It was an act which fell with a strange presaging feeling on the public, in whose mind the murder of the poor boy's two cousins in that dungeon still vividly lived.
At Sheriff Hutton there had been at the same time another prisoner. This was Elizabeth, the princess royal, the undoubted heiress of Edward IV. When Richard had been deterred from marrying her, his own niece, not by any conscientious sense of its impropriety, but by the undisguised expression of public abhorrence, he had consigned her to the same distant prison as his nephew, the Earl of Warwick. Henry, who had pledged himself to marry Elizabeth if he succeeded in deposing Richard, now sent, and taking her from Sheriff Hutton, had her conveyed to London, with an attendance of noblemen and honourable matrons, befitting the future queen and the present head of the royal house of York. She was conveyed with much state to the house of her mother.
Henry then put himself at the head of his victorious troops, and commenced his march towards the capital. Everywhere he was received, not as a conqueror, but a deliverer. The Lancastrians regarded him as the only one of their princes who had the talents necessary to maintain a disputed crown; and the Yorkists, relying on his pledge to marry Elizabeth, the princess of their party, equally rejoiced in the prospect of a union which should at once restore peace and admit them to a share of favour. The few remaining adherents of Richard consulted their safety by keeping out of sight. Everywhere on his progress the country people hailed him as king, clapping their hands and shouting aloud. On his approach to the capital, on the 28th of August, six days after the decisive battle of Bosworth, the mayor and aldermen, all clad in violet, met him at Hornsey Park, and, after being permitted to kiss his hand, conveyed him through London to St. Paul's. The people crowded the streets to welcome the new monarch, from whom, in the usual witching influence of change, they hoped for every good thing, and were greatly taken aback at finding their champion not coming riding on his charger, as was the wont of our English kings, but closed up in a clumsy sort of close carriage, as if afraid of being seen. This first introduction to his capital betrayed in Henry Tudor more pride and reserve than the prudence and policy for which he had so long had credit. While he thus eluded the gaze of his expecting people, before him were borne in triumph the trophies of his victory, the three standards taken on the field of Bosworth, the one bearing an image of St. George, another a red fiery dragon, and the third a dun cow. These were deposited on the altar of the church, Te Deum was sung, and Henry then took up his quarters at the bishop's palace.
Great Seal of Henry VII.
Notwithstanding the ungracious demeanour of the new king, the people everywhere in the city celebrated plays and all sorts of pastimes in his honour. But their rejoicings were scarcely over, when London was alarmed by the re-appearance of the fatal sweating sickness, which was supposed to be revived and spread by the contact of the crushing crowds. It commenced on the 21st of September, and did not abate its ravages till about the end of October. As soon as the withdrawal of this virulent disease permitted, Henry prepared for his coronation. He set out from Kennington, and after dining with Thomas Bouchier, Archbishop of Canterbury, he proceeded, with a splendid attendance of lords, both spiritual and temporal, towards the city. The nobles, imitating the absurd custom of France, rode two together on one horse, to show how completely the rival parties had amalgamated, and in this ridiculous style they passed through the city to the Tower, where Henry for the present took up his residence.
There, on the 28th of October, he made a number of promotions. Jasper Tudor, his uncle, Earl of Pembroke, was made Duke of Bedford; Thomas Lord Stanley, who had put the crown upon his head at Bosworth field, was created Earl of Derby; and Sir Edward Courtney, Earl of Devonshire. Sir Gilbert Talbot, Sir John Cheney, Sir Humphrey Stanley, and nine others who distinguished themselves on that field, were made knights-bannerets. On the 30th he was crowned by the Archbishop of Canterbury, and he immediately appointed a body-guard
