the solemnity of her reception. "The streets of Paris were gaily dressed to welcome them, and they were lodged in the palace, where they received the news of the landing of the earl of Warwick, and that king Henry was freed, and in possession of his kingdom; upon which queen Margaret with all her company resolved to return to England."1

King René made great personal sacrifices, exhausting both money and credit to assist his energetic daughter in her purveyances for the voyage to England; and in the month of February, 1471, all was ready for her embarkation but-the wind. The atmospherical influences were always unfavourable to Margaret, and at this momentous crisis of her fate, as on many a previous one, it might have been said, "The stars in their courses fought against Sisera." Thrice did she, in defiance of all warnings from the men of Harfleur, put to sea with her armament, and as often was she driven back on the coast of Normandy, not without damage to her ships, till many of her followers protested that this strange opposition of winds and waves was caused by sorcery. Others endeavoured to prevail on her to relinquish her intention of proceeding to England, as it appeared in a manner forbidden to her. But Margaret's strong mind rejected with equal contempt the superstitious notions of either magic or omens. She knew on how critical a balance hung the fortunes of her husband and her son; and although the people in all the towns through which Warwick had passed, on his triumphant march to London, had tossed the White rose from their caps, shouting "A Harry! a Harry!-A Warwick! a Warwick !" and celebrated the restoration of holy Henry with every token of joy, yet she had had too sore experience of the fickle nature of popular excitement not to feel the importance of straining every nerve to improve the present favourable juncture. She was not ignorant of the return of king Edward, and the defection of "false, perjured, fleeting Clarence;" and her anxiety to reach the scene of action was proportioned to the desperate nature of the closely-contested game that was playing there. Up to the last moment of her compulsory sojourn on the shores of Normandy, she continued to levy forces for the aid of Warwick and the king. On the 24th of March she once more put to sea with her fleet, and, despite of all opposing influences of the elements, pursued her inauspicious voyage to England. The passage, that with a favourable wind might have been achieved in twelve hours, was protracted sixteen tedious days and nights, which were spent by the anxious queen in a fever of agonizing impatience. On Easter-eve, her long baffled fleet made the port of Weymouth. Margaret, with her son the prince of Wales and his newly-espoused consort, Sir John Fortescue, and many others, landed April 13th. They went to the neighbouring abbey of Cerne, to refresh themselves after the 1 Felibien, Histoire de Paris, vol. ii. p. 861. 2 Hall. 3 Ibid. 5 Fleetwood's Chronicle, edited by J. Bruce.

4 Ibid.

1471.]

Disastrous news.

631. fatigues of the voyage. It was there that queen Margaret, with the prince and princess of Wales, kept their Easter-festival, at the very time their cause was receiving its death-blow on the fatal heath of Barnet,1 where the weather once more turned the fortunes of the day against the fated rose of Lancaster.

939

When the dreadful news of the death of Warwick and the re-capture of king Henry was brought to Margaret on the following day, she fell to the ground in a deep swoon, and for a long time remained in a speechless stupor of despair, as if her faculties had been overpowered by the greatness of this unexpected blow. When she revived to consciousness, it was only to bewail the evil destiny of her luckless consort. "In her agony, she reviled the calamitous temper of the times in which she lived, reproached herself for all her painful labours, now turned to her own misery, and declared 'she desired rather to die than live longer in this state of infelicity." The soothing caresses of her beloved son in some manner restored her to herself, and she departed, with all her company, to the famous sanctuary of Beaulieu Abbey, where she regis– tered herself, and all who came with her, as privileged persons. Here she found the countess of Warwick, who had embarked at Harfleur at the same time with her; but having a swifter sailing vessel, had landed before her at Portsmouth and proceeded to Southampton, with intent to join her at Weymouth. On the road, the countess had received the mournful news of her husband's defeat and death at Barnet, and, fearing to proceed, fled across the New Forest; "and so," says Fleetwood, "took her to the protection of the sanctuary of an abbey called Beaulieu, which has as great privileges as that of Westminster, or of St. Martin's, at London." A melancholy meeting it must have been between the despairing queen, the widowed countess, and the princess of Wales, now so sorrowfully linked in fellowship of woe.

As soon as the retreat of the queen was known, she was visited by the young fiery duke of Somerset, his brother, and many other of the Lancastrian nobles, who welcomed her to England. Finding her almost drowned in sorrow, they strove to rouse her from her dejection by telling her "they had already a good puissance in the field, and trusted, with the encouragement of her presence and that of the prince, soon to draw all the northern and western counties to the banner of the Red rose. The elastic spirits of Margaret were greatly revived and comforted by the cheering speeches of these ardent partisans, and she proceeded to explain to them the causes that delayed her coming to them in time to support Warwick, and the reason that had induced her to take sanctuary, which was for the security of the prince, her son, for whose precious safety "she passionately implored them to provide.” She added, that "It was her opinion no good would be done in the field 1 Fleetwood's Chron., ed. by J. Bruce. 2 Hall. Fleetwood. 3 Hall. Fleetwood. Lingard.

this time; and therefore it would be best for her and the prince, with such as chose to share their fortunes, to return to France, and there to tarry till it pleased God to send her better luck." 1 But the gallant young prince would not consent to this arrangement,2 and Somerset told the queen with some warmth, that "There was no occasion to waste any more words, for they were all determined, while their lives lasted, still to keep war against their enemies." Margaret, overborne by his violence, at last said, "Well, be it so." ."3 She then consented to quit her asylum,

and proceeded with the Lancastrian lords to Bath.

It was a peculiarity in Margaret's campaigns, that she always kept the place of her destination a profound secret. Owing to this caution, and the entire devotion of the western counties to her cause, she had got a great army in the field ready to oppose Edward IV., while her actual locality remained unknown to him. He had advanced to Marlborough, but as her army was not equal in strength to his victorious forces, she retreated from Bath to Bristol, with the intention of crossing the Severn at Gloucester, to form a junction with Jasper Tudor's army in Wales. Could this purpose have been effected, the biographers of Margaret of Anjou might have had a far different tale to record than the events of the dismal day of Tewkesbury; but the men of Gloucester had fortified the bridge, and would not permit her to pass, neither for threats nor fair words, though she had some friends in the city, through whom she offered large bribes; but "they were under the obeisance of the duke of Gloucester," they replied, "and bound to oppose her passage."

Margaret then passed on to Tewkesbury. Edward had arrived within a mile of that place before she came, and was ready to do battle with her. Though she had marched seven-and-thirty miles that day with her army, and was greatly overcome with vexation and fatigue, she was urgent with Somerset to press on to her friends in Wales; but Somerset, with inflexible obstinacy, expressed his determination "there to tarry, and abide such fortune as God should send ;" and so 66 taking his will for reason, he pitched his camp in the fair park and there entrenched himself, sorely against the opinion, not only of the queen, but all the experienced captains of the army." Somerset and his brother led the advanced guard; the prince of Wales, under the direction of lord Wenlock and that military monk, the prior of St. John's, commanded the van; the earl of Devonshire the rearward. When the battle was thus ordered, queen Margaret and her son the prince rode about the field, from rank to rank, encouraging the soldiers with promises of large rewards, promotions, and everlasting renown, if they won the victory.

The battle was fought on the 4th of May, 1471, and was lost, either through the treachery of lord Wenlock, or the inconsiderate fury of Somerset; who, finding Wenlock inactively sitting on his horse in the

1 Hall.

2 Prevost.

3 Hall.

4 Hall. Holinshed.

1471.]

The battle of Tewkesbury.

633 market-place of Tewkesbury with his laggard host, when his presence was most required in the field, made fiercely up to him, and calling him "Traitor!" cleft his skull with his battle-axe.1 The men under Wenlock's banner, panic-stricken at the fate of their leader, fled. The prince of Wales had no experience as a general, and his personal courage was unavailing to redeem the fortunes of the day. When queen Margaret, who was an agonized spectator of the discomfiture of her troops, saw that the day was going against her, she was with difficulty withheld from rushing into the mélée; but at length, exhausted by the violence of her feelings, she swooned and was carried in a state of insensibility to a car by her faithful attendants, and conveyed through the gates of Tewkesbury-park to a small religious house hard by, where her unfortunate daughter-in-law, Anne of Warwick, the countess of Devonshire, and lady Katherine Vaux, had already taken refuge. According to Fleetwood's Chronicle, she remained there till Tuesday, May 7th, three days after the battle. Other writers affirm that she was captured on the same day which saw the hopes of Lancaster crushed on the bloody field of Tewkesbury.

The generally received historical tradition of the manner of the prince of Wales's death has been contested, because two contemporary chroniclers, Warkworth and Fleetwood, have stated that he was slain in the field, calling on his brother-in-law Clarence for help. In the field he probably was slain,—that part of the plain of Tewkesbury which, in memory of that foul and most revolting 'murder, is still called "the bloody field." Sir Richard Crofts, to whom the princely novice had surrendered, tempted by the proclamation "that whoever should bring Edward (called prince) to the king, should receive one hundred pounds a-year for life, and the prince's life be spared," "nothing mistrusting," says Hall, "the king's promise, brought forth his prisoner, being a goodly well-featured young gentleman, of almost feminine beauty." King Edward, struck with the noble presence of the youth, after he had well considered him, demanded, "How he durst so presumptuously enter his realms, with banners displayed against him?"—"To recover my father's crown and mine own inheritance," was the bold but rash reply of the fettered lionceau of Plantagenet. Edward basely struck the gallant stripling in the face with his gauntlet, which was the signal for his pitiless attendants to despatch him with their daggers.

The following day, queen Margaret's retreat was made known to

1 Wenlock had, by his frequent changes of party, given too much cause to the Lancastrians to distrust him. George Chastellain speaks of him as the most "double-minded of men, the most perjured of traitors."

2 The Lancastrians were unacquainted with the ground, and when the king's fiery charge drove Somerset's men down the short,

sudden hill into the low meadow where the Avon and Severn meet, both being at that time swollen with the recent rains above their banks, the foremost horsemen were pushed by those who followed close behind into the deep waters, and, weighed down by their heavy armour, perished miserably, more being drowned than slain by the sword.

king Edward as he was on his way to Worcester, and he was assured that she should be at his command. She was brought to him at Coventry, May 11th, by her old enemy, Sir William Stanley, by whom, it is said, the first news of the massacre of her beloved son was revealed to the bereaved mother, in a manner calculated to aggravate the bitterness of this dreadful blow. Margaret, in the first transports of maternal agony, invoked the most terrible maledictions on the head of the ruthless Edward and his posterity, which Stanley was inhuman enough to repeat to his royal master, together with all the frantic expressions she had used against him during their journey. Edward was at first se much exasperated, that he thought of putting her to death; but no Plantagenet ever shed the blood of a woman, and he contented himself by forcing her to grace his triumphant progress towards the metropolis. The youthful widow of her murdered son, Anne of Warwick, who had in one little fortnight been bereaved of her father, her uncle, her young gallant husband, and the name of princess of Wales, was another of the mournful attendants on this abhorrent pageant.

On the 22nd of May, being the eve of the Ascension, Margaret and her unfortunate daughter-in-law entered London together in the train of the haughty victor, but they were separated immediately on their arrival. Margaret was incarcerated in one of the most dismal of the prison lodgings in that gloomy fortress where her royal husband was already immured, that husband to whom she was now so near, after long years of separation, and yet was to behold no more. The same night that Margaret of Anjou was brought as a captive to the Tower of London, she was made a widow. "That night, between eleven and twelve of the clock," writes the chronicler in Leland, “was king Henry, being prisoner in the Tower, put to death, the duke of Gloucester and divers of his men being in the Tower that night."—"May God give him time for repentance, whoever he was, who laid his sacrilegious hands on the Lord's anointed," adds the continuator1 of the Chronicles of Croyland. Tradition points out an octagonal room in the Wakefield tower as the scene of the midnight murder of Henry VI. It was there that he had, for five years, eaten the bread of affliction during his lonely captivity. A few learned manuscripts and devotional books, a bird that was the companion of his solitude, his relics and the occasional visits of one or two learned monks who were permitted to administer to his spiritual wants, were all the solaces he received in his captivity.

King Edward and the duke of Gloucester, as if apprehensive of scme outburst of popular indignation, left London early in the same morning that the tragic pageant of exposing the corpse of their royal victim to pub1 That the death of Henry was predetermined by king Edward, even when uncertain of the event of the battle of Barnet, may be gathered from his letter to Clarence, "to keep king Henry out of sanctuary."-Leland, Coll.

ii. 108. It is a curious fact, that the weapon said to have been employed in the perpetration of this disputed murder was preserved, and long regarded as a relic.