In the Wars of the Roses: A Story for the Young

"Pardon, my dear lord," answered Paul, blushing and smiling; "I would sooner have received the honour at your hands than at those of any other. But I was summoned to London, so soon as my wounds were healed, by the great earl; and your royal father himself gave me audience, to ask news of you (for it became known that you had visited the realm by stealth); and after I had told him all my tale, he with his own hand bestowed that honour upon me. Then the noble earl made over to me a fair manor in the west country, which I have not yet visited, but which has put money once more into my purse. And here am I, your grace's loyal servant, to ask no better than to follow and fight for you until the crown is safely placed upon your head."

And he bent the knee and pressed his lips upon the prince's hand.

But Edward raised him, and linked his arm within that of his old companion, walking with him along the pleasant green pathway of the Abbey mead, not content till he had heard every detail of that which had befallen Paul, from the moment they had parted up till the present, and listening with intense excitement to his account of what had befallen him in the robbers' cave, and how he had escaped from thence, and had been tended and protected at Figeon's by the kindly and honest folks there.

"When I am king," said young Edward, with flashing eyes, "I will go thither again, and reward them royally for all they have done for you and me. I am glad they loved me still, Lancastrian though they knew me at last to be. Oh, if they were willing to follow my fortunes and own me as their king, methinks others will not be far behind! And, God helping me, I will try to show them what manner of man a king should be."

For it had been fully recognized upon all hands now that the prince's father was absolutely incapable of more than the name of king, and it was well known that the prince was to be the real ruler, with the name of regent, and that it would be his hands or his mother's that would sway the sceptre of power, should the Lancastrian cause triumph in the struggle.

And no thought of aught but victory had as yet found place in young Edward's heart. Was not the great invincible earl fighting on their side? And had he not already placed Henry once more upon the throne, not to be again deposed so long as he had a soldier left to fight for him?

But Paul's heart was scarce so light, although the sight of the prince awakened his loyal enthusiasm.

"O my lord, if you had but come sooner-had come before the proud son of York had landed, and drawn to his standard a host of powerful followers! I know not how it is, but his name is a magnet that strangely stirs the hearts of men. Ere I left London I heard that the rival armies were closely approaching each other, and that the battle might not be much longer delayed. I knew not whether to fly to welcome you, or to stay and draw the sword on your behalf, and strive to be the one to bring to you the glorious news of victory. I cannot think but what the great earl will again be victorious; but the despatches he intrusted to me, with commands to hasten westwards to try and meet you on your landing, will tell you more of the chances of war than I can do. Men's mouths are full of rumours. One knows not how to sift the false from the true. But the men of London-ay, there is the peril-they all stand sullen when we of the Red Rose pass by, and scarce a voice calls 'God save the king.' If Edward of York were to succeed in reaching the city-"

"But he must not-he shall not-he cannot!" cried young Edward, with flashing eyes. "What! shall the proud crest of my great father-in-law stoop before the traitorous host of York? Fie on thee, Paul! talk not to me of defeat. Nay, after we have heard the holy mass of this glad Easter day, let us rather to horse and away-you and I together, Paul, as we have done times before-and let us not draw rein till we ride into the victorious camp of the king my father, and hear the glad welcome we shall receive from his brave host.

"O Paul, I have had my moments of doubt and desponding, but they are all past now. I come to claim my kingdom, and to place a crown upon the brow of my lovely bride. Ah, I must present you to her-my gentle Lady Anne. I wot she will not be far off She will be seeking for me, as is her fashion if we are long apart. She must thank you herself for all that you have done and suffered for me. You will feel yourself a thousandfold repaid when you have heard her sweet words of recognition."

And in effect, as they turned once more toward the Abbey, Paul saw approaching them the slight and graceful figure of a young girl, in the first blush of maiden bloom and beauty, her face ethereally lovely, yet tinged, as it seemed, with some haunting melancholy, which gave a strange pathos to its rare beauty, and seemed almost to speak of the doom of sorrow and loss already hanging over her, little as she knew it then.

The solemn troth plight which had passed between her and young Edward was almost equivalent to the marriage vow that would shortly bind them indissolubly together, and their love for each other was already that of man and wife. As the gentle lady listened to the eager tale poured out by Paul, she stretched out her hand to him, and when he would have bent the knee she raised him up with sweet smiles, and told him how her dear lord had always praised him as a very brother, and the type of all that was faithful and true in comrade. Such words from such lips brought the boyish blush to Paul's cheeks, and he stumbled bashfully over his undying protestations of loyalty.

Then, as they reached the refectory, which had been allotted by the monks to their noble guests, he stopped short and fell upon his knees; for in a tall and stately figure advancing to meet them he recognized the great queen he had not seen since he was a child, and scarce dared to raise his eyes to note the ravages that sorrow and care had made upon that princely visage, or the silver whiteness of the locks, covered for the most part by the tall, peaked headdress of the day.

The queen recognized Paul at once from the strange likeness to her own son, and her welcome was kindly given. But she was anxious and preoccupied, having but risen from the perusal of the despatches Paul had brought; and although her natural courage and hopefulness would not permit her to despond, she could not but admit that danger menaced the cause of the Red Rose, whilst she realized, as her young son could not do at his age, how utterly disastrous would be a single victory of the enemy at such a juncture.

The fortunes of the rival houses were trembling in the balance. The first decisive, advantage to either would give a prestige and fillip to that cause which might be absolutely fatal to the hopes of the other. If it were true that some battle were being fought or about to be fought that very day, such a battle might be either the death blow to all their hopes or the earnest of a final triumph nigh at hand.

It was a strange Easter Day for the party at the Abbey. The mass was quickly followed by the arrival of loyal adherents from the surrounding country, who had heard of the landing of the long-expected party from France, and flocked eagerly to pay their homage to the queen and the prince, and look upon the fair face of the Lady Anne, whose position as Warwick's daughter and Edward's bride alike made her an object of the greatest interest and a person of importance. Paul was deeply enamoured of the gentle and lovely lady, and received many marks of favour from her hands. He was given a post about the young prince, and kept close at his side the whole day.

It was inspiriting indeed to hear the loyal protestations of the friends who kept flocking all day to join their standard, and there was no riding forth to London for prince or attendant so long as the light lasted.

"But tomorrow morn we will sally forth ere it well be day," said Edward, in low tones, as they parted for the night. "My heart tells me that something of note has occurred this very day. We will be the first to bring the news to my mother. Be ready with a couple of horses and some few men-at-arms ere the sun be well risen over yon ridge, and we will forth to meet the messengers of victory, and bring them back with us to tell their welcome news."

Paul had forgotten his vague fears in the gladness of the present, and scarce closed his eyes that night, thinking of the coming triumph for the prince he loyally loved. He was up and in the saddle with the first glimmering light of day, and by the time that the rosy glow of dawn was transforming the fair world of nature and clothing it with an indescribable radiance of gossamer beauty, he and the prince were already a mile from the Abbey, galloping along in the fresh morning air with a glad exultation of spirit that seemed in itself like a herald of coming triumph.

"The very heavens have put on the livery of the Red Rose!" cried Edward gaily, as he pointed to the vivid red of the east; and Paul smiled, and tried to banish from his mind the old adage learned at his nurse's knee, to the effect that a red morn was the herald of a dark and dreary day.

They had ridden a matter of some five miles forth in the direction of the great road to London-as it was then considered, though we should scarce call the rude tracks of those days roads-when the quick eye of Paul caught sight of a little moving cloud of dust, and he drew rein to shade his eyes with his hand.

Edward followed his example, and together they stood gazing, their hearts beating with sympathetic excitement. How much might the next few moments contain for them of triumph or of despair! for from the haste with which these horsemen rode, it was plain they were the bearers of tidings, and if of tidings, most likely those of some battle, in which the King Maker and the king he had first made and then driven away would stand for the first time in hostile ranks. Together they had been victorious; what would be the result when they met as foes?

Nearer and nearer came the riders, looming through the uncertain morning mist, and emerging thence two jaded, weary figures, their horses flecked with foam, nostrils wide, chests heaving, showing every sign of distress; and Paul, recognizing in one of the riders a follower of the Earl of Warwick, called upon him by name, and bid him speak his tidings.

"Lost-lost-all lost!" cried the man, addressing himself to Paul, unconscious of the identity of his companion; "the battle is fought and lost. The armies met on Barnet Heath. The Earl of Warwick, the great earl, was there slain. His Majesty King Henry is again a prisoner in the hands of Edward of York. Today he makes his triumphant entry into London, which will open its gates to him with joy and receive him as king."

Paul sat rigid and motionless as he heard these words. He did not dare to look at young Edward, who sat beside him as if turned to stone. The second messenger, who had had a moment to draw breath whilst his fellow had been speaking, now broke in with his share of the terrible news. He had seen the prodigies of valour performed by the mighty earl. He had witnessed the death of that warrior-such a death as was fitting for one of his warlike race. The testimony of eyewitnesses could not be doubted. The fatal day had again been hostile to the cause of the Red Rose, and the mournful cry of those who had seen and shared in the fight, as they fled pellmell from the field, had been, "Lost-all lost! the House of Lancaster is utterly overthrown!"

Mournfully the little procession turned itself and rode back to the Abbey. Edward had not spoken one word all this time, and the messengers, who had now learned who he was, fell to the rear, and observed an awed silence. But their tale had been told. They had said enough. The worst was made known, and not even Paul dared venture a word of consolation, or seek to know what was passing in the mind of the prince, whose fair inheritance seemed thus to be slipping away.

Excitement, uncertainty, and suspense seemed in the very air, and even before the silent little troop reached the courtyard of the Abbey eager forms were seen hurrying out, and the tall and stately figure of the royal Margaret stood outlined in the doorway. Perhaps something in the very silence and confused looks of the little group told a tale of disaster, for the queen came hurrying down the steps with whitening face, and her son sprang from his saddle and put his arm about her, as if to support her in the shock which could not but fall upon her now.

"Tell me all," she whispered hoarsely. "Do not keep me in suspense. Speak, I command you, my son."

"A battle has been fought-and lost," answered Edward, speaking mechanically. "Our ally and friend the Earl of Warwick was killed in desperate fight. My father is a prisoner in the enemy's hands. Edward of York is even now making his triumphant entry into London, which will receive him with open arms."

Edward said no more; he had indeed told all his tale, and it had been enough for the unhappy woman, who had landed on English soil so confident of victory. She gave one short, low cry, a convulsive shudder passed through her limbs, and she fell senseless to the ground. That cry found its echo upon the pale lips of another-one who had closely followed the queen to learn the tidings of the travellers; and Edward turned to catch his bride in his arms, whilst her tears rained down fast as she heard how her noble father lay dead upon the fatal field that had lost her lord his crown, and had dashed to the ground the warmest hopes of the Red Rose.

"Let us to ship again," said Margaret, as she recovered from her long swoon. "The cause is lost without hope. Warwick is slain. Whom have we now to trust to? Let us back to France, and hide our dishonoured heads there. My father's court will receive us yet, and perchance we may in time learn to forget that we were ever princes and sovereigns."

Strange words, indeed, from the haughty and warlike Margaret; but at that moment her proud spirit seemed crushed and broken, and it was young Edward who answered her with words of hope and courage.

"Nay, mother," he said, "let it not be said of the House of Plantagenet that they turned their backs upon the foe, and fled disgracefully, leaving their followers to butchery and ruin. It might have been well for us never to have disturbed again the peace of this realm; but having summoned to our banner the loyal adherents of the Red Rose, it is not for us to fly to safety, and leave them to the wrath and cruelty of Edward. No; one battle-one defeat-does not lose us our cause. My father lives; shall we leave him to linger out his days in hopeless captivity? I live; have I not the right to strike a blow for the crown to which I was born?

"Courage, sweet mother. You are a king's daughter. You have led men to victory before. Say not-think not-that all is lost. Let us win the crown of England by the power of the name and of the righteous cause we own, and henceforth shall no man say that a subject crowns and dethrones England's monarch at his will."

These words, seconded and echoed by those of many a gallant knight and noble, raised Margaret's broken spirit, and she began once more to hope. That day they journeyed by rapid stages to Beaulieu Abbey, a very famous sanctuary in those days, the ruins of which may still be seen in the New Forest; and there the party found the widowed Countess of Warwick, who had landed at Portsmouth before the royal party had reached Weymouth, and had just heard of her terrible loss. To have her daughter with her once again, and to mingle their tears together, was some consolation, both for the countess and the Lady Anne; but others had sterner work before them than weeping over past misfortunes, and as soon as the retreat of the royal Lancastrian became generally known, many stanch adherents flocked to tender their allegiance and promise fealty to the cause.

Foremost amongst these was the young Duke of Somerset, whose family had ever been stanch to the Red Rose, as well it might. Some of the unpopularity Margaret of Anjou had early won for herself at the English court was due to her confidence in and affection for Somerset, and his son might well be ardent in her cause.

Margaret herself was still sunk in unwonted depression, but the representations of the fiery young duke did much to give her heart. With him came Jasper Tudor, the king's half brother, and they drew glowing pictures of the loyalty of the western counties; and of Wales, where a large band of troops was mustering for her support; and represented that if she could but effect a junction with them, the whole country would soon be hers, and she would be able to dictate terms to the enemy at the gates of London.

Margaret's elastic temper rose with the encouragement thus received, and Edward's heart beat high with hope. The party began their westward march, and through the bright days of April and May they rode through the smiling land, receiving welcome and adulation from all, and reinforcements to their little band from every town through which they passed. Small wonder was it that they learned to feel confident of ultimate success. The young prince, with Paul at his side, would ride through the ranks of his followers day by day, speaking bright, brave words to all he passed, and winning the hearts of his troops as perhaps only the young and frank-hearted and unspoiled can do. To him it seemed almost more like a triumphal progress than a recruiting march.

But Margaret's brow was often dark with anxiety. She knew the temper of the bold Edward of York, as she called him, whom the world still spoke of as king; and she knew that he would be upon their track. Any day they might see his banners threatening their rear, and still the Welsh army was at some distance; and until a junction could be effected, even their lives could scarce be called safe.

Then at Gloucester a serious check met them. The place was held for the king's brother, and the gates were resolutely closed against her. It was here that she had reckoned upon crossing the deep and treacherous waters of the Severn, and to be thus foiled might mean the ruin of the enterprise. The sheltering mountains of Wales were already in sight; but how was she to reach them if the passage of the river were denied her?

Paul had gone forth alone that day, and had not been present when the queen had ridden herself to the fortified gates to demand an entrance, which had been firmly and respectfully declined her. But he had learned tidings which disquieted him not a little, and it was at full gallop that he dashed back into the ranks, and sought the prince himself, who was looking with darkening brow upon the frowning battlements of the unfriendly city.

"My liege, it brooks not this delay," he cried, reining up beside Edward, and speaking in rapid whispers. "The army of York is scarce a score of miles away, and in hot pursuit after us. They have had certain news of our movements, and unless we can push on across the river and meet our friends there, we shall be taken in the rear, and at sore disadvantage. It behoves us to strain every nerve to reach our friends before our foes are upon us."

"I doubt not that," answered Edward calmly, yet with a look which Paul did not understand; "but the wide river runs before us, and the bridge is barred to us. Unless we reduce first this noble city, we must turn and face the foe and fight him at sore odds."

A look of dismay crossed Paul's face as he heard this piece of news, and he silently followed the prince at his bidding to the spot where the leading nobles and generals were gathered together in warm debate. The news that Edward was just upon them ran like wildfire through the ranks, and all the most experienced leaders, including the royal Margaret herself, were of opinion that it would be better not to run the risk of a battle, but retire rapidly and stealthily from their present position, and not encounter the onset of Edward's veteran troops, flushed with victory and thirsting for blood, until their hardy mountain allies had contrived to join them.

But there is something revolting to young and ardent spirits in the thought of flight, and the Duke of Somerset was eager for the fray. He argued that an easy victory must be theirs if they did but act boldly and hastened to the attack. To fly were fatal; their troops would become disheartened and melt away. Their foes would openly triumph, and all men would be drawn to them. Edward's soldiers, weary with long marching, would be taken by surprise. It were a thousand times better to risk the fight than to play the coward at so critical a juncture.

And these impetuous words carried the younger spirits along with them. The prince drew his sword, and riding through the ranks, asked if the soldiers would choose to fight or fly. There could scarce be more than one reply to such an appeal so made. They drew their swords and vowed to live or die with him, and the enthusiasm of the moment was such that all were carried away; and orders were instantly given for a march upon Tewkesbury, where it was thought a spot might be found which would give them advantages for the coming struggle.

The troops had had a long march earlier in the day, but they traversed the ten miles which lay between them and Tewkesbury with cheerful alacrity. Paul and the prince rode side by side in the van of the advancing host, and Edward looked straight before him with glowing eyes, as if he felt that a crisis of his fate were at hand.

"At last, my good Paul, we are riding forth to try conclusions with the world, as we have purposed so long to do," he said, with a strange, flashing smile. "In faith I am glad that the hour of action is come. Ere another sun is set some blow shall have been struck which shall set the crown of England upon some one head more firmly than ever it has been set before. God grant the cause of right may triumph! But whichever way the conflict goes, I pray that this distracted land may find peace and rest, and that I may be either a victor in the strife, or may find a soldier's grave. Paul, will you give me your promise, trusty comrade, that ere I fall alive into the hand of the foe, you will bury your knightly sword in my heart yourself? It were the part of a true brother to save me from the fate of my patient father. He has borne dethronement and captivity; but methinks I should pine and die, and I would far rather-"

He gave Paul an expressive glance; but the young knight answered gravely and steadfastly:

"My liege, ask me not that beyond my power to grant. We may not without sin raise our hands against the Lord's anointed, and I may not do the thing you ask. Death or captivity I will gladly share with you, or spend every drop of my blood to save you; but more than this no loyal knight may promise. Forgive me, my liege, if I offend in this."