Whatever the faults of Worcester, Caxton seems to have regarded him with respect and admiration. "Oh, good blessed Lord," exclaims that English worthy, "what great loss was it of that noble, virtuous, and well-disposed lord, the Earl of Worcester. What worship had he at Rome, in the presence of our holy father the pope, and in all other places unto his death. The axe then did, at one blow, cut off more learning than was in the heads of all the surviving nobility."
[CHAPTER XXVII.]
THE BANISHED KING.
The adventures of Edward of York, when, at the age of thirty, driven from the kingdom by the Earl of Warwick, seem rather like the creation of a novelist's fancy than events in real life. Scarcely had he escaped from his mutinous army on the Welland, taken shipping at Lynn, and sailed for the Burgundian territories, trusting to the hospitality of his brother-in-law, than he was beset with a danger hardly less pressing than that from which he had fled. Freed from that peril, and disappointed of a cordial welcome, an impulse, which he had neither the will nor the power to resist, brought back the dethroned and banished prince, with a handful of adherents, resolved either to be crowned with laurel or covered with cypress.
During the Wars of the Roses, the narrow seas were infested by the Easterlings, who sailed as privateers as well as traders, and did a little business in the way of piracy besides. At the time of Edward's exile, the Easterlings were at war both with the house of Valois and that of Plantagenet, and had recently inflicted much damage on ships belonging to the subjects of England. Unluckily for Edward, some of the Easterlings happened to be hovering on the coast when he sailed from Lynn, and scarcely had the shores of England vanished from the eyes of the royal fugitive, when eight of their ships gave chase to his little squadron.
The Yorkist king was far from relishing the eagerness manifested by the Easterlings to make his acquaintance, and would, doubtless, have been delighted to get, by fair sailing, clearly out of their way. This, however, appeared impossible; and, as the danger became alarming, he commanded the skipper to run ashore at all hazards. Edward, albeit exile and fugitive, was not the man to be disobeyed; and the ships stranded on the coast of Friesland, near the town of Alkmaar. The Easterlings, however, were not thus to be shaken off. Instead of giving up the chase, they resolved to board Edward's vessels by the next tide, and, meanwhile, followed as close as the depth of the water would permit. The king's situation was therefore the reverse of pleasant. Indeed, his safety appeared to depend on the chances of a few hours.
Among the European magnates with whom Edward, in the course of his checkered career, had formed friendships, was a Burgundian nobleman, Louis de Bruges, Lord of Grauthuse. This personage, at once a soldier, a scholar, and a trader, had, on more than one occasion, rendered acceptable service to the White Rose. In other days, he had been sent by the Duke of Burgundy to cancel the treaty of marriage between the son of Margaret of Anjou and the daughter of Mary of Gueldres: and subsequently to the court of England, to treat of the match between Margaret Plantagenet and the Count of Charolois. Being stadtholder of Friesland, the Burgundian happened to be at Alkmaar when Edward was stranded on the coast, and by chance became acquainted with the startling fact that England's king was in the utmost danger of falling into the hands of privateers from the Hanse Towns.
Louis de Bruges could hardly have been unaware that the Duke of Burgundy had no wish to see Edward's face, or to be inextricably involved in the affairs of his unfortunate kinsman. The Lord of Grauthuse, however, was not the person to leave, on the coast of Friesland, at the mercy of pirates, a friend whom, on the banks of the Thames, he had known as a gallant and hospitable monarch; at whose board he had feasted in the Great Hall of Eltham, at whose balls he had danced in the Palace of Westminster, and with whose hounds he had hunted the stag through the glades of Windsor. Perhaps, indeed, being gifted with true nobility of soul, he was all the readier with his friendly offices that Edward was a banished man. In any case, he took immediate steps to relieve the royal exile, hastened on board, and, without reference to the duke's political views, invited the English king and his friends to land.
Never was assistance more cheerfully given, or more gratefully received. The exiles breathed freely, and thanked Heaven for aid so timely. But a new difficulty at once presented itself. Edward was so poor that he could not pay the master of the Dutch vessel, and all his comrades were in an equally unhappy plight. The king, however, soon got over this awkward circumstance. Taking off his cloak, which was lined with marten, he presented it to the skipper, and, with that frank grace which he possessed in such rare perfection, promised a fitting reward when better days should come.