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

by Emily Sarah Holt

Perceiving that his chief adversaries had escaped him, Edward stopped pursuit of their troops, and went on to York. He and his men had probably had thirsty work, for we learn that "York was drunk dry when the King was there."[#] He was wise enough to send to Middleham for Lord Montague. When that trustworthy gentleman appeared, it was to be created Marquis Montague, the earldom of Northumberland being now taken from him and restored to its rightful owner. It might have been supposed that an earl would scarcely deem it a deplorable occurrence that he should be made a marquis: but my gracious Lord of Montague was evidently in an exceedingly bad temper. He growled and grumbled as if he were a deeply injured man,—managing, however, to keep up a contented face in the presence of his master, who appears to have fancied that he had secured Montague's fidelity. Never were there more men than at that time who were able to "smile, and smile, and be a villain": and all the Warwick brothers were certainly of the number.

[#] Paston Letters.

From York was issued a long and curious proclamation, in which Edward showed that he had at last fully realised that Warwick and Clarence were his open enemies. If the words of Edward were to be relied on to the exclusion of his deeds, it would certainly be supposed that he was a man of the tenderest and most affectionate nature. In this respect he somewhat resembled his predecessor, Henry III. Both could use very touching language—which the actions of both sorely contradicted. In this document the tone taken by Edward is that of a well-deserving man who had been injured in his deepest affections. He sets forth that "the King granted to George Duke of Clarence and Richard Earl of Warwick his pardon general for all offences before Christmas last," trusting thereby to have caused them to have "shewed unto him their naturall loue, ligeance, and duetee," for which purpose he had authorised them to assemble his subjects in certain shires. "Yet the said Duke and Earl, unnaturally, unkindly, and truly intending his destruction and the subversion of the kingdom, ... and to make the said Duke king of this the said realm, against God's law, man's law, all reason, and conscience, dissimuled with his said Highness." Their proceedings are then detailed, as deposed in the confessions of Sir Robert Welles and others, concluding with their flight "with all their fellaship into Lancastreshire, so as his said Highness with his hoste for lack of vitayll might not follow." Notwithstanding all these offences, "our sovereign Lord considered the nighness of blood,[#] and tender love which he hath aforetime borne to them, and was therefore loth to have lost them if they would have submitted them to his grace." Having disobeyed the writs which allowed them to present themselves, under promise of pardon, up to the 28th of March, the Duke and Earl are now solemnly proclaimed rebels, to whom loyal subjects of King Edward are to give no aid, favour, nor assistance, with meat, drink, money, or otherwise, but are to take them and bring them to the King, upon pain of death and forfeiture. The reward announced for the capture of either is £100 in land by the year, to the captor and his heirs, or £1000 in ready money, at his election. The capture of any knight of their following is to be rewarded by £20 in land or a hundred marks in cash; and of a squire, £10 in land or forty in money.[#]

[#] The Countess of Warwick was Edward's second cousin, and the Earl his third cousin.

[#] Close Roll, 10 Edw. IV.; dated York, March 24, 1470.

The day after this proclamation, Montague received his marquis's coronet, and was, in appearance at least, one of the most faithful subjects of King Edward. The news he brought on his return to Middleham caused no little excitement there. The Countess ordered instant preparations for departure. Some of the household were left behind at Middleham: some were suffered to return to their friends, among whom were Theobalda and Eleanor. The only ladies she took with her, beside her daughters, were Mother Bonham, Frideswide, and Avice. There was also a dresser, or lady's maid, and a scullion-girl.

About midnight, when the ladies were trying to get a little sleep before their early journey on the morrow, the porter was awoke by small pebbles thrown up at his window.

"Who goes there?" he inquired, opening the casement about an inch.

"It is I, John Wright," answered the familiar voice of the young squire. "Pray thee, good Thomas, be hasteful and let me in privily, with all silence, for I bring word from my Lord unto my Lady."

The porter cautiously unbarred the small wicket, and Wright stepped inside. He did not wait to satisfy the porter's curiosity, but sped across the court-yard, and by means of a key which he carried, let himself into the tower which contained the apartments of the Countess. A minute later, he was softly rapping at the outer door of her rooms, and Mother Bonham admitted him.