Richard The Chird (56 page)

Moving more slowly now, Henry pushed forward to Stafford, a march of but thirteen miles. It was at Stafford that he at last met Sir William Stanley. Sir William's retinue was small, however, and his sojourn brief. He reiterated his and Lord Stanley's assurances; in a short time, he promised, he would return for another interview and bring his brother; he himself was still gathering his forces and must therefore make a speedy departure. Henry was beginning to realize that the Stanleys, however well disposed toward him, might not commit themselves until the actual battle was joined.

The rebels' line of march was now changed. The advance from Shrewsbury to Stafford had pointed directly toward Nottingham. Perhaps Sir William had agreed, or suggested, that it might be well to make a feint toward London. Perhaps Henry, hoping for reinforcements, felt that he was approaching King Richard too rapidly. In any case, on leaving Stafford, Henry veered sharply southeast and marched on Lichfield, seventeen miles away. As the motley ranks of Frenchmen, Welshmen, and English appeared before the town, they were watched by mounted scouts whom the King had sent forth to learn their movements.

Henry had already reached the neighborhood of Shrewsbury when, on August n, the news of his landing was brought to Nottingham. Richard at once sent word to Northumberland, Norfolk, Lovell, Brackenbury, and his other principal captains, commanding them hastily to assemble their men and join him at Leicester—the same rendezvous he had established on the out-

break of Buckingham's rebellion. Having no news beyond that of the landing itself, he probably supposed that Henry would emerge from Wales somewhere in Herefordshire or Shropshire, if he emerged at all. Sir William Stanley he did not summon; Sir William was presumably marching with the men of North Wales to intercept the invaders. To Lord Stanley, however, he sent orders to come immediately to Nottingham. He also dispatched "scurriers"—mounted scouts—to seek news of the enemy's movements.

For himself Richard wanted nothing more than to meet with Henry Tudor, and would have set forth as early as Monday, August 15; but—that being the day of the sacred festival of the Assumption of Our Lady, which he would allow no rebel to distract him from observing—he determined to leave Nottingham on the morning following. So John Howard, Duke of Norfolk reported in haste, probably on Saturday the thirteenth, to his "well beloved friend," John Paston. "I pray you," Norfolk went on, "that ye meet with me at Bury [Bury St. Edmunds] for by the Grace of God I propose to lie at Bury as upon Tuesday night [August 16] and that ye bring with'you such company of tall men as ye may goodly make at my cost and charge —beside [those] that ye have promised the King—and I pray you ordain them jackets of my livery and I shall content vou at your meeting with me. Your lover. J. Norfolk." *

By the flat roads of Norfolk, Suffolk, Essex, men-at-arms and yeomen archers began to converge upon Bury St. Edmunds in order to march beneath the Norfolk banner of the silver lion. But John Paston, and so John Paston's men, were not among them.

He preferred to remain peaceably on his acres than to play a part in the trial by battle for the English throne. He had had enough of wars and he would thrive equally well whether Richard retained his crown or Henry Tudor won it. He had sworn an oath to support his King in arms, but by the year 1485 that oath had lost its power to bind. John Howard he knew well; his father and Howard had quarreled over local politics two decades before, but John might be considered to owe the Duke of

RICHARD THE THIRD

Norfolk much. It was Howard and his cousin the Earl of Nottingham who had voluntarily given back to John Paston the great estate of Caister, which a previous Duke of Norfolk had wrested from the Paston family. But even this was not enough.

John Paston's father, at odds with King Henry's favorites in Norfolk, had marched with King Edward to fight the bloody field of Towton in 1461. Young John himself, taking service with the Duke of Norfolk, had participated in the sieges of the Lancastrian castles in Northumberland. His brother had been a popular courtier, had jousted with the King at Eltham. But in 1469 King Edward had refused to interfere on the Pastons' side in their dispute over lands with the Duke of Suffolk. A few months later the Duke of Norfolk besieged Caister Castle and John Paston had to capitulate; George Neville, Archbishop of York, and the Duke of Clarence had, however, shown themselves sympathetic, if not very helpful, to the Pastons at the time Caister was lost. Hence, when Warwick put Henry VI back on the throne and John, Earl of Oxford, became the 'great lord of East Anglia, the Pastons gave him their hearty allegiance and were taken into his favor. The Yorkist Duke of Norfolk was now powerless; the Pastons might expect to prosper. Upon Edward's return from Burgundy to reclaim his throne, John Paston and his brother took arms with the Earl of Oxford and fought for him at Barnet. Both were captured, but were shortly given pardons. The Duke of Norfolk was again the great man in East Anglia, and Caister seemed forever lost—until John Howard, becoming Duke, restored it. It was on local issues that the Pastons had taken sides in the warfare of Lancaster and York, Now John Paston would sit at home and let his armor rust.

There were many like him—commons, gentry, lords. It was not that they longed for King Richard's overthrow, but that they were weary of alarums, marches, battles. The feudal giving of allegiance was dead; the discipline of obedience to the throne had not yet been enforced, or demanded. The crown had changed hands so often that its sanctity, its magnetic power of attracting loyalty, had been dulled In taking it from his nephew, Richard had still further dimmed this luster. Many a man who

was content to see King Edward resume his sway in 1471 did not fight for him at Barnet. Now, many a man who had no desire for the triumph of an unknown exile named Henry Tudor refrained from calling up his followers. The Duke of" Suffolk, as had always been his wont, sat upon his estates, even though his own son, John of Lincoln, was Richard's heir to the throne. Doubtless there were a number who told themselves that the King had no need of them. Outside of Henry Tudor's partisans, there were probably not a great many who believed that the Welshman and his tail of followers could stand in battle against the King, the most famous warrior alive in England.

The gifts Richard had bestowed out of generosity rather than policy, the treasure he had dispensed to show his good will when he might have withheld it to toughen the sinews of his enterprises, the justice he had done at the risk of alienating powerful interests, the services he had performed for the weak—all these did little for him now. His kindness to the wives of rebels, his munificence to friends, his statutes to curb oppressions, his attention to the humble causes of commoners, would not stead him in the hour of mustering a steel host. In the Castle of his Care Richard was now collecting the consequences of his rupture of the royal succession, of his rule by desert, and of half a century's accumulation of broken loyalties.

It was probably on Monday the fifteenth that Richard received an answer to the message he had sent Stanley. Sly Thomas reported that he was suffering from sweating sickness and therefore could not join the King at this time. He perhaps also contrived to have instructions conveyed to his son that he should immediately slip away from Nottingham. Lord Strange, at any rate, made the attempt, but he had been well watched and he was apprehended in the act. Richard could feel the pattern of betrayal thickening around him—but had he not always known? had he not, indeed, so willed it? He sent some of his advisers to interrogate Lord Strange. Theirs was an easy task—the son of Stanley was not one to throw himself away for a cause, even his father's. And perhaps there was no need. He could reflect that what he had to reveal must inevitably come to light in a few

days. Throwing himself on the King's mercy, he told all—or almost all—that he knew. He and his uncle Sir William and Sir John Savage had secretly plotted to betray their sovereign and join Henry Tudor. But his father, he swore, meant to—must— remain true. To make all sure, he begged to be allowed to send a message to his father. Richard doubtless put no trust in this assertion, but Strange was given ink and paper. He wrote of his terrible danger and implored Lord Stanley to come in at once to the King with all his forces. Meanwhile, Richard sent orders to the sheriffs of the realm that Sir William Stanley and Sir John Savage were to be publicly proclaimed as traitors.

Strange's confession was swiftly confirmed. On this same Monday Richard at last got more news of the invaders: three days before, they had entered Shrewsbury beneath spread banners, "without any annoyance received." However much he was prepared for it, the revelation was bitter. It meant that not only Sir William Stanley and Sir John Savage but Rhys ap Thomas and other Welsh chieftains had betrayed him. It meant that Henry Tudor had penetrated, unmolested, well-nigh to the center of his kingdom. The pieces of the pattern were tumbling into position—yet, for a moment at least, he was struck to the heart. A cry of Treason! escaped him; in one brief torrent of anger he inveighed against the men who had sworn to stand true. Then he locked away his feelings.

More scurriers soon came in with the news that the invaders had removed from Shrewsbury to Newport. Apparently, then, they were making straight for Nottingham, instead of heading for London. The Stanleys, Richard now learned, commanded separate forces which hovered to the east of the invaders, falling back before them. Sending out fresh scouting parties, he abandoned his plan of leaving Nottingham next morning, Tuesday. If the rebels continued the direction of their march, he would summon his host gathering at Leicester to join him here. But in the meantime where was Northumberland with his Percy retainers and the levies of the East Riding? He had sent word that he was coming in all possible haste, but he either had not yet stirred or was moving very slowly. Richard realized that

Henry Percy had perhaps been forewarned of the action the Stanleys were taking and meant to play a game of his own. It would not be surprising; Percy had begun playing the game in 1471. In any case, the intelligence of the rebels' approach was welcome news. He had spent his life in action. Now action would provide anodyne and fulfillment. Refusing to wait anxiously for the latest report or to be ever weighing possibilities with his advisers, he left his castle on Tuesday the sixteenth and rode northward a few miles, with a group of intimates, to spend the night at Beskwood Lodge in Sherwood Forest. 10 *

Next morning he was up early, horsed and ready for the chase, as if his kingdom were lapped in softest peace. Off he went, a-hunt-ing, but his mind was doubtless brooding upon other game. It may have come to him that, in the critical casting of accounts, his crown had proved to cost too dear. The kingdom as a whole had not been unwilling, perhaps, to accept the price, but it had turned out, despite all his efforts, to be too steep for the standards of his own moral economy. The man whose life's motto was Loyaulte me lie had not been able to accommodate himself to the man who had taken a crown from his nephew. Like his father before him, who had groped for the throne so awkwardly because he was playing a role alien to his nature, Richard had persuaded himself to assume the scepter; but he could not wield it comfortably because he could not assume with it the double conviction that he had done what he ought and that his one object must be to keep what he had got. To forestall his being betrayed by the Woodvilles when the boy king came of age, to redress what he deeply felt to be the betrayal of his brother Edward's greatness by these same Woodvilles and others, he had betrayed the son of Edward, who seemed only to be the son of Elizabeth. Now was he being betrayed by the Stanleys and perhaps Northumberland too, men whom he had cherished—instead of ruthlessly controlling—in the vain hope of ending at last die endless propagation of betrayal. Yet in his heart's history, these treacheries came late and light: he had first of all been betrayed by himself.

When Richard returned to Beskwood Lodge during the after-

noon there were conducted to him two men, sweat-soaked and dusty with travel, whom he knew well. They were John Sponer, Sergeant of the Mace, and John Nicholson, messenger, of York.

The morning before, an anxious deliberation had taken place in the council chamber of that city. Though the plague was still claiming victims, the Mayor and Aldermen felt impelled to grapple with a serious and puzzling issue: word had come that the rebels had landed some days before, but the city had received no instructions, from the King or anybody else, about assembling an armed force. "It was determined," records the scribe,

that John Sponer, Serjeant to the mace, should ride to Nottingham to the King's grace to understand his pleasure as in sending up any of his subjects within this city to his said grace for the subduing of his enemies late arrived in the parties of Wales.

Also it was determined that all such aldermen and other of the council as was sojourning, for the plague that reigneth, without the City, should be sent for to give their best advices. . . ,

Also that there shall proclamations be made throughout this City, that every man fraunchest ["franchised," i.e., every man having citizenship] within this City be ready in their most defensible array to attend upon the mayor, for the welfare of this City, within an hour's warning, upon pain of imprisonment. «, , ,

As Richard listened to John Sponer's tale, his mind must have leaped to the realization that the Earl of Northumberland intended to break his allegiance, probably not overtly but by managing to hold himself and his force neutral. It was Northumberland, commissioner of array for the East Riding, who should have called up the men of York. He would have an excuse of course, the plague; but it was obvious that the plague was not severe enough to prevent the city from marshaling a band of soldiers. Why he had not sent the summons was deadly clear— he wanted in his following a great preponderance of those who could be counted on to obey any order that he gave. Richard revealed none of these thoughts to Sponer and Nicholson but quietly bade them express his thanks to the city for its sturdy