public of his loyalty to his nephew. For this purpose he conducted him with such state into the capital, and so assiduously pointed him out as their king to the people. To have openly proclaimed his designs upon the crown would have united all parties against him. He averted that by his calling on all men to swear fealty to his nephew, and by first swearing it himself. Having now procured full possession of the king's person, the next step was to secure that of his younger brother, without which his plans would all be vain.
To effect this object, Gloucester called a council in the Star Chamber, Westminster, close to the Sanctuary, where Elizabeth was. He there represented that it was necessary that the Duke of York, who was now only eleven years of age, should be removed from the Wydvilles, who were proved traitors to the realm, and safely kept with his royal brother in the Tower, under the protection of the council. No one failed to perceive the object of Gloucester, and a very stormy debate ensued between the ecclesiastic and lay peers; the bishops wore opposed to any intrusion on the rights of sanctuary, and Gloucester's partisans contended that there could be no sanctuary for children, who were incapable of committing any crime; and that therefore the Duke of Gloucester, who had been appointed protector during the king's minority, could at his pleasure possess himself of his nephew.
The Archbishop of Canterbury, averse to the violation of the privileges of sanctuary, went to the queen, accompanied by a number of the temporal peers, and represented that the protector thought the young king much lacked the society of his brother, being melancholy without a playfellow. We have the scene which took place from the relation of Sir Thomas More. The queen, quite aware that so long as this boy was with her, the young king was safe, for it would be useless to destroy one heir to the crown while another remained, replied, "Troweth the protector—ah! pray God he may prove a protector!—that the king doth lack a playfellow? Can none be found to play with the king but only his brother, which hath no wish to play, because of sickness?—as though peers, so young as they be, could not play without their peers; or children could not play without their kindred, with whom, for the most part, they agree worse than with strangers."
At last, finding all resistance useless—for she well knew that if she did not yield herself, Gloucester would force the child from her—she said, "My lords, I will not be so suspicious as to mistrust your truth." So taking young Richard by the hand, she said, "Lo, here is this gentleman, whom I doubt not would be safely kept by me, if I were permitted; and well do I know there be some such deadly enemies to my blood, that if they wist where any lay in their own bodies, they would cut it out if they could. The desire of a kingdom knoweth no kindred. Brothers have been brothers' bane; and may the nephews be sure of the uncle? Each of these children is safe while they be asunder. Notwithstanding, I here deliver him, and his brother's life with him, into your hands, and of you I shall require him before God and man. Faithful ye be I wot well, and power ye have, if ye list, to keep them safe; but if ye think I fear too much, yet beware ye fear not too little!" Upon this she kissed and blessed the child, and turning, burst into tears, leaving the boy weeping as piteously as herself.
The archbishop and his companions conveyed the child to the Star Chamber, where his uncle received him with fatal fondness, taking him in his arms, and saying, "Now welcome, my lord, with all my vary heart!" He then conveyed him to his brother in the Tower.
The victims were secured; the "cruel uncle," like the wolf in the legend of Red Ridinghood, had feigned himself a kind relation till he had got them into his prison, and he yearned to put forth his claws and devour them. But for this it required that the public should be duly prepared. The man who had written fawningly to the queen, proffering such cordial friendship to her and all her family; who had ridden in state before his nephew, recommending him to the public favour, had now played out all that part: he had both the princes and the chief relations of the queen in his dungeons, and he must now shift the scenes, and undo the effect of what he had done for a purpose. His followers, and especially his imbecile tool, Buckingham, now busily spread through town and country reports of the most terrible plots on the part of the queen and her friends to destroy Gloucester, Buckingham, and other great lords, in order that she and her family might have the king, and through him, the whole government in their power. They exhibited quantities of arms, which they declared the queen's party had secreted in order to destroy Gloucester and the other patriotic lords, as they pleased to represent them. This did not fail to produce its effect on the people without, and it was promptly followed up by a picture of treason in the very council.
Lord Stanley, who was sincerely attached to Edward IV.'s family, had often expressed his suspicions of what was going on at Crosby Hall; but Hastings had replied, that he had a trusty agent there who informed him of all that passed. But Hastings, who had been completely duped by Gloucester, had been unconsciously playing into his hands, till his own turn came. While he merely imagined that he was punishing the assumption of the queen and her relations, he was preparing the bloody acts of one of the most daring dramas of historic crime which was ever acted before the world. Richard, no doubt, imagined Hastings ready to go the whole length with him, and at this crisis became aware that he was not so, but was an honest though misguided man, who would stand staunchly by his young sovereign, and must therefore be removed. The tyrant was now beginning to feel secure of his object, and prepared to seize it at whatever cost of crime and infamy. Accordingly, on the 13th of June, says Sir Thomas More, he came into the council about nine in the morning, in a very merry humour. After a little talking with them, he said to the Bishop of Ely, 'My lord, you have very good strawberries in your garden in Holborn: I request you let us have a mess of them.' 'Gladly, my lord,' quoth he; 'would to God I had some better things as ready to your pleasure as that!' and then with all haste, he sent his servant for a mess of strawberries. The protector set the lords fast in communing, and thereupon, praying them to spare him a little while, departed thence, and,
