He not only escaped capture, however, but landed at Whitesand Bay near the Land’s End on September 7, and speedily drew after him a very considerable following. On September 17 he appeared before Exeter and for two days attempted to storm the town. Failing here, he went on towards Taunton, where, hearing that an army under Daubeney was advancing to meet him, he stole away in the night and, riding hard across country with one or two companions, took refuge at Beaulieu Sanctuary in Hampshire. The Sanctuary being soon afterwards surrounded, he surrendered on promise of the King’s pardon and was brought back to Taunton where the King had now arrived. He was compelled to confess his imposture before his wife, who had accompanied him to Cornwall, and who was sent for from St Michael’s Mount, where he had left her. The King, pitying her misfortunes, sent her with an escort to the Queen; while he himself followed slowly to Westminster, where he arrived in the latter part of November.
With him came Perkin, whose career was now virtually finished, and the King seems at this time to have had no other thought than to expose him to public derision as a rebuke to factiousness. Misled by the Duchess Margaret, it is quite possible that Maximilian and some other foreign princes had believed in Perkin; but it is clear that most of them valued him merely as a pawn by which to gain their own ends with Henry VII. And this was really his whole significance. In England he had never the courage to play his part effectively. At Deal he refused to land; in Northumberland he only pitied the ravages committed by his Scotch allies; in Devonshire he stole away from his own followers in search of an asylum. And now the Londoners flocked to see him “as he were a monster,” while he was made to repeat his confession in public and conveyed on horseback through the streets, one day to the Tower and another day to Westminster. His life was spared for two years longer.
His dismissal from Scotland, though certainly not a concession to English demands, is commonly considered to have cleared the way for a peace between the kingdoms. And no doubt it did so, but not at once. Owing to the Cornish rebellion James had for a time escaped retribution for his infraction of the truce in the preceding year; and, just after sending Warbeck away, he proceeded to besiege Norham Castle on the Tweed. The Earl of Surrey, however, whom Henry had some years before appointed lieutenant of the North, hastened to its relief, and James was obliged to retire. Surrey then advanced into the Borders, destroyed some fortresses and took the castle of Ayton, where (September 30,1497) by the mediation of the Spanish Ambassador, Pedro de Ayala, another seven years’ truce was arranged between the two countries, with a stipulation, to which both kings afterwards agreed, that matters in dispute between them should be referred to Spanish arbitration. Spain had a very deep interest in promoting friendly relations between England and Scotland, in order that the former country might still be a check upon France; and Ayala was a most efficient instrument in the reconciliation. Next year, an unfortunate incident on the Borders threatened for a moment to disturb the new settlement. Some Scotchmen visiting Norham Castle in armour created suspicion. Haughty words led to blows, and the Scots fled. The English, too, killed a number of Scots, apparently in some raid which followed. But both sovereigns were so anxious to preserve the peace that the matter was satisfactorily arranged by Bishop Fox, who was sent to James at Melrose, and who there apparently concluded with him a long-talked-of project for his marriage with Henry’s daughter Margaret.
Henry had now seemingly surmounted his most serious difficulties; but there were still troubles in store for him. Before relating these, however, something must be said of his remarkable success in the pacification of Ireland. How, it will be asked, had that country, after supporting Lambert Simnel with such strange enthusiasm and unanimity in 1487, become so loyal ten years later that hardly the slightest Irish encouragement was then afforded to Perkin Warbeck? This result was certainly due to a patience and sagacity on the King’s part, characteristic of that “politic governance” for which he bore so high a name among princes. Even after the victory of Stoke he could not afford to punish Simnel’s adherents in Ireland, who were virtually the whole Irish people. In 1488, the year after Simnel’s coronation, he sent Sir Richard Edgecombe to Ireland, to receive the submissions of Kildare and the other Irish lords, and administer oaths of allegiance; and it required great adroitness in the envoy to succeed in such a mission. They took the oath, however, and Kildare was continued as Lord Deputy. But new Yorkist plots were brewing in England, and, in order to be safe as regards Ireland, Henry desired to win Kildare over to a personal interview with him. He sent him a private message promising great favours if he would come, with a renewal of the dignity of Lord Deputy for ten years; and he also wrote to him on July 28, 1490, expressly desiring his presence within ten months. But all this was nothing to Kildare. He allowed the time granted him to expire* and then not only wrote himself, but induced a number of the Irish lords to write in his excuse to the King, that his continued presence in Ireland at that time was absolutely indispensable. The King, however, they declared, might rest assured of the Earl’s complete loyalty.
Henry could not well have remained satisfied with this assurance. Next year Kildare and his cousin Desmond ericouraged Perkin Warbeck; and in 1492 the King made a complete change in the government of Ireland, appointing Walter Fitzsimmons, Archbishop of Dublin, as Lord Deputy in Kildare’s place. Some Irish feuds broke out, and there was fighting in the streets of Dublin; but at last in 1493 Kildare was induced by a promise of pardon to go over and seek the King’s presence. He and some Irish lords who went with him were invited by the King to a feast, at which Simnel served them with wine; and witnessing the shame on each of their faces when they saw their cupbearer, Henry remarked sarcastically “My masters, you will crown apes some day!” Kildare received his pardon on June 22, but was not restored to his old office. After some other changes the King (September 11, 1494) appointed his second son Henry as Lord Lieutenant (a mere honorary title), with Sir Edward Poynings as his Deputy. Poynings was a good soldier but found desultory warfare with Irish chieftains unsatisfactory, and tried to secure their loyalty by money payments. He then opened at Drogheda, on December 1, 1494, the Parliament which passed the celebrated Acts called by his name, whereby for the next three centuries all legislation submitted to the Irish Parliament required first to be approved by the English Council. Other enactments in this Parliament were conceived in the same spirit as laws passed in England, to put down armed retinues and the war-cries of hostile factions. But having established a new system of government, Poynings was recalled in January, 1496; and on August 6 following Kildare, who had curiously regained the King’s confidence by his frankness, was reinstated as Deputy. From that day he held the office till his death and was faithful both to Henry and to his son. The King seems to have believed from the first that nothing but a little personal intercourse with him was required to make him a loyal subject; and he was right in the belief.
Warbeck’s imposture being now at an end, the King did not at first care to keep him in very close confinement. But on June 9, 1498 (the year after his capture), he created some alarm by escaping at night from the King’s Court, where he had been only watched by keepers. He got no further, however, than Sheen, where he again took sanctuary and prevailed upon the prior to intercede for him. He was placed in the stocks for several hours, one day at Westminster and another day in Cheapside; after which he was shut up in the Tower, where he remained the greater part of next year. But meanwhile the King had been disquieted by a new impostor, a young man named Ralph Wilford, who suddenly appeared in Kent, first telling people privately that he was the Earl of Warwick just escaped from the Tower; while one Friar Patrick, by whom he was accompanied, confirmed the story and at last declared it from the pulpit. Both the young man and the friar were soon appreherided, and the former was hanged on Shrove Tuesday (February 12, 1499). A few weeks later it was observed, that Henry seemed to have grown