“There is no help for it,” said the King. “The man is not to be trusted. Take him to the Tower. I have no wish to harm him. He is a foolish fellow . . . a little brighter than Lambert Simnel but still a fool. Let him stay in the Tower until I decide what we shall do with him.”
The King did decide. Perkin had tried to escape. For what purpose? To attempt to rally men to a cause that was so absurd it was lost before it started?
No. The people must realize what Perkin stood for, and the best way to treat him was to humiliate him. Let the people laugh at Perkin. The more they jeered the less dangerous he became.
“Let him be placed in the stocks by Westminster Hall,” said the King. “There he shall repeat his confession of fraud. I want the people to know that off by heart. Then let him do the same in Chepeside. We will have his confession printed and circulated throughout the country. When this is done I think we shall have clipped his wings.”
So Perkin suffered the humiliation of the people’s ridicule.
After that he was taken back to the Tower.
He felt desperate. He was sure Henry would never give him the opportunity to escape again.
Henry was not seriously concerned with Perkin Warbeck for it had been so easy to prove him to be the impostor he so obviously was; but that did not mean this matter gave him no uneasiness. Even Lambert Simnel had done that, and the reason was, of course, that these men were products of a shaky throne. Henry was a strong king; he was a born administrator and men would learn in time that this was what a country needed. He could make England great, if he could but be allowed to reign in peace. These impostors might well go on springing up and the reason was of course that so many English resented his kingship simply because they did not believe in his claim to the throne.
He himself knew that the sons of Edward the Fourth were dead. If only he could make this known to the people it would help a lot—but not of course if they must also know the manner of their dying. It was better to let Richard the Third bear the blame for that. Alas, there was so much evidence against the theory of Richard’s removing them, that the matter must be wrapped in mystery. The fact remained that they were dead. But there was one still living who had a greater claim than Henry—and that was Edward, Earl of Warwick whom he had kept in the Tower ever since he had come to the throne.
It had not been so difficult in the beginning but that was fourteen years ago when the young Earl had been but ten years old. To take the boy into his care as he called it seemed a reasonable thing to do and if that care was a prison in the Tower no one dared to protest. The boy had no close relations; he was too young to attract ambitious men. He was easy prey.
But now the Earl was twenty-four years of age and there must be many who remembered that he was in fact heir to the throne. His father, the brother of Edward the Fourth, had been judged a traitor and met his death ignobly in a butt of malmsey, but that did not mean his son was not next in line of succession.
Henry had long been uneasy about that young man. And when he received dispatches from Spain his thoughts turned even more urgently toward him.
Henry desperately wanted alliance with Spain. Since the Sovereigns had married, since they had turned the Moors out of Spain, and joined Castile and Aragon they had become very powerful indeed.
If Henry could bring about that alliance between Arthur and their daughter Katharine he would be very happy. He would feel much safer on the throne; he would have friends to stand with him against France and all those who might come against him. He must get the marriage solemnized as soon as possible.
But as he read these dispatches, cordial as they were, he was shrewd enough to read between the lines.
The Sovereigns were uncertain about the alliance. They did not want to see their daughter married to a deposed king. They were very uneasy. Lambert Simnel and Perkin Warbeck might be impostors but they would never have arisen if the throne had been secure; and while there was this uncertainty others might rise against the King of England and perhaps be more successful.
There was only one person who had a true claim, and that was the captive Earl of Warwick. If he could be disposed of, thought Henry, there would be no real claimant to come before me.
The matter tormented him, disturbing his dreams, presenting itself at all hours of the day; making him furtive, watchful of those about him. Every time a man entered his presence Henry found himself wondering whether that man carried a concealed dagger.
He could have had the Earl murdered. He could have drowned him in a butt of malmsey, had him suffocated in his sleep. It was not as though he had to catch the Earl. He was there in the Tower, the King’s prisoner. It shouldn’t be difficult.
But Henry was eager to have the approval of his subjects. He did not hope for their love; he knew well enough that he was not the type to inspire that. But he wanted them to see him as a just—if stern—king, as a man who was determined to make England great. They knew this in their hearts even though they were continually grumbling about the high taxes which had been imposed during his reign. They blamed Dudley and Empson more for this than they did Henry, which was unreasonable for they were only carrying out the King’s commands. The royal exchequer was growing. England was becoming rich. He had brought this about in fourteen years, pulling the country away from bankruptcy, making her prosperous.
But he did not want to be known as a murderer of those who stood in his way. At times a certain guilt came over him but he could remind himself that he had done what he had, not only for his own good, although he had to admit this was part of it, but for the good of England. The kingship of minors invariably meant disaster. It was better to remove minors than by letting them live risk the lives of thousands. That was how he had reasoned and he had always been able to convince himself that he had good sense on his side.
What was done was done. His immediate problem was the Earl of Warwick.
While the Earl lived—a perpetual threat with a greater right to the crown than Henry himself—there could be trouble, and Isabella and Ferdinand would not wish their daughter to make an alliance with a Prince who might never reach the throne.
He had to be rid of Warwick . . . and soon. But how?
Then suddenly an idea struck him.
Perkin Warbeck was in the Tower. Perkin Warbeck was longing to be with his wife, and it was certain that if he was not reunited with her soon, he would make an attempt to reach her and plot to escape.
Suppose Warbeck and the Earl of Warwick occupied cells close to each other—two prisoners of the King, one with a spurious claim to the throne, the other with a real one? They should have something in common.
It was a chance.
Henry sent for the Constable of the Tower.
He said: “I wish Perkin Warbeck to be moved. Place him close to the Earl of Warwick, and let both young men know that they are near to each other. It might provide some comfort for them. Who are your most trustworthy guards? I should like to see them . . . not yet, not yet. In due course . . .”
Henry was smiling. He would not hurry the matter. The whole point was that everything should appear to have happened naturally.
Perkin was getting desperate. He began to feel that he would never get out of this place. He had had no news from Katharine. He did not know that the King had given instructions that no letters from his wife were to be delivered to him. Henry wanted him to get desperate and Henry was succeeding.
His guards were friendly. They lingered often in his cell and talked to him; they had made his life more tolerable than it might have been; his food was good and well served and he believed this was due to the guards.