taper weighing two pounds. In this dismal guise, while trumpets went before, and men-at-arms marched before her and behind her,—one hopes she was allowed the attendance of her maids,—this great lady, the wife of the Regent or Protector, the greatest lady in the land, stepped barefooted along the rough road, while all the streets were crowded and every window was filled with curious eyes, and the people each asked the other if this pale and shrinking woman could be the wife of Duke Humphrey, the Duke of Gloucester, brother to King Henry V., Protector of the Realm? Pity she received none: who could pity one who had practised arts of devilish magic? And were not the ashes of her confederate, the witch of Eye, still smoking on the soil of Smithfield? At St. Paul’s she offered her taper at the high altar. Two days afterwards, she was again taken by barge from Westminster to the Swan Stairs, where she landed, and in the same guise as before, walked “through Bridge Streete, Groschirche Street, to the Ledenhalle and so to Crichurche.” And on Friday in the same way she landed at Queenhithe and so into Chepe and to St. Michael’s, Cornhill. It is a curious illustration of the time and of the respect due to rank that though this public and infamous penance was inflicted upon the lady, the Mayor, the Sheriffs, and the Crafts of London met her every day at her landing. It is not stated whether they accompanied her in her dolorous walk afoot. The Duchess was taken to Chester, where she lived in retirement for the rest of her life.
Six years later, the King being now in the hands of William de la Pole, Earl of Suffolk, the Duke of Gloucester met his end. He was arrested at St. Edmundsbury on a charge of treason, and on the morrow was found dead in his bed. People were frequently found dead in their beds in these circumstances. To give some colour to the charge of treason five of his people were accused of complicity, and condemned to the usual mode of death. They were drawn to Tyburn, hanged for a few moments, cut down alive, stripped naked and “marked with a knife in order to be quartered.” That is to say, slight incisions were made all about the body in order to guide the executioner’s hand. They were then, having experienced nearly all the agonies of death by violence and torture, unexpectedly pardoned by the Earl of Suffolk. Did the conductor of the proceedings keep the pardon in his pocket and produce it just at the critical moment when the knife had drawn those diagrams in lines of blood round the victims’ naked bodies? or did the Earl send off the pardon by special messenger who arrived just in time to save them? If so, then the situation is one of the most dramatic in all the annals of Tyburn. It is said that their clothes were kept by the hangman, and that they all had to return, naked and bleeding as they were, to the City, where they were received with great joy.
HENRY VI. (1421-1461)
From a portrait in Eton College.
The popularity of the Duke in the City is attested by the memory of his name which long survived in a proverb, “to dine with Duke Humphrey,” i.e. to have no dinner at all. The name of the “Good Duke,” who was buried at St. Albans, was given to a certain tomb in St. Paul’s, that of Sir John Beauchamp, warden of the Cinque Ports, who died in 1358. It became a custom for certain citizens—probably they were a club or association of some kind—to meet at this tomb on St. Andrew’s Day in the morning, and there, under pretence of holding offices under Duke Humphrey, to conclude with a feast. Also, on Mayday, watermen, bearers of tankards, and others, came to the tomb and strewed it with nuts and sprinkled water upon it as if they too were the servants of Duke Humphrey. This custom perished in the Great Fire, which burned up not only tombs and churches and great houses but the memory of great men.
The materials for the reign of Henry VI. as regards London are scanty. We can set forth the principal events in a short space. When the Duke of Burgundy changed sides and joined the King of France, the citizens first showed their detestation of perfidy by murdering a great number of Burgundians and other foreigners resident in the City, and also provided a large body of troops maintained at their own expense for the defence of Calais. There was trouble with the Fishmongers, who were made to abate their pretensions. There was trouble about sanctuary. A soldier named Knight was in prison at Newgate, his friends trumped up a charge of debt against him, and as they had expected, it was necessary for him to go to the Guildhall for trial. His friends, to the number of five, lay in wait in Panyer Alley and snatched him from the hands of the guard as he passed St. Martin le Grand. They hurried him into sanctuary where they defied the power of the City authorities. The two Sheriffs, however, forcibly entered St. Martin’s, and dragged out the whole gang, prisoners and rescuers. These they laid by the heels in Newgate and waited the event. It came, after much argument before the Judges, in the confirmation of St. Martin’s rights. The prisoners were all handed back to the Dean of the College, and replaced in sanctuary where they abode, probably till death.
In Gregory’s Chronicle (see p. 112) we read about a certain Sir Richard Whyche (or Wick) who with his servant was burned on Tower Hill for heresy, “for the whyche there was moche trobil amonge the pepylle, in soo moche that alle the wardys in London were assygnyd to wake there day and nyght that the pepylle myght nought have hyr ylle purpose as at that tyme.” The reason of the “trobil” is told by Fabyan. The people regarded this Richard Wick as a holy and righteous man and greatly resented his martyrdom. The Vicar of Allhallows, Barking, close by, thinking to profit in some way by the deception—probably proposing to get a saint, or martyr, or shrine with offerings, or pilgrimages for his own church—hit upon a notable design for increasing the popular reverence. He mixed fragrant powders with the ashes of the heretic as they lay on Tower Hill: then he loudly called attention to this marvel: “Lo! the very ashes of the martyr exhale a sweet scent.” And he sold small portions of the ashes for large sums of money. This villainy continued for some days until the whole town being disturbed by the strange story, they arrested the Vicar and made him confess. Perhaps the Vicar was himself a Lollard and endeavoured in this way to become a popular martyr. There had been, indeed, many popular martyrs, Sautre, Bradby, Cobham, Cleydon, and others; the people stood round the stake in tears, but no one ever dared to move. Lollardy was dying out save for the hatred entertained by the people against the wealthy Religious Houses.
In 1429 the King, being then eight years of age, was crowned at Westminster before being taken over to France to be crowned there. The ceremony and order of the coronation service are fully set forth by Gregory:—
“Nowe of the solempnyte of the coronacyon. Alle the prelatys wente on processyon beryng eche of hem a certayne relyke: and the Pryor of Westemyster bare a rodde callyde Virga regia, ande the Abbot of Westemyster bare the kyngys ceptoure. And my Lorde of Warwyke bare the kynge to chyrche in a clothe of scharlet furryd, evyn as the newe knyghtys of the Bathe wente whythe furryde hoodys with menyver. And then he was led up in to the hyghe schaffold, whyche schaffold was coveryd alle with saye by twyne the hyghe auter and the quere. And there the kyng was sette in hys sete in the myddys of the schaffold there, beholdynge the pepylle alle aboute saddely and wysely. Thenne the Arche-byschoppe of Cantyrbury made a proclamacyon at the iiij quartyrs of schaffolde, sayynge in thys wyse: ‘Syrys, here comythe Harry, Kyng Harry the v ys sone, humylyche to God and Hooly Chyrche, askynge the crowne of thy(s) realme by ryght and dyscent of herytage. Yf ye holde you welle plesyd with alle and wylle be plesyd with hym, say you nowe, ye! and holde uppe youre hondys.’ And thenne alle the pepylle cryde with oo voyce, ‘Ye! ye!’ Thenne the kynge went unto the hyghe auter, and humely layde hym downe prostrate, hys hedde to the auter warde, longe tyme lyyng stylle. Thenne the arche-byschoppys and byschoppys stode rounde a-boute hym, and radde exercysyons ovyr hym, and many antemys i-song by note. And thenne the arche-byschoppes wente to hym and strypte hym owte of hys clothys in to hys schyrte. And there was yn hys schyrte a thynge lyke grene taffata, whyche was i-lasyd at iiij placys of hym. Thenne was he layde a downe a yenne, and helyd hym with hys owne clothys yn the same maner a-fore sayde. And thenne the Byschoppe of Chester and of Rouchester songe a letany ovyr hym. And the Arche-byschoppe of Cantyrbury radde demany colettys ovyr him. Thenne the arche-byschoppys toke hym uppe a gayne and unlasyd hym, and a-noynted hym. Fyrste hys bryste and hys ij tetys, and the myddys of hys backe, and hys hedde, alle a-crosse hys ij schylderys, hys ij elbowys, his pamys of hys hondys: and thenne they layde a certayne softe thynge as cotton to alle the placys a-noyntyd: and on hys hedde they putt on a whyte coyffe of sylke. And so he wentte viij days: and at the viij