The expedition to Calais and Flanders was the last military enterprise undertaken by the Duke of Gloucester, indeed the active part of his life abruptly ends with his return to England. Hitherto there had been no question of public policy which had not attracted his attention, his boundless restlessness had made his biography the mirror of the English history of his time. Henceforth, however, the habits of his life undergo a change, the last stage of his career has been reached. With all the limitations put upon him, and with all the opposition he had encountered, he had always maintained a position of importance in the kingdom, and the national policy had at all times been largely under his influence. In spite of his inconsistency of method he had never relaxed his attempts to dominate all who came in his way, but now his energies in this direction seem to slacken. His character does not alter, but his struggles, like those of a dying man, became more intermittent, and in spite of occasional bursts of energy, his interests were not chiefly confined to matters political. That this sudden change was entirely due to a loss of physical power is hardly likely; it is possible that with his usual impetuosity he had devoted himself to other pursuits, and that politics no longer occupied the prominent place in his thoughts that they had hitherto enjoyed.

On his return to England Gloucester rested from his labours, and together with his Duchess went down to his house at Greenwich. They both received New-Year’s gifts from the King. To Gloucester was given ‘a tabulet of gold with an image of oure Ladye hanging by three cheynes,’ whereon were six imitation diamonds, six sapphires, and one hundred and sixty-four pearls, whilst his wife’s present consisted of a ‘brouche maad in maner of a man garnished with a fayre great ball,’ set with five large pearls, one large diamond, and three ‘hangers’ adorned with rubies and pearls—by far the finest and costliest gifts among the numerous New-Year’s presents given on that occasion by the King.[895] The return of Gloucester did not herald more dissensions in the Council. He was for the time predominant in the country, and the death of the Queen-Mother on January 2, 1437, removed one who might have counteracted his influence with the King.[896] Indeed at one time Catherine had evinced a desire to marry Edmund Beaufort, Earl of Mortain, but Gloucester, fearing increased importance would accrue to the Beaufort party thereby, induced the Council to forbid it. At her death, however, it transpired that she had not been content to remain single, but had married a simple gentleman named Owen Tudor, and by him had had three sons and daughters. Owen was arrested by Gloucester on the strength of the Act which forbade such a marriage without permission under the penalty of forfeiture of life and possessions, but he succeeded in making his escape.[897]

Throughout the year 1437 Gloucester’s name occasionally appears in official records as though his influence in the kingdom was considerable, and a special room was set apart at the end of Westminster Hall for himself and his council.[898] In Parliament, which met in January, the Speaker, in declaring the grant of a fifteenth and a tenth, added some words of strong commendation of his recent action with regard to Calais, and of his campaign in Flanders,[899] and the Commons took up the question of the payment of the soldiers at Calais, when the Duke complained that they were not being paid in accordance with the indentures under which he held the command of that town.[900]

The session passed without any signs of party strife, and we see little of Gloucester during the rest of the year. In August both he and his Duchess attended the funeral of yet another Queen of England, Joan, the unfortunate second wife of Henry IV.,[901] to whom in the past Humphrey had shown some courtesy in spite of her virtual imprisonment and disgrace at Langley. In November he seems to have been at Calais arranging some matter concerning his command there,[902] and he was probably not in England when on the thirteenth of the month the King assumed the government of the kingdom, and appointed his own Council to advise him. At the head of these Councillors stood Gloucester and Beaufort, and the former was to draw a salary of two thousand marks a year for life, other members of the Council receiving payment on a much lower scale.[903]

The next two years passed by without any signs of internal dissension among the King’s chief Councillors, and the name of the Duke of Gloucester is not met with frequently during this interval. In March he was appointed chief guardian of the Truce for nine years with Scotland,[904] but undoubtedly most of his time was spent in the collection and study of those rare manuscripts which about this time he began to give to the University of Oxford.[905] Never consistently pursuing any particular course of action for long, he had abandoned the stormy scenes of party politics, never more to enter the lists again save in a sudden outbreak of energy and anger, yet the one real passion of his life, interrupted though it had been by his political ambitions, still remained, and in his retirement he used the lull in the political tempest to ‘study in Bookys of antiquyte,’[906] and to encourage the advancement of the new learning as it found its way feebly and slowly to England.

In this retirement, however, Gloucester did not forget that a patron of letters needs a long purse, and he secured several additions to his already large possessions. His ferm of the lands of the young Duke of Norfolk, which he had held since 1432, expired about this time,[907] but he acquired the Hundred of Wootton and the Manors of Woodstock, Handborough, Stonesfield, and Wootton, all in the neighbourhood of Oxford; while in Norfolk he was given the Manor of Stanhoe, situated near Burnham; near Tunbridge he received the Manors of ‘Jevele,’ ‘Havendencourte,’ and Penshurst,[908] at the last of which he spent some portion of his time amongst his precious books.[909] From this period of peace Gloucester roused himself in 1440 to protest against a policy which he considered most injurious to the welfare of the kingdom, and to stir up the turmoil of party warfare once more by an attack on his old rival, Cardinal Beaufort.

The opinions of the King’s advisers had changed since the days when, in blind fury after the defection of the Duke of Burgundy at Arras in 1435, they had determined on war to the death, and it was realised that peace with France was the only solution of the monetary difficulties of the King and the universal distress throughout the kingdom. As early as March 1438 plenipotentiaries to discuss the basis of a peace had been appointed,[910] and during June, July, and August of the following year an embassy under Cardinal Beaufort had treated with French envoys under the mediating supervision of the Duchess of Burgundy. The terms demanded by the English were ridiculously pretentious, and in spite of considerable modifications therein, negotiations were broken off; Henry VI. and his Council could not realise how desperate was the cause of England in France, and that terms, which would have been humiliating in the days of Henry V., were now almost generous.[911]

The failure of these negotiations has been unhesitatingly attributed to Gloucester, but his share in their rejection is by no means proved, and is chiefly suggested by the facts of his later conduct. Be this as it may, Beaufort had entirely changed his front, and though he clamoured with the rest for war in 1435, he now, four years later, was the most prominent advocate for peace. Gloucester, on the other hand, was the leader of the party which desired the war to continue, but it is unjust to jump to the conclusion that it was merely to oppose his old rival that he adopted this attitude. He, almost alone of those who stood at the head of the nation, could remember the fleeting glories of the reign of Henry V., and he naturally could not bring himself to agree to the surrender of that which he had helped to acquire. To the day of his death, Bedford had never favoured the withdrawal of the Lancastrian claim to the throne of France, and his brother, born and bred in the same school, shared his opinion. The Cardinal, though an older man, had had no share in the military exploits of his nephew’s reign, and had contented himself with posing as a soldier of Christ in the army which in the name of religion had fought for the restoration of Sigismund to his Bohemian throne. He was a politician and, when he liked a statesman, and his keen insight taught him to apprehend the situation free from all the prejudices of the men of his own generation. In his desire for peace he was undoubtedly justified, but this does not condemn the morality of those who opposed him.

Though he had failed in his first attempt to negotiate, Beaufort was not the man to despair, and his next step was to urge the release of the Duke of Orleans, who had been a captive in England ever since the battle of Agincourt, in the hopes that his mediation might help to bring about the much-desired peace. There was yet a deeper intention than lay on the face of this suggestion, for the Duke of Burgundy favoured the scheme, hoping that Orleans might join the league of Princes which he was trying to form with the object of limiting Charles VII.’s growing power and that of his bourgeois officials.[912]

To a man who had seen half France conquered owing to the dissensions of the French Court this method of crippling England’s enemy must have seemed a chance not to be missed. Whatever the unacknowledged motive of the project, the question of the moment was the release of Charles of Orleans, and it was this which brought Humphrey from the seclusion of his books, once more to mix in the party politics which he had for the time abandoned. However honest Gloucester’s objection to the peace policy might be, his dislike of his uncle, and the traditions of fifteen years’ faction fight, could not be forgotten; he strongly resented the position of authority which the recent negotiations had given Beaufort in the councils of the nation, and his first step towards asserting himself once more in party politics was to draw up a heavy indictment of the Cardinal, his policy, and his adherents.[913] He drew up a lengthy document, in which—probably as a taunt to the Duke of Burgundy—he styled himself Duke of Gloucester, Holland, Zealand, and Brabant, Earl of Pembroke, Hainault, and Flanders, and addressed the King with a warning that some were imposing on his youth, ‘in derogation of your noble estate.’ He began his attack by a renewal of the old complaint that Beaufort had accepted the Cardinal’s hat which Henry V., well knowing his pride and ambition when merely a Bishop, had denied him. He took his stand on the rights of the see of Canterbury, declaring that Henry V. would not have objected to one who was not a Bishop becoming a Cardinal. Though the King might summon a Cardinal to his Council Board, yet in Parliament he ought to be present merely as a Bishop and in no other capacity; moreover, the Statute of Provisors had been infringed by the licence to retain his bishopric obtained by Beaufort from the Pope. The Cardinal had manoeuvred to get the crown-jewels into his possession by encouraging the war, and he had secured rights in Southampton in such a way as to constitute a standing danger and disgrace to the kingdom. He had procured the release of James of Scotland without the consent of Parliament, and had turned this to his advantage by marrying his niece to the Scotch King; he had wrongfully recovered his jewels when forfeited to the Crown; he had evaded paying the dues of his cathedral church at Winchester, and by securing grants of land he was rapidly stripping the King of his possessions. From whence came all this wealth, which could not be drawn from his see, nor from an inherited patrimony which he did not possess? He had become wealthy from the sale of offices in France and in England, and, grown arrogant by these ill-gotten gains, he had assumed the pomp and magnificence of royalty, though he neither had nor could have any interest in the Crown.

Together with Beaufort in this indictment was included the Archbishop of York, who also had recently received a Cardinal’s hat. It was generally accepted in the country, so Humphrey maintained, that together they were practically governing the kingdom, and had estranged the King from himself, the Duke of York, the Earl of Huntingdon, and the Archbishop of Canterbury, the last of whom by his position ought to be counted amongst the King’s chief advisers. The policy of these two men was injurious to the kingdom, for had they not procured the sending of ambassadors to Arras, where the only results had been an enormous expense to the nation and the reconciliation of the Duke of Burgundy with Charles of France? More recently other envoys had been sent to Calais, without his knowledge or sanction, where Burgundy and Orleans had been allowed to make up their differences. Had not also the Archbishop with the connivance of Beaufort encouraged the King to renounce all his claims on France, when the French ambassadors were lately at Windsor, and what but evil results could come from the forthcoming negotiations in March, for it was rumoured that these two prelates intended to release the Duke of Orleans, whom Henry V. had ordered in his will to be kept in confinement till the conquest of France was complete? The whole foreign policy of the King’s advisers was unwise and corrupt, for, though he himself had frequently offered his services for the defence of France, Beaufort had always secured the refusal of the offer, sending in his stead favourites of his own with unfortunate results. This long ‘complaynte’ concluded with an urgent appeal for the dismissal of the two Cardinals from the Council.[914]

No stronger evidence than is afforded in this indictment could be found to prove Beaufort’s complete ascendency over the policy of the nation, and though we may hesitate to acquit the Cardinal of many of the charges off-hand, the whole document betrays the hopeless incapacity of its composer to take a broad and statesmanlike view of affairs, and shows him to be the mere politician which he had already proved himself. The inquiry as to whence came the Cardinal’s wealth is pertinent, and has never been adequately answered; in his contention that the Bishop had been despoiling the King of his possessions, Humphrey was supported by that eminent observer, Sir John Fortescue,[915] but the question of the cardinalate had been discussed and settled, and no useful end could be reached by its resuscitation, and the attempt—if attempt it was—on the part of the Cardinal to increase the power of his house by the marriage of Joan Beaufort to the unhappy King of Scotland had ended in such dismal failure that it might well be left out of the reckoning. It was, however, in the matter of foreign policy that Gloucester so patently showed his lack of insight. Without touching on the question of the release of Orleans, to which reference will be made later, it cannot be denied that the Cardinal’s peace policy was wise, and if so far it had not met with success, it was owing to misfortune rather than to any inherent defect, whilst Gloucester’s opposition to it was based on a blind misreading of the lessons taught by past events. Nevertheless the inference to be drawn from the language of the indictment is that hitherto the Duke had had but little part in the rejection of the French terms, though he acknowledged that he had refused his consent to the suggestion that Henry should surrender his title of King of France. The complaint as to the waste of money at the Congress of Arras was amply justified, for the fabulous sum of £22,000 was spent on the Conference.[916] Still it must be confessed that the document as a whole is violent beyond the limits of judiciousness, and it seems to be the appeal of an angry man to a larger audience than that to which it was addressed.[917] In view of Gloucester’s recent retirement from active life it is inexplicable, unless that retirement was the result of compulsion and not of choice, and together with his protest against the release of Orleans, which quickly followed, it stands as the last cry of a disappointed and helpless man.

No answer was vouchsafed to this ebullition of wrath, but more attention was paid to the protest which followed it. The release of the Duke of Orleans was already decided upon, and in June Humphrey demanded that his objections to such an act should be registered under the Great Seal, for he declared that, were it not officially made quite clear, no one would believe that a step of such importance would be taken without his consent. ‘I protest’—so runs this document—‘for myn Excuse and my Discharge, that I never was, am, nor never shall be Consentyng, Conseiling, nor Agreyng to his Deliverance or Enlargissement, nor be noon other manere of Meen, which shuld take effect, otherwise than is expressed in my seid Lord my Brother’s Last Will (whom God assoille), or els suerte of so grete good whereby my Lorde’s both Realmes and Subyetts shuld be encresed and easid.’ Clearly and succinctly he detailed the reasons which compelled him to oppose the policy of the King’s advisers at a time when Charles of France wanted men of ‘discretion and judgment to order his affairs.’ The advent of Orleans to his councils would give the necessary stability to the government, and help to reconcile those factions at the French Court which so greatly aided the English cause. Moreover, when once released, Orleans would be confronted with the alternative of breaking either his oaths to Henry, or his oaths to the man whom he considered to be his own sovereign, and if the articles of agreement between the two Kings were not observed, what remedy had Henry got? The English were defenceless, for it was more than probable that the men of Normandy, who had been put to great expense in carrying on the war, would revolt when the news of Orleans’ release reached them, whilst the recall of Huntingdon left Guienne, ‘his Majesties ancient heritage,’ defenceless. Besides this, the King had no alliance with any Christian prince save the youthful King of Portugal, a fact which emphasised the folly of releasing one who was likely to prove a ‘capital enemy’ to the crown of England. The project was not only contrary to the expressed wish of the late King, but was inimical to all the best interests of the kingdom, and if release was necessary, at least there might be an exchange of English prisoners for this prince of the blood royal of France. In any case such a step should not be taken without some kind of consultation with the French and Norman subjects of the King.[918]

Such were the arguments Gloucester brought against the release of Orleans from his confinement in England. It is easy to feel pity for the prisoner of war, who through no fault of his own had been kept in bonds in a strange country for the last twenty-five years, but it was no humanitarian spirit which suggested to the King’s advisers the project of his release. The war had become both a failure and a burden, and most men were agreed that some means of ending the long struggle must be found. The people had long since ceased to pine for those military glories which the sanctimonious ambition of the late King had taught Englishmen to regard as their birthright, and Humphrey could not be expected to be heard by willing ears if he preached a policy of mere aggression. In this second manifesto, therefore, there are no signs of that cry against all movement towards peace, which had characterised the indictment against Beaufort. On the contrary, the need for peace is treated almost as though it were a necessity, and objection is taken only to the method employed to reach that end; the success of the French forces is so far recognised that Charles is alluded to as the King of France. Humphrey has changed his ground; the Jingo policy of war to the bitter end has been abandoned, and the attack is levelled at the methods, not at the aims of his opponents. Viewed in this light it would be hard to deny that Gloucester was right; though the most disastrous result which he predicted would follow the release did not come to pass, none of the advantages urged by the other party resulted. The Duke of Orleans patched up his old quarrel with the House of Burgundy, and cemented it with a marriage; he received as a result the cold shoulder at the Court of his royal master, and he then retired to the quiet of a country retreat, and became famous as the centre of one of the most literary and polite societies of his age. His release did no good to England, whilst his retention might have been a strong card in the hands of English negotiators, and though we may rejoice that a simple soul found freedom, we must not, with modern sentimentality, condemn the man who did his best to spoil the idyll of the Court of Charles of Orleans.

Though Gloucester’s indictment of Beaufort and his opposition to the policy of peace had left the country cold, his arguments against the release of the Duke of Orleans had produced an effect, which the men who controlled the King hastened to counteract.[919] The King drew up a manifesto, impelled thereto, so he said, by the report that his people were complaining that so important a prisoner had been set at liberty. He desired it to be understood quite clearly that what had been done had been done at his own initiative, and that no one else was responsible for it, an assertion so emphatic and so contrary to his character, as to raise our doubts as to its veracity. His one object, he asserted, was to bring to an end this war, ‘that longe hath contyned and endured, that is to saye, an hundreth yeeres and more,’ and his arguments in favour of peace were obvious and convincing. Edward III. had failed, his father had been checked before he died, and his own efforts had met with but poor success. The best way to secure peace was to release Orleans, who would use his influence in the French councils to this end, and would remove the desire for a continuance of war amongst those in power in France, who only looked on the prolongation of the struggle as a means of keeping Orleans safely out of the way as a prisoner abroad. He argued that Orleans knew nothing of English plans, and therefore could not betray them even if he so desired, and he concluded with a pious declaration about the immorality of keeping a prisoner of war in perpetual confinement, probably the only sentiment uninspired by others in the whole manifesto.[920]

The fact that this refutation was considered necessary points to a strong public opinion in support of Gloucester, but the advocates of release had their way, and on All-Saints’ Day a solemn service was held, whereat Orleans swore on the Sacrament never to bear arms against England, in the presence of the King and the assembled Lords. Gloucester was there too, but to mark his disapproval of the whole proceedings, ‘qwan the Masse began he toke his barge,’ and left the scene of what he considered to be an act which could only assist the undoing of his country.[921] On November 3 the indentures were signed, and the Duke of Orleans was ready to return to his native land.[922]

Though defeated in the matter of foreign policy, Gloucester was still a power to be considered, for he was an active member of the King’s Council,[923] and possessed no inconsiderable following in the country. To pacify his anger at his reverse he had been made Chief-Justice of South Wales in February,[924] a post which was no sinecure owing to the disturbed state of that district, and which necessitated a visit thither in August and September, when assizes were held in Cardigan and Carmarthen. Even when most in disfavour at Court, use was made of Humphrey’s well-known ability in the suppressing of disturbances, and a special grant of two hundred marks for his exertions in this direction was given him.[925] At this time, too, his influence was instrumental in procuring the renewal of the charter to St. Albans Abbey,[926] and there was even some idea of employing him in the French wars. At any rate, the Council of Rouen was informed that he was shortly to be sent over to France, and his non-appearance created great discontent in the Duchy of Normandy.[927] That the Council ever seriously contemplated such a step must remain very doubtful, especially when we find that in the beginning of the next year he was superseded in his Calais command by his namesake Humphrey, Earl of Stafford.[928] Nevertheless his influence was sufficient to secure the appointment of his friend the Duke of York to be Lieutenant-General of France and Normandy for five years, though no steps were taken to enable him to take up his command immediately.[929] Humphrey therefore, in spite of his decreased importance, had some share in the management of the kingdom, but his lack of perseverance and his impetuous nature had caused him to throw away the natural advantages of his position. His power had appreciably diminished in the four years which had passed since his invasion of Flanders. The fire had gone out of his life, and he was now to receive the most severe check he had ever experienced. His wife Eleanor had never been a help to him in his political ambitions, now she was to expose him to the barbed shafts of his enemies.

The old order was passing away in fifteenth-century England, yet there was very little of the modern spirit in the mental attitude of the majority of Englishmen. It came, therefore, as no surprise when it was rumoured abroad that proceedings were to be taken against certain practisers of the Black Art, who had been conspiring to kill the young King by means of incantations and witchcraft. The age was superstitious, and only a year earlier than this crowds had surrounded the scene of a Lollard burning, and the people had offered money and waxen images before the ashes of the victim, Richard Wyche, whom they considered to be a saint.[930] The monkish chronicler Walsingham, writing a few years later, gravely describes the appearance of the Devil in a church in Essex, and the thunderbolt which struck the building while the evil spirit was there,[931] whilst still more circumstantial is a story told by the St. Albans chronicler. A Lollard tiler was burnt at Waldon in 1430, and afterwards a neighbour picked up one of his bones, which had not been consumed by the flames. With this bone he accidentally pricked his finger; his hand and arm immediately swelled up, and his life was only saved by the prompt removal of the limb—a sign of remarkable vindictiveness on the part of that Lollard, says our chronicler.[932] Public opinion was therefore quite prepared to turn the full force of its indignation on those who had invoked the powers of darkness to procure the death of the young King, who had won his way to the hearts of his subjects, though he was never able to command their respect.

The accused were two clerks, Roger Bolingbroke, an Oxford priest, and Thomas Southwell, canon of St. Stephen’s, Westminster. The accusation of using the ‘crafte of egremauncey’ against the life of the King was prepared against Roger as the principal, and Thomas as the assister and abettor. Both men were cast into the Tower, and on Sunday, July 16,[933] the former was brought out, and placed in the midst of his instruments of magic on a platform erected in St. Paul’s Churchyard, where, after the sermon, he abjured the Black Art. Such a public penance drew men’s attention to the matter, but the real interest in the case was not revealed till three days later the news got abroad that Roger, under examination before the King’s Council, had confessed that he had been instigated to the course of action in which he had been discovered by no less a person than the Duchess of Gloucester, who that same day had fled to sanctuary at Westminster.[934] At once the matter assumed a political importance it would never have reached had the accusation been confined to two insignificant priests. Roger was known to have some connection with the household of Gloucester, and his statement that the Duchess had instructed him to find by divination ‘to what estate in life she should come,’ together with the consequent implication that she had sought to procure the death of the King by witchcraft, and thus procure for her husband the crown which she desired to share with him, gained ready credence.

Steps were immediately taken to bring Eleanor to justice, for sanctuary was no protection for the crimes of heresy and witchcraft of which she was now accused. On July 22 she was cited to appear before the Archbishops of Canterbury and York and the Bishops of Winchester and Salisbury, and though she essayed to find safety in flight down the river, she was captured while making the attempt, and brought before her judges on the 25th in the Chapel of St. Stephen at Westminster. Many charges of heresy and witchcraft were laid against her, and Roger, brought from the Tower for the purpose, gave evidence. The charges were considered so serious that a remand was ordered till October 21, when she was to appear again before the Archbishop of Canterbury. In the meanwhile she was committed to the Castle of Leeds in Kent under the care of Sir John Stiward and Sir John Stanley, whither she was removed on August 11.[935]

While active proceedings were thus postponed, a special commission, on which the Earls of Stafford, Suffolk, and Huntingdon, together with Lords Cromwell, Fanhope, and Hungerford, and certain judges of both benches served, was appointed to inquire into all matters of sorcery; and before them Bolingbroke and Southwell were arraigned together with Eleanor as an accomplice. Herein we may trace an effort on the part of Gloucester’s enemies to bring his wife into the clutches of a secular court.

At this trial yet another accomplice was produced in the person of the ‘Witch of Eye,’ whose sorceries Eleanor had long used, and from whom, it was said, she had procured love-potions wherewith to ensnare the affections of Humphrey. Before this court had come to any decision, interest shifted to the Ecclesiastical Court, before which Eleanor was brought to stand an independent trial on October 21. Her judges here were the Bishops of London, Lincoln, and Norwich, commissioned thereto by Archbishop Chichele, who excused himself from further participation in the trial; the prosecution was in the hands of Adam Moleyns, the clerk of the King’s Council. Moleyns read out an exhaustive list of accusations, to the gravest of which the Duchess returned an uncompromising denial, without, however, denying her guilt on all the counts, that is, she acknowledged recourse to the Black Art, but denied the treasonable encompassing of the King’s death. The trial was prorogued to the 23rd, when witnesses were heard and the verdict of guilty returned, since she refused to contradict the evidence brought against her, and ‘submitted only to the correction of the Bishops.’ Four days later she abjured her heresies and witchcraft before the Bishops, who ordered her to appear before them on November 9, when sentence would be passed.[936]

The punishment that was ordered was no light one, and consisted of public penances through London on three different days. On Monday, November 13, she came down the river on her barge to Temple Stairs, and thence, by way of Temple Bar, she walked on foot to St. Paul’s, ‘openly barehede with a Keverchef on her hede beryng,’ and ‘with a meke and a demure countenance’—so the Bishops ordained—bearing in her hand a taper of two pounds in weight, which she offered at the High Altar. On two subsequent days similar pilgrimages were made to different churches. On the following Wednesday she landed at Swan Stairs in Upper Thames Street, and by way of Bridge Street, Gracechurch Street, and Leadenhall she came to Christchurch, Aldgate, whilst on the Friday she landed at Queenhithe, ‘and so forth she went unto Chepe, and so to Seynt Mighell in Cornhull.’ On each occasion the Mayor of London with the Sheriffs and craftes of the City met her at the place of landing, and escorted her along the road of penance.[937] Of her companions in misfortune, ‘Margery Jourdemain,’ known as the ‘Witch of Eye,’ was burnt at Smithfield; Bolingbroke underwent the full sentence of hanging, beheading, and quartering; whilst Southwell found a mercifully early death in prison.[938] On the completion of her penance, Eleanor was committed to prison for life under the care of Sir Thomas Stanley[939] and Sir John Stiward. At first she was confined in her original place of detention, Leeds Castle in Kent,[940] but early in the New Year she was removed to Chester,[941] whence she was taken in October or December 1443 to Kenilworth.[942] In July 1446 Sir Thomas Stanley was directed to take her to the Isle of Man,[943] and in the following year we find her a prisoner somewhere in Wales,[944] probably in Flint Castle, where she died after eighteen long years’ imprisonment.[945] Her confinement was probably no more than honourable detention, for she was provided with a large number of personal servants, and with a private allowance of one hundred marks a year.[946] Her relations with her jailers seem to have been quite cordial, and to at least one of them she made a present of one of her trinkets,[947] but as a personality she had passed from history, and as an individual her rank was not recognised, for she is described in all official documents as ‘Eleanor, lately called Duchess of Gloucester.’[948]

The disgrace of Gloucester’s wife is a strange story, and in spite of the ample evidence to be found in contemporary chroniclers, it must be accepted with some reserve. It was the cause cÉlÈbre, of the period, and even chroniclers who pass over the years with the scantiest summary of events pause awhile to tell of the fall of a great lady. Yet not once is Humphrey mentioned, and it is only a sixteenth-century historian who tells us that ‘the Duke of Gloucester toke all these thyngs paciently and said little.’[949] Nevertheless there is a strong presumption that Humphrey did make some efforts to save his second wife, in spite of his base desertion of Jacqueline, a presumption which is fortified by an edict forbidding interference with the proceedings against Eleanor,[950] and by the abstention of Chichele—Gloucester’s friend and ally—from taking part in the later proceedings. Moreover, the greatest care was taken to guard the prisoner on her way to the scene of her confinement, as though some effort at rescue was feared.[951]

Any defence of the Duchess was hampered by her own confession to the truth of some of the charges, and by the strong evidence against her. That she was guilty of dabbling in the Black Art can hardly be doubted, and it is more than probable that she had used the sciences to foretell the future, an act which, though not in itself treasonable, might nevertheless be regarded with strong suspicion in one who was only divided by one frail life from the position of Queen. There still exists one of her books, a semi-medical, semi-astrological work translated from the original Arabic,[952] and it is undoubtedly established that Humphrey himself was interested in those sciences which bordered on the heretical. Roger Bolingbroke had a great reputation for knowledge of the Black Art, and his connection with Eleanor was known long before any suspicion of treason arose.[953] One of the accusations, too, seems probable in the light of Humphrey’s knowledge of the ancient classics, for it was said that the time-worn system of roasting a waxen image of the doomed King before a fire had been one of the treasonable witchcrafts employed,[954] a system which is to be found described in all its details in the classical authors which Duke Humphrey studied.

Behind Dame Eleanor stood her husband, and his character and reputation could not but have their influence on public opinion. It is to be remembered that both husband and wife had been friends with Queen Joan, who had been accused on a similar charge, and those who could cast their memories back to the early years of Henry VI.’s reign might remember another incident which might suggest that Humphrey took an interest in witchcraft and sorcery. When in 1425 he had almost come to blows with the Bishop of Winchester, one of the causes of quarrel was that he had removed from custody a certain ‘Ffrere Randolff,’ who had been in prison for treason. Friar Randolph was the man who had played the part of Bolingbroke in the Queen Joan scandal, the practiser of the Black Art, who was accused of casting spells to encompass the late King’s death.[955] Is it surprising, then, that men were ready to believe that the Duke of Gloucester was indeed guilty of practising witchcraft, when he had in the past championed one of its votaries in so autocratic a manner? It is more than probable that Humphrey devoted himself to a study of the art from a purely scientific point of view. All branches of learning—if, indeed, we may so call it—appealed to his inquiring mind, but he most likely approached it from the same standpoint as many at the present day approach spiritualism. His wife, being of a lower mental calibre, interested herself in the study of her husband, but treated it in a practical and not in a theoretical spirit. With this dangerous weapon in her hands it would be in no way surprising if she used it for concrete ends, and little by little came to try its efficacy in restoring some of the lost power of her husband. There is no evidence or suggestion that Humphrey himself knew of these treasonable practices, or that, had he known, he would have taken them seriously.

Evidence and probability therefore both speak for the guilt of the Duchess, who increased the appearances against her by her flight to sanctuary instead of bravely facing the charges; and though the people sympathised with her in her trouble,[956] they do not seem to have doubted for a moment that she was guilty. Her pride and ambition were well known, and were dwelt on in the poem entitled ‘The Lament of the Duchess of Gloucester,’[957] whilst another contemporary rhymer writes:

Whatever we may think of Eleanor’s guilt, it is obvious that the whole case was exploited by Gloucester’s enemies to injure the man who had so lately opposed their plans. The Duchess was known to have considerable influence over the King,[959] who at the time of her trial showed a great desire to save her life,[960] and we have seen how the object of both parties was to secure the royal ear. To strike Eleanor was to strike her husband, for in spite of the inauspicious beginning of her connection with Gloucester, she had succeeded in establishing her position as the first lady of the kingdom. Of late grants to Humphrey had been made to himself and his wife;[961] she had been permitted to wear the robes of the Garter; she was petitioned as one who held a position of importance, and had interfered in matters of state administration;[962] the Pope had acknowledged her position and had issued a Bull in her favour;[963] the Monastery of St. Albans had admitted her into its fraternity;[964] she had been singled out for particular favours by the King when distributing his New-Year’s gifts. She was indeed no weakling whose insecure position might be safely attacked, but a woman who had claimed, and had justified her claim, to be accounted of in the kingdom.

To convict Eleanor of treason, then, was to injure her husband in no small degree, and the whole history of the case points to the fact that it was engineered by his enemies. Unusual publicity was given to the charges against Bolingbroke; he was publicly paraded before the citizens of London; and then, when the ground had been carefully prepared, the charge was extended to the first lady in the land. Special commissioners were organised, and every effort made to bring her under the secular arm, and if she escaped with her life, it was not through any fault of her accusers. To strengthen this contention it is well to take the striking parallel of Queen Joan. The charge of sorcery was often used in the fifteenth century as a means to remove political opponents; the trumped-up charge against the Maid of Orleans is an obvious instance;[965] but the fate of Henry IV.’s unhappy Queen bears too striking a likeness to the disgrace of Eleanor Cobham to be lightly passed over. She, too, was accused on the confession of her chaplain, Father Randolph, of having ‘compassed and imagined the King’s death in the most horrible manner that could be devised,’[966] and to this end she was said by the chroniclers to have used sorcery, which Randolph practised at her suggestion.[967] She, too, was imprisoned for life, but the more ignominious part of Eleanor’s punishment was spared her, and she was later released from confinement.

It was the public penance, perhaps, more than anything else, which betrayed the political animus which lay behind the condemnation of Gloucester’s wife, and which justifies the assertion of Fabyan, that the attack on the Duchess was part of an organised plan to overthrow the Duke.[968] Eleanor had doubtless made many personal enemies. Born of a family of no great standing, she had not by her early conduct improved her position. Since her marriage to a Prince of the blood royal, her pride, fanned by the success of her ambitions, had increased, and had given offence to many who regarded her as an upstart. But this was not enough to account for the degrading details of her fall. It was her husband at whom the blow was aimed, and it was he that suffered as well as his wife.

The loss of prestige to Humphrey was very great,[970] and it came at a time when his power in the kingdom was beginning to wane. Never again does he appear as a man of influence in the councils of the King; all the old fire of the days of the Protectorate is gone, and it is probable that he leaned far more on his wife than has ever been suspected. Till her disgrace young Henry seems to have had a strong affection for his uncle, but thereafter the simple-minded King, separated from the woman who had influenced him, turned from his uncle to other advisers, who had fewer claims to his regard, and no wiser heads than the discredited Humphrey. Indeed this incident is a definite milestone on the road to complete disgrace which the Duke was now treading. Ever since the time when he began to drop out of public life his influence in the kingdom had been slowly passing away. He had tried to reinstate himself in the popular favour, and thus strengthen his hands against his enemies, by his attack on Beaufort and on the policy of releasing Orleans, but the attempt missed its mark, and had only provoked this act of retaliation from his opponents. Hitherto the cry against him had been merely one of mismanagement and factiousness, but here we find the first signs of the charge of treason, with which he was ultimately assailed. It would seem that the Beaufort faction had now decided not only on his humiliation, but on his ultimate removal, for if he were to succeed to the throne, their power would be gone. Humphrey had not the determination nor the strength to meet this new attack, and he gradually gave way before the organised assault he had now to face. He had come to the critical time of his life, and his weak character, still further weakened by his moral failings, was unable to cope with the situation. His face was set towards the shadows, he knew it, and yet he had no strength to fight his way back to light and power. Though his physical capacities were unimpaired, all signs of moral force had disappeared from his character.

Gloucester continued to attend the Council, but we see very little recorded beyond his mere presence; occasionally he would act as a guarantor for a loan from that prince of money-lenders, Cardinal Beaufort,[971] or throw in sarcastic comment when the same cardinal used his position to exact special conditions under which the loans were made.[972] Most of his time was probably spent at his manor of ‘Plaisance’ at Greenwich, in the house on which he had spent so much money, and surrounded by the park which he had himself enclosed. It was here, at any rate, that in September 1442 he dated his decision in the matter of a dispute which had arisen at the Monastery of St. Albans.[973] For the rest, he seems to have devoted his attention to the care of his soul. He was already assured that masses would be said for him in perpetuity at Oxford, and in 1442 we find him in the rather strange company of the Archbishop of York and others, securing by the gift of certain manors a perpetual chaplain to pray for the souls of the donors themselves and of their children at the Church of St. Katharine at Gosfield.[974] The bitterness of strife was over, the political game was passing into other and younger hands, and these two old rivals made up their differences in a united hope for eternal salvation.[975] A year later Humphrey determined to devote the alien Priory of Pembroke, which had been given him by Henry V., to the same purpose of masses for his soul, but there seems to have been some doubt as to where he should place the gift. Adam Moleyne, Dean of Salisbury—he who had acted for the Council in accusing Eleanor—had the intention of securing the Priory of Pembroke for the Dean and Chapter of Salisbury, and went so far as to request and obtain from the Council a licence for this transfer.[976] Humphrey, however, refused to be driven to alienate his property in any way of which he did not approve, and three months later we find a charter assigning the alien Priory of Pembroke to the Abbey of St. Albans in accordance with a Royal Licence obtained as far back as 1441.[977] In spite of his inactivity, Gloucester did not entirely retire from public life, but his influence was gone, and the petition of the Parliament of 1442 that ladies of rank should have the same privilege as their husbands, and be tried by the peers for indictable offences,[978] shows his weakness, for this petition, which became a statute, is by way of a censure on the judicial system that had allowed the Duchess of Gloucester to escape with her life.

But if Gloucester was passing into the background, so were also the chief actors who had flourished with him on the political stage, though no cloud hung over them as over the late Protector. Archbishop Kemp, as we have seen, was beginning to think more of the next world than of this; Lord Cromwell’s day was passing, and the great Cardinal himself was now content to direct others in scenes where he had been formerly the chief actor. The Beaufort party was now represented in the forefront of the battle by the Duke of Somerset and the Marquis of Dorset, both nephews of the Bishop of Winchester, and in close alliance with them was William de la Pole, Earl of Suffolk. This last had served in the French wars ever since the death of his brother at Agincourt, but of late he had been turning his attention to home politics. He had steadily increased the importance of his position, and by his connection with the House of Beaufort he now found himself one of the chief of those who so jealously surrounded the King. He it was, therefore, who was chosen to be head of an embassy to France,[979] which was to carry through a piece of Beaufort manoeuvring. The King had reached a marriageable age, and it was considered advisable that he should look to France for a bride. The question remained, to whom should overtures be made? The embassy to France was to pave the way for the carrying out of a scheme proposed by the Duke of Orleans, that Henry should marry Margaret of Anjou, daughter of RenÉ, Duke of Lorraine and titular King of Sicily and Jerusalem. Though a man of no personal possessions, RenÉ was in the innermost circle of the French Court, owing to the fact that his sister was Queen of France, and his brother, Charles of Anjou, one of the King’s chief advisers. Such a marriage, therefore, presupposed some kind of agreement between the nations at war, and Suffolk was chosen to procure such an agreement.

The idea of the marriage was unpopular in England, as Suffolk himself acknowledged,[980] and it is probable that this unpopularity was based on the resistance to the match made by Gloucester. This time it was no factiousness in Gloucester that led him to oppose the plans of his opponents, for he was adhering to a policy which he had favoured from the first, when he warmly supported the project of a marriage with one of the daughters of the Count of Armagnac. This match, as well as the Anjou alliance, had been proposed by Orleans at a time when he was in alliance with the discontented Princes of the Praguerie, and was intended to draw Armagnac into an alliance with the English, part of a large scheme for uniting the discordant elements of the French kingdom with the English invaders. This idea was the product of the Beaufort policy which had released the Duke of Orleans, a reversion, in fact, to the methods of Henry V., who had won France with the help of Burgundy. Steps had been taken to open negotiations, and in 1442 an embassy, of which Thomas Beckington, formerly Gloucester’s Chancellor and now the King’s Private Secretary, and Sir Robert Roos, one of the Duke’s literary friends, were the heads, was despatched to Bordeaux for this purpose.[981] The French forces had invaded Gascony, and John of Armagnac, with the enemies of England encamped on his borders, had to tread warily in the matter of an English alliance. Delay was inevitable, and in spite of the best intentions on the Armagnac side, the negotiations were for the time abandoned.[982]

Gloucester had heartily supported the whole idea, since it was conceived in the same spirit as that alliance with Burgundy which had helped to bring half France under the dominion of Henry V. Though we may well doubt the wisdom of this plan, we must acknowledge that it was consistent with Gloucester’s past policy, and that in this instance he did not sacrifice what he thought to be right to his desire to oppose his rivals. It may be that he had learnt wisdom; it may be that recent events had taught him his increasing weakness, and had led him to a less narrow view of party politics. He certainly espoused this plan put forward by the party he had opposed so long, and took a personal interest in details of the embassy, for he was kept informed of the progress of affairs by Beckington, who, as soon as he returned, went down to Greenwich to tell him what had been done and what had been left undone.[983]

Humphrey, therefore, had chosen the better part, and had concurred in a policy of which he was not the originator, but the Beaufort party showed no signs of following this good example. They knew that Henry’s marriage would have an immense bearing on home politics, and that his wife would probably be able to influence him as she liked. They must therefore provide him with a bride entirely of their own choosing, and one who would not be acceptable to Gloucester, whose influence was to be counteracted by their nominee to the position of Queen of England. It was for this reason that they had changed their policy, and now were advising the marriage with Margaret of Anjou. Notwithstanding the popular opposition, Suffolk carried out his instructions; the marriage was arranged, and a truce was signed with France,[984] but it was no good augury for the usefulness of this marriage alliance that it could not be brought to form the basis of a final peace. To the last Humphrey urged that it was dishonourable to abandon the negotiations begun with the Count of Armagnac,[985] but when matters were finally settled, he determined to accept the situation, and was the most prominent of those lords and gentlemen who escorted Margaret to London after her marriage at Titchfield Abbey.[986] On this occasion he had with him a guard of honour consisting of five hundred men, dressed in his livery.[987] Later, too, when Suffolk was thanked in Parliament for his recent labours in negotiating this marriage, Humphrey delivered a speech in favour of the man who had brought to England one who was to prove a firebrand in the country, and to be numbered amongst his own chief opponents.[988]

This sweet reasonableness is not a trait hitherto found in any of Duke Humphrey’s actions, and it suggests that more and more he was coming to realise that he was playing a losing game. He thought it best to bow before the storm, for we cannot believe that, had he thought it to his own personal advantage, he would have abandoned a plan merely for the sake of the internal peace of the kingdom. We have here yet another indication that he was unable to summon to his aid even one of those fitful bursts of energy which earlier he had commanded, but if we are to believe the report of an historian who wrote in the early part of the sixteenth century, his natural impetuosity led him to give the lie to his weak behaviour, and to show that he still held by the principles with regard to English policy on the Continent that he had always voiced. We are told that he delivered a speech in Parliament, urging that it was necessary to defy all conventions and break the truce agreed to, which was, he declared, a mere subterfuge on the part of France to gain a breathing space, an interval during which to recoup her strength.[989]

There is, however, no absolute inconsistency between his recent actions and this speech. He had accepted the state of affairs when he welcomed Margaret to her new English home, but that did not necessarily imply a cessation of the war; marriage, which the historian generally accepts as the final confirmation of the treaty of peace, was in this case regarded as a mere preliminary to a possible, but rather improbable pacification. The truce was short, and the end of the war was not to be yet. The marriage of Margaret to Henry was an isolated incident, not part of a policy, in its effect at least, though it might be in its intention.

Humphrey had all along argued for the continuance of the war; he believed in its righteousness and in its advantages at home as well as abroad. Even as it was rumoured that Henry V. had embarked on foreign conquest as an antidote to internal dissension, so Humphrey, feeling the spirit of strife which was abroad—a spirit, be it confessed, that he had fostered—looked to the war to distract the nobles from conflict at home, and a French chronicler of the time was the first to realise this aspect of the Duke’s policy.[990] It was not a new idea. It had been Henry V.’s, as we have seen; more important still, it was mentioned as a maxim of government in one of those books which it was Gloucester’s joy to study. Ægidius, in his De Regimine Principium, writes: ‘Guerra enim exterior tollit seditiones, et reddit cives magis unanimes et concordes. Exemplum hujus habemus in Romanis quibus postquam defecerunt exteriora bella intra se ipsos bellare coeperunt,’[991] and a copy of this book was among Humphrey’s gifts to the University of Oxford. It is a wrong principle; to us it is even absurd; but the absurdity was not then obvious. It contains the too common fallacy of confounding cause and effect, for though the war for a time might distract the turbulent noble’s attention, it made him all the more turbulent when his new employment, the cause of his distraction, was removed. But contemporaries did not see this. Basin, the historian, who divined the motives of Gloucester’s war policy, has nothing but praise for the underlying principle.[992] Suffolk was no enthusiastic advocate for peace, and the Beaufort faction had espoused a peace policy in the past merely because it suited their private plans—plans, too, which were not to increase the internal peace of the kingdom—and because their nominees were totally incapable of carrying on the war, as had been lately proved by the failure of the incompetent Somerset.[993] If Gloucester followed the wrong policy in advocating war, we could not expect it to be otherwise when we remember his early training. It is a truism—like so many truisms, too often forgotten in practice—to say that a man must not be judged by the standards of an age that is not his own, and it is absurd to condemn Humphrey’s war policy when we look at the attitude of his contemporaries to the same subject. Advantage there was none for him to be reaped from the continuance of the war; factiousness is no longer a possible explanation of his motive; his attitude therefore may be attributed to a desire for the good of the kingdom, for the good of the House of which he himself and his poor, weak nephew were the last representatives.

Whether Gloucester had really delivered himself of these opinions on the war with France or no, he had succeeded in making his enemies desperate. Queen Margaret was not long in grasping the situation of parties in England, and she naturally leaned on Suffolk, the man who had brought her to the position she held, the man who from the first had declared himself her friend and servant. Together they scanned the political horizon, and only one obstacle could they see to the success of their plans, and that obstacle was Duke Humphrey. Though discredited at Court, and bereft of the influence he had once held in the councils of the nation, he had still a definite position in the kingdom as heir to the throne, and did not lack supporters among certain classes. Moreover, the Duke of York, a firm opponent of Beaufort influence, gained what little power he had from the support of Gloucester. Together these two had to be considered as the leaders of a party of some importance. It was the old story of Gloucester and Beaufort still, for the new party headed by the Queen and Suffolk was but a new version of that formerly led by the Cardinal Bishop of Winchester, and had the support of the Beaufort interest, that is, of the Earl of Somerset, Lord Say de Sele and Adam Moleyns.[994] Margaret, the centre of the confederacy, was an ambitious woman, with more ingenuity than common-sense. Young and inexperienced, she had alighted suddenly on a hotbed of intrigue and party strife. At once her mind was made up: she would be the predominant influence in English politics, and this by means of her ascendency over the weak mind of her husband, an ascendency so easy to procure. Suffolk was bound by every call of self-interest to play the game of the Queen; his claim to regard must be based on the Queen’s success; and with the impetuosity and cunning inherited from his mercantile ancestors, he drew the whole Beaufort faction with him. In opposition to this strong combination, whose various private interests impelled them to act together, stood Gloucester, almost alone, but with one very strong card in his hand. Suffolk whilst in France had been inveigled into agreeing to the cession of Maine to that country,[995] but that this was generally known at the time is very doubtful. At any rate, when it should become known, as known it must be sooner or later, there would be a very stiff storm to be weathered by Margaret and her friends, and if Gloucester were still to the fore, this storm might well cause shipwreck to her party.[996] Possibly the knowledge of this fact had produced Gloucester’s speech against the truce, but it is more likely that as yet it was a danger which lay concealed in the womb of the future. If this were so, Gloucester must be humiliated, perhaps removed, before the truth became known. Every effort was made, therefore, to alienate the King from his uncle;[997] suspicions as to his intentions were hazarded, and by degrees suggestions developed into direct accusations. The mind of Henry, already bordering on the brink of madness—a state in which suspicion is quick to arise—yielded readily to the treatment to which it was submitted. Gloucester, he came to believe, was plotting against his life from fear that an heir to the throne would be born; his preparations were being made. Everything, so Henry was told, pointed to this, for the deeds of Eleanor Cobham could not be disassociated from her husband. The one menace to the peace of the kingdom was Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester.[998]

The drama of Gloucester’s life is drawing to a close, and the tragedy of its end is in sight. Any lingering regard for his uncle in the mind of the King had passed, and his attitude during the visit of the French embassy which came to England in 1445 illustrates the success of the tactics employed by Margaret. It was on July 15 that the ambassadors came before the King, whom they found supported by Suffolk, Dorset, the Cardinal of York, the Chancellor, Adam Moleyns, Gloucester, Chester, and Warwick. Henry greeted them most warmly, and assured them of his great desire for peace, shooting glances of defiance all the time at Gloucester, and when he had finished his greeting he turned to Suffolk, and exchanged a smile of understanding with him. It was also reported that he had pressed the Chancellor’s hand, and had said that he was very glad that some present had heard his words, and that they seemed so little at their ease.[999] Margaret had been successful indeed. The King was entirely alienated from his uncle, and he delighted to show his contempt for his former adviser’s counsel, even as all small minds delight to show a contempt they have no right to indulge. Suffolk was even more outspoken than his royal master. He openly and loudly declared that he cared not what the Duke of Gloucester thought, or whether he opposed him or not, for his power was gone, and the King no longer regarded him.[1000]

Humphrey’s career was over. The King denied him access to the Court, and he was removed from the Privy Council.[1001] Indeed in the later chroniclers we read of an attempt to bring him to justice, and of an indictment before the Council. He was accused, it is said, of malpractices during his Protectorate, especially of having caused men adjudged to die to be put to other execution than the law of the land allowed. A brilliant speech, if we are to believe the report, refuted the charges so successfully, that they were allowed to drop.[1002] This partial success, however, availed the Duke nothing, as his enemies had decided to remove him from their path, and for this purpose it was proposed to call a Parliament to which he was summoned, ‘the which parliament was maad only for to sle the noble Duke of Gloucester.’[1003] Suffolk, it seems, had laid certain accusations against him,[1004] and he had induced the King to summon this assembly, to crush the only man that stood in his way. At first Parliament was summoned to meet at Cambridge, but it was ultimately transferred to Bury St. Edmunds, a place where Suffolk was strong,[1005] and Gloucester weak, apart from a certain support from the Abbey there.[1006] Gloucester’s fate was sealed. With cunning ingenuity Suffolk spread a report that a rising led by Duke Humphrey might be expected any day, and he made elaborate preparations for guarding the King at each stopping-place on the way to Bury. Besides this, the almost incredible number of forty or sixty thousand men was collected and stationed round the town.[1007] Gloucester was ordered to attend the Parliament, and all waited to see whether he would come.[1008] Totally ignorant of the elaborate preparations for his reception, yet knowing the dangers which beset his path, Humphrey set out for Bury.[1009] Far from making any show of resistance,[1010] or coming to Parliament in a spirit of bravado, and followed by an overwhelming retinue, he came all unsuspicious that a trap had been laid for him, like an innocent lamb—so the chronicler quaintly puts it[1011]—hoping that he might be able to procure pardon for his imprisoned wife.[1012] The same chronicler, who was not one of those who sang the praises of Duke Humphrey, says that he was conscious of no evil in himself, and suspected nothing as he rode out on his last ride,[1013] accompanied by some eighty horsemen,[1014] no extraordinary retinue for a prince of the blood royal on a long, and possibly dangerous journey.

Parliament had been opened on February 10 with a speech from the Chancellor, Archbishop Stafford, who declared with suspicious unction, that ‘blessed was the man who walked not in the counsel of the ungodly,’[1015] but it was not until the 18th that the Duke of Gloucester arrived. When within half a mile of the gates of the town, he was met by two officers of the King’s household, who told him that the King wished him to go straight to his lodgings, and not visit the Court, since the weather was so cold for travelling; at least so was the message reported subsequently by some of the Duke’s retinue. It was eleven o’clock in the morning when Gloucester rode into the city by the south gate, and passing through the ‘horsemarket,’ turned to his left into the Northgate Ward. Here he passed through a mean street, and as he rode along, he asked a passer-by, by what name the alley was known. ‘Forsoothe, my Lord, hit is called the Dede Lane, came the answer. Then the inborn superstition of ‘the Good Duke’ asserted itself; so with an old prophecy he had read ringing in his ears, and a word of pious resignation on his lips, he rode on to the ‘North Spytyll’ outside the Northgate, otherwise called ‘Seynt Salvatoures,’[1016] where he was to lodge. Having eaten his dinner, a deputation came to wait upon him, consisting of the Duke of Buckingham, the Marquis of Dorset, the Earl of Salisbury, Lord Sudley, and Viscount Beaumont. This last in his capacity of High Constable placed the Duke under arrest by the King’s command. Two yeomen of the guard and a sergeant were appointed to take charge of the prisoner, who was removed from the care of his own immediate servants, some of whom, including Sir Roger Chamberlain, were arrested the same evening between eight and nine o’clock. The arrest passed off quietly, but three days later about twenty-eight more of Gloucester’s retainers, including his natural son ‘Arteys,’ were arrested and sent to divers places of confinement. This was on Shrove Tuesday, but it was unknown to their master, who was lying in a state of coma, so that for three days he neither moved nor had any feeling. Towards the end of this time, however, he recovered sufficiently to confess his sins, and to receive the last rites of the Church, and then sinking again he died, so it is related, about three o’clock in the afternoon of Tuesday, February 23, 1447.[1017]

Next day the news of his death was proclaimed, and his body was exposed, so that all might see that no mark of violence was upon him.[1018] His corpse was visited by many during the day, and towards evening he was disembowelled, placed in a ‘seryd cloth, and layd in a lead chest,’ encased in a coffin of poplar-wood. On the Saturday, just a week after his arrival in the town, Humphrey’s body was carried to the Grey Friars’ Monastery at Babwell,[1019] escorted thither by twenty torches borne by members of his own entourage; indeed, apart from the three crown officials who had been his gaolers, none but his personal retainers accompanied the cortÈge. On the Sunday the Abbot of St. Albans ‘dede his dirge,’ and the next day, after a mass had been said for the repose of his soul, his earthly remains were carried out on their last journey. By slow stages the coffin was carried to St. Albans, resting by night at Newmarket, Berkway, and Ware, and arriving at its destination on Friday the 21st. Here again was a dirge said for him, followed by Mass, and on the Saturday the body was placed in the ‘Feyre vout,’ prepared for him in his lifetime, amidst the lamentations of many of his faithful servants, and in the presence of the crown officials, who were the only outward evidences that a king’s son was being laid to rest.[1020] The whole ceremony of interment was that of a private individual, not that of a prince;[1021] the outward glamour of the pomp and circumstance which had accompanied his three brothers to the grave was absent. Humphrey died a prisoner, a disgraced politician, but he was followed to the grave by a band of genuine mourners. All the artificial adjuncts of his life, all the pride of power and position which had conspired to make him a great prince, had vanished, and he was laid in his last resting-place by loving hands, who took a mournful pleasure in thus honouring their dead master without any of that formal and unlovely ceremonial which disguises death as a pageant.