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

by Emily Sarah Holt

The next step on the part of Edward was to capture the two hapless ladies who had taken refuge in the little nunnery. Sir William Stanley—an old enemy of the Queen—was sent to do this; and he is said to have behaved as brutally as he well could, and in particular to have broken to the bereaved mother the news of her boy's death in the most inhuman manner. Driven almost to frenzy by the suddenness and anguish of the blow, Marguerite broke forth into passionate execrations upon Edward and all his posterity, which Stanley had the cruelty to repeat to the conqueror, when, on the 11th of May, he brought his prisoners to Coventry. The royal mourners were conveyed southwards together, captives in the victorious train of the Rose of Rouen.

One more attempt, however, was to be made in the Lancastrian cause, like the last expiring gleam of a candle ere it dies out. The Governors of Calais, Sir Walter Wretill and Sir Geoffrey Gates, despatched the brave, if somewhat rash, Thomas Fauconbridge "to raise Kent, and deliver King Henry from the Tower." It was only a dying flash, but it roused the Yorkists to instant action. Lord Rivers was sent down to Kent and Lord Bourchier to Essex by the Council; Lord Dudley, with a hundred soldiers, was put in charge of the Tower, where defensive works were cast up in haste in less than a week; Lord Hastings was despatched to supersede the Governor of Calais, and Lord Pembroke sent to South Wales "to capture rebels, and reduce the King's castles to his obedience." The citizens of London, that unknown and difficult quantity, were complimented by the gift of two tuns of red wine, "expended on them after the conflict at Mile-end against the rebels."[#] For the safe custody of Rochester Castle, a squire of the body was sent down, by name Thomas St. Leger, of whom we shall hear again.

[#] Issue Roll, Easter term, 11 Edw. IV. This Roll is one of the most interesting state papers ever penned.

The insurrection was quashed. But how many more might arise? It was no doubt extremely inconvenient to be perpetually in risk of another; and Henry VI. had still friends enough to make Edward's throne a very uneasy seat. So long as the Lancaster King lived, the York King would have a thorny time of it. There was only one way to end the difficulty: and there was one man who was ready to take it.

On the twenty-first of May, King Edward, accompanied by his brother of Gloucester, and carrying his captives in his victorious train, made his triumphal entry into the City of London. The Queen and Princess were lodged in the Tower. They were now under the same roof as King Henry. If any ray of hope ever entered Marguerite's heart after Tewkesbury, it must have been that night, at the thought of a possible meeting with the husband from whom she had been parted for six weary years. She may well have imagined that fate had done its worst, and no further sorrows could yet be in reserve for her. But the worst had only begun to come. Whether it were that night or a few days later,—within one week from her imprisonment in the Tower, Marguerite of Anjou was a widow.

When and how did Henry VI. die? The how has often been disputed: but the when has generally been considered less doubtful. The popular belief for centuries was that, weary of the continual risk and fear, Gloucester went to the Tower on that same night of his arrival in London, and with one stroke of his dagger ended the Wars of the Roses, and the sorrows of Henry of Lancaster. The courtier Comines writes cautiously: Henry was killed by Gloucester, "if what was told me be true." Had he in his heart believed it untrue, would he have thus mentioned it? One dry old chronicler remarks that Henry died on the twenty-first of May, "the Duke of Gloucester and his men being in the Tower that night." Stow says that his body was carried to St. Paul's in an open coffin on the 22nd. Stow, Sandford, Baker, and Mezeray have no doubt of the murder. It was not until the last century that it was ever questioned, and then by writers who were desirous to whitewash the decidedly black character of Richard III. But so far as I know, no one has ever noticed on either side the singular fact recorded on the Issue Roll, that Henry did not die on the twenty-first at all. There may have been some reason—now perhaps inscrutable—why Edward wished to convince the public that Henry did die on that day: but his own Roll, meant for no eyes but those of safe persons, unquestionably indicates that Henry was living until the 27th of May, six days later. His "diet" is charged until the latter day. There may have been some show of reason, as putting a stop to all future trouble, why the public should believe Henry to be dead when he was not: but what possible cause could there be for entering on the Roll a false statement with the object of showing Henry to be alive when he was really dead? The question of course arises, whose was the body exposed to view in St. Paul's on the twenty-second?—even if we put aside the sensational item that the corpse bled wherever it rested, on account of the presence of the murderer as chief mourner. The Roll above mentioned, which gives the expenses of Henry's funeral, makes no mention of the day of burial. Perhaps the difficulty is best left unsolved, with just one statement—that Gloucester was perfectly capable of the crime laid to his charge: and that the main point of circumstantial evidence in determining the question, is to decide whether Gloucester was or was not at the Tower on the 27th of May.

The strongest evidence known to me in Gloucester's favour is the assertion of Fleetwood, adopted by the usually careful and accurate Carte, that Henry was found dead, probably of apoplexy, on the night of the twenty-first of May. This was of course the York version of facts. But if, as has been shown, the date is conclusively disproved by the testimony of the Issue Roll, may not the circumstances be equally far from true? It was so exceedingly in the interest of Edward that Henry should die just at that moment, that the suspicion of his death having been humanly assisted will never be removed as long as the world lasts.

Very little expense attended the funeral of the dead. Twenty ells of linen cloth, wax, and spices, were provided; two men only carried torches (the number usually corresponding with the years of the deceased); a few soldiers of Calais watched the corpse; and to five orders of friars a pittance was given for masses, wretched indeed when compared with the usual outlay. The whole cost was under £43—just the price that King Edward paid about the same date for a crimson velvet jacket.

There is nothing but pure fancy as the source of the scene imagined by our greatest dramatist, wherein Gloucester makes love to the young Princess of Wales when she officiates as chief mourner at King Henry's funeral. The poor Princess was an outlaw and a prisoner in the Tower at that moment, and assuredly never held any such position, any more than she lent willing ear, whether first or last, to any such words.

The body of King Henry was buried at Chertsey Abbey, where it rested until Gloucester himself was King, when, on the 12th of August, 1484, it was finally removed to his birthplace, Windsor.