One night they came to Crackenthorpe near Appleby in Westmorland. Riding through the night, they had passed a monastery. Henry had looked at it with eyes of longing. What would he not have given to be one of those happy monks. Fate had been cruel to make him a King.

John Machell, the owner of the manor of Crackenthorpe, came out to the courtyard after one of Henry’s friends had gone into the house to tell him he had visitors.

Taking the King’s hand John Machell kissed it assuring him of his loyal service at all times.

‘This is the time we need it, John,’ said Henry. ‘We are worn out with travelling. Can you give us a bed for the night?’

‘My lord, my house is at your service.’

‘Nay, nay John, that would not do. What comment there would be. Your King comes as a fugitive. There is another who calls himself King in England now.’

John Machell said there was one King as far as he was concerned and he would serve that King with his life.

‘There is need for caution,’ he was told.

He realized that and was persuaded to let his household believe that some travellers on their way to York were spending the night at the house.

There was a fine chamber for Henry. He sank to his knees and remained there for a long time. Food was sent to his apartment and he found great rest and comfort in the house of John Machell at Crackenthorpe.

He was able to rest there for a few days and then John noticed that one of the servants was regarding the King in a rather curious manner and he knew that it was time for him to move on.

He had an idea. The Abbot of the nearby monastery was known to him, and he believed him to be one who deplored the usurpation of the throne and was a true Lancastrian.

‘I will go to see him,’ he said. ‘Stay quietly in your chamber but be ready to leave if there should be any alarm. There may be people here who would betray you to the enemy. I will be back before nightfall.’

When he returned he was excited. He believed he had something to say which would give the King great pleasure.

His friend the Abbot had given him a monk’s habit. He suggested that at dawn the King and his friends leave the house. When they had gone a little way the King could change into the habit. He could then leave his friends and present himself to the Abbot. The Abbot would know who he was but no one else would. The Abbot would naturally offer hospitality and perhaps he could mingle with the monks and li>‘e as one of them.

Nothing could have delighted Henry more. He was all eagerness; his friends had never seen him so enthusiastic and ready to embrace a plan.

All went well. He arrived at the monastery, was welcomed by the Abbot and took his place with the monks.

He had not been wrong. This was the life for him. He fitted into it with ease. He lived by the bells. The silence preserved in the monastery was helpful to him and made it easier for him to hide his identity; and as he had often Lived Like a monk, no one would have guessed he was not one.

A few months passed in this happy state but as it was supposed that he was on a visit from another monastery he could not stay too long.

The Abbot however could warn an Abbot of another monastery of the King’s coming and he could rest there for another short period before he passed on.

Henry was happy to do this. He left the monastery with many protestations of gratitude; and then began his wandering life. He realized that none of his sojourns could be long but when he felt the walls of a monastery close about him, when he was in his austere cell he was happier than he had ever been anywhere else.

‘If I could have chosen this life,’ he said, ‘I should have been a happy man.’

The time was passing. Sometimes he thought of Margaret in France and Edward who was growing into a man. They seemed far away. Perhaps in his heart he did not want Margaret to come back. He did not want the conflict to start again.

At length he came to what was known as the Religious House of Whalley in Ribblesdale and here he found refuge as he had in other places of this kind. Eagerly he embraced the life; praying, working in the fields, whatever it was he was happy doing it. Sometimes he completely forgot that other life of ceremonies and arduous duties which he had never felt fit to perform.

‘Oh God,’ he prayed, ‘I thank Thee for bringing me to this rest. If it be Thy Will let me spend the rest of my days in such good life.’

Alas for Henry, his prayers were not to be answered.

Beside the religious house of Whalley was Waddington Hall and when Dr. Manning, Dean of Windsor, was visiting there he asked the honour of the King’s company. Henry accepted the invitation and set out in his monk’s robes for the Hall.

Had he been more observant he would have noticed that for some days one of the monks had been taking a great interest in him. The eyes of this monk were always on him, but Henry had not noticed this. The fact was that the monk was becoming more and more convinced of Henry’s identity, and it occurred to him that if the visiting monk were indeed the one-time King this fact should be made known to those it might interest. The country had been for some years under the rule of Edward the Fourth and no one was going to deny that life had not improved considerably. The French woman was heartily disliked throughout the country and there were constant rumours that she was awaiting an opportunity to return. If this were so this monk was playing a part. He was in hiding waiting for the time when his virago of a wife returned to plunge England into war again.

The monk was now certain that the man he was watching was Henry. He went to Sir John Tempest to whom Waddington Hall belonged. Sir John, with his son-in-law Thomas Talbot, was immediately determined to act. If this monk were indeed the King in disguise, there would be a good reward for his apprehension, moreover it was for the good of the country to have him under surveillance, they assured themselves. He was coming to Waddington Hall that he might converse with the Dean in their dining-hall. They must act promptly. They did not wish to be accused of complicity in any plots to restore Henry to the throne. It was so easy to be caught up in these matters, so easy for innocent men to be called traitors.

So Sir John Tempest with his son-in-law, Thomas Talbot, and Sir James Harrington, who lived at Brierley near Barnsley and was a man who had been to Court, put their heads together. They would take the King while he sat at dinner in Waddington Hall and from there transport him to London, sending messengers on to King Edward and the Earl of Warwick telling them what they had done. They had no doubt that they would be rewarded for their loyalty and prompt action.

Thus while Henry sat at dinner in earnest conversation with the Dean, some of the servants noticed a commotion without. There was one man who had served the King since his escape from Hexham and he had always regarded the King’s safety as being entrusted to him. Alert for danger he scented it immediately and even as the King was eating his frugal meal he was beside him.

‘My lord,’ he said, ‘there is no time for anything but escape. We have been betrayed.’

The Dean rose hastily. The King less so. Sometimes he felt. If they will take me, let them!

But the life of late lived in monasteries and holy places had been good. He did not want to give that up for some prison somewhere where these blessings might be denied him.

‘We should leave...just as we are...’ said his faithful servant. ‘Even now we may be too late.’

Rising from the table Henry allowed himself to be almost dragged from the hall. It was dark outside. ‘We must make for the woods,’ Henry was told.

The trees grew thickly in the woods. ‘Perhaps we could wait here until morning,’ said Henry.

His servant shook his head. ‘Nay. They will be after us. You may depend upon that. We must get as far as we can. Perhaps we could make our way to Bolton Hall.’

Bolton Hall was owned by Sir Ralph Pudsey who had already proved himself a loyal servant of the King.

‘Let us do that,’ said Henry.

They had come to the river Ribble across which were stepping stones.

‘We will cross by the Bungerley Stones,’ his servant told him and as Henry attempted to do so there was a shout close by.

‘Here they are,’ cried Thomas Talbot. ‘They did not get far.’

Henry stared with dismay. His enemies were upon him. As they crowded about him he lifted his head and demanded what they wanted of their King.

‘We must take you to King Edward, sir,’ said Talbot. ‘He wants to know where you are.’

‘It is a sorry state of affairs when the anointed King is treated thus by his subjects.’

The men were silent. They felt overawed. But they were determined to present their quarry to King Edward.


* * *

It was depressing riding south. They did not show him the respect due to their King. He looked back with longing to those days he had spent in seclusion. Oh for the peace of the holy life! Oh for the comfort of prayer!

They had come to Islington and there waiting for him, having been advised of his arrival, was the Earl of Warwick displaying the Ragged Staff and riding like a king so that an observer must have thought their roles reversed. It is he who comes as a king, thought Henry. But then he is a maker and unmaker of kings. He has made Edward as surely as he has unmade me.

‘Well met, my lord,’ said Warwick.

‘Is it so? You see your King in humble fashion.’

‘I rejoice to see you, none the less. But you are King no more. Edward is our King.’