The Wars of the Roses

On the eve of a struggle which subsequent events rendered so memorable, Richard was not quite himself. For days his temper had been frequently tried by news of desertion, and for nights his rest had been broken by dreams of disaster. Nevertheless, he prepared for battle with energy. The honor of leading the van, which was constituted of archers, flanked with cuirassiers, fell to the Duke of Norfolk, and his son the Earl of Surrey. The main battle, consisting of choice bill-men, empaled with pikes, and formed into a dense square, with wings of cavalry on either side, the king took under his own auspices. The rear-guard was under the command of Northumberland. Besides, Richard's artillery was the reverse of contemptible; and, altogether, he had little to fear save from the treachery of his adherents.

Richmond, meantime, growing uneasy in the presence of a foe so redoubted, sent to ask Lord Stanley to come and assist him in marshaling his army. The answer of the Countess of Richmond's husband was not quite satisfactory to his step-son. Indeed, Stanley gave the messenger to understand that no aid need be expected from him till the armies joined battle, and he only committed himself so far as to advise that the onset should be made without delay.

Richmond was staggered at Stanley's answer. The Welsh earl's situation was indeed painful and perplexing. He knew that his army was scarcely half so numerous as the king's, and he could not but be conscious of his immeasurable inferiority as a general. Retreat, however, was impossible; and, after holding a council of war, Richmond resolved on fighting forthwith. This resolution having been arrived at, the Lancastrian army was set in order for battle. Oxford took the command of the van, which consisted principally of archers. Richmond – whose standard was borne by Sir William Brandon – undertook to command the main body; and in his rear, with a body of horsemen and some bills and pikes, was posted Jasper Tudor, whose age and experience, it was probably hoped, would compensate in some measure for his nephew's lack of military skill and prowess. Besides, Richmond's army had two wings. Of these one was commanded by Sir Gilbert Talbot, the other by Sir John Savage.

His preparations made, and his armor girded on except the helmet, Richmond, to encourage his army, rode from rank to rank, and many of the Lancastrian soldiers for the first time saw the man who represented himself as the heir of John of Gaunt. The aspect of the adventurer must have disappointed those who had pictured, in imagination, such a chief as the conqueror of Towton and Tewkesbury. Nature had denied Richmond kingly proportions; and his appearance, though not positively mean, was far from majestic; while his countenance wore an expression which indicated too clearly that tendency to knavery destined to be so rapidly developed.

After riding along his lines, Richmond halted, and from an elevated part of the field addressed to his army one of those battle-field orations which were in fashion at the period. Dealing with such topics as were most likely to inflame his partisans against the usurper, he was listened to with sympathy; and perceiving, as he pronounced the words, "Get this day, and be conquerors; lose the battle, and be slaves," that an impression had been produced, he added, "In the name of God, then, and of St. George, let every man advance his banner." At these words Sir William Brandon raised the Tudor's standard; the trumpets sounded an onset; and Richmond, keeping the morass to his right, led the Lancastrians, with the sun on their backs, slowly up the ascent toward Amyon Hill.

Ere this, Richard had mounted his tall steed – the White Surrey of Shakspeare – ascended an eminence, since known as "Dickon's Mount," called his captains together, and addressed them as his "most faithful and assured friends." The speech, not unworthy of one whom his enemies confess to have been "a king jealous of the honor of England," elicited some degree of enthusiasm; but Richard must have sighed as he recalled to memory how enthusiastic, in comparison, had been the burst of sympathy which rose from Edward's soldiers on the field of Barnet. The bold usurper, however, appeared undismayed. "Let every one," he said in conclusion, "strike but one sure blow, and certainly the day will be ours. Wherefore, advance banners, sound trumpets; St. George be our aid; and God grant us victory!"

As the king concluded, and placed his helmet, with a crown of ornament, on his brow, the Yorkists raised a shout, sounded trumpets, and moved down the hill; and, with banners flying and plumes waving, the hostile armies came hand to hand.

The day opened not inauspiciously for Richard. His army would be little inferior to that of his adversaries even should Stanley join Richmond; and his position on Amyon Hill had been selected with judgment. Moreover, to intimidate and outflank the foe, he had extended his van to an unusual length, and this artifice proved so far successful, at least, that Oxford was somewhat dismayed at the danger that threatened his scanty ranks.

Oxford, however, was a leader of extraordinary calibre. He had not, indeed, seen many fields, but to him Barnet had been worth thirty years of experience to men not gifted with the military genius which rendered the Anglo-Norman barons such formidable war-chiefs. Over the events of that disastrous day the earl may be supposed to have mused for twelve years in his prison at Hammes, and to have learned, in sadness and solitude, wholesome lessons for his guidance in the event of being again called to encounter the warriors of the White Rose. The day had now arrived, and John De Vere was resolved not to be outwitted either by "Jocky of Norfolk" or "Dickon his master."

No sooner did Oxford's men come to close encounter with those under Norfolk, than the earl saw that he was exposed to danger. Without loss of time, he issued orders that no soldier should move ten yards from his colors. Their leader's motive not being understood, the men hurriedly closed their ranks and ceased from fighting; and the enemy, suspicious of some stratagem, likewise drew back from the conflict. Oxford quickly availed himself of this pause in the battle, and, placing his men in the form of a wedge, he made a furious attack on the foe. At the same time, Lord Stanley, who, when the armies moved, had placed himself on Richmond's right hand to oppose the front of the royal van, charged with ardor; and Norfolk would have been exposed to a danger similar to that from which Oxford had just been freed, if, while Oxford was forming the Lancastrian van into a wedge, Richard had not arrayed anew that of the Yorkists – placing thin lines in front, and supporting them by dense masses.

Both armies having thus been re-formed, proceeded with the battle. But it soon appeared that, however equal the antagonistic forces might be in number, the zeal was all on the side of the Red Rose. Moreover, Northumberland, who commanded the rear – one third of Richard's army – refrained from taking any part whatever in the conflict; and futile proved the king's expectation of aid from the potent northern earl.

The battle had not been long joined ere the field wore an aspect most unfavorable to Richard. Norfolk, indeed, fought resolutely in the van; but, outnumbered and hard-pressed by Oxford and Stanley, he was slowly but surely giving way; and the men composing the king's division exerted themselves faintly, and exhibited little of such enthusiasm as might have carried them on to victory against superior numbers.

Amid the smoke of artillery and the roar of battle, Sir Robert Brackenbury and Sir Walter Hungerford met face to face.

"Traitor," exclaimed Brackenbury, "what caused you to desert me?"

"I will not answer you with words," said Hungerford, taking aim at the head of his ancient comrade.

The blow would have been fatal; but Brackenbury received its force on his shield, which was shivered in protecting its owner's head; and Hungerford, perceiving his antagonist's defenseless plight, chivalrously declared that they should fight on equal terms, and handed his own shield to a squire. The combat was then renewed, and both knights exerted their utmost strength. At length Brackenbury's helmet was battered to pieces, and his adversary's weapon inflicted a severe wound. "Spare his life, brave Hungerford," cried Sir Thomas Bourchier, coming up; "he was our friend, and he may be so again." But it was already too late to save the wounded knight. As Bourchier spoke, Brackenbury fell lifeless to the ground.

In another part of the field met Sir John Byron and Sir Gervase Clifton. The two knights were neighbors in the county of Nottingham, and, before embracing opposite sides, had made a singular contract. Byron, who donned the Red Rose, agreed, in the event of Richmond being victor, to intercede for the heirs of Clifton; and Clifton, who assumed the White Rose, promised, in case of Richard's success, to exercise his utmost influence on behalf of Byron's family. Byron, seeing Clifton fall, instantly pressed forward to save him; and, sustaining his wounded friend on a shield, entreated him to surrender. Clifton opened his eyes, recognized his neighbor, and recalled their agreement to memory. "All is over with me," he said, faintly; "but remember your promise." Byron pressed the hand of Clifton as the Yorkist warrior expired, and he kept the promise so faithfully that Clifton's estates remained in possession of his children.

About this time Richard rode out of the battle, and dismounted to quench his thirst at a spring of water on Amyon Hill, now covered with a pyramid of rough stones, indicated by Dr. Parr's inscription in Roman letters, and pointed out to strangers as "King Richard's Well;" and Catesby and other of the usurper's friends, believing defeat inevitable, brought one of those fleet steeds which, on such occasions, seldom failed their riders.

"The field is lost, but the king can yet be saved," they said as the war-cries, reaching their ears through the roar of bombards and the din of battle, intimated that Oxford and Stanley were overmatching the Howards, and that, ere long, the shout would be "Richmond and victory."

"Mount, my lord," said Catesby; "I hold it time for you to fly. Stanley's dints are so sore that against them can no man stand. Fly! Another day we may worship again."

"Fly!" exclaimed Richard. "By St. Paul, not one foot. I will either make an end of all battles this day, or finish my life on this field. I will die King of England."

His determination thus expressed, Richard mounted his charger, hastily closed his visor, and again faced the field. By this time it appeared that the day would be decided by the vans. Richard, not altogether willing to stake his crown on the generalship of the Howards, spurred from his right centre to see how the conflict went; and, at the same moment, Richmond, surrounded by his guard, left his main body, and rode forward to encourage the men under Oxford and Stanley. Thus it happened that the king and the Welsh earl came in sight of each other; and no sooner was Richard aware of Richmond being within reach, than the temptation to single out the hostile leader became too strong to be resisted.

And never during the battles of the Roses – neither in the mist at Barnet, nor in the sunshine at Tewkesbury – had Richard made himself so formidable as in that hour. With his lance in rest, and followed by choice warriors, he dashed toward the spot where the banner borne by Sir William Brandon indicated Richmond's presence. The white war-steed, the gorgeous armor, the crown of ornament, rendered Richard conspicuous as he spurred forward, and fierce was the onset as he charged among the knights who clustered around the Lancastrian chief. Vain were all efforts to bar his progress. Richmond's standard was trampled in the dust; Sir William Brandon, pierced with a mortal wound, fell never more to rise; Sir John Cheyney, throwing his bulky form in Richard's path, was hurled from his horse; and the Welsh earl, all unused to the game of carnage, was in the utmost peril. His destruction, indeed, appeared inevitable. The Lancastrian warriors, however, spurred to the rescue, and shielded the adventurer's head from the usurper's hand.

But most doubtful now was the issue of the conflict. The desperate charge of Richard had created a panic among his foes, and there was some prospect of Richmond having to choose between dying bravely and flying cravenly, when a circumstance, not unexpected, changed the aspect of the field.

Sir William Stanley had hitherto remained a spectator of the fight. Having ever been a devoted Yorkist, perhaps the gallant knight, hating Richard as he did, was not eager to draw the sword for Lancaster against a Yorkist, even though a usurper. When, however, Richard's triumph was likely to result from his inaction, Stanley came with a shout to Richmond's aid; and this accession of force to the Lancastrians so completely turned the scale, that no chance of victory remained for Richard, unless, indeed, the chief of the Percies should lead the tall Danes of the north to the rescue.

But Stanley charged on, and the conflict became a rout; and the Yorkist warriors, attacked with energy, gave way in a body; and, still, Northumberland maintained his position, and, having ordered his soldiers to throw down their weapons, stood motionless while fliers and pursuers swept by.

Lord Lovel and other Yorkists of name made their escape. But, as at Barnet and Tewkesbury, so also at Bosworth, men of high spirit disdained to fly or yield. John Howard, Duke of Norfolk, fighting in the van, redeemed a mean life by a not inglorious death; Walter, Lord Ferrers, died with courage, as he had lived with honor; and Sir Richard Ratcliffe partially wiped away his disgrace by falling bravely for the sovereign whom he had too faithfully served. Lord Surrey and Sir William Catesby were taken on the field. Northumberland quietly surrendered.

Richard now felt that he was face to face with his destiny; and, in the hour of defeat and despair, he did not shrink from the fate he had defied. Indeed, the valor he displayed in his last moments excited admiration even in adversaries. Rising in his stirrups as he saw his standard-bearer cut down, and shouting loudly that he had been betrayed, the usurper spurred into the midst of his foes, and made his sword ring on helmet and shield. Not till unhorsed did he cease to fight desperately. Even then, his shield broken, his armor bruised, and the crown of ornament hewn from his helmet, Richard continued to struggle. At length, exhausted with fatigue, and pierced with many wounds, he died disdainfully, with the word "Treason" on his tongue.

Ere the warriors of the Red Rose had time to moralize over the fall of the last Plantagenet king, Richmond, unwounded in the dreadful scene with which the conflict closed, and feeling like a man saved from imminent peril of drowning, threw himself on his knees, and returned thanks to God for victory. Then he rose, and expressed gratitude to those who had aided him in his enterprise; and Reginald Bray, bringing Richard's crown from a bush, on which that ornament had been hung, handed it to Lord Stanley, and Stanley placed it on the victor's head; and the soldiers cried, "Long live Henry the Seventh;" and the monarchy of the Plantagenets ceased to exist.

CHAPTER LI

AFTER BOSWORTH

When the battle of Bosworth was over, and Richmond, with John De Vere, and Jasper of Pembroke, and the Stanleys, including Lord Strange, stood around the mangled corpse of Richard, the prisoners were brought before the victor. Among them appeared William Catesby, and the Earls of Surrey and Northumberland.

Northumberland was readily received into favor. Surrey, when asked how he durst bear arms for the usurper, answered, "If the Parliament of England set the crown upon a bush, I would fight for it." Richmond was softened by this speech, and Surrey was spared to fight for the Tudors at Flodden, and to wear the ducal coronet of the Mowbrays. Catesby, less fortunate than the two earls, was summarily executed. Dr. Hutton, who, according to tradition, was one of "the Huttons of that Ilk," sought safety north of the Tweed.

From Bosworth Richmond marched to Leicester, and thither, covered with blood and dust, hung across a horse, behind a pursuivant-at-arms, the feet dangling on one side and the hands on the other, the body of King Richard was carried. As the mangled corpse was conveyed over Bow Bridge, the head dashed violently against the stone which Richard had, the day before, struck with his spur – "thus," say the old chroniclers, "fulfilling the prediction of the wise woman."

After being exposed to view in the Town Hall of Leicester, Richard's body was buried in the Grey Friars' Church, and Richmond slowly advanced toward London. At Hornsey Wood he was met and welcomed by the mayor and aldermen, all clad in violet. Having been escorted to St. Paul's, he returned thanks to God for his victory, and offered three standards upon the high altar.

After some delay, Richmond appointed the 30th of October, 1485, for his coronation; and on that day the old Archbishop of Canterbury anointed the adventurer, as two years earlier he had anointed the usurper. All the ancient ceremonies were observed; and Richmond availed himself of the occasion to elevate Lord Stanley to the Earldom of Derby, Sir Edward Courtenay to the Earldom of Devon, and Jasper Tudor to the Dukedom of Bedford – the old duchess, Elizabeth Woodville's mother, having gone to her account at the time when peace and prosperity surrounded the throne of her son-in-law, and when William Caxton was setting up his printing-press under the patronage of the White Rose.[17 - When Margaret Plantagenet was married to Charles the Rash, Caxton accompanied that royal lady to her new home, and, while in her service in Flanders, learned the art of printing. Having returned to England, and been presented by Anthony Woodville to Edward of York, he, under the king's protection, set up his printing-press in the Almonry at Westminster.]

A week after Richmond's coronation Parliament assembled at Westminster. Richard's adherents were declared traitors, while De Vere, De Roos, Beaumont, Welles, and others were restored; and the heir of the Cliffords, who had passed his youth in the garb of a shepherd, emerged at thirty from the fells of Cumberland, and lived to lead the men of the Craven to Flodden Field.

But of all who suffered during the Yorkist domination, no one was so harshly treated as the widow of "The Stout Earl," who fell on Gladsmuir Heath, fighting for the ancient rights and liberties of Englishmen. After having heard of Warwick's death, the countess took refuge in the sanctuary of Beaulieu, and there remained in poverty. On Richmond's accession, however, an Act of Parliament was passed to restore her manors. But this, it would seem, was done that she might convey them to the king, and only that of Sutton was allotted for her maintenance.

From the day when Edward, Prince of Wales, perished in his teens at Tewkesbury, Margaret of Anjou ceased to influence the controversy with which her name is inseparably associated.

Margaret lived several years after regaining her freedom; and, deprived of the crown which her accomplishments had won, the Lancastrian queen wandered sadly from place to place, as if driven by her perturbed spirit to seek something that was no longer to be found.

Tortured by avenging memory, embittered by unavailing regret, and weary of life, Margaret of Anjou summed up her experience of the world when she wrote in the breviary of her niece, "Vanity of vanities, all is vanity." At length, in August, 1480, the disconsolate queen, after reaching the age of twoscore and ten, breathed her last at Damprierre, and was buried by the side of her father in the Cathedral of Angers.

CHAPTER LII

THE UNION OF THE TWO ROSES

At the time of the battle of Bosworth the eldest daughter of Edward of York and Elizabeth Woodville was immured in the Castle of Sheriff Hutton, within the walls of which her cousin, Edward Plantagenet, was also secure. After Richmond's victory both were removed to London: Elizabeth of York by high and mighty dames, to be restored to the arms of her mother; Edward of Warwick by a band of hireling soldiers, to be delivered into the hands of a jailer and imprisoned in the Tower.[18 - After a long and cruel captivity, Warwick was, in 1499, executed on Tower Hill, "for no other offense," says Dugdale, "than being the only male Plantagenet at that time living, and consequently the most rightful heir to the throne." Fuller, in his Worthies of England, says that "Henry, being of a new lineage and surname, knew full well how the nation hankered after the name of Plantagenet; which, as it did outsyllable Tudor in the mouths, so did it outvie it in the hearts of the English."]

It soon appeared that Richmond was not particularly eager to wed the Yorkist princess. He was not, however, to escape a marriage. When Parliament met, and the king sat on the throne, and the Commons presented a grant of tonnage and poundage for life, they plainly requested that he would marry Elizabeth of York; and the lords, spiritual and temporal, bowed to indicate their concurrence in the prayer. Richmond, perceiving that there was no way by which to retreat, replied that he was ready and willing to take the princess to wife.

The marriage of Henry Tudor and Elizabeth of York was fixed for the 18th of January, 1486, and the ceremony was performed at Westminster. The primate, soon to be laid in his grave and succeeded by the Bishop of Ely, officiated on the occasion, and every thing went joyously. The knights and nobles of England exhibited their bravery at a grand tournament; the citizens of London feasted and danced; the populace sang songs and lighted bonfires; the claims of the King of Portugal, the heir of John of Gaunt, and the existence of Edward Plantagenet, Earl of Warwick, the heir of Lionel of Clarence, were conveniently forgotten; and the marriage of a spurious Lancastrian prince and an illegitimate daughter of York was celebrated by poets and chroniclers as "The Union of the two Roses."

THE END

notes

1

"Edward the First hath justly been styled the English Justinian. For, in his time, the law did receive so sudden a perfection, that Sir Matthew Hale does not scruple to affirm that more was done in the first thirteen years of his reign to settle and establish the distributive justice of the kingdom than in all the ages since that time put together… It was from this period that the liberty of England began to rear its head." —Blackstone's Commentaries.