Chapter Thirteen.The Garden of God.I’m kneeling at the threshold, aweary, faint, and sore;I’m waiting for the dawning, for the opening of the door;I’m waiting till the Master shall bid me rise and comeTo the glory of His presence, the gladness of His home.A weary path I’ve travelled, mid darkness, storm, and strife,Bearing many a burden, contending for my life;But now the morn is breaking,—my toil will soon be o’er;I’m kneeling at the threshold, my hand is at the door.O Lord, I wait Thy pleasure! Thy time and way are best:But I’m wasted, worn, and weary:—my Father, bid me rest!Dr Alexander.The full glory of summer had come at last. Over Southampton Water broke a cloudless August day. The musical cries of the sailors who were at work on the Saint Mary, the James, and the Catherine, in the offing—preparing for the King’s voyage to France—came pleasantly from the distance. From the country farms, girls with baskets poised on their heads, filled with market produce, came into the crowded sea-port town, where the whole Court awaited a fair wind. There was no wind from any quarter that day. Earth and sea and sky presented a dead calm: and the only place which was not calm was the heart of fallen man. For a few steps from the busy gates and the crowded market is Southampton Green, and there, draped in mourning, stands the scaffold, and beside it the state headsman.All the Court are gathered here. It is a break in the monotony of existence—the tiresome dead level of waiting for the wind to change.The first victim is brought out. Trembling and timidly he comes—Henry Le Scrope of Upsal, the luckless husband of the Duchess Dowager of York, Treasurer of the Household, only a few days since in the highest favour. He was arrested, tried, and sentenced in twenty-four hours, just a week before. No voice pleads for poor Scrope,—a simple, single-minded man, who never made an enemy till now. He dies to-day—“on suspicion of being suspected” of high treason.The block and the axe are wiped clean of Scrope’s blood, and the headsman stands waiting for the Sheriff to bring the second victim.He comes forward calmly, with quiet dignity; a stately, fair-haired man,—ready to die, because ready to meet God. And we know the face of Richard of Conisborough, the finest and purest character of the royal line, the fairest bud of the White Rose. He has little wish to live longer. Life was stripped of its flowers for him four years ago, when he heard the earth cast on the coffin of his pale desert flower. She is in Heaven; and Christ is in Heaven; and Heaven is better than earth. So what matter, though the passage be low and dark which leads up to the gate of the Garden of God? Yet this is no easy nor honourable death to die. No easy death to a man of high sense of chivalrous honour; no light burden, thus to be led forth before the multitude, to a death of shame,—on his part undeserved. Perhaps men will know some day how little he deserved it. At any rate, God knows. And whatever shameful end be decreed for the servant, it can never surpass that of the Master. The utmost that any child of God can suffer for Christ, can never equal what Christ has suffered for him.And so, calm in mien, willing in heart, Richard of Conisborough went through the dark passage, to the Garden of God. But if ever a judicial murder were committed in this world, it was done that day on Southampton Green, when the blood of the Lollard Prince dyed the dust of the scaffold.The accusation brought against the victims was high treason. The indictment bore falsehood on its face by going too far. It asserted, not only that they had conspired to raise March to the throne—which might perhaps have been believed; but also that they had plotted the assassination of King Henry—which no one who knew them could believe; that March, taken into their counsels, had asked for an hour to consider the matter, and had then gone straight to the King and revealed the plot—which no one who knew March could believe. The whole accusation was a tissue of improbabilities and inconsistencies. No evidence was offered; the conclusion was foregone from the beginning. So they died on Southampton Green.Perhaps Henry’s heart failed him at the last moment. For some reason, Richard of Conisborough was spared the last and worst ignominy of a traitor’s death—the exposure of the severed head on some city gate. Henry allowed his remains to receive quiet and honourable burial.The next day a decree was passed, pardoning March for all crimes and offences. The only offence which he had ever committed against the House of Lancaster was his own existence; and for that he could scarcely be held responsible, either in law or equity. But can we say as much for the offence against God and man which he committed on that sixth of August, when he suffered himself to be dragged to the judge’s bench, on which he sat with others to condemn the husband of that sister Anne who had been his all but mother?We shall see no more of Edmund Mortimer. He ended life as he began it—as much like a vegetable as a human being could well make himself. Few Mortimers attained old age, nor did he. He died in his thirty-fourth year, issueless and unwept; and Richard Duke of York, the son of Anne Mortimer and Richard of Conisborough, succeeded to the White Rose’s “heritage of woe.”A week after the execution, the King sailed for Harfleur.The campaign was short, for those days of long campaigns; but pestilence raged among the troops, and cut off some of the finest men. The Earl of Suffolk died before they left Harfleur, and ere they reached Picardy, the Earl of Arundel. But the King pressed onward, till on the night of the 24th of October, he encamped, ready to give battle, near the little village of Azincour, to be thenceforward for ever famous, under its English name of Agincourt.The army was in a very sober mood. The night was spent quietly, by the more careless in sleep, by the more thoughtful in prayer. The Duke of York was among the former; the King among the latter. Henry is said to have wrestled earnestly with God that no sins of his might be remembered against him, to lead to the discomfiture of his army. There was need for the entreaty. Perchance, had he slept that night, some such ghostly visions, born of his own conscience, might have disturbed his sleep, as those which troubled one of his successors on the eve of Bosworth Field.When morning came, and the King was at breakfast with his brother Prince Humphrey, the Duke of York presented himself with a request that he might be permitted to lead the vanguard.Humphrey, who was of a sarcastic turn of mind, amused himself by a few jokes on the obesity of the royal applicant; but the request was granted, and York rode off well pleased.“Stand thou at my stirrup, Calverley,” said York to his squire. “I cast no doubt thou wilt win this day thy spurs; and for me, I look to come off covered with glory.”“How many yards of glory shall it take to cover his Grace?” whispered one of the irreverent varlets behind them.“Howsoe’er, little matter,” pursued the Duke. “I can scantly go higher than I am: wherefore howso I leave the field, little reck I.”Hugh Calverley looked up earnestly at his master.“Sir Duke,” he said, “hath it come into your Grace’s mind that no less yourself than your servants may leave this field dead corpses?”“Tut, man! croak not,” said York. “I have no intent to leave it other than alive—thou canst do as it list thee.”Two months had elapsed since that August evening when, terrified by his brother’s sudden and violent death, Edward Duke of York had dictated his will in terms of such abject penitence. The effect of that terror was wearing away. The unseen world, which had come very near, receded into the far distance; and the visible world returned to its usual prominence. And York’s aim had always been, not “so to pass through things temporal that he lost not the things eternal,” but so to pass towards things eternal that he lost not the things temporal. His own choice proved his heaviest punishment: “for he in his life-time received his good things.”It was a terrible battle which that day witnessed at Agincourt. In one quarter of the field Prince Humphrey lay half dead upon the sward; when the King, riding up and recognising his brother, sprang from his saddle, took his stand over the prostrate body, and waving his good battle-axe in his strong firm hand, kept the enemy at bay, and saved his brother’s life. In another direction, a sudden charge of the French pressed a little band of English officers and men close together, till not one in the inner ranks could move hand or foot—crushed them closer, closer, as if the object had been to compress them into a consolidated mass. At last help came, the French were beaten off, and the living wall was free to separate into its component atoms of human bodies. But as it did so, from the interior of the mass one man fell to the ground, dead. No one needed to ask who it was. The royal fleurs-de-lis and lions on the surcoat, with an escocheon of pretence bearing the arms of Leon and Castilla—the princely coronet surrounding the helmet—were enough to tell the tale. Other men might come alive out of the fight of Agincourt, but Edward Duke of York would only leave it a corpse.He stands on the page of history, a beacon for all time. No man living in his day better knew the way of righteousness; no man living took less care to walk in it. During the later years of his life, it seemed as if that dread Divine decree might have gone forth, most awful even of Divine decrees—“Let him alone.” He had refused to be troubled with God, and the penalty was that God would not be troubled with him: He would not force His salvation on this unwilling soul. And now, when “behind, he heard Time’s iron gates close faintly,” it was too late for renewing to repentance. He that was unholy must be unholy still. Verily, he had his reward.The end of the struggle was now approaching. On every side the French were hemmed in and beaten down. Prince Humphrey had been earned to the royal tent, but the King was still in the field—here, there, and everywhere, as nearly ubiquitous as a man could be—riding from point to point, and now and then engaging in single-handed skirmish. A French archer, waiting for an opportunity to distinguish himself, levelled his crossbow at the royal warrior, while he remained for a moment stationary. In another second the victory of Agincourt would have been turned into a defeat, and probably a panic. But at the critical instant a squire flung himself before the King, and received the shaft intended for his Sovereign. He fell, but uttered no word.“Truly, a gallant deed, Master Squire!” cried Henry. “Whatso be your name, rise a knight banneret.”“The squire will arise no more, Sire,” said the voice of the Earl of Huntingdon behind him. “Your Highness’ grace hath come too late; he is dead.”“In good sooth, I am sorry therefor,” returned the King. “Never saw I braver deed, ne better done. Well! if he leave son or widow, they may receive our grace in his guerdon. Who is he? Ho, archer! thou bearest our cousin of York his livery, and so doth this squire. Win hither—unlace his helm, and give us to wit if thou know him.”And when the helm was unlaced, and the archer had recognised the dead face, they knew that the Lollard squire, Hugh Calverley, had saved the life of the persecutor at the cost of his own.He had spoken the simple truth. He could not fight, but he could die. He could not write his name upon the world’s roll of glory, but he could do God’s will.The public opinion of earth accounts this a mean and unworthy object. The public opinion of Heaven is probably of a different character.Nothing was to be done for widow or child, for Hugh Calverley left neither. He was no ascetic; he was merely a man who thought first of how he might please the Lord, and who felt himself least fettered by single life. So there was no love in his heart but the love of Christ, and nothing on earth that he desired in comparison of Him.And on earth he had no guerdon. Even the royal words of praise he did not live to hear. But on the other side of the dark river passed so quickly, there were the garland of honour, and the palm of victory, and the King’s “Well done, good and faithful servant!” Verily, also, he had his reward.The autumn was passing into winter before the news reached Constance either of the battle of Agincourt or of the murder on Southampton Green. At first she was utterly crushed and prostrated. The old legal leaven, so hard to work out of the human conscience, wrought upon her with tenfold force, and she declared that God was against her, and was wreaking His wrath upon her for the lie which she had told in denying the validity of her marriage. Was it not evidently so? she asked. Had He not first bereft her of her darling, the precious boy whom her sin had preserved to her? And now not only Edward, but the favourite brother, Dickon, were gone likewise. Herself, her stepmother, her widowed sisters-in-law (Note 1), and the two little children of Richard, were alone left of the House of York. The news of Edward’s death she bore with comparative equanimity: it was the sudden and dreadful end of Richard which so completely overpowered her.“Hold thy peace, Maude!” she said mournfully, in answer to Maude’s tender efforts to console her. “God is against me and all mine House. We have sinned; or rather,Ihave sinned,—and have thus brought down sorrow and mourning upon the hearts that were dearest to me. I owe a debt; and it must needs be paid, even to the uttermost farthing.”“But, dear my Lady,” urged Maude, not holding her peace as requested,—“what do you, to pay so much as one farthing of that debt? Christ our Lord hath taken the same upon Him. A debt cannot be twice paid.”“I do verily trust,” she said humbly, “that He hath paid for me the debt eternal; yet is there a debt earthly, and this is for my paying.”“Never a whit!” cried Maude earnestly. “Dear my Lady, not one cross (farthing) thereof! That which we suffer at the hand of our Father is not debt, but discipline; the chastising of the son, not the work wrung by lash from the slave. ‘The children are free.’”“Ay, free from the curse and the second death,” she said, still despondingly; “but from pains and penalties of sin in this life, Maude, not freed. An’ I cut mine hand with yonder knife, God shall not heal the wound by miracle because I am His child.”Maude felt that the illustration was true, but she was not sure that it was apposite, neither was she convinced that her own view was mistaken. She glanced at Sir Ademar de Milford, who sat on the settle, studying the works of Saint Augustine, as if to ask him to answer for her. Ademar was no longer the family confessor, for the family had given over confessing; but Archbishop Chichele, professing himself satisfied of his orthodoxy, had revoked the now useless writ of excommunication, and the priest had resumed his duties as chaplain. Ademar laid down his book in answer to the appealing glance from Maude’s eyes.“Lady,” he said, “how much, I pray you, is owing to your Grace from the young ladies your daughters, for food and lodging?”“Owing from my little maids!” exclaimed Constance.“That is it which I would know,” replied Ademar gravely.“From my little maids!” she repeated in astonishment.“It is written, Madam, in His book, that as one whom his mother comforteth, He comforteth us. Wherefore, seeing that the comfort your Grace looketh for at His hands is to have you afore the reeve for payment of your debts, it setteth me to think that you shall needs use your children likewise.”“Never!” cried Constance emphatically. “And so say I, Lady,” returned Ademar significantly. “But, Sir Ademar, God doth chastise His children!”“Truly so, Madam, as you yours. But I marvel which is the more sufferer—yourself or the child.”He spoke pointedly, for only the day before Isabel had chosen to be very naughty, and had imperatively required correction, which he knew had cost far more to Constance to administer than to her refractory child to receive.“Then, Sir Ademar, you do think He suffereth when He chastiseth us?” she asked, her voice faltering a little. “I cannot think, Dame, that He loveth the rod. Only He loveth too well the child to leave him uncorrected.”“O, Sir Ademar!” she cried suddenly—“I do trust He shall not find need to try me yet again through these childre! I am so feared I should fail and fall. Ah me! weak and wretched woman that I am,—I could not bear to see these two forced from me! God help and pardon me; but me feareth if it should come to this yet again, I would do anything to keep them!”“The Lord can heal the waters, Lady, ere He fetch you to drink them.”“He did not this draught aforetime,” she said sadly.“Maybe,” replied Ademar, “because He saw that your Ladyship’s disorder needed a bitter medicine.”There was a respite for just one year. But ever after the news of her brother Richard’s death, Constance drooped and pined; and when the fresh storm broke, it found her an invalid almost confined to her bed. It began with a strong manifesto from Archbishop Chichele against the Lollards. Then came a harshly-worded order for all landed proprietors in the Marches of South Wales to reside on their estates and “keep off the rebels.” One of these was specially directed to Constance Le Despenser.But who were the rebels? Owain Glyndwr had died twelve months before. It could not mean him; and there was only one person whom it could mean. It meant Lord Cobham, still in hiding, whom Lord Powys was in the field to capture, and on whose head a rich reward was set. The authorities were trembling in fear of a second outbreak under his guidance. Bertram gave the missive to Maude, who carried it to Constance. Disobedience was to be visited by penalty; and how it was likely to be punished in her case, Constance knew only too well. She received it with a moan of anguish.“My little maids! my little, little maids!”She said no more: she only grew worse and weaker.Then Lord Powys, in search for the “rebels,” marched up and demanded aid. He was answered by silence: and he marched on and away, helped by no hand or voice in Cardiff Castle.“I must give them up!” Constance whispered to Maude, in accents so hopelessly mournful that it wrung her tender heart to hear them. “I cannot give Him up!”For just then, in the eyes of every Lollard, to follow Lord Cobham was equivalent to following Christ.Weaker and weaker she grew now; always confined to bed; worse from day to day.And at last, on the 28th of November, 1416, the ominous horn sounded without the moat, and the Sheriff of the county, armed with all the power of the law, entered the Castle of Cardiff, to call the Lady Le Despenser to account for her repeated and contumacious neglect of the royal command.“Lady mine,” said Maude, tenderly, kneeling by her, “the Sheriff is here.”“It is come, then!” replied Constance very quietly. “Bring my little maids to me. Let me kiss them once more ere they tear them away from me. God help me to bear the rest!”She kissed them both, and blessed them fervently, bidding them “be good maids and serve God.” Then she lay back again in the bed, and softly turned her face to the wall so that the intruders would not see it.“The Sheriff may enter in,” she said in a low voice. “Lord, I have left all, and have followed Thee!”Does it seem a small matter for which to sacrifice all? The balances of the Sanctuary are not used with weights of earth.The Sheriff came in. Maude stood up boldly, indignantly, and demanded to know wherefore he had come. The answer was what she expected.“To seize the persons of the Lady Le Despenser and her daughters, accused of disobedience to the law, and perverse contumacy, in that she did deny to aid with money and men the search for one John Oldcastle, a prison-breaker convict of heresy and sedition.”“Is he taken?” said Bertram almost involuntarily.“Nay, not so yet; but the good Lord Powys is now a-hunting after him. He that shall take him shall net a thousand marks thereby, and twenty marks by the year further.”Maude drew a long sigh.“Much good do they him!” exclaimed Bertram ironically.Maude went back to the bed and spoke to her mistress.“Lady, heard you what he said?”There was no answer, and Maude spoke again. Still the silence was unbroken. She touched the shoulder, and yet no response.“An’ it like you, Madam, you must arise and come with me,” said the Sheriff bluntly, as Maude bent over the sufferer. Then, with a low moan, she sank on her knees by the bedside, and a cry which was not all bitterness broke from her.“‘And thus hath Christ unwemmed kept Custance’!”“What matter, wife?” said Bertram in a tone of sudden apprehension.“No matter any more!” replied Maude, lifting her white face. “Master Sheriff, she was dying ere you came to prison her,—on a sendel thread (a linen cloth of the finest quality) hung her life: but ere you touched her, God snapped yon thread, and set her free.”Ay, what matter?—though they seized on the poor relic of mortality which had once been Constance Le Despenser?—though the mean vengeance was taken of leaving her coffin unburied for four dreary years? “After that, they had no more that they could do.” It was only the withered leaves that were left in their hands; the White Rose was free.“What shall become of the young ladies, Master Sheriff?”“Nay,” growled the surly official, “the hen being departed, I lack nought of the chicks. They may go whither it list them; only this Castle and all therein is confiscate.”Maude turned to Isabel, now a tall statuesque maiden of sixteen years.“I shall send to my Lord, of force,” she answered coldly, “and desire that he come and fetch me hence.”“And your sister, the Lady Alianora?”The child was kneeling by the side of her dead mother, wrapped in unutterable grief. Isabel cast a contemptuous glance upon her.“No sister of mine!” she said in the same tone. “I cannot be burdened with nameless childre.”For an instant Maude’s indignation rose above both her discretion and her sorrow. She cried—“Girl, God pardon you those cruel words!”—but then with a strong effort she bridled her tongue, and sitting down by the bed, drew the sobbing child’s head upon her bosom.“My poor homeless darling! doth none want thee, my dove?—not even thine own mother’s daughter?—Bertram, good husband, thou wilt not let (hinder) me?—Sweet, come then with us, and be our daughter—to whom beside thee God hath given none. Meseemeth as though He now saith, ‘Take this child and nurse it for Me.’ Lord, so be it!”At the end of those four years, men’s revenge was satiated, and permission was given for the funeral of the unburied coffin. But they laid her, as they had laid her son, far from the scene of her home, and from the graves of her beloved. The long unused royal vault in the Benedictine Abbey of Reading, in which the latest burial had taken place nearly two hundred years before, was opened to receive its last tenant. There she sleeps calmly, waiting for the resurrection morning.Three historical tableaux will complete the story.First, a quiet little village home, where a knight and his wife are calmly passing the later half of life. The knight was rendered useless for battle some years ago by a severe wound, resulting in permanent lameness. In the chimney-corner, distaff in hand, sits the dame,—a small, slight woman, with gentle dark eyes, and a meek, loving expression, which will make her face lovely to the close of life. Opposite to her, occupied with another distaff, is a tall, fair, queenly girl, who can surely be no daughter of the dame. By the knight’s chair, in hunting costume, stands a young man with a very open, pleasant countenance, who is evidently pleading for some favour which the knight and dame are a little reluctant to grant.“Sir Bertram, not one word would she hear me, but bade me betake me directly unto yourself. So here behold me to beseech your gentleness in favour of my suit.”“Lord de Audley,” said the knight, quietly, “this is not the first time by many that I have heard of your name, neither of your goodness. You seek to wed my daughter. But I would have you well aware that she hath no portion: and what, I pray you, shall all your friends and lovers say unto your wedding of a poor knight’s portionless daughter?”“Say! Let them say as they list!” cried the young man. “For portion, I do account Mistress Nell portion and lineage in herself. And they be sorry friends of mine that desire not my best welfare. Her do I love, and only her will I wed.”Bertram looked across at his wife with a smile.“Must we tell him, Dame?”“I think we may, husband.”“Then know, Lord James de Audley, that you have asked more than you wist. This maid is no daughter of mine. Wedding her, you should wed not Nell Lyngern, a poor knight’s daughter; but the Lady Alianora de Holand, Countess of Kent, of the royal line, whose mother was daughter unto a son of King Edward. Now what say you?”The young man’s face changed painfully.“Sir, I thank you,” he said in a low voice. “I am no man fit to mate with the blood royal. Lady Countess, I cry you mercy for mine ignorance and mine unwisdom.”“Tarry yet a moment, Lord de Audley,” said Bertram, smiling again; for the girl’s colour came and went, the distaff trembled in her hand, and her eyes sought his with a look of troubled entreaty. “Well, Nell?—speak out, maiden mine!”“Father!” she said in an agitated voice, “he loved Nell Lyngern!”“Come, Lord James,” said Bertram, laughing, “methinks you be not going empty away. God bless you, man and maid!—only, good knight and true, see thou leave not to love Nell Lyngern.”The picture fades away, and another comes on the scene.The bar of the House of Lords. Peers in their Parliament robes fill all the benches, and at their head sits the Regent,—Prince Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, the representative Rationalist of the fifteenth century. He was no Papist, for he disliked and despised Romish superstitions; yet no Lollard, for he was utterly incapable of receiving the things of the Spirit of God. Henry the Fifth now lies entombed at Westminster, and on the throne is his little son of nine years old, for whom his uncle Humphrey reigns and rules. There comes forward to the bar a fair-haired, stately woman, robed in the ermine and velvet of a countess. She is asked to state her name and her business. The reply comes in a clear voice.“My name is Alianora Touchet, Lady de Audley; and I am the only daughter and heir of Sir Edmund de Holand, sometime Earl of Kent, and of Custance his wife, daughter unto Sir Edmund of Langley, Duke of York. I claim the lands and coronets of this my father—the earldom of Kent, and the barony of Wake de Lydel.”Her evidences are received and examined. The case shall be considered, and the petitioner shall receive her answer that day month. She bows and retires.And then down from her eyrie, like a vengeful eagle, swoops the old Duchess Joan of York—the sister of Kent, the step-mother of Constance—who has two passions to gratify, her hatred to the memory of the one, and her desire to retain her share of the estates of the other. She draws up her answer to the claim,—astutely disappearing into the background, and pushing forward her simpler sister Margaret, entirely governed by her influence, as the prominent objector. She forgets nothing. She urges the assent and consent of Henry the Fourth to the marriage of Lucia, the presence of Constance at the ceremony, and every point which can give weight to her objection. She prays, therefore—or Margaret does for her—that the claim of the aforesaid Alianora may be adjudged invalid, and the earldom of Kent extinct.Lady Audley reappears on the day appointed. It is the same scene again, with Duke Humphrey as president; who informs her, with calm judicial impartiality, that her petition is rejected, her claim disallowed, and her name branded with the bar sinister for ever. But as she leaves the bar, denied and humiliated, her hand is drawn gently into another hand, and a voice softly asks her—“Am not I better to thee than ten coronets?”And so they pass away.The second dissolving view has disappeared; and the last slowly grows before our sight.A dungeon in the Tower of London. There is only a solitary prisoner,—a man of fifty years of age, moderate in stature, but very slightly built, with hands and feet which would be small even in a woman. His face has never been handsome; there are deep furrows in the forehead, and something more than time has turned the brown hair grey, and given to the strongly-marked features that pensive, weary look, which his countenance always wears when in repose. Ask his name of his gaolers, and they will say it is “Sir Henry of Lancaster, the usurper;” but ask it of himself, and a momentary flash lights up the sunken eyes as he answers, “I am the King.”Neither Pharisee nor Sadducee is Henry the Sixth. He is not a Lollard, simply because he never knew what Lollardism was. During his reign it lay dormant—the old Wycliffite plant violently uprooted, the new Lutheran shoots not yet visible above the ground. He was one of the very few men divinely taught without ostensible human agency,—within whom God is pleased to dwell by His Spirit at an age so early that the dawn of the heavenly instinct cannot be perceived. From the follies, the cruelties, and the iniquities of Romanism he shrank with that Heaven-born instinct; and by the dim flickering light which he had, he walked with God. His way led over very rough ground, full of rugged stones, on which his weary feet were bruised and torn. But it was the way Home.And now, to-night, on the 22nd of May, 1471, the prisoner is very worn and weary. He sits with a book before him—a small square volume, in illuminated Latin, with delicately-wrought borders, and occasional full-page illuminations; a Psalter, which came into his hands from those of another prisoner in like case with himself, for the book once belonged to Richard of Bordeaux (Note 2). He turns slowly over the leaves, now and then reading a sentence aloud:—sentences all of which indicate a longing for home and rest.“‘My soul is also sore vexed; but Thou, O Lord, how long?’“‘Lord, how long wilt Thou look on? Rescue my soul from their destructions, mine only one from the lions.’“‘And now, Lord, what wait I for?’“‘Who shall give me wings like a dove?—and I will flee away, and be at rest!’” (Vulgate version).At last the prisoner closed the book, and spoke in his own words to his heavenly Friend—the only friend whom he had in all the world, except the wife who was a helpless prisoner like himself.“Lord God, Thy will be done! Grant unto me patience to await Thy time; but, O fair Father, I lack rest!”And just as his voice ceased, the heavy door rolled back, and the messenger of rest came in.He did not look like a messenger of rest. But all God’s messengers are not angels. And there was little indeed of the angel in this man’s composition. His figure would have been tall but for a deformity which his enemies called a hump back, and his friends merely an overgrown shoulder; and his face would have been handsome but for its morose, scowling expression, which by no means betokened an amiable character.The two cousins stood and looked at each other. The prisoner was the grandson of Henry of Bolingbroke, and the visitor was the grandson of Richard of Conisborough.There were a few words on each side—contemptuous taunts, and sharp accusations, on the one side,—low, patient replies on the other. Then came a gleam of something flashing in the dim light, and the dagger of the visitor was sheathed in the pale prisoner’s heart.At rest, at last: safe, and saved, and with God.It was a cruel, brutal, cold-blooded murder. But was it nothing else? Was there in it no operation of those Divine wheels which “grind slowly, yet exceeding small?”—no visitation, by Him to whom vengeance belongeth, of the sins of the guilty fathers upon the guiltless son—vengeance for the broken heart of Richard of Bordeaux, for the judicial murder of Richard of Conisborough, for the dreary imprisoned girlhood of Anne Mortimer, and—last, not least—for the long, slow years of moral torture, ending with the bitter cup forced into the dying hand of the White Rose of Langley?Note 1. Richard of Conisborough married secondly, and probably chiefly with the view of securing a mother for his children, Maude Clifford, a daughter of the great Lollard House of Clifford of Cumberland. She survived him many years.Note 2. The Psalter is still extant, in the British Museum: Cott. Ms. Domit. A. xvii.
I’m kneeling at the threshold, aweary, faint, and sore;I’m waiting for the dawning, for the opening of the door;I’m waiting till the Master shall bid me rise and comeTo the glory of His presence, the gladness of His home.A weary path I’ve travelled, mid darkness, storm, and strife,Bearing many a burden, contending for my life;But now the morn is breaking,—my toil will soon be o’er;I’m kneeling at the threshold, my hand is at the door.O Lord, I wait Thy pleasure! Thy time and way are best:But I’m wasted, worn, and weary:—my Father, bid me rest!Dr Alexander.
I’m kneeling at the threshold, aweary, faint, and sore;I’m waiting for the dawning, for the opening of the door;I’m waiting till the Master shall bid me rise and comeTo the glory of His presence, the gladness of His home.A weary path I’ve travelled, mid darkness, storm, and strife,Bearing many a burden, contending for my life;But now the morn is breaking,—my toil will soon be o’er;I’m kneeling at the threshold, my hand is at the door.O Lord, I wait Thy pleasure! Thy time and way are best:But I’m wasted, worn, and weary:—my Father, bid me rest!Dr Alexander.
The full glory of summer had come at last. Over Southampton Water broke a cloudless August day. The musical cries of the sailors who were at work on the Saint Mary, the James, and the Catherine, in the offing—preparing for the King’s voyage to France—came pleasantly from the distance. From the country farms, girls with baskets poised on their heads, filled with market produce, came into the crowded sea-port town, where the whole Court awaited a fair wind. There was no wind from any quarter that day. Earth and sea and sky presented a dead calm: and the only place which was not calm was the heart of fallen man. For a few steps from the busy gates and the crowded market is Southampton Green, and there, draped in mourning, stands the scaffold, and beside it the state headsman.
All the Court are gathered here. It is a break in the monotony of existence—the tiresome dead level of waiting for the wind to change.
The first victim is brought out. Trembling and timidly he comes—Henry Le Scrope of Upsal, the luckless husband of the Duchess Dowager of York, Treasurer of the Household, only a few days since in the highest favour. He was arrested, tried, and sentenced in twenty-four hours, just a week before. No voice pleads for poor Scrope,—a simple, single-minded man, who never made an enemy till now. He dies to-day—“on suspicion of being suspected” of high treason.
The block and the axe are wiped clean of Scrope’s blood, and the headsman stands waiting for the Sheriff to bring the second victim.
He comes forward calmly, with quiet dignity; a stately, fair-haired man,—ready to die, because ready to meet God. And we know the face of Richard of Conisborough, the finest and purest character of the royal line, the fairest bud of the White Rose. He has little wish to live longer. Life was stripped of its flowers for him four years ago, when he heard the earth cast on the coffin of his pale desert flower. She is in Heaven; and Christ is in Heaven; and Heaven is better than earth. So what matter, though the passage be low and dark which leads up to the gate of the Garden of God? Yet this is no easy nor honourable death to die. No easy death to a man of high sense of chivalrous honour; no light burden, thus to be led forth before the multitude, to a death of shame,—on his part undeserved. Perhaps men will know some day how little he deserved it. At any rate, God knows. And whatever shameful end be decreed for the servant, it can never surpass that of the Master. The utmost that any child of God can suffer for Christ, can never equal what Christ has suffered for him.
And so, calm in mien, willing in heart, Richard of Conisborough went through the dark passage, to the Garden of God. But if ever a judicial murder were committed in this world, it was done that day on Southampton Green, when the blood of the Lollard Prince dyed the dust of the scaffold.
The accusation brought against the victims was high treason. The indictment bore falsehood on its face by going too far. It asserted, not only that they had conspired to raise March to the throne—which might perhaps have been believed; but also that they had plotted the assassination of King Henry—which no one who knew them could believe; that March, taken into their counsels, had asked for an hour to consider the matter, and had then gone straight to the King and revealed the plot—which no one who knew March could believe. The whole accusation was a tissue of improbabilities and inconsistencies. No evidence was offered; the conclusion was foregone from the beginning. So they died on Southampton Green.
Perhaps Henry’s heart failed him at the last moment. For some reason, Richard of Conisborough was spared the last and worst ignominy of a traitor’s death—the exposure of the severed head on some city gate. Henry allowed his remains to receive quiet and honourable burial.
The next day a decree was passed, pardoning March for all crimes and offences. The only offence which he had ever committed against the House of Lancaster was his own existence; and for that he could scarcely be held responsible, either in law or equity. But can we say as much for the offence against God and man which he committed on that sixth of August, when he suffered himself to be dragged to the judge’s bench, on which he sat with others to condemn the husband of that sister Anne who had been his all but mother?
We shall see no more of Edmund Mortimer. He ended life as he began it—as much like a vegetable as a human being could well make himself. Few Mortimers attained old age, nor did he. He died in his thirty-fourth year, issueless and unwept; and Richard Duke of York, the son of Anne Mortimer and Richard of Conisborough, succeeded to the White Rose’s “heritage of woe.”
A week after the execution, the King sailed for Harfleur.
The campaign was short, for those days of long campaigns; but pestilence raged among the troops, and cut off some of the finest men. The Earl of Suffolk died before they left Harfleur, and ere they reached Picardy, the Earl of Arundel. But the King pressed onward, till on the night of the 24th of October, he encamped, ready to give battle, near the little village of Azincour, to be thenceforward for ever famous, under its English name of Agincourt.
The army was in a very sober mood. The night was spent quietly, by the more careless in sleep, by the more thoughtful in prayer. The Duke of York was among the former; the King among the latter. Henry is said to have wrestled earnestly with God that no sins of his might be remembered against him, to lead to the discomfiture of his army. There was need for the entreaty. Perchance, had he slept that night, some such ghostly visions, born of his own conscience, might have disturbed his sleep, as those which troubled one of his successors on the eve of Bosworth Field.
When morning came, and the King was at breakfast with his brother Prince Humphrey, the Duke of York presented himself with a request that he might be permitted to lead the vanguard.
Humphrey, who was of a sarcastic turn of mind, amused himself by a few jokes on the obesity of the royal applicant; but the request was granted, and York rode off well pleased.
“Stand thou at my stirrup, Calverley,” said York to his squire. “I cast no doubt thou wilt win this day thy spurs; and for me, I look to come off covered with glory.”
“How many yards of glory shall it take to cover his Grace?” whispered one of the irreverent varlets behind them.
“Howsoe’er, little matter,” pursued the Duke. “I can scantly go higher than I am: wherefore howso I leave the field, little reck I.”
Hugh Calverley looked up earnestly at his master.
“Sir Duke,” he said, “hath it come into your Grace’s mind that no less yourself than your servants may leave this field dead corpses?”
“Tut, man! croak not,” said York. “I have no intent to leave it other than alive—thou canst do as it list thee.”
Two months had elapsed since that August evening when, terrified by his brother’s sudden and violent death, Edward Duke of York had dictated his will in terms of such abject penitence. The effect of that terror was wearing away. The unseen world, which had come very near, receded into the far distance; and the visible world returned to its usual prominence. And York’s aim had always been, not “so to pass through things temporal that he lost not the things eternal,” but so to pass towards things eternal that he lost not the things temporal. His own choice proved his heaviest punishment: “for he in his life-time received his good things.”
It was a terrible battle which that day witnessed at Agincourt. In one quarter of the field Prince Humphrey lay half dead upon the sward; when the King, riding up and recognising his brother, sprang from his saddle, took his stand over the prostrate body, and waving his good battle-axe in his strong firm hand, kept the enemy at bay, and saved his brother’s life. In another direction, a sudden charge of the French pressed a little band of English officers and men close together, till not one in the inner ranks could move hand or foot—crushed them closer, closer, as if the object had been to compress them into a consolidated mass. At last help came, the French were beaten off, and the living wall was free to separate into its component atoms of human bodies. But as it did so, from the interior of the mass one man fell to the ground, dead. No one needed to ask who it was. The royal fleurs-de-lis and lions on the surcoat, with an escocheon of pretence bearing the arms of Leon and Castilla—the princely coronet surrounding the helmet—were enough to tell the tale. Other men might come alive out of the fight of Agincourt, but Edward Duke of York would only leave it a corpse.
He stands on the page of history, a beacon for all time. No man living in his day better knew the way of righteousness; no man living took less care to walk in it. During the later years of his life, it seemed as if that dread Divine decree might have gone forth, most awful even of Divine decrees—“Let him alone.” He had refused to be troubled with God, and the penalty was that God would not be troubled with him: He would not force His salvation on this unwilling soul. And now, when “behind, he heard Time’s iron gates close faintly,” it was too late for renewing to repentance. He that was unholy must be unholy still. Verily, he had his reward.
The end of the struggle was now approaching. On every side the French were hemmed in and beaten down. Prince Humphrey had been earned to the royal tent, but the King was still in the field—here, there, and everywhere, as nearly ubiquitous as a man could be—riding from point to point, and now and then engaging in single-handed skirmish. A French archer, waiting for an opportunity to distinguish himself, levelled his crossbow at the royal warrior, while he remained for a moment stationary. In another second the victory of Agincourt would have been turned into a defeat, and probably a panic. But at the critical instant a squire flung himself before the King, and received the shaft intended for his Sovereign. He fell, but uttered no word.
“Truly, a gallant deed, Master Squire!” cried Henry. “Whatso be your name, rise a knight banneret.”
“The squire will arise no more, Sire,” said the voice of the Earl of Huntingdon behind him. “Your Highness’ grace hath come too late; he is dead.”
“In good sooth, I am sorry therefor,” returned the King. “Never saw I braver deed, ne better done. Well! if he leave son or widow, they may receive our grace in his guerdon. Who is he? Ho, archer! thou bearest our cousin of York his livery, and so doth this squire. Win hither—unlace his helm, and give us to wit if thou know him.”
And when the helm was unlaced, and the archer had recognised the dead face, they knew that the Lollard squire, Hugh Calverley, had saved the life of the persecutor at the cost of his own.
He had spoken the simple truth. He could not fight, but he could die. He could not write his name upon the world’s roll of glory, but he could do God’s will.
The public opinion of earth accounts this a mean and unworthy object. The public opinion of Heaven is probably of a different character.
Nothing was to be done for widow or child, for Hugh Calverley left neither. He was no ascetic; he was merely a man who thought first of how he might please the Lord, and who felt himself least fettered by single life. So there was no love in his heart but the love of Christ, and nothing on earth that he desired in comparison of Him.
And on earth he had no guerdon. Even the royal words of praise he did not live to hear. But on the other side of the dark river passed so quickly, there were the garland of honour, and the palm of victory, and the King’s “Well done, good and faithful servant!” Verily, also, he had his reward.
The autumn was passing into winter before the news reached Constance either of the battle of Agincourt or of the murder on Southampton Green. At first she was utterly crushed and prostrated. The old legal leaven, so hard to work out of the human conscience, wrought upon her with tenfold force, and she declared that God was against her, and was wreaking His wrath upon her for the lie which she had told in denying the validity of her marriage. Was it not evidently so? she asked. Had He not first bereft her of her darling, the precious boy whom her sin had preserved to her? And now not only Edward, but the favourite brother, Dickon, were gone likewise. Herself, her stepmother, her widowed sisters-in-law (Note 1), and the two little children of Richard, were alone left of the House of York. The news of Edward’s death she bore with comparative equanimity: it was the sudden and dreadful end of Richard which so completely overpowered her.
“Hold thy peace, Maude!” she said mournfully, in answer to Maude’s tender efforts to console her. “God is against me and all mine House. We have sinned; or rather,Ihave sinned,—and have thus brought down sorrow and mourning upon the hearts that were dearest to me. I owe a debt; and it must needs be paid, even to the uttermost farthing.”
“But, dear my Lady,” urged Maude, not holding her peace as requested,—“what do you, to pay so much as one farthing of that debt? Christ our Lord hath taken the same upon Him. A debt cannot be twice paid.”
“I do verily trust,” she said humbly, “that He hath paid for me the debt eternal; yet is there a debt earthly, and this is for my paying.”
“Never a whit!” cried Maude earnestly. “Dear my Lady, not one cross (farthing) thereof! That which we suffer at the hand of our Father is not debt, but discipline; the chastising of the son, not the work wrung by lash from the slave. ‘The children are free.’”
“Ay, free from the curse and the second death,” she said, still despondingly; “but from pains and penalties of sin in this life, Maude, not freed. An’ I cut mine hand with yonder knife, God shall not heal the wound by miracle because I am His child.”
Maude felt that the illustration was true, but she was not sure that it was apposite, neither was she convinced that her own view was mistaken. She glanced at Sir Ademar de Milford, who sat on the settle, studying the works of Saint Augustine, as if to ask him to answer for her. Ademar was no longer the family confessor, for the family had given over confessing; but Archbishop Chichele, professing himself satisfied of his orthodoxy, had revoked the now useless writ of excommunication, and the priest had resumed his duties as chaplain. Ademar laid down his book in answer to the appealing glance from Maude’s eyes.
“Lady,” he said, “how much, I pray you, is owing to your Grace from the young ladies your daughters, for food and lodging?”
“Owing from my little maids!” exclaimed Constance.
“That is it which I would know,” replied Ademar gravely.
“From my little maids!” she repeated in astonishment.
“It is written, Madam, in His book, that as one whom his mother comforteth, He comforteth us. Wherefore, seeing that the comfort your Grace looketh for at His hands is to have you afore the reeve for payment of your debts, it setteth me to think that you shall needs use your children likewise.”
“Never!” cried Constance emphatically. “And so say I, Lady,” returned Ademar significantly. “But, Sir Ademar, God doth chastise His children!”
“Truly so, Madam, as you yours. But I marvel which is the more sufferer—yourself or the child.”
He spoke pointedly, for only the day before Isabel had chosen to be very naughty, and had imperatively required correction, which he knew had cost far more to Constance to administer than to her refractory child to receive.
“Then, Sir Ademar, you do think He suffereth when He chastiseth us?” she asked, her voice faltering a little. “I cannot think, Dame, that He loveth the rod. Only He loveth too well the child to leave him uncorrected.”
“O, Sir Ademar!” she cried suddenly—“I do trust He shall not find need to try me yet again through these childre! I am so feared I should fail and fall. Ah me! weak and wretched woman that I am,—I could not bear to see these two forced from me! God help and pardon me; but me feareth if it should come to this yet again, I would do anything to keep them!”
“The Lord can heal the waters, Lady, ere He fetch you to drink them.”
“He did not this draught aforetime,” she said sadly.
“Maybe,” replied Ademar, “because He saw that your Ladyship’s disorder needed a bitter medicine.”
There was a respite for just one year. But ever after the news of her brother Richard’s death, Constance drooped and pined; and when the fresh storm broke, it found her an invalid almost confined to her bed. It began with a strong manifesto from Archbishop Chichele against the Lollards. Then came a harshly-worded order for all landed proprietors in the Marches of South Wales to reside on their estates and “keep off the rebels.” One of these was specially directed to Constance Le Despenser.
But who were the rebels? Owain Glyndwr had died twelve months before. It could not mean him; and there was only one person whom it could mean. It meant Lord Cobham, still in hiding, whom Lord Powys was in the field to capture, and on whose head a rich reward was set. The authorities were trembling in fear of a second outbreak under his guidance. Bertram gave the missive to Maude, who carried it to Constance. Disobedience was to be visited by penalty; and how it was likely to be punished in her case, Constance knew only too well. She received it with a moan of anguish.
“My little maids! my little, little maids!”
She said no more: she only grew worse and weaker.
Then Lord Powys, in search for the “rebels,” marched up and demanded aid. He was answered by silence: and he marched on and away, helped by no hand or voice in Cardiff Castle.
“I must give them up!” Constance whispered to Maude, in accents so hopelessly mournful that it wrung her tender heart to hear them. “I cannot give Him up!”
For just then, in the eyes of every Lollard, to follow Lord Cobham was equivalent to following Christ.
Weaker and weaker she grew now; always confined to bed; worse from day to day.
And at last, on the 28th of November, 1416, the ominous horn sounded without the moat, and the Sheriff of the county, armed with all the power of the law, entered the Castle of Cardiff, to call the Lady Le Despenser to account for her repeated and contumacious neglect of the royal command.
“Lady mine,” said Maude, tenderly, kneeling by her, “the Sheriff is here.”
“It is come, then!” replied Constance very quietly. “Bring my little maids to me. Let me kiss them once more ere they tear them away from me. God help me to bear the rest!”
She kissed them both, and blessed them fervently, bidding them “be good maids and serve God.” Then she lay back again in the bed, and softly turned her face to the wall so that the intruders would not see it.
“The Sheriff may enter in,” she said in a low voice. “Lord, I have left all, and have followed Thee!”
Does it seem a small matter for which to sacrifice all? The balances of the Sanctuary are not used with weights of earth.
The Sheriff came in. Maude stood up boldly, indignantly, and demanded to know wherefore he had come. The answer was what she expected.
“To seize the persons of the Lady Le Despenser and her daughters, accused of disobedience to the law, and perverse contumacy, in that she did deny to aid with money and men the search for one John Oldcastle, a prison-breaker convict of heresy and sedition.”
“Is he taken?” said Bertram almost involuntarily.
“Nay, not so yet; but the good Lord Powys is now a-hunting after him. He that shall take him shall net a thousand marks thereby, and twenty marks by the year further.”
Maude drew a long sigh.
“Much good do they him!” exclaimed Bertram ironically.
Maude went back to the bed and spoke to her mistress.
“Lady, heard you what he said?”
There was no answer, and Maude spoke again. Still the silence was unbroken. She touched the shoulder, and yet no response.
“An’ it like you, Madam, you must arise and come with me,” said the Sheriff bluntly, as Maude bent over the sufferer. Then, with a low moan, she sank on her knees by the bedside, and a cry which was not all bitterness broke from her.
“‘And thus hath Christ unwemmed kept Custance’!”
“What matter, wife?” said Bertram in a tone of sudden apprehension.
“No matter any more!” replied Maude, lifting her white face. “Master Sheriff, she was dying ere you came to prison her,—on a sendel thread (a linen cloth of the finest quality) hung her life: but ere you touched her, God snapped yon thread, and set her free.”
Ay, what matter?—though they seized on the poor relic of mortality which had once been Constance Le Despenser?—though the mean vengeance was taken of leaving her coffin unburied for four dreary years? “After that, they had no more that they could do.” It was only the withered leaves that were left in their hands; the White Rose was free.
“What shall become of the young ladies, Master Sheriff?”
“Nay,” growled the surly official, “the hen being departed, I lack nought of the chicks. They may go whither it list them; only this Castle and all therein is confiscate.”
Maude turned to Isabel, now a tall statuesque maiden of sixteen years.
“I shall send to my Lord, of force,” she answered coldly, “and desire that he come and fetch me hence.”
“And your sister, the Lady Alianora?”
The child was kneeling by the side of her dead mother, wrapped in unutterable grief. Isabel cast a contemptuous glance upon her.
“No sister of mine!” she said in the same tone. “I cannot be burdened with nameless childre.”
For an instant Maude’s indignation rose above both her discretion and her sorrow. She cried—“Girl, God pardon you those cruel words!”—but then with a strong effort she bridled her tongue, and sitting down by the bed, drew the sobbing child’s head upon her bosom.
“My poor homeless darling! doth none want thee, my dove?—not even thine own mother’s daughter?—Bertram, good husband, thou wilt not let (hinder) me?—Sweet, come then with us, and be our daughter—to whom beside thee God hath given none. Meseemeth as though He now saith, ‘Take this child and nurse it for Me.’ Lord, so be it!”
At the end of those four years, men’s revenge was satiated, and permission was given for the funeral of the unburied coffin. But they laid her, as they had laid her son, far from the scene of her home, and from the graves of her beloved. The long unused royal vault in the Benedictine Abbey of Reading, in which the latest burial had taken place nearly two hundred years before, was opened to receive its last tenant. There she sleeps calmly, waiting for the resurrection morning.
Three historical tableaux will complete the story.
First, a quiet little village home, where a knight and his wife are calmly passing the later half of life. The knight was rendered useless for battle some years ago by a severe wound, resulting in permanent lameness. In the chimney-corner, distaff in hand, sits the dame,—a small, slight woman, with gentle dark eyes, and a meek, loving expression, which will make her face lovely to the close of life. Opposite to her, occupied with another distaff, is a tall, fair, queenly girl, who can surely be no daughter of the dame. By the knight’s chair, in hunting costume, stands a young man with a very open, pleasant countenance, who is evidently pleading for some favour which the knight and dame are a little reluctant to grant.
“Sir Bertram, not one word would she hear me, but bade me betake me directly unto yourself. So here behold me to beseech your gentleness in favour of my suit.”
“Lord de Audley,” said the knight, quietly, “this is not the first time by many that I have heard of your name, neither of your goodness. You seek to wed my daughter. But I would have you well aware that she hath no portion: and what, I pray you, shall all your friends and lovers say unto your wedding of a poor knight’s portionless daughter?”
“Say! Let them say as they list!” cried the young man. “For portion, I do account Mistress Nell portion and lineage in herself. And they be sorry friends of mine that desire not my best welfare. Her do I love, and only her will I wed.”
Bertram looked across at his wife with a smile.
“Must we tell him, Dame?”
“I think we may, husband.”
“Then know, Lord James de Audley, that you have asked more than you wist. This maid is no daughter of mine. Wedding her, you should wed not Nell Lyngern, a poor knight’s daughter; but the Lady Alianora de Holand, Countess of Kent, of the royal line, whose mother was daughter unto a son of King Edward. Now what say you?”
The young man’s face changed painfully.
“Sir, I thank you,” he said in a low voice. “I am no man fit to mate with the blood royal. Lady Countess, I cry you mercy for mine ignorance and mine unwisdom.”
“Tarry yet a moment, Lord de Audley,” said Bertram, smiling again; for the girl’s colour came and went, the distaff trembled in her hand, and her eyes sought his with a look of troubled entreaty. “Well, Nell?—speak out, maiden mine!”
“Father!” she said in an agitated voice, “he loved Nell Lyngern!”
“Come, Lord James,” said Bertram, laughing, “methinks you be not going empty away. God bless you, man and maid!—only, good knight and true, see thou leave not to love Nell Lyngern.”
The picture fades away, and another comes on the scene.
The bar of the House of Lords. Peers in their Parliament robes fill all the benches, and at their head sits the Regent,—Prince Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, the representative Rationalist of the fifteenth century. He was no Papist, for he disliked and despised Romish superstitions; yet no Lollard, for he was utterly incapable of receiving the things of the Spirit of God. Henry the Fifth now lies entombed at Westminster, and on the throne is his little son of nine years old, for whom his uncle Humphrey reigns and rules. There comes forward to the bar a fair-haired, stately woman, robed in the ermine and velvet of a countess. She is asked to state her name and her business. The reply comes in a clear voice.
“My name is Alianora Touchet, Lady de Audley; and I am the only daughter and heir of Sir Edmund de Holand, sometime Earl of Kent, and of Custance his wife, daughter unto Sir Edmund of Langley, Duke of York. I claim the lands and coronets of this my father—the earldom of Kent, and the barony of Wake de Lydel.”
Her evidences are received and examined. The case shall be considered, and the petitioner shall receive her answer that day month. She bows and retires.
And then down from her eyrie, like a vengeful eagle, swoops the old Duchess Joan of York—the sister of Kent, the step-mother of Constance—who has two passions to gratify, her hatred to the memory of the one, and her desire to retain her share of the estates of the other. She draws up her answer to the claim,—astutely disappearing into the background, and pushing forward her simpler sister Margaret, entirely governed by her influence, as the prominent objector. She forgets nothing. She urges the assent and consent of Henry the Fourth to the marriage of Lucia, the presence of Constance at the ceremony, and every point which can give weight to her objection. She prays, therefore—or Margaret does for her—that the claim of the aforesaid Alianora may be adjudged invalid, and the earldom of Kent extinct.
Lady Audley reappears on the day appointed. It is the same scene again, with Duke Humphrey as president; who informs her, with calm judicial impartiality, that her petition is rejected, her claim disallowed, and her name branded with the bar sinister for ever. But as she leaves the bar, denied and humiliated, her hand is drawn gently into another hand, and a voice softly asks her—“Am not I better to thee than ten coronets?”
And so they pass away.
The second dissolving view has disappeared; and the last slowly grows before our sight.
A dungeon in the Tower of London. There is only a solitary prisoner,—a man of fifty years of age, moderate in stature, but very slightly built, with hands and feet which would be small even in a woman. His face has never been handsome; there are deep furrows in the forehead, and something more than time has turned the brown hair grey, and given to the strongly-marked features that pensive, weary look, which his countenance always wears when in repose. Ask his name of his gaolers, and they will say it is “Sir Henry of Lancaster, the usurper;” but ask it of himself, and a momentary flash lights up the sunken eyes as he answers, “I am the King.”
Neither Pharisee nor Sadducee is Henry the Sixth. He is not a Lollard, simply because he never knew what Lollardism was. During his reign it lay dormant—the old Wycliffite plant violently uprooted, the new Lutheran shoots not yet visible above the ground. He was one of the very few men divinely taught without ostensible human agency,—within whom God is pleased to dwell by His Spirit at an age so early that the dawn of the heavenly instinct cannot be perceived. From the follies, the cruelties, and the iniquities of Romanism he shrank with that Heaven-born instinct; and by the dim flickering light which he had, he walked with God. His way led over very rough ground, full of rugged stones, on which his weary feet were bruised and torn. But it was the way Home.
And now, to-night, on the 22nd of May, 1471, the prisoner is very worn and weary. He sits with a book before him—a small square volume, in illuminated Latin, with delicately-wrought borders, and occasional full-page illuminations; a Psalter, which came into his hands from those of another prisoner in like case with himself, for the book once belonged to Richard of Bordeaux (Note 2). He turns slowly over the leaves, now and then reading a sentence aloud:—sentences all of which indicate a longing for home and rest.
“‘My soul is also sore vexed; but Thou, O Lord, how long?’
“‘Lord, how long wilt Thou look on? Rescue my soul from their destructions, mine only one from the lions.’
“‘And now, Lord, what wait I for?’
“‘Who shall give me wings like a dove?—and I will flee away, and be at rest!’” (Vulgate version).
At last the prisoner closed the book, and spoke in his own words to his heavenly Friend—the only friend whom he had in all the world, except the wife who was a helpless prisoner like himself.
“Lord God, Thy will be done! Grant unto me patience to await Thy time; but, O fair Father, I lack rest!”
And just as his voice ceased, the heavy door rolled back, and the messenger of rest came in.
He did not look like a messenger of rest. But all God’s messengers are not angels. And there was little indeed of the angel in this man’s composition. His figure would have been tall but for a deformity which his enemies called a hump back, and his friends merely an overgrown shoulder; and his face would have been handsome but for its morose, scowling expression, which by no means betokened an amiable character.
The two cousins stood and looked at each other. The prisoner was the grandson of Henry of Bolingbroke, and the visitor was the grandson of Richard of Conisborough.
There were a few words on each side—contemptuous taunts, and sharp accusations, on the one side,—low, patient replies on the other. Then came a gleam of something flashing in the dim light, and the dagger of the visitor was sheathed in the pale prisoner’s heart.
At rest, at last: safe, and saved, and with God.
It was a cruel, brutal, cold-blooded murder. But was it nothing else? Was there in it no operation of those Divine wheels which “grind slowly, yet exceeding small?”—no visitation, by Him to whom vengeance belongeth, of the sins of the guilty fathers upon the guiltless son—vengeance for the broken heart of Richard of Bordeaux, for the judicial murder of Richard of Conisborough, for the dreary imprisoned girlhood of Anne Mortimer, and—last, not least—for the long, slow years of moral torture, ending with the bitter cup forced into the dying hand of the White Rose of Langley?
Note 1. Richard of Conisborough married secondly, and probably chiefly with the view of securing a mother for his children, Maude Clifford, a daughter of the great Lollard House of Clifford of Cumberland. She survived him many years.
Note 2. The Psalter is still extant, in the British Museum: Cott. Ms. Domit. A. xvii.
Chapter Fourteen.Historical Appendix.The condensed biographical sketches which follow, of such persons as figure principally in the story, will help to show to those who wish to read it intelligently, how much of it is genuine history. They will see that the tale is mainly constructed on a succession of hypotheses, but that every hypothesis rests on a substratum of fact, however slender, and in many cases on careful weighing and comparison of a number of facts together. Some of these conjectures are perhaps the only ones which will fully and satisfactorily account for the sequence of events. For convenience of reference, the names are arranged in alphabetical order.Arundel, Thomas De, Archbishop of Canterbury.Third son of Richard the Copped Hat, ninth Earl of Arundel, and Alianora of Lancaster; born 1352-3. Bishop of Ely, 1374; translated to York, of which see consecrated Archbishop, April 3rd, 1388, on the expulsion of Archbishop Neville. In 1390 he joined with Archbishop Courtenay of Canterbury in refusing assent to statutes passed in restraint of the Pope’s prerogative. In the winter of 1394-5 he went over to Ireland with the special purpose of exciting King Richard’s jealousy and suspicion against the political Lollards, after having for two years professed to favour them himself. He was translated to Canterbury on the death of Courtenay, and consecrated Archbishop, January 11th, 1397. On September 19th of the same year, Arundel was commanded to keep his house; and the day after was solemnly impeached by the House of Commons of high treason, “he having in the eleventh year of the King (1387-8) counselled the said Duke (Thomas of Gloucester) and Earl (Richard of Arundel, his brother), to take on themselves royal power.” (Rot. Pari, iii. 353.) The Commons entreated on the 25th that the Archbishop might be banished. The decree of banishment was issued, and he was ordered to sail from Dover, on the 29th of that month. His see was declared vacant, and Roger Walden was elected Archbishop in his stead. But Arundel came back, landing at Ravenspur with Henry of Bolingbroke, July 4th, 1399; and Roger Walden sank into such instant and complete oblivion that some well-informed writers have dogmatically asserted that there never was an Archbishop of that name. In October, 1404, Arundel signalised himself by a violent quarrel with the Speaker in full Parliament. He issued his rigid “constitution” against the Lollards in 1409; and he was the principal agent in the persecution of Lord Cobham. He died February 20th, 1414, lingering for a few days after a paralytic stroke, as stated in the story. His age was 61. The mantle of this cleverest man of his day—clever for evil—descended, a hundred years later, upon Stephen Gardiner. Any believer in transmigration could feel no doubt that the soul of the one man inhabited the other.Cambridge, Richard Plantagenet, Earl of (“Dickon”).Third and youngest child of Edmund Duke of York and his first wife Isabel of Castilla: born at Conisborough Castle, Yorkshire, whence, according to the custom of his time, he was usually known as Richard of Conisborough. The only record extant of his father’s visiting the castle is a charter dated thence, September 11th, 1376. (Rot. Pat. 50 E. III, Part 2.) This is probably therefore about the time of Richard’s birth. He was left in England with his sister during the eighteen months (May, 1381, to October, 1382) which his parents spent in Portugal. His mother, dying in 1393, bequeathed him to the care of King Richard the Second, who had been his godfather, though the King was only nine years older than his godson and namesake; and she constituted his Majesty her residuary legatee in trust for her son, desiring that he would allow him 500 marks annually for life. This sum would be equivalent now to about 6,500 pounds per annum. So long as King Richard was in power, the money was paid faithfully, 100 from the issues of the County of York, and 233 pounds 6 shillings 8 pence from the Exchequer. (Lansd.Ms. 860, A, folio 274; Nicolas’Test. Vet, i. 134;Rot. Pat. 16 R. II, Part 3.) During the sanguinary struggles between King Richard and his cousin Henry the Fourth, nothing is seen of Richard of Conisborough. He was not with the King in Ireland nor at Conway, neither does he appear in Henry’s suite. He probably kept himself very quiet. When his brother and sister were imprisoned in 1405 for the attempted rescue of the Mortimers, no suspicion fell on Richard. Whether he was really concerned in the plot can only be guessed. In 1406 he was chosen to escort the Princess Philippa to Denmark, and on account of his poverty a grant was made to cover his expenses. The poverty was no great wonder, for though a show of confirming his royal godfather’s grant had been made, yet practically poor Richard’s income was reduced to 40 pounds per annum. (Rot. Pat. 1 H. IV, Part 3;Rot. Ex, Pose, 3 H. V.) He was probably created, or allowed to assume the title of, Earl of Cambridge, which really appertained to his brother, only a short time before his death; for up to December 5th, 1414, he is styled in the state papers Richard of York. The accusations brought against him, by which he was done to death, were so absurdly improbable as to be incredible. It was asserted that Charles the Sixth of France had sent over “a hundred thousand in gold,” (which probably means crowns) to Richard Earl of Cambridge, Henry Lord Scrope of Upsal, and Sir Thomas Grey de Wark, urging them to betray Henry the Fifth into his hands, or murder him before he should arrive in Normandy; that thereupon the trio conspired to lead March into Wales (a simple repetition of Constance’s defeated attempt), and to proclaim him King, if King Richard were dead—which Henry the Fifth perfectly well knew he was, and so did the accused trio; that they carried into Wales the banner and crown of Spain, for the purpose of crowning March, the said articles being pawned to the Earl of Cambridge—which crown had in reality been bequeathed by the Infanta Isabel to her son Edward, and in default of his issue to Richard, and had never been in possession of the House of Lancaster at all; that they had sent to Scotland for two personators of King Richard, Trumpington and another (probably John Maudeleyn) whom they intended to pass off to the people as King Richard—which is in itself a contradiction to the charge of setting up March as King. Cambridge and Scrope pleaded their peerage. A commission was issued, August 5th, 1415, by which their judges were appointed—Thomas Duke of Clarence, Humphrey Duke of Gloucester (brothers of the King), Thomas Earl of Dorset (the King’s half-brother), who sat as proxy of Edward Duke of York; Edmund Earl of March, the very man whom they were accused of making King; and fourteen other peers. Neither Cambridge nor Scrope was allowed to speak in his own defence. Sentence was passed at once, and they were beheaded the day following on Southampton Green. There is no evidence that Richard had conspired for any purpose; the whole affair was apparently a mere pretext to be rid of him. In character, Richard seems to have been noble and honourable, with a slight taint of his father’s indecision: there is no portrait of him known. The traces of Lollardism are very slight, but I think they may be fairly considered “proven;” and if this be the case, it fully accounts for the acrimony with which he was hunted to death. His age when he died was about 39. Richard of Conisborough was twice married; his wives were—1. Anne, eldest child of Roger Mortimer, fifth Earl of March, and his wife Alianora de Holand; born about 1390; very likely imprisoned in Windsor Castle with her brothers on the usurpation of Henry the Fourth, 1400; released, if so, with her sister Alianora, and both provided for by the King (being described as “omnibus suis parentibus et amicis destitutis”), and all fiefs of their mother granted to them, May 13th, 1406 (Rot. Pat. 7 H. IV, Part 2); married, probably, 1408; most likely died in childbed, September 1410-11, aged about 20 years. 2. Maude, only daughter of Thomas, Lord Clifford of Cumberland (one of the two most uncompromisingly Lollard houses in the kingdom) and his wife Elizabeth de Ros of Hamlake; born probably about 1390, married, 1412-15; married, secondly, John Neville, sixth and last Lord Latimer of Danby; died without issue, August 26, 1446 (Inq. Post Mortem25 H. VI, 21), aged about 56. The children of Richard of Conisborough (both by Anne Mortimer) were:—1. Isabel, born about 1409, married (1) to Thomas Grey de Wark (son of the man condemned with her father), before February 18, 1412 (Rot. Pat. 13 H. IV, Part 2); (2) her second cousin, Henry Bourchier, Earl of Essex and Count of Eu; died (leaving issue by second marriage) October 2nd, 1484, aged about 75. (Inq. Post Mortem2 R. III, 53.) 2. Richard, Duke of York and Albemarle, Earl of Cambridge, Lord of Teviotdale and Holderness: born September 21st, 1410 or 1411 (more likely the earlier year. (Inq. Post Mortem11 H. VI, 39,Anna Comitissa Marchia; 3 H. VI, 32,Edmundi Comitis Marchice; 3 H. V, 45,Edmundi Duds Ebor; 12 H. VI, 43,Johanna Ducissa Ebor.) He afterwards set up his claims against the House of Lancaster, which were brought to a successful issue by his sons, though he himself never was King. Married about 1438, Cicely Neville, daughter of Ralph, first Earl of Westmoreland and his wife Joan Beaufort; called the Rose of Raby. Beheaded after the battle of Wakefield, December 30th, 1460 (Inq. Post Mortem18 E. IV, 60), aged 50; buried at Pomfret, 1466; Fotheringay, 1476.Despenser, Constance Plantagenet, Lady Le, Countess of Gloucester.Only daughter of Edmund Duke of York and his wife Isabel of Castilla; most likely born at Langley, in or about 1374. On the 16th of April, 1378, the marriage of Edward, son and heir of Edward late Lord Le Despenser, was granted to her father for her benefit. (Rot. Pat. 1 R. II, Part 5.) But the infant bridegroom was dead on the 30th of May following, and his brother Thomas was evidently substituted in his stead. (Rot. Pat. 1 R. II, Part 6.) Thomas and Constance were married before the 7th of November, 1379, as on that day her uncle, John of Gaunt, paid 22 pounds 0 shillings 4 pence for his wedding present to the bride, a silver-gilt cup and ewer on a stand, and he speaks of the marriage as then past (Register of John Duke of Lancaster, ii, folio 19,b.) Constance remained in England during the absence of her parents in Portugal, 1381-2. Eighty marks per annum were granted to her from the Despenser lands, January 14th, 1384. When she took up her residence at Cardiff with her husband is uncertain; but there is every probability that it was not till after the death of her mother, in February, 1393, and very likely not till after her father’s second marriage, about the following October. The approximate date may be given as 1394-5. Two pardons are recorded of persons accused of murder, June 22nd, 1395, and April 27th, 1396, “at the request of our beloved kinswoman the Countess of Gloucester.” There was no Countess of Gloucester at the time, for Constance had not yet attained that title. The wordsmaybe slips of the scribe’s pen for the Duchess of Gloucester. It was not until September 29th, 1397, that Thomas Le Despenser was created Earl of Gloucester. There is no evidence to show the presence of Constance in London during the stormy period of her cousin Henry’s usurpation; she seems to have remained at Cardiff. On the 22nd of February, 1400, about six weeks after her husband’s murder, a grant of 60 pounds per annum was made to the King’s son, John Duke of Bedford, out of the issues of her lands (Rot Pat.1 H. IV, Part 8); but on the 3rd of March, the custody of her son Richard was granted to her, and 30 pounds worth of gold and silver of her late husband’s goods in the hands of the Mayor of Bristol. (Ibidem, Part 6.) Moreover, on the 19th of February, a concession was made to her of eleven manors, two towns, two castles, two lordships, and other lands (Ibidem, Part 5); followed by a grant of “the price of certain vessels of silver, brooches, jewels, and other goods” which had belonged to her husband. (Rot. Ex, Pasc, 1 H. IV.) In 1404 she was restored to her dower by Act of Parliament. (Inq. Post. Mortem4 H. V 52.) When and where she met with her second husband can only be guessed; for that Edmund Earl of Kent was really her second husband I think there is the strongest reason to believe. His sisters afterwards chose to deny the marriage; it was their interest to do so, for had the legitimacy of his child been established, they would have been obliged to resign to her her father’s estates, which, as his presumptive heirs, they had inherited. Their excessive anxiety to prove her illegitimate, the persecution which Constance subsequently underwent, the resolute determination of Henry the Fourth that Kent should marry Lucia, and the remarkable coincidence of time between Constance’s imprisonment and Lucia’s marriage, go far to show that the marriage (though perhaps clandestine) was genuine, as alleged by Alianora; and I cannot avoid a strong conviction that a great deal of this hate and persecution were due to the fact that Constance was actually or suspectedly a Lollard. The denials of Kent’s sisters may be attributed to their wish to retain his estates; while as for his nephews and nieces, who nominally joined in the petition, they could only know what they were told; for Joyce Lady Tibetot, the eldest of the group, was only three years old at the death of Kent. But to what cause can be attributed the violent determination of Henry the Fourth? If it be supposed that he wished to benefit and advance Kent, how did he do it by preventing his acknowledged marriage with a well-dowered Princess of England?—or if to lower him, how was this done by purchasing for him, at the cost of 70,000 florins, the hand of a foreign Princess? Beside this, Henry showed throughout that while he had no mercy for Constance, he was on the best possible terms with Kent. Modern writers are altogether at fault on the subject, most of them alleging that Constance’s daughter Alianora was born before her marriage with Thomas Le Despenser; whereas it is shown by the Register that when Le Despenser and Constance were married, the latter was only four or five years old, while Kent was not even born. The rescue of the Mortimers comes in to complicate matters; but what shall be said, from the point of view of some writers, who submit that the whole was a mere pretext to imprison Constance and her brother, that the Mortimers were never stolen away at all, or that the real agents remained undiscovered, and that Constance’s alleged confession is a pure fiction from beginning to end? One thing is plain: there was evidentlysomereason in the mind of the King why Kent must not openly marry Constance: and knowing Henry’s character, and Kent’s character as well, I can see none that suits all the facts of the case, unless Constance were one of the hated and proscribed Lollards. The marriage of Constance and Kent, if it really occurred, of which I cannot feel the least doubt, must have taken place between 1401 and 1404 inclusive. It was about February, 1405, that (if this part of the story be true) she broke into Windsor Castle and carried off the young Mortimers, by means of false keys; and she and they had nearly reached Wales when they were recaptured. She was tried before Parliament. Henry the Fourth’s records (but he was an atrocious falsifier of state papers) tell us that she confessed that her brother Edward had been her instigator; and that he had attempted, the Christmas before, to scale the walls of Eltham Palace, and assassinate or at least imprison King Henry. This may or may not be true. What is undoubtedly true is that Edward and Constance were arrested and imprisoned; the latter in Kenilworth Castle, whither she was taken at a cost of 10 pounds, in charge of Elmingo Leget (Rot. Ex, Michs, 6 H. IV); and that all the estates, goods, and chattels of both were seized by the Crown. (Ibidem.) But Kent remained in favour. The length of time which must necessarily have elapsed shows that no sooner was Constance safely shut up than Henry began negotiating with his old friend, Galeazzo Visconti, for the hand of his beautiful cousin Lucia as the bride of Kent. When all was arranged, but not sooner, in November he presented himself at Kenilworth. (Rot. Pat, 7 H. IV, Part i.) What means were taken to torture his unhappy cousin into compliance with his iron will can only be conjectured. She did at last consent to disown her marriage, unless the facts alleged in the petition of Kent’s sisters are fictions. On January 19th, 1406, “all the goods that belonged to the said Constance, in the custody of the Treasurer of our Household, and were lately seised in our hands for certain causes,” were munificently granted to her “of our gift.” (Ibidem.) On the 24th of the same month, Kent and Lucia were married, and—if his sisters may be believed—Constance was present. (Rot. Pari, iv. 375.) And on the 18th of June following, all the lands and tenements of Thomas Le Despenser were restored to his widow. (Rot. Pat, 7 H. IV, Part 2.) In May, 1412, she had again offended; for her son was taken from her, and his custody and marriage were granted to trustees, one of whom was his uncle, Edward Duke of York. (Ibidem, 13 H. IV, Part 2.) No more is heard of her until the accession of Henry the Fifth, when the immediate favour shown to her confirms the suspicion that her offence was in some way connected with political, if not religious, Lollardism. On the 18th of July, 1413, the young King confirmedallhis father’s grants to Constance (Ibidem, 1 H. V, Part 3), which concession restored her boy to her custody. But when Henry the Fifth turned against Lollardism, he turned against his cousin with it. All the Despenser lands were granted to her brother Edward for life, April 16th, 1414, in compensation for the loss which he had sustained by Richard Le Despenser’s death (Ibidem, 2 H. V, Part 1); the truth being that the grant to him in 1412 had been cancelled by the subsequent concession to his sister, so that he had sustained no loss at all. Troubles came thickly upon Constance now. The sudden and violent deaths of her brothers, within three months of each other, must have been no slight shock to her; and shortly after that she was again under royal displeasure. The nature of her offence is matter for conjecture. We only know with certainty that she died on the 28th of November, 1416, aged about 42 (Inq. Post Mortem, 4 H. V 52); and that she died under a dark cloud of royal wrath, which was manifested by the withholding of permission for honourable burial for four years. Constance was interred in Reading Abbey, in 1420. No portrait of her is known. Her character appears to have been as I have represented it—warm-hearted, impulsive, and eager, but wayward and obstinate. Her children were four in number; three by her first marriage, who were:—1. Richard, born at Cardiff, November 30th, 1396. On the 23rd of May, 1412, he was removed from his mother’s keeping, and his custody and marriage were granted, “at the request of Edward Duke of York,” to ten trustees: Archbishop Arundel, Thomas Bishop of Durham, Edward Duke of York, Sir John Pelham, Robert Tirwhit, Robert W yntryngham, clerk, John Bokeland, clerk, Thomas Walwayn, Henry Bracy, and John Adam. They were charged with the custody of “all lands whatsoever now inherited by the said Richard, and in our hands, or any lands that may or can descend to him; and all that since the death of Thomas his father, for whatsoever cause or pretext, has been seized by us.” More comprehensive terms could scarcely be used. Richard’s marriage took place immediately under this grant. The bride chosen by the trustees was Alianora, second daughter of Ralph Neville, first Earl of Westmoreland, by his second wife Joan Beaufort, half-sister of King Henry. On the accession of Henry the Fifth, March 20th, 1413, this grant was revoked, and Richard restored to his mother. He survived his return home only six months, dying at Merton Abbey, Surrey—to all appearance unexpectedly—October 6th, 1413, aged nearly 17. How he came to be at Merton is an unsolved question; for it looks as if he were in Arundel’s keeping still, and as if the concession to Constance had remained ineffectual. His child-widow re-married Henry Percy, second Earl of Northumberland, and became the mother of a large family.—2. Elizabeth, born and died at Cardiff, probably in 1398.—3. Isabel, born at Cardiff, “on the feast of the Seven Holy Sleepers,” July 10th, 1400; baptised in the Church of Saint Mary in that town, the same day, by Thomas Bishop of Llandaff (Prob. at. dicta Isabella, 2 H. V 23); married (1) July 10th, 1411, Richard Beauchamp, Earl of Worcester (2) 1422—4, his cousin, Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick; died December 26th, 1439, aged 39 (Inq. Post. Mortem18 H. VI 3), leaving issue by both marriages; buried in Tewkesbury Abbey. (Harl. Ms. 154, folio 31.);—The fourth and last was the unfortunate, disinherited Alianora, born between 1402 and 1405, both inclusive, and most likely, at Kenilworth, in 1405; married (date unknown) James Touchet, Lord Audley of Heleigh; date of death, portrait, and character unknown: left issue. In 1430 she claimed the coronet and estates of her father, alleging herself to be the legitimate daughter of Edmund Earl of Kent, and Constance his wife. A counter-petition was presented by Joan Duchess of York, Constance’s step-mother; Margaret Duchess of Clarence, her sister (and contrary to all mediaeval usage, the younger sister is named first); and five nephews and nieces, all of whom were unborn or in the cradle when the events referred to took place. The sisters of Kent pleaded that “never any espousals were had ne solemnised in deed betwixt the said Edmund and Custance; but that the said Edmund,by the ordinance, will, and agreement of the full noble Lord late King Henry the Fourth, that God rest, after great, notable, andlongambassad’ had and sent unto the Duke of Melane for marriage to be had betwixt the said Edmund and Luce, sister to the said Duke of Milan, took to wife and openly and solemnly wedded the said Luce at London, living and then and there present the said Custance, not claiming the said Edmund unto her husband, ne any dower of his lands after his decease. The said espousals so had and solemnised betwixt the said Edmund and Luce continued withouten any interruption of the said Custance, or any oyer during the life of the said Edmund.” These ladies were very wrathful against the “subtlety, imagined process, privy labour and coloured means” whereby certain persons had been so wicked as to depose that the said Alianora was born “in espousals had and solemnised between Edmund and Custance,” particularly considering that “the said suppliants” were “none of them warned” of her intention to appear and make her claim. (Rot. Pari. IV. 375-6.) The passage in Italics, when viewed with the surrounding circumstances, told as much, if not more, in Alianora’s favour, as against her. And it did not please the Duchess Joan to mention a few other little circumstances, which it was more convenient than just to leave out of the account. The fact that it was not the first time that Henry had applied to Galeazzo for assistance in what is expressively termed “dirty work” (Froissart, book iv chapter 94); that Constance, however willing to protest against the projected marriage of Edmund and Lucia, had been physically unable, being a prisoner in Kenilworth Castle; that she had been set free just in time to appear at the wedding (if she did appear); and that the bundle of grants to her, dated about the same time, suspiciously point to a purchase of her consent:—such facts as these, it was more convenient to leave in the background. The petitions were received by Humphrey Duke of Gloucester, a Gallio who car ed for none of these things, whose cruel treatment of his own hapless wife shows that no chivalrous feeling could actuate him, and no desire to right a wronged woman influence his acts; but who probably was not desirous to blacken the memory of his father, and had nowish to disturb his brother’s wife in the enjoyment of Kent’s estates. So the answer returned to Joan’s petition was—“Soit fait comme il est desiré”—an answer fatal to the hopes the claim, and the birthright, of the unfortunate Alianora.Despenser, Elizabeth Le, Baroness of Cardiff.Only daughter and heir of Bartholomew, fourth Baron Burghersh, by his first wife Cicely de Weyland; and Baroness Burghersh in her own right. She was born probably about 1340, and brought up under the care of her step-mother Margaret de Badlesmere. About 1360 or earlier, she married Edward Lord Le Despenser, who left her a widow November 11th, 1375. Her family numbered eight, of whom Edward, Hugh, and Cicely, died infants; Elizabeth married John de Arundel and William third Lord de La Zouche; Anne married Hugh Hastings and Thomas fourth Lord Morley; Margaret married Robert, fifth Lord Ferrers of Chartley; Philippa apparently died unmarried; for Thomas, the youngest, see the next article. Elizabeth stood sponsor in 1382 to Richard Neville, afterwards the second husband of her grand-daughter Isabel. (Prob. cet. dicti Ricardi, 4 H. IV 44.) The custody of her son Thomas was granted to her during his minority (Rot. Pat. 11 R. II, Part 2.) She died “on the feast of Saint Anne,” July 26th, 1411, aged probably about 70. (Ing. Post Mortem4 H. V 52,Constancies Le Despenser.) The inferences are slight which tend to show her Lollardism. The terms of her last will are decidedly Lollard; she was joined in the baptism of Richard Neville by Alice, widow of Sir Richard Stury; and she was niece of Joan, Lady Mohun of Dunster—two of the most prominent Lollards of the period. Le Despenser was a Lollard house by tradition and inheritance. No portrait known; character imaginary.Despenser, Thomas Le, Baron of Cardiff, Glamorgan, and Morgan.Youngest of the eight children of Edward fourth Lord Le Despenser (a name sometimes mistakenly abbreviated to Spencer, for it isle dépenseur, “the spender,”) and Elizabeth Baroness Burghersh. Born September 21st or 22nd, 1373 (Inq. Post Mortem49 E. III ii. 46,Edwardi Le Despenser), and named after his father’s younger brother. He was left fatherless when only two years old, November 11th, 1375. (Ibidem.) During his minority he was committed to the custody of his mother. (Rot. Pat. 11 R. II, Part 2.) In or about May, 1378, he became Lord Le Despenser by the death of his elder brother, Edward, and was also substituted for him as bridegroom of the Princess Constance of York, whom he married between May 30th, 1378, and November 7th, 1379. (Ibidem, 1 R. II, Part 6;Register of John of Gaunt, II, folio 19,b.) Shortly afterwards, February 16th, 1380, all the Despenser lands were granted to his father-in-law during his minority—an unusual step, for which there must have been some private reason in the mind of the Regent, Thomas Duke of Gloucester. We next hear of Le Despenser when a lad of fifteen as at sea in the King’s service, in the suite of the Earl of Arundel, and his mother was formally exonerated from all responsibility concerning his custody until he should return. (Rot. Pat. 11 R. II, Part 2.) On the 20th of May, 1391, when eighteen, he received the royal licence to journey to Prussia—then a semi-civilised and partly heathen country—with fifty persons, and the arms and goods necessary. (Ibidem14 R. II, Part 2.) He doubtless accompanied the King to Ireland in September, 1394, since letters of attorney were issued for him on the 10th of that month. (Ibidem, 18 R. II, Part 1.) Two indentures show us that Le Despenser spent the autumn of 1395 at Cardiff. (Ibidem, 1 H. IV, Parts 5, 8.) Certain manors which had belonged to the Duke of Gloucester and Earl of Warwick were granted to Le Despenser and Constance, September 28th, 1397. He is styled in this grant Earl of Gloucester, (Ibidem, 21 R. II, Part 1), though it was not until the day following that his creation took place. The custody of the Castle of Gloucester was also granted to him for life; and the manors were conceded with a (then unusual) limitation to heirs male. The next day, September 29th, he was created Earl of Gloucester in Westminster Hall, “girded with sword, and a coronet set on his head by the King in manner and form accustomed.” (Harl. Ms. 298, folio 85.) Letters of attorney were issued April 16th, 1399, for the persons who formed the King’s suite in Ireland—Thomas Earl of Gloucester being named third. The King was his guest on the journey, reaching Cardiff about the 9th of May, and Morgan on the 11th. They embarked at Milford Haven about the 27th, and were at Waterford on the 31st. But on the fourth of July Henry of Bolingbroke and Archbishop Arundel landed at Ravenspur, and the King hurried back as soon as he heard of it, landing in Wales, and securing himself, as he hoped, first at Conway and then at Flint. According to Froissart, Aumerle and Le Despenser had remained behind in Bristol, and when they heard that the King was taken, they retired to Heulle, a manor in Wales belonging to the latter. But Creton, an eye-witness, expressly tells us that “the brave Earl of Gloucester” was with King Richard in Wales, and his indenture mentioned on the Patent Roll shows that he was in London in October. (Froissart’sChronicles, bookiv,chapter114;Harl. Ms. 1319;Rot. Pat, 1 H. IV, Part 6.) It was on the 19th of August that King Richard and his faithful few were seized in the gorge of Gwrych. (Harl. Ms. 1319.) The route taken to London was by Chester, Nantwich, Newcastle, Stafford, Lichfield (where the King all but effected his escape), Coventry, Daventry, Northampton, Dunstable, Saint Albans, and Westminster, reaching the last place on the first of September. It is difficult to say whether Le Despenser was present, or what part he took, at the coronation of Henry the Fourth. According to Cretan’s continuator, the canopy was held by four dukes—York, Aumerle, Surrey (who accepted his post very unwillingly), and Gloucester. There was no Duke of Gloucester at this time. It might be supposed that Le Despenser, Earl of Gloucester, was meant, were it not that the writer more than once intimates that there were fourdukesconcerned. The probability is that he mistook the name, and that the fourth duke was the only other whom it well could be, and who we know was present—Exeter. Le Despenser was still in London on the 27th of October. On the fourth of January, 1400, the six loyal friends met at Kingston, as detailed in the text. The account there given is strictly accurate up to the point of Surrey’s death and the escape of the survivors from Cirencester, with the simple exceptions that it is not stated who suggested firing the hotel, nor who executed it. From this point the main incidents are true:—the parting of Le Despenser and Salisbury near Berkeley Castle, the flight of the former to Cardiff, his escape (we are not told how) from officers sent to apprehend him, his adventure with the traitorous bargeman, imprisonment in Bristol Castle, seizure by the mob, and beheading in the market-place. All chroniclers who name the incident record that his death took place by no official sentence, but at the hands of the mob; and this is confirmed by his Inquisition, which states the day of death, not that of forfeiture—contrary to the custom with respect to any person judicially condemned. In fact, Le Despenser never was attainted. He died January 13th, 1400 (Inq. Post Mortem1 H. IV, i. 2,Tho. Le Despenser), aged 27. The particulars of his burial are given in the text.Henry the Fourth, King of England.Fourth and youngest son of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, and his first wife Blanche of Lancaster; born at Bolingbroke Castle (not, as usually stated, in 1366, but) April 3rd, 1367, the day of the battle of Navareta, in which his father was engaged. (Compotus Hugonis de Waterton, Duchy of Lancaster Documents, folio 4,) In 1377 he was attached to the suite of the young Prince of Wales, afterwards Richard the Second. (Comp. Will’i de Bughbrigg, Ibidem.) His tutors were Thomas de Burton and William Montendre. (Ibidem.) In 1380 he was married to Mary de Bohun, youngest daughter and co-heir of Humphrey, last Earl of Hereford, and his wife Joan de Arundel. The ages of bride and bridegroom were ten and thirteen. A gold ring with a ruby was bought for the bridal, at a cost of eight marks; and for the making of this and another ring with a diamond, 28 shillings 8 pence was paid. The offering at mass was 13 shillings 4 pence, and 40 shillings were put on the book, to be appropriated by the little bride at the words, “With all my worldly goods I thee endow.” (Register of John of Gaunt, II, folio 48, b.) The allowance made to Henry by his father was 250 marks per annum—equivalent in modern times to about 850. He was not yet twenty when he became one of the five “Lords Appellants,” who renounced their homage at Huntingdon, December 10th, 1386. Having succeeded in compelling King Richard to swear that for twelve months he would not oppose them, towards the end of that time they assumed an openly hostile attitude. At the head of 40,000 men, they reached Hornsey Park, November 11th, 1387; but it was not till the 14th that Henry and his friend Nottingham joined the rest. On the 20th of December was the encounter between the Dukes of Gloucester and Ireland at Radcote Bridge. The Lords Appellants appeared before the City on the 26th, and encamped at Clerkenwell on the 27th. They next granted themselves 20,000 pounds. (Rot. Pari, iii. 248;Issue Roll, Michs, 14 R. II.) After the King had recovered his power, May 3rd, 1389, Henry retired to Kenilworth. (Rot. Pat. 22 R. II, part 3.) It was probably about 1390 that he committed the atrocity of drawing his sword on the King in the Queen’s presence, for which he was sent into honourable banishment. His first journey abroad was to Barbary; but during 1391 we find him at home, at Bolingbroke and Peterborough. In 1392 he visited Prussia and the Holy Land. A safe-conduct had to be obtained from the King of France, in May. Two immense sums of money were lent him by his father—first 666 pounds 13 shillings 4 pence, and afterwards 1,333 pounds 6 shillings 8 pence. Sir Thomas Erpyngham was his fellow-traveller. He was at Venice on December 4th (Comp. Rob’ti de Whitteby, 15-16 R. II, Duchy Documents, folios 18, 19), and there or at Milan, in this journey, he probably made the acquaintance of Galeazzo of Milan. His wife died July 4th, 1394, at Peterborough. On November 25th, 1395, a treaty was signed between the Dukes of Lancaster and Bretagne, by the provisions of which Henry was to marry Marie of Bretagne, who afterwards became his step-daughter. The treaty was not carried into effect; and Marie married Jean Duke of Alençon, June 26th, 1396. The five noble conspirators met again, to renew their guilty attempts, at Arundel, July 28th, 1397. Henry slipped out of discovery and penalty as is recorded in the story; and was created Duke of Hereford, with remainder only to heirs male, September 29th, 1397. A full pardon was granted to him, January 25th, 1398 (Rot. Pat. 21 R. II, Part 2.) His petition impeaching his former friend Norfolk was presented January 30th. The two appeared at Windsor, April 28th, and were commanded the next day to settle their quarrel by wager of battle. In the interim Henry visited his father at Pomfret. The combatants met on Gosford Green, September 16th, and were separated by the King. Henry was allowed licence to travel October 3rd, for which sentence of banishment was substituted on the 13th. (Rot. Pat. 22 R. II, Part 1.) He took leave of the King at Eltham. The armour in which the duel was to be fought had been sent by Galeazzo of Milan, “out of his abundant love for the Earl,” at Henry’s request. (Froissart, book four, chapter 94.) Henry meant to have gone to Hainault; but by his father’s advice, he settled in Paris. (Ibidem, chapters96, 97.) Here he fell in love—such love as was in him—with the beautiful Marie of Berri, whom he would have married had not the King interfered and prevented it. Henry never forgave Richard for this step. On the 3rd of February, 1399, John of Gaunt died, and Henry became Duke of Lancaster. He landed at Ravenspur with Archbishop Arundel, July 4th, marching at once in open defiance of the Crown, though his own son was in the royal suite. Had Richard the Second been the weak and unscrupulous tyrant which modern writers represent him, that father and son would never have met again. On the 7th of July Henry reached Saint Albans, where, if not earlier, his uncle of York met him and went over to his side. Thence he marched to Oxford, where his brother of Dorset probably joined him. His march Londonward is given in the last article. From the 3rd of September all the royal decrees bear the significant words, “with the assent of our dearest cousin Henry Duke of Lancaster.” He commenced his reign on the 29th of September in reality, when he forced Richard to abdicate; but officially, on the 1st of October, 1399. His first regnal act was to grant to himself all the “honours of descent” derived from his father; in other words, to revoke his own attainder. He was crowned on the 13th of October. A year later, November 25th, 1400, Archbishop Arundel received him into the fraternity of Christ Church, Canterbury, which must have been an order instituted for those who remained “in the world,” since a large proportion of its brethren were married men. From this point there is no need to pursue Henry’s history, further than with respect to such items of it as bear upon the narrative. In 1404 he refused the request of the Commons that the superfluous revenues of the priesthood might be confiscated, and the money applied to military affairs. At this time, it is said, one-third of all the estates in England was in the hands of the clergy. For the part that he took with regard to the marriage of his cousin Constance with Kent, see the article under the former name. He died of leprosy, at Westminster, March 20th, 1413, aged 46. His second wife, by whom he had no issue, was Jeanne, daughter of Charles the Second, King of Navarre, and Jeanne of France; she survived him twenty-four years. The children of Henry the Fourth, several of whom are mentioned in the story, were:—1. Henry the Fifth, born at Monmouth Castle, August 9th, 1387; married, at Troyes, Katherine, daughter of Charles the Sixth, King of France, and Isabeau of Bavaria, June 3rd, 1420; died at Vincennes, August 31st, 1422, aged 35.—2. Thomas Duke of Clarence, born in London, 1388 (probably in May); a “brother” of Canterbury; married, 1412, Margaret de Holand, sister of Edmund Earl of Kent, and widow of John Marquis of Dorset; killed in the battle of Baugi, March 29th, 1421, aged 33.—3. John Duke of Bedford, born 1389; married (1) Anne, daughter of Jean Sans Peur, Duke of Burgundy, at Troyes, April 17th, 1423; (2) Jaquette, daughter of a Count of Saint Pol, at Therouenne, April, 1433; he died September 14th, 1435, aged 46.—4. Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, born 1390, admitted a “brother” of Canterbury 1408; married (1) Jaqueline, Duchess of Holland and Hainault, 1422, and repudiating her without any formal divorce, married (2) Alianora, daughter of Reginald Lord Cobham of Sterborough, about 1428; murdered at Saint Edmund’s Bury, by his uncle Cardinal Beaufort, February 23rd, 1447, aged 57.—5. Blanche, born at Peterborough, 1392; married, at Cologne, July, 1402, Ludwig of the Pfalz; died at Neustadt, May 22nd, 1409, aged 17.—6. Philippa, born at Peterborough, July, 1394; married, at Lund, October 26th, 1406, Eric King of Denmark; died at Wadstena, January 5th, 1430, aged 36.Kent, Edmund De Holand, 7th and Last Earl.Probablyyoungestson of Thomas De Holand, fifth Earl, and his wife Alesia de Arundel; born at Brokenhurst, January 6th, 1382 (Prob. cet. dicti. Edmundi, 5 H. IV 38); baptised in Saint Thomas’s Church, January 8th. (Ibidem.) In 1403 he guarded the King to Shrewsbury; in 1404 he joined in the Duke of Clarence’s expedition to Sluys; and Henry the Fourth made him Lord High Admiral. He was received into the fraternity at Canterbury, May 8th, 1405, about two months after the imprisonment of Constance. About New Year’s Day, 1406, “when he assumed his arms,” he made a grand tournament in Smithfield; the Earl of Moray challenged him to single combat, and was triumphantly vanquished by Kent. He appears to have lent himself with the most easy indifference to Henry the Fourth’s scheme for getting rid of Constance. The probability is that he was tired of her, and was deeply in love with Lucia. He was wounded in the head at the siege of Briac Castle, September 10th, 1408, and died after lingering five days. His body was brought over to England, and buried in Bourne Abbey, Lincolnshire.Kent, Lucia Visconti, Countess.Youngest child of Barnabb Visconti and Beatrice Scaligero (surnamed Regina for her pride), and cousin, not sister, of Galeazzo the Second, Duke of Milan. She was probably born about 1383, and was most likely still in her cradle when in 1384 she was contracted with great pomp and ceremony to Louis Duke of Anjou, afterwards King of Sicily. The Visconti ladies were renowned for beauty, and Lucia’s cousin Valentina, Duchess of Orleans, was one of the most renowned beauties of her day. Lucia was still in infancy when her father was deposed and imprisoned by his nephew Gian Galeazzo, May 6th, 1385; and she lost her mother about the same time. Louis of Anjou did not fulfil his contract, and Galeazzo sold Lucia for 70,000 florins, as stated in the text. She was married to Earl Edmund at the Church of Saint Mary Overy, Southwark, January 24th, 1406. After her husband’s death Henry the Fourth tried to induce her to marry Thomas Beaufort, Earl of Dorset, his own half-brother. It is commonly said that Lucia refused Dorset, and she certainly does not describe herself as Countess of Dorset, but only as Countess of Kent, in her will (printed inTest. Vet. i. 205). But she is twice styled by Henry “our dear sister Lucia” (March 16th and 28th, 1409—Rot. Pat. 10 H. IV), which looks as if she did marry Dorset. Stow says that she married Sir Henry de Mortimer, and had a daughter Anne. However this may be, in 1421 she was petitioning the Crown for aid on account of deep poverty, caused by the overwhelming mass of debts left behind by Edmund, who died intestate. (Rot. Pari, iv. 143-5.) Nothing more is known of her except the date of her death, April 14th, 1424, when aged about 40. (Inq. Post. Mortem2 H. VI 35,Lucitz Comitissae Kane’.) She was buried in the Church of the Augustine Friars, London. (Harl. Ms544, folio 78.) The English mistook Lucia for Galeazzo’s sister.March, Edmund Mortimer, Sixth and last Earl.Eldest son of Roger, fifth Earl, and his wife Alianora de Holand; born November 4th, 1391; imprisoned in Windsor Castle, about Christmas, 1399; stolen away by Constance Le Despenser, about February 14th, 1405; recaptured and again consigned to prison; bound with four others as surety for 70,000 florins, to be paid to Duke of Milan, January, 1406; marriage granted to Queen Jeanne of Navarre, February 24th, 1408 (Rot. Pat. 9 H. IV, Part 1), and afterwards sold by her to the Prince of Wales for 200 pounds (Rot. Ex, Michs, 1 H. V); apparently released on accession of Henry the Fifth, 1413; married, 1414-16, Anne, daughter of Edmund Earl of Stafford, and his wife Princess Anne of Gloucester; sat as judge on his brother-in-law’s trial—with regard to whose crime, if the indictment were true, March must have been himself chief witness,—August 5th, 1415; received pardon for all offences, August 7th. The next mention of him is that he was living in Ireland, July 10th, 1424; and it was in Ireland, at Trim Castle, that he died, January 19th, 1425, aged 33. He was buried at Stoke Clare. He left no issue, and his widow remarried John de Holand, Earl of Huntingdon. The last mention of his brother Roger as living occurs on the Rolls, August 26th, 1404; but we are told that he was one of the boys stolen by Constance in February, 1405. After that nothing is heard of him but that he died young; probably before his brother’s release, as his age would then have been at least fifteen. His sister Alianora married Edward Courtenay, and died issueless.York, Edmund Plantagenet, First Duke.Sixth son (but fourth who reached manhood) of Edward the Third and Philippa of Hainault Born at Langley, June 5th, 1341; baptised by Nicholas Abbot of Saint Albans; and committed to the care of Joan de Oxenford, Agnes de La Marche, and Margery de Wyght. He was brought up in the nursery palace at Chilterne, or Children’s Langley, Herts. On the 8th of February, 1362, ambassadors were appointed to contract marriage between Edmund and Margaret Duchess of Burgundy. The marriage was appointed to take place at Bruges, February 4th, 1365; but Pope Urban refused to grant a dispensation (urged by the King of France, who wanted the Princess for his son), and the negotiations came to nothing. Edmund was created Earl of Cambridge and Lord of Teviotdale, November 14th, 1362. In 1366 his name appears in the marriage treaty of his brother Lionel with Violante Visconti of Milan, which provided that Edmund should be substituted for Lionel if his brother died before the marriage. From 1369 to 1371 the Earl was on the Continent with his brothers, the Black Prince and the Duke of Lancaster. It was at Rochefort, near Bordeaux, about November, 1369, that Edmund first saw his future wife, the Infanta Isabel of Castilla; but he did not marry her until 1372. In 1374 he was Governor of Bretagne; Constable of Dover and Warden of the Cinque Ports, July 12th, 1376. At the coronation of Richard the Second, July 16th, 1377, Edmund was second of the homagers, and walked next but one after the King. In May, 1381, he sailed for Portugal, accompanied by his wife and eldest son. Little was done in respect of the errand on which he had gone—the furtherance of the Infanta’s claims to Castilla; and he came back, disappointed, in October, 1382. He was created Duke of York, at Hoselow Lodge, August 6th, 1385, “by cincture of sword and imposition of gold coronet on his head.” (Harl. Ms. 298, folio. 84,b.) A grant of 1000 pounds per annum was made to him on the 15th of November following. During the long struggle between the various members of the Royal Family, York always sided with Gloucester, except when Lancaster was present. In 1388 he was co-surety (with Gloucester, Derby, and others) for 5000 borrowed from the Londoners for Gloucester’s purposes. (Rot. Pat. 11 R. II,Part2.) The King visited him at Langley, April 18th, 1389. About September, 1391, he and his brother of Lancaster concluded a truce with France. His first wife died, and he married the second, in 1393. (See subsequent articles.) He was created Regent of England, for the first time, September 29th, 1394, during the King’s first voyage to Ireland. King Richard relieved him of this charge by returning home about May 11th, 1395. His second regency was from August 6th, 1396, to about November 14th following. It was by the advice of Lancaster and York—but the latter was really the mere echo of the former,—that Gloucester was arrested, August, 1397. Some of his brother Gloucester’s lands were granted to York. After this, both York and Lancaster retired from Court to their own country homes. In 1399, on the death of Lancaster, York was created Steward of Englandpro tem, “until Henry Earl of Derby shall sue for the same.” (Rot. Pat. 22 R. II,Part2.) In May, 1399, he was created Regent for the third and last time. About the 7th of July he met, and at once went over to, his rebellious and banished nephew, Henry of Lancaster. He was present at Henry the Fourth’s coronation, and remained a guest at Court for the rest of that year, where we find him several times during 1400. On November 25th, 1400, he made his will; and in 1401 he was received into the fraternity at Canterbury. His last recorded visit to Court was on the opening of Parliament, January 20th, 1402; and on the following first of August he died at Langley, aged 61. He was buried in the Church of the Friars Predicants, Langley. Edmund was unquestionably a weak man, both in character and abilities: indeed, Froissart goes so far as to hint that he was deficient in intellect. (Book four, chapter 73.) His being made Regent by no means disproves this; for the post was chiefly honorary, and his brother Lionel had filled it when only seven years old. For his wives see the later articles.York, Edward Plantagenet, Second Duke.Eldest son of Edmund Duke of York and Isabel of Castilla; born probably about New Year’s Day, 1373. He accompanied his parents to Portugal in May, 1382, and was formally affianced to the Infanta Beatriz; but her father subsequently broke off the engagement, by dispensation from the Pope, and married her to the rival King of Castilla. King Richard was deeply attached to him, or perhaps rather to the ideal being whom he believed him to be. He granted him the stewardship of Bury, January 22nd, 1390; created him Earl of Rutland, May 2nd, in the same year; gave him the reversion of the Constableship of the Tower, January 27th, 13925 employed him in embassy to France, February 26th, 1394, and again, July 1395; created him Constable of England, July-12th, 1397, and Duke of Aumerle, September 29th, 1397. A grant was made to him from the lands of Archbishop Arundel, September 27th; and his patent as Constable of the Tower was renewed, October 30th. In May, 1399, he went with the King to Ireland. When Lancaster’s rebellion broke out, Aumerle merely waited to make sure which was the winning side, and then went over to his cousin Henry without a thought of the Sovereign who had styled him “brother,” and had been the author of all his prosperity. In the midst of the tumult his patent as Constable of the Tower was once more renewed, August 31st. At the coronation of Henry the Fourth, Aumerle was one of the peers who held the canopy. He is named as one of those who requested the usurper to put the King to death. How he betrayed his friends at Maidenhead Bridge is recounted in the text. Henry the Fourth trusted Aumerle as he trusted few others, in a manner incomprehensible to any one acquainted with the character of either. On March 10th, 1400, he pardoned Aumerle’s debts; then he made him Lord Lieutenant of Ireland; and then Governor of Aquitaine. Edward became Duke of York by his father’s death, August 1st, 1402. The next escapade of this singular individual was to address to Queen Jeanne a series of verses, painfully laboured, of which the first is the least uncouth, and even that halts in the rhyme.“Excellent Sovereign seemly to see,Proved prudence peerless of price,Bright blossom of benignity,Of figure fairest, and freshest of days!”It is evident that Nature never intended Edward for a poet. His next adventure was a futile endeavour to scale the wall of Eltham Palace, and seize the King; and the third was his share in Constance’s theft of the Mortimers. He and his sister were both arrested, and all his lands, goods, and chattels confiscated. He was sent to Pevensey Castle, and there placed in keeping of Sir John Stanley; but his imprisonment was not long, for on the fourth of November he was free and in London. Perhaps his experience was useful in curbing his plotting temper, for he kept very quiet after this, and we hear of him next engaged in a pious and orthodox manner, founding Fotheringay College. York did not sit on the bench at his brother’s trial; he had the grace to prefer a proxy in the person of Dorset. He made his will August 22nd, 1415, wherein he styled himself “of all sinners the most wicked;” desired to be buried at Fotheringay, and ordered that the expenses of his funeral should not exceed 100 pounds. His death took place at Agincourt, October 25th, 1415, in the manner described in the text; and his obsequies were celebrated at London on the 1st of December. He married Philippa, daughter and co-heir of John Lord Mohun of Dunster, and his wife Joan Burghersh, one of the most eminent Lollards of her day. Philippa was married (1) before March 6th, 1382 (Reg. Joh’is Ducis Lanc, folio60,b), to Walter, Lord Fitzwalter; (2) between 1386 and 1393, to Sir John Golafre; (3) after 1397, to Edward Duke of York; and according to some authors (4) after 1415, to John Vescy. She died July 17th, 1431. (Inq. Post Mortem10 H. VI, 45;Ph’ae. Ducissa Ebor.)York, Isabel of Castilla, Duchess.Third and youngest daughter of Don Pedro the First, surnamed The Cruel, and Maria Padilla, whose marriage is usually considered a fiction by modern writers, though Pedro himself solemnly affirmed it, and their daughters were treated as Princesses through life. Isabel was born at Morales or Tordesillas, in 1355. In 1365, when Don Pedro fled before his rebel brother, he was accompanied by his third wife, Juana, and his three daughters, Beatriz, Constanga, and Isabel. They fled from Sevilla to Bayonne, and did not return to Sevilla till 1368, after the victory of Navareta. After the loss of the battle of Montiel and the murder of their father, in 1369, the Princesses were hastily taken again by their guardians to Bayonne. Constancy was married to John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, at Rochefort, near Bordeaux, about November, 1369. Isabel remained with her sister, and accompanied her to England in 1371. In 1372—between January 1st and April 30th—she married Edmund Earl of Cambridge, the brother of her sister’s husband. It was at Hertford, March 1st, 1372, that John of Gaunt and Constanca assumed the titles of King and Queen of Leon and Castilla; and as sixteen months had then elapsed since their own marriage, the probability seems to be that this date marks the marriage of Isabel, and the consent of her bridegroom to the exclusive assumption of queenship by the elder sister. (The other and really eldest sister, Beatriz, had become a nun.) Isabel is alluded to as Edmund’s wife on April 30th, 1372. In May, 1381, she accompanied her husband to Portugal, on an expedition undertaken with the object of securing the recognition of herself and her sister as the true heirs of Castilla. The expedition failed; and Isabel returned to England with her husband in October, 1382.Several pardons appear on the rolls, granted at the instance of Isabel. Doña Juana Fernandez, who appears in the story, was at first one of her damsels, but in 1377 became Mistress of the Household. Isabel became Duchess of York, August 6th, 1385. Her will was made December 6th, 1389. A grant of 100 pounds was given to her, October 3rd, 1390, to pay her debts; but notwithstanding this and further grants of money, she was still obliged to borrow 400 from her brother-in-law of Lancaster, January 25th, 1393. This was her last recorded act, for on the third of February she was dead. (Rot. Ex. Michs, 14 R. II;Compotus Soberti de Whitteby, 1392-3,folio19;Rot. Pat. 16 R. II, Part 3.)—Much misconception exists as to the terms of her will. She is represented by some writers as having been driven to provide for her son Richard by the purchase of the King’s favour, having bequeathed all her goods to his Majesty on a species of compulsion. The fact is that she bequeathed to him her son and her goods together, requesting him to provide for the one from the proceeds of the other. She made the King simply trustee for her boy, his own godson. And how much King Richard gained or lost by the transaction is set down in plain figures: for the jewels, etcetera, bequeathed by Isabel sold for 666 pounds 13 shillings 4 pence—just two years’ income of the annuity paid for seven years (the rest of his reign) to Richard. (Rot. Ex, Michs, 17 R. II.) The monastic chroniclers speak of Isabel in terms of unqualified contempt—particularly Walsingham, who invariably vilifies a Lollard. And that she was a Lollard few can doubt who read her will with attention. Possibly the entire accusation brought against her in early life is a calumny; possibly it is a fact. Many women thatweresinners have washed Christ’s feet with tears; and perhaps they will not be found the lowest in the kingdom of Heaven.York, Joan De Holand, Duchess.Second daughter of Thomas Earl of Kent and his wife Alesia de Arundel; sister of Thomas Duke of Surrey, Edmund Earl of Kent, and Alianora Countess of March; born 1383, married (1) before November 4th, 1393, Edmund Duke of York; (2) William, Lord Willoughby de Eresby,—pardon for unlicenced marriage May 14th, 1409, but named as husband and wife, March 26th, 1406; (3) before December 9th, 1410, Henry Lord Scrope of Upsal; (4) Henry de Vescy, Lord Bromflete—pardon for unlicenced marriage, August 14th, 1416. She died April 12th, 1434, aged 51—during the absence of her husband at the Council of Basel—leaving no issue by any of her marriages. Her character is shown in several small matters, but above all in the rancour of her petition against Alianora de Audley, and the deceit which prompted the putting forward of her younger sister Margaret in her place. The indication in the story that the device for annulling Constance’s marriage proceeded from Joan is suppositious, but by no means improbable.
The condensed biographical sketches which follow, of such persons as figure principally in the story, will help to show to those who wish to read it intelligently, how much of it is genuine history. They will see that the tale is mainly constructed on a succession of hypotheses, but that every hypothesis rests on a substratum of fact, however slender, and in many cases on careful weighing and comparison of a number of facts together. Some of these conjectures are perhaps the only ones which will fully and satisfactorily account for the sequence of events. For convenience of reference, the names are arranged in alphabetical order.
Third son of Richard the Copped Hat, ninth Earl of Arundel, and Alianora of Lancaster; born 1352-3. Bishop of Ely, 1374; translated to York, of which see consecrated Archbishop, April 3rd, 1388, on the expulsion of Archbishop Neville. In 1390 he joined with Archbishop Courtenay of Canterbury in refusing assent to statutes passed in restraint of the Pope’s prerogative. In the winter of 1394-5 he went over to Ireland with the special purpose of exciting King Richard’s jealousy and suspicion against the political Lollards, after having for two years professed to favour them himself. He was translated to Canterbury on the death of Courtenay, and consecrated Archbishop, January 11th, 1397. On September 19th of the same year, Arundel was commanded to keep his house; and the day after was solemnly impeached by the House of Commons of high treason, “he having in the eleventh year of the King (1387-8) counselled the said Duke (Thomas of Gloucester) and Earl (Richard of Arundel, his brother), to take on themselves royal power.” (Rot. Pari, iii. 353.) The Commons entreated on the 25th that the Archbishop might be banished. The decree of banishment was issued, and he was ordered to sail from Dover, on the 29th of that month. His see was declared vacant, and Roger Walden was elected Archbishop in his stead. But Arundel came back, landing at Ravenspur with Henry of Bolingbroke, July 4th, 1399; and Roger Walden sank into such instant and complete oblivion that some well-informed writers have dogmatically asserted that there never was an Archbishop of that name. In October, 1404, Arundel signalised himself by a violent quarrel with the Speaker in full Parliament. He issued his rigid “constitution” against the Lollards in 1409; and he was the principal agent in the persecution of Lord Cobham. He died February 20th, 1414, lingering for a few days after a paralytic stroke, as stated in the story. His age was 61. The mantle of this cleverest man of his day—clever for evil—descended, a hundred years later, upon Stephen Gardiner. Any believer in transmigration could feel no doubt that the soul of the one man inhabited the other.
Third and youngest child of Edmund Duke of York and his first wife Isabel of Castilla: born at Conisborough Castle, Yorkshire, whence, according to the custom of his time, he was usually known as Richard of Conisborough. The only record extant of his father’s visiting the castle is a charter dated thence, September 11th, 1376. (Rot. Pat. 50 E. III, Part 2.) This is probably therefore about the time of Richard’s birth. He was left in England with his sister during the eighteen months (May, 1381, to October, 1382) which his parents spent in Portugal. His mother, dying in 1393, bequeathed him to the care of King Richard the Second, who had been his godfather, though the King was only nine years older than his godson and namesake; and she constituted his Majesty her residuary legatee in trust for her son, desiring that he would allow him 500 marks annually for life. This sum would be equivalent now to about 6,500 pounds per annum. So long as King Richard was in power, the money was paid faithfully, 100 from the issues of the County of York, and 233 pounds 6 shillings 8 pence from the Exchequer. (Lansd.Ms. 860, A, folio 274; Nicolas’Test. Vet, i. 134;Rot. Pat. 16 R. II, Part 3.) During the sanguinary struggles between King Richard and his cousin Henry the Fourth, nothing is seen of Richard of Conisborough. He was not with the King in Ireland nor at Conway, neither does he appear in Henry’s suite. He probably kept himself very quiet. When his brother and sister were imprisoned in 1405 for the attempted rescue of the Mortimers, no suspicion fell on Richard. Whether he was really concerned in the plot can only be guessed. In 1406 he was chosen to escort the Princess Philippa to Denmark, and on account of his poverty a grant was made to cover his expenses. The poverty was no great wonder, for though a show of confirming his royal godfather’s grant had been made, yet practically poor Richard’s income was reduced to 40 pounds per annum. (Rot. Pat. 1 H. IV, Part 3;Rot. Ex, Pose, 3 H. V.) He was probably created, or allowed to assume the title of, Earl of Cambridge, which really appertained to his brother, only a short time before his death; for up to December 5th, 1414, he is styled in the state papers Richard of York. The accusations brought against him, by which he was done to death, were so absurdly improbable as to be incredible. It was asserted that Charles the Sixth of France had sent over “a hundred thousand in gold,” (which probably means crowns) to Richard Earl of Cambridge, Henry Lord Scrope of Upsal, and Sir Thomas Grey de Wark, urging them to betray Henry the Fifth into his hands, or murder him before he should arrive in Normandy; that thereupon the trio conspired to lead March into Wales (a simple repetition of Constance’s defeated attempt), and to proclaim him King, if King Richard were dead—which Henry the Fifth perfectly well knew he was, and so did the accused trio; that they carried into Wales the banner and crown of Spain, for the purpose of crowning March, the said articles being pawned to the Earl of Cambridge—which crown had in reality been bequeathed by the Infanta Isabel to her son Edward, and in default of his issue to Richard, and had never been in possession of the House of Lancaster at all; that they had sent to Scotland for two personators of King Richard, Trumpington and another (probably John Maudeleyn) whom they intended to pass off to the people as King Richard—which is in itself a contradiction to the charge of setting up March as King. Cambridge and Scrope pleaded their peerage. A commission was issued, August 5th, 1415, by which their judges were appointed—Thomas Duke of Clarence, Humphrey Duke of Gloucester (brothers of the King), Thomas Earl of Dorset (the King’s half-brother), who sat as proxy of Edward Duke of York; Edmund Earl of March, the very man whom they were accused of making King; and fourteen other peers. Neither Cambridge nor Scrope was allowed to speak in his own defence. Sentence was passed at once, and they were beheaded the day following on Southampton Green. There is no evidence that Richard had conspired for any purpose; the whole affair was apparently a mere pretext to be rid of him. In character, Richard seems to have been noble and honourable, with a slight taint of his father’s indecision: there is no portrait of him known. The traces of Lollardism are very slight, but I think they may be fairly considered “proven;” and if this be the case, it fully accounts for the acrimony with which he was hunted to death. His age when he died was about 39. Richard of Conisborough was twice married; his wives were—1. Anne, eldest child of Roger Mortimer, fifth Earl of March, and his wife Alianora de Holand; born about 1390; very likely imprisoned in Windsor Castle with her brothers on the usurpation of Henry the Fourth, 1400; released, if so, with her sister Alianora, and both provided for by the King (being described as “omnibus suis parentibus et amicis destitutis”), and all fiefs of their mother granted to them, May 13th, 1406 (Rot. Pat. 7 H. IV, Part 2); married, probably, 1408; most likely died in childbed, September 1410-11, aged about 20 years. 2. Maude, only daughter of Thomas, Lord Clifford of Cumberland (one of the two most uncompromisingly Lollard houses in the kingdom) and his wife Elizabeth de Ros of Hamlake; born probably about 1390, married, 1412-15; married, secondly, John Neville, sixth and last Lord Latimer of Danby; died without issue, August 26, 1446 (Inq. Post Mortem25 H. VI, 21), aged about 56. The children of Richard of Conisborough (both by Anne Mortimer) were:—1. Isabel, born about 1409, married (1) to Thomas Grey de Wark (son of the man condemned with her father), before February 18, 1412 (Rot. Pat. 13 H. IV, Part 2); (2) her second cousin, Henry Bourchier, Earl of Essex and Count of Eu; died (leaving issue by second marriage) October 2nd, 1484, aged about 75. (Inq. Post Mortem2 R. III, 53.) 2. Richard, Duke of York and Albemarle, Earl of Cambridge, Lord of Teviotdale and Holderness: born September 21st, 1410 or 1411 (more likely the earlier year. (Inq. Post Mortem11 H. VI, 39,Anna Comitissa Marchia; 3 H. VI, 32,Edmundi Comitis Marchice; 3 H. V, 45,Edmundi Duds Ebor; 12 H. VI, 43,Johanna Ducissa Ebor.) He afterwards set up his claims against the House of Lancaster, which were brought to a successful issue by his sons, though he himself never was King. Married about 1438, Cicely Neville, daughter of Ralph, first Earl of Westmoreland and his wife Joan Beaufort; called the Rose of Raby. Beheaded after the battle of Wakefield, December 30th, 1460 (Inq. Post Mortem18 E. IV, 60), aged 50; buried at Pomfret, 1466; Fotheringay, 1476.
Only daughter of Edmund Duke of York and his wife Isabel of Castilla; most likely born at Langley, in or about 1374. On the 16th of April, 1378, the marriage of Edward, son and heir of Edward late Lord Le Despenser, was granted to her father for her benefit. (Rot. Pat. 1 R. II, Part 5.) But the infant bridegroom was dead on the 30th of May following, and his brother Thomas was evidently substituted in his stead. (Rot. Pat. 1 R. II, Part 6.) Thomas and Constance were married before the 7th of November, 1379, as on that day her uncle, John of Gaunt, paid 22 pounds 0 shillings 4 pence for his wedding present to the bride, a silver-gilt cup and ewer on a stand, and he speaks of the marriage as then past (Register of John Duke of Lancaster, ii, folio 19,b.) Constance remained in England during the absence of her parents in Portugal, 1381-2. Eighty marks per annum were granted to her from the Despenser lands, January 14th, 1384. When she took up her residence at Cardiff with her husband is uncertain; but there is every probability that it was not till after the death of her mother, in February, 1393, and very likely not till after her father’s second marriage, about the following October. The approximate date may be given as 1394-5. Two pardons are recorded of persons accused of murder, June 22nd, 1395, and April 27th, 1396, “at the request of our beloved kinswoman the Countess of Gloucester.” There was no Countess of Gloucester at the time, for Constance had not yet attained that title. The wordsmaybe slips of the scribe’s pen for the Duchess of Gloucester. It was not until September 29th, 1397, that Thomas Le Despenser was created Earl of Gloucester. There is no evidence to show the presence of Constance in London during the stormy period of her cousin Henry’s usurpation; she seems to have remained at Cardiff. On the 22nd of February, 1400, about six weeks after her husband’s murder, a grant of 60 pounds per annum was made to the King’s son, John Duke of Bedford, out of the issues of her lands (Rot Pat.1 H. IV, Part 8); but on the 3rd of March, the custody of her son Richard was granted to her, and 30 pounds worth of gold and silver of her late husband’s goods in the hands of the Mayor of Bristol. (Ibidem, Part 6.) Moreover, on the 19th of February, a concession was made to her of eleven manors, two towns, two castles, two lordships, and other lands (Ibidem, Part 5); followed by a grant of “the price of certain vessels of silver, brooches, jewels, and other goods” which had belonged to her husband. (Rot. Ex, Pasc, 1 H. IV.) In 1404 she was restored to her dower by Act of Parliament. (Inq. Post. Mortem4 H. V 52.) When and where she met with her second husband can only be guessed; for that Edmund Earl of Kent was really her second husband I think there is the strongest reason to believe. His sisters afterwards chose to deny the marriage; it was their interest to do so, for had the legitimacy of his child been established, they would have been obliged to resign to her her father’s estates, which, as his presumptive heirs, they had inherited. Their excessive anxiety to prove her illegitimate, the persecution which Constance subsequently underwent, the resolute determination of Henry the Fourth that Kent should marry Lucia, and the remarkable coincidence of time between Constance’s imprisonment and Lucia’s marriage, go far to show that the marriage (though perhaps clandestine) was genuine, as alleged by Alianora; and I cannot avoid a strong conviction that a great deal of this hate and persecution were due to the fact that Constance was actually or suspectedly a Lollard. The denials of Kent’s sisters may be attributed to their wish to retain his estates; while as for his nephews and nieces, who nominally joined in the petition, they could only know what they were told; for Joyce Lady Tibetot, the eldest of the group, was only three years old at the death of Kent. But to what cause can be attributed the violent determination of Henry the Fourth? If it be supposed that he wished to benefit and advance Kent, how did he do it by preventing his acknowledged marriage with a well-dowered Princess of England?—or if to lower him, how was this done by purchasing for him, at the cost of 70,000 florins, the hand of a foreign Princess? Beside this, Henry showed throughout that while he had no mercy for Constance, he was on the best possible terms with Kent. Modern writers are altogether at fault on the subject, most of them alleging that Constance’s daughter Alianora was born before her marriage with Thomas Le Despenser; whereas it is shown by the Register that when Le Despenser and Constance were married, the latter was only four or five years old, while Kent was not even born. The rescue of the Mortimers comes in to complicate matters; but what shall be said, from the point of view of some writers, who submit that the whole was a mere pretext to imprison Constance and her brother, that the Mortimers were never stolen away at all, or that the real agents remained undiscovered, and that Constance’s alleged confession is a pure fiction from beginning to end? One thing is plain: there was evidentlysomereason in the mind of the King why Kent must not openly marry Constance: and knowing Henry’s character, and Kent’s character as well, I can see none that suits all the facts of the case, unless Constance were one of the hated and proscribed Lollards. The marriage of Constance and Kent, if it really occurred, of which I cannot feel the least doubt, must have taken place between 1401 and 1404 inclusive. It was about February, 1405, that (if this part of the story be true) she broke into Windsor Castle and carried off the young Mortimers, by means of false keys; and she and they had nearly reached Wales when they were recaptured. She was tried before Parliament. Henry the Fourth’s records (but he was an atrocious falsifier of state papers) tell us that she confessed that her brother Edward had been her instigator; and that he had attempted, the Christmas before, to scale the walls of Eltham Palace, and assassinate or at least imprison King Henry. This may or may not be true. What is undoubtedly true is that Edward and Constance were arrested and imprisoned; the latter in Kenilworth Castle, whither she was taken at a cost of 10 pounds, in charge of Elmingo Leget (Rot. Ex, Michs, 6 H. IV); and that all the estates, goods, and chattels of both were seized by the Crown. (Ibidem.) But Kent remained in favour. The length of time which must necessarily have elapsed shows that no sooner was Constance safely shut up than Henry began negotiating with his old friend, Galeazzo Visconti, for the hand of his beautiful cousin Lucia as the bride of Kent. When all was arranged, but not sooner, in November he presented himself at Kenilworth. (Rot. Pat, 7 H. IV, Part i.) What means were taken to torture his unhappy cousin into compliance with his iron will can only be conjectured. She did at last consent to disown her marriage, unless the facts alleged in the petition of Kent’s sisters are fictions. On January 19th, 1406, “all the goods that belonged to the said Constance, in the custody of the Treasurer of our Household, and were lately seised in our hands for certain causes,” were munificently granted to her “of our gift.” (Ibidem.) On the 24th of the same month, Kent and Lucia were married, and—if his sisters may be believed—Constance was present. (Rot. Pari, iv. 375.) And on the 18th of June following, all the lands and tenements of Thomas Le Despenser were restored to his widow. (Rot. Pat, 7 H. IV, Part 2.) In May, 1412, she had again offended; for her son was taken from her, and his custody and marriage were granted to trustees, one of whom was his uncle, Edward Duke of York. (Ibidem, 13 H. IV, Part 2.) No more is heard of her until the accession of Henry the Fifth, when the immediate favour shown to her confirms the suspicion that her offence was in some way connected with political, if not religious, Lollardism. On the 18th of July, 1413, the young King confirmedallhis father’s grants to Constance (Ibidem, 1 H. V, Part 3), which concession restored her boy to her custody. But when Henry the Fifth turned against Lollardism, he turned against his cousin with it. All the Despenser lands were granted to her brother Edward for life, April 16th, 1414, in compensation for the loss which he had sustained by Richard Le Despenser’s death (Ibidem, 2 H. V, Part 1); the truth being that the grant to him in 1412 had been cancelled by the subsequent concession to his sister, so that he had sustained no loss at all. Troubles came thickly upon Constance now. The sudden and violent deaths of her brothers, within three months of each other, must have been no slight shock to her; and shortly after that she was again under royal displeasure. The nature of her offence is matter for conjecture. We only know with certainty that she died on the 28th of November, 1416, aged about 42 (Inq. Post Mortem, 4 H. V 52); and that she died under a dark cloud of royal wrath, which was manifested by the withholding of permission for honourable burial for four years. Constance was interred in Reading Abbey, in 1420. No portrait of her is known. Her character appears to have been as I have represented it—warm-hearted, impulsive, and eager, but wayward and obstinate. Her children were four in number; three by her first marriage, who were:—1. Richard, born at Cardiff, November 30th, 1396. On the 23rd of May, 1412, he was removed from his mother’s keeping, and his custody and marriage were granted, “at the request of Edward Duke of York,” to ten trustees: Archbishop Arundel, Thomas Bishop of Durham, Edward Duke of York, Sir John Pelham, Robert Tirwhit, Robert W yntryngham, clerk, John Bokeland, clerk, Thomas Walwayn, Henry Bracy, and John Adam. They were charged with the custody of “all lands whatsoever now inherited by the said Richard, and in our hands, or any lands that may or can descend to him; and all that since the death of Thomas his father, for whatsoever cause or pretext, has been seized by us.” More comprehensive terms could scarcely be used. Richard’s marriage took place immediately under this grant. The bride chosen by the trustees was Alianora, second daughter of Ralph Neville, first Earl of Westmoreland, by his second wife Joan Beaufort, half-sister of King Henry. On the accession of Henry the Fifth, March 20th, 1413, this grant was revoked, and Richard restored to his mother. He survived his return home only six months, dying at Merton Abbey, Surrey—to all appearance unexpectedly—October 6th, 1413, aged nearly 17. How he came to be at Merton is an unsolved question; for it looks as if he were in Arundel’s keeping still, and as if the concession to Constance had remained ineffectual. His child-widow re-married Henry Percy, second Earl of Northumberland, and became the mother of a large family.—2. Elizabeth, born and died at Cardiff, probably in 1398.—3. Isabel, born at Cardiff, “on the feast of the Seven Holy Sleepers,” July 10th, 1400; baptised in the Church of Saint Mary in that town, the same day, by Thomas Bishop of Llandaff (Prob. at. dicta Isabella, 2 H. V 23); married (1) July 10th, 1411, Richard Beauchamp, Earl of Worcester (2) 1422—4, his cousin, Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick; died December 26th, 1439, aged 39 (Inq. Post. Mortem18 H. VI 3), leaving issue by both marriages; buried in Tewkesbury Abbey. (Harl. Ms. 154, folio 31.);—The fourth and last was the unfortunate, disinherited Alianora, born between 1402 and 1405, both inclusive, and most likely, at Kenilworth, in 1405; married (date unknown) James Touchet, Lord Audley of Heleigh; date of death, portrait, and character unknown: left issue. In 1430 she claimed the coronet and estates of her father, alleging herself to be the legitimate daughter of Edmund Earl of Kent, and Constance his wife. A counter-petition was presented by Joan Duchess of York, Constance’s step-mother; Margaret Duchess of Clarence, her sister (and contrary to all mediaeval usage, the younger sister is named first); and five nephews and nieces, all of whom were unborn or in the cradle when the events referred to took place. The sisters of Kent pleaded that “never any espousals were had ne solemnised in deed betwixt the said Edmund and Custance; but that the said Edmund,by the ordinance, will, and agreement of the full noble Lord late King Henry the Fourth, that God rest, after great, notable, andlongambassad’ had and sent unto the Duke of Melane for marriage to be had betwixt the said Edmund and Luce, sister to the said Duke of Milan, took to wife and openly and solemnly wedded the said Luce at London, living and then and there present the said Custance, not claiming the said Edmund unto her husband, ne any dower of his lands after his decease. The said espousals so had and solemnised betwixt the said Edmund and Luce continued withouten any interruption of the said Custance, or any oyer during the life of the said Edmund.” These ladies were very wrathful against the “subtlety, imagined process, privy labour and coloured means” whereby certain persons had been so wicked as to depose that the said Alianora was born “in espousals had and solemnised between Edmund and Custance,” particularly considering that “the said suppliants” were “none of them warned” of her intention to appear and make her claim. (Rot. Pari. IV. 375-6.) The passage in Italics, when viewed with the surrounding circumstances, told as much, if not more, in Alianora’s favour, as against her. And it did not please the Duchess Joan to mention a few other little circumstances, which it was more convenient than just to leave out of the account. The fact that it was not the first time that Henry had applied to Galeazzo for assistance in what is expressively termed “dirty work” (Froissart, book iv chapter 94); that Constance, however willing to protest against the projected marriage of Edmund and Lucia, had been physically unable, being a prisoner in Kenilworth Castle; that she had been set free just in time to appear at the wedding (if she did appear); and that the bundle of grants to her, dated about the same time, suspiciously point to a purchase of her consent:—such facts as these, it was more convenient to leave in the background. The petitions were received by Humphrey Duke of Gloucester, a Gallio who car ed for none of these things, whose cruel treatment of his own hapless wife shows that no chivalrous feeling could actuate him, and no desire to right a wronged woman influence his acts; but who probably was not desirous to blacken the memory of his father, and had no
wish to disturb his brother’s wife in the enjoyment of Kent’s estates. So the answer returned to Joan’s petition was—“Soit fait comme il est desiré”—an answer fatal to the hopes the claim, and the birthright, of the unfortunate Alianora.
Only daughter and heir of Bartholomew, fourth Baron Burghersh, by his first wife Cicely de Weyland; and Baroness Burghersh in her own right. She was born probably about 1340, and brought up under the care of her step-mother Margaret de Badlesmere. About 1360 or earlier, she married Edward Lord Le Despenser, who left her a widow November 11th, 1375. Her family numbered eight, of whom Edward, Hugh, and Cicely, died infants; Elizabeth married John de Arundel and William third Lord de La Zouche; Anne married Hugh Hastings and Thomas fourth Lord Morley; Margaret married Robert, fifth Lord Ferrers of Chartley; Philippa apparently died unmarried; for Thomas, the youngest, see the next article. Elizabeth stood sponsor in 1382 to Richard Neville, afterwards the second husband of her grand-daughter Isabel. (Prob. cet. dicti Ricardi, 4 H. IV 44.) The custody of her son Thomas was granted to her during his minority (Rot. Pat. 11 R. II, Part 2.) She died “on the feast of Saint Anne,” July 26th, 1411, aged probably about 70. (Ing. Post Mortem4 H. V 52,Constancies Le Despenser.) The inferences are slight which tend to show her Lollardism. The terms of her last will are decidedly Lollard; she was joined in the baptism of Richard Neville by Alice, widow of Sir Richard Stury; and she was niece of Joan, Lady Mohun of Dunster—two of the most prominent Lollards of the period. Le Despenser was a Lollard house by tradition and inheritance. No portrait known; character imaginary.
Youngest of the eight children of Edward fourth Lord Le Despenser (a name sometimes mistakenly abbreviated to Spencer, for it isle dépenseur, “the spender,”) and Elizabeth Baroness Burghersh. Born September 21st or 22nd, 1373 (Inq. Post Mortem49 E. III ii. 46,Edwardi Le Despenser), and named after his father’s younger brother. He was left fatherless when only two years old, November 11th, 1375. (Ibidem.) During his minority he was committed to the custody of his mother. (Rot. Pat. 11 R. II, Part 2.) In or about May, 1378, he became Lord Le Despenser by the death of his elder brother, Edward, and was also substituted for him as bridegroom of the Princess Constance of York, whom he married between May 30th, 1378, and November 7th, 1379. (Ibidem, 1 R. II, Part 6;Register of John of Gaunt, II, folio 19,b.) Shortly afterwards, February 16th, 1380, all the Despenser lands were granted to his father-in-law during his minority—an unusual step, for which there must have been some private reason in the mind of the Regent, Thomas Duke of Gloucester. We next hear of Le Despenser when a lad of fifteen as at sea in the King’s service, in the suite of the Earl of Arundel, and his mother was formally exonerated from all responsibility concerning his custody until he should return. (Rot. Pat. 11 R. II, Part 2.) On the 20th of May, 1391, when eighteen, he received the royal licence to journey to Prussia—then a semi-civilised and partly heathen country—with fifty persons, and the arms and goods necessary. (Ibidem14 R. II, Part 2.) He doubtless accompanied the King to Ireland in September, 1394, since letters of attorney were issued for him on the 10th of that month. (Ibidem, 18 R. II, Part 1.) Two indentures show us that Le Despenser spent the autumn of 1395 at Cardiff. (Ibidem, 1 H. IV, Parts 5, 8.) Certain manors which had belonged to the Duke of Gloucester and Earl of Warwick were granted to Le Despenser and Constance, September 28th, 1397. He is styled in this grant Earl of Gloucester, (Ibidem, 21 R. II, Part 1), though it was not until the day following that his creation took place. The custody of the Castle of Gloucester was also granted to him for life; and the manors were conceded with a (then unusual) limitation to heirs male. The next day, September 29th, he was created Earl of Gloucester in Westminster Hall, “girded with sword, and a coronet set on his head by the King in manner and form accustomed.” (Harl. Ms. 298, folio 85.) Letters of attorney were issued April 16th, 1399, for the persons who formed the King’s suite in Ireland—Thomas Earl of Gloucester being named third. The King was his guest on the journey, reaching Cardiff about the 9th of May, and Morgan on the 11th. They embarked at Milford Haven about the 27th, and were at Waterford on the 31st. But on the fourth of July Henry of Bolingbroke and Archbishop Arundel landed at Ravenspur, and the King hurried back as soon as he heard of it, landing in Wales, and securing himself, as he hoped, first at Conway and then at Flint. According to Froissart, Aumerle and Le Despenser had remained behind in Bristol, and when they heard that the King was taken, they retired to Heulle, a manor in Wales belonging to the latter. But Creton, an eye-witness, expressly tells us that “the brave Earl of Gloucester” was with King Richard in Wales, and his indenture mentioned on the Patent Roll shows that he was in London in October. (Froissart’sChronicles, bookiv,chapter114;Harl. Ms. 1319;Rot. Pat, 1 H. IV, Part 6.) It was on the 19th of August that King Richard and his faithful few were seized in the gorge of Gwrych. (Harl. Ms. 1319.) The route taken to London was by Chester, Nantwich, Newcastle, Stafford, Lichfield (where the King all but effected his escape), Coventry, Daventry, Northampton, Dunstable, Saint Albans, and Westminster, reaching the last place on the first of September. It is difficult to say whether Le Despenser was present, or what part he took, at the coronation of Henry the Fourth. According to Cretan’s continuator, the canopy was held by four dukes—York, Aumerle, Surrey (who accepted his post very unwillingly), and Gloucester. There was no Duke of Gloucester at this time. It might be supposed that Le Despenser, Earl of Gloucester, was meant, were it not that the writer more than once intimates that there were fourdukesconcerned. The probability is that he mistook the name, and that the fourth duke was the only other whom it well could be, and who we know was present—Exeter. Le Despenser was still in London on the 27th of October. On the fourth of January, 1400, the six loyal friends met at Kingston, as detailed in the text. The account there given is strictly accurate up to the point of Surrey’s death and the escape of the survivors from Cirencester, with the simple exceptions that it is not stated who suggested firing the hotel, nor who executed it. From this point the main incidents are true:—the parting of Le Despenser and Salisbury near Berkeley Castle, the flight of the former to Cardiff, his escape (we are not told how) from officers sent to apprehend him, his adventure with the traitorous bargeman, imprisonment in Bristol Castle, seizure by the mob, and beheading in the market-place. All chroniclers who name the incident record that his death took place by no official sentence, but at the hands of the mob; and this is confirmed by his Inquisition, which states the day of death, not that of forfeiture—contrary to the custom with respect to any person judicially condemned. In fact, Le Despenser never was attainted. He died January 13th, 1400 (Inq. Post Mortem1 H. IV, i. 2,Tho. Le Despenser), aged 27. The particulars of his burial are given in the text.
Fourth and youngest son of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, and his first wife Blanche of Lancaster; born at Bolingbroke Castle (not, as usually stated, in 1366, but) April 3rd, 1367, the day of the battle of Navareta, in which his father was engaged. (Compotus Hugonis de Waterton, Duchy of Lancaster Documents, folio 4,) In 1377 he was attached to the suite of the young Prince of Wales, afterwards Richard the Second. (Comp. Will’i de Bughbrigg, Ibidem.) His tutors were Thomas de Burton and William Montendre. (Ibidem.) In 1380 he was married to Mary de Bohun, youngest daughter and co-heir of Humphrey, last Earl of Hereford, and his wife Joan de Arundel. The ages of bride and bridegroom were ten and thirteen. A gold ring with a ruby was bought for the bridal, at a cost of eight marks; and for the making of this and another ring with a diamond, 28 shillings 8 pence was paid. The offering at mass was 13 shillings 4 pence, and 40 shillings were put on the book, to be appropriated by the little bride at the words, “With all my worldly goods I thee endow.” (Register of John of Gaunt, II, folio 48, b.) The allowance made to Henry by his father was 250 marks per annum—equivalent in modern times to about 850. He was not yet twenty when he became one of the five “Lords Appellants,” who renounced their homage at Huntingdon, December 10th, 1386. Having succeeded in compelling King Richard to swear that for twelve months he would not oppose them, towards the end of that time they assumed an openly hostile attitude. At the head of 40,000 men, they reached Hornsey Park, November 11th, 1387; but it was not till the 14th that Henry and his friend Nottingham joined the rest. On the 20th of December was the encounter between the Dukes of Gloucester and Ireland at Radcote Bridge. The Lords Appellants appeared before the City on the 26th, and encamped at Clerkenwell on the 27th. They next granted themselves 20,000 pounds. (Rot. Pari, iii. 248;Issue Roll, Michs, 14 R. II.) After the King had recovered his power, May 3rd, 1389, Henry retired to Kenilworth. (Rot. Pat. 22 R. II, part 3.) It was probably about 1390 that he committed the atrocity of drawing his sword on the King in the Queen’s presence, for which he was sent into honourable banishment. His first journey abroad was to Barbary; but during 1391 we find him at home, at Bolingbroke and Peterborough. In 1392 he visited Prussia and the Holy Land. A safe-conduct had to be obtained from the King of France, in May. Two immense sums of money were lent him by his father—first 666 pounds 13 shillings 4 pence, and afterwards 1,333 pounds 6 shillings 8 pence. Sir Thomas Erpyngham was his fellow-traveller. He was at Venice on December 4th (Comp. Rob’ti de Whitteby, 15-16 R. II, Duchy Documents, folios 18, 19), and there or at Milan, in this journey, he probably made the acquaintance of Galeazzo of Milan. His wife died July 4th, 1394, at Peterborough. On November 25th, 1395, a treaty was signed between the Dukes of Lancaster and Bretagne, by the provisions of which Henry was to marry Marie of Bretagne, who afterwards became his step-daughter. The treaty was not carried into effect; and Marie married Jean Duke of Alençon, June 26th, 1396. The five noble conspirators met again, to renew their guilty attempts, at Arundel, July 28th, 1397. Henry slipped out of discovery and penalty as is recorded in the story; and was created Duke of Hereford, with remainder only to heirs male, September 29th, 1397. A full pardon was granted to him, January 25th, 1398 (Rot. Pat. 21 R. II, Part 2.) His petition impeaching his former friend Norfolk was presented January 30th. The two appeared at Windsor, April 28th, and were commanded the next day to settle their quarrel by wager of battle. In the interim Henry visited his father at Pomfret. The combatants met on Gosford Green, September 16th, and were separated by the King. Henry was allowed licence to travel October 3rd, for which sentence of banishment was substituted on the 13th. (Rot. Pat. 22 R. II, Part 1.) He took leave of the King at Eltham. The armour in which the duel was to be fought had been sent by Galeazzo of Milan, “out of his abundant love for the Earl,” at Henry’s request. (Froissart, book four, chapter 94.) Henry meant to have gone to Hainault; but by his father’s advice, he settled in Paris. (Ibidem, chapters96, 97.) Here he fell in love—such love as was in him—with the beautiful Marie of Berri, whom he would have married had not the King interfered and prevented it. Henry never forgave Richard for this step. On the 3rd of February, 1399, John of Gaunt died, and Henry became Duke of Lancaster. He landed at Ravenspur with Archbishop Arundel, July 4th, marching at once in open defiance of the Crown, though his own son was in the royal suite. Had Richard the Second been the weak and unscrupulous tyrant which modern writers represent him, that father and son would never have met again. On the 7th of July Henry reached Saint Albans, where, if not earlier, his uncle of York met him and went over to his side. Thence he marched to Oxford, where his brother of Dorset probably joined him. His march Londonward is given in the last article. From the 3rd of September all the royal decrees bear the significant words, “with the assent of our dearest cousin Henry Duke of Lancaster.” He commenced his reign on the 29th of September in reality, when he forced Richard to abdicate; but officially, on the 1st of October, 1399. His first regnal act was to grant to himself all the “honours of descent” derived from his father; in other words, to revoke his own attainder. He was crowned on the 13th of October. A year later, November 25th, 1400, Archbishop Arundel received him into the fraternity of Christ Church, Canterbury, which must have been an order instituted for those who remained “in the world,” since a large proportion of its brethren were married men. From this point there is no need to pursue Henry’s history, further than with respect to such items of it as bear upon the narrative. In 1404 he refused the request of the Commons that the superfluous revenues of the priesthood might be confiscated, and the money applied to military affairs. At this time, it is said, one-third of all the estates in England was in the hands of the clergy. For the part that he took with regard to the marriage of his cousin Constance with Kent, see the article under the former name. He died of leprosy, at Westminster, March 20th, 1413, aged 46. His second wife, by whom he had no issue, was Jeanne, daughter of Charles the Second, King of Navarre, and Jeanne of France; she survived him twenty-four years. The children of Henry the Fourth, several of whom are mentioned in the story, were:—1. Henry the Fifth, born at Monmouth Castle, August 9th, 1387; married, at Troyes, Katherine, daughter of Charles the Sixth, King of France, and Isabeau of Bavaria, June 3rd, 1420; died at Vincennes, August 31st, 1422, aged 35.—2. Thomas Duke of Clarence, born in London, 1388 (probably in May); a “brother” of Canterbury; married, 1412, Margaret de Holand, sister of Edmund Earl of Kent, and widow of John Marquis of Dorset; killed in the battle of Baugi, March 29th, 1421, aged 33.—3. John Duke of Bedford, born 1389; married (1) Anne, daughter of Jean Sans Peur, Duke of Burgundy, at Troyes, April 17th, 1423; (2) Jaquette, daughter of a Count of Saint Pol, at Therouenne, April, 1433; he died September 14th, 1435, aged 46.—4. Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, born 1390, admitted a “brother” of Canterbury 1408; married (1) Jaqueline, Duchess of Holland and Hainault, 1422, and repudiating her without any formal divorce, married (2) Alianora, daughter of Reginald Lord Cobham of Sterborough, about 1428; murdered at Saint Edmund’s Bury, by his uncle Cardinal Beaufort, February 23rd, 1447, aged 57.—5. Blanche, born at Peterborough, 1392; married, at Cologne, July, 1402, Ludwig of the Pfalz; died at Neustadt, May 22nd, 1409, aged 17.—6. Philippa, born at Peterborough, July, 1394; married, at Lund, October 26th, 1406, Eric King of Denmark; died at Wadstena, January 5th, 1430, aged 36.
Probablyyoungestson of Thomas De Holand, fifth Earl, and his wife Alesia de Arundel; born at Brokenhurst, January 6th, 1382 (Prob. cet. dicti. Edmundi, 5 H. IV 38); baptised in Saint Thomas’s Church, January 8th. (Ibidem.) In 1403 he guarded the King to Shrewsbury; in 1404 he joined in the Duke of Clarence’s expedition to Sluys; and Henry the Fourth made him Lord High Admiral. He was received into the fraternity at Canterbury, May 8th, 1405, about two months after the imprisonment of Constance. About New Year’s Day, 1406, “when he assumed his arms,” he made a grand tournament in Smithfield; the Earl of Moray challenged him to single combat, and was triumphantly vanquished by Kent. He appears to have lent himself with the most easy indifference to Henry the Fourth’s scheme for getting rid of Constance. The probability is that he was tired of her, and was deeply in love with Lucia. He was wounded in the head at the siege of Briac Castle, September 10th, 1408, and died after lingering five days. His body was brought over to England, and buried in Bourne Abbey, Lincolnshire.
Youngest child of Barnabb Visconti and Beatrice Scaligero (surnamed Regina for her pride), and cousin, not sister, of Galeazzo the Second, Duke of Milan. She was probably born about 1383, and was most likely still in her cradle when in 1384 she was contracted with great pomp and ceremony to Louis Duke of Anjou, afterwards King of Sicily. The Visconti ladies were renowned for beauty, and Lucia’s cousin Valentina, Duchess of Orleans, was one of the most renowned beauties of her day. Lucia was still in infancy when her father was deposed and imprisoned by his nephew Gian Galeazzo, May 6th, 1385; and she lost her mother about the same time. Louis of Anjou did not fulfil his contract, and Galeazzo sold Lucia for 70,000 florins, as stated in the text. She was married to Earl Edmund at the Church of Saint Mary Overy, Southwark, January 24th, 1406. After her husband’s death Henry the Fourth tried to induce her to marry Thomas Beaufort, Earl of Dorset, his own half-brother. It is commonly said that Lucia refused Dorset, and she certainly does not describe herself as Countess of Dorset, but only as Countess of Kent, in her will (printed inTest. Vet. i. 205). But she is twice styled by Henry “our dear sister Lucia” (March 16th and 28th, 1409—Rot. Pat. 10 H. IV), which looks as if she did marry Dorset. Stow says that she married Sir Henry de Mortimer, and had a daughter Anne. However this may be, in 1421 she was petitioning the Crown for aid on account of deep poverty, caused by the overwhelming mass of debts left behind by Edmund, who died intestate. (Rot. Pari, iv. 143-5.) Nothing more is known of her except the date of her death, April 14th, 1424, when aged about 40. (Inq. Post. Mortem2 H. VI 35,Lucitz Comitissae Kane’.) She was buried in the Church of the Augustine Friars, London. (Harl. Ms544, folio 78.) The English mistook Lucia for Galeazzo’s sister.
Eldest son of Roger, fifth Earl, and his wife Alianora de Holand; born November 4th, 1391; imprisoned in Windsor Castle, about Christmas, 1399; stolen away by Constance Le Despenser, about February 14th, 1405; recaptured and again consigned to prison; bound with four others as surety for 70,000 florins, to be paid to Duke of Milan, January, 1406; marriage granted to Queen Jeanne of Navarre, February 24th, 1408 (Rot. Pat. 9 H. IV, Part 1), and afterwards sold by her to the Prince of Wales for 200 pounds (Rot. Ex, Michs, 1 H. V); apparently released on accession of Henry the Fifth, 1413; married, 1414-16, Anne, daughter of Edmund Earl of Stafford, and his wife Princess Anne of Gloucester; sat as judge on his brother-in-law’s trial—with regard to whose crime, if the indictment were true, March must have been himself chief witness,—August 5th, 1415; received pardon for all offences, August 7th. The next mention of him is that he was living in Ireland, July 10th, 1424; and it was in Ireland, at Trim Castle, that he died, January 19th, 1425, aged 33. He was buried at Stoke Clare. He left no issue, and his widow remarried John de Holand, Earl of Huntingdon. The last mention of his brother Roger as living occurs on the Rolls, August 26th, 1404; but we are told that he was one of the boys stolen by Constance in February, 1405. After that nothing is heard of him but that he died young; probably before his brother’s release, as his age would then have been at least fifteen. His sister Alianora married Edward Courtenay, and died issueless.
Sixth son (but fourth who reached manhood) of Edward the Third and Philippa of Hainault Born at Langley, June 5th, 1341; baptised by Nicholas Abbot of Saint Albans; and committed to the care of Joan de Oxenford, Agnes de La Marche, and Margery de Wyght. He was brought up in the nursery palace at Chilterne, or Children’s Langley, Herts. On the 8th of February, 1362, ambassadors were appointed to contract marriage between Edmund and Margaret Duchess of Burgundy. The marriage was appointed to take place at Bruges, February 4th, 1365; but Pope Urban refused to grant a dispensation (urged by the King of France, who wanted the Princess for his son), and the negotiations came to nothing. Edmund was created Earl of Cambridge and Lord of Teviotdale, November 14th, 1362. In 1366 his name appears in the marriage treaty of his brother Lionel with Violante Visconti of Milan, which provided that Edmund should be substituted for Lionel if his brother died before the marriage. From 1369 to 1371 the Earl was on the Continent with his brothers, the Black Prince and the Duke of Lancaster. It was at Rochefort, near Bordeaux, about November, 1369, that Edmund first saw his future wife, the Infanta Isabel of Castilla; but he did not marry her until 1372. In 1374 he was Governor of Bretagne; Constable of Dover and Warden of the Cinque Ports, July 12th, 1376. At the coronation of Richard the Second, July 16th, 1377, Edmund was second of the homagers, and walked next but one after the King. In May, 1381, he sailed for Portugal, accompanied by his wife and eldest son. Little was done in respect of the errand on which he had gone—the furtherance of the Infanta’s claims to Castilla; and he came back, disappointed, in October, 1382. He was created Duke of York, at Hoselow Lodge, August 6th, 1385, “by cincture of sword and imposition of gold coronet on his head.” (Harl. Ms. 298, folio. 84,b.) A grant of 1000 pounds per annum was made to him on the 15th of November following. During the long struggle between the various members of the Royal Family, York always sided with Gloucester, except when Lancaster was present. In 1388 he was co-surety (with Gloucester, Derby, and others) for 5000 borrowed from the Londoners for Gloucester’s purposes. (Rot. Pat. 11 R. II,Part2.) The King visited him at Langley, April 18th, 1389. About September, 1391, he and his brother of Lancaster concluded a truce with France. His first wife died, and he married the second, in 1393. (See subsequent articles.) He was created Regent of England, for the first time, September 29th, 1394, during the King’s first voyage to Ireland. King Richard relieved him of this charge by returning home about May 11th, 1395. His second regency was from August 6th, 1396, to about November 14th following. It was by the advice of Lancaster and York—but the latter was really the mere echo of the former,—that Gloucester was arrested, August, 1397. Some of his brother Gloucester’s lands were granted to York. After this, both York and Lancaster retired from Court to their own country homes. In 1399, on the death of Lancaster, York was created Steward of Englandpro tem, “until Henry Earl of Derby shall sue for the same.” (Rot. Pat. 22 R. II,Part2.) In May, 1399, he was created Regent for the third and last time. About the 7th of July he met, and at once went over to, his rebellious and banished nephew, Henry of Lancaster. He was present at Henry the Fourth’s coronation, and remained a guest at Court for the rest of that year, where we find him several times during 1400. On November 25th, 1400, he made his will; and in 1401 he was received into the fraternity at Canterbury. His last recorded visit to Court was on the opening of Parliament, January 20th, 1402; and on the following first of August he died at Langley, aged 61. He was buried in the Church of the Friars Predicants, Langley. Edmund was unquestionably a weak man, both in character and abilities: indeed, Froissart goes so far as to hint that he was deficient in intellect. (Book four, chapter 73.) His being made Regent by no means disproves this; for the post was chiefly honorary, and his brother Lionel had filled it when only seven years old. For his wives see the later articles.
Eldest son of Edmund Duke of York and Isabel of Castilla; born probably about New Year’s Day, 1373. He accompanied his parents to Portugal in May, 1382, and was formally affianced to the Infanta Beatriz; but her father subsequently broke off the engagement, by dispensation from the Pope, and married her to the rival King of Castilla. King Richard was deeply attached to him, or perhaps rather to the ideal being whom he believed him to be. He granted him the stewardship of Bury, January 22nd, 1390; created him Earl of Rutland, May 2nd, in the same year; gave him the reversion of the Constableship of the Tower, January 27th, 13925 employed him in embassy to France, February 26th, 1394, and again, July 1395; created him Constable of England, July-12th, 1397, and Duke of Aumerle, September 29th, 1397. A grant was made to him from the lands of Archbishop Arundel, September 27th; and his patent as Constable of the Tower was renewed, October 30th. In May, 1399, he went with the King to Ireland. When Lancaster’s rebellion broke out, Aumerle merely waited to make sure which was the winning side, and then went over to his cousin Henry without a thought of the Sovereign who had styled him “brother,” and had been the author of all his prosperity. In the midst of the tumult his patent as Constable of the Tower was once more renewed, August 31st. At the coronation of Henry the Fourth, Aumerle was one of the peers who held the canopy. He is named as one of those who requested the usurper to put the King to death. How he betrayed his friends at Maidenhead Bridge is recounted in the text. Henry the Fourth trusted Aumerle as he trusted few others, in a manner incomprehensible to any one acquainted with the character of either. On March 10th, 1400, he pardoned Aumerle’s debts; then he made him Lord Lieutenant of Ireland; and then Governor of Aquitaine. Edward became Duke of York by his father’s death, August 1st, 1402. The next escapade of this singular individual was to address to Queen Jeanne a series of verses, painfully laboured, of which the first is the least uncouth, and even that halts in the rhyme.
“Excellent Sovereign seemly to see,Proved prudence peerless of price,Bright blossom of benignity,Of figure fairest, and freshest of days!”
“Excellent Sovereign seemly to see,Proved prudence peerless of price,Bright blossom of benignity,Of figure fairest, and freshest of days!”
It is evident that Nature never intended Edward for a poet. His next adventure was a futile endeavour to scale the wall of Eltham Palace, and seize the King; and the third was his share in Constance’s theft of the Mortimers. He and his sister were both arrested, and all his lands, goods, and chattels confiscated. He was sent to Pevensey Castle, and there placed in keeping of Sir John Stanley; but his imprisonment was not long, for on the fourth of November he was free and in London. Perhaps his experience was useful in curbing his plotting temper, for he kept very quiet after this, and we hear of him next engaged in a pious and orthodox manner, founding Fotheringay College. York did not sit on the bench at his brother’s trial; he had the grace to prefer a proxy in the person of Dorset. He made his will August 22nd, 1415, wherein he styled himself “of all sinners the most wicked;” desired to be buried at Fotheringay, and ordered that the expenses of his funeral should not exceed 100 pounds. His death took place at Agincourt, October 25th, 1415, in the manner described in the text; and his obsequies were celebrated at London on the 1st of December. He married Philippa, daughter and co-heir of John Lord Mohun of Dunster, and his wife Joan Burghersh, one of the most eminent Lollards of her day. Philippa was married (1) before March 6th, 1382 (Reg. Joh’is Ducis Lanc, folio60,b), to Walter, Lord Fitzwalter; (2) between 1386 and 1393, to Sir John Golafre; (3) after 1397, to Edward Duke of York; and according to some authors (4) after 1415, to John Vescy. She died July 17th, 1431. (Inq. Post Mortem10 H. VI, 45;Ph’ae. Ducissa Ebor.)
Third and youngest daughter of Don Pedro the First, surnamed The Cruel, and Maria Padilla, whose marriage is usually considered a fiction by modern writers, though Pedro himself solemnly affirmed it, and their daughters were treated as Princesses through life. Isabel was born at Morales or Tordesillas, in 1355. In 1365, when Don Pedro fled before his rebel brother, he was accompanied by his third wife, Juana, and his three daughters, Beatriz, Constanga, and Isabel. They fled from Sevilla to Bayonne, and did not return to Sevilla till 1368, after the victory of Navareta. After the loss of the battle of Montiel and the murder of their father, in 1369, the Princesses were hastily taken again by their guardians to Bayonne. Constancy was married to John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, at Rochefort, near Bordeaux, about November, 1369. Isabel remained with her sister, and accompanied her to England in 1371. In 1372—between January 1st and April 30th—she married Edmund Earl of Cambridge, the brother of her sister’s husband. It was at Hertford, March 1st, 1372, that John of Gaunt and Constanca assumed the titles of King and Queen of Leon and Castilla; and as sixteen months had then elapsed since their own marriage, the probability seems to be that this date marks the marriage of Isabel, and the consent of her bridegroom to the exclusive assumption of queenship by the elder sister. (The other and really eldest sister, Beatriz, had become a nun.) Isabel is alluded to as Edmund’s wife on April 30th, 1372. In May, 1381, she accompanied her husband to Portugal, on an expedition undertaken with the object of securing the recognition of herself and her sister as the true heirs of Castilla. The expedition failed; and Isabel returned to England with her husband in October, 1382.
Several pardons appear on the rolls, granted at the instance of Isabel. Doña Juana Fernandez, who appears in the story, was at first one of her damsels, but in 1377 became Mistress of the Household. Isabel became Duchess of York, August 6th, 1385. Her will was made December 6th, 1389. A grant of 100 pounds was given to her, October 3rd, 1390, to pay her debts; but notwithstanding this and further grants of money, she was still obliged to borrow 400 from her brother-in-law of Lancaster, January 25th, 1393. This was her last recorded act, for on the third of February she was dead. (Rot. Ex. Michs, 14 R. II;Compotus Soberti de Whitteby, 1392-3,folio19;Rot. Pat. 16 R. II, Part 3.)—Much misconception exists as to the terms of her will. She is represented by some writers as having been driven to provide for her son Richard by the purchase of the King’s favour, having bequeathed all her goods to his Majesty on a species of compulsion. The fact is that she bequeathed to him her son and her goods together, requesting him to provide for the one from the proceeds of the other. She made the King simply trustee for her boy, his own godson. And how much King Richard gained or lost by the transaction is set down in plain figures: for the jewels, etcetera, bequeathed by Isabel sold for 666 pounds 13 shillings 4 pence—just two years’ income of the annuity paid for seven years (the rest of his reign) to Richard. (Rot. Ex, Michs, 17 R. II.) The monastic chroniclers speak of Isabel in terms of unqualified contempt—particularly Walsingham, who invariably vilifies a Lollard. And that she was a Lollard few can doubt who read her will with attention. Possibly the entire accusation brought against her in early life is a calumny; possibly it is a fact. Many women thatweresinners have washed Christ’s feet with tears; and perhaps they will not be found the lowest in the kingdom of Heaven.
Second daughter of Thomas Earl of Kent and his wife Alesia de Arundel; sister of Thomas Duke of Surrey, Edmund Earl of Kent, and Alianora Countess of March; born 1383, married (1) before November 4th, 1393, Edmund Duke of York; (2) William, Lord Willoughby de Eresby,—pardon for unlicenced marriage May 14th, 1409, but named as husband and wife, March 26th, 1406; (3) before December 9th, 1410, Henry Lord Scrope of Upsal; (4) Henry de Vescy, Lord Bromflete—pardon for unlicenced marriage, August 14th, 1416. She died April 12th, 1434, aged 51—during the absence of her husband at the Council of Basel—leaving no issue by any of her marriages. Her character is shown in several small matters, but above all in the rancour of her petition against Alianora de Audley, and the deceit which prompted the putting forward of her younger sister Margaret in her place. The indication in the story that the device for annulling Constance’s marriage proceeded from Joan is suppositious, but by no means improbable.