Red and White: A Tale of the Wars of the Roses

by Emily Sarah Holt

Certainly, the black-letter hand was one requiring far more effort and pains than the modern running or Italian hand. The caligraphy of the Lady Bessy (afterwards Queen Elizabeth of York) which has descended to posterity, would lead to the melancholy conclusion that if she wrote as well as the best scriveners in London, the productions of inferior penmen must have been illegible indeed. It really is the case; for of all periods in English history (alas, excepting the present century!) the worst writing is found in that which runs from the close of the Wars of the Roses to the latter part of the reign of Elizabeth. A document dating from the reign of King John is like copper-plate in comparison with the atrocious scrawls of some writers of the Reformation period.

Before that year was ended, Pope Paul thought proper to confer upon Louis XI. of France the title of "Most Christian King." It was no sooner heard of than it was gleefully seized by Edward IV., under his character of soi-disant King of France. We may also conclude that Proud Cis snatched at it with considerable self-gratulation, since a charter of hers, dated in this very year, adds it to her titles. She styles herself "the excellent Princess, mother of the Most Christian Prince, our Lord and son, Edward, and lately wife of the most excellent Prince Richard, by right King of England and of France, and Lord of Ireland."[#] Further than this, even Cicely's ambition dared not to venture; yet it seems almost surprising that she did not step across the very little gulf which lay between all these high-sounding epithets and the one which would have involved them all—the coveted name of Queen.

[#] Close Roll, 9 Edw. IV.

During this year, another daughter was born to Edward and Elizabeth. They had three now—Elizabeth, Mary, and Cicely—but no son. The eldest daughter, however, was treated as Princess of Wales in her own right. She is always styled "the Lady Princess"—a title which, until the accession of the Stuarts, appertained alone to the Princess of Wales, whether she were daughter or daughter-in-law of the monarch. The King's daughters, apart from this, were simply addressed as "Lady." The Princess had her own separate household, and judging from the amount of money spent upon her, was rather better provided for than the Queen.

Another occurrence was taking place this year, of no moment to any but the parties immediately concerned, yet which might have had very considerable influence on the future history of England. William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, had a boy of thirteen as his ward, the nephew of Henry VI., whom at that time it was desirable for his own sake to keep as much in obscurity as possible. This was Henry Tudor, the young Earl of Richmond, whose mother was next heir to the Crown after the descendants of Henry IV. The Earl, who liked his young ward, lent a kindly ear to his pleading when a love-story came before him. He was not altogether sorry to find that he could provide for the eldest of his very numerous family by betrothing her to the young Earl. Very young they both were; but boys and girls came early to the front, and blossomed rapidly into men and women in the time of the rival Roses. So the Earl of Richmond was formally affianced to the Lady Maud Herbert, in anticipation of a marriage which was never to be. Would it have been better if it had been? Humanly speaking, the course of English history would assuredly have been different. For Maud Herbert was a woman of strong character, and did not faint in the weary march, as Elizabeth Lucy had done. But one thing is certain: that the change for the worse which came over the character of Henry of Richmond dates from the time of his parting from Maud Herbert. He went into exile; and she wedded the Earl of Northumberland, years before his triumphant return to wear the crown of England. Which of the two was to blame must be left an open question. Perhaps it was not either: for Maud's marriage was not improbably forced upon her, and Henry could not have returned to claim her without the most reckless risk of life. His marriage with "the Lady Princess" gave peace to England, but he died a lonely, unloved man, grown miserly and callous,—no longer the graceful and gallant Richmond of those early years when he and Maud had lived and loved at Pembroke Castle.

CHAPTER III.

FLIGHT.

"My barque is wafted to the strand

By breath Divine:

And on the helm there rests a hand

Other than mine."

—DEAN ALFORD.

The Lady Idonia sat writing at a small table in the hall of Lovell Tower. She was the best writer in the family—which does not by any means imply extraordinary fluency of diction or rapidity of penmanship. The letters grew slowly under her hand, and she frequently paused to look out of the window and think. What lay on the desk before her was the following unfinished letter.

"Jh'u.[#]