Constance Tyrrell saves the life of the Prince of Spain.P. 64.
“A Rodomont to the rescue!” roared Bittern. “Where is Don Philip? Heaven be praised, we are not too late!” he exclaimed, perceiving the Prince, who by this time had regained his feet. “Down with your swords, villains!” he added to the ruffians. “Down with them instantly, or we will hack you to minced-meat.”
“Know you whom you aid?” cried one of the men, regarding him fiercely. “It is the Prince of Spain—the arch-foe of England. But for this foolish damsel we had already destroyed him!”
“Soh! you unblushingly confess your villany?” rejoined Rodomont. “A precious rascal, truly!”
“Ay, and I should have exulted in the deed, if I had accomplished it,” retorted the man. “A day will come when you will regret this interference. Think not to detain me.”
“Stay him! kill him! suffer him not to escape!” shouted Rodomont to his companions.
But, in spite of the many weapons directed against him, the man fought his way desperately towards the passage, and was close upon it, when a cut on the head staggered him, and he was captured and disarmed. He was followed by his two comrades, both of whom were more successful than himself, and effected a retreat. The ruffian who had been engaged with Osbert likewise escaped, having broken away amid the confusion caused by the arrival of Rodomont and his party. Some pursuit was made after the miscreants, but it was ineffectual.
No sooner was Philip freed from his assailants, than he turned to express his gratitude to Constance.
“I owe my life to you,” he said; “nay, more, you have risked your own life to preserve mine. How can I requite you?”
“By forgetting that you have ever beheld me,” she replied.
“That were impossible,” he rejoined. “Ask something that I can perform.”
“I desire nothing,” she returned; “and, indeed, I do not merit your gratitude. It is the hand of Heaven that has guarded your Highness, not mine—guarded you for the Queen, to whom your safety is dearer than her own life, andwho might not have survived your loss. I must now retire for a short space, to compose myself ere I return home. Once more, I implore you to forget me. Farewell for ever!”
And without another word, and in spite of Philip’s appealing looks, she entered the hospital with Dorcas.
“It would be well if I could forget her,” thought Philip, as Constance disappeared; “but that is beyond my power. I could not tear her from my heart without a pang greater than I could endure. Yet it would be a crime to trouble the peace of one so pure and holy-minded. No matter! I should be wretched without her. Come what will, we must meet again.”
DERRICK CARVER.
DERRICK CARVER.
DERRICK CARVER.
From these thoughts he was recalled to what was going on by Rodomont, who called out, “Here is one of the murtherous villains who attacked your Highness. Will it please you to question him?”
Philip turned at the words, and by the light of the torches which were held towards him, was enabled to examine the captive. The man, whose hands were tied behind his back by a belt, was of middle height, and rather powerful frame, and seemed to be decently attired; but his garments were sullied with blood, which flowed from several bodily wounds, as well as from a deep gash across the temple. His head was uncovered, and his matted black locks were dabbled in gore. His features, which were strongly marked, and remarkably stern in expression, were of a ghastly hue; but notwithstanding the smarting of his wounds and evident faintness from loss of blood, his looks were resolute and his black eyes blazed fiercely. He did not quail in the least before the searching and terrible glance fixed upon him by the Prince.
“Do any of you know this man?” demanded Philip, after regarding him stedfastly for a short space.
“By the body of Saint Alphonso, which reposes at Zamora! I should blush to avow myself acquainted with the felon hound,” rejoined Rodomont. “But luckily I have never seen him before; and everyone else appears to be in the same predicament. How art thou called, fellow?Speak out, or the thumb-screw shall force the truth from thee.”
“Torture would not make me speak,” replied the man, firmly. “But I have no desire to conceal my name. It will profit you little to know it. I am called Derrick Carver, and I am of Brightelmstone, in Sussex.”
“Derrick, thou art most appropriately named Carver,” rejoined Rodomont; “but instead of carving his Highness, as was thine atrocious design, thou shalt thyself be carved by the knife of the executioner.”
“By whom wert thou instigated to this attempt?” demanded Philip. “Some greater hand than thine own is manifest in the design.”
“A far greater hand,” rejoined Derrick Carver. “The hand of Heaven is manifest in it.”
“Deceive not thyself, insensate villain,” rejoined Rodomont. “’Tis the Prince of Darkness who hath inspired the black design. He has deserted thee, as he deserts all his servants.”
“I am no bond slave of Satan, but a faithful servant of the Most High,” said Carver. “It was Heaven’s wish that I should fail; but though my sword has been turned aside, there are others left that shall find the tyrant out.”
“There is clearly some conspiracy on foot,” said Osbert, who by this time had joined the Prince. “I have my own suspicions at its author, which I will presently communicate to your Highness. But that these are hired assassins is certain. By their own showing, they were to have a hundred rose-nobles each for the deed.”
“Said I not right that Beelzebub was at the bottom of it?” cried Rodomont. “A hundred rose-nobles! Is that the sum for which thou hast bartered thy soul, thou damnable Derrick? Wert thou to be paid inFrenchcoin—ha! Carver?”
“Your suspicions tend the same way as mine own, I perceive, Sir,” observed Osbert.
“Mine tend towards the French Ambassador, M. de Noailles,” rejoined Rodomont. “I speak it openly. I’ll be sworn this attempt is his excellency’s contrivance.”
“Like enough,” said Philip. “But the truth must be wrung from that villain’s lips.”
“Nothing can be extorted from me, seeing I have nothing to confess,” rejoined Derrick Carver, boldly. “I cannot answer for the motives that actuated those engaged with me, but my own were righteous in intent. I meant to free the Protestant Church from its deadliest enemy, and my country from subjection to Spain. I have failed; but, I say again, others will not fail, for there are many to take my place. The blood of the saints will not be shed in vain, but will cry out incessantly for vengeance.”
“Peace, blasphemer!” exclaimed Rodomont, “or we will have thy tongue plucked forth.”
“Hear me out, and then deal with me as you list,” said Derrick Carver. “I am no hired assassin. Scarce half an hour ago I was lamenting the perilous condition of the Church and the realm, when I heard that the enemy of both was in Southampton, almost unattended. Those who told me this designed to slay him, and I unhesitatingly joined them, without fee or promise of reward, being moved thereto, as I deemed, by a divine impulse. That is all I have to say.”
“Let him be kept in some place of security till he can be further interrogated,” said the Prince. “And let the clothes of the villain who fell by my hand be searched to see whether there are any papers about him that may lead to the discovery of his employer.”
“It shall be done,” replied Rodomont. “As to this Derrick Carver, he shall be clapped in the dungeon below the Bar-gate, the strongest prison in Southampton, and if we have to put him to the question, ordinary and extraordinary, we will have the truth from him. But your Highness may take my word for it, ’tis aFrenchdesign.”
“I thank you for your zeal, good Master Bittern,” said Philip, “and in consideration of the services you have rendered me, I am content to overlook the freedom of speech in which you indulged a little while since. But I must enjoin you to be more careful in future.”
“I shall not fail,” replied Rodomont, bowing respectfully. “My excuse is, that I knew not whom I was addressing. Your Highness may ever count on my loyalty and devotion,” he added, placing his hand upon his heart.
At this juncture the priest, who had officiated in the littlechapel of the Domus Dei during Philip’s visit to it, entered the court with his assistants, and after inclining himself reverently before the Prince, proceeded to congratulate him on his miraculous preservation.
Replying in suitable terms, Philip declared he was so fully convinced of Heaven’s interposition in his behalf, that he desired at once to offer up thanks for his providential deliverance, and prayed the holy father to accompany him to the chapel for that purpose.
The priest readily assented, and led the way to the sacred edifice, into which, after a brief delay, Philip, with Osbert and the rest of the assemblage, including even Derrick Carver, were admitted.
Again the tapers were lighted at the altar, and again the Prince knelt down before it; but this time there was no fair devotee beside him to distract his thoughts, and his prayers were full of fervour and gratitude.
It was a strange and solemn scene, and impressed even Rodomont and his companions, whom recent events had served to sober.
The demeanour of Derrick Carver was stern and unmoved; but when the priest uttered a heartfelt prayer for the Prince’s deliverance, he could not repress a groan. As Osbert looked round at this moment, he fancied he could discern, within the deep recess of the doorway, the figure of Constance Tyrrell. If it were so, however, she had vanished before the others quitted the chapel.
His devotions over, Philip arose, and in taking leave of the priest, promised the holy man an offering to Saint Julian, the patron saint of the chapel. He then bowed to the others, and declining further attendance, passed forth with Osbert, and proceeding to the quay, entered the boat which was waiting for him, and returned to the “Santissima Trinidada.”
At the same time Derrick Carver was conveyed by Rodomont and the others to the Bar-gate, and locked up in one of the gloomiest cells of its subterranean dungeon.
THE MEETING AT THE GUILDHALL.
THE MEETING AT THE GUILDHALL.
THE MEETING AT THE GUILDHALL.
No suspicion whatever had been entertained of the Prince’s absence from the ship. He was supposed to be alone in the state-cabin, where, as we know, the Count D’Egmont had been left as his representative, and, after the strict orders given to that effect, the Count remained entirely undisturbed. As time wore on, and midnight drew near, D’Egmont began to feel uneasy, and it was a relief to him when, shortly afterwards, the Prince appeared with Osbert.
“I fear you must be fatigued with waiting for me, Count,” said Philip, as soon as the usher had retired. “I have stayed longer on shore than I intended.”
“I trust your Highness has been amused,” observed D’Egmont, assisting the Prince to take off his mantle. “Heavens! what do I see?” he exclaimed. “The cloak is cut in pieces.”
“Not unlikely,” replied Philip, laughing. “It has warded off more than one deadly thrust. Your cloak has done me good service, Count. Without it, Queen Mary might have wanted a husband, and the Emperor an heir to his dominions.”
“Your Highness has acted rashly and unwisely in thus exposing yourself,” cried D’Egmont. “Recollect how much hangs upon your life. The destinies of the world would be changed if aught befel you. The saints have guarded you at this moment of peril, and will continue to guard you,but it is tempting Heaven to jeopardise your safety unnecessarily.”
“You assume that I have acted rashly, D’Egmont,” rejoined Philip, “but I did not provoke the conflict. Set upon by assassins, I was compelled to defend my life. Thanks to your cloak and to my own right hand, I have come off without a scratch.”
“I do not presume to ask for particulars,” said the Count. “But I trust you have not been recognised. If so, your secret visit to the town will be known to all within it to-morrow, and will assuredly be reported to the Queen.”
“I have thought of that,” rejoined the Prince. “Precautions must be taken lest any idle tale be told her Majesty. No tidings of the occurrence can reach her to-night, and at daybreak you shall convey a letter to her, wherein I will inform her that I landed privily with the design of hastening to Winchester to throw myself at her feet, when my purpose was prevented by this untoward circumstance. Osbert Clinton shall accompany you. Having been with me at the time of the attack, he will be able to answer any questions the Queen may put to him relative to it.”
“Your Highness will be pleased to give me my lesson previously,” remarked Osbert. “I presume I must say nothing of Constance Tyrrell?”
“Nothing but what will recommend her to the Queen,” rejoined Philip. “Her Majesty will be pleased to learn that the damsel preserved my life by stepping between me and the weapons of the assassins.”
“And did she so?” inquired D’Egmont.
“Ay, in good sooth,” returned Philip; “and it was worth the risk I ran to be so protected. Constance Tyrrell is the fairest creature my eyes ever lighted on. Her charms have completely enthralled me.”
“Then let me counsel your Highness to shake off the fascination as speedily as possible,” said D’Egmont, gravely. “It was an unlucky chance that threw the temptress in your way at this juncture.”
“Lucky or not, I shall not relinquish her,” rejoined Philip. “Were you to preach to me as energetically as Father de Castro, you would produce no effect, so you mayspare your breath. And now to prepare the letter to the Queen.”
So saying, he withdrew into an inner chamber, from which he presently emerged with the letter, sealed with a broad seal, and tied with a silken thread.
“This for her Majesty’s own hands,” he observed, with a smile, while delivering it to D’Egmont. “Be it your business to obtain an audience before any messenger from Southampton can reach her. All will then go well. As you serve me discreetly,” he added, significantly to Osbert, “so shall you prosper.”
With this he dismissed them, and summoning his groom of the chamber, prepared to retire to rest.
In obedience to the Prince’s commands, Count D’Egmont, accompanied by Osbert and a small train of attendants, went ashore at an early hour in the morning, and as soon as horses could be procured, started for Winchester.
A glorious day dawned upon Southampton. A morning gun, fired from the batteries of the castle, awoke the slumbering town into sudden animation, while another gun from the English admiral’s ship had a similar effect upon the crews of the combined fleets studding the smooth waters. Men could be seen on the decks, or amidst the rigging, actively employed in decorating the vessels with banners and streamers. Hundreds of boats came ashore to obtain fresh meat, bread, fruit, vegetables, and milk; and the quays, which were speedily thronged, became a perfect Babel. Horses and mules, bearing heavy panniers, laden with provisions, crossed the drawbridges, and were soon sent back for fresh stores, the supply being far from equal to the demand.
In the town all was bustle and excitement. The church bells began to peal joyously, and the streets were soon thronged with townsfolk, clad in holiday attire. But there was considerable misgiving amongst those who were aware of the occurrence of the previous night. At an early hour the mayor and aldermen repaired to the Guildhall, which, as we have previously mentioned, occupied the interior of the Bar-gate, and here they found the Earl of Arundel, Lord Steward of the Queen’s Household, the Marquis of Winchester, Lord High Treasurer, and othernoblemen, who had met to investigate the attempt upon the Prince’s life, and to consider the measures necessary to be adopted to ensure his Highness’s safety on his disembarkation.
Nothing, it appeared on inquiry, had been found upon Derrick Carver; but on the body of the man slain by Philip, a letter, written in the French language, was discovered, which, though very cautiously worded, bore evident reference to the dark transaction. The plan, no doubt, had been precipitated by the recognition of the Prince during his secret visit to the town. Diligent, but hitherto fruitless, search had been made for the four other ruffians engaged in the attack. These daring miscreants being yet at large, it was possible some further attempt might be made, and no precaution, said the Earl of Arundel, who presided over the meeting, must be neglected to ensure the Prince’s safety. The guard must be doubled, and persons of assured loyalty must be placed near his person, while the slightest attempt at outbreak or commotion must be instantly repressed.
“It would have been a lasting disgrace to the country,” continued the Earl, “if the Prince whom our Queen has chosen as her spouse, and whom we are all bound to love, honour, and defend, had been basely assassinated on setting foot on our shores, and we may be thankful that we have been spared that foul reproach—thankful, also, that the design was not conceived by an Englishman. But for the present, for reasons which will be apparent to you all, a veil must be thrown over the mysterious occurrence. Out of these walls none of you will speak of it. The preservation of public tranquility necessitates this caution. Some rumours of the attempt may be bruited abroad, but it will be best to discredit them. Doubtless the Prince desires to keep his nocturnal visit to the town secret. Nothing, therefore, must be publicly said of it. This you will carefully observe. Bear in mind, also, that you will have many Spaniards in your town to-day. They are a fiery nation, easily roused to anger, and if this unlucky affair be talked about, they may resent it, and quarrels and bloodshed will ensue. It is the Queen’s desire that all who come with her destined consort be cordially welcomed. As loyal subjects, I am sure you will carry out her wishes.”
The mayor and the town authorities having promised compliance with his lordship’s instructions, the meeting broke up.
Before leaving the Bar-gate, however, the Earl of Arundel desired to see the prisoner. Accordingly, he was conducted by the mayor to the subterranean dungeon, where, in a dark and noisome cell, the floor of which was humid with the drippings from the stone walls, they found the miserable wretch stretched upon a few trusses of straw. His wounds had been bound up, but little beyond had been done for his comfort. Pained by the light of the lamp flashed upon him by the officer in attendance on the visitors, he tried to turn aside his head, but ineffectually.
“Raise him, that I may look at him,” said the Earl of Arundel to the officer.
The execution of the order gave the poor wretch so much pain that he could not repress a groan. But though he was suffering excruciating agony, his courage did not desert him, and his answers to the interrogations put to him showed unfaltering resolution. Threats of torture could wring nothing from him, and he sternly refused to betray his accomplices.
“I gave no orders to have his wounds dressed,” said the mayor. “By whom hath he been tended, Piers?”
“By Master Malwood, the chirurgeon,” replied the officer.
“I thank him not for his care,” said the prisoner. “Had he let me be, I had ere this escaped man’s malice.”
“He speaks the truth, an please your worship,” observed Piers. “Master Malwood declared, that if left to himself, the poor wretch would die before the morning.”
“But who sent for Master Malwood, answer me that, Sirrah?” demanded the mayor.
“Nay, I am not to blame, your worship,” rejoined Piers, humbly. “The chirurgeon was sent by Mistress Constance Tyrrell, at her proper charge.”
“This is the second ill turn she hath done me,” said Derrick Carver. “But for her, the idolatrous tyrant had not escaped me, and now she preserves me for a lingering death.”
“Thou art like the wild beast, who would tear the handput forth to succour him,” cried the mayor, in disgust. “Will it please your good lordship toquestionquestionhim further?”
“Not now,” returned the Earl of Arundel. “Who is this Mistress Constance Tyrrell of whom he has just spoken?”
“The daughter of one of our wealthiest merchants,” replied the mayor. “A very pious damsel, and ever engaged in acts of charity.”
“Is she a heretic?” demanded the Earl.
“Not so, my lord; she is a most zealous Catholic, and it is most like she will enter a nunnery,” replied the mayor.
“Accursed be she, then!” cried Derrick Carver. “Had I known this, I would have resisted the chirurgeon.”
“Let us hence, my good lord,” cried the mayor. “If he continues these blasphemies, we shall have the walls fall upon us and crush us.”
“Before your worship goes, I would fain know whether I may admit Mistress Constance Tyrrell to the prisoner,” said Piers. “She hath asked to see him, but I would not grant the request till I had your worship’s sanction.”
“Let her not come near me,” cried Derrick Carver. “Her presence will trouble me.”
“For that very reason she shall have admittance to thee,” rejoined the mayor. “She hath helped to cure thy body—may she now help to save thy soul!”
“I need not her aid,” rejoined Derrick Carver. “She hath more need of my teaching than I have of hers.”
“If I thought thou wouldst taint her with thy heresies, I would keep her from thee,” said the mayor. “But I have no such fear. Admit her when she will, Piers.”
And he quitted the cell with the Earl.
OF PHILIP’S PUBLIC DISEMBARKATION AT SOUTHAMPTON.
OF PHILIP’S PUBLIC DISEMBARKATION AT SOUTHAMPTON.
OF PHILIP’S PUBLIC DISEMBARKATION AT SOUTHAMPTON.
Before noon the preparations for the Prince’s reception were complete. All the houses in High-street had been hung with carpets and costly stuffs, and otherwise decorated. From the Water-gate to the porch of Holyrood Church, where high mass was to be performed for the Prince, the street was kept clear by archers and arquebusiers fully equipped, and drawn up on either side, their steel caps and breastplates glittering in the brilliant sunshine.
By-and-by a grand cavalcade of richly-apparelled nobles, well mounted, and followed by long trains of esquires and pages wearing their liveries, rode towards the quay. Noticeable amongst these were the Earls of Shrewsbury, Derby, and Sussex, but the personage who attracted most attention was the Duke of Norfolk.
This venerable peer, whose long confinement in the Tower, commencing at the latter part of the reign of Henry VIII., and extending throughout that of his son, Edward VI., had neither broken his spirit nor impaired his bodily vigour, rode a high-spirited charger, which he managed with all the address and grace of a youthful cavalier. Norfolk’s attire was of almost regal magnificence, being of purple velvet, edged with miniver, and richly embroidered, and his charger was trapped in cloth of gold, of red and yellow sheen. Behind him rode eighteen pages, each mounted on a handsome courser, and each clad in cloth of gold.
After the Duke of Norfolk and his attendants had ridden by, six mounted trumpeters, with the royal badge on their scarlet surcoats, came on, and made the welkin ring with the din of their silver clarions. After the trumpeters walked a troop of lacqueys, sumptuously attired in silk and velvet. Then came other nobles and gentlemen of the train, all superbly mounted, and vying with each other in the splendour of their apparel, and the number of their pages and esquires.
Next came a band of minstrels playing upon tambours and rebecs. Then more lacqueys in the royal liveries, and after them Sir Edward Hastings, Master of the Horse, who was followed by two grooms leading a Spanish jennet, caparisoned in cloth of silver, the bridal, poitral, and saddle being studded with silver roses. This beautiful animal had been sent by the Queen for her intended consort.
Next came Sir Robert Rochester, Comptroller, and after him rode the Marquis of Winchester and the Earl of Arundel. Each of these noblemen was magnificently attired, and followed by a long train of attendants. Then came a mounted guard, preceding the town authorities, who marched two abreast, this part of the procession being closed by the mayor on horseback.
Passing through the Water-gate, on the summit of which the royal standard now floated, the whole of the splendid cavalcade crossed the drawbridge, and proceeded to that part of the quay where it was intended the disembarkation should take place. A vast concourse had here assembled, but a wide space near the water was kept clear by the guard, and within this the procession drew up.
It was now high tide, and close to the strand lay the Queen’s barge, gorgeously decorated, and having a broad banner embroidered with the arms of England on the stern.
The Earl of Arundel with the Duke of Norfolk, the Marquis of Winchester, and the principal nobles, having dismounted, entered this barque, and were immediately rowed by two banks of oarsmen to the Prince’s ship. In front of the royal barge stood six trumpeters. Four other gilded barges followed. The course of these gorgeous barques was watched with momently-increasing interest by the thousandsof spectators on the quays, on the town walls, and on other points of observation.
With her decks crowded with arquebusiers in their full accoutrements, and banners floating from her turrets, the “Santissima Trinidada” made a most gallant show, exciting the wonder and admiration of all who gazed upon her. Her companions on the right and left were likewise splendidly decorated, and, indeed, every vessel within sight fluttered with banners and streamers.
As the royal barge approached the Prince’s ship, loud fanfares were sounded by the trumpeters, and immediately several officials in rich habiliments, and bearing white wands, appeared at the head of the stairs. On gaining the deck, the Earl of Arundel and the other nobles were conducted with the utmost ceremony to Philip, whom they found surrounded by the Dukes of Alva and Medina Celi, Don Ruy Gomez, and the rest of the grandees composing the Prince’s suite.
On this occasion Philip had laid aside his customary black habiliments, and wore a doublet and hose of crimson silk, with a robe of cloth of gold. His boots were decked with golden strings, and bordered with pearls. All the grandees forming hisentouragewere dressed with extraordinary magnificence, and made a most splendid display.
Philip received the English nobles with the greatest courtesy, and being informed that the Earl of Arundel was the bearer to him, from her Majesty, of the insignia of the most noble Order of the Garter, he immediately bowed his head, and while the collar was passed over his neck by the Earl, the Duke of Norfolk buckled on the garter. When this ceremony had been performed, and an interchange of formal salutations had taken place between the English nobles and the Spanish grandees, the Prince was conducted to the royal barge, the English nobles entering it with him. The Spanish grandees, with various officials, gentlemen, and pages, in attendance upon the Prince, went ashore in the other boats.
On the part of the quay reserved for the disembarkation, a rich Turkey carpet had been laid, and upon this stood four henchmen in parti-coloured attire of crimson velvet and yellow silk, sustaining an embroidered canopy of reddamask, fringed with golden thread. The pages, esquires, and other officials having first landed, the royal barge was brought close to the strand, and a railed plank, covered with striped cloth, being laid upon it, offered an easy passage to the Prince, whose deportment as he slowly traversed it, was singularly haughty and majestic.
On the instant that Philip stepped ashore a royal salute was fired from the castle batteries, the roar being prolonged by every gun in the English fleet. At the same time vociferous acclamations arose from the spectators.
“Heaven save your Highness!—welcome to England!” exclaimed a voice from amidst a group near the canopy.
The voice sounded familiar to Philip, and glancing in the direction of the speaker, he recognised Rodomont Bittern, who, with his friends, had managed to obtain a position with the mayor and the town authorities. Rodomont’s exclamation, uttered in a loud voice, and with unmistakable heartiness, found many an echo. Pleased by the cordiality of the welcome, Philip bowed graciously around, and in so doing addressed a slight smile of recognition to Rodomont.
A brief pause now ensued, but as soon as the grandees had landed, and ranged themselves behind him, Philip drew his sword, holding it aloft till he got beneath the canopy, when he again stood still, and returned the blade to the scabbard. This action surprised all the lookers-on, and gave rise to many comments.
“By Saint Jude! a strange proceeding!” observed Jack Holiday to his companions. “Are we to understand that the Prince intends to rule England with the sword?”
“By the mass! it looks like it,” rejoined Simnel.
“Tut! you are wrong in your surmise,” cried Rodomont. “His Highness draws the sword in the defence of our country. That I take to be the meaning of the act.”
Attended by the aldermen, the mayor now advanced towards the Prince, and reverentially presented him with the keys of the town, laid upon a velvet cushion.
Philip did not take the keys, but graciously bidding the mayor arise, said in clear and distinct accents, “I thank you, Sir, and I thank all those with you for this welcome. You know what has brought me here. I come not insearch of men or treasure, having sufficient of both in the country I have left. As the chosen husband of your wise and virtuous Queen, I come to dwell among you, not as a foreigner, but as a native Englishman. To you, my good lords,” he added to the English nobles, who were ranged on either side of the canopy, “I am much beholden for the assurances of loyalty and devotion which you have already proffered me, and I here publicly declare that you, and all her Majesty’s faithful subjects, shall ever find me anxious to promote the welfare of the kingdom, to observe its laws, conform to its customs, and defend it against all enemies.”
Then, turning to the Spanish grandees, who were standing behind him, he said, “My lords, you all, I am well assured, share the gratification I experience at the very friendly reception that has been given me. Hitherto, you have been strangers to the people of England, but this must be so no longer. Spaniards and Englishmen must henceforth be brethren, bound together by ties of strictest amity. It shall be my aim to encourage and maintain a good understanding between the two nations, and, seconded by you, and by these noble English lords, I cannot fail in my design.”
“We are ready to obey your Highness in all things,” said the Duke of Alva, with a haughty inclination of his head, while the other grandees made similar professions.
“He may talk till he is tired,” muttered the Lord Admiral. “There will be no cordial understanding between us.”
This opinion was shared by several others. Indeed, the English nobles were deterred by the arrogance of the Spanish grandees from making advances towards them.
“It is my wish to observe all good old English customs,” pursued the Prince. “If I unintentionally neglect any of them, I hope to be made aware of the omission. I would fain drink a health to all present.”
“A cup of wine for his Highness!” cried the Earl of Arundel.
“Nay, my good lord, let me have a flagon of English ale,” said the Prince. “I should prefer your national beverage.”
“As your Highness pleases,” rejoined Arundel, bowing. “A flagon of ale on the instant.”
The Prince’s choice caused considerable merriment, and warmed many a heart towards him.
“A cup of ale!” exclaimed Simnel. “This is carrying complaisance to the highest point.”
“His Highness is resolved to become an Englishman, that I can plainly perceive,” observed Rodomont, “and takes what he conceives to be the shortest way to his object. Heaven bless him! he is a most gracious Prince.”
At this juncture, a silver flagon, filled with ale, was brought on a salver, and presented by the Earl of Arundel to the Prince, who, taking the cup, bowed graciously around.
“His Highness drinks to you all, good Sirs!” cried the Earl of Arundel, in a loud voice.
“To all, of whatever degree!” said the Prince, raising the goblet to his lips.
Most opportunely, at the moment, another discharge was fired from the castle guns, followed by a loud flourish of trumpets and drums. From the shouts that were also raised, it was evident that the Prince was rising rapidly in popular favour.
“How does your Highness like the beverage?” inquired the Earl of Arundel, as he took back the goblet.
“It will improve upon acquaintance, I make no doubt,” replied Philip. “At present, I find it somewhat too potent.”
“A strong head is needed to stand it,” observed the Lord Admiral, with an ill-disguised sneer.
After this, Philip remained for some little time beneath the canopy, conversing with the English nobles, and evidently striving to propitiate them, and he appeared to be successful in his efforts. He showed himself extremely easy of access, and amongst other persons presented to him was Rodomont Bittern.
“This is not the first time we have met, Sir,” observed Philip, to the surprise of most who heard him.
“Since your Highness deigns to recollect the circumstance, be assured I shall never forget it,” replied Rodomont.
“Nay, you have rendered me a great service,” said thePrince, “and it shall not pass unrequited. Is Master Tyrrell here?”
“Ay, your Highness,” replied Rodomont. “He is yonder, with the town-council.”
“Let him come forward. I would speak with him,” said Philip.
Accordingly, the worthy merchant, much to his dismay, was brought before the Prince. He was so confused that he would have neglected the necessary obeisance, if he had not been prompted by Rodomont, who, indeed, half forced him to incline his person.
“I am glad to see you again, good Master Tyrrell,” said Philip, smiling, “and have to thank you for your hospitable intentions towards me last night.”
“Your Highness will forgive me. I knew not whom I was addressing,” stammered Tyrrell. “It is true that I subsequently learnt from my daughter——”
“That she had rendered me a most signal service, which I trust adequately to requite,” interrupted the Prince. “No more of that now, Sir. But rest assured that her Majesty will not be less grateful than myself to fair Mistress Constance.”
“I am not quite so sure of that,” thought Rodomont.
With further assurances of his consideration, the Prince then dismissed Master Tyrrell, who retired with Rodomont, both being charmed with his Highness’s affability.
Though the foregoing conversation was not altogether intelligible to the Spanish grandees, it caused them great surprise, and even disquietude.
“As I live, his Highness seems to know these people,” observed Alva to the Duke of Medina Celi. “Where can he have met them?”
“I am as much in the dark as yourself,” replied the other. “But, in my opinion, he must have gone ashore secretly last night.”
“By my faith! you are right,” rejoined Alva, bending his heavy brows. “Some idle affair of gallantry, I’ll be sworn. He is ever engaged in such adventures. I must inquire into the matter, and take him to task for his imprudence.”
The English nobles, who were somewhat better acquainted than the Spaniards with the Prince’s proceedings, laughed amongst themselves at what was passing.
Influenced by their royal master’s deportment, the Spanish grandees showed a disposition to relax from their stiffness and hauteur, and ere long engaged in friendly discourse with the English nobles, though their manner still continued grave and formal.
Meantime, another boat had come ashore, bringing the Bishop of Cuença, and Father Alfonso de Castro, the Prince’s confessor. On landing, these ecclesiastics immediately knelt down and recited a prayer, and as he arose, the bishop pronounced a solemn benediction on the assemblage.
Several other boats followed, filled with Spanish arquebusiers, who, being very fine-looking men and splendidly accoutred, excited much curiosity as they ranged themselves on the platform. The object of this guard was made speedily apparent by the arrival of some thirty large coffers, each enveloped in a cover bearing the Prince’s escutcheon. These coffers, supposed to contain gold in bullion, were subsequently conveyed to the castle under the guard of the arquebusiers. Many speculations were indulged in as to how this treasure was to be employed—the general impression being, that it would be used in bribing certain of the council and of the nobility.
As soon as the treasure was landed, the Prince mounted his jennet, the Master of the Horse holding the stirrup, and thecortégereturned to the town. Richly-caparisoned chargers were brought for the Spanish grandees who rode behind the Prince, while the English nobles preceded him.
HOW THE PRINCE HEARD HIGH MASS IN HOLYROOD CHURCH;AND HOW HE ONCE MORE BEHELD SIR BEVIS AND HISCOMPANIONS.
HOW THE PRINCE HEARD HIGH MASS IN HOLYROOD CHURCH;AND HOW HE ONCE MORE BEHELD SIR BEVIS AND HISCOMPANIONS.
HOW THE PRINCE HEARD HIGH MASS IN HOLYROOD CHURCH;
AND HOW HE ONCE MORE BEHELD SIR BEVIS AND HIS
COMPANIONS.
Amid the thunder of cannon, the ringing of bells, the beating of drums, the braying of trumpets, the clash of cymbals, the waving of scarves and kerchiefs, accompanied by joyous acclamations, Philip entered Southampton by the Water-gate.
Bending lowly in return for the clamorous welcome given him by the occupants of the gallery adjoining the gate, the Prince continued to bow gracefully right and left as he rode slowly up the street. Philip was never seen to greater advantage than on horse-back, and his stately figure now commanded universal admiration. As he went on, he descried many a comely damsel at the windows, but she he most desired to behold was not visible.
Passing through the triumphal arch reared across the streets, which, now that it was completed, had a charming effect, he dismounted at the Gothic porch of Holyrood Church, near which the English nobles were ranged to receive him.
Internally, the church presented an imposing appearance, being richly decorated for the occasion. The aisles were densely crowded, but the broad nave was kept clear, and along it a crimson cloth was stretched. The pillars were also covered with embroidered cloths, and ornamented with paintings. Superb vessels of gold and silver, chalices, reliquariesand pixes, decked the altar, above which stood an image of the Virgin, then but newly set up. Large tapers burnt on either side. Priests and deacons in their stoles, with white-robed choristers and incense-bearers, filled the chantry.
As Philip, preceded by the Bishop of Cuença and Father de Castro, and followed by a splendid train of English and Spanish nobles, marched along the nave, the priests advanced to meet him, while the air was filled with fragrance. At the same time the roof resounded with jubilant symphonies. A large velvet cushion had been placed on the right of the altar for the Prince, and on this he knelt down, while the English and Spanish nobles grouped themselves on either side. Mass was then solemnised, the Bishop of Cuença and Father de Castro officiating with the English priests.
On issuing from the church, Philip was greeted with loud acclamations from the crowd, which he graciously acknowledged. Mounting his jennet, and attended by a gallant train, consisting of the English and Spanish nobles, he proceeded along High Street towards the Bar-gate, where he was told by the Earl of Arundel that a pageant awaited him.
The same manifestations of popular satisfaction that had hitherto attended him continued during this part of his course, and no untoward incident occurred to mar the general harmony.
On approaching the Bar-gate, Philip perceived beneath its archway the gigantic Sir Bevis of Southampton, armed as he had appeared on the previous night, and seated on his mighty charger Arundel. Royal Canute was stationed on the right of the puissant champion, and savage Ascapart on the left. Behind were the Moorish kings.
Thus placed, the gigantic figures had a very picturesque effect, and harmonised well with the ancient structure. A trumpet being sounded, a fancifully-attired dwarf issued from a postern in one of the flanking towers, and strutted towards the Prince.
“Who art thou, and what is thy business?” demanded Philip, as the dwarf made him a very ceremonious obeisance.
“My name may perchance have reached your Highness’sears,” replied the mannikin, proudly. “I am called Sir Narcissus le Grand, and am one—perchance not the least distinguished—of her Majesty’s attendants.”
“I am aware that her Majesty has a dwarf to divert her,” replied the Prince, laughing. “But I fancied the diminutive valet’s name differed from thine.”
“There is no other dwarf but myself in her Majesty’s household,” returned the mannikin. “Before I received the honour of knighthood, I was called Xit, and I am still occasionally so designated by those who are on familiar terms with me.”
“That name has brevity to recommend it, and therefore suits thee better than the other,” observed the Prince.
“Nay, an your Highness thinks so, I am ready to resume the appellation. Xit is a name of which I have no reason to be ashamed, seeing I have ever borne it with honour. Perchance your Highness designs some distinction for me. The Cross of Santiago, or the Toison d’Or, would not be ill bestowed.”
“By Saint Anthony! a modest proposition!” exclaimed Philip. “I marvel thou dost not ask to be made a grandee of the first class.”
“That is indeed my ambition,” replied Xit. “I shall then be privileged to remain covered in your Highness’s presence, like the proud lords I see yonder. But, though dazzled by the thought, I must not forget the business in hand, which is to acquaint your Highness that the Knight of Southampton, the redoubted Sir Bevis, with his slave Ascapart, and the regal Canute, all of whom you behold under yon archway, welcome you to England, and shout with me ‘God save Prince Philip!’”
“God save Prince Philip!” vociferated the three giants in concert.
“Thanks for the welcome,” replied Philip. “Your pageant is good, but it lacks its chief character. Where is the Princess Josyan?—she should be with Sir Bevis.”
“Highness,” said Xit, somewhat embarrassed, “there are two princesses, and since they cannot agree as to which shall take precedence, it was deemed best that neither should appear. They are within the Bar-gate. If you desire it, they can be summoned.”
“Bring forth the youngest and fairest of them,” rejoined Philip.
Xit bowed, and hastened to execute the Prince’s command.
In another instant he reappeared, leading by the hand a comely young damsel, attired in a kirtle of green velvet, and having a glittering caul on her head, in whom Philip was at no loss to recognise the captive made by Sir Bevis on the previous night. A bright blush suffused her cheeks, serving to heighten the effect of her charms, but otherwise she did not seem much abashed, but tripped gaily with her little conductor towards the Prince.
“Highness,” said Xit, as he presented her, “in this damsel, ordinarily known as Lilias Ringwood, you behold the Princess Josyan.”
Scarcely were the words uttered, than a lattice, immediately above the central arch of the Bar-gate, was thrown open, and an angry female face appeared.
“’Tis false!” screamed Lady le Grand, for she it was—“’tis false, I say! I am the real Princess Josyan, and no one shall usurp the part. I am shut up here under lock and key, or I would soon strip that vile hussy of her attire, which belongs of right to me. Doff it at once, minion.”
“Retire on the instant, I command you, Madam,” screamed Xit, shaking his hand furiously at her.
“I shall obey no orders of thine, thou contemptible little monster,” rejoined Lady le Grand, in a shrill voice. “Let me out, or it shall be worse for thee. How dare you put another woman in my place? Lilias Ringwood shall not enact the part assigned to me.”
“Marry, but she shall,” rejoined Xit. “His Highness desired that the youngest and fairest of the two claimants should be brought forth. Thou art neither so young nor so lovely as Lilias, and art consequently superseded. Retire, I say.”
Before Lady le Grand could make any further rejoinder, Philip interposed.
“But what says Sir Bevis himself?” he demanded. “Since he is chiefly concerned in the matter, the choice of a princess ought to rest with him. Methinks he cannot hesitate.”
“Assuredly not, your Highness,” rejoined the giganticwarrior, inclining his head. “I am right glad of the exchange.”
“Then take fair Lilias to him,” said Philip. “Remember the fate of the strong man of Israel,” he added to Sir Bevis, “and be not subdued like him. Otherwise, thou mayst have reason to repent thy choice.”
“No Delilah shall enslave me, your Highness,” rejoined the giant, as the damsel was placed behind him by Ascapart.
“That remains to be seen,” laughed Lilias, as she settled herself on the pillion.
Mortified by the success of her young rival, Lady le Grand retreated from the window, amid the jeers and laughter of the beholders, all of whom were mightily entertained by the incident.
No sooner was this important point settled, than Sir Bevis rode forth from the archway with the fair Lilias behind him, her countenance radiant with triumph. Bending in knightly fashion to the Prince, the gigantic warrior bade his companions attend him, and struck into a street on the right. Calling for his piebald steed, Xit followed the procession, without troubling himself further about Lady le Grand.