CHAPTER II.
KING EDWARD THE FOURTH.
The Tower of London, more consecrated to associations of gloom and
blood than those of gayety and splendour, was, nevertheless, during
the reign of Edward IV., the seat of a gallant and gorgeous court.
That king, from the first to the last so dear to the people of London,
made it his principal residence when in his metropolis; and its
ancient halls and towers were then the scene of many a brawl and
galliard. As Warwick's barge now approached its huge walls, rising
from the river, there was much that might either animate or awe,
according to the mood of the spectator. The king's barge, with many
lesser craft reserved for the use of the courtiers, gay with awnings
and streamers and painting and gilding, lay below the wharfs, not far
from the gate of St. Thomas, now called the Traitor's Gate. On the
walk raised above the battlemented wall of the inner ward, not only
paced the sentries, but there dames and knights were inhaling the
noonday breezes, and the gleam of their rich dresses of cloth-of-gold
glanced upon the eye at frequent intervals from tower to tower. Over
the vast round turret, behind the Traitor's Gate, now called "The
Bloody Tower," floated cheerily in the light wind the royal banner.
Near the Lion's Tower, two or three of the keepers of the menagerie,
in the king's livery, were leading forth, by a strong chain, the huge
white bear that made one of the boasts of the collection, and was an
especial favourite with the king and his brother Richard. The
sheriffs of London were bound to find this grisly minion his chain and
his cord, when he deigned to amuse himself with bathing or "fishing"
in the river; and several boats, filled with gape-mouthed passengers,
lay near the wharf, to witness the diversions of Bruin. These folks
set up a loud shout of--"A Warwick! a Warwick!" "The stout earl, and
God bless him!" as the gorgeous barge shot towards the fortress. The
earl acknowledged their greeting by vailing his plumed cap; and
passing the keepers with a merry allusion to their care of his own
badge, and a friendly compliment to the grunting bear, he stepped
ashore, followed by his kinsman. Now, however, he paused a moment;
and a more thoughtful shade passed over his countenance, as, glancing
his eye carelessly aloft towards the standard of King Edward, he
caught sight of the casement in the neighbouring tower, of the very
room in which the sovereign of his youth, Henry the Sixth, was a
prisoner, almost within hearing of the revels of his successor; then,
with a quick stride, he hurried on through the vast court, and,
passing the White Tower, gained the royal lodge. Here, in the great
hall, he left his companion, amidst a group of squires and gentlemen,
to whom he formally presented the Nevile as his friend and kinsman,
and was ushered by the deputy-chamberlain (with an apology for the
absence of his chief, the Lord Hastings, who had gone abroad to fly
his falcon) into the small garden, where Edward was idling away the
interval between the noon and evening meals,--repasts to which already
the young king inclined with that intemperate zest and ardour which he
carried into all his pleasures, and which finally destroyed the
handsomest person and embruted one of the most vigorous intellects of
the age.
The garden, if bare of flowers, supplied their place by the various
and brilliant-coloured garbs of the living beauties assembled on its
straight walks and smooth sward. Under one of those graceful
cloisters, which were the taste of the day, and had been recently
built and gayly decorated, the earl was stopped in his path by a group
of ladies playing at closheys (ninepins) of ivory; [Narrative of Louis
of Bruges, Lord Grauthuse. Edited by Sir F. Madden, "Archaelogia,"
1836.] and one of these fair dames, who excelled the rest in her
skill, had just bowled down the central or crowned pin,--the king of
the closheys. This lady, no less a person than Elizabeth, the Queen
of England, was then in her thirty-sixth year,--ten years older than
her lord; but the peculiar fairness and delicacy of her complexion
still preserved to her beauty the aspect and bloom of youth. From a
lofty headgear, embroidered with fleur-de-lis, round which wreathed a
light diadem of pearls, her hair, of the pale yellow considered then
the perfection of beauty, flowed so straight and so shining down her
shoulders, almost to the knees, that it seemed like a mantle of gold.
The baudekin stripes (blue and gold) of her tunic attested her
royalty. The blue courtpie of satin was bordered with ermine, and the
sleeves, sitting close to an arm of exquisite contour, shone with seed
pearls. Her features were straight and regular, yet would have been
insipid, but for an expression rather of cunning than intellect; and
the high arch of her eyebrows, with a slight curve downward of a mouth
otherwise beautiful, did not improve the expression, by an addition of
something supercilious and contemptuous, rather than haughty or
majestic.
"My lord of Warwick," said Elizabeth, pointing to the fallen closhey,
"what would my enemies say if they heard I had toppled down the king?"
"They would content themselves with asking which of your Grace's
brothers you would place in his stead," answered the hardy earl,
unable to restrain the sarcasm.
The queen blushed, and glanced round her ladies with an eye which
never looked direct or straight upon its object, but wandered sidelong
with a furtive and stealthy expression, that did much to obtain for
her the popular character of falseness and self-seeking. Her
displeasure was yet more increased by observing the ill-concealed
smile which the taunt had called forth.
"Nay, my lord," she said, after a short pause, "we value the peace of
our roiaulme too much for so high an ambition. Were we to make a
brother even the prince of the closheys, we should disappoint the
hopes of a Nevile."
The earl disdained pursuing the war of words, and answering coldly,
"The Neviles are more famous for making ingrates than asking favours.
I leave your Highness to the closheys"--turned away, and strode
towards the king, who, at the opposite end of the garden, was
reclining on a bench beside a lady, in whose ear, to judge by her
downcast and blushing cheek, he was breathing no unwelcome whispers.
"Mort-Dieu!" muttered the earl, who was singularly exempt, himself,
from the amorous follies of the day, and eyed them with so much
contempt that it often obscured his natural downright penetration into
character, and never more than when it led him afterwards to underrate
the talents of Edward IV.,--"Mort-Dieu! if, an hour before the battle
of Towton, some wizard had shown me in his glass this glimpse of the
gardens of the Tower, that giglet for a queen, and that squire of
dames for a king, I had not slain my black destrier (poor Malech!),
that I might conquer or die for Edward Earl of March."
"But see!" said the lady, looking up from the enamoured and conquering
eyes of the king, "art thou not ashamed, my lord?--the grim earl comes
to chide thee for thy faithlessness to thy queen, whom he loves so
well."
"Pasque-Dieu! as my cousin Louis of France says or swears," answered
the king, with an evident petulance in his altered voice, "I would
that Warwick could be only worn with one's armour! I would as lief
try to kiss through my vizor as hear him talk of glory and Towton, and
King John and poor Edward II., because I am not always in mail. Go!
leave us, sweet bonnibel! we must brave the bear alone!" The lady
inclined her head, drew her hood round her face, and striking into the
contrary path from that in which Warwick was slowly striding, gained
the group round the queen, whose apparent freedom from jealousy, the
consequence of cold affections and prudent calculation, made one
principal cause of the empire she held over the powerful mind, but the
indolent temper, of the gay and facile Edward.
The king rose as Warwick now approached him; and the appearance of
these two eminent persons was in singular contrast. Warwick, though
richly and even gorgeously attired,--nay, with all the care which in
that age was considered the imperative duty a man of station and birth
owed to himself,--held in lofty disdain whatever vagary of custom
tended to cripple the movements or womanize the man. No loose flowing
robes, no shoon half a yard long, no flaunting tawdriness of fringe
and aiglet, characterized the appearance of the baron, who, even in
peace, gave his address a half-martial fashion.
But Edward, who, in common with all the princes of the House of York,
carried dress to a passion, had not only reintroduced many of the most
effeminate modes in vogue under William the Red King, but added to
them whatever could tend to impart an almost oriental character to the
old Norman garb. His gown (a womanly garment which had greatly
superseded, with men of the highest rank, not only the mantle but the
surcoat) flowed to his heels, trimmed with ermine, and broidered with
large flowers of crimson wrought upon cloth-of-gold. Over this he
wore a tippet of ermine, and a collar or necklace of uncut jewels set
in filigree gold; the nether limbs were, it is true, clad in the more
manly fashion of tight-fitting hosen, but the folds of the gown, as
the day was somewhat fresh, were drawn around so as to conceal the
only part of the dress which really betokened the male sex. To add to
this unwarlike attire, Edward's locks of a rich golden colour, and
perfuming the whole air with odours, flowed not in curls, but straight
to his shoulders, and the cheek of the fairest lady in his court might
have seemed less fair beside the dazzling clearness of a complexion at
once radiant with health and delicate with youth. Yet, in spite of
all this effeminacy, the appearance of Edward IV. was not effeminate.
From this it was preserved, not only by a stature little less
commanding than that of Warwick himself, and of great strength and
breadth of shoulder, but also by features, beautiful indeed, but pre-
eminently masculine,--large and bold in their outline, and evincing by
their expression all the gallantry and daring characteristic of the
hottest soldier, next to Warwick, and without any exception the ablest
captain, of the age.
"And welcome,--a merry welcome, dear Warwick, and cousin mine," said
Edward, as Warwick slightly bent his proud knee to his king; "your
brother, Lord Montagu, has but left us. Would that our court had the
same, joyaunce for you as for him."
"Dear and honoured my liege," answered Warwick, his brow smoothing at
once,--for his affectionate though hasty and irritable nature was
rarely proof against the kind voice and winning smile of his young
sovereign,--"could I ever serve you at the court as I can with the
people, you would not complain that John of Montagu was a better
courtier than Richard of Warwick. But each to his calling. I depart
to-morrow for Calais, and thence to King Louis. And, surely, never
envoy or delegate had better chance to be welcome than one empowered
to treat of an alliance that will bestow on a prince deserving, I
trust, his fortunes, the sister of the bravest sovereign in Christian
Europe."
"Now, out on thy flattery, my cousin; though I must needs own I
provoked it by my complaint of thy courtiership. But thou hast
learned only half thy business, good Warwick; and it is well Margaret
did not hear thee. Is not the prince of France more to be envied for
winning a fair lady than having a fortunate soldier for his brother-
in-law?"
"My liege," replied Warwick, smiling, "thou knowest I am a poor judge
of a lady's fair cheek, though indifferently well skilled as to the
valour of a warrior's stout arm. Algates, the Lady Margaret is indeed
worthy in her excellent beauties to become the mother of brave men."
"And that is all we can wring from thy stern lip, man of iron? Well,
that must content us. But to more serious matters." And the king,
leaning his hand on the earl's arm, and walking with him slowly to and
fro the terrace, continued: "Knowest thou not, Warwick, that this
French alliance, to which thou hast induced us, displeases sorely our
good traders of London?"
"Mort-Dieu!" returned Warwick, bluntly, "and what business have the
flat-caps with the marriage of a king's sister? Is it for them to
breathe garlic on the alliances of Bourbons and Plantagenets? Faugh!
You have spoiled them, good my lord king,--you have spoiled them by
your condescensions. Henry IV. staled not his majesty to
consultations with the mayor of his city. Henry V. gave the
knighthood of the hath to the heroes of Agincourt, not to the vendors
of cloth and spices."
"Ah, my poor knights of the Bath!" said Edward, good-humouredly, "wilt
thou never let that sore scar quietly over? Ownest thou not that the
men had their merits?"
"What the merits were, I weet not," answered the earl,--"unless,
peradventure, their wives were comely and young."
"Thou wrongest me, Warwick," said the king, carelessly; "Dame Cook was
awry, Dame Philips a grandmother, Dame Jocelyn had lost her front
teeth, and Dame Waer saw seven ways at once! But thou forgettest,
man, the occasion of those honours,--the eve before Elizabeth was
crowned,--and it was policy to make the city of London have a share in
her honours. As to the rest," pursued the king, earnestly and with
dignity, "I and my House have owed much to London. When the peers of
England, save thee and thy friends, stood aloof from my cause, London
was ever loyal and true. Thou seest not, my poor Warwick, that these
burgesses are growing up into power by the decline of the orders above
them. And if the sword is the monarch's appeal for his right, he must
look to contented and honoured industry for his buckler in peace.
This is policy,--policy, Warwick; and Louis XI. will tell thee the
same truths, harsh though they grate in a warrior's ear."
The earl bowed his haughty head, and answered shortly, but with a
touching grace, "Be it ever thine, noble king, to rule as it likes
thee, and mine to defend with my blood even what I approve not with my
brain! But if thou doubtest the wisdom of this alliance, it is not
too late yet. Let me dismiss my following, and cross not the seas.
Unless thy heart is with the marriage, the ties I would form are
threads and cobwebs."
"Nay," returned Edward, irresolutely: "in these great state matters
thy wit is elder than mine; but men do say the Count of Charolois is a
mighty lord; and the alliance with Burgundy will be more profitable to
staple and mart."
"Then, in God's name, so conclude it!" said the earl, hastily, but
with so dark a fire in his eyes that Edward, who was observing him,
changed countenance; "only ask me not, my liege, to advance such a
marriage. The Count of Charolois knows me as his foe--shame were mine
did I shun to say where I love, where I hate. That proud dullard once
slighted me when we met at his father's court, and the wish next to my
heart is to pay back my affront with my battle-axe. Give thy sister
to the heir of Burgundy, and forgive me if I depart to my castle of
Middleham."
Edward, stung by the sharpness of this reply, was about to answer as
became his majesty of king, when Warwick more deliberately resumed:
"Yet think well; Henry of Windsor is thy prisoner, but his cause lives
in Margaret and his son. There is but one power in Europe that can
threaten thee with aid to the Lancastrians; that power is France.
Make Louis thy friend and ally, and thou givest peace to thy life and
thy lineage; make Louis thy foe, and count on plots and stratagems and
treason, uneasy days and sleepless nights. Already thou hast lost one
occasion to secure that wiliest and most restless of princes, in
rejecting the hand of the Princess Bona. Happily, this loss now can
be retrieved. But alliance with Burgundy is war with France,--war
more deadly because Louis is a man who declares it not; a war carried
on by intrigue and bribe, by spies and minions, till some disaffection
ripens the hour when young Edward of Lancaster shall land on thy
coasts, with the Oriflamme and the Red Rose, with French soldiers and
English malcontents. Wouldst thou look to Burgundy for help?--
Burgundy will have enough to guard its own frontiers from the gripe of
Louis the Sleepless. Edward, my king, my pupil in arms, Edward, my
loved, my honoured liege, forgive Richard Nevile his bluntness, and
let not his faults stand in bar of his counsels."
"You are right, as you are ever, safeguard of England, and pillar of
my state," said the king, frankly, and pressing the arm he still held.
"Go to France and settle all as thou wilt."
Warwick bent low and kissed the hand of his sovereign. "And," said
he, with a slight, but a sad smile, "when I am gone, my liege will not
repent, will not misthink me, will not listen to my foes, nor suffer
merchant and mayor to sigh him back to the mechanics of Flanders?"
"Warwick, thou deemest ill of thy king's kingliness."
"Not of thy kingliness; but that same gracious quality of yielding to
counsel which bows this proud nature to submission often makes me fear
for thy firmness, when thy will is, won through thy heart. And now,
good my liege, forgive me one sentence more. Heaven forefend that I
should stand in the way of thy princely favours. A king's countenance
is a sun that should shine on all. But bethink thee well, the barons
of England are a stubborn and haughty race; chafe not thy most
puissant peers by too cold a neglect of their past services, and too
lavish a largess to new men."
"Thou aimest at Elizabeth's kin," interrupted Edward, withdrawing his
hand from his minister's arm, "and I tell thee once for all times,
that I would rather sink again to mine earldom of March, with a
subject's right to honour where he loves, than wear crown and wield
sceptre without a king's unquestioned prerogative to ennoble the line
and blood of one he has deemed worthy of his throne. As for the
barons, with whose wrath thou threatenest me, I banish them not. If
they go in gloom from my court, why, let them chafe themselves sleek
again."
"King Edward," said Warwick, moodily, "tried services merit not this
contempt. It is not as the kith of the queen that I regret to see
lands and honours lavished upon men rooted so newly to the soil that
the first blast of the war-trump will scatter their greenness to the
winds; but what sorrows me is to mark those who have fought against
thee preferred to the stout loyalty that braved block and field for
thy cause. Look round thy court; where are the men of bloody York and
victorious Towton?--unrequited, sullen in their strongholds, begirt
with their yeomen and retainers. Thou standest--thou, the heir of
York--almost alone (save where the Neviles--whom one day thy court
will seek also to disgrace and discard--vex their old comrades in arms
by their defection)--thou standest almost alone among the favourites
and minions of Lancaster. Is there no danger in proving to men that
to have served thee is discredit, to have warred against thee is
guerdon and grace?"
"Enough of this, cousin," replied the king, with an effort which
preserved his firmness. "On this head we cannot agree. Take what
else thou wilt of royalty,--make treaties and contract marriages,
establish peace or proclaim war; but trench not on my sweetest
prerogative to give and to forgive. And now, wilt thou tarry and sup
with us? The ladies grow impatient of a commune that detains from
their eyes the stateliest knight since the Round Table was chopped
into fire-wood."
"No, my liege," said Warwick, whom flattery of this sort rather
angered than soothed, "I have much yet to prepare. I leave your
Highness to fairer homage and more witching counsels than mine." So
saying, he kissed the king's hand, and was retiring, when be
remembered his kinsman, whose humble interests in the midst of more
exciting topics he had hitherto forgotten, and added, "May I crave,
since you are so merciful to the Lancastrians, one grace for my
namesake,--a Nevile whose father repented the side he espoused, a son
of Sir Guy of Arsdale?"
"Ah," said the king, smiling maliciously, "it pleaseth us much to find
that it is easier to the warm heart of our cousin Warwick to preach
sententiaries of sternness to his king than to enforce the same by his
own practice!"
"You misthink me, sire. I ask not that Marmaduke Nevile should
supplant his superiors and elders; I ask not that he should be made
baron and peer; I ask only that, as a young gentleman who hath taken
no part himself in the wars, and whose father repented his error, your
Grace should strengthen your following by an ancient name and a
faithful servant. But I should have remembered me that his name of
Nevile would have procured him a taunt in the place of advancement."
"Saw man ever so froward a temper?" cried Edward, not without reason.
"Why, Warwick, thou art as shrewish to a jest as a woman to advice.
Thy kinsman's fortunes shall be my care. Thou sayest thou hast
enemies,--I weet not who they be. But to show what I think of them, I
make thy namesake and client a gentleman of my chamber. When Warwick
is false to Edward, let him think that Warwick's kinsman wears a
dagger within reach of the king's heart day and night."
This speech was made with so noble and touching a kindness of voice
and manner, that the earl, thoroughly subdued, looked at his sovereign
with moistened eyes, and only trusting himself to say,--"Edward, thou
art king, knight, gentleman, and soldier; and I verily trow that I
love thee best when my petulant zeal makes me anger thee most,"--
turned away with evident emotion, and passing the queen and her ladies
with a lowlier homage than that with which he had before greeted them,
left the garden. Edward's eye followed him musingly. The frank
expression of his face vanished, and with the deep breath of a man who
is throwing a weight from his heart, he muttered,--
"He loves me,--yes; but will suffer no one else to love me! This must
end some day. I am weary of the bondage." And sauntering towards the
ladies, he listened in silence, but not apparently in displeasure, to
his queen's sharp sayings on the imperious mood and irritable temper
of the iron-handed builder of his throne.
