy master. Well, — out if thou wilt! Here 
 at least thou art safe ! " and opening the cage the starling 
 flew to his bosom, and nestled there, with its small clear 
 voice mimicking the human sound. 
 
 " Poor Henry, poor Henry ! Wicked men , — poor 
 Henry!" 
 
 The king bowed his meek head over his favorite, and 
 the fat spaniel, jealous of the monopolized caress, came 
 waddling towards its master, with a fond whine, and 
 looked up at him with eyes that expressed more of faith 
 and love than Edward of York, the ever wooing and ever 
 wooed, had read in the gaze of woman.
 
 350 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 With those companions, and with thoughts growing 
 more and more composed and rapt from all that had 
 roused and vexed his interest in the forenoon, Henry 
 remained till the hour had long passed for his evening 
 meal. Surprised at last by a negligence which (to do 
 his jailers justice) had never before occurred, and finding 
 no response to his hand-bell, — no attendant in the ante- 
 room, the outer doors locked as usual, — but the senti- 
 nel's tread in the court below, hushed and still, — a cold 
 thrill for a moment shot through his blood. " Was he 
 left for hunger to do its silent work ! " Slowly he bent 
 his way from the outer rooms back to his chamber ; and, 
 as he passed the casement again, he heard, though far in 
 the distance, through the dim air of the deepening twi- 
 light, the cry of " Long live King Henry ! " 
 
 This devotion without, — this neglect within, was a 
 wondrous contrast! Meanwhile the spaniel, with that 
 instinct of fidelity which divines the wants of the master, 
 had moved snuffling and smelling, round and round the 
 chambers, till it stopped and scratched at a cupboard in 
 the anteroom, and then with a joyful bark flew back to 
 the king, and, taking the hem of his gown between its 
 teeth, led him towards the spot it had discovered; and 
 there, in truth, a few of those small cakes, usually served 
 up for the night's livery, had been carelessly left. They 
 sufficed for the day's food, and the king, the dog, and the 
 starling, shared them peacefully together. This done, 
 Henry carefully replaced his bird in its cage, bade the 
 dog creep to the hearth and lie still, passed on to his 
 little oratory, with the relics of cross and saint strewed 
 around the solemn image, — and in prayer forgot the 
 world! Meanwhile darkness set in: the streets had 
 grown deserted, save where in some nooks and bylanes 
 gathered groups of the soldiery ; but for the most part
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 351 
 
 the discipline in which Warwick held his army, had 
 dismissed those stern loiterers to the various quarters 
 provided for them, and little remained to remind the 
 peaceful citizens that a throne had been uprooted, and a 
 revolution consummated, that eventful day. It was at 
 this time that a tall man, closely wrapped in his large 
 horseman's cloak, passed alone through the streets, and 
 gained the Tower. At the sound of his voice by the 
 great gate, the sentinel started in alarm ; a few moments 
 more, and all left to guard the fortress were gathered 
 round him. From these he singled out one of the 
 squires who usually attended Henry, and bade him 
 light his steps to the king's chamber. As in that 
 chamber Henry rose from his knees, he saw the broad, 
 red light of a torch flickering under the chinks of the 
 threshold; he heard the slow tread of approaching foot- 
 steps, the spaniel uttered a low growl, its eyes sparkling, 
 — the door opened, and the torch borne behind by the 
 squire, and raised aloft so that its glare threw a broad 
 light over the whole chamber, brought into full view 
 the dark and haughty countenance of the Earl of 
 Warwick. 
 
 The squire, at a gesture from the earl, lighted the 
 sconces on the wall, the tapers on the table, and quickly 
 vanished. King-maker and king were alone! At the 
 first sight of Warwick, Henry had turned pale, and 
 receded a few paces, with one hand uplifted in adju- 
 ration or command, while with the other he veiled his 
 eyes, — whether that this startled movement came from 
 the weakness of bodily nerves, much shattered by sick- 
 ness and confinement, or from the sudden emotions 
 called forth by the aspect of one who had wrought him 
 calamities so dire. But the craven's terror in the pres- 
 ence of a living foe was, with all his meekness, all his
 
 3j2 the last of the barons. 
 
 holy abhorrence of wrath and warfare, as unknown to 
 that royal heart as to the high blood of his Hero-sire. 
 And so, after a brief pause, and a thought that took the 
 shape of prayer, not for safety from peril, hut for grace 
 to forgive the past, Henry VI. advanced to Warwick, 
 who still stood dumb by the threshold, combating with 
 his own mingled and turbulent emotions of pride and 
 shame, and said, in a voice majestic even from its very 
 mildness, — 
 
 " What tale of new woe and evil hath the Earl of 
 Salisbury and Warwick come to announce to the poor 
 captive who was once a king 1 " 
 
 " Forgive me ! Forgiveness, Henry, my lord, — for- 
 giveness ! " exclaimed Warwick, falling on his knee. 
 The meek reproach; the touching words; the mien and 
 visage altered, since last beheld, from manhood into 
 age; the gray hairs and bended form of the king, — 
 went at once to that proud heart; and as the earl bent 
 over the wan, thin hand, resigned to his lips, a tear upon 
 its surface out-sparkled all the jewels that it wore. 
 
 " Yet no, " continued the earl (impatient, as proud 
 men are, to hurry from repentance to atonement, for 
 the one is of humiliation and the other of pride), — 
 "yet no, my liege; not now do I crave thy pardon, 
 No ; but when begirt, in the halls of thine ancestors, 
 with the peers of England, the victorious banner of 
 St. George waving above the throne which thy servant 
 hath rebuilt, — then, when the trumpets are sounding 
 thy rights without the answer of a foe, then, when 
 from shore to shore of fair England the shout of thy 
 people echoes to the vault of heaven; then will War- 
 wick kneel again to King Henry, and sue for the pardon 
 he hath not ignobly won! " 
 
 " Alack, sir, " said the king, with accents of mournful,
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 353 
 
 yet half-reproving kindness, " it was not amidst trumps 
 and banners that the Son of God set mankind the ex- 
 emplar and pattern of charity to foes. When thy hand 
 struck the spurs from my heel, when thou didst parade 
 me through the hooting crowd to this solitary cell, — 
 then, Warwick, I forgave thee, and prayed to heaven 
 for pardon for thee, if thou didst wrong me, for myself, 
 if a king's fault had deserved a subject's harshness. 
 Rise, sir earl ; our God is a jealous God, and the atti- 
 tude of worship is for Him alone. " 
 
 Warwick rose from his knee ; and the king, perceiv- 
 ing and compassionating the struggle which shook the 
 strong man's breast, laid his hand on the earl's shoul- 
 der, and said, " Peace be with thee ! — thou hast done 
 me no real harm. I have been as happy in these walls 
 as in the green parks of Windsor ; happier than in the 
 halls of state, or in the midst of wrangling armies. 
 What tidings now 1 " 
 
 " My liege, is it possible that you know not that 
 Edward is a fugitive and a beggar, and that Heaven 
 hath permitted me to avenge at once your injuries and 
 my own ? This day, without a blow, I have regained 
 your city of London ; its streets are manned with my 
 army. From the council of peers, and warriors, and 
 prelates, assembled at my house, I have stolen hither 
 alone and in secret, that I might be the first to hail 
 your Grace's restoration to the throne of Henry V." 
 
 The king's face so little changed at this intelligence, 
 that its calm sadness almost enraged the impetuous 
 Warwick, and with difficulty he restrained from giving 
 utterance to the thought, " He is not worthy of a throne 
 who cares so little to possess it. " 
 
 " Well-a-day ! " said Henry, sighing, " Heaven, then, 
 hath sore trials yet in store for mine old age! Tray, 
 vol. ii. — 23
 
 354 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 Tray ! "' and stooping, he gently patted his dog, who 
 kept watch at his feet, still glaring suspiciously at 
 Warwick, — " we are both too old for the chase now ! 
 Will you he seated, my lord ? " 
 
 " Trust me," said the earl, as he obeyed the command, 
 having first set chair and footstool for the king, who 
 listened to him with downcast eyes and his head droop- 
 ing on his bosom, — " trust me, your later days, my 
 liege, will be free from the storms of your youth. All 
 chance of Edward's hostility is expired. Your alliance, 
 though I seem boastful so to speak, — your alliance 
 with one in Avhom the people can confide for some skill 
 in war, and some more profound experience of the 
 habits and tempers of your subjects than your former 
 councillors could possess, will leave your honored leisure 
 free for the holy meditations it affects ; and your glory, 
 as your safety, shall be the care of men who can awe 
 this rebellious world." 
 
 " Alliance ! " said the king, who had caught but that 
 one word. " Of what speakest thou, sir earl ? " 
 
 " These missives will explain all, my liege. This 
 letter from my lady the Queen Margaret, and this from 
 your gracious son, the Prince of Wales. " 
 
 " Edward ! my Edward ! " exclaimed the king, with 
 a father's burst of emotion. " Thou hast seen him, 
 then 1 — bears he his health well ? — is he of cheer and 
 heart 1 " 
 
 " He is strong and fair, and full of promise, and 
 brave as his grandsire's sword." 
 
 " And knows he — knows he well, that we all are 
 the potter's clay in the hands of God ? " 
 
 " My liege, " said Warwick, embarrassed, " he has as 
 much devotion as befits a Christian knight and a goodly 
 prince."
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 355 
 
 " Ah ! " sighed the king, " ye men of arms have strange 
 thoughts on these matters ; " and, cutting the silk of 
 the letters, he turned from the warrior. Shading his 
 face with his hand, the earl darted his keen glance on 
 the features of the king, as, drawing near to the table, 
 the latter read the communications which announced his 
 new connection with his ancient foe. 
 
 But Henry was at first so affected by the sight of 
 Margaret's well-known hand, that he thrice put down 
 her letter, and wiped the moisture from his eyes. 
 
 "My poor Margaret, how thou hast suffered!" he 
 murmured ; " these very characters are less firm and 
 bold than they were. Well, well ! " and at last he 
 betook himself resolutely to the task. Once or twice 
 his countenance changed, and he uttered an exclamation 
 of surprise. But the proposition of a marriage between 
 Prince Edward and the Lady Anne did not revolt his 
 forgiving mind, as it had the haughty and stern temper 
 of his consort. And when he had concluded his son's 
 epistle, full of the ardor of his love and the spirit of 
 his youth, the king passed his left hand over his brow, 
 and then extending his right to Warwick, said, in accents 
 which trembled with emotion, " Serve my son, — since 
 he is thine, too : give peace to this distracted kingdom, 
 repair my errors, press not hard upon those who con- 
 tend against us, — and Jeou and his saints will bless this 
 bond!" 
 
 The earl's object, perhaps, in seeking a meeting with 
 Henry, so private and unwitnessed, had been that 
 none, not even his brother, might hearken to the 
 reproaches he anticipated to receive, or say hereafter 
 that he heard Warwick, returned as victor and avenger 
 to his native land, descend, in the hour of triumph, to 
 extenuation and excuse. So affronted, imperilled, or
 
 356 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 to use his own strong word, " so despaired, " had he 
 been in the former rule of Henry, that his intellect, 
 which, however vigorous in his calmer moods, was 
 liable to be obscured and dulled by his passions, had 
 half-confounded the gentle king with his ferocious 
 wife and stern councillors, and he had thought he 
 never could have humbled himself to the man, even 
 so far as knighthood's submission to Margaret's sex 
 had allowed him to the woman. But the sweetness of 
 Henry's manners and disposition; the saint-like dignity 
 which he had manifested throughout this painful inter- 
 view, and the touching grace and trustful generosity 
 of his last words, — words which consummated the earl's 
 large projects of ambition and revenge, — had that effect 
 upon Warwick which the preaching of some holy man, 
 dwelling upon the patient sanctity of the Saviour, had 
 of old on a grim Crusader, all incapable himself of 
 practising such meek excellence, and yet all-moved and 
 penetrated by its loveliness in another; and, like such 
 Crusader, the representation of all mildest and most 
 forgiving singularly stirred up in the warrior's mind 
 images precisely the reverse, — images of armed valor 
 and stern vindication, as if, where the Cross was planted, 
 sprang from the earth the standard and the war-horse ! 
 
 " Perish your foes ! May war and storm scatter 
 them as the chaff ! My liege, my royal master, " con- 
 tinued the earl, in a deep, low, faltering voice, " why 
 knew I not thy holy and princely heart before 1 Why 
 stood so many between Warwick's devotion and a king 
 so worthy to command it 1 How poor beside thy great- 
 hearted fortitude and thy Christian heroism, seems the 
 savage valor of false Edward ! Shame upon one who 
 can betray the trust thou hast placed in him. Never 
 will I! Never! I swear it! No! though all Eng-
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 357 
 
 land desert thee, I will stand alone with my hreast of 
 mail before thy throne ! Oh, would that my triumph 
 had been less peaceful and less bloodless! would that 
 a hundred battle-fields were yet left to prove how 
 deeply — deeply in his heart of hearts — Warwick feels 
 the forgiveness of his king ! " 
 
 " Not so, not so, not so, not battle-fields, Warwick ! " 
 said Henry. " Ask not to serve the king by shedding 
 one subject's blood." 
 
 "Your pious will be obeyed!" replied Warwick. 
 " We will see if mercy can effect in others what thy 
 pardon effects in me. And now, my liege, no longer 
 must these walls confine thee. The chambers of the 
 palace await their sovereign. What ho, there! " and 
 going to the door, he threw it open, and, agreeably to 
 the orders he had given below, all the officers left in 
 the fortress stood crowded together in the small ante- 
 room, bareheaded, with tapers in their hands, to con- 
 duct the monarch to the halls of his conquered foe. 
 
 At the sudden sight of the earl, these men, struck 
 involuntarily and at once by the grandeur of his person 
 and his animated aspect, burst forth with the rude 
 retainer's cry, "A Warwick! a Warwick!" 
 
 "Silence!" thundered the earl's deep voice. "Who 
 names the subject in the sovereign's presence ? Behold 
 your king ! " 
 
 The men, abashed by the reproof, bowed their heads 
 and sank on their knees, as Warwick took a taper from 
 the table, to lead the way from the prison. 
 
 Then Henry turned slowly, and gazed with a linger- 
 ing eye upon the walls, which even sorrow and solitude 
 had endeared. The little oratory, the crucifix, the 
 relics, the embers burning low on the hearth, the rude 
 timepiece, — all took to his thoughtful eye an almost
 
 358 THE LAST OF TftE BARONS. 
 
 human aspect of melancholy and omen; and the bird, 
 roused, whether by the glare of the lights, or the recent 
 shout of the men, opened its bright eyes, and fluttering 
 restlessly to and fro, shrilled out its favorite sentence, 
 "Poor Henry! — poor Henry! — wicked men! — who 
 would be a king 1 " 
 
 " Thou hearest it, Warwick ? " said Henry, shaking 
 his head. 
 
 " Could an eagle speak, it would have another cry 
 than the starling," returned the earl, with a proud 
 smile. 
 
 " Why, look you, " said the king, once more releas- 
 ing the bird, which settled on his wrist, " the eagle 
 had broken his heart in the narrow cage, — the eagle 
 had been no comforter for a captive; it is these gentler 
 ones that love and soothe us best in our adversities. 
 Tray, Tray , fawn not now, sirrah, or I shall think thou 
 hast been false in thy fondness heretofore! Cousin, I 
 attend you. " 
 
 And with his bird on his wrist, his dog at his heels, 
 Henry VI. followed the earl to the illuminated hall of 
 Edward, where the table was spread for the royal repast, 
 and where his old friends, Manning, Bedle, and Allerton, 
 stood weeping for joy; while, from the gallery raised 
 aloft, the musicians gave forth the rough and stirring 
 melody which had gradually fallen out of usage, but 
 which was once the Norman's national air, and which 
 the warlike Margaret of Anjou had re taught to her 
 minstrels, "The Battle Hymn of Rollo."
 
 BOOK XT. 
 
 THE NEW POSITION OF THE KING-MAKER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Wherein Master Adam Warner is notably Commended and Ad- 
 vanced — And Greatness says to Wisdom, "Thy destiny be 
 mine, Amen." 
 
 The Chronicles inform us, that two or three days after 
 the entrance of Warwick and Clarence — namely, on the 
 6th of October — those two leaders, accompanied by the 
 Lords Shrewsbury, Stanley, and a numerous and noble 
 train, visited the Tower in formal state, and escorted 
 the king, robed in blue velvet, the crown on his head, 
 to public thanksgivings at St. Paul's, and thence to the 
 Bishop's Palace, 1 where he continued chiefly to reside. 
 
 The proclamation that announced the change of 
 dynasty was received with apparent acquiescence through 
 the length and breadth of the kingdom, and the restora- 
 tion of the Lancastrian line seemed yet the more firm 
 and solid by the magnanimous forbearance of Warwick 
 and his councils. Not one execution that could be 
 termed the act of a private revenge, stained with blood 
 the second reign of the peaceful Henry. One only head 
 
 1 Not to the Palace at Westminster, as some historians, prefer- 
 ring the French to the English authorities, have asserted, — that 
 palace was out of repair.
 
 360 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 fell on the scaffold, — that of the Earl of Worcester. 1 
 This solitary execution, which was regarded by all classes 
 as a due concession to justice, only yet more illustrated 
 the general mildness of the new rule. 
 
 It was in the earliest days of this sudden Restoration, 
 that Alwyn found the occasion to serve his friends in the 
 Tower. Warwick was eager to conciliate all the citizens 
 who, whether frankly or grudgingly, had supported his 
 cause ; and, amongst these, he was soon informed of the 
 part taken in the Guildhall by the rising goldsmith. 
 He sent for Alwyn to his house in Warwick Lane, and 
 after complimenting him on his advance in life and 
 repute, since Nicholas had waited on him with bawbles 
 for his embassy to France, he offered him the special 
 rank of goldsmith to the king. 
 
 The wary, yet honest trader paused a moment in some 
 embarrassment before he answered, — 
 
 " My good lord, you are noble and gracious eno' to 
 understand and forgive me when I say that I have had, 
 in the upstart of my fortunes, the countenance of the 
 late King Edward and his queen; and though the public 
 weal made me advise my fellow-citizens not to resist 
 your entry, I would not, at least, have it said that my 
 desertion had benefited my private fortunes. " 
 
 Warwick colored, and his lip curled. "Tush, man, 
 assume not virtues which do not exist amongst the sons 
 
 1 Lord Warwick himself did not sit in judgment on Worcester. 
 He was tried aud condemned by Lord Oxford. Though some old 
 offences in his Irish government were alleged against him, the 
 cruelties which rendered him so odious were of recent date. He 
 had (as we hefore took occasion to relate) empaled twenty persons 
 after Warwick's flight into France. The " VVarkworth Chronicle " 
 says, " He was ever afterwardes greatly behated among the people 
 for this disordynate dethe that he used, contrary to the laws of the 
 laude."
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 361 
 
 of trade, nor, much I trow, amongst the sons of Adam. 
 I read thy mind. Thou thinkest it unsafe openly to 
 commit thyself to the new state. Fear not, — we are 
 firm." 
 
 " Nay, my lord, " returned Alwyn, " it is not so. But 
 there are many better citizens than I, who remember that 
 the Yorkists were ever friends to commerce. And you 
 will find that only by great tenderness to our crafts you 
 can win the heart of London, though you have passed 
 its gates." 
 
 " I shall be just to all men, " answered the earl, dryly ; 
 " but if the flat-caps are false, there are eno' of bonnets 
 of steel to watch over the Red Rose ! " 
 
 " You are said, my lord, " returned Alwyn, bluntly, 
 " to love the barons, the knights, the gentry, the yeomen, 
 and the peasants, but to despise the traders, — I fear me, 
 that report in this is true. " 
 
 "I love not the trader spirit, man, — the spirit that 
 cheats, and cringes, and haggles, and splits straws for 
 pence, and roasts eggs by other men's blazing rafters. 
 Edward of York, forsooth, was a great trader! It 
 was a sorry hour for England, when such as ye, Nick 
 Alwyn, left your green villages for loom and booth. 
 But thus far have I spoken to you as a brave fellow, and 
 of the north countree. I have no time to waste on 
 words. Wilt thou accept mine offer, or name another 
 boon in my power? The man who hath served me 
 wrongs me — till I have served him again ! " 
 
 " My lord, yes ; I will name such a boon : safetj r , and 
 if you will, some grace and honor, to a learned scholar 
 now in the Tower, — one Adam Warner, whom — " 
 
 " Now in the Tower ! Adam Warner ! And wanting 
 a friend, I no more in exile ! That is my affair, not 
 thine. Grace, honor, — ay, to his heart's content. And
 
 362 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 his noble daughter 1 Mart Dieu ! she shall choose her 
 bridegroom among the best of England. Is she, too, in 
 the fortress? " 
 
 " Yes, " said Alwyn, briefly, not liking the last part of 
 the earl's speech. 
 
 The earl rang the bell on his table. " Send hither 
 Sir Marmaduke Nevile." 
 
 Alwyn saw his former rival enter, and heard the 
 earl commission him to accompany, with a fitting train, 
 his own litter to the Tower. " And you, Alwyn, go with 
 your foster-brother, and pray Master Warner and his 
 daughter to be my guests for their own pleasure. Come 
 hither, my rude Northman, — come. I see I shall have 
 many secret foes in this city, — wilt not thou at least be 
 Warwick's open friend? " 
 
 Alwyn found it hard to resist the charm of the earl's 
 manner and voice, but, convinced in his own mind that 
 the age was against Warwick, and that commerce and 
 London would be little advantaged by the earl's rule, the 
 trading spirit prevailed in his breast. 
 
 " Gracious my lord, " he said, bending his knee in no 
 servile homage, " he who befriends my order commands 
 
 me." 
 
 The proud noble bit his lip, and with a silent wave of 
 his hand, dismissed the foster-brothers. 
 
 " Thou art but a churl at best, ISTick, " said Marma- 
 duke, as the door closed on the young men. " Many a 
 baron would have sold his father's hall for such words 
 from the earl's lip." 
 
 " Let barons sell their free conduct for fair words. I 
 keep myself unshackled, to join that cause which best fills 
 the market, and reforms the law. But tell me, I pray 
 thee, sir knight, what makes Warner and his daughter 
 so dear to your lord 1 "
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 363 
 
 " What ! know you not 1 — and has she not told you 1 
 
 — Ah, — what was I about to say 1 " 
 
 " Can there be a secret between the earl and the 
 scholar 1 " asked Alwyn, in wonder. 
 
 " If there be, it is our place to respect it, " returned 
 the Nevile, adjusting his manteline, — "and now we 
 must command the litter." 
 
 In spite of all the more urgent and harassing affairs 
 that pressed upon him, the earl found an early time to 
 attend to his guests. His welcome to Sibyll was more 
 than courteous, — it was paternal. As she approached 
 him, timidly, and with a downcast eye, he advanced, 
 placed his hand upon her head, — 
 
 " The Holy Mother ever have thee in her charge, child ! 
 
 — This is a father's kiss, young mistress," added the 
 earl, pressing his lips to her forehead, — " and in this 
 kiss, remember that I pledge to thee care for thy for- 
 tunes, honor for thy name, — my heart to do thee ser- 
 vice, my arm to shield from wrong ! Brave scholar, thy 
 lot has become interwoven with my own. Prosperous is 
 now my destiny, — my destiny be thine! Amen ! " 
 
 He turned then to Warner, and without further re- 
 ference to a past, which so galled his proud spirit, he 
 made the scholar explain to him the nature of his labors. 
 In the mind of every man who has passed much of his 
 life in successful action, there is a certain, if we may so 
 say, untaught mat lies is, — but especially among those 
 who have been bred to the art of war. A great soldier 
 is a great mechanic, a great mathematician, though he 
 may know it not; and Warwick, therefore, better than 
 many a scholar, comprehended the principle upon which 
 Adam founded his experiments. But though he caught 
 also a glimpse of the vast results which such experiments 
 in themselves were calculated to effect, his strong com-
 
 364 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 mon sense perceived yet more clearly that the time was 
 not ripe for such startling inventions. 
 
 "My friend, " he said, "I comprehend thee passably. 
 It is clear to me, that if thou canst succeed in making 
 the elements do the work of man with equal precision, 
 but with far greater force and rapidity, thou must mul- 
 tiply eventually, and, by multiplying, cheapen, all the 
 products of industry; that thou must give to this 
 country the market of the world, — and that thine 
 would be the true alchemy that turneth all to gold." 
 
 " Mighty intellect, — thou graspest the truth ! " ex- 
 claimed Adam. 
 
 "But," pursued the earl, with a mixture of prejudice 
 and judgment, " grant thee success to the full, and thou 
 wouldst turn this bold land of yeomanry and manhood 
 into one community of griping traders and sickly artisans. 
 Mort Dieuf we are over-commerced as it is, — the bow 
 is already deserted for the ell-measure. The town popu- 
 lations are ever the most worthless in war. England is 
 begirt with mailed foes . and if by one process she were 
 to accumulate treasure and lose soldiers, she would but 
 tempt invasion and emasculate defenders. Verily, I 
 avise and implore thee to turn thy wit and scholarship 
 to a manlier occupation ! " 
 
 "My life knows no other object, — kill my labor and 
 thou destroyest me, " said Adam, in a voice of gloomy 
 despair. Alas, it seemed that, whatever the changes of 
 power, no change could better the hopes of science in an 
 age of iron ! 
 
 Warwick was moved. " Well, " he said, after a pause, 
 " be happy in thine own way. I will do my best at least 
 to protect thee. To-morrow resume thy labors; but this 
 day, at least, thou must feast with me. " 
 
 And at his banquet that day, among the knights and
 
 THE LAST OF THE BATONS. 365 
 
 barons, and the abbots and the warriors, Adam sat on 
 the dais, near the earl, and Sibyll at " the mess " of the 
 ladies of the Duchess of Clarence. And ere the feast 
 broke up, Warwick thus addressed his company : — 
 
 " My friends, — though I, and most of us reared in the 
 lap of war, have little other clerkship than sufficed our 
 bold fathers before us, yet in the free towns of Italy and 
 the Rhine, yea, and in France, under her politic king, — 
 we may see that a day is dawning wherein new knowledge 
 will teach many marvels to our wiser sons. Wherefore 
 it is good that a state should foster men who devote 
 laborious nights and weary days to the advancement of 
 arts and letters, for the glory of our common land. A 
 worthy gentleman, now at this board, hath deeply medi- 
 tated contrivances which may make our English artisans 
 excel the Flemish loons, who now fatten upon our in- 
 dustry to the impoverishment of the realm. And, above 
 all, he also purposes to complete an invention which may 
 render our ship craft the most notable in Europe. Of 
 this I say no more at the present; but I commend our 
 guest, Master Adam Warner, to your good service, and 
 pray you especially, worshipful sirs of the Church now 
 present, to shield his good name from that charge which 
 most paineth and endangereth honest men. For ye wot 
 well that the commons, from ignorance, would impute 
 all to witchcraft that passeth their understanding. Not," 
 added the earl, crossing himself, " that witchcraft does 
 not horribly infect the land, and hath been largely 
 practised by Jacquetta of Bedford, and her confederates, 
 Bungey and others. But our cause needeth no such aid : 
 and all that Master Warner purposes is in behalf of the 
 people, and in conformity with holy Church. So this 
 waisall to his health and house." 
 
 This characteristic address being received with respect,
 
 366 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 though with less applause than usually greeted the 
 speeches of the great earl, Warwick added, in a softer 
 and more earnest tone, "And in the fair demoiselle, 
 his daughter, I pray you to acknowledge the dear friend 
 of my heloved lady and child, Anne, Princess of Wales; 
 and for the sake of her Highness, and in her name, I 
 arrogate to myself a share with Master Warner in this 
 young donzell's guardianship and charge. Know ye, 
 my gallant gentles and fair squires, that he who can 
 succeed in achieving, either by leal love or by hold 
 deeds, as best befit a wooer, the grace of my young 
 ward, shall claim from my hands a knight's fee, with 
 as much of my best land as a bull's hide can cover; and 
 when Heaven shall grant safe passage to the Princess 
 Anne and her noble spouse, we will hold at Smithfield 
 a tourney in honor of St. George and our ladies, wherein, 
 pardie, I myself would be sorely tempted to provoke 
 my jealous countess, and break a lance for the fame of 
 the demoiselle whose fair face is married to a noble 
 heart. " 
 
 That evening, in the galliard, many an admiring eye 
 turned to Sibyll, and many a young gallant, recalling 
 the earl's words, sighed to win her grace. There had 
 been a time when such honor and such homage would 
 have, indeed, been welcome; but now, onk saw them 
 not, and they were valueless. - All that, in her earlier 
 girlhood, Sibyll's ambition had coveted, when musing 
 on the brilliant world, seemed now wellnigh fulfilled: 
 her father protected by the first noble of the land, and 
 that not with the degrading condescension of the Duchess 
 of Bedford, but as Power alone should protect Genius, 
 — honored while it honors; her gentle birth recognized; 
 her position elevated; fair fortunes smiling, after such 
 rude trials; and all won without servility or abasement.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 367 
 
 But her ambition having once exhausted itself in a 
 diviner passion, all excitement seemed poor and spirit- 
 less compared to the lonely waiting at the humble farm 
 for the voice and step of Hastings. Nay, but for her 
 father's sake, she could almost have loathed the pleasure 
 and the pomp, and the admiration and the homage, which 
 seemed to insult the reverses of the wandering exile. 
 
 The earl had designed to place Sibyll among Isabel's 
 ladies, but the haughty air of the duchess chilled the 
 poor girl; and, pleading the excuse that her father's 
 health required her constant attendance, she prayed 
 permission to rest with Warner wherever he might be 
 lodged. Adam himself, now that the Duchess of Bed- 
 ford and Friar Bungey were no longer in the Tower, 
 entreated permission to return to the place where he 
 had worked the most successfully upon the beloved 
 Eureka, and, as the Tower seemed a safer residence 
 than any private home could be, from popular preju- 
 dice and assault, Warwick kindly ordered apartments, 
 far more commodious than they had yet occupied, to 
 be appropriated to the father and daughter. Several 
 attendants were assigned to them, and never was man 
 of letters or science more honored now than the poor 
 scholar, who, till then, had been so persecuted and 
 despised ! 
 
 Who shall tell Adam's serene delight! Alchemy 
 and astrology at rest, no imperious duchess, no hateful 
 Bungey, his free mind left to its congenial labors! And 
 Sibyll, when they met, strove to wear a cheerful brow, 
 praying him only never to speak to her of Hastings. 
 The good old man, relapsing into his wonted mechanical 
 existence, hoped she had forgotten a girl's evanescent 
 fancy. 
 
 But the peculiar distinction showed by the earl to
 
 3G8 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 Warner, confirmed the reports circulated by Bungey, 
 — "that he was, indeed, a fearful nigromancer, who 
 had much helped the earl in his emprise." The earl's 
 address to his guests in behalf both of Warner and 
 Sibyll, the high state accorded to the student, reached 
 even the sanctuary ; for the fugitives there easily con- 
 trived to learn all the gossip of the city. Judge of the 
 effect the tale produced upon the envious Bungey, — 
 judge of the representations it enabled him to make to 
 the credulous duchess! It was clear now to Jacquetta, 
 as the sun in noonday, that Warwick rewarded the evil- 
 predicting astrologer for much dark and secret service, 
 which Bungey, had she listened to him, might have 
 frustrated; and she promised the friar that, if ever 
 again she had the power, Warner and the Eureka 
 should be placed at his sole mercy and discretion. 
 
 The friar himself, however, growing very weary of 
 the dulness of the sanctuary, and covetous of the advan- 
 tages enjoyed by Adam, began to meditate acquiescence 
 in the fashion of the day, and a transfer of his allegiance 
 to the party in power. Emboldened by the clemency 
 of the victors; learning that no rewards for his own 
 apprehension had been offered; hoping that the stout 
 earl would forget or forgive the old offence of the waxen 
 effigies; and aware of the comparative security his 
 friar's gown and cowl afforded him, — he resolved one 
 day to venture forth from his retreat. He even flattered 
 himself that he could cajole Adam — whom he really 
 believed the possessor of some high and weird secrets, 
 but whom otherwise he despised as a very weak creature 
 . — into forgiving his past brutalities, and soliciting the 
 earl to take him into favor. 
 
 At dusk, then, and by the aid of one of the subalterns 
 of the Tower, whom he had formerly made his friend,
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 369 
 
 the friar got admittance into Warner's chamber. Now 
 it so chanced that Adam, having his own superstitions, 
 had lately taken it into his head that all the various 
 disasters which had befallen the Eureka, together with 
 all the little blemishes and defects that yet marred its 
 construction, were owing to the want of the diamond 
 bathed in the mystic moonbeams, which his German 
 authority had long so emphatically prescribed; and 
 now that a monthly stipend far exceeding his wants 
 was at his disposal, and that it became him to do all 
 possible honor to the earl's patronage, he resolved that 
 the diamond should be no longer absent from the opera- 
 tions it was to influence. He obtained one of passable 
 size and sparkle, exposed it the due number of nights to 
 the new moon, and had already prepared its place in the 
 Eureka, and was contemplating it with solemn joy, 
 when Bungey entered. 
 
 "Mighty brother," said the friar, bowing to the 
 ground, "be merciful as thou art strong! Verily thou 
 hast proved thyself the magician, and I but a poor 
 wretch in comparison, — for lo! thou art rich and hon- 
 ored, and I poor and proscribed. Deign to forgive thine 
 enemy, and take him as thy slave by right of conquest. 
 Oh, Cogsbones! — oh, Gemini! what a jewel thou hast 
 got!" 
 
 " Depart! thou disturbest me," said Adam, oblivious, 
 in his absorption, of the exact reasons for his repug- 
 nance, but feeling indistinctly that something very 
 loathsome and hateful was at his elbow, and as he 
 spoke, he fitted the diamond into its socket. 
 
 " What! a jewel, — a diamond! — in the — in the — 
 
 in the — mechanical! " faltered the friar, in profound 
 
 astonishment, his mouth watering at the sight. If the 
 
 Eureka were to be envied before, how much more 
 
 vol. ii — 24
 
 370 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 enviable now? "If ever I get thee again, ugly 
 talisman!" he muttered to himself, "1 shall know 
 where to look for something better than a pot to boil 
 eggs!" 
 
 "Depart, I say!" repeated Adam, turning round at 
 last, and shuddering as he now clearly recognized the 
 friar, and recalled his malignity. " Darest thou molest 
 me still 1 " 
 
 The friar abjectly fell on his knees, and, after a long 
 exordium of penitent excuses, entreated the scholar to 
 intercede in his favor with the earl. 
 
 " I want not all thy honors and advancement, great 
 Adam, — I want only to serve thee, trim thy furnace, 
 and hand thee thy tools, and work out my apprentice- 
 ship under thee, master. As for the earl, he will listen 
 to thee, I know, if thou tellest him that I had the trust 
 of his foe, the duchess; that I can give him all her 
 closest secrets; that I — " 
 
 "Avaunt! Thou art worse than I deemed thee, 
 wretch! Cruel and ignorant I knew thee, — and now, 
 mean and perfidious! 1 work with thee! /commend 
 to the earl a living disgrace to the name of scholar! 
 Never! If thou wantest bread and alms, those I can 
 give, as a Christian gives to want; but trust, and honor, 
 and learned repute, and noble toils, those are not for 
 the impostor and the traitor. There, there, there!" 
 And he ran to a closet, took out a handful of small 
 coins, thrust them into the friar's hands, and, pushing 
 him to the door, called to the servants to see his visitor 
 to the gates. The friar turned round with a scowl. 
 He did not dare to utter a threat, but he vowed a vow 
 in his soul, and Avent his way. 
 
 It chanced, some days after this, that Adam, in one 
 of his musing rambles about the precincts of the Tower,
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 371 
 
 which (since it was not then inhabited as a palace) was 
 all free to his rare and desultory wanderings, came by 
 some workmen employed in repairing a bombard; and, 
 as whatever was of mechanical art always woke his 
 interest, he paused, and pointed out to them a very 
 simple improvement which would necessarily tend to 
 make the balls go farther and more direct to their 
 object. The principal workman, struck with his re- 
 marks, ran to one of the officers of the Tower; the 
 officer came to listen to the learned man, and then went 
 to the Earl of Warwick to declare that Master Warner 
 had the most wonderful comprehension of military 
 mechanism. The earl sent for Warner, seized at once 
 upon the very simple truth he suggested as to the proper 
 width of the bore, and holding him in higher esteem 
 than he had ever done before, placed some new cannon 
 he was constructing under his superintendence. As 
 this care occupied but little of his time, Warner was 
 glad to show gratitude to the earl, looking upon the 
 destructive engines simply as mechanical contrivances, 
 and wholly unconscious of the new terror he gave to 
 his name. 
 
 Soon did the indignant and conscience-stricken 
 Duchess of Bedford hear, in the Sanctuary, that the 
 fell wizard she had saved from the clutches of Bungey 
 was preparing the most dreadful, infallible, and mur- 
 derous instruments of war, against the possible return 
 of her son-in-law! 
 
 Leaving Adam to his dreams, and his toils, and his 
 horrible reputation, we return to the world upon the 
 surface, — the Life of Action.
 
 372 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The Prosperity of the Outer Show — the Cares of the Inner 
 
 Man. 
 
 The position of the king-maker was, to a superficial 
 observer, such as might gratify to the utmost the ambi- 
 tion and the pride of man. He had driven from the 
 land one of the most gorgeous princes and one of the 
 boldest warriors that ever sat upon a throne. He had 
 changed a dynasty without a blow. In the alliances of 
 his daughters, whatever chanced, it seemed certain that, 
 by one or the other, his posterity would be the kings of 
 England. 
 
 The easiness of his victory appeared to prove of itself 
 that the hearts of the people were with him ; and the 
 Parliament that he hastened to summon, confirmed by 
 law the revolution achieved by a bloodless sword. 1 
 
 Nor was there aught abroad which menaced disturb- 
 ance to the peace at home. Letters from the Countess 
 of Warwick and Lady Anne announced their triumphant 
 entry at Paris, where Margaret of Anjou was received 
 with honors never before rendered but to a queen of 
 France. 
 
 A solemn embassy, meanwhile, was preparing to pro- 
 ceed from Paris to London, to congratulate Henry, and 
 establish a permanent treaty of peace and commerce; 2 
 while Charles of Burgundy himself (the only ally left 
 to Edward) supplicated for the continuance of amicable 
 relations with England, — stating that they were formed 
 
 1 Lingard, Hume, etc. 2 Rymer, xi. 683-690.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 373 
 
 with the country, not with any special person who might 
 wear the crown; 1 and forbade his subjects by proclama- 
 tion to join any enterprise for the recovery of his throne, 
 which Edward might attempt. 
 
 The conduct of Warwick, whom the Parliament had 
 declared, conjointly with Clarence, protector of the 
 realm during the minority of the Prince of Wales, was 
 worthy of the triumph he had obtained. He exhibited 
 now a greater genius for government than he had yet 
 displayed. For all his passions were nerved to the 
 utmost, to consummate his victory, and sharpen his 
 faculties. He united mildness towards the defeated 
 faction, with a firmness which repelled all attempt at 
 insurrection. 3 
 
 In contrast to the splendor that surrounded his daugh- 
 ter Anne, all accounts spoke of the humiliation to which 
 Charles subjected the exiled king ; and in the Sanctuary, 
 amidst homicides and felons, the wife of the earl's 
 defeated foe gave birth to a male child, baptized and 
 christened (says the chronicler), " as the son of a common 
 man." For the Avenger and his children were regal 
 authority and gorgeous pomp, — for the Fugitive and 
 his offspring were the bread of the exile, or the refuge 
 of the outlaw. 
 
 But still the earl's prosperity was hollow, — the 
 statue of brass stood on limbs of clay. The position 
 of a man with the name of subject, but the authority of 
 king, was an unpopular anomaly in England. In the 
 principal trading towns had been long growing up that 
 animosity towards the aristocracy, of which Henry VII. 
 availed himself to raise a despotism (and which, 
 even in our day, causes the main disputes of faction); 
 but the recent revolution was one in which the towns 
 
 1 HCME, COMINES. 2 HABINGTON.
 
 374 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 had had no share. It was a revolution made by the 
 representative of the barons and his followers. It was 
 connected with no advancement of the middle class, — 
 it seemed to the men of commerce but the violence of 
 a turbulent and disappointed nobility. The very name 
 given to Warwick's supporters was unpopular in the 
 towns. They were not called the Lancastrians, or the 
 friends of King Henry, — they were styled then, and 
 still are so, by the old Chronicler, " The Lords' Parti/." 
 Most of whatever was still feudal, — the haughtiest of 
 the magnates, the rudest of the yeomanry, the most 
 warlike of the knights, — gave to Warwick the sanction 
 of their allegiance; and this sanction was displeasing 
 to the intelligence of the towns. 
 
 Classes in all times have a keen instinct of their own 
 class interests. The revolution which the earl had 
 effected was the triumph of aristocracy; its natural 
 results would tend to strengthen certainly the moral, 
 and probably the constitutional power already possessed 
 by that martial order. The new Parliament was their 
 creature; Henry VI. was a cipher; his son a boy with 
 unknown character, and, according to vulgar scandal, of 
 doubtful legitimacy, seemingly bound hand and foot 
 in the trammels of the archbaron's mighty house, — the 
 earl himself had never scrupled to evince a distaste to 
 the change in society which was slowly converting an 
 agricultural into a trading population. 
 
 It may be observed, too, that a middle class as rarely 
 unites itself with the idols of the populace as with the 
 chiefs of a seignorie. The brute attachment of the 
 peasants and the mobs to the gorgeous and lavish earl, 
 seemed to the burgesses the sign of a barbaric clanship, 
 opposed to that advance in civilization towards which 
 they half unconsciously struggled.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 375 
 
 And here we must rapidly glance at what, as far as 
 a statesman may foresee, would have been the prohable 
 result of Warwick's ascendancy, if durable and effectual. 
 If attached, by prejudice and birth, to the aristocracy, 
 he was yet, by reputation and habit, attached also to the 
 popular party: that party more popular than the middle 
 class, — the majority, the masses: his whole life had 
 been one struggle against despotism in the crown. 
 Though far from entertaining such schemes as in simi- 
 lar circumstances might have occurred to the deep 
 sagacity of an Italian patrician for the interest of his 
 order, no doubt his policy would have tended to this 
 one aim, — the limitation of the monarchy by the strength 
 of an aristocracy endeared to the agricultural popula- 
 tion, owing to that population its own powers of defence, 
 with the wants and grievances of that population thor- 
 oughly familiar, and willing to satisfy the one and 
 redress the other: in short, the great baron would have 
 secured and promoted liberty according to the notions 
 of a seigneur and a Norman, by making the king but 
 the first nobleman of the. realm. Had the policy lasted 
 long enough to succeed, the subsequent despotism, which 
 changed a limited into an absolute monarchy under the 
 Tudors, would have been prevented, with all the san- 
 guinary reaction, in which the Stuarts were the sufferers. 
 The earl's family, and his own " large, father-like 
 heart," had ever been opposed to religious persecution; 
 and timely toleration to the Lollards might have pre- 
 vented the long-delayed revenge of their posterity, — 
 the Puritans. Gradually, perhaps, might the system 
 he represented (of the whole consequences of which he 
 was unconscious) have changed monarchic into aristo- 
 cratic government, resting, however, upon broad and 
 popular institutions; but no doubt, also, the middle,
 
 376 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 or rather the commercial class, with all the blessings 
 that attend their power, would have risen much more 
 slowly than when made, as they were already, partially 
 under Edward IV. , and more systematically under 
 Henry VII., the instrument for destroying feudal aris- 
 tocracy, and thereby establishing for a long and fearful 
 interval the arbitrary rule of the single tyrant. War- 
 wick's dislike to the commercial biasses of Edward was, 
 in fact, not a patrician prejudice alone. It required no 
 great sagacity to perceive that Edward had designed to 
 raise up a class that, though powerful when employed 
 against the barons, would long be impotent against the 
 encroachments of the crown ; and the earl viewed that 
 class not only as foes to his own order, but as tools for 
 the destruction of the ancient liberties. 
 
 Without presuming to decide which policy, upon the 
 whole, would have been the happier for England, — the 
 one that based a despotism on the middle class, or 
 the one that founded an aristocracy upon popular affec- 
 tion, — it was clear to the more enlightened burgesses 
 of the great towns that between Edward of York and 
 the Earl of Warwick a vast principle was at stake, and 
 the commercial king seemed to them a more natural ally 
 than the feudal baron; and equally clear is it to us now, 
 that the true spirit of the age fought for the false 
 Edward, and against the honest earl. 
 
 Warwick did not, however, apprehend any serious 
 results from the passive distaste of the trading towns. 
 His martial spirit led him to despise the least martial 
 part of the population. He knew that the towns would 
 not rise in arms, so long as their charters were respected; 
 and that slow, undermining hostility which exists only 
 in opinion, his intellect, so vigorous in immediate dan- 
 gers, was not far-sighted enough to comprehend.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 377 
 
 More direct cause for apprehension would there have 
 been to a suspicious mind in the demeanor of the earl's 
 colleague in the Protectorate, — the Duke of Clarence. 
 It was obviously Warwick's policy to satisfy this weak 
 but ambitious person. The duke was, as before agreed, 
 declared heir to the vast possessions of the house of 
 York. He was invested with the Lieutenancy of Ire- 
 land, but delayed his departure to his government till 
 the arrival of the Prince of Wales. The personal 
 honors accorded him in the meanwhile were those due 
 to a sovereign; but still the duke's brow was moody, 
 though, if the earl noticed it, Clarence rallied into 
 seeming cheerfulness, and reiterated pledges of faith 
 and friendship. 
 
 The manner of Isabel to her father was varying and 
 uncertain: at one time hard and cold; at another, as if 
 in the reaction of secret remorse, she would throw her- 
 self into his arms, and pray him, weepingly, to forgive 
 her wayward humors. But the curse of the earl's posi- 
 tion was that which he had foreseen before quitting 
 Amboise, and which, more or less, attends upon those 
 who, from whatever cause, suddenly desert the party 
 with which all their associations, whether of fame or 
 friendship, have been interwoven. His vengeance 
 against one had comprehended many still dear to him. 
 He was not only separated from his old companions in 
 arms, but he had driven their most eminent into exile. 
 He stood alone amongst men whom the habits of an 
 active life had indissolubly connected in his mind with 
 recollections of wrath and wrong. Amidst that princely 
 company which begirt him, he hailed no familiar face. 
 Even many of those who most detested Edward (or 
 rather the Woodvilles), recoiled from so startling a 
 desertion to the Lancastrian foe. It was a heavy blow
 
 378 THE LAST OF THE BAKONS. 
 
 to a heart already bruised and sore, when the fiery Raoul 
 de Fulke, who bad so idolized Warwick, that, despite 
 his own high lineage, he had worn his badge upon his 
 breast, sought him at the dead of night, and thus said, — 
 " Lord of Salisbury and Warwick, I once offered to 
 serve thee as a vassal, if thou wouldst wrestle with lewd 
 Edward for the crown which only a manty brow should 
 wear; and hadst thou now returned, as Henry of Lan- 
 caster returned of old, to gripe the sceptre of the 
 Norman with a conqueror's hand, I had been the first 
 to cry 'Long live King Richard, — namesake and 
 emulator of Coeur de Lion!' But to place upon the 
 tli rone yon monk-puppet, and to call on brave hearts to 
 worship a patterer of aves and a counter of beads; to fix 
 the succession of England in the adulterous offspring of 
 Margaret, 1 the butcher-harlot; to give the power of the 
 realm to the men against whom thou thyself hast often 
 led me to strive with lance and battle-axe, — is to open 
 a path which leads but to dishonor, and thither Raoul 
 de Fulke follows not even the steps of the Lord of 
 Warwick. Interrupt me not, — speak not! As thou 
 to Edward, so I now to thee, forswear allegiance, and 
 I bid thee farewell forever!" 
 
 1 One of the greatest obstacles to the cause of the Red Rose, 
 was the popular belief that the young priuce was uot Henry's son. 
 Had that belief not been widely spread and firmly maintained, the 
 lords who arbitrated between Henry VI. and Richard Duke of 
 York, in October, 1460, could scarcely have come to the resolution 
 to set aside the Prince of Wales altogether, to accord Henry the 
 crown for his life, and declare the Duke of York his heir. Ten 
 years previously (in November, 1450), before the young prince 
 was born or thought of, aud the proposition was really just and 
 reasonable, it was moved in the House of Commons to declare 
 Ftichard Duke of York next heir to Henry, which, at least, by 
 birthright, he certainly was ; but the motion met with little favor, 
 and the mover was sent to the Tower.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 379 
 
 "I pardon thee," answered Warwick; "and if ever 
 thou art wronged as I have been, thy heart will avenge 
 me, — go! " 
 
 But when this haughty visitor was gone, the earl 
 covered his face with his hands, and groaned aloud. A 
 defection perhaps even more severely felt came next. 
 Katherine de Bonville had been the earl's favorite 
 sister: he wrote to her at the convent to which she had 
 retired, praying her affectionately to come to London, 
 "and cheer his vexed spirit, and learn the true cause, 
 not to be told by letter, which had moved him to things 
 once farthest from his thought." The messenger came 
 back, — the letter unopened; for Katherine had left the 
 convent, and fled into Burgundy, distrustful, as it seemed 
 to Warwick, of her own brother. The nature of this 
 lion-hearted man was, as we have seen, singularly kindly, 
 frank, and affectionate; and now in the most critical, the 
 most anxious, the most tortured period of his life, con- 
 fidence and affection were forbidden to him. What had 
 he not given for one hour of the soothing company of 
 his wife, the only being in the world to whom his pride 
 could have communicated the grief of his heart or the 
 doubts of his conscience ! Alas ! never on earth should 
 he hear that soft voice again! Anne too, the gentle, 
 childlike Anne, was afar; but she was happy, — a basker 
 in the brief sunshine, and blind to the darkening clouds. 
 His elder child, with her changeful moods, added but 
 to his disquiet and unhappiness. Next to Edward, 
 Warwick, of all the House of York, had loved Clar- 
 ence, though a closer and more domestic intimacy had 
 weakened the affection, by lessening the esteem. But 
 looking farther into the future, he now saw in this 
 alliance the seeds of many a rankling sorrow. The 
 nearer Anne and her spouse to power and fame, the
 
 380 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 more bitter the jealousy of Clarence and his wife. 
 Thus, in the very connections which seemed most to 
 strengthen his house, lay all which must destroy the 
 hallowed unity and peace of family and home. 
 
 The Archbishop of York had prudently taken no 
 part whatever in the measures that had changed the 
 dynasty, — he came now to reap the fruits : did homage 
 to Henry VI., received the Chancellor's seals, and 
 recommenced intrigues for the Cardinal's hat. But 
 between the bold warrior and the wily priest there could 
 be but little of the endearment of brotherly confidence 
 and love. With Montagu alone could the earl confer 
 in cordiality and unreserve; and their similar position, 
 and certain points of agreement in their characters, 
 now more clearly brought out and manifest, served to 
 make their friendship for each other firmer and more 
 tender, in the estrangement of all other ties, than ever 
 it had been before. But the marquis was soon com- 
 pelled to depart from London, to his post as warden 
 of the northern marches; for Warwick had not the 
 rash presumption of Edward, and neglected no pre- 
 caution against the return of the dethroned king. 
 
 So there, alone, in pomp and in power, vengeance 
 consummated, ambition gratified, but love denied, — 
 with an aching heart and a fearless front, amidst old 
 foes made prosperous, and old friends alienated and 
 ruined, — stood the king-maker! and day by day, the 
 untimely streaks of gray showed more and more, amidst 
 the raven curls of the strong man.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BAKONS. 381 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 Farther Views into the Heart of Man, and the Conditions of 
 
 Power. 
 
 But woe to any man who is called to power with exag- 
 gerated expectations of his ability to do good! Woe 
 to the man whom the populace have esteemed a popu- 
 lar champion, and who is suddenly made the guardian 
 of law! The Commons of England had not bewailed 
 the exile of the good earl simply for love of his groan- 
 ing table, and admiration of his huge battle-axe, — it 
 was not merely either in pity or from fame that his 
 " name had sounded in every song, " and that, to use 
 the strong expression of the chronicler, the people 
 "judged that the sun was clearly taken from the 
 world when he was absent." 
 
 They knew him as one who had ever sought to 
 correct the abuses of power, — to repair the wrongs of 
 the poor; who, even in war, had forbidden his knights 
 to slay the common men. He was regarded, therefore, 
 as a reformer; and wonderful, indeed, were the things 
 proportioned to his fame and his popularity, which he 
 was expected to accomplish; and his thorough knowl- 
 edge of the English character, and experience of every 
 class, — especially the lowest as the highest, — conjoined 
 with the vigor of his robust understanding, unquestion- 
 ably enabled him, from the very first, to put a stop to 
 the lawless violences which had disgraced the rule of 
 Edward. The infamous spoliations of the royal purvey-
 
 382 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 ors ceased; the robber-like excesses of the ruder barons 
 and gentry were severely punished, — the country felt 
 that a strong hand held the reins of power. But what 
 is justice, when men ask miracles? The peasant and 
 mechanic were astonished that wages were not doubled; 
 that bread was not to be had for asking; that the 
 disparities of life remained the same, the rich still 
 rich, the poor still poor. In the first days of the 
 revolution, Sir Geoffrey Gates, the freebooter, little 
 comprehending the earl's merciful policy, and anxious 
 naturally to turn a victory into its accustomed fruit 
 of rapine and pillage, placed himself at the head of 
 an armed mob, marched from Kent to the suburbs 
 of London, and, joined by some of the miscreants 
 from the different Sanctuaries, burned and pillaged, 
 ravished and slew. The earl quelled this insurrection 
 with spirit and ease; 1 and great was the praise he 
 received thereby. But all-pervading is the sympathy 
 the poor feel for the poor! And when even the refuse 
 of the populace once felt the sword of Warwick, some 
 portion of the popular enthusiasm must have silently 
 deserted him. 
 
 Robert Hilyard, who had borne so large a share in 
 the restoration of the Lancastrians, now fixed his home 
 in the metropolis; and, anxious as ever to turn the 
 current to the popular profit, he saw, with rage and 
 disappointment, that as yet no party but the nobles 
 had really triumphed. He had longed to achieve a 
 revolution that might be called the People's; and he 
 had abetted one that was called " the Lords' doing. " 
 The affection he had felt for Warwick arose principally 
 from his regarding him as an instrument to prepare 
 society for the more democratic changes he panted to 
 1 Hall, Habington.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 383 
 
 effect; and lo! he himself had heen the instrument 
 to strengthen the aristocracy. Society resettled after 
 the storm, the noble retained his armies; the dema- 
 gogue had lost his mobs! Although through England 
 were scattered the principles which were ultimately 
 to destroy feudalism, — to humble the fierce barons into 
 silken lords; to reform the Church; to ripen into a 
 commonwealth, through the representative system, — 
 the principles were but in the germ ; and when Hilyard 
 mingled with the traders or the artisans of London, and 
 sought to form a party which might comprehend some- 
 thing of steady policy and definite object, he found 
 himself regarded as a visionary fanatic by some, as a 
 dangerous dare-devil by the rest. Strange to say, 
 Warwick was the only man who listened to him with 
 attention ; the man behind the age, and the man before 
 the age, ever have some inch of ground in common : 
 both desired to increase liberty: both honestly and 
 ardently loved the masses; but each in the spirit of 
 his order: Warwick defended freedom as against the 
 throne, Hilyard as against the barons. Still, notwith- 
 standing their differences, each was so convinced of the 
 integrity of the other, that it wanted only a foe in the 
 field to unite them as before. The natural ally of 
 the popular baron was the leader of the populace. 
 
 Some minor, but still serious griefs added to the 
 embarrassment of the earl's position. Margaret's jeal- 
 ousy had bound him to defer all rewards to lords and 
 others, and encumbered Avith a provisional council all 
 great nets of government, all grants of offices, lands, or 
 benefits. 1 And who knows not the expectations of men 
 after a successful revolution! The royal exchequer 
 was so empty that even the ordinary household was 
 
 1 Sharon Turner.
 
 334 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 suspended ; * and, as ready money was then prodigiously 
 scarce, the mighty revenues of Warwick barely sufficed 
 to pay the expenses of the expedition, which, at his 
 own cost, had restored the Lancastrian line. Hard 
 position, both to generosity and to prudence, to put off 
 and apologize to just claims and valiant service! 
 
 With intense, wearying, tortured anxiety, did the 
 earl await the coming of Margaret and her son. The 
 conditions imposed on him in their absence crippled 
 all his resources. Several even of the Lancastrian 
 nobles held aloof, while they saw no authority but 
 Warwick's. Above all, he relied upon the effect that 
 the young Prince of Wales's presence, his beauty, his 
 graciousness, his frank spirit, — mild as his father's, 
 bold as his grandsire's, — would create upon all that 
 inert and neutral mass of the public, the affection of 
 which, once gained, makes the solid strength of a 
 government. The very appearance of that prince 
 would at once dispel the slander on his birth. His 
 resemblance to his heroic grandfather would suffice to 
 win him all the hearts, by which, in absence, he was 
 regarded as a stranger, a dubious alien. How often did 
 the earl groan forth, " If the prince were but here, all 
 were won ! " Henry was worse than a cipher, — he was 
 an eternal embarrassment. His good intentions, his 
 scrupulous piety, made him ever ready to interfere. 
 The Church had got hold of him already, and prompted 
 him to issue proclamations against the disguised Lollards, 
 which would have lost him, at one stroke, half his 
 subjects, This Warwick prevented, to the great dis- 
 content of the honest prince. The moment required 
 all the prestige that an imposing presence and a splendid 
 
 1 See Ellis's " Original Letters," from Harleian MSS., second 
 series, vol. i., letter 42.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 385 
 
 court could bestow. And Henry, glad of the poverty 
 of his exchequer, deemed it a sin to make a parade of 
 earthly glory. " Heaven will punish me again, " said he 
 meekly, " if, just delivered from a dungeon, I gild my 
 unworthy self with all the vanities of perishable power. " 
 There was not a department which the chill of tins 
 poor king's virtue did not somewhat benumb. The 
 gay youths, who had revelled in the alluring court of 
 Edward IV., heard, with disdainful mockery, the grave 
 lectures of Henry on the length of their lovelocks and 
 the beakers of their shoes. The brave warriors pre- 
 sented to him for praise were entertained with homilies 
 on the guilt of war. Even poor Adam was molested and 
 invaded by Henry's pious apprehensions that he was 
 seeking, by vain knowledge, to be superior to the will of 
 Providence. 
 
 Yet, albeit perpetually irritating and chafing the impet- 
 uous spirit of the earl, the earl, strange to say, loved the 
 king more and more. This perfect innocence, this 
 absence from guile and self-seeking, in the midst of an 
 age never excelled for fraud, falsehood, and selfish simu- 
 lation, moved Warwick's admiration as well as pity. 
 Whatever contrasted Edward IV. had a charm for him. 
 He schooled his hot temper, and softened his deep voice, 
 in that holy presence ; and the intimate persuasion of the 
 hollowness of all worldly greatness itself had forced upon 
 the earl's mind, made something congenial between the 
 meek saint and the fiery warrior. Eor the hundredth time 
 groaned Warwick, as he quitted Henry's presence, — 
 
 "Would that my gallant son-in-law were come! his 
 spirit will soon learn how to govern, then Warwick may 
 be needed no more ! I am weary — sore weary of the 
 task of ruling men ! " 
 
 " Holy St. Thomas ! " bluntly exclaimed Marmaduke, 
 
 VOL. II. — 25
 
 386 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 to whom these sad words were said, — " whenever you 
 visit the king, you come hack — pardon me, my lord — 
 half unmanned. He would make a monk of you ! " 
 
 " Ah ! " said Warwick, thoughtfully, — " there have 
 been greater marvels than that. Our boldest fathers 
 often died the meekest shavelings. An I had ruled this 
 realm as long as Henry, — nay, an this same life I lead 
 now were to continue two years, with its broil and fever, 
 — I could well conceive the sweetness of the cloister and 
 repose. How sets the wind 1 Against them still ! — 
 against them still ! I cannot bear this suspense ! " 
 
 The winds had ever seemed malignant to Margaret of 
 Anjou, but never more than now. So long a continu- 
 ance of stormy and adverse weather was never known in 
 the memory of man ; and we believe that it has scarcely 
 its parallel in history. 
 
 The earl's promise to restore King Henry was fulfilled 
 in October. From November to the following April, 
 Margaret, with the young and royal pair, and the Coun- 
 tess of Warwick, lay at the sea-side, waiting for a wind. 1 
 Thrice, in defiance of all warnings from the mariners of 
 Harfleur, did she put to sea, and thrice was she driven 
 back on the coast of Normandy, her ships much damaged. 
 Her friends protested that this malice of the elements 
 was caused by sorcery , 2 — a belief which gained ground 
 in England, exhilarated the Duchess of Bedford, and 
 gave new fame to Bungey, who arrogated all the merit, 
 and whose weather wisdom, indeed, had here borne out 
 his predictions. Many besought Margaret not to tempt 
 Providence, nor to trust the sea; but the queen was firm 
 to her purpose, and her son laughed at omens, — yet still 
 the vessels could only leave the harbor to be driven back 
 upon the land. 
 
 1 Fabyan, 502. 2 Hall. " Warkworth Chronicle."
 
 THE LAST OF THE BAROXS. 387 
 
 Day after day, the first question of Warwick, when 
 the sun rose, was, " How sets the wind ? " Night after 
 night, ere he retired to rest, — " Til sets the wind ! " sighed 
 the earl. The gales that forbade the coming of the 
 royal party, sped to the unwilling lingerers courier after 
 courier, — envoy after envoy; and at length Warwick, 
 unable to bear the sickening suspense at distance, went 
 himself to Dover, 1 and from its white cliffs looked, hour 
 by hour, for the sails which were to bear " Lancaster 
 and its fortunes." The actual watch grew more intol- 
 erable than the distant expectation, and the earl sorrow- 
 fully departed to his castle of Warwick, at which Isabel 
 and Clarence then were. Alas! where the old smile of 
 
 home? 
 
 i Hall.
 
 388 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The Return of Edward of York. 
 
 And the winds still blew, and storm was on the tide, 
 and Margaret came not; when, in the gusty month of 
 March, the fishermen of the Humber beheld a single 
 ship, without flag or pennon, and sorely stripped and 
 rivelled by adverse blasts, gallantly struggling towards 
 the shore. The vessel was not of English build, and 
 resembled, in its bulk and fashion, those employed by 
 the Easterlings in their trade, — half merchantman, half 
 war-ship. 
 
 The villagers of Ravenspur, — the creek of which, the 
 vessel now rapidly made to, — imagining that it was some 
 trading craft in distress, grouped round the banks, and 
 some put out their boats. But the vessel held on its 
 way, and, as the water was swelled by the tide, and 
 unusually deep, silently cast anchor close ashore, a 
 quarter of a mile from the crowd. 
 
 The first who leaped on land was a knight of lofty 
 stature, and in complete armor, richly inlaid with gold 
 arabesques. To him succeeded another, also in mail, 
 and, though well built and fair proportioned, of less im- 
 posing presence. And then, one by one, the womb of 
 the dark ship gave forth a number of armed soldiers, 
 infinitely larger than it could have been supposed to 
 contain, till the knight who first landed stood the centre 
 of a group of five hundred men. Then were lowered 
 from the vessel, barbed and caparisoned, some five score 
 horses; and, finally, the sailors and rowers, armed but
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 389 
 
 with steel caps and short swords, came on shore, till not 
 a man was left on board. 
 
 " Now praise, " said the chief knight, " to God and 
 St. George, that we have escaped the water! and not 
 with invisible winds, but with bodily foes must our war 
 be waged." 
 
 "Beau sire," cried one knight who had debarked 
 immediately after the speaker, and who seemed, from 
 his bearing and equipment, of higher rank than those 
 that followed, — "beau sire, this is a slight army to 
 reconquer a king's realm ! Pray Heaven, that our bold 
 companions have also escaped the deep ! " 
 
 " Why verily, we are not eno', at the best, to spare 
 one man, " said the chief knight, gayly, " but, lo ! we are 
 not without welcomers." And he pointed to the crowd 
 of villagers who now slowly neared the warlike group, 
 but halting at a little distance, continued to gaze at them 
 in some anxiety and alarm. 
 
 " Ho there ! good fellows ! " cried the leader, striding 
 towards the throng, — "what name give you to this 
 village J " 
 
 " Ravenspur, please your worship, " answered one of 
 the peasants. 
 
 " Eavenspur, — hear you that, lords and friends 1 Ac- 
 cept the omen ! On this spot landed, from exile, Henry 
 of Bolingbroke, known afterwards in our annals as King 
 Henry IV.! Bare is the soil of corn and of trees, — it 
 disdains meaner fruit; it grows kings! Hark ! " — The 
 sound of a bugle was heard at a little distance, and in 
 a few moments, a troop of about a hundred men were 
 seen rising above an undulation in the ground, and as 
 the two bands recognized each other, a shout of joy was 
 given and returned. 
 
 As this new reinforcement advanced, the peasantry
 
 390 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 and fishermen, attracted by curiosity and encouraged by 
 the peaceable demeanor of the debarkers, drew nearer, 
 and mingled with the first comers. 
 
 " What manner of men be ye, and what want ye ? " 
 asked one of the bystanders, who seemed of better nur- 
 turing than the rest, and who, indeed, was a small 
 franklin. 
 
 No answer was returned by those he more immediately 
 addressed, but the chief knight heard the question, and 
 suddenly unbuckling his helmet, and giving it to one of 
 those beside him, be turned to the crowd a countenance 
 of singular beauty, at once animated and majestic, and 
 said, in a loud voice, " We are Englishmen, like you, 
 and we come here to claim our rights. Ye seem tall 
 fellows and honest. Standard-bearer, unfurl our flag ! " 
 And, as the ensign suddenly displayed the device of a 
 sun, in a field azure, the chief continued, " March under 
 this banner, and for every day ye serve, ye shall have a 
 month's hire." 
 
 " Marry ! " quoth the franklin, with a suspicious, 
 sinister look, " these be big words. And who are you, 
 sir knight, who Avould levy men in King Henry's 
 kingdom ? " 
 
 " Your knees, fellows ! " cried the second knight. 
 " Behold your true liege and suzerain, Edward IV. ! 
 Long live King Edward ! " 
 
 The soldiers caught up the cry, and it was re-echoed 
 lustily by the smaller detachment that now reached the 
 spot; but no answer came from the crowd. They looked 
 at each other in dismay, and retreated rapidly from their 
 place amongst the troops. In fact, the whole of the 
 neighboring district was devoted to Warwick, and many 
 of the peasantry about had joined the former rising under 
 Sir John Coniers. The franklin alone retreated not
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 391 
 
 with the rest; he was a bluff, plain, bold fellow, with 
 good. English blood in his veins. And when the shout 
 ceased, he said, shortly, "We, hereabouts, know no king 
 but King Henry. We fear you would impose upon us. 
 We cannot believe that a great lord like him you call 
 Edward IV. would land, with a handful of men, to 
 encounter the armies of Lord Warwick. We forewarn 
 you to get into your ship, and go back as fast as ye came, 
 for the stomach of England is sick of brawls and blows; 
 and what ye devise is treason ! " 
 
 Forth from the new detachment stepped a youth of 
 small stature, not in armor, and with many a weather 
 stain on his gorgeous dress. He laid his hand upon the 
 franklin's shoulder. " Honest and plain-dealing fellow, " 
 said he, " you are right : pardon the foolish outburst of 
 these brave men, who cannot forget as yet that their 
 chief has worn the crown. We come back not to dis- 
 turb this realm, nor to affect aught against King Henry, 
 whom the saints have favored. No, by St. Paul, we 
 come but back to claim our lands unjustly forfeit. My 
 noble brother here is not king of England, since the 
 people will it not, but he is Duke of York, and he will 
 be contented if assured of the style and lands our father 
 left him. For me, called Richard of Gloucester, I ask 
 nothing but leave to spend my manhood where I have 
 spent my youth, under the eyes of my renowned god- 
 father, Richard Kevile, Earl of Warwick. So report of 
 us. Whither leads yon road 1 " 
 
 " To York, " said the franklin, softened, despite his 
 judgment, by the irresistible suavity of the voice that 
 addressed him. 
 
 " Thither will we go, my lord duke and brother, with 
 your leave, " said Prince Richard, " peaceably and as 
 petitioners. God save ye, friends and countrymen, pray
 
 392 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 for us, that King Henry and the Parliament may do us 
 justice. We are not over rich now, but better times 
 may come. Largess! " and filling both hands with 
 coins from his gipsire, he tossed the bounty among the 
 peasants. 
 
 " Mille tonnere ! What means he with this humble 
 talk of King Henry and the Parliament 1 " whispered 
 Edward to the Lord Say, while the crowd scrambled for 
 the largess, and Richard smilingly mingled amongst them, 
 and conferred with the franklin. 
 
 " Let him alone, I pray you, my liege ; I guess his 
 wise design. And now for our ships. What orders for 
 the master? " 
 
 " For the other vessels, let them sail or anchor as they 
 list. But for the bark that has borne Edward king 
 of England to the land of his ancestors, there is no 
 return! " 
 
 The royal adventurer then beckoned the Flemish 
 master of the ship, who, with every sailor aboard, had 
 debarked ; and the loose dresses of the mariners made a 
 strong contrast to the mail of the warriors with whom 
 they mingled. 
 
 " Friend ! " said Edward, in French, " thou hast said 
 that thou wilt share my fortunes, and that thy good 
 fellows are no less free of courage and leal in trust. " 
 
 " It is so, sire. Not a man who has gazed on thy 
 face, and heard thy voice, but longs to serve one on 
 whose brow Nature has written king.'" 
 
 " And trust me, " said Edward, " no prince of my 
 blood shall be dearer to me than you and yours, my 
 friends in danger and in need. And sith it be so, the 
 ship that hath borne such hearts and such hopes should, 
 in sooth, know no meaner freight. Is all prepared 1 " 
 
 " Yes, sire, as you ordered. The train is laid for the 
 brennen."
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 393 
 
 " Up, then, with the fiery signal, and let it tell, from 
 cliff to cliff, from town to town, that Edward the Plan- 
 tagenet, once returned to England, leaves it but for the 
 grave ! " 
 
 The master bowed, and smiled grimly. The sailors, 
 who had been prepared for the burning, arranged before 
 between the master and the prince, and whose careless 
 hearts Edward had thoroughly won to his person and his 
 cause, followed the former towards the ship, and stood 
 silently grouped around the shore. The soldiers, less 
 informed, gazed idly on, and Richard now regained 
 Edward's side. 
 
 " Reflect," lie said, as he drew him apart, " that when 
 on this spot landed Henry of Bolingbroke, he gave not 
 out that he was marching to the throne of Richard II. 
 He professed but to claim his duchy, — and men were 
 influenced by justice, till they became agents of ambi- 
 tion. This be your policy : with two thousand men you 
 are but Duke of York ; with ten thousand men you are 
 King of England ! In passing hither, I met with many, 
 and sounding the temper of the district, I find it not 
 ripe to share your hazard. The world soon ripens when 
 it hath to hail success ! " 
 
 " young boy's smooth face ! — old man's deep 
 brain ! " said Edward, admiringly, — " what a king hadst 
 thou made! " 
 
 A sudden flush passed over the prince's pale cheek, 
 and, ere it died away, a flaming torch was hurled aloft 
 in the air, — it fell whirling into the ship: a moment, 
 and a loud crash, — a moment, and a mighty blaze! Up 
 sprang from the deck, along the sails, the sheeted fire, — 
 
 " A giant beard of flame." 1 
 
 ^ , . — - — — .I 
 
 1 <&koyos fxeyav -nuiyutva. 
 
 iEsuii. "Again.," 314.
 
 394 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 It reddened the coast, — the skies from far and near; it 
 glowed on the faces and the steel of the scanty army ; it 
 was seen, miles away, hy the warders of many a castle 
 manned with the troops of Lancaster; it brought the 
 steed from the stall, the courier to the selle ; it sped, as 
 of old the beacon fire that announced to Clytemnestra 
 the return of the Argive king. From post to post rode 
 the fiery news, till it reached Lord Warwick in his hall, 
 King Henry in his palace, Elizabeth in her sanctuary. 
 The iron step of the dauntless Edward was once more 
 pressed upon the soil of England.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 395 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The Progress of the Plantagenet. 
 
 A few words suffice to explain the formidable arrival we 
 have just announced. Though the Duke of Burgundy 
 had, by public proclamation, forbidden his subjects to 
 aid the exiled Edward ; yet, whether moved by the en- 
 treaties of his wife, or wearied by the remonstrances of 
 his broth er-indaw, he at length privately gave the de- 
 throned monarch 50,000 florins to find troops for him- 
 self, and secretly hired Flemish and Dutch vessels to 
 convey him to England. 1 But, so small was the force 
 to which the bold Edward trusted his fortunes, that it 
 almost seemed as if Burgundy sent him forth to his 
 destruction. He sailed from the coast of Zealand; the 
 winds, if less unmanageable than those that blew off 
 the seaport where Margaret and her armament awaited 
 a favoring breeze, were still adverse. Scared from the 
 coast of Norfolk by the vigilance of Warwick and Oxford, 
 who had filled that district with armed men, storm and 
 tempest drove him at last to Humber Head, where we 
 have seen him land, and whence we pursue his steps. 
 
 The little band set out upon its march, and halted for 
 the night at a small village two miles inland. Some of 
 the men were then sent out on horseback for news of the 
 other vessels that bore the remnant of the invading force. 
 These had, fortunately, effected a landing in various 
 places; and, before daybreak, Anthony Woodville and 
 
 1 Comines, Hall, Lingard, S. Turner.
 
 396 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 the rest of the troops had joined the leader of an enter- 
 prise that seemed but the rashness of despair, — for its 
 utmost force, including the few sailors allured to the 
 adventurer's standard, was about two thousand men. 1 
 Close and anxious was the consultation then held. Each 
 of the several detachments reported alike of the sullen 
 indifference of the population, which each had sought to 
 excite in favor of Edward. Light riders 2 were despatched 
 in various directions, still farther to sound the neighbor- 
 hood. All returned ere noon, some bruised and mal- 
 treated by the stones and staves of the rustics, and not 
 a voice had been heard to echo the cry, " Long live King 
 Edward ! " The profound sagacity of Gloucester's guile- 
 ful counsel was then unanimously recognized. Richard 
 despatched a secret letter to Clarence; and it was re- 
 solved immediately to proceed to York, and to publish 
 everywhere along the road that the fugitive had returned 
 but to claim his private heritage, and remonstrate with 
 the Parliament which had awarded the Duchy of York 
 to Clarence, his younger brother. 
 
 "Such a power," saith the Chronicle, "hath justice 
 ever among men, that all, moved by mercy or compas- 
 sion, began either to favor or not to resist him. " And so, 
 wearing the Lancastrian Prince of Wales's cognizance 
 of the ostrich feather, crying out as they marched, " Long 
 live King Henry," the hardy liars, four days after their 
 debarkation, arrived at the gates of York. 
 
 Here, not till after much delay and negotiation, 
 Edward was admitted only as Duke of York, and upon 
 condition that he would swear to be a faithful and 
 loyal servant to King Henry ; and at the gate by which 
 he was to enter, Edward actually took that oath, " a 
 
 1 Fifteen hundred, according to the Croyland historian. 
 
 2 Hall.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 397 
 
 priest being by to say mass in the mass tyme, receiving 
 the body of our blessed Saviour! " x 
 
 Edward tarried not long in York ; he pushed forward. 
 Two great nobles guarded those districts, —Montagu, 
 and the Earl of Northumberland, to whom Edward had 
 restored his lands and titles, and who, on condition of 
 retaining them, had re-entered the service of Lancaster. 
 This last, a true server of the times, who had sided with 
 all parties, now judged it discreet to remain neutral. 2 
 But Edward must pass within a few miles of Pontefract 
 Castle, where Montagu lay with a force that could de- 
 stroy him at a blow. Edward was prepared for the 
 assault, but trusted to deceive the marquis, as he had 
 deceived the citizens of York, — the more for the strong 
 personal love Montagu had ever shown him. If not, 
 he was prepared equally to die in the field, rather than 
 eat again the bitter bread of the exile. But to his incon- 
 ceivable joy and astonishment, Montagu, like Northum- 
 berland, lay idle and supine. Edward and his little 
 troop threaded safely the formidable pass. Alas! Mon- 
 tagu had that day received a formal order from the Duke 
 of Clarence, as co-protector of the realm, 8 to suffer Ed- 
 
 i Hall. 
 
 ' 2 This is the most favorable interpretation of his conduct ; ac- 
 cording to some he was in correspondence with Edward, who 
 showed his letters. 
 
 3 Our historians have puzzled their brains in ingenious conjec- 
 tures of the cause of Montagu's fatal supineness at this juncture, 
 and have passed over the only probable solution of the mystery, 
 which is to be found simply enough stated thus in Stowe's 
 " Chronicle : " — " The Marquis Montacute would have fought 
 with King Edward, but that he had received letters from the 
 Duke of Clarence that he should not fight till hee came." This 
 explanation is borne out by the Warkworth Chronicler and others, 
 who, in an evident mistake of the person addressed, state that Clar- 
 ence wrote word to Warwick not to fight till he came. Clarence
 
 398 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 ward to march on, provided his force was small, and he 
 had taken the oaths to Henry, and assumed hut the 
 title of Duke of York, " for your brother the earl hath 
 had compunctious visitings, and would fain forgive 
 what hath passed, for my father's sake, and unite all 
 factions by Edward's voluntary abdication of the throne, 
 — at all hazards, I am on my way northward, and you 
 will not fight till I come." The marquis, who knew 
 the conscientious doubts which Warwick had entertained 
 in his darker hours, who had no right to disobey the 
 co-protector, who knew no reason to suspect Lord War- 
 wick's son-in-law, and who, moreover, was by no means 
 anxious to be himself the executioner of Edward, whom 
 he had once so truly loved, — though a little marvelling at 
 Warwick's softness, yet did not discredit the letter, and 
 the less regarded the free passage he left to the returned 
 exiles, from contempt for the smallness of their numbers, 
 and Ids persuasion that if the earl saw fit to alter his 
 counsels, Edward was still more in his power the farther 
 he advanced amidst a hostile population, and towards 
 the armies which the Lords Exeter and Oxford were 
 already mustering. 
 
 But that free passage was everything to Edward! 
 It made men think that Montagu, as well as Northum- 
 berland, favored his enterprise ; that the hazard was 
 less rash and hopeless than it had seemed ; that Edward 
 counted upon finding his most powerful allies among 
 
 could not have written so to Warwick, who, according to all au- 
 thorities, was mustering his troops near London, and not in the 
 way to fight Edward ; nor could Clarence have had authority to 
 issue such commands to his colleague, nor would his colleague 
 have attended to them, since we have the amplest testimony that 
 Warwick was urging all his captains to attack Edward at once. 
 The duke's order was, therefore, clearly addressed to Montagu.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 399 
 
 those falsely supposed to be his enemies. The popu- 
 larity Edward had artfully acquired amongst the captains 
 of Warwick's own troops, on the march to Middleham, 
 now bestead him. Many of them were knights and 
 gentlemen residing in the very districts through which 
 he passed. They did not join him, but they did not 
 oppose. Then, rapidly flocked to " the Sun of York, " 
 
 — first, the adventurers and condottieri, who in civil 
 Avar adopt any side for pay ; next came the disappointed, 
 the ambitious, and the needy. The hesitating began 
 to resolve, the neutral to take a part. From the state 
 of petitioners supplicating a pardon, every league the 
 Yorkists marched advanced them to the dignity of asser- 
 tors of a cause. Doncaster first, then Nottingham, then 
 Leicester, — true to the town spirit we have before 
 described, — opened their gates to the trader prince. 
 
 Oxford and Exeter reached Newark with their force. 
 Edward marched on them at once. Deceived as to his 
 numbers, they took panic and fled. When once the 
 foe flies, friends ever start up from the very earth! 
 Hereditary partisans — gentlemen, knights, and nobles 
 
 — now flocked fast round the adventurer. Then came 
 Lovell, and Cromwell, and D'Eyncourt, ever true to 
 York ; and Stanley, never true to any cause. Then came 
 the brave knights Parr and Norris, and De Burgh ; and 
 no less than three thousand retainers belonging to Lord 
 Hastings — the new man — obeyed the summons of his 
 couriers and joined their chief at Leicester. 
 
 Edward of March, who had landed at Ravenspur 
 with a handful of brigands, now saw a king's army 
 under his banner. 1 Then the audacious perjurer threw 
 
 1 The perplexity and confusion which involve the annals of this 
 period may be guessed by this, — that two historians, eminent for 
 research (Lingard and Sharon Turner) differ so widely as to the
 
 400 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 away the mask; then forth went — not the prayer of 
 the attainted Duke of York — but the proclamation of 
 the indignant king. England now beheld two sovereigns, 
 equal in their armies. It was no longer a rebellion to 
 be crushed ; it was a dynasty to be decided. 
 
 numbers who had now joined Edward, that Lingard asserts that at 
 Nottingham he was at the head of fifty or sixty thousand men ; 
 and Turner gives him, at the most, between six and seven thou- 
 sand. The latter seems nearer to the truth. We must here re- 
 gret that Turner's partiality to the House of York induces him to 
 slur over Edward's detestable perjury at York, and to accumulate 
 all rhetorical arts to command admiration for his progress, — to 
 the prejudice of the salutary moral horror we ought to feel for the 
 atrocious perfidy and violation of oath to which he owed the first 
 impunity that secured the after triumph.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 401 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Lord Warwick, with the Foe in the Field, and the Traitor at 
 
 the Hearth. 
 
 Evert precaution which human wisdom could foresee 
 had Lord Warwick taken to guard against invasion, or 
 to crush it at the onset. 1 All the coasts on which 
 it was most probable Edward would land had been 
 strongly guarded. And if the Humber had been left 
 without regular troops, it was because prudence might 
 calculate that the very spot where Edward did land 
 was the very last he would have selected, — unless 
 guided by fate to his destruction, — in the midst of an 
 unfriendly population, and in the face of the armies of 
 Northumberland and of Montagu. The moment the 
 earl heard of Edward's reception at York, — far from 
 the weakness which the false Clarence (already in cor- 
 respondence with Gloucester) imputed to him, — he 
 despatched to Montagu, by Marmaduke Nevile, per- 
 emptory orders to intercept Edward's path, and give 
 him battle before he could advance farther towards the 
 centre of the island. We shall explain presently why 
 this messenger did not reach the marquis. But Clar- 
 ence was some hours before him in his intelligence and 
 his measures. 
 
 When the earl next, heard that Edward had passed 
 Pontefract with impunity, and had reached Doncaster, 
 he flew first to London, to arrange for its defence; 
 consigned the care of Henry to the Archbishop of 
 
 i Hall. 
 
 VOL. II. — 26
 
 402 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 York, mustered a force already quartered in the neigh- 
 borhood of the metropolis, and then marched rapidly 
 back towards Coventry, where he had left Clarence 
 with seven thousand men; while he despatched new 
 messengers to Montagu and Northumberland, severely 
 rebuking the former for his supineness, and ordering 
 him to march in all haste to attack Edward in the 
 rear. The earl's activity, promptitude, and all-provi- 
 dent generalship, form a mournful contrast to the 
 errors, the pusillanimity, and the treachery of others, 
 which hitherto, as we have seen, made all his wisest 
 schemes abortive. Despite Clarence's sullenness, War- 
 wick had discovered no reason, as yet, to doubt his 
 good faith. The oath he had taken — not only to 
 Henry, in London, but to Warwick, at Amboise — had 
 been the strongest which can bind man to man. If 
 the duke had not gained all he had hoped, he had 
 still much to lose and much to dread by desertion to 
 Edward. He had been the loudest in bold assertions 
 when he heard of the invasion; and, above all, Isabel, 
 whose influence over Clarence, at that time, the earl 
 overrated, had, at the tidings of so imminent a danger 
 to her father, forgot all her displeasure and recovered 
 all her tenderness. 
 
 During Warwick's brief absence, Isabel had, indeed, 
 exerted her utmost power to repair her former wrongs, 
 and induce Clarence to be faithful to his oath. Although 
 her inconsistency and irresolution had much weakened 
 her influence with the duke, for natures like his are 
 governed but by the ascendancy of a steady and tran- 
 quil will, yet still she so far prevailed, that the duke 
 had despatched to Richard a secret courier, informing 
 him that he had finally resolved not to desert his 
 father-in-law.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 403 
 
 This letter reached Gloucester as the invaders were 
 on their march to Coventry, before the strong walls of 
 which the Duke of Clarence lay encamped. Richard, 
 after some intent and silent reflection, beckoned to him 
 his familiar Catesby. 
 
 " Marmaduke Nevile, whom our scouts seized on his 
 way to Pontefract, is safe, and in the rear? " 
 
 " Yes, my lord ; prisoners but encumber us : shall I 
 give orders to the provost to end his captivity 1 " 
 
 " Ever ready, Catesby ! " said the duke, with a fell 
 smile. "No, — harkye, Clarence vacillates: if he hold 
 firm to Warwick, and the two forces fight honestly 
 against us, we are lost; on the other hand, if Clarence 
 join us, his defection will bring not only the men he 
 commands, — all of whom are the retainers of the York 
 lands and duchy, and therefore free from peculiar bias 
 to the earl, and easily lured back to their proper chief, — 
 but it will set an example that will create such dis- 
 trust and panic amongst the enemy, and give such 
 hope of fresh desertions to our own men, as will open 
 to us the keys of the metropolis. But Clarence, I say, 
 vacillates; look you, here is his letter from Amboise 
 to King Edward; see, his duchess, Warwick's very 
 daughter, approves the promise it contains! If this 
 letter reach Warwick, and Clarence knows it is in his 
 hand, George will have no option but to join us. He 
 will never dare to face the earl, his pledge to Edward 
 once revealed — " 
 
 " Most true ; a very legal subtlety, my lord, " said 
 the lawyer Catesby, admiringly. 
 
 "You can serve us in this. Fall back; join Sir 
 Marmaduke; affect to sympathize with him; affect to 
 side with the earl; affect to make terms for Warwick's 
 amity and favor; affect to betray us; affect to have
 
 404 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 stolen this letter. Give it to young Nevile, artfully 
 effect his escape, as if against our knowledge, and com- 
 mend him to lose not an hour — a moment — in gaining 
 the earl, and giving him so important a forewarning of 
 the meditated treason of his son-in-law." 
 
 " I will do all, — ■ I comprehend : but how will the 
 duke learn in time that the letter is on its way to 
 Warwick 1 " 
 
 " I will see the duke in his own tent. " 
 
 " And how shall I effect Sir Marmaduke's escape 1 " 
 
 " Send hither the officer who guards the prisoner; 
 I will give him orders to obey thee in all things." 
 
 The invaders marched on. The earl, meanwhile, 
 had reached Warwick, — hastened thence, to throw him- 
 self into the stronger fortifications of the neighboring 
 Coventry, without the walls of which Clarence was still 
 encamped. Edward advanced on the town of Warwick 
 thus vacated; and Richard, at night, rode alone to the 
 camp of Clarence. 1 
 
 The next day, the earl was employed in giving orders 
 to his lieutenants to march forth, join the troops of his 
 son-in-law, who were a mile from the walls, and advance 
 upon Edward, who had that morning quitted Warwick 
 town, when, suddenly, Sir Marmaduke Nevile rushed 
 into his presence, and faltering out, " Beware, beware ! " 
 placed in his hands the fatal letter which Clarence had 
 despatched from Amboise. 
 
 Never did blow more ruthless fall upon man's heart! 
 Clarence's perfidy, — that might be disdained ; but the 
 closing lines, which revealed a daughter's treachery, — 
 words cannot express the father's anguish. 
 
 The letter dropped from his hand, a stupor seized 
 his senses, and, ere yet recovered, pale men hurried 
 
 1 Hall, and others.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 405 
 
 into his presence to relate how, amidst joyous trumpets 
 and streaming banners, Richard of Gloucester had led 
 the Duke of Clarence to the brotherly embrace of 
 Edward. 1 
 
 Breaking from these messengers of evil news, that 
 could not now surprise, the earl strode on, alone, to his 
 daughter's chamber. 
 
 He placed the letter in her hands, and, folding his 
 arms, said, " What sayest thou of this, Isabel of 
 Clarence 1 " 
 
 The terror, the shame, the remorse, that seized upon 
 the wretched lady; the death-like lips; the suppressed 
 shriek ; the momentary torpor, succeeded by the impulse 
 which made her fall at her father's feet, and clasp his 
 knees, — told the earl, if he had before doubted, that the 
 letter lied not, that Isabel had known and sanctioned its 
 contents. 
 
 He gazed on her (as she grovelled at his feet) with a 
 look that her eyes did well to shun. 
 
 "Curse me not, curse me not!" cried Isabel, awed 
 by his very silence. " It was but a brief frenzy. Evil 
 counsel, evil passion! I was maddened that my boy 
 had lost a crown. I repented, I repented, — Clarence 
 shall yet be true. He hath promised it, — ■ vowed it 
 to me ; hath written to Gloucester to retract all, to — " 
 
 " Woman! — Clarence is in Edward's camp ! " 
 
 Isabel started to her feet, and uttered a shriek so 
 wild and despairing, that at least it gave to her father's 
 
 1 Hall. The chronicler adds, " It was no marvell that the 
 Duke of Clarence, with so small persuasion and less exhorting, 
 turned from the Earl of Warwick's party, for, as you have heard 
 before, this merchandise was labored, conducted, and concluded by 
 a damsell, when the duke was in the French court, to the earl's 
 utter confusion." Hume makes a notable mistake in deferring 
 the date of Clarence's desertion to the battle of Barnet.
 
 406 THE LAST OF THE BAROx\ T S. 
 
 lacerated heart the miserable solace of believing the 
 last treason had not been shared. A softer expression 
 — one of pity, if not of pardon — stole over his dark 
 face. 
 
 " I curse thee not, " he said ; " I rebuke thee not. 
 Thy sin hath its own penance. Ill omen broods on the 
 hearth of the household traitor ! Never more shalt 
 thou see holy love in a husband's smile. His kiss 
 shall have the taint of Judas. From his arms thou shalt 
 start with horror, as from those of thy wronged father's 
 betrayer, — perchance his deathsman ! Ill omen broods 
 on the cradle of the child for whom a mother's ambi- 
 tion was but a daughter's perfidy. Woe to thee, wife 
 and mother! Even my forgiveness cannot avert thy 
 doom ! " 
 
 " Kill me, kill me ! " exclaimed Isabel, springing 
 towards him; but seeing his face averted, his arms 
 folded on his breast, — that noble breast, never again 
 her shelter, — she fell lifeless on the floor. 1 
 
 The earl looked round to see that none were by to wit- 
 ness his weakness, took her gently in his arms, laid her 
 
 1 As our narrative does not embrace the future fate of the 
 Duchess of Clarence, the reader will pardon us if we remind 
 him that her first-born (who bore his illustrious grandfather's title 
 of Earl of Warwick) was cast into prison on the accession of 
 Henry VII., and afterwards beheaded by that king. By birth he 
 was the rightful heir to the throne. The ill-fated Isabel died young 
 (five years after the date at which our tale has arrived). One of 
 her female attendants was tried and executed on the charge of hav- 
 ing poisoned her. Clarence lost no time in seeking to supply her 
 place. He solicited the hand of Mary of Burgundy, sole daughter 
 and heir of Charles the Bold. Edward's jealousy and fear for- 
 bade him to listen to an alliance that might, as Lingard observes, 
 enable Clarence " to employ the power of Burgundy to win the 
 crown of England ; " and hence arose those dissensions which 
 ended in the secret murder of the perjured duke. 

 
 THE LAST OF THE BAKONS. 407 
 
 on her couch, and, hending over her a moment, prayed 
 God to pardon her. 
 
 He then hastily left the room, — • ordered her hand- 
 maids and her litter; and while she was yet unconscious, 
 the gates of the town opened, and forth through the arch 
 went the closed and curtained vehicle which bore the ill- 
 fated duchess to the new home her husband had made 
 with her father's foe ! The earl watched it from the case- 
 ment of his tower, and said to himself, — 
 
 " I had been unmanned, had I known her within the 
 same walls. Now forever I dismiss her memory and her 
 crime. Treachery hath done its worst, and my soul is 
 proof against all storms ! " 
 
 At night came messengers from Clarence and Edward, 
 who had returned to Warwick town, with offers of par- 
 don to the earl, — with promises of favor, power, and 
 grace. To Edward, the earl deigned no answer; to the 
 messenger of Clarence he gave this, — " Tell thy master, 
 I had liefer be always like myself, than like a false and a 
 perjured duke, and that I am determined never to leave 
 the war till I have lost mine own life, or utterly extin- 
 guished and put down my foes. " 1 
 
 After this terrible defection, neither his remaining 
 forces, nor the panic amongst them which the duke's 
 desertion had occasioned, nor the mighty interests in- 
 volved in the success of his arms, nor the irretrievable 
 advantage which even an engagement of equivocal result 
 with the earl in person would give to Edward, justified 
 Warwick in gratifying the anticipations of the enemy, — 
 that his valor and wrath would urge him into immediate 
 and imprudent battle. 
 
 Edward, after the vain bravado of marching up to the 
 walls of Coventry, moved on towards London. Thither 
 
 i Hall.
 
 408 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 the earl sent Marmaduke, enjoining the Archbishop of 
 York and the lord mayor but to hold out the city 
 for three days, and he would come to their aid with 
 such a force as would insure lasting triumph. For, 
 indeed, already were hurrying to his banner, Montagu, 
 burning to retrieve his error, — Oxford and Exeter, 
 recovered from, and chafing at their past alarm. 
 Thither his nephew, Fitzhugh, led the earl's own 
 clansmen of Middleham ; thither were spurring Somerset 
 from the west, 1 and Sir Thomas Dymoke from Lincoln- 
 shire, and the Knight of Lytton, with his hardy 
 retainers, from the Peak. Bold Hilyard waited not 
 far from London, with a host of mingled yeomen 
 and bravoes, reduced, as before, to discipline under 
 his own sturdy energies, and the military craft of Sir 
 John Coniers. If London would but hold out till 
 these forces could unite, Edward's destruction was still 
 inevitable. 
 
 1 Most historians state that Somerset was then in Loudon ; but 
 Sharon Turner quotes " Harleian MSS." 38, to show that he had 
 left the metropolis " to raise an army from the western counties," 
 and ranks him amongst the generals at the battle of Barnet.
 
 BOOK XII. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF BARNET. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A King in his City hopes to recover his Realm — A Woman in 
 her Chamber fears to forfeit her own. 
 
 Edward and his army reached St. Alhan's. Great 
 commotion, great joy, were in the Sanctuary of West- 
 minster ! The Jerusalem Chamber, therein, was made 
 the high council-hall of the friends of York. Great 
 commotion, great terror, were in the city of London, — 
 timid Master Stokton had been elected mayor; horribly 
 frightened either to side with an Edward or a Henry, 
 timid Master Stokton feigned or fell ill. Sir Thomas 
 Cook, a wealthy and influential citizen, and a member 
 of the House of Commons, had been appointed deputy 
 in his stead. Sir Thomas Cook took fright also, and 
 ran away. 1 The power of the city thus fell into the 
 hands of Ursewike, the Recorder, a zealous Yorkist. 
 Great commotion, great scorn, were in the breasts of 
 the populace, as the Archbishop of York, hoping thereby 
 to rekindle their loyalty, placed King Henry on horse- 
 back, and paraded him through the streets, from Cheap- 
 side to Walbrook, from Walbrook to St. Paul's; for the 
 news of Edward's arrival, and the sudden agitation and 
 
 1 Fabtan.
 
 410 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 excitement it produced on his enfeebled frame, had 
 brought upon the poor king one of the epileptic attacks 
 to which he had been subject from childhood, and which 
 made the cause of his frequent imbecility; and, just 
 recovered from such a fit, — his eyes vacant, his face 
 haggard, his head drooping, — the spectacle of such an 
 antagonist to the vigorous Edward, moved only pity 
 in the few, and ridicule in the many. Two thousand 
 Yorkist gentlemen were in the various sanctuaries; aided 
 and headed by the Earl of Essex, they came forth armed 
 and clamorous, scouring the streets, and shouting, 
 " King Edward ! " with impunity. Edward's popular- 
 ity in London was heightened amongst the merchants 
 by prudent reminiscences of the vast debts he had in- 
 curred, which his victory only could ever enable him 
 to repay to his good citizens. 1 The women — always, in 
 such a movement, active partisans, and useful — deserted 
 their hearths to canvas all strong arms and stout hearts 
 for the handsome woman-lover. 2 The Yorkist Arch- 
 bishop of Canterbury did his best with the ecclesiastics, 
 — the Yorkist Recorder his best with the flat-caps. 
 Alwyn, true to his ante-feudal principles, animated all 
 the young freemen to support the merchant king, — the 
 favorer of commerce, the man of his age ! The city 
 authorities began to yield to their own and the general 
 metropolitan predilections. But still the Archbishop of 
 York had six thousand soldiers at his disposal, and 
 London could be yet saved to Warwick, if the prelate 
 acted with energy, and zeal, and good faith. That 
 such was his first intention is clear, from his appeal to 
 the public loyalty in King Henry's procession; but 
 when he perceived how little effect that pageant had 
 produced, — when, on re-entering the Bishop of London's 
 i Comixes. a Ibid.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 411 
 
 palace, he saw before him the guileless, helpless puppet 
 of contending factions, gasping for breath, scarcely able 
 to articulate, — the heartless prelate turned away, with 
 a muttered ejaculation of contempt : — 
 
 " Clarence had not deserted, " said he to himself, 
 " unless he saw greater profit with King Edward ! " 
 And then he began to commune with himself, and to 
 commune with his brother-prelate of Canterbury ; and 
 in the midst of all this commune arrived Catesby, 
 charged with messages to the archbishop from Edward, 
 
 — messages full of promise and affection on the one 
 hand, of menace and revenge upon the other. Brief, 
 
 — Warwick's cup of bitterness had not yet been filled ; 
 that night the archbishop and the mayor of London 
 met, and the Tower was surrendered to Edward's 
 friends; the next day Edward and his army entered, 
 amidst the shouts of the populace, — rode to St. Paul's, 
 where the archbishop 1 met him, leading Henry by the 
 hand, again a captive; thence Edward proceeded to 
 Westminster Abbey, and, fresh from his atrocious per- 
 jury at York, offered thanksgivings for its success. The 
 Sanctuary yielded up its royal fugitives, and, in joy 
 and in pomp, Edward led his wife and her new-born 
 babe, with Jacquetta and his elder children, to Bay- 
 nard's Castle. 
 
 The next morning (the third day), true to his prom- 
 ise, Warwick marched towards London with the mighty 
 armament he had now collected. Treason had done its 
 work, — the metropolis was surrendered, and King Henry 
 in the Tower. 
 
 1 Sharon Turner. It is a comfort to think that this arch- 
 bishop was, two years afterwards, first robbed, and then impris- 
 oned, by Edward IV. ; nor did he recover his liberty till a few 
 weeks before his death, in 1476 (five years subsequently to the 
 battle of Barnet).
 
 412 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 " These things considered, " says the chronicler, " the 
 earl saw that all calculations of necessity were brought 
 to this end, — that they must now be committed to the 
 hazard and chance of one battle. " x He halted, there- 
 fore, at St. Alban's, to rest his troops; and, marching 
 thence towards Barnet, pitched his tents on the upland 
 ground, then called the Heath or Chase of Gladsmoor, 
 and waited the coming foe. 
 
 Nor did Edward linger long from that stern meeting. 
 Entering London on the 11th of April, he prepared to 
 quit it on the 13th. Besides the force he had brought 
 with him, he had now recruits in his partisans from 
 the sanctuaries and other hiding-places in the metrop- 
 olis, while London furnished him, from her high- 
 spirited youths, a gallant troop of bow and bill-men, 
 whom Alwyn had enlisted, and to whom Edward will- 
 ingly appointed, as captain, Alwyn himself, — who had 
 atoned for his submission to Henry's restoration by such 
 signal activity on behalf of the young king, whom he 
 associated with the interests of his class, and the weal 
 of the great commercial city, which some years after- 
 wards rewarded his affection by electing him to her chief 
 magistracy. 2 
 
 It was on that very day, the 13th of April, some 
 hours before the departure of the York army, that Lord 
 Hastings entered the Tower, to give orders relative to 
 the removal of the unhappy Henry, whom Edward had 
 resolved to take with him on his march. 
 
 i Hall. 
 
 2 Nicholas Alwyn, the representative of that generation which 
 aided the commercial and anti-feudal policy of Edward IV. and 
 Richard III., and welcomed its consummation under their Tudor 
 successor, rose to be Lord Mayor of London in the fifteenth year 
 of the reign of Henry VII. — Fabyan.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 413 
 
 And as he had so ordered, and was ahont to return, 
 Alwyn, emerging from one of the interior courts, 
 approached him in much agitation, and said thus, — 
 " Pardon me, my lord, if in so grave an hour I recall 
 your attention to one you may haply have forgotten. " 
 
 " Ah, the poor maiden ; but you told me, in the 
 hurried words that we have already interchanged, that 
 she was safe and well." 
 
 "Safe, my lord, — not well. Oh, hear me. I depart 
 to battle for your cause and your king's. A gentleman 
 in your train has advised me that you are married to a 
 noble dame in the foreign land. If so, this girl whom 
 I have loved so long and truly, may yet forget you, — 
 may yet be mine. Oh, give me that hope to make me 
 a brave soldier." 
 
 " But, " said Hastings, embarrassed, and with a chang- 
 ing countenance, — " but time presses, and I know not 
 where the demoiselle — " 
 
 " She is here, " interrupted Alwyn ; " here, within 
 these walls, — in yonder courtyard. I have just left 
 her. You, whom she loves, forgot her! i", whom she 
 disdains, remembered. T went to see to her safety, — 
 to counsel her to rest here for the present, whatever 
 betides: and, at every word I said, she broke in upon 
 me but with one name, — that name was thine ! And 
 when stung, and in the impulse of the moment, I 
 exclaimed, ' He deserves not this devotion. They tell 
 me, Sibyll, that Lord Hastings has found a wife in 
 exile,' — oh, that look! that cry! they haunt me still. 
 ' Prove it, prove it, Alwyn, ' she cried, ' and — ' I 
 interrupted, ' And thou couldst yet, for thy father's 
 sake , be true wife to me ? ' " 
 
 " Her answer, Alwyn 1 " 
 
 "It was this, — ' For my father's sake, only, then,
 
 414 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 could I live on ; and — ' her sobs stopped her speech, 
 till she cried again, ' I believe it not! thou hast deceived 
 me. Only from his lips will I hear the sentence.' 
 Go to her, manfully and frankly, as becomes you, high 
 lord, — go! It is but a single sentence thou hast to 
 say, and thy heart will be the lighter, and thine arm 
 the stronger, for those honest words." 
 
 Hastings pulled his cap over his brow, and stood a 
 moment as if in reflection ; he then said, " Show me 
 the way ; thou art right. It is due to her and to thee ; 
 and as, by this hour to-morrow, my soul may stand 
 before the Judgment-seat, that poor child's pardon may 
 take one sin from the large account."
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 415 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Sharp is the Kiss of the Falcon's Beak. 
 
 Hastings stood in the presence of the girl to whom he 
 had pledged his troth. They were alone; hut in the 
 next chamher might be heard the peculiar sound made 
 by the mechanism of the Eureka. Happy and lifeless 
 mechanism, which moves, and toils, and strives on, to 
 change the destiny of millions, but hath neither ear, 
 nor eye, nor sense, nor heart, — the avenues of pain to 
 man ! She had — yes, literally — she had recognized 
 her lover's step upon the stair, she had awakened at 
 once from that dull and icy lethargy with which the 
 words of Alwyn had chained life and soul. She sprang 
 forward as Hastings entered, — she threw herself, in 
 delirious joy, upon his bosom. " Thou art come, thou 
 art ! It is not true — not true. Heaven bless thee ! — 
 thou art come ! " But sudden as the movement, was 
 the recoil. Drawing herself back, she gazed steadily 
 on his face, and said, " Lord Hastings, they tell me 
 thy hand is another's. Is it true 1 " 
 
 " Hear me, " answered the nobleman. " When first 
 I — " 
 
 "Oh, God! — oh, God! he answers not, — he falters. 
 Speak ! Is it true 1 " 
 
 " It is true. I am wedded to another." 
 
 Sibyll did not fall to the ground, nor faint, nor give 
 vent to noisy passion. But the rich color which before 
 had been varying and fitful, deserted her cheek, and left
 
 415 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 it of an ashen whiteness; the lips, too, grew tightly- 
 compressed, and her small fingers, interlaced, were 
 clasped with strained and convulsive energy, so that 
 the quivering of the very arms was perceptible. In all 
 else she seemed composed, as she said, "I thank you, 
 my lord, for the simple truth, — no more is needed. 
 Heaven bles.s you and yours! Farewell!" 
 
 "Stay! — you shall — you must hear me on. Thou 
 knowest how dearly in youth I loved Katherine Nevile. 
 In manhood the memory of that love haunted me, but 
 beneath thy sweet smile, I deemed it, at last, effaced; I 
 left thee to seek the king, and demand his assent to our 
 union. I speak not of obstacles that then arose ; — in 
 the midst of them I learned Katherine was lone and 
 widowed, — was free. At her own summons I sought 
 her presence, and learned that she had loved me ever, 
 — loved me still. The intoxication of my early dream 
 returned; reverse and exile followed close, — Katherine 
 left her state, her fortunes, her native land, and fol- 
 lowed the banished man; and so memory, and gratitude, 
 and destiny concurred, and the mistress of my youth 
 became my wife. None other could have replaced thy 
 image, — none other have made me forget the faith I 
 pledged thee. The thought of thee has still pursued 
 me , — will pursue me to the last. I dare not say now 
 that I love thee still, but yet — " He paused, but 
 rapidly resumed, " Enough, enough : dear art thou to 
 me, and honored, — dearer, more honored than a sister. 
 Thank Heaven, at least, and thine own virtue, my 
 falsehood leaves thee pure and stainless. Thy hand 
 may yet bless a worthier man. If our cause triumphs, 
 thy fortunes, thy father's fate, shall be my fondest care. 
 Never — never will my sleep be sweet, and my con- 
 science laid to rest, till I hear thee say, as honored
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 417 
 
 wife, — perchance, as blessed and blessing mother, — 
 ' False one, I am happy ! ' " 
 
 A cold smile, at these last words, flitted over the 
 girl's face, — the smile of a broken heart; but it van- 
 ished, and with that strange mixture of sweetness and 
 pride — mild and forgiving, yet still spirited and firm 
 — which belonged to her character, she nerved herself 
 to the last and saddest effort to preserve dignity and 
 conceal despair. " Farther words, my lord, are idle, — 
 I am rightly punished for a proud folly. Let not 
 woman love above her state. Think no more of my 
 destiny." 
 
 "No, no," interrupted the remorseful lord; "thy 
 destiny must haunt me till thou hast chosen one with 
 a better right to protect thee." 
 
 At the repetition of that implied desire to transfer 
 her also to another, a noble indignation came to mar 
 the calm for which she had hitherto not vainly strug- 
 gled. " Oh, man! " she exclaimed, with passion, " does 
 thy deceit give me the right to deceive another 1 I — I 
 we( j j I — I — vow at the altar — a love dead, dead 
 forever — dead as my own heart ! Why dost thou mock 
 me with the hollow phrase, ' Thou art pure and stain- 
 less? ' Is the virginity of the soul still left? Do the 
 tears I have shed for thee, doth the thrill of my heart 
 when I heard thy voice, doth the plighted kiss that 
 burns, burns now into my brow, and on my lips, — do 
 these, these leave me free to carry to a new affection 
 the cinders and ashes of a soul thou hast ravished and 
 deflowered ? Oh, coarse and rude belief of men, — that 
 nought is lost, if the mere form be pure! The freshness 
 of the first feelings, the bloom of the sinless thought, 
 the sigh, the blush of the devotion, — never, never felt 
 but once! these, these make the true dower a maiden 
 vol. ii. — 27
 
 418 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 should bring to the hearth to which she comes as wife. 
 Oh, taunt! — Oh, insult! to speak to me of happiness, 
 of the altar! Thou never knewest, lord, how I really- 
 loved thee! " And for the first time, a violent gush of 
 tears came to relieve her heart. 
 
 Hastings was almost equall}*- overcome. Well expe- 
 rienced as he was in those partings, when maids reproach 
 and gallants pray for pardon, but still sigh " Farewell," 
 
 — he had now no words to answer that burst of uncon- 
 trollable agony, and he felt at once humbled and 
 relieved, when Sibyll again, with one of those strug- 
 gles which exhaust years of life, and almost leave us 
 callous to all after-trial, pressed back the scalding tears, 
 and said, with unnatural sweetness, "Pardon me, my 
 lord, — I meant not to reproach ; the words escaped me, 
 ■ — think of them no more. I would fain, at least, part 
 from you now as I had once hoped to part from you at 
 the last hour of life, — without one memory of bitter- 
 ness and anger, so that my conscience, whatever its 
 other griefs, might say, ' My lips never belied my heart, 
 
 — my words never pained him! ' And now then, Lord 
 Hastings, in all charity, we part. Farewell, forever and 
 forever! Thou hast wedded one who loves thee, doubt- 
 less, as tenderly as I had done. Ah! cherish that 
 affection! There are times even in thy career when a 
 little love is sweeter than much fame. If thou thinkest 
 I have aught to pardon thee, now with my whole heart 
 I pray, as while life is mine that prayer shall be mur- 
 mured, 'Heaven forgive this man, as I do! Heaven 
 make his home the home of peace, and breathe into 
 those now near and dear to him, the love and the faith 
 that I once — '" She stopped, for the words choked 
 her, and, hiding her face, held out her hand, in sign of 
 charity and of farewell.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 419 
 
 " Ah! if I dared pray like thee," murmured Hastings, 
 pressing his lips upon that burning hand, " how should 
 I weary Heaven to repair, by countless blessings, the 
 wrong which I have done thee. And Heaven will — 
 oh, it surely will ! " — He pressed the hand to his heart, 
 dropped it, and was gone. 
 
 In the court-yard he was accosted by Alwyn, — 
 
 " Thou hast been frank, my lord ? " 
 
 "I have." 
 
 " And she bears it, and — " 
 
 "See how she forgives, and how I suffer!" said 
 Hastings, turning his face towards his rival, and 
 Alwyn saw that the tears were rolling down his cheeks, 
 — "Question me no more." 
 
 There was a long silence, — they quitted the precincts 
 of the Tower, and were at the river-side. Hastings 
 waving his hand to Alwyn, was about to enter the boat 
 which was to bear him to the war-council assembled at 
 Baynard's Castle, when the trader stopped him, and 
 said anxiously, — 
 
 " Think you not, for the present, the Tower is the 
 safest asylum for Sibyll and her father? If we fail and 
 Warwick returns, they are protected by the earl; if we 
 triumph, thou wilt insure their safety from all foes? " 
 
 "Surely: in either case, their present home is the 
 most secure." 
 
 The two men parted; and not long afterwards, 
 Hastings, who led the on-guard, was on his way 
 towards Barnet: with him also went the foot- volun- 
 teers under Alwyn. The army of York was on its 
 march. Gloucester, to whose vigilance and energy 
 were left the final preparations, was necessarily the 
 last of the generals to quit the city. And suddenly, 
 while his steed was at the gate of Baynard's Castle,
 
 420 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 he entered, armed cap-a-pie, into the chamber where 
 the Duchess of Bedford sat with her grandchildren: 
 "Madame," said he, "I have a grace to demand from 
 you, which will, methinks, not be displeasing. My 
 lieutenants report to me that an alarm has spread 
 amongst my men, — a religious horror of some fearful 
 bombards and guns which have been devised by a 
 sorcerer in Lord Warwick's pay. Your famous Friar 
 Bungey has been piously amongst them, promising, 
 however, that the mists which now creep over the 
 earth shall last through the night and the early morrow ; 
 and if he deceive us not, we may post our men so as to 
 elude the hostile artillery. But, sith the friar is so 
 noted and influential, and sith there is a strong fancy 
 that the winds which have driven back Margaret, obeyed 
 his charm, the soldiers clamor out for him, to attend 
 us, and, on the very field itself, counteract the spells of 
 the Lancastrian nigromancer. The good friar, more 
 accustomed to fight with fiends than men, is daunted, 
 and resists. As much may depend on his showing us 
 good will, and making our fellows suppose we have 
 the best of the witchcraft, I pray you to command 
 his attendance, and cheer up his courage. He waits 
 without." 
 
 "A most notable — a most wise advice, beloved 
 Richard!" cried the duchess. "Friar Bungey is, in- 
 deed, a potent man. I will win him at once to your 
 will;" and the duchess hurried from the room. 
 
 The friar's bodily fears, quieted at last by assurances 
 that he should be posted in a place of perfect safety dur- 
 ing the battle, and his avarice excited by promises of the 
 amplest rewards, he consented to accompany the troops, 
 upon one stipulation : namely, that the atrocious wizard, 
 who had so often baffled his best spells, — the very
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 421 
 
 wizard who had superintended the accursed bombards, 
 and predicted Edward's previous defeat and flight 
 (together with the diabolical invention in which all 
 the malice and strength of his sorcery were centred), 
 — might, according to Jacquetta's former promise, be 
 delivered forthwith to his mercy, and accompany him 
 to the very spot where he was to dispel and counter- 
 act the Lancastrian nigromancer's enchantments. The 
 duchess, too glad to purchase the friar's acquiescence 
 on such cheap terms, and to whose superstitious horror 
 for Adam's lore in the black art, was now added a 
 purely political motive for desiring him to be made 
 away with, — inasmuch as in the Sanctuary she had, git 
 last, extorted from Elizabeth the dark secret which 
 might make him a very dangerous witness against the 
 interests and honor of Edward, — readily and joyfully 
 consented to this proposition. 
 
 A strong guard was at once despatched to the Tower 
 with the friar himself, followed by a covered wagon 
 which was to serve for conveyance to Bungey and his 
 victim. 
 
 In the meanwhile, Sibyll, after remaining for some 
 time in the chamber which Hastings had abandoned to 
 her solitary woe, had passed to the room in which her 
 father held mute commune with his Eureka. 
 
 The machine was now thoroughly completed, — 
 improved and perfected, to the utmost art the inventor 
 ever could attain. Thinking that the prejudice against 
 it might have arisen from its uncouth appearance, the 
 poor philosopher had sought now to give it a gracious 
 and imposing appearance. He had painted and gilt it 
 with his own hands, — it looked bright and gaudy in its 
 gay hues; its outward form was worthy of the precious 
 and propitious jewel which lay hidden in its centre.
 
 422 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 " See, child, — see! " said Adam; " is it not beautiful 
 and comely 1 " 
 
 " My dear father, yes! " answered the poor girl, as 
 still she sought to smile; then, after a short silence, 
 she continued, — " Father, of late, methinks, I have 
 too much forgotten thee; pardon me, if so. Hence- 
 forth, I have no care in life but thee, — henceforth let 
 me ever, when thou toilest, come and sit by thy side. 
 I would not be alone! — I dare not! Father, father! 
 God shield thy harmless life! I have nothing to love 
 under heaven but thee ! " 
 
 The good man turned wistfully, and raised, with 
 tremulous hands, the sad face that had pressed itself 
 on his bosom. Gazing thereon mournfully, he said, 
 " Some new grief hath chanced to thee, my child. 
 Methought I heard another voice besides thine in 
 yonder room. Ah ! has Lord Hastings — " 
 
 " Father, spare me! — thou wert too right; thou didst 
 judge too wisely, — Lord Hastings is wedded to another ! 
 But see, I can smile still, — I am calm. My heart will 
 not break so long as it hath thee to love and pray for ! " 
 
 She wound her arms round him as she spoke, and 
 he roused himself from his world out of earth again. 
 Though he could bring no comfort, there was some- 
 thing, at least, to the forlorn one, in his words of love, 
 — in his tears of pity. 
 
 They sat down together, side by side, as the evening 
 darkened ; the Eureka forgotten in the hour of its 
 perfection ! They noted not the torches which flashed 
 below, reddened at intervals the walls of their chamber, 
 and gave a glow to the gay gilding and bright hues of 
 the gaudy model. Yet those torches flickered round 
 the litter that was to convey Henry the Peaceful to the 
 battle-field, which was to decide the dynasty of his
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 423 
 
 realm ! The torches vanished, and forth from the dark 
 fortress went the captive king. 
 
 Night succeeded to eve, when again the red glare 
 shot upward on the Eureka, playing with fantastic 
 smile on its quaint aspect, steps and voices, and the 
 clatter of arms, sounded in the yard, on the stairs, in 
 the adjoining chamber, — and suddenly the door was 
 flung open, and, followed by some half-score soldiers, 
 strode in the terrible friar. 
 
 " Aha, Master Adam ! who is the greater nigromancer 
 now? Seize him! — Away! And help you, Master 
 Sergeant, to bear this piece of the foul fiend's cunning 
 devising. Ho, ho ! see you how it is tricked out and 
 furbished up, — all for the battle, I warrant ye ! " 
 
 The soldiers had already seized upon Adam, who, 
 stupefied by astonishment rather than fear, uttered no 
 sound, and attempted no struggle. But it was in vain 
 they sought to tear from him Sibyll's clinging and 
 protecting arms. A supernatural strength, inspired by 
 a kind of superstition that no harm could chance to 
 him while she was by, animated her slight form; and 
 fierce though the soldiers were, they shrank from actual 
 and brutal violence to one thus young and fair. Those 
 small hands clung so firmly, that it seemed that nothing 
 but the edge of the sword could sever the child's clasp 
 from the father's neck. 
 
 "Harm him not, — harm him at your peril, friar!" 
 she cried, with flashing eyes. "Tear him from me, 
 and if King Edward win the day, Lord Hastings shall 
 have thy life; if Lord Warwick, thy days are num- 
 bered, too. Beware, and avaunt ! " 
 
 The friar was startled. He had forgotten Lord 
 Hastings in the zest of his revenge. He feared that, 
 if Sibyll were left behind, the tale she might tell would
 
 424 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 indeed bring on him a powerful foe in the daughter's 
 lover, — on the other hand, should Lord Warwick get 
 the better, what vengeance would await her appeal to 
 the great protector of her father! He resolved, there- 
 fore, on the instant, to take Sibyll as well as her father; 
 and if the fortune of the day allowed him to rid him- 
 self of Warner, a good occasion might equally occur to 
 dispose forever of the testimony of Sibyll. He had 
 already formed a cunning calculation in desiring War- 
 ner's company; for while, should Edward triumph, the 
 sacrifice of the hated Warner was resolved upon, yet, 
 should the earl get the better, he could make a merit 
 to Warner that he (the friar) had not only spared, but 
 saved, his life, in making him his companion. It was 
 in harmony with this double policy that the friar mildly 
 answered to Sibyll, — 
 
 " Tush, my daughter ! Perhaps if your father be 
 true to King Edward, and aid my skill instead of 
 obstructing it, he may be none the worse for the jour- 
 ney he must take; and if thou likest to go with him, 
 there 's room in the vehicle, and the more the merrier. 
 Harm them not, soldiers, — no doubt they will follow 
 quietly." 
 
 As he said this, the men, after first crossing them- 
 selves, had already hoisted up the Eureka; and when 
 Adam saw it borne from the room, he instinctively fol- 
 lowed the bearers. Sibyll, relieved by the thought that, 
 for weal or for woe, she should at least share her father's 
 fate, and scarce foreboding much positive danger from 
 the party which contained Hastings and Alwyn, at- 
 tempted no further remonstrance. 
 
 The Eureka was placed in the enormous vehicle, — ■ 
 it served as a barrier between the friar and his prisoners. 
 
 The friar, as soon as the wagon was in motion, ad-
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 425 
 
 dressed himself civilly enough to his fellow-travellers, 
 and assured them there was nothing to fear, unless 
 Adam thought fit to disturb his incantations. The 
 captives answered not his address, but nestled close to 
 each other, interchanging, at intervals, words of com- 
 fort, and recoiling as far as possible from the ex-trege- 
 tour, who, having taken with him a more congenial 
 companion, in the shape of a great leathern bottle, 
 finally sank into the silent and complacent doze which 
 usually rewards the libations to the Bromian god. 
 
 The vehicle, with many other baggage-wagons in the 
 rear of the army, in that memorable night-march, moved 
 mournfully on ; the night continued wrapped in fog and 
 mist, agreeably to the weather-wise predictions of the 
 friar; the rumbling groan of the vehicle, the tramp of 
 the soldiers, the dull rattle of their arms, with now and 
 then the neigh of some knight's steed in the distance, 
 — were the only sounds that broke the silence, till 
 once, as they neared their destination, Sibyll started 
 from her father's bosom, and shudderingly thought she 
 recognized the hoarse chant and the tinkling bells of 
 the ominous tymbesteres.
 
 426 THE LAST OF THE BABONS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A Pause. 
 
 In the profound darkness of the night, and the thick 
 fog, Edward had stationed his men at a venture upon 
 the heath at Gladsmoor, 1 and hastily environed the 
 camp Avith palisades and trenches. He had intended 
 to have rested immediately in front of the foe, hut in 
 the darkness mistook the extent of the hostile line, and 
 his men were ranged only opposite to the left side of 
 the earl's force (towards Hadley), leaving the right 
 unopposed. Most fortunate for Edward was this mis- 
 take; for Warwick's artillery, and the new and deadly 
 bombards he had constructed, were placed in the right 
 of the earl's army; and the provident earl, naturally 
 supposing Edward's left was there opposed to him, 
 ordered his gunners to cannonade all night. Edward, 
 " as the flashes of the guns illumined by fits the gloom 
 of midnight, saw the advantage of his unintentional 
 error; and to prevent Warwick from discovering it, 
 reiterated his orders for the most profound silence." 2 
 Thus even his very blunders favored Edward more than 
 the wisest precautions had served his fated foe. 
 
 Eaw, cold, and dismal, dawned the morning of the 
 fourteenth of April, the Easter Sabbath. In the for- 
 tunes of that day were involved those of all the persons 
 who hitherto, in the course of this narrative, may have 
 seemed to move in separate orbits from the fiery star of 
 
 1 Edward " had the greater number of men." — Hall, p. 296. 
 
 2 Sharon Turner.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BAEOXS. 427 
 
 Warwick. Now, in this crowning hour, the vast and 
 gigantic destiny of the great earl comprehended all upon 
 which its darkness or its light had fallen: not only the 
 luxurious Edward, the perjured Clarence, the haughty 
 Margaret, her gallant son, the gentle Anne, the remorse- 
 ful Isabel, the dark guile of Gloucester, the rising 
 fortunes of the gifted Hastings, — but on the hazard 
 of that die rested the hopes of Hilyard, and the inter- 
 ests of the trader Alwyn, and the permanence of that 
 frank, chivalric, hardy, still half Norman race, of which 
 Nicholas Alwyn and his Saxon class were the rival 
 antagonistic principle, and Marmaduke Nevile the ordi- 
 nary type. Dragged inexorably into the whirlpool of 
 that mighty fate, were even the very lives of the simple 
 scholar, — of his obscure and devoted child. Here, into 
 this gory ocean, all scattered rivulets and streams had 
 hastened to merge at last. 
 
 But grander and more awful than all individual 
 interests were those assigned to the fortunes of this 
 battle, so memorable in the English annals: the ruin 
 or triumph of a dynasty; the fall of that warlike bar- 
 onage, of which Richard Nevile was the personation, 
 the crowning flower, the greatest representative and the 
 last; associated with memories of turbulence and excess, 
 it is true, but with the proudest and grandest achieve- 
 ments in our early history, — with all such liberty as 
 had been yet achieved since the Norman Conquest; 
 with all such glory as had made the island famous: 
 here with Runnymede, and there with Cressy! — the 
 rise of a crafty, plotting, imperious Despotism, based 
 upon the growing sympathy of craftsmen and traders, 
 and ripening on the one hand to the Tudor tyranny, 
 the Republican reaction under the Stuarts, the slavery, 
 and the civil war, — but, on the other hand, to the
 
 428 THE LA.ST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 concentration of all the vigor and life of genius into 
 a single and strong government, the graces, the arts, the 
 letters of a polished court, the freedom, the energy, the 
 resources of a commercial population destined to rise 
 above the tyranny at which it had first connived, and 
 give to the emancipated Saxon the markets of the world. 
 Upon the victory of that day, all these contending 
 interests — this vast alternative in the future — swayed 
 and trembled. Out, then, upon that vulgar craving of 
 those who comprehend neither the vast truths of life 
 nor the grandeur of ideal art, and who ask from poet 
 or narrator the poor and petty morality of " Poetical 
 Justice," — a justice existing not in our work-day 
 world; a justice existing not in the sombre page of 
 history ; a justice existing not in the loftier concep- 
 tions of men whose genius has grappled with the enig- 
 mas which art and poetry only can foreshadow and 
 divine: — unknown to us in the street and the market; 
 unknown to us on the scaffold of the patriot, or amidst 
 the flames of the martyr; unknown to us in the Lear 
 and the Hamlet, in the Agamemnon and the Prome- 
 theus. Millions upon millions, ages upon ages, are 
 entered but as items in the vast account in which the 
 recording angel sums up the unerring justice of God 
 to man. 
 
 Raw, cold, and dismal, dawned the morning of the 
 fourteenth of April. And on that very day Margaret 
 and her son, and the wife and daughter of Lord War- 
 wick, landed, at last, on the shores of England. 1 Come 
 they for joy, or for woe, — for victory, or despair? The 
 issue of this day's fight on the heath of Gladsmoor will 
 decide. Prank thy halls, O Westminster, for the tri- 
 
 1 Margaret landed at Weymouth, — Lady Warwick, at Ports- 
 mouth.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 429 
 
 umph of the Lancastrian king, — or open thou, Grave, 
 to receive the saint-like Henry and his noble son ! The 
 king-maker goes before ye, saint-like father and noble 
 son, to prepare your thrones amongst the living, or your 
 mansions amongst the dead !
 
 430 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The Battle. 
 
 Raw, cold, and dismal, dawned the morning of the 
 fourteenth of April. The heavy mist still covered both 
 armies, but their hum and stir was already heard through 
 the gloaming, — the neighing of steeds, and the clangor 
 of mail. Occasionally a movement of either force made 
 dim form, seeming gigantic through the vapor, indis- 
 tinctly visible to the antagonist army; and there was 
 something ghastly and unearthlike in these ominous 
 shapes, suddenly seen, and suddenly vanishing, amidst 
 the sullen atmosphere. By this time, Warwick had dis- 
 covered the mistake of his gunners ; for, to the right of 
 the earl, the silence of the Yorkists was still unbroken, 
 while abruptly, from the thick gloom to the left, broke 
 the hoarse mutter and low growl of the awakening war. 
 Not a moment was lost by the earl in repairing the error 
 of the night : his artillery wheeled rapidly from the right 
 wing, and, sudden as a storm of lightning, the fire from 
 the cannon flashed through the dun and heavy vapor; 
 and not far from the very spot where Hastings was mar- 
 shalling the wing intrusted to his command, made a 
 deep chasm in the serried ranks. Death had begun his 
 feast ! 
 
 At that moment, however, from the centre of the 
 Yorkist army, arose, scarcely drowned by the explosion, 
 that deep-toned shout of enthusiasm, which he who has 
 once heard it, coming, as it were, from the one heart of 
 an armed multitude, will ever recall as the most kin-
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 431 
 
 dling and glorious sound which ever quickened the pulse 
 and thrilled the blood, — for along that part of the army 
 now rode King Edward. His mail was polished as a 
 mirror, but otherwise unadorned, resembling that which 
 now invests his effigies at the Tower; x and the housings 
 of his steed were spangled with silver suns, for the 
 silver sun was the cognizance on all his banners. His 
 head was bare, and through the hazy atmosphere the 
 gold of his rich locks seemed literally to shine. Fol- 
 lowed by his body squire, with his helm and lance, and 
 the lords in his immediate staff, his truncheon in his 
 hand, he passed slowly along the steady line, till, halt- 
 ing where he deemed his voice could be farthest heard, 
 he reined in, and lifting his hand, the shout of the 
 soldiery was hushed, — though still, while he spoke, 
 from Warwick's archers came the arrowy shower, and 
 still the gloom was pierced and the hush interrupted by 
 the flash and the roar of the bombards. 
 
 " Englishmen and friends, " said the martial chief, 
 " to bold deeds go but few words. Before you is the 
 foe ! From Ravenspur to London I have marched, — 
 treason flying from my sword, loyalty gathering to my 
 standard. With but two thousand men, on the four- 
 teenth of March, I entered England, — on the fourteenth 
 of April, fifty thousand is my muster-roll. Who shall 
 say, then, that I am not king, when one month mans 
 a monarch's army from his subjects' love? And well 
 know ye, now, that my cause is yours and England's! 
 Those against us are men who would rule in despite 
 of law, — barons whom I gorged with favors, and who 
 
 1 The suit of armor, however, which the visitor to the Koyal 
 Armory is expected to believe King Edward could have woru, is 
 infinitely too small for such credulity. Edward's height was six 
 feet two inches.
 
 432 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 would reduce this fair realm of King, Lords, and Com- 
 mons, to be the appanage and property of one man's 
 measureless ambition : the park, forsooth, the homestead 
 to Lord Warwick's private house ! Ye gentlemen and 
 knights of England, let them and their rabble prosper, 
 and your properties will be despoiled, your lives insecure, 
 all law struck dead. What differs Richard of Warwick 
 from Jack Cade, save that if his name is nobler, so is 
 his treason greater ? Commoners and soldiers of England, 
 . — freemen, however humble, — what do these rebel lords 
 (who would rule in the name of Lancaster) desire 1 To 
 reduce you to villeins and to bondsmen, as your fore- 
 fathers were to them. Ye owe freedom from the barons 
 to the just laws of my sires, your kings. Gentlemen 
 and knights, commoners and soldiers, Edward IV. upon 
 his throne will not profit by a victory more than you. 
 This is no war of dainty chivalry, — it is a war of true 
 men against false. No quarter ! Spare not either knight 
 or hilding. Warwick, forsooth, will not smite the com- 
 mons. Truly not, — the rabble are his friends. I say 
 to you — " and Edward, pausing in the excitement and 
 sanguinary fury of his tiger nature, the soldiers, heated 
 like himself to the thirst of blood, saw his eyes sparkle, 
 and his teeth gnash, as he added in a deeper and loAver, 
 but not less audible voice, — "I say to you, slay all ! x 
 What heel spares the viper's brood 1 " 
 
 " We will, we will ! " was the horrid answer, which 
 came hissing and muttered forth from morion and cap of 
 steel. 
 
 " Hark ! to their bombards ! " resumed Edward. 
 " The enemy would fight from afar, for they excel us 
 in their archers and gunners. Upon them, then, — hand 
 to hand, and man to man! Advance banners, — sound 
 
 i Hall.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 433 
 
 trumpets ! Sir Oliver, my bassinet ! Soldiers, if my 
 standard falls, look for the plume upon your king's 
 helmet ! Charge ! " 
 
 Then, with a shout wilder and louder than before, on 
 through the hail of the arrows, — on through the glare of 
 the bombards, — rather with a rush than in a march , ad- 
 vanced Edward's centre against the array of Somerset. 
 But from a part of the encampment where the circum- 
 vallation seemed strongest, a small body of men moved 
 not with the general body. 
 
 To the left of the churchyard of Hadley, at this day, 
 the visitor may notice a low wall; on the other side of 
 that wall is a garden, then but a rude eminence on 
 Gladsmoor Heath. On that spot a troop in complete 
 armor, upon destriers pawing impatiently, surrounded 
 a man upon a sorry palfrey, and in a gown of blue, — 
 the color of royalty and of servitude, — that man was 
 Henry VI. In the same space stood Friar Bungey, his 
 foot on the Eureka, muttering incantations, that the 
 mists he had foretold, 1 and which had protected the 
 Yorkists from the midnight guns, might yet last, to 
 the confusion of the foe. And near him, under a gaunt, 
 leafless tree, a rope round his neck, was Adam "Warner : 
 Sibyll, still faithful to his side, nor shuddering at the 
 arrows and the guns, — her whole fear concentrated 
 upon the sole life for which her own was prized. Upon 
 this eminence, then, these lookers-on stood aloof. And 
 
 1 Lest the reader should suppose that the importance of Friar 
 Bungey upon this bloody da}' has been exaggerated by the nar- 
 rator, we must cite the testimony of sober Alderman Fabyan : — 
 " Of the mists and other impediments which fell upon the Lords' 
 party, by reason of the incantations wrought by Friar Bungey, as 
 the fain a went, me list not to write." 
 vol. ii. — 28
 
 434 THE LAST OF THE BAKONS. 
 
 the meek ears of Henry heard through the fog the inex- 
 plicahle, sullen, jarring clash, — steel had met steel. 
 
 "Holy father!" exclaimed the kingly saint, "and 
 this is the Easter Sabbath, thy most solemn day of 
 peace ! " 
 
 " Be silent, " thundered the friar, " thou disturhest my 
 spells. Barabbarara — Santhinoa — Foggib us incescebo 
 — confusio inimiois — Garabbora, vapor et mistes I " 
 
 We must now rapidly survey the dispositions of the 
 army under Warwick. In the right wing the command 
 was intrusted to the Earl of Oxford and the Marquis of 
 Montagu. The former, who led the cavalry of that 
 division, was stationed in the van; the latter, according 
 to his usual habit, — surrounded by a strong body-guard 
 of knights, and a prodigious number of squires as aides- 
 de-camp, — remained at the rear, and directed thence by 
 his orders, the general movement ! In this wing the 
 greater number were Lancastrian, jealous of Warwick, 
 and only consenting to the generalship of Montagu, be- 
 cause shared by their favorite hero, Oxford. In the 
 mid-space lay the chief strength of the bowmen, with a 
 goodly number of pikes and bills, under the Duke of 
 Somerset; and this division also was principally Lancas- 
 trian, and shared the jealousy of Oxford's soldiery. The 
 left wing, composed for the most part of Warwick's yeo- 
 manry and retainers, was commanded by the Duke of 
 Exeter, conjointly with the earl himself. Both armies 
 kept a considerable body in reserve, and Warwick, be- 
 sides this resource, had selected from his own retainers 
 a band of picked archers, whom he had skilfully placed 
 in the outskirts of a wood that then stretched from 
 Wrotham Park to the column that now commemorates 
 the battle of Barnet, on the high northern road. He 
 had guarded these last-mentioned archers (where exposed
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 435 
 
 in front to Edward's horsemen) by strong tall barricades, 
 leaving only such an opening as would allow one horse- 
 man at a time to pass, and defending by a formidable 
 line of pikes this narrow opening left for communication, 
 and to admit to a place of refuge in case of need. These 
 dispositions made, and ere yet Edward had advanced on 
 Somerset, the earl rode to the front of the wing under 
 his special command, and, agreeably to the custom of 
 the time, observed by his royal foe, harangued the troops. 
 Here were placed those who loved him as a father, and 
 venerated him as something superior to mortal man, — 
 here the retainers, who had grown up with him from his 
 childhood; who had followed him to his first fields of 
 war; who had lived under the shelter of his many cas- 
 tles, and fed, in that rude equality of a more primeval 
 age, which he loved still to maintain, at his lavish board. 
 And now Lord Warwick's coal-black steed halted, mo- 
 tionless, in the van. His squire behind bore his helmet, 
 overshadowed by the eagle of Monthermer, the out- 
 stretched wings of which spread wide into sable plumes: 
 and as the earl's noble face turned full and calm upon 
 the bristling lines, there arose not the vulgar uproar that 
 greeted the aspect of the young Edward. By one of 
 those strange sympathies which pass through multitudes, 
 and seize them with a common feeling, the whole body 
 of those adoring vassals became suddenly aware of the 
 change which a year had made in the face of their chief 
 and father. They saw the gray flakes in his Jove-like 
 curls, — the furrows in that lofty brow, the hollows in 
 that bronzed and manly visage, which had seemed to 
 their rude admiration to wear the stamp of the two-fold 
 Divinity, — Beneficence and Valor. A thrill of tender- 
 ness and awe shot through the veins of every one, — > 
 tears of devotion rushed into many a hardy eye. No, — >
 
 436 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 there was not the ruthless captain addressing his hireling 
 butchers ; it was the chief and father rallying gratitude, 
 and love, and reverence, to the crisis of his stormy fate. 
 
 " My friends, my followers, and my children, " said 
 the earl, " the field we have entered is one from which 
 there is no retreat; here must your leader conquer, or 
 here die. It is not a parchment pedigree, — it is not a 
 name, derived from the ashes of dead men, that make 
 the only charter of a king. We Englishmen were but 
 slaves, if, in giving crown and sceptre to a mortal like 
 ourselves, we asked not in return the kingly virtues. 
 Beset of old by evil counsellors, the reign of Henry VI. 
 was obscured, and the weal of the realm endangered. 
 Mine own wrongs seemed to me great, but the dis- 
 asters of my country not less. I deemed that in the 
 race of York, England would know a wiser and happier 
 rule. What was, in this, mine error, ye partly know. 
 A prince dissolved in luxurious vices, a nobility degraded 
 by minions and bloodsuckers, a people plundered by 
 purveyors, and a land disturbed by brawl and riot. 
 But ye know not all: God makes man's hearth man's 
 altar, — our hearths were polluted, our wives and daughters 
 were viewed as harlots, and lechery ruled the realm. A 
 king's word should be fast as the pillars of the world. 
 What man ever trusted Edward and was not deceived 1 
 Even now the unknightly liar stands in arms with the 
 weight of perjury on his soul. In his father's town of 
 York, ye know that he took, three short weeks since, 
 solemn oath of fealty to King Henry. And now King 
 Henry is his captive, and King Henry's holy crown upon 
 his traitor's head, — ' traitors ' calls he Us ? What name, 
 then, rank enough for him 1 Edward gave the promise 
 of a brave man, and I served him. He proved a base, a 
 false, a licentious, and a cruel king, and I forsook him :
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 437 
 
 may all free hearts in all free lands so serve kings when 
 they become tyrants! Ye fight against a cruel and a 
 tortious usurper, whose bold hand cannot sanctify a black 
 heart, — ye fight not only for King Henry, the meek and 
 the godly ; ye fight not for him alone, but for his young 
 and princely son, the grandchild of Henry of Agincourt, 
 who, old men tell me, has that hero's face, and who, 
 I know, has that hero's frank and royal and noble soul ; 
 ye fight for the freedom of your land, for the honor of 
 your women, for what is better than any king's cause, — 
 for justice and mercy ; for truth and manhood's virtues 
 against corruption in the laws, slaughter by the scaffold, 
 falsehood in a ruler's lips, and shameless harlotry in the 
 councils of ruthless power. The order I have ever 
 given in Avar, I give now : we war against the leaders of 
 evil, not against the hapless tools, — we war against our 
 oppressors, not against our misguided brethren. Strike 
 down every plumed crest, but when the strife is over, 
 spare every common man ! Hark ! while I speak, I 
 hear the march of your foe ! Up standards ! — blow 
 trumpets ! And now, as I brace my bassinet, may God 
 grant us all a glorious victory, or a glorious grave. On, 
 my merry men ! show these London loons the stout 
 hearts of Warwickshire and Yorkshire. On, my merry 
 men ! A Warwick ! a Warwick ! " 
 
 As he ended, he swung lightly over his head the 
 terrible battle-axe which had smitten down, as the grass 
 before the reaper, the chivalry of many a field; and ere 
 the last blast of the trumpets died, the troops of War- 
 wick and of Gloucester met, and mingled hand to hand. 
 
 Although the earl had, on discovering the position 
 of the enemy, moved some of his artillery from his 
 right wing, yet there still lay the great number and 
 strength of his force. And there, therefore, Montagu,
 
 438 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 rolling troop on troop to the aid of Oxford, pressed so 
 overpoweringly, upon the soldiers under Hastings, that 
 the battle very soon wore a most unfavorable aspect 
 for the Yorkists. It seemed, indeed, that the success 
 which had always hitherto attended the military move- 
 ments of Montagu, was destined for a crowning triumph. 
 Stationed, as we have said, in the rear, with his light- 
 armed squires, upon fleet steeds, around him, he moved 
 the springs of the battle with the calm sagacity which at 
 that moment no chief in either army possessed. Hast- 
 ings was thoroughly outflanked, and though his men 
 fought with great valor, they could not resist the weight 
 of superior numbers. 
 
 In the midst of the carnage in the centre, Edward 
 reined in his steed, as he heard the cry of victory in 
 the gale. 
 
 " By Heaven ! " he exclaimed, " our men at the left 
 are cravens, — they fly! they fly! — Ride to Lord Hast- 
 ings, Sir Humphrey Bourchier, bid him defile hither 
 what men are left him; and now, ere our felloAvs are 
 well aware what hath chanced yonder, charge we, 
 knights and gentlemen, on, on ! — break Somerset's 
 line; on, on, to the heart of the rebel earl!" 
 
 Then, visor closed, lance in rest, Edward and his 
 cavalry dashed through the archers and billmen of 
 Somerset; clad in complete mail, impervious to the 
 weapons of the infantry, they slaughtered as they rode, 
 and their way was marked by corpses and streams of 
 blood. Fiercest and fellest of all, was Edward himself : 
 when his lance shivered, and he drew his knotty mace 
 from its sling by his saddle-bow, woe to all who at- 
 tempted to stop his path. Vain alike steel helmet or 
 leathern cap, jerkin or coat-of-mail. In vain Somerset 
 threw himself into the melee. The instant Edward and
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 439 
 
 his cavalry had made a patli through the lines for his foot 
 soldiery, the fortunes of the day were half retrieved. 
 It was no rapid passage, pierced and reclosed, that he 
 desired to effect, it was the wedge in the oak of war. 
 There, rooted in the very midst of Somerset's troops, 
 doubling on each side, passing on but to return again, 
 where helm could be crashed and man overthrown, the 
 mighty strength of Edward widened the breach more 
 and more, till faster and faster poured in his bands, 
 and the centre of Warwick's army seemed to reel and 
 whirl round the broadening gap through its ranks, — 
 as the waves round some chasm in a maelstrom. 
 
 But, in the interval, the hard-pressed troops com- 
 manded by Hastings were scattered and dispersed; 
 driven from the field, they fled in numbers through the 
 town of Barnet; many halted not till they reached 
 London, where they spread the news of the earl's vic- 
 tory and Edward's ruin. 1 
 
 Through the mist, Eriar Bungey discerned the fugi- 
 tive Yorkists under Hastings, and heard their cries of 
 despair: through the mist, Sibyll saw, close beneath 
 the intrenchments which protected the space on which 
 they stood, an armed horseman with the well-known 
 crest of Hastings on his helmet, and, with lifted visor, 
 calling his men to the return, in the loud voice of rage 
 and scorn. And then, she herself sprang forwards, 
 and, forgetting his past cruelty in his present danger, 
 cried his name, — weak cry, lost in the roar of war! 
 But the friar, now fearing he had taken the wrong 
 side, began to turn from his spells, to address the most 
 abject apologies to Adam, to assure him that he would 
 have been slaughtered at the Tower, but for the friar's 
 interruption; and that the rope round his neck was 
 
 1 Sharon Turner.
 
 440 THE LAST OF THE BAllONS. 
 
 but an insignificant ceremony due to the prejudices of 
 the soldiers. " Alas, Great Man, " he concluded, " I 
 see still that thou art mightier than I am ; thy charms, 
 though silent, are more potent than mine, though my 
 lungs crack beneath them! Confusio Lilmicis Tara- 
 lorolu — I mean no harm to the earl — Garrabora, 
 mistes et nubes ; — Lord, what will become of me ! " 
 
 Meanwhile Hastings, with a small body of horse, 
 who, being composed of knights and squires specially 
 singled out for the sword, fought with the pride of 
 disdainful gentlemen and the fury of desperate soldiers, 
 finding it impossible to lure back the fugitives, hewed 
 their own way through Oxford's ranks, to the centre, 
 where they brought fresh aid to the terrible arm of 
 Edward.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BAKONS. 441 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The Battle. 
 
 The mist still continued so thick that Montagu was 
 unable to discern the general prospects of the field. 
 But, calm and resolute in his post, amidst the arrows 
 which whirled round him, and often struck, blunted, 
 against his Milan mail, the marquis received the reports 
 of his aides-de-camp (may that modern word be par- 
 doned?) as one after one they emerged through the 
 fog to his side. 
 
 " Well, " he said, as one of these messengers now 
 spurred to the spot, " we have beaten off Hastings and 
 his hirelings; but I see not 'the Silver Star' of Lord 
 Oxford's banner. " 1 
 
 " Lord Oxford, my lord, has followed the enemy he 
 routed to the farthest verge of the heath." 
 
 " Saints help us ! Is Oxford thus headstrong ? He 
 will ruin all if he be decoyed from the field! Ride 
 back, sir! Yet — hold!" — as another of the aides-de- 
 camp appeared. " What news from Lord Warwick's 
 wing ? " 
 
 " Sore beset, bold marquis. Gloucester's line seems 
 countless; it already outflanks the earl. The duke 
 himself seems inspired by hell! Twice has his slight 
 arm braved even the earl's battle-axe, which spared 
 the boy but smote to the dust his comrades ! " 
 
 1 The Silver Star of the De Veres had its origin in a tradition 
 that one of their ancestors, whew fighting in the Holy Land, saw a 
 falling star descend upon his shield. Fatal to men, nobler even 
 than the De Veres, was that silver falling star.
 
 442 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 " Well, and what of the centre, sir 1 " as a third 
 form now arrived. 
 
 " There, rages Edward in person. He hath pierced 
 into the midst. But Somerset still holds on gallantly ! " 
 
 Montagu turned to the first aide-de-camp. 
 
 " Ride, sir ! Quick ! This to Oxford, — no pursuit ! 
 Bid him haste, with all his men, to the left wing, and 
 smite Gloucester in the rear. Bide, ride, — for life and 
 victory! If he come but in time, the day is ours! " 1 
 
 The aide-de-camp darted off, and the mist swallowed 
 up horse and horseman. 
 
 " Sound trumpets to the return ! " said the marquis ; 
 then, after a moment's musing, — "though Oxford hath 
 drawn off our main force of cavalry, we have still some 
 stout lances left; and Warwick must be strengthened. 
 On to the earl ! La issez aller ! A Montagu ! a Mon- 
 tagu ! " And, lance in rest, the marquis and the knights 
 immediately around him, and hitherto not personally 
 engaged, descended the hillock at a hand gallop, and 
 were met by a troop outnumbering their own, and com- 
 manded by the Lords D'Eyncourt and Say. 
 
 At this time, Warwick was indeed in the same 
 danger that had routed the troops of Hastings; for, 
 by a similar position, the strength of the hostile num- 
 bers being arrayed with Gloucester, the duke's troops 
 had almost entirely surrounded him. 2 And Gloucester 
 himself wondrously approved the trust that had con- 
 signed to his stripling arm the flower of the Yorkist 
 army. Through the mists, the blood-red manteline 
 he wore over his mail, the grinning teeth of the boar's 
 head which crested his helmet, flashed and gleamed 
 wherever his presence was most needed to encourage 
 the nagging or spur on the fierce. And there seemed 
 
 1 Fabtan. 2 Sharon Turner.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 443 
 
 to both armies something ghastly and preternatural in 
 the savage strength of this small, slight figure thus 
 startlingly caparisoned, and which was heard evermore 
 uttering its sharp war-cry, " Gloucester, to the onslaught ! 
 Down with the rebels, down! " 
 
 Nor did this daring personage disdain, in the midst 
 of his fury, to increase the effect of valor by the art 
 of a brain that never ceased to scheme on the follies of 
 mankind. " See ! see ! " he cried, as he shot meteor- 
 like from rank to rank. "See, — these are no natural 
 vapors! Yonder the mighty friar, who delayed the 
 sails of Margaret, chants his spells to the powers that 
 ride the gale. Fear not the bombards, — their enchanted 
 balls swerve from the brave! The dark legions of air 
 fight for us ! For the hour is come when the fiend shall 
 rend his prey ! " And fiendlike seemed the form thus 
 screeching forth its predictions from under the grim 
 head-gear, and then darting and disappearing amidst 
 the sea of pikes, cleaving its path of blood! 
 
 But still the untiring might of Warwick defied the 
 press of numbers that swept round him, tide upon 
 tide. Through the mists, his black armor, black plume, 
 black steed, gloomed forth like one thundercloud in 
 the midst of a dismal heaven. The noble charger bore 
 along that mighty rider, animating, guiding all, with 
 as much ease and lightness as the racer bears its puny 
 weight ; the steed itself was scarce less terrible to encoun- 
 ter than the sweep of the rider's axe. Protected from 
 arrow and lance by a coat of steel, the long chaffron or 
 pike which projected from its barbed frontal dripped 
 with gore as it scoured along. No line of men, however 
 serried, could resist the charge of that horse and horse- 
 man. And vain even Gloucester's dauntless presence 
 and thrilling battle-cry, when the stout earl was seen
 
 444 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 looming through the vapor, and his cheerful shout was 
 heard, " My merry men, fight on ! " 
 
 For a third time, Gloucester, spurring forth from his 
 recoiling and shrinking followers, bending low over 
 his saddle-bow, covered by his shield, and with the 
 tenth lance (his favorite weapon, because the one in 
 which skill best supplied strength) he had borne that 
 day, launched himself upon the vast bulk of his tre- 
 mendous foe. With that dogged energy, that rapid 
 calculation which made the basis of his character, and 
 which ever clove through all obstacles at the one that, 
 if destroyed, destroyed the rest, — in that, his first great 
 battle, as in his last at Bosworth, he singled out the 
 leader, and rushed upon the giant as the mastiff on the 
 horns and dewlap of the bull. Warwick, in the broad 
 space which his arm had made around him in the 
 carnage, reined in as he saw the foe, and recognized 
 the grisly cognizance and scarlet mantle of his godson. 
 And even in that moment, with all his heated blood 
 and his remembered wrong, and his imminent peril, 
 his generous and lion heart felt a glow of admiration at 
 the valor of the boy he had trained to arms, — of the 
 son of the beloved York. " His father little thought," 
 muttered the earl, " that that arm should win glory 
 against his old friend's life ! " And as the half uttered 
 word died on his lips, the well-poised lance of Gloucester 
 struck full upon his bassinet, and, despite the earl's 
 horsemanship and his strength, made him reel in his 
 saddle, while the prince shot by, and suddenly wheeling 
 round, cast away the shivered lance, and assailed him 
 sword in hand. 
 
 "Back, Richard, — boy, back!" said the earl, in a 
 voice that sounded hollow through his helmet; "it is 
 not against thee that my wrongs call for blood, — 
 pass on ! " 

 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 445 
 
 " Not so, Lord Warwick, " answered Richard, in a 
 sobered, and almost solemn voice, dropping for the 
 moment the point of his sword, and raising his visor, 
 that he might be the better heard, — "on the field of 
 battle all memories, sweet in peace, must die ! St. Paul 
 be my judge, that even in this hour I love you well ; 
 but I love renown and glory more. On the edge of 
 my sword sit power and royalty, and what high souls 
 prize most, — ambition : these would nerve me against 
 mine own brother's breast, were that breast my barrier 
 to an illustrious future. Thou hast given thy daughter 
 to another! I smite the father, to regain my bride. 
 Lay on, and spare not ! — for he who hates thee most 
 would prove not so fell a foe as the man who sees his 
 fortunes made or marred, his love crushed or yet 
 crowned, as this day's battle closes in triumph or defeat, 
 — Rebel, defend thyself! " 
 
 No time was left for further speech ; for as Richard's 
 sword descended, two of Gloucester's followers, Parr 
 and Milwater by name, dashed from the halting lines 
 at the distance, and bore down to their young prince's 
 aid. At the same moment, Sir Marmaduke Nevile and 
 the Lord Fitzhugh spurred from the opposite line ; and 
 thus encouraged, the band on either side came boldly 
 forward, and the melee grew fierce and general. But 
 still Richard's sword singled out the earl, and still the 
 earl, parrying his blows, dealt his own upon meaner 
 heads. Crushed by one swoop of the axe, fell Milwater 
 to the earth, — down, as again it swung on high, fell Sir 
 Humphrey Bourchier, who had just arrived to Gloucester 
 with messages from Edward, never uttered in the world 
 below. Before Marmaduke 's lance fell Sir Thomas 
 Parr; and these three corpses making a barrier between 
 Gloucester and the earl, the duke turned fiercely upon
 
 446 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 Marmaduke, while the earl, wheeling round, charged 
 into the midst of the hostile line, which scattered to 
 the right and left. 
 
 " On ! my merry men, on ! " rang once more through 
 the heavy air. " They give way, the London tailors, 
 — on ! " and on dashed, with their joyous cry, the 
 merry men of Yorkshire and Warwick, the warrior 
 yeomen ! Separated thus from his great foe, Gloucester, 
 after unhorsing Marmaduke, galloped off to sustain that 
 part of his following which began to waver and retreat 
 before the rush of Warwick and his chivalry. 
 
 This, in truth, was the regiment recruited from the 
 loyalty of London, and little accustomed, we trow, were 
 the worthy heroes of Cockaigne to the discipline of 
 arms, nor trained to that stubborn resistance which 
 makes, under skilful leaders, the English peasants the 
 most enduring soldiery that the world has known since 
 the day when the Roman sentinel perished amidst the 
 falling columns and lava floods, 1 rather than, though 
 society itself dissolved, forsake his post unbidden. " St. 
 Thomas defend us ! " muttered a worthy tailor, who, in 
 the flush of his valor, when safe in the Chepe, had 
 consented to bear the rank of lieutenant, — "it is not 
 reasonable to expect men of pith and substance to be 
 crashed into jellies, and carved into subtleties by horse- 
 hoofs and pole-axes. Right about face! Fly!" — and 
 throwing down his sword and shield, the lieutenant 
 fairly took to his heels as he saw the charging column, 
 headed by the raven steed of Warwick, come giant-like 
 through the fog. The terror of one man is contagious, 
 and the Londoners actually turned their backs, when 
 Nicholas Alwyn cried, in his shrill voice and northern 
 accent, " Out on you ! What will the girls say of us 
 
 1 At Pompeii.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 447 
 
 in East-gate and the Chepe 1 ? — Hurrah for the bold 
 hearts of London! — Round me, stout 'prentices! let 
 the boys shame the men ! This shaft for Cockaigne ! " 
 And as the troop turned irresolute, and Alwyn's arrow 
 left his bow, they saw a horseman by the side of Warwick 
 reel in his saddle and fall at once to the earth, and so 
 great evidently was the rank of the fallen man, that 
 even Warwick reined in, and the charge halted midway 
 in its career. It was no less a person than the Duke 
 of Exeter whom Alwyn's shaft had disabled for the 
 field. This incident, coupled with the hearty address 
 of the stout goldsmith, served to reanimate the naggers, 
 and Gloucester, by a circuitous route, reaching their 
 line a moment after, they dressed their ranks, and a 
 flight of arrows followed their loud " Hurrah for London 
 town ! " 
 
 But the charge of Warwick had only halted, and 
 (while the wounded Exeter was borne back by his 
 squires to the rear) it dashed into the midst of the Lon- 
 doners, threw their whole line into confusion, and drove 
 them, despite all the efforts of Gloucester, far back along 
 the plain. This well-timed exploit served to extricate 
 the earl from the main danger of his position; and, has- 
 tening to improve his advantage, he sent forthwith to 
 command the reserved forces under Lord St. John, the 
 Knight of Lytton, Sir John Coniers, Dymoke, and 
 Robert Hilyard, to bear down to his aid. 
 
 At this time Edward had succeeded, after a most 
 stubborn fight, in effecting a terrible breach through 
 Somerset's wing; and the fogs continued still so dense 
 and mirk, that his foe itself — for Somerset had pru- 
 dently drawn back to re-form his disordered squadron — ■ 
 seemed vanished from the field. Halting now, as 
 through the dim atmosphere came from different quarters
 
 448 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 -.' I --.::'. -cries ( :' .: feudal-day by which alone 
 
 he could well estimate the s:re::gt:: or weakness of those 
 
 in : . distance, his aim i g .. is is . general cooled, for 
 
 a time, his individual ferocity of knight and soldier. 
 
 He took his helmet from his brow to listen with greater 
 
 the lords and riders round him were well 
 
 : : to take breath and ; lusx from the w. 
 
 a hter. 
 
 - of " Gloucester to the onslaught/ " was heard 
 no more. Feebler and feebler, seatteringly as it were. 
 and here and there, the note had changed into " Glou- 
 - r to the resetu .' " 
 
 ther off rose, mingled and blent together, the 
 
 - g shouts, "A Montagu, a Montagu! " — " Strike 
 
 for D'Eyncouri and King Edward!" — "A Say, a 
 
 "Ha! said Edward, thoughtfully, "bold Gloucester 
 fails _.i is bearing on to Warwick's aid, — Say 
 
 and D'Eyncourt stop his path. Our doom looks dark! 
 Bide. Hastings, — ride: retrieve thy laurels, and bring 
 up : serve under Clarence. But harkye, leave not 
 
 his side, — he may desert again! Ho! ho! Again, 
 'Gloucester to the res Ah! how lustily sounds 
 
 the crv of 'Warwick!' By the naming sword of St 
 Michael, we will slacken that haughty shout, or be 
 evermore dumb ourself, ere the day be an hour nearer 
 to the eternal judgment ! " 
 
 Deliber..- ly, Edward rebraced his helm, and settled 
 himself in his saddle, and with his knights riding close 
 each to each, that they might not lose themselves in the 
 darkne?-. regained his infantry and led them on to 
 the quarter where the war now raged fiercest, round the 
 black steed of Warwick and the blood-red manteline of 
 the fierv Eiehard.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BABGBSL 449 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 - 
 
 It was now scarcely eight in the morning, though the 
 battle had endured three hours; and, as - ". : ~ 
 so inclined to the earl that nought but some dire mis- 
 chance could turn the scale. Montagu had cut his w 
 ^merset had re-established his arr 
 The fresh vigor brought by the earl's reserve had well- 
 nigh completed his advantage over Glo': - ^i^g- 
 The new infantry tinder Hilyard, the unexhausted riders 
 under Sir John Coniers and his knightly compeers, were 
 dealing fearful havoc, as they cleared the plain: and 
 Gloucester, fighting inch by inch, no longer outnumber- 
 ing but outnumbered, was driven nearer and nearer 
 towards the town, when suddenly a pale, sickly, and 
 ghost-like rav of sunshine, rather resembling the wa: 
 gleam of a waning moon than the radiance of the Lord 
 of Light, broke through the mists, and showed to the 
 earl's eager troops the banner and badges of a new array 
 hurrying to the spot. " Behold, " cried the young Lord 
 Fitzhugh, " the standard and the badge of the Usurper, 
 — a silver sun! Edward himself is delivered into our 
 hauls ! X, pen them, — bill and pike, lance and brand, 
 shaft and bolt ! Upon them, and crown the de. 
 
 - same fatal error was shared by Ffilyar :. 
 
 a I sight of the advancing troop, with their silvery 
 
 _:iizance. He gave the word, and every arrow left 
 
 its string. At the same moment, as both horse and 
 
 foot assailed the fancied foe, the momentarv beam van- 
 
 vol. ii. — 29
 
 450 HE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 ished from the heaven, the two forces mingled in the 
 sullen mists, when, after a hrief conflict, a sudden and 
 horrible cry of "Treason, treason!" resounded from 
 either hand. The shining star of Oxford, returning 
 from the pursuit, had been mistaken for Edward's cog- 
 nizance of the sun. 1 Friend was slaughtering friend, 
 and when the error was detected, each believed the 
 other had deserted to the foe. In vain, here Montagu 
 and Warwick, and there Oxford and his captains, sought 
 to dispel the confusion, and unite those whose blood 
 had been fired against each other. While yet in 
 doubt, confusion, and dismay, rushed full into the 
 centre Edward of York himself, with his knights and 
 riders; and his tossing banners, scarcely even yet dis- 
 tinguished from Oxford's starry ensigns, added to the 
 general incertitude and panic. Loud in the midst rose 
 Edward's trumpet voice, while through the midst, like 
 one crest of foam upon a roaring sea, danced his plume 
 of snow. Hark! again, again — near and nearer — the 
 tramp of steeds, the clash of steel, the whiz and hiss 
 of arrows, the shout of "Hastings to the onslaught! " 
 Fresh, and panting for glory and for blood, came on 
 King Edward's large reserve: from all the scattered 
 parts of the field spurred the Yorkist knights, where 
 the uproar, so much mightier than before, told them 
 that the crisis of the war was come. Thither, as vul- 
 tures to the carcass, they flocked and wheeled ; thither 
 D'Eyncourt and Lovell, and Cromwell's bloody sword, 
 and Say's knotted mace; and thither, again rallying his 
 late half-beaten myrmidons, the grim Gloucester, his 
 helmet bruised and dinted, but the boar's teeth still 
 gnashing wrath and horror from the grisly crest. But 
 direst and most hateful of all in the eyes of the yet 
 1 Cont. Croyl., 555; Fabyan, Habinoton, Hume, S. Turner.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 451 
 
 undaunted earl, thither, plainly visible, riding scarcely 
 a yard before him, with the cognizance of Clare wrought 
 on his gay mantle, and in all the pomp and bravery of 
 a holiday suit, came the perjured Clarence. Conflict 
 now it could scarce be called : as well might the Dane 
 have rolled back the sea from his footstool, as Warwick 
 and his disordered troop (often and aye, dazzled here by 
 Oxford's star, there by Edward's sun, dealing random 
 blows against each other) have resisted the general whirl 
 and torrent of the surrounding foe. To add to the rout, 
 Somerset and the onguard of his wing had been march- 
 ing towards the earl at the very time that the cry of 
 " treason " had struck their ears, and Edward's charge 
 was made: these men, nearly all Lancastrians, and ever- 
 doubting Montagu, if not Warwick, with the example 
 of Clarence and the Archbishop of York fresh before 
 them, lost heart at once, — Somerset himself headed the 
 flight of his force. 
 
 "All is lost!" said Montagu, as side by side with 
 Warwick the brothers fronted the foe, and for one 
 moment stayed the rush. 
 
 " Not yet," returned the earl; " a band of my northern 
 archers still guard yon wood: I know them, — they will 
 fight to the last gasp! Thither, then, with what men 
 we may. You so marshal our soldiers, and I will make 
 good the retreat. Where is Sir Mamaduke Nevile 1 " 
 
 "Here!" 
 
 " Horsed again, young cousin ! — I give thee a perilous 
 commission. Take the path down the hill; the mists 
 thicken in the hollows, and may hide thee. Overtake 
 Somerset — he hath fled westward — and tell him, from 
 me, if he can yet rally but one troop of horse — but one 
 — and charge Edward suddenly in the rear, he will yet 
 redeem all. If he refuse, the ruin of his king, and the
 
 452 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 slaughter of the brave men he deserts, be on his head! 
 Swift, — a tout bride, Marmaduke. Yet one word," 
 added the earl, in a whisper, — " if you fail with 
 Somerset, come not back: make to the Sanctuary. You 
 are too young to die, cousin! Away! — keep to the 
 hollows of the chase. " 
 
 As the knight vanished, Warwick turned to his 
 comrades, "Bold nephew Fitzhugh, and ye brave riders 
 round me, — so, we are fifty knights! Haste thou, 
 Montagu, to the wood, — the wood!" 
 
 So noble in that hero age was the Individual MAIS", 
 even amidst the multitudes massed by war, that history 
 vies with romance in showing how far a single sword 
 could redress the scale of war. While Montagu, with 
 rapid dexterity and a voice yet promising victory, drew 
 back the remnant of the lines, and in serried order 
 retreated to the outskirts of the wood, Warwick and 
 his band of knights protected the movement from the 
 countless horsemen who darted forth from Edward's 
 swarming and momently thickening ranks. Now divid- 
 ing and charging singly, — now rejoining, — and breast 
 to breast, they served to divert and perplex and harass 
 the eager enemy. And never in all his wars, in all the 
 former might of his indomitable arm, had Warwick so 
 excelled the martial chivalry of his age, as in that 
 eventful and crowning hour. Thrice, almost alone, he 
 penetrated into the very centre of Edward's body-guard, 
 literally felling to the earth all before him. Then 
 perished by his battle-axe Lord Cromwell and the 
 redoubted Lord of Say, — then, no longer sparing even 
 the old affection, Gloucester was hurled to the ground. 
 The last time he penetrated even to Edward himself, 
 smiting down the king's standard-bearer, unhorsing 
 Hastings, who threw himself on his path; and Edward,
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 453 
 
 setting his teeth in stern joy as he saw him, rose in his 
 stirrups, and for a moment the mace of the king, the 
 axe of the earl, met as thunder encounters thunder; 
 but then a hundred knights rushed in to the rescue, and 
 rohhed the baffled avenger of his prey. Thus charging 
 and retreating, driving back, with each charge, farther 
 and farther the mighty multitude hounding on to the 
 lion's death, this great chief and his devoted knights, 
 though terribly reduced in number, succeeded at last in 
 covering Montagu's skilful retreat; and when they 
 gained the outskirts of the wood, and dashed through 
 the narrow opening between the barricades, the York- 
 shire archers approved their lord's trust, and, shouting 
 as to a marriage feast, hailed his coming. 
 
 But few, alas! of his fellow-horsemen had survived 
 that marvellous enterprise of valor and despair. Of 
 the fifty knights who had shared its perils, eleven only 
 gained the wood; and though in this number the most 
 eminent (save Sir John Coniers, either slain or fled) 
 might be found, their horses, more exposed than them- 
 selves, were for the most part wounded and unfit for 
 further service. At this time the sun again, and sud- 
 denly as before, broke forth, — not now with a feeble 
 glimmer, but a broad and almost a cheerful beam, which 
 sufficed to give a fuller view than the clay had yet 
 afforded of the state and prospects of the field. 
 
 To the right and to the left, what remained of the 
 cavalry of Warwick was seen flying fast, — gone the 
 lances of Oxford, the bills of Somerset. Exeter, pierced 
 by the shaft of Alwyn, was lying cold and insensible, 
 remote from the contest, and deserted even by his 
 squires. 
 
 In front of the archers, and such men as Montagu 
 had saved from the sword, halted the immense and
 
 454 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 murmuring multitude of Edward, their thousand ban- 
 ners glittering in the sudden sun ; for as Edward beheld 
 the last wrecks of his foe stationed near the covert, his 
 desire of consummating victory and revenge made him 
 cautious, and, fearing an ambush, he had abruptly 
 halted. 
 
 When the scanty followers of the earl thus beheld 
 the immense force arrayed for their destruction, and 
 saw the extent of their danger and their loss — here the 
 handful, there the multitude — a simultaneous exclama- 
 tion of terror and dismay broke from their ranks. 
 
 "Children!" cried Warwick, "droop not! — Henry 
 at Agincourt had worse odds than we ! " 
 
 But the murmur among the archers, the lealest part 
 of the earl's retainers, continued, till there stepped 
 forth their captain, a gray old man, but still sinewy 
 and unbent, the iron relic of a hundred battles. 
 
 " Back to your men, Mark Forester!" said the earl, 
 sternly. 
 
 The old man obeyed not. He came on to Warwick, 
 and fell on his knees beside his stirrup. 
 
 "Fly, my lord; escape is possible for you and your 
 riders. Fly through the wood; we will screen your 
 path with our bodies. Your children, father of your 
 followers, — your children of Middleham ask no better 
 fate than to die for you! Is it not so?" and the old 
 man, rising, turned to those in hearing. They answered 
 by a general exclamation. 
 
 " Mark Forester speaks well," said Montagu. " On 
 you depends the last hope of Lancaster. We may yet 
 join Oxford and Somerset! This way, through the 
 wood, — come!" and he laid his hand on the earl's 
 rein. 
 
 " Knights and sirs," said the earl, dismounting, and
 
 THE LAST OF THE B AEONS. 455 
 
 partially raising liis visor as he turned to the horsemen, 
 " let those who will, fly with Lord Montagu! Let those 
 who, in a just cause, never despair of victory, nor, even 
 at the worst, fear to face their Maker, fresh from the 
 glorious death of heroes, dismount with me!" Every 
 knight sprang from his steed, Montagu the first. " Com- 
 rades! " continued the earl, then addressing the retain- 
 ers, " when the children fight for a father's honor, the 
 father flies not from the peril into which he has drawn 
 the children. What to me were life, stained by the 
 blood of mine own beloved retainers, basely deserted by 
 their chief? Edward has proclaimed that he will spare 
 none. Eool! he gives us, then, the superhuman mighti- 
 ness of despair! To your bows! — one shaft, if it pierce 
 the joints of the tyrant's mail, — one shaft may scatter 
 yon army to the winds! Sir Marmaduke has gone to 
 rally noble Somerset and his riders, — if we make good 
 our defence one little hour, the foe may be yet smitten 
 in the rear, and the day retrieved! Courage and heart 
 then ! " Here the earl lifted his visor to the farthest 
 bar, and showed his cheerful face, — "is this the face 
 of a man who thinks all hope is gone?" 
 
 In this interval the sudden sunshine revealed to King 
 Henry where he stood the dispersion of his friends. 
 To the rear of the palisades, which protected the spot 
 where he was placed, already grouped " the lookers-on 
 and no fighters," 1 as the chronicler words it, who, as 
 the guns slackened, ventured forth to learn the news, 
 and who now, filling the churchyard of Hadley, strove 
 hard to catch a peep of Henry the saint, or of Bungey 
 the sorcerer. Mingled with these gleamed the robes 
 of the tymbesteres, pressing nearer and nearer to the 
 barriers, as wolves, in the instinct of blood, come nearei 
 
 1 Fabyan.
 
 456 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 and nearer round the circling watch-fire of some northern 
 travellers. At this time the friar, turning to one of the 
 guards who stood near him, said, " The mists are needed 
 no more now: King Edward hath got the day, — eh? " 
 
 "Certes, great master," quoth the guard, "nothing 
 now lacks to the king's triumph, except the death of 
 the earl." 
 
 " Infamous nigromancer, hear that ! " cried Bungey to 
 Adam. " What now avail thy hombards and thy talis- 
 man ! Harkye ! — tell me the secret of the last, — of 
 the damnable engine under my feet, and I may spare 
 thy life." 
 
 Adam shrugged his shoulders in impatient disdain. 
 " Unless I gave thee my science, my secret were profit- 
 less to thee. Villain and numskull, do thy worst." 
 
 The friar made a sign to a soldier who stood behind 
 Adam, and the soldier silently drew the end of the rope 
 which girded the scholar's neck round a bough of the 
 leafless tree. "Hold!" whispered the friar, " not till 
 I give the word. — The earl may recover himself yet," 
 he added to himself. And therewith he began once 
 more to vociferate his incantations. Meanwhile the 
 eyes of Sibyll had turned for a moment from her 
 father; for the burst of sunshine, lighting up the 
 valley below, had suddenly given to her eyes, in the 
 distance, the gable-ends of the old farmhouse, with 
 the wintry orchard, — no longer, alas! smiling with 
 starry blossoms. Far remote from the battle-field was 
 that abode of peace, — that once happy home, where 
 she had watched the coming of the false one ! 
 
 Loftier and holier were the thoughts of the fated 
 king. He had turned his face from the field, and his 
 eyes were fixed upon the tower of the church behind. 
 And while he so gazed, the knoll from the belfry began
 
 THE LAST OF THE BAKONS. 457 
 
 solemnly to chime. It was now near the hour of the 
 Sahbath prayers, and amidst horror and carnage, still 
 the holy custom was not suspended. 
 
 " Hark ! " said the king, mournfully, — " that chime 
 summons many a soul to God ! " 
 
 While thus the scene on the eminence of Hadley, 
 Edward, surrounded by Hastings, Gloucester, and his 
 principal captains, took advantage of the unexpected 
 sunshine to scan the foe and its position with the eye 
 of his intuitive genius for all that can slaughter man. 
 "This day," he said, "brings no victory, assures no 
 crown, if Warwick escape alive. To you, Lovell and 
 Ratcliffe, I intrust two hundred knights: your sole 
 care, — the head of the rebel earl!" 
 
 " And Montagu 1 " said Katcliffe. 
 
 "Montagu? Nay, — poor Montagu, I loved him as 
 well once as my own mother's son; and Montagu," he 
 muttered to himself, " I never wronged, and therefore 
 him I can forgive! Spare the marquis, — I mislike 
 that wood; they must have more force within than 
 that handful on the skirts betrays. Come hither, 
 D'Eyncourt." 
 
 And a few minutes afterwards, Warwick and his 
 men saw two parties of horse leave the main body, — ■ 
 one for the right hand, one the left, — folloAved by long 
 detachments of pikes, which they protected; and then 
 the central array marched slowly and steadily on towards 
 the scanty foe. The design was obvious, — to surround 
 on all sides the enemy, driven to its last desperate bay. 
 But Montagu and his brother had not been idle in the 
 breathing pause ; they had planted the greater portion 
 of the archers skilfully among the trees. They had 
 placed their pikemen on the verge of the barricades, 
 made by sharp stakes and fallen timber, and where
 
 458 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 their rampart was unguarded by the pass which had 
 been left free for the horsemen, Hilyard and his 
 stoutest fellows took their post, filling the gap with 
 breasts of iron. 
 
 And now, as with horns and clarions, — with a sea of 
 plumes, and spears, and pennons, — the multitudinous 
 deathsmen came on; Warwick, towering in the front, 
 not one feather on his eagle crest despoiled or shorn, 
 stood dismounted, his visor still raised, by his renowned 
 steed. Some of the men had by Warwick's order 
 removed the mail from the destrier's breast; and the 
 noble animal, relieved from the weight, seemed as 
 unexhausted as its rider: save where the champed foam 
 had bespecked its glossy hide, not a hair was turned; 
 and the onguard of the Yorkists heard its fiery snort, 
 as they moved slowly on. This figure of horse and 
 horseman stood prominently forth amidst the little 
 band. And Lovell, riding by Ratcliffe's side, whis- 
 pered, " Beshrew me, I would rather King Edward had 
 asked for mine own head than that gallant earl's ! " 
 
 "Tush, youth," said the inexorable Ratcliffe, — "I 
 care not of what steps the ladder of mine ambition may 
 be made ! " 
 
 While they were thus speaking, Warwick, turning 
 to Montagu and his knights, said, — 
 
 " Our sole hope is in the courage of our men. And, 
 as at Touton, when I gave the throne to yon false man, 
 I slew, with my own hand, my noble Malech, to show 
 that on that spot I would win or die, and by that sacri- 
 fice so fired the soldiers that we turned the day, — so 
 now — oh, gentlemen, in another hour ye would jeer 
 me, for my hand fails; this hand that the poor beast 
 hath so often fed from! Saladin, last of thy race, serve 
 me now in death as in life. Not for my sake, oh
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 459 
 
 noblest steed that ever bore a knight, — not for mine 
 this offering ! " 
 
 He kissed the destrier on his frontal, and Saladin, 
 as if conscious of the coming blow, bent his proud crest 
 humbly, and licked his lord's steel-clad hand. So 
 associated together had been horse and horseman, that 
 had it been a human sacrifice, the bystanders could not 
 have been more moved. And when, covering the charg- 
 er's eyes with one hand, the earl's dagger descended, 
 bright and rapid, — a groan went through the ranks. 
 But the effect was unspeakable ! The men knew at 
 once, that to them, and them alone, their lord intrusted 
 his fortunes and his life, — they were nerved to more 
 than mortal daring. ISTo escape for Warwick, — why, 
 then, in Warwick's person they lived and died! Upon 
 foe as upon friend the sacrifice produced all that could 
 tend to strengthen the last refuge of despair. Even 
 Edward, where he rode in the van, beheld and knew 
 the meaning of the deed. Victorious Touton rushed 
 back upon his memory with a thrill of strange terror 
 and remorse. 
 
 "He will die as he has lived," said Gloucester, with 
 admiration. " If I live for such a field, God grant 
 me such a deatli ! " 
 
 As the words left the duke's lips, and Warwick, one 
 foot on his dumb friend's corpse, gave the mandate, a 
 murderous discharge from the archers in the covert 
 rattled against the line of the Yorkists, and the foe, 
 still advancing, stepped over a hundred corpses to the 
 conflict. Despite the vast preponderance of numbers, 
 the skill of Warwick's archers, the strength of his 
 position, the ohstacle to the cavalry made by the barri- 
 cades, rendered the attack perilous in the extreme. But 
 the orders of Edward were prompt and vigorous. He
 
 4G0 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 cared not for the waste of life, and as one rank fell, 
 another rushed on. High before the barricades stood 
 Montagu, Warwick, and the rest of that indomitable 
 chivalry, the flower of the ancient Norman heroism. 
 As idly beat the waves upon a rock as the ranks of 
 Edward upon that serried front of steel. The sun 
 still shone in heaven, and still Edward's conquest 
 was unassured. Nay, if Marmaduke could yet bring 
 back the troops of Somerset upon the rear of the foe, 
 Montagu and the earl felt that the victory might be 
 for them. And often the earl paused to hearken for 
 the cry of " Somerset ! " on the gale, and often Montagu 
 raised his visor to look for the banners and the spears 
 of the Lancastrian duke. And ever, as the earl listened 
 and Montagu scanned the field, larger and larger seemed 
 to spread the armament of Edward. The regiment 
 which boasted the stubborn energy of Alwyn was now 
 in movement, and, encouraged by the young Saxon's 
 hardihood, the Londoners marched on, unawed by the 
 massacre of their predecessors. But Alwyn, avoiding 
 the quarter defended by the knights, defiled a little 
 towards the left, where his quick eye, inured to the 
 northern fogs, had detected the weakness of the barricade 
 in the spot where Hilyard was stationed; and this pass 
 Alwyn (discarding the bow) resolved to attempt at the 
 point of the pike, — the weapon answering to our 
 modern bayonet. The first rush which he headed was 
 so impetuous as to effect an entry. The weight of the 
 numbers behind urged on the foremost, and Hilyard 
 had not sufficient space for the sweep of the two-handed 
 sword which had done good work that day. While 
 here the conflict became fierce and doubtful, the right 
 wing led by D'Eyncourt had pierced the wood, and, 
 surprised to discover no ambush, fell upon the archers
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 461 
 
 In the rear. The scene was now inexpressibly terrific; 
 cries and groans, and the ineffable roar and yell of 
 human passion, resounded demon-like through the shade 
 of the leafless trees. And at this moment the provident 
 and rapid generalship of Edward had moved up one of 
 his heavy bombards. Warwick and Montagu, and most 
 of the knights, were called from the barricades to aid 
 the archers thus assailed behind, but an instant before 
 that defence was shattered into air by the explosion of 
 the bombard. In another minute horse and foot rushed 
 through the opening; and amidst all the din was heard 
 the voice of Edward, " Strike! and spare not; we win 
 the day! " " We win the day! — victory ! — victory ! " 
 repeated the troops behind ; rank caught the sound from 
 rank, and file from file, — it reached the captive Henry, 
 and he paused in prayer; it reached the ruthless friar, 
 and he gave the sign to the hireling at his shoulder; it 
 reached the priest as he entered, unmoved, the church 
 of Hadley. And the bell, changing its note into a 
 quicker and sweeter chime, invited the living to prepare 
 for death, and the soul to rise above the cruelty and the 
 falsehood, and the pleasure and the pomp, and the 
 wisdom and the glory of the world! And suddenly, 
 as the chime ceased, there was heard, from the eminence 
 hard by, a shriek of agony — a female shriek — drowned 
 by the roar of a bombard in the field below. 
 
 On pressed the Yorkists through the pass forced by 
 Alwyn. " Yield thee, stout fellow," said the bold 
 trader to Hilyard, whose dogged energy, resembling his 
 own, moved his admiration, and in whom, by the accent 
 in which Robin called his men, he recognized a north 
 countryman, — "yield, and I will see that thou goest 
 safe in life and limb: look round, — ye are beaten." 
 
 " Fool ! " answered Hilyard, setting his teeth, — " the
 
 462 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 People are never beaten!" And as the words left his 
 lips, the shot from the recharged bombard shattered him 
 piecemeal. 
 
 " On for London and the crown ! " cried Alwyn, — 
 " the citizens are the people ! " 
 
 At this time, through the general crowd of the 
 Yorkists, Ratcliffe and Lovell, at the head of their 
 appointed knights, galloped forward to accomplish their 
 crowning mission. 
 
 Behind the column which still commemorates " the 
 great battle " of that day, stretches now a trilateral 
 patch of pasture-land, which faces a small house. At 
 that time this space was rough forest-ground, and where 
 now, in the hedge, rise two small trees, types of the 
 diminutive offspring of our niggard and ignoble civiliza- 
 tion, rose then two huge oaks, coeval with the warriors 
 of the Norman Conquest. They grew close together, 
 yet, though their roots interlaced, — though their branches 
 mingled, one had not taken nourishment from the other. 
 They stood, equal in height and grandeur, the twin 
 giants of the wood. Before these trees, whose ample 
 trunks protected them from the falchions in the rear, 
 Warwick and Montagu took their last post. In front 
 rose, literally, mounds of the slain, whether of foe or 
 friend; for round the two brothers to the last had 
 gathered the brunt of war, and they towered now, almost 
 solitary in valor's sublime despair, amidst the wrecks of 
 battle, and against the irresistible march of fate. As 
 side by side they had gained this spot, and the vulgar 
 assailants drew back, leaving the bodies of the dead their 
 last defence from death, they turned their visors to each 
 other, as for one latest farewell on earth. 
 
 " Forgive me, Richard, " said Montagu, — " forgive me 
 thy death: had I not so blindly believed in Clarence's
 
 THE LAST OF THE BATtONS. 463 
 
 fatal order, the savage Edward had never passed alive 
 through the pass of Pontefract. " 
 
 " Blame not thyself, " replied Warwick. " We are 
 hut the instruments of a wiser Will. God assoil thee, 
 hrother mine. We leave this world to tyranny and vice. 
 Christ, receive our souls ! " 
 
 For a moment their hands clasped, and then all was 
 grim silence. 
 
 Wide and far, hehind and before, in the gleam of 
 the sun, stretched the victorious armament, and that 
 breathing-pause sufficed to show the grandeur of their 
 resistance: the grandest of all spectacles, even in its 
 hopeless extremity, — the defiance of brave hearts to the 
 brute force of the Many. Where they stood they were 
 visible to thousands, but not a man stirred against them. 
 The memory of Warwick's past achievements, the con- 
 sciousness of his feats that day, all the splendor of his 
 fortunes and his name, — made the mean fear to strike, 
 and the brave ashamed to murder. The gallant D'Eyn- 
 court sprung from his steed, and advanced to the spot. 
 His followers did the same. 
 
 " Yield, my lords, — yield ! Ye have done all that 
 men could do." 
 
 "Yield, Montagu," whispered Warwick. "Edward 
 can harm not thee. Life has sweets; so they say, at 
 least. " 
 
 " Not with power and glory gone. We yield not, Sir 
 Knight," answered the marquis, in a calm tone. 
 
 " Then die, and make room for the new men whom 
 ye so have scorned!" exclaimed a fierce voice; and 
 Ratcliffe, who had neared the spot, dismounted, and 
 hallooed on his bloodhounds. 
 
 Seven points might the shadow have traversed on the 
 dial, and before Warwick's axe and Montagu's sword
 
 464 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 seven souls had gone to judgment. In that brief crisis, 
 amidst the general torpor and stupefaction and awe of 
 the bystanders, round one little spot centred still a war. 
 
 But numbers rushed on numbers, as the fury of con- 
 flict urged on the lukewarm. Montagu was beaten to 
 his knee, — Warwick covered him with his body: a hun- 
 dred axes resounded on the earl's stooping casque, a 
 hundred blades gleamed round the joints of his harness. 
 A simultaneous cry was heard, — over the mounds of the 
 slain, through the press into the shadow of the oaks, 
 dashed Gloucester's charger. The conflict had ceased, — 
 the executioners stood mute in a half-circle. Side by 
 side, axe and sword still griped in their iron hands, lay 
 Montagu and Warwick. 
 
 The young duke, his visor raised, contemplated the 
 fallen foes in silence; then dismounting, lie unbraced 
 with his own hand the earl's helmet. Revived for a 
 moment by the air, the hero's eyes unclosed, his lips 
 moved; he raised, with a feeble effort, the gory battle- 
 axe, and the armed crowd recoiled in terror. But the 
 earl's soul, dimly conscious, and about to part, had 
 escaped from that scene of strife — its later thoughts of 
 wrath and vengeance — to more gentle memories, to 
 such memories as fade the last from true and manly 
 hearts ! 
 
 " Wife ! — child ! " murmured the earl, indistinctly. 
 "Anne, Anne! Dear ones, God comfort ye!" And 
 with these words the breath went, the head fell heavily 
 on its mother earth, — the face set, calm and undistorted, 
 as the face of a soldier should be when a brave death has 
 been worthy of a brave life. 
 
 " So," muttered the dark and musing Gloucester, un- 
 conscious of the throng, — " so perishes the Race of Iron. 
 Low lies the last baron who could control the throne and
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 465 
 
 command the people. The Age of Force expires with 
 knighthood and deeds of arms. And over this dead 
 great man I see the New Cycle dawn. Happy, hence- 
 forth, he who can plot, and scheme, and fawn, and 
 smile ! " Waking with a start from his revery , the 
 splendid dissimulator said, as in sad reproof, " Ye have 
 been over-hasty, knights and gentlemen. The House of 
 York is mighty enough to have spared such noble foes. 
 Sound trumpets! Fall in file! Way, there, — way. 
 King Edward comes ! Long live the king ! " 
 
 VOL. II. — 30
 
 466 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The Last Pilgrims in the Long Procession to the Common 
 Bourne. 
 
 The king and his royal brothers, immediately after the 
 victory, rode back to London to announce their triumph. 
 The foot-soldiers still stayed behind to recruit themselves 
 after the sore fatigue; and towards the eminence by 
 Hadley Church the peasants and villagers of the district 
 had pressed in awe and in wonder; for on that spot had 
 Henry (now sadly led back to a prison, never again to 
 unclose to his living form) stood to watch the destruc- 
 tion of the host gathered in his name, — and to that spot 
 the corpses of Warwick and Montagu were removed, 
 while a bier was prepared to convey their remains to 
 London ;i and on that spot had the renowned friar 
 conjured the mists, exorcised the enchanted guns, and 
 defeated the horrible machinations of the Lancastrian 
 wizard. 
 
 And towards the spot, and through the crowd, a young 
 Yorkist captain passed with a prisoner he had captured, 
 
 1 The hodies of Montagu and the earl were exhibited bareheaded 
 at St. Paul's church for three days, " that no pretences of their 
 being alive might stir up any rebellion afterwards ;" "they were 
 then carried down to the Priory of Bisham. in Berkshire, where, 
 among their ancestors by the mother's side (the Earls of Salis- 
 bury), the two unquiet brothers rest in one tomb." " The large 
 river of their blood, divided now into many streams, runs so small, 
 they are hardly observed as they flow by." 1 — Sic transit gloria 
 mundi! 
 
 1 Habington's "Life of Edward IV." one of the most eloquent compositions in 
 the language, though incorrect as a history.
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 467 
 
 and whom he was leading to the tent of the Lord Hast- 
 ings, the only one of the commanders from whom mercy 
 might be hoped, and who had tarried behind the king 
 and his royal brothers to make preparations for the 
 removal of the mighty dead. 
 
 " Keep close to me, Sir Marmaduke, " said the Yorkist : 
 " we must look to Hastings to appease the king; and if 
 he hope not to win your pardon, he may, at least, after 
 such a victory, aid one foe to fly." 
 
 " Care not for me, Alwyn, " said the knight ; " when 
 Somerset was deaf save to his own fears, I came back to 
 die by my chieftain's side, alas, too late, — too late! 
 Better now death than life ! What kin, kith, ambition, 
 love, were to other men, was Lord Warwick's smile to 
 me!" 
 
 Alwyn kindly respected his prisoner's honest emotion, 
 and took advantage of it to lead him away from the spot 
 where he saw knights and warriors thickest grouped, in 
 soldier-like awe and sadness, round the Hero-Brothers. 
 He pushed through a humbler crowd of peasants, and 
 citizens, and women with babes at their breast; and 
 suddenly saw a troop of timbrel-women dancing round a 
 leafless tree, and chanting some wild but mirthful and 
 joyous doggerel. 
 
 " What obscene and ill-seasoned revelry is this ? " said 
 the trader to a gaping yeoman. 
 
 " They are but dancing, poor girls, round the wicked 
 wizard whom Friar Bungey caused to be strangled and 
 his witch daughter. " 
 
 A chill foreboding seized upon Alwyn ; he darted for- 
 ward, scattering peasant and tymbestere with his yet 
 bloody sword. His feet stumbled against some broken 
 fragments ; it was the poor Eureka, shattered at last for
 
 468 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 the sake of the diamond! Valueless to the great friar, 
 since the science of the owner could not pass to his exe- 
 cutioner, — valueless, the mechanism and the invention, 
 the lahor and the genius, but the superstition, and the 
 folly, and the delusion, had their value, and the impos- 
 tor who destroyed the engine clutched the jewel! 
 
 From the leafless tree was suspended the dead body of 
 a man ; beneath, lay a female, dead too, — but whether 
 by the hand of man or the mercy of Heaven, there was 
 no sign to tell. Scholar and Child, Knowledge and In- 
 nocence alike were cold ; the grim Age had devoured 
 them as it devours ever those before, as behind, its 
 march, — and confounds, in one common doom, the too 
 guileless and the too wise. 
 
 " Why crowd ye thus, knaves 1 " said a commanding 
 voice. 
 
 " Ha, Lord Hastings ! — approach ! behold ! " ex- 
 claimed Alwyn. 
 
 " Ha, ha ! " shouted Graul, as she led her sisters from 
 the spot, wheeling, and screaming, and tossing up their 
 timbrels, — " ha ! the witch and her lover ! — Ha, ha ! 
 Foul is fair ! — Ha, ha ! Witchcraft and death go to- 
 gether, as thou mayst learn at the last, sleek wooer." 
 
 And, peradventure, when, long years afterwards, 
 accusations of witchcraft, wantonness, and treason, re- 
 sounded in the ears of Hastings, and, at the signal of 
 Gloucester, rushed in the armed doomsmen, those omi- 
 nous words echoed back upon his soul! 
 
 At that very hour the gates of the Tower were thrown 
 open to the multitude. Fresh from his victory, Edward 
 and his brothers had gone to render thanksgivings at St. 
 Paul's (they were devout, those three Plantagenets ! ), 
 thence to Baynard's Castle, to escort the queen and her
 
 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 469 
 
 children once more to the Tower. And now the sound 
 of trumpets stilled the joyous uproar of the multitude, 
 for in the halcony of the casement that looked towards 
 the chapel the herald had just announced that King 
 Edward would show himself to the people. On every 
 inch of the court-yard, climbing up wall and palisade, 
 soldier, citizen, thief, harlot, — age, childhood, all the 
 various conditions and epochs of multiform life, swayed, 
 clung, murmured, moved, jostled, trampled; — the beings 
 of the little hour ! 
 
 High from the battlements against the westering beam 
 floated Edward's conquering flag, — a sun shining to the 
 sun. Again, and a third time, rang the trumpets, and 
 on the balcony, his crown upon his head, but his form 
 still sheathed in armor, stood the king. What mattered 
 to the crowd his falseness and his perfidy, — his licen- 
 tiousness and cruelty 1 All vices ever vanish in success ! 
 Hurrah for King Edward! The man of the age 
 suited the age, had valor for its war and cunning for its 
 peace, and the sympathy of the age was with him! So 
 there stood the king ; at his right hand, Elizabeth, with 
 her infant boy (the heir of England) in her arms, — the 
 proud face of the duchess seen over the queen's shoulder. 
 By Elizabeth's side was the Duke of Gloucester, leaning 
 on his sword, and at the left of Edward the perjured 
 Clarence bowed his fair head to the joyous throng ! At 
 the sight of the victorious king, of the lovely queen, and, 
 above all, of the young male heir, who promised length 
 of days to the line of York, the crowd burst forth with 
 a hearty cry, " Long live the king and the king's son ! " 
 Mechanically Elizabeth turned her moistened eyes from 
 Edward to Edward's brother, and suddenly, as with a 
 mother's prophetic instinct, clasped her infant closer to
 
 470 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 
 
 her bosom when she caught the glittering and fatal eye 
 of Richard Duke of Gloucester (York's young hero of the 
 day, Warwick's grim avenger in the future), fixed upon 
 that harmless life, — destined to interpose a feeble obstacle 
 between the ambition of a ruthless intellect and the 
 heritage of the English throne ! 

 
 NOTES. 
 
 Hume, Eapin, and Carte, all dismiss the story of Edward's ac- 
 tual imprisonment at Middleham, while Lingard, Sharon Turner, 
 and others, adopt it implicitly. And yet, though Lingard has suc- 
 cessfully grappled with some of Hume's objections, he has left 
 others wholly unanswered. Hume states that no such fact is men- 
 tioned in Edward's subsequent proclamation against Clarence and 
 Warwick. Lingard answers, after correcting an immaterial error 
 in Hume's dates, — " that the proclamation ought not to have men- 
 tioned it, because it was confined to the enumeration of offences 
 only committed after the general amnesty in 14G9." And then, 
 surely with some inconsistency, quotes the attainder of Clarence 
 many years afterwards, in which the king enumerates it among his 
 offences, " as jeopardyug the king's royal estate, person, and life, 
 in strait warde, putting him thereby from all his libertye after pro- 
 curing great commotions." But it is clear that if the amnesty 
 hindered Edward from charging Warwick with this imprisonment 
 only one year after it was granted, it would, a fortiori, hinder him 
 from charging Clarence with it nine years after. Most probable 
 is it that this article of accusation does not refer to any imprison- 
 ment, real or supposed, at Middleham, in 1469, but to Clarence's 
 invasion of England, in 1470, when Edward's " state, personne, and 
 life " were indeed jeopardized by his narrow escape from the forti- 
 fied house, where he might fairly be called, " in straite warde ; " 
 especially as the words, " after procuring great commotions," could 
 not apply to the date of the supposed detention in Middleham, 
 when, instead of procuring commotions, Clarence had helped War- 
 wick to allay them, but do properly apply to his subsequent rebel- 
 lion in 1470. Finally, Edward's charges against his brother, as 
 Lingard himself has observed elsewhere, are not proofs, and that 
 king never scrupled at any falsehood to serve his turn. Nothing, 
 in short, can be more improbable than this tale of Edward's cap-
 
 472 NOTES. 
 
 tivity, — there was no object in it. At the very time it is said to 
 have taken place, Warwick is absolutely engaged in warfare against 
 the king's fues. The moment Edward leaves Middleham, instead 
 of escaping to London, he goes carelessly and openly to York, to 
 judge and execute the very captain of the rebels whom Warwick 
 has subdued, and in the very midst of Warwick's armies ! Far 
 from appearing to harbor the natural resentment so vindictive a 
 king must have felt (had so great an indignity been offered to him), 
 — almost immediately after he leaves York, he takes the Nevile 
 family into greater power than ever, confers new dignities upon 
 Warwick, and betroths his eldest daughter to Warwick's nephew. 
 On the whole, then, perhaps some such view of the king's visit to 
 Middleham, which has been taken in this narrative, may be con- 
 sidered not the least probable compromise of the disputed and 
 contradictory evidence on the subject. 
 
 THE END.
 
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