CHAPTER VI. THE SUBTLE CRAFT OF RICHARD OF GLOUCESTER.
It was some weeks after the defeat of Sir Geoffrey Gates, and Edward was at Shene, with his gay court. Reclined at length within a pavilion placed before a cool fountain, in the royal gardens, and surrounded by his favourites, the king listened indolently to the music of his minstrels, and sleeked the plumage of his favourite falcon, perched upon his wrist. And scarcely would it have been possible to recognize in that lazy voluptuary the dauntless soldier, before whose lance, as deer before the hound, had so lately fled, at bloody Erpingham, the chivalry of the Lancastrian Rose; but remote from the pavilion, and in one of the deserted bowling alleys, Prince Richard and Lord Montagu walked apart, in earnest conversation. The last of these noble personages had remained inactive during these disturbances, and Edward had not seemed to entertain any suspicion of his participation in the anger and revenge of Warwick. The king took from him, it is true, the lands and earldom of Northumberland, and restored them to the Percy, but he had accompanied this act with gracious excuses, alleging the necessity of conciliating the head of an illustrious House, which had formally entered into allegiance to the dynasty of York, and bestowed upon his early favourite, in compensation, the dignity of marquis. [Montagu said bitterly of this new dignity, “He takes from me the Earldom and domains of Northumberland, and makes me a Marquis, with a pie’s nest to maintain it withal.”—STOWE: Edward IV.—Warkworth Chronicle.] The politic king, in thus depriving Montagu of the wealth and the retainers of the Percy, reduced him, as a younger brother, to a comparative poverty and insignificance, which left him dependent on Edward’s favour, and deprived him, as he thought, of the power of active mischief; at the same time more than ever he insisted on Montagu’s society, and summoning his attendance at the court, kept his movements in watchful surveillance.
“Nay, my lord,” said Richard, pursuing with much unction the conversation he had commenced, “you wrong me much, Holy Paul be my witness, if you doubt the deep sorrow I feel at the unhappy events which have led to the severance of my kinsmen! England seems to me to have lost its smile in losing the glory of Earl Warwick’s presence, and Clarence is my brother, and was my friend; and thou knowest, Montagu, thou knowest, how dear to my heart was the hope to win for my wife and lady the gentle Anne.”
“Prince,” said Montagu, abruptly, “though the pride of Warwick and the honour of our House may have forbidden the public revelation of the cause which fired my brother to rebellion, thou, at least, art privy to a secret—”
“Cease!” exclaimed Richard, in great emotion, probably sincere, for his face grew livid, and its muscles were nervously convulsed. “I would not have that remembrance stirred from its dark repose. I would fain forget a brother’s hasty frenzy, in the belief of his lasting penitence.” He paused and turned his face, gasped for breath, and resumed: “The cause justified the father; it had justified me in the father’s cause, had Warwick listened to my suit, and given me the right to deem insult to his daughter injury to myself.”
“And if, my prince,” returned Montagu, looking round him, and in a subdued whisper, “if yet the hand of Lady Anne were pledged to you?”
“Tempt me not, tempt me not!” cried the prince, crossing himself. Montagu continued,—
“Our cause, I mean Lord Warwick’s cause, is not lost, as the king deems it.”
“Proceed,” said Richard, casting down his eyes, while his countenance settled back into its thoughtful calm.