Book: The Last Of The Barons, Volume 12.
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Edward Bulwer Lytton >> The Last Of The Barons, Volume 12.
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BOOK XII.
THE BATTLE OF BARNET.
CHAPTER I.
A KING IN HIS CITY HOPES TO RECOVER HIS REALM--A WOMAN IN HER CHAMBER
FEARS TO FORFEIT HER OWN.
Edward and his army reached St. Alban's. Great commotion, great joy,
were in the Sanctuary of Westminster! The Jerusalem Chamber, therein,
was made the high council-hall of the friends of York. Great
commotion, great terror, were in the city of London. Timid Master
Stokton had been elected mayor; horribly frightened either to side
with an Edward or a Henry, timid Master Stokton feigned or fell ill.
Sir Thomas Cook, a wealthy and influential citizen, and a member of
the House of Commons, had been appointed deputy in his stead. Sir
Thomas Cook took fright also, and ran away. [Fabyan.] The power of
the city thus fell into the hands of Ureswick, the Recorder, a zealous
Yorkist. Great commotion, great scorn, were in the breasts of the
populace, as the Archbishop of York, hoping thereby to rekindle their
loyalty, placed King Henry on horseback, and paraded him through the
streets from Chepeside to Walbrook, from Walbrook to St. Paul's; for
the news of Edward's arrival, and the sudden agitation and excitement
it produced on his enfeebled frame, had brought upon the poor king one
of the epileptic attacks to which he had been subject from childhood,
and which made the cause of his frequent imbecility; and, just
recovered from such a fit,--his eyes vacant, his face haggard, his
head drooping,--the spectacle of such an antagonist to the vigorous
Edward moved only pity in the few and ridicule in the many. Two
thousand Yorkist gentlemen were in the various Sanctuaries; aided and
headed by the Earl of Essex, they came forth armed and clamorous,
scouring the streets, and shouting, "King Edward!" with impunity.
Edward's popularity in London was heightened amongst the merchants by
prudent reminiscences of the vast debts he had incurred, which his
victory only could ever enable him to repay to his good citizens.
[Comines.] The women, always, in such a movement, active partisans,
and useful, deserted their hearths to canvass all strong arms and
stout hearts for the handsome woman-lover. [Comines.] The Yorkist
Archbishop of Canterbury did his best with the ecclesiastics, the
Yorkist Recorder his best with the flat-caps. Alwyn, true to his
anti-feudal principles, animated all the young freemen to support the
merchant-king, the favourer of commerce, the man of his age! The city
authorities began to yield to their own and the general metropolitan
predilections. But still the Archbishop of York had six thousand
soldiers at his disposal, and London could be yet saved to Warwick, if
the prelate acted with energy and zeal and good faith. That such was
his first intention is clear, from his appeal to the public loyalty in
King Henry's procession; but when he perceived how little effect that
pageant had produced; when, on re-entering the Bishop of London's
palace, he saw before him the guileless, helpless puppet of contending
factions, gasping for breath, scarcely able to articulate, the
heartless prelate turned away, with a muttered ejaculation of
contempt.
"Clarence had not deserted," said he to himself, "unless he saw
greater profit with King Edward!" And then he began to commune with
himself, and to commune with his brother-prelate of Canterbury; and in
the midst of all this commune arrived Catesby, charged with messages
to the archbishop from Edward,--messages full of promise and affection
on the one hand, of menace and revenge upon the other. Brief:
Warwick's cup of bitterness had not yet been filled; that night the
archbishop and the mayor of London met, and the Tower was surrendered
to Edward's friends. The next day Edward and his army entered, amidst
the shouts of the populace; rode to St. Paul's, where the archbishop
[Sharon Turner. It is a comfort to think that this archbishop was,
two years afterwards, first robbed, and then imprisoned, by Edward
IV.; nor did he recover his liberty till a few weeks before his death,
in 1476 (five years subsequently to the battle of Barnet).] met him,
leading Henry by the hand, again a captive; thence Edward proceeded to
Westminster Abbey, and, fresh from his atrocious perjury at York,
offered thanksgiving for its success. The Sanctuary yielded up its
royal fugitives, and, in joy and in pomp, Edward led his wife and her
new-born babe, with Jacquetta and his elder children, to Baynard's
Castle.
The next morning (the third day), true to his promise, Warwick marched
towards London with the mighty armament he had now collected. Treason
had done its worst,--the metropolis was surrendered, and King Henry in
the Tower.
"These things considered," says the Chronicler, "the earl saw that all
calculations of necessity were brought to this end,--that they must
now be committed to the hazard and chance of one battle." [Hall.] He
halted, therefore, at St. Alban's, to rest his troops; and marching
thence towards Barnet, pitched his tents on the upland ground, then
called the Heath or Chase of Gladsmoor, and waited the coming foe.
Nor did Edward linger long from that stern meeting. Entering London
on the 11th of April, he prepared to quit it on the 13th. Besides the
force he had brought with him, he had now recruits in his partisans
from the Sanctuaries and other hiding-places in the metropolis, while
London furnished him, from her high-spirited youths, a gallant troop
of bow and bill men, whom Alwyn had enlisted, and to whom Edward
willingly appointed, as captain, Alwyn himself,--who had atoned for
his submission to Henry's restoration by such signal activity on
behalf of the young king, whom he associated with the interests of his
class, and the weal of the great commercial city, which some years
afterwards rewarded his affection by electing him to her chief
magistracy. [Nicholas Alwyn, the representative of that generation
which aided the commercial and anti-feudal policy of Edward IV. and
Richard III., and welcomed its consummation under their Tudor
successor, rose to be Lord Mayor of London in the fifteenth year of
the reign of Henry VII.--FABYAN.]
It was on that very day, the 13th of April, some hours before the
departure of the York army, that Lord Hastings entered the Tower, to
give orders relative to the removal of the unhappy Henry, whom Edward
had resolved to take with him on his march.
And as he had so ordered and was about to return, Alwyn, emerging from
one of the interior courts, approached him in much agitation, and said
thus: "Pardon me, my lord, if in so grave an hour I recall your
attention to one you may haply have forgotten."
"Ah, the poor maiden; but you told me, in the hurried words that we
have already interchanged, that she was safe and well."
"Safe, my lord,--not well. Oh, hear me. I depart to battle for your
cause and your king's. A gentleman in your train has advised me that
you are married to a noble dame in the foreign land. If so, this girl
whom I have loved so long and truly may yet forget you, may yet be
mine. Oh, give me that hope to make me a braver soldier."
"But," said Hastings, embarrassed, and with a changing countenance,
"but time presses, and I know not where the demoiselle--"
"She is here," interrupted Alwyn; "here, within these walls, in yonder
courtyard. I have just left her. You, whom she loves, forgot her!
I, whom she disdains, remembered. I went to see to her safety, to
counsel her to rest here for the present, whatever betides; and at
every word I said, she broke in upon me with but one name,--that name
was thine! And when stung, and in the impulse of the moment, I
exclaimed, 'He deserves not this devotion. They tell me, Sibyll, that
Lord Hastings has found a wife in exile.' Oh, that look! that cry!
they haunt me still. 'Prove it, prove it, Alwyn,' she cried. 'And--'
I interrupted, 'and thou couldst yet, for thy father's sake, be true
wife to me?'"
"Her answer, Alwyn?"
"It was this, 'For my father's sake only, then, could I live on; and--'
her sobs stopped her speech, till she cried again, 'I believe it not!
thou hast deceived me. Only from his lips will I hear the sentence.'
Go to her, manfully and frankly, as becomes you, high lord,--go! It
Is but a single sentence thou hast to say, and thy heart will be the
lighter, and thine arm the stronger for those honest words."
Hastings pulled his cap over his brow, and stood a moment as if in
reflection; he then said, "Show me the way; thou art right. It is due
to her and to thee; and as by this hour to-morrow my soul may stand
before the Judgment-seat, that poor child's pardon may take one sin
from the large account."
CHAPTER II.
SHARP IS THE KISS OF THE FALCON'S BEAR.
Hastings stood in the presence of the girl to whom he had pledged his
truth. They were alone; but in the next chamber might be heard the
peculiar sound made by the mechanism of the Eureka. Happy and
lifeless mechanism, which moves, and toils, and strives on, to change
the destiny of millions, but hath neither ear nor eye, nor sense nor
heart,--the avenues of pain to man! She had--yes, literally--she had
recognized her lover's step upon the stair, she had awakened at once
from that dull and icy lethargy with which the words of Alwyn had
chained life and soul. She sprang forward as Hastings entered; she
threw herself in delirious joy upon his bosom. "Thou art come, thou
art! It is not true, not true. Heaven bless thee! thou art come!"
But sudden as the movement was the recoil. Drawing herself back, she
gazed steadily on his face, and said, "Lord Hastings, they tell me thy
hand is another's. Is it true?"
"Hear me!" answered the nobleman. "When first I--"
"O God! O God! he answers not, he falters! Speak! Is it true?"
"It is true. I am wedded to another."
Sibyll did not fall to the ground, nor faint, nor give vent to noisy
passion. But the rich colour, which before had been varying and
fitful, deserted her cheek, and left it of an ashen whiteness; the
lips, too, grew tightly compressed, and her small fingers, interlaced,
were clasped with strained and convulsive energy, so that the
quivering of the very arms was perceptible. In all else she seemed
composed, as she said, "I thank you, my lord, for the simple truth; no
more is needed. Heaven bless you and yours! Farewell!"
"Stay! you shall--you must hear me on. Thou knowest how dearly in
youth I loved Katherine Nevile. In manhood the memory of that love
haunted me, but beneath thy sweet smile I deemed it at last effaced; I
left thee to seek the king, and demand his assent to our union. I
speak not of obstacles that then arose; in the midst of them I learned
Katherine was lone and widowed,--was free. At her own summons I
sought her presence, and learned that she had loved me ever,--loved me
still. The intoxication of my early dream returned; reverse and exile
followed close; Katherine left her state, her fortunes, her native
land, and followed the banished man; and so memory and gratitude and
destiny concurred, and the mistress of my youth became my wife. None
other could have replaced thy image; none other have made me forget
the faith I pledged thee. The thought of thee has still pursued me,--
will pursue me to the last. I dare not say now that I love thee still,
but yet--" He paused, but rapidly resumed, "Enough, enough! dear art
thou to me, and honoured,--dearer, more honoured than a sister. Thank
Heaven, at least, and thine own virtue, my falsehood leaves thee pure
and stainless. Thy hand may yet bless a worthier man. If our cause
triumphs, thy fortunes, thy father's fate, shall be my fondest care.
Never, never will my sleep be sweet, and my conscience laid to rest,
till I hear thee say, as honoured wife--perchance, as blessed and
blessing mother--'False one, I am happy!'"
A cold smile, at these last words, flitted over the girl's face,--the
smile of a broken heart; but it vanished, and with that strange
mixture of sweetness and pride,--mild and forgiving, yet still
spirited and firm,--which belonged to her character, she nerved
herself to the last and saddest effort to preserve dignity and conceal
despair. "Farther words, my lord, are idle; I am rightly punished for
a proud folly. Let not woman love above her state. Think no more of
my destiny."
"No, no," interrupted the remorseful lord, "thy destiny must haunt me
till thou hast chosen one with a better right to protect thee."
At the repetition of that implied desire to transfer her also to
another, a noble indignation came to mar the calm for which she had
hitherto not vainly struggled. "Oh, man!" she exclaimed, with
passion, "does thy deceit give me the right to deceive another? I--I
wed!--I--I--vow at the altar--a love dead, dead forever--dead as my
own heart! Why dost thou mock me with the hollow phrase, 'Thou art
pure and stainless?' Is the virginity of the soul still left? Do the
tears I have shed for thee; doth the thrill of my heart when I heard
thy voice; doth the plighted kiss that burns, burns now into my brow,
and on my lips,--do these, these leave me free to carry to a new
affection the cinders and ashes of a soul thou hast ravaged and
deflowered? Oh, coarse and rude belief of men, that naught is lost if
the mere form be pure! The freshness of the first feelings, the bloom
of the sinless thought, the sigh, the blush of the devotion--never,
never felt but once! these, these make the true dower a maiden should
bring to the hearth to which she comes as wife. Oh, taunt! Oh,
insult! to speak to me of happiness, of the altar! Thou never
knewest, lord, how I really loved thee!" And for the first time, a
violent gush of tears came to relieve her heart.
Hastings was almost equally overcome. Well experienced as he was in
those partings when maids reproach and gallants pray for pardon, but
still sigh, "Farewell,"--he had now no words to answer that burst of
uncontrollable agony; and he felt at once humbled and relieved, when
Sibyll again, with one of those struggles which exhaust years of life,
and almost leave us callous to all after-trial, pressed back the
scalding tears, and said, with unnatural sweetness: "Pardon me, my
lord, I meant not to reproach; the words escaped me,--think of them no
more. I would fain, at least, part from you now as I had once hoped
to part from you at the last hour of life,--without one memory of
bitterness and anger, so that my conscience, whatever its other
griefs, might say, 'My lips never belied my heart, my words never
pained him!' And now then, Lord Hastings, in all charity, we part.
Farewell forever, and forever! Thou hast wedded one who loves thee,
doubtless, as tenderly as I had done. Ah, cherish that affection!
There are times even in thy career when a little love is sweeter than
much fame. If thou thinkest I have aught to pardon thee, now with my
whole heart I pray, as while life is mine that prayer shall be
murmured, 'Heaven forgive this man, as I do! Heaven make his home the
home of peace, and breathe into those now near and dear to him, the
love and the faith that I once--'" She stopped, for the words choked
her, and, hiding her face, held out her hand, in sign of charity and
of farewell.
"Ah, if I dared pray like thee," murmured Hastings, pressing his lips
upon that burning hand, "how should I weary Heaven to repair, by
countless blessings, the wrong which I have done thee! And Heaven
will--oh, it surely will!" He pressed the hand to his heart, dropped
it, and was gone.
In the courtyard he was accosted by Alwyn--
"Thou hast been frank, my lord?"
"I have."
"And she bears it, and--"
"See how she forgives, and how I suffer!" said Hastings, turning his
face towards his rival; and Alwyn saw that the tears were rolling down
his cheeks--"Question me no more." There was a long silence. They
quitted the precincts of the Tower, and were at the river-side.
Hastings, waving his hand to Alwyn, was about to enter the boat which
was to bear him to the war council assembled at Baynard's Castle, when
the trader stopped him, and said anxiously,--
"Think you not, for the present, the Tower is the safest asylum for
Sibyll and her father? If we fail and Warwick returns, they are
protected by the earl; if we triumph, thou wilt insure their safety
from all foes?"
"Surely; in either case, their present home is the most secure."
The two men then parted. And not long afterwards, Hastings, who led
the on-guard, was on his way towards Barnet; with him also went the
foot volunteers under Alwyn. The army of York was on its march.
Gloucester, to whose vigilance and energy were left the final
preparations, was necessarily the last of the generals to quit the
city. And suddenly, while his steed was at the gate of Baynard's
Castle, he entered, armed cap-a-pie, into the chamber where the
Duchess of Bedford sat with her grandchildren.
"Madame," said he, "I have a grace to demand from you, which will,
methinks, not be displeasing. My lieutenants report to me that an
alarm has spread amongst my men,--a religious horror of some fearful
bombards and guns which have been devised by a sorcerer in Lord
Warwick's pay. Your famous Friar Bungey has been piously amongst
them, promising, however, that the mists which now creep over the
earth shall last through the night and the early morrow; and if he
deceive us not, we may post our men so as to elude the hostile
artillery. But, sith the friar is so noted and influential, and sith
there is a strong fancy that the winds which have driven back Margaret
obeyed his charm, the soldiers clamour out for him to attend us, and,
on the very field itself, counteract the spells of the Lancastrian
nigromancer. The good friar, more accustomed to fight with fiends
than men, is daunted, and resists. As much may depend on his showing
us good will, and making our fellows suppose we have the best of the
witchcraft, I pray you to command his attendance, and cheer up his
courage. He waits without."
"A most notable, a most wise advice, beloved Richard!" cried the
duchess. "Friar Bungey is, indeed, a potent man. I will win him at
once to your will;" and the duchess hurried from the room.
The friar's bodily fears, quieted at last by assurances that he should
be posted in a place of perfect safety during the battle, and his
avarice excited by promises of the amplest rewards, he consented to
accompany the troops, upon one stipulation,--namely, that the
atrocious wizard, who had so often baffled his best spells,--the very
wizard who had superintended the accursed bombards, and predicted
Edward's previous defeat and flight (together with the diabolical
invention, in which all the malice and strength of his sorcery were
centred),--might, according to Jacquetta's former promise, be
delivered forthwith to his mercy, and accompany him to the very spot
where he was to dispel and counteract the Lancastrian nigromancer's
enchantments. The duchess, too glad to purchase the friar's
acquiescence on such cheap terms, and to whose superstitious horror
for Adam's lore in the black art was now added a purely political
motive for desiring him to be made away with,--inasmuch as in the
Sanctuary she had at last extorted from Elizabeth the dark secret
which might make him a very dangerous witness against the interests
and honour of Edward,--readily and joyfully consented to this
proposition.
A strong guard was at once despatched to the Tower with the friar
himself, followed by a covered wagon, which was to serve for
conveyance to Bungey and his victim.
In the mean while, Sibyll, after remaining for some time in the
chamber which Hastings had abandoned to her solitary woe, had passed
to the room in which her father held mute commune with his Eureka.
The machine was now thoroughly completed,--improved and perfected, to
the utmost art the inventor ever could attain. Thinking that the
prejudice against it might have arisen from its uncouth appearance,
the poor philosopher had sought now to give it a gracious and imposing
appearance. He had painted and gilt it with his own hands; it looked
bright and gaudy in its gay hues; its outward form was worthy of the
precious and propitious jewel which lay hidden in its centre.
"See, child, see!" said Adam; "is it not beautiful and comely?"
"My dear father, yes!" answered the poor girl, as still she sought to
smile; then, after a short silence, she continued, "Father, of late,
methinks, I have too much forgotten thee; pardon me, if so.
Henceforth, I have no care in life but thee; henceforth let me ever,
when thou toilest, come and sit by thy side. I would not be alone,--I
dare not! Father, Father! God shield thy harmless life! I have
nothing to love under heaven but thee!"
The good man turned wistfully, and raised, with tremulous hands, the
sad face that had pressed itself on his bosom. Gazing thereon
mournfully, he said, "Some new grief hath chanced to thee, my child.
Methought I heard another voice besides thine in yonder room. Ah, has
Lord Hastings--"
"Father, spare me! Thou wert too right; thou didst judge too wisely.
Lord Hastings is wedded to another! But see, I can smile still, I am
calm. My heart will not break so long as it hath thee to love and
pray for!"
She wound her arms round him as she spoke, and he roused himself from
his world out of earth again. Though he could bring no comfort, there
was something, at least, to the forlorn one, in his words of love, in
his tears of pity.
They sat down together, side by side, as the evening darkened,--the
Eureka forgotten in the hour of its perfection! They noted not the
torches which flashed below, reddened at intervals the walls of their
chamber, and gave a glow to the gay gilding and bright hues of the
gaudy model. Yet those torches flickered round the litter that was to
convey Henry the Peaceful to the battlefield, which was to decide the
dynasty of his realm! The torches vanished, and forth from the dark
fortress went the captive king.
Night succeeded to eve, when again the red glare shot upward on the
Eureka, playing with fantastic smile on its quaint aspect. Steps and
voices, and the clatter of arms, sounded in the yard, on the stairs,
in the adjoining chamber; and suddenly the door was flung open, and,
followed by some half score soldiers, strode in the terrible friar.
"Aha, Master Adam! who is the greater nigromancer now? Seize him!
Away! And help you, Master Sergeant, to bear this piece of the foul
fiend's cunning devising. Ho, ho! see you how it is tricked out and
furbished up,--all for the battle, I warrant ye!"
The soldiers had already seized upon Adam, who, stupefied by
astonishment rather than fear, uttered no sound, and attempted no
struggle. But it was in vain they sought to tear from him Sibyll's
clinging and protecting arms. A supernatural strength, inspired by a
kind of superstition that no harm could chance to him while she was
by, animated her slight form; and fierce though the soldiers were,
they shrunk from actual and brutal violence to one thus young and
fair. Those small hands clung so firmly, that it seemed that nothing
but the edge of the sword could sever the child's clasp from the
father's neck.
"Harm him not, harm him at your peril, friar!" she cried, with
flashing eyes. "Tear him from me, and if King Edward win the day,
Lord Hastings shall have thy life; if Lord Warwick, thy days are
numbered, too. Beware, and avaunt!"
The friar was startled. He had forgotten Lord Hastings in the zest of
his revenge. He feared that, if Sibyll were left behind, the tale she
might tell would indeed bring on him a powerful foe in the daughter's
lover; on the other hand, should Lord Warwick get the better, what
vengeance would await her appeal to the great protector of her father!
He resolved, therefore, on the instant, to take Sibyll as well as her
father; and if the fortune of the day allowed him to rid himself of
Warner, a good occasion might equally occur to dispose forever of the
testimony of Sibyll. He had already formed a cunning calculation in
desiring Warner's company; for while, should Edward triumph, the
sacrifice of the hated Warner was resolved upon, yet, should the earl
get the better, he could make a merit to Warner that he (the friar)
had not only spared, but saved, his life, in making him his companion.
It was in harmony with this double policy that the friar mildly
answered to Sibyll,--
"Tusk, my daughter! Perhaps if your father be true to King Edward,
and aid my skill instead of obstructing it, he may be none the worse
for the journey he must take; and if thou likest to go with him,
there's room in the vehicle, and the more the merrier. Harm them not,
soldiers; no doubt they will follow quietly."
As he said this, the men, after first crossing themselves, had already
hoisted up the Eureka; and when Adam saw it borne from the room, he
instinctively followed the bearers. Sibyll, relieved by the thought
that, for weal or for woe, she should, at least, share her father's
fate, and scarce foreboding much positive danger from the party which
contained Hastings and Alwyn, attempted no further remonstrance.