HOW THE PRINCE OF SPAIN OBTAINED A SIGHT OF SIR BEVIS OF SOUTHAMPTON AND HIS HORSE ARUNDEL, OF THE GIANT ASCAPART, THE PRINCESS JOSYAN, KING CANUTE, AND ANOTHER NOTABLE PERSONAGE.
The platform on which the Prince of Spain and young Clinton stood, after leaving the boat, was entirely deserted, the vast concourse, recently assembled there, having returned, as already stated, to the town. Here and there a sentinel, in steel cap and breastplate, and armed with a halberd, strode to and fro along the solitary quay. One of these sentinels challenged the Prince and his companion on their landing, but a word from Osbert caused the man to retire.
As Philip first set foot on English ground a thrill of exultation ran through his breast, but he allowed no outward manifestation of the feeling to escape him; but after a momentary halt, signified his desire to Osbert to enter the town.
The night was dark, but clear and perfectly calm. Behind, on the smooth sea, which reflected the stars shining brilliantly above, and the lights of the large lanterns hanging at the poops of the vessels, lay the “Santissima Trinidada,” with her scarcely less colossal companions beside her, looming like leviathans in the darkness. Here all seemed buried in repose, for no sound arose from the mighty ships, or from the squadron in their rear. But in front there was a strong light proceeding from a blazing barrel of pitch set on the top of the Water-gate, the flames of which, rising toa great height, illumined the battlements and keep of the castle, as well as the steeples of the churches and the roofs of the loftier buildings, casting a ruddy glare on the moat beneath, and making the adjacent walls and towers look perfectly black. Moreover, a loud hum, with other sounds arising from the interior of the town, showed that its inhabitants were still astir.
Traversing a drawbridge, near which another sentinel was stationed, Osbert and his royal companion speedily reached the Water-gate. Three or four halberdiers were standing beneath the archway, and advanced to question them, but satisfied with young Clinton’s explanation, one of them struck his pole against the massive door, whereupon a wicket was opened, and the pair entered the town.
They were now at the foot of English-street, with the principal features of which the reader is familiar. Active preparations of various kinds were here being made for the anticipated ceremonial of the morrow. Men were employed in decorating scaffolds erected near the gate, and other artificers were occupied in adorning the fronts of the houses. Though the hour was late, owing to the bustle of preparation, and the numerous strangers within the town, few of the inhabitants of this quarter had retired to rest. Festivities seemed to be going on in most of the houses. Lights streamed from the open casements, while joyous shouts, laughter, and strains of music resounded from within.
All was strange to Philip—the quaint and picturesque architecture of the habitations, the manners, and to some extent the very dresses of the people. But though he was amused by the novelty of the scene, the rudeness, noisy talk, boisterous merriment, and quarrels of the common folk, were by no means to his taste. Naturally, his own arrival in the harbour and expected disembarkation on the morrow formed the universal topics of discourse, and he heard remarks upon himself and his nation, such as he had not hitherto conceived that any one would venture to utter. Little did the heedless talkers imagine that the haughty-looking stranger, with his face closely muffled in his mantle, who passed them in the street, or lingered for a moment beneath a porch to watch their proceedings, was the Prince of Spain. Well was it, indeed, for Philip that he was not recognised, since therewere some discontented folk abroad that night who might not have held his royal person sacred.
Philip took no notice of his opprobrious discourse to his conductor, who would fain have shut his ears to it, but he said within himself, “I begin to understand these people. They are insolent, audacious, and rebellious. Alva was right. They must be ruled with an iron hand.”
As he walked along, the Prince glanced through the open windows into the dining-chambers of some of the larger houses, and seeing the tables covered with flasks and flagons, and surrounded by guests, whose condition proclaimed that they had been drinking deeply, he inquired of Osbert whether his countrymen usually committed such excesses?
“They are somewhat prone to conviviality, I must admit,” replied the young man. “But joy at your Highness’s safe arrival has doubtless made them carouse longer than their wont to-night. Besides, there are many strangers in the town, and the hospitality of the Southampton merchants knows no limit.”
Whether this explanation was entirely satisfactory to the Prince may be doubted, but he made no further remark.
By this time, Philip and his conductor had arrived within a short distance of Holyrood Church. An arch had here been thrown across the street, which some young women were decorating with flowers and ribbons; while a knot of apprentices, in jerkins of grey or russet serge and flat caps, were superintending their operations, and holding torches for them.
All at once a great shouting was heard in the upper part of the street, whereupon the maidens suspended their task, and called out gleefully to the youths that Sir Bevis and Ascapart were coming. At this intimation the apprentices drew back, and with some others of the townsfolk who were assembled there, ranged themselves on either side of the arch.
Presently the clamour increased, showing that the knight of Southampton and his gigantic squire must be close at hand, and in order to get out of the way of the crowd, the Prince and his companion withdrew into a porch, whence they could see what was going on without molestation.
Scarcely had they thus ensconcedthemselvesthemselveswhen atumultuous throng burst through the arch. These were followed by a troop of Moors—for such they seemed, from their white garments, turbans adorned with the crescent, and blackened features. The foremost of these Paynims bore torches, but three of them, who marched in the rear, had golden fetters on their wrists, and crowns on their heads. After these captive monarchs rode their conqueror, bestriding his mighty war-horse, Arundel. Sir Bevis, who was of gigantic proportions, was equipped in an enormous steel corslet, with greaves to match, and had on his head a white-plumed helm, the visor of which being raised, disclosed a broad, bluff, bearded visage. Arundel was of extraordinary size and strength, as he had need to be with such a rider, and had a tufted chamfron on his head, with housings of red velvet.
On the right and left of Sir Bevis strode two personages, whose frames were as gigantic as his own. One of these, clad in a tunic of chain armour, which fully developed his prodigious amplitude of chest, wore a conical helmet surmounted by a crown, and having a great nasal in front, which gave peculiar effect to his burly features. This was the Anglo-Danish King, Canute. His majesty bore on his hip a tremendous sword, the scabbard of which was inscribed with mystic characters, and carried in his hand a spear that would have suited Goliath. His shield was oval in form, with a spiked boss in the centre.
Loftier by half a head than the royal Dane was the giant Ascapart, who marched on the other side of the valorous knight of Southampton. Ascapart’s leathern doublet was studded with knobs of brass; a gorget of the same metal encircled a throat thick as that of a bull; his brawny legs were swathed with bands of various colours; and on his shoulders, which were even broader than those of Canute or of his master Sir Bevis, he carried a ponderous club, which it would have puzzled an ordinary man to lift. At his back hung a dragon’s head, no doubt that of the terrific monster slain by Sir Bevis. Despite his attire and formidable club, there was nothing savage in Ascapart’s aspect. On the contrary, his large face had a very good-humoured expression; and the same may be asserted both of Sir Bevis and Canute. It was evident from the strong family likeness distinguishing them that the three giants must be brothers.
As if to contrast with their extraordinary stature, these Anakim were followed by a dwarf, whose appearance was hailed with universal merriment by the spectators. A doublet and cloak of silk and velvet of the brightest hues, with a cap surmounted by a parti-coloured plume of ostrich feathers, formed the attire of this remarkable mannikin. A rapier, appropriate to his size, was girt to his thigh, and a dagger, tiny as a bodkin, hung from his girdle. He rode a piebald horse, and behind him on a pillion sat a plump little dame, representing the Princess Josyan, whose transcendant beauty had bewitched Sir Bevis, and softened the adamantine heart of the ferocious Ascapart. It can scarcely be affirmed that the Princess’s charms were calculated to produce such effects on men in general, but there was doubtless a sorcery about her, which operated more potently on certain subjects than on others. To ordinary eyes she appeared a fat little woman, neither very young nor very tempting, with a merry black eye and a comical expression of countenance. Princess Josyan’s gown was of green velvet, and her embroidered cap had long lappets covering the ears. In her hand she carried a fan made of peacock’s feathers.
In Sir Bevis and his companions Osbert Clinton at once recognised (as perhaps some of our readers may have done) three well-known gigantic warders of the Tower, yclept Og, Gog, and Magog, who, on account of their prodigious stature, were constantly employed in state pageants and ceremonials, while in the consequential looking pigmy riding behind them he did not fail to detect the Queen’s favourite dwarf, Xit, who of late, having received the honour of knighthood from her Majesty, had assumed the title of Sir Narcissus le Grand. The plump little occupant of the pillion, Osbert felt sure must be Lady le Grand, formerly Jane the Fool, whom the Queen had been graciously pleased to bestow in marriage upon Xit. While young Clinton was detailing these circumstances to the Prince, an incident occurred that brought a smile to Philip’s grave countenance.
As Og, the representative of Sir Bevis, was passing through the arch, which his plumed helmet well-nigh touched, he perceived a very comely damsel looking down from a ladder on which she was standing, and laughing athim. Without more ado, he raised himself in his stirrups, and putting his arm round her neck, gave her a sounding salute. Indignant at this proceeding, the damsel requited him with a buffet on the cheek, but in so doing she lost her balance, and would have fallen if the giant had not caught her, and placed her behind him on the broad back of Arundel, which done, he secured his prize by passing his belt round her waist.
Great was the amusement of the bystanders at this occurrence, and several of them clapped their hands and called out, “The Princess Josyan!—the Princess Josyan!” One young gallant, however, did not share the general mirth, but, shouting to Sir Bevis to set the damsel down, made an effort to release her. But he was thwarted in his purpose by Magog, or rather, we should say, by the terrible Ascapart, who, seizing him by the jerkin, notwithstanding his struggles, handed him to Sir Bevis, and by the latter he was instantly transferred to the highest step of the ladder which the damsel had just quitted. Satisfied with what he had done, Sir Bevis rode on, carrying away with him his fair captive, amid the plaudits and laughter of the spectators. Highly incensed at the treatment he had experienced, the youth was preparing to descend, when he perceived Xit beneath him, and stung to fury by the derisive laughter and gestures of the dwarf, who was mightily entertained by what had taken place, he pulled off his thick flat cap, and threw it with such force, and so true an aim, that hitting Xit on the head, it nearly knocked him off his horse.
Greatly ruffled by the indignity thus offered him, Xit, as soon as he recovered his equilibrium, drew his sword, and shrieking out to the apprentice that he should pay for his insolence with his life, bade him come down instantly. But the youth did not care to comply, but joined in the laughter of the spectators, all of whom were prodigiously entertained by the enraged dwarf’s cries and gesticulations. At last, Xit, who was preparing to scale the ladder and attack his foe, yielded to the solicitations of Lady le Grand, and rode on, delivering this parting menace: “We shall meet again, thou craven flat-cap, when I shall not fail to avenge the insult offered me.”
He then quickened his pace, for the laughter and jests ofthe bystanders displeased him, and speedily overtook the cavalcade. On coming up with it, he found that the damsel, who was universally saluted as the Princess Josyan, still maintained her position behind Sir Bevis, and, indeed, seemed perfectly reconciled to it, as she was now chatting in a very amicable manner with her captor. Perhaps her vanity was a little excited by the effect she evidently produced upon the lookers-on. This may account for the proffer she voluntarily made to Sir Bevis, to enact the Princess Josyan on the morrow—a proffer which the courteous knight readily accepted, provided the matter could be accommodated with Lady le Grand, who had a prior claim to the part.
Great was the tribulation of the luckless apprentice who had thus lost his sweetheart. From his elevated position he watched her progress down the street, and could perceive that she manifested no disposition to dismount. But he soon lost sight of her, since, before reaching the bottom of English-street, Sir Bevis and hiscortégeturned off on the right in the direction of the West-gate.
WHAT PASSED BETWEEN MASTER RODOMONT BITTERN ANDTHE PRINCE.
WHAT PASSED BETWEEN MASTER RODOMONT BITTERN ANDTHE PRINCE.
WHAT PASSED BETWEEN MASTER RODOMONT BITTERN AND
THE PRINCE.
As soon as the street was clear, Osbert inquired whether his Highness would proceed as far as the Bar-gate, but Philip having now seen enough, declined, and they began to retrace their steps. The tipplers in the houses were still at their cups. Some of them, it is true, had staggered to the windows on hearing Sir Bevis and hiscortégepass, but by this time they had got back to the bottle. However, a party of half-inebriate guests issued from a large house so suddenly, that the Prince and Osbert had no time to get out of their way, but were instantly surrounded.
“Ah! who have we here?” cried one of these roysterers, struck by Philip’s haughty air. “By the life of the Emperor Charles V., a Spanish grandee! Perchance, one of the Prince’s suite.”
“You are right, Sir,” interposed Osbert; “this noble cavalier is but newly-arrived at Southampton with his Highness the Prince of Spain, and, having come ashore on business, is now returning to his ship.”
“How does the noble cavalier style himself?” demanded the other.
“Call me Don Philip—that will suffice,” said the Prince, haughtily.
“Bezo las manos, Señor Don Felipe,” rejoined the other, taking off his cap. “Your lordship is right welcome toSouthampton. Suffer me to introduce myself to you as Master Rodomont Bittern, a caballero y hombre de honor, who will be proud to do your lordship a service. These are my friends, Nick Simnel and Jack Holiday—both caballeros like myself, and courageous and haughty as bulls. Be known to Don Philip, señores. If your lordship will permit us, we will escort you to the quay.”
“Ay, and go on board with his lordship, an he likes our company,” cried Simnel. “We are in the humour for an adventure.”
“I am ready for aught, save the couch,” said Jack Holiday. “Don Philip will find us jolly cocks, that I promise him.”
“Why should not Don Philip, if he be not pressed, enter worthy Master Tyrrell’s house, and crush a flask of Bourdeaux?” said another of the party. “He shall be welcome, I will answer for it.”
“Ah, that he shall, good Master Huttoft,” cried the host, who was standing in his doorway, and heard what was passing. “He shall have the best my cellar can produce. I pray you, noble Sir, come in.”
“Enter by all means,” said Rodomont to the Prince. “Master Tyrrell is well worth knowing. He is the richest merchant we have—richer than the Italian merchants Nicolini and Guidotti, who dwell near St. John’s. Master Tyrrell is a descendant of the famous brothers Gervase and Protasius, who founded the hospital of God’s House. His daughter, Constance, is surnamed the Pearl of Southampton. A ravishing creature, I vow. You will lose your heart the instant you behold her. Your Andalusian beauties are nothing to her.”
“What do you know of Andalusian beauties, Sir?” said Philip.
“By the mass! a good deal,” rejoined Rodomont, significantly; “as your lordship will guess, when I tell you I have been at Seville. That is how I knew you for a grandee. I could not be deceived. Enter, I pray you, and make Master Tyrrell’s acquaintance. You will find his daughter as I have described her—the fairest creature you ever clapped eyes on. Not, however, that you will see her to-night, for she is at her devotions. She is as pious as Saint Elizabeth. Had I thechoice, I would take Constance Tyrrell in preference to our Queen, whom the Prince, your master, has come hither to marry—ha! ha!”
And the laughter in which he indulged was echoed by his companions.
“Heaven grant that the Prince may not have raised his expectations too high on the score of his consort’s beauty, or he is like enough to be disappointed,” pursued Rodomont. “Hath your lordship ever beheld her Majesty?”
“How could I, Sir?” replied Philip, “since I have never set foot in England before this hour. But I have seen her portrait by Sir Antonio More.”
“Sir Antonio is a court painter, and has doubtless flattered her,” said Rodomont. “By my beard! she is as thin as a whipping-post, and as sour as verjuice.”
This sally was followed by a shout of laughter from the party.
“Let me impress upon you the necessity of a little caution, Master Bittern,” said Osbert. “You seem to forget that Don Philip is attached to his Highness’s person.”
“But he is not going to marry the Queen, therefore the question of her good or ill looks can have no interest to him,” laughed Rodomont. “After all, tastes differ, and the Prince may think her Majesty charming, though I do not.”
“Are you allowed to talk thus freely of great personages in England, Sir?” demanded Philip, sternly.
“For the present we are, Señor Don Felipe, but there’s no saying what we may come to, now the Prince, your master, is about to take us in hand, and teach us manners. Ere long, we shall have a padlock placed upon our mouths, I make no doubt. They say we are to have the Inquisition, and an Auto-da-fé once a month to purge us of heresy, and bring back the stray lambs to the fold. What with the Prince, your master, and Cardinal Pole, who is shortly expected, we are likely to have a pleasant time of it. Familiars of the Holy Office will become too familiar with us, and after a few months passed in secret cells, with red-hot pincers and the rack for recreation, we shall be burnt alive in the market places, shrouded from head to foot in a san benito, as I have myself seen done in your delightful city of Seville.”
“You are trying to frighten us by these horrid descriptionsof red-hot pincers and the rack, Rodomont,” said Simnel. “But it won’t do. Such things will never come to pass in England.”
“Be not too sure of that, Nick,” rejoined Bittern. “You yourself may march at the head of a procession of penitents to Smithfield before the year is out.”
“May be I shall,” rejoined Simnel; “but if I am burned at the stake, you will bear me company. However, I refuse to believe that the Prince of Spain has any such fell designs as you calumniously attribute to him. Don Philip will give us an assurance to the contrary. Doubtless he is in his Highness’s confidence. I pray your lordship to contradict him. Give him the lie direct.”
“Set your mind at ease, Sir,” rejoined Philip. “The Prince is a good Catholic, but that you need not be told. But even his abhorrence of heresy will not induce him to interfere with the religious affairs of this realm, which belong, of right, to the Queen and the Church. You need not fear the establishment of the Inquisition.”
As the words were uttered, a passer-by, who had lingered to hear what was going forward, exclaimed, “’Tis he!” and then, hurrying on his way, speedily disappeared.
The exclamation troubled Philip, and he felt the necessity of instant departure.
“I am sorry I cannot longer continue this discourse, gentlemen,” he said, “neither can I accept Master Tyrrell’s hospitality. I bid you all good-night.”
And bowing to the party with a dignity that strongly impressed them, and prevented them from attempting to accompany him, he walked away with Osbert.
“My mind misgives me,” said Rodomont, looking after him. “Did I not feel sure the Prince must be on board the ‘Santissima Trinidada,’ I should think this haughty hidalgo was he. What an air he has!”
“A princely air, indeed!” exclaimed Simnel.
“Who was it cried ‘’Tis he?’” demanded Bittern.
“Nay, I know not,” returned Jack Holiday. “Whoever the fellow might be, he went away quickly.”
“From the glimpse I caught of him, he looked like the French Ambassador,” observed Huttoft. “His Excellency is in Southampton. I saw him this morning.”
“The French Ambassador!” exclaimed Rodomont. “Nay, then, my suspicions are well founded. Gentlemen, we have been conversing with the Prince of Spain.”
Expressions of incredulity arose from the whole party.
“If it be the Prince of Spain, I would not give much for your ears, Rodomont,” said Simnel, laughing. “Bethink you how disrespectfully you spoke of the Queen.”
“I but affirmed the truth in saying she was not a beauty,” rejoined Bittern.
“Ay, but the truth must not be spoken when her Majesty’s looks are in question,” observed Simnel. “You are in for it, friend Rodomont.”
“Bah! I am not afraid,” cried Bittern, “The Prince will be of my opinion when he beholds his royal consort. Mark what I say. There is not a gallant in the Two Castiles fonder of a pretty woman than Don Philip—a pretty woman, d’ye heed? How then will he reconcile himself to one so much the reverse of beautiful as the Queen? But we must watch over his Highness’s safety. The French Ambassador is the Prince’s worst enemy, and capable of doing him a mischief. Good-night, worthy Master Tyrrell. We will have another merry bout to-morrow. Come along, gentlemen—but caution!—caution!—The Prince must not perceive that he is followed.”
With this, they all marched down the street.
THE DEVOTEE IN THE CHAPEL OF THE DOMUS DEI.
THE DEVOTEE IN THE CHAPEL OF THE DOMUS DEI.
THE DEVOTEE IN THE CHAPEL OF THE DOMUS DEI.
Instead of proceeding to the Water-gate, near which a noisy throng was still assembled, Philip and his conductor turned off on the left, with the intention of making their exit from the town by the South-gate.
Passing through a Gothic archway, they entered a narrow sombre street, or alley, with old monastic looking buildings on either side. In this street stood, and still stands, theDomus Dei, or God’s House, a hospital founded in the reign of Henry III. by two brothers, Gervase and Protasius, merchants of Southampton, and dedicated by them to Saint Julian, the patron of travellers. Connected with this hospital, ancient even at the period of our history, was a beautiful little chapel, where, as we have already mentioned, the three conspiring lords were buried after their decapitation.
Vespers were being celebrated within the sacred pile as Philip and his conductor passed it; perceiving which, the Prince determined to go in and perform his devotions. Accordingly, they entered the little edifice.
Dimly lighted by the tapers burning at the altar, its massive round pillars, semicircular arches, small windows, and deeply-recessed doorway could only be imperfectly seen. Within the chancel, the arch of which was of great beauty, three black marble flags told where thetraitoroustraitorousnobleswere laid. Here, also side by side, were recumbent statues of the founders of the fane, sculptured in alabaster.
Except the officiating priest and his assistants, there were only two female devotees in the chapel, both of whom were kneeling before the altar.
Philip took a place near them. For some minutes he was so absorbed in his devotions that he did not notice the person beside him, further than remarking that she was young; but as he raised his eyes, he caught sight of a face that at once riveted his attention. Never had he beheld features so exquisitely beautiful, or so sweet in expression. No nun could have a holier or purer look. A tender melancholy pervaded this angelic countenance, adding an inexpressible charm to it. The face was seen by the Prince in profile, but the attitude served to display the classic regularity of the lineaments, the noble brow, white asmarblemarble, the delicately-chiselled nose, the short upper lip, and rounded chin. The complexion of the lovely devotee was of dazzling fairness, which lent additional effect to her resplendent black eyes, her finely-pencilled brows and dusky and luxuriant tresses. Her figure was slender, and its perfect symmetry was defined by her black taffetas dress. From her girdle hung a silver rosary. A small ruff encircled her swan-like throat, and a velvet hood fastened to a coverchief lay at the back of her head.
Totally unconscious of the effect produced by her charms, she pursued her devotions, and it was only towards the close of the service, that she became aware of the Prince’s propinquity, and of the ardent gaze he fixed upon her. The discovery gave her evident annoyance. Whispering to her attendant, she arose hastily, with the design of quitting the chapel. She could not avoid Osbert, who was leaning against a pillar directly in her way. Young Clinton had been as much struck by her beauty as the Prince, and with looks betokening the extent of his admiration, he bowed to her respectfully as she passed. Coldly returning the salute, and drawing the hood over her head, she went forth, followed by her attendant.
Philip did not move till the fair devotee had quitted the chapel. He then arose, and with undisturbed gravity of deportment left the building. As he issued into the street,which we have stated was dark and narrow, the two females could nowhere be discerned. Yet, feeling confident they must have proceeded towards the main street, he speeded in that direction. Osbert went with him, but was not sorry to find, on reaching the archway opening into English Street, that nothing was to be seen of them.
“Whither can she have gone?” cried Philip, in a tone of fierce disappointment; and then, without waiting for an answer, he added, “But perhaps you know her.”
Osbert replied in the negative.
“I did not believe the world contained such a paragon,” cried Philip. “But to lose her would be intolerable. Stay! the priest can tell us who she is. Let us go back and question him.”
“Such a step would excite the holy man’s suspicions, and infallibly seal his lips,” replied Osbert, “To-morrow I will obtain information for your Highness.”
“But I must be satisfied to-night,” cried Philip. “I cannot rest till I feel sure I shall behold her again.”
“She appears to have made a great impression upon your Highness,” observed Osbert, in a tone that slightly evinced his dissatisfaction.
“More than I like to confess,” rejoined the Prince. “I am not accustomed to be thwarted. I must find out who she is, and that without delay.”
“I see not how your desire can be gratified,” said Osbert. “We have lost all traces of her for the moment.”
“You seem reluctant to do my bidding, Sir,” said Philip. “Are you smitten with her yourself? Take heed! I will endure no rival.”
“Far be it from me to dream of rivalry with your Highness,” rejoined Osbert. “I am ready to execute any orders you may deign to give me, but I cannot blind myself to the risk of continuing this quest.”
“You are too young to talk of risk, Sir,” said Philip. “Difficulties and dangers only add zest to an affair of this kind.”
“That would be quite true, were I alone concerned in it,” rejoined Osbert. “But it is risk to your Highness, and not to myself that I dread. You would not care to have it known that you have privily visited Southampton to-night.Yet it may become so, without due caution. Even now methinks, we are watched. Cast your eyes across the street, and beneath the gate of yonder convent of Grey Friars you will perceive the party of tipsy revellers from whom we have but just escaped. Unless I am mistaken, they are playing the spy upon us.”
“By Heaven you are right!” cried Philip, looking in the direction indicated, and remarking the group beneath the convent gate. “If we go on, we shall have those fellows at our heels, or they will join us, which will be worse.”
“Not a doubt of it,” replied Osbert. “And to speak truth, I am not without uneasiness on another score. That sudden exclamation of a passer-by would seem to indicate that you were recognised—perhaps by an enemy. If I may be so bold, I would counsel your instant return to the ship.”
“And leave this adventure unfinished!” exclaimed Philip. “It goes against my inclination. ’Tis not the custom with us Spaniards to halt on the threshold of a love affair. But I yield to the prudence of your suggestion.”
“Heaven be thanked!” mentally ejaculated Osbert. “He shall never behold her again, if I can help it.”
On this, they once more tracked the dark and narrow street. In another moment they were near the little chapel, and Osbert would have hurried on, but the Prince paused to consider the locality. Possibly the damsel might be still thereabouts, or she might have entered the hospital which adjoined the chapel, and indeed was connected with it. A lateral passage led to a small quadrangular court, and down this passage Philip went, hoping to make some discovery. Nor was he this time destined to disappointment. On gaining the court, he found that the fair object of his search was advancing towards him with her attendant. She had evidently just left the hospital, as the door was being closed at the moment by an ancient porter, carrying a lamp.
“At last I have found you, Madam!” exclaimed the Prince, springing towards her. “I have looked for you everywhere in vain. But I thought fortune would not present such a treasure to my view, only to rob me of it instantly.”
“Let me pass, I entreat you, Sir,” cried the terrified maiden.
“Not till I have told you of the passion which your charms have inspired in my breast,” pursued Philip, detaining her. “You must—you shall hear me.”
“Not another word,” cried the damsel, haughtily; “I command you to let mego.go.You will repent this rudeness. Know you whom you thus insult?”
“Pray Heaven she do not tell him who she is!” said Osbert, internally.
“I know you for the fairest creature I have ever beheld,” said Philip, “and if I offend you by my speech, blame me not for it, but rather blame your own charms, which compel me to give utterance to my feelings. Did I but know your name, I would at once release you.”
“Then learn to your confusion, forward Sir,” interposed the old attendant, “that my young lady is Mistress Constance, daughter of Master Tyrrell, the rich merchant of English Street, whom you must know by repute.”
“What! the Pearl of Southampton!” exclaimed the Prince. “By my faith, the title is well bestowed. She does not belie her reputation.”
“Ay, the Pearl of Southampton,” cried the old woman. “And a pearl she is, above all price, I can tell you, and not to be meddled with by profane gallants like you, when she is engaged on works of charity.”
“What goodly work has your fair mistress been employed in?” inquired Philip.
“In ministering to the sick within this hospital,” replied the old woman. “But she is always occupied in good works, and hath no time for idle vanities. You would do well to follow her example. When the Prince of Spain arrived in the harbour this evening, and all the townflockedflockedto the quay to welcome him, what did my pious darling do but hie to yon little chapel to return thanks to Heaven for giving him a safe voyage.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Philip. “The Prince ought to be much beholden to her. I thank you in his name, Madam,” he added to Constance.
“You are a Spaniard, then, Sir?” said Constance, for the first time raising her eyes towards him.
“One of his Highness’s suite,” replied Philip. “I am sure it will delight the Prince that one so fair should take aninterest in him. I trust you will again remember him in your prayers.”
“I have prayed for him,” said Constance—“prayed that having arrived here in safety, he may escape all danger from the disaffected—prayed that his marriage with our Queen may be fraught with happiness to both of them, and conduce to the welfare of the realm, and the benefit of religion.”
“I rejoice to hear such sentiments fall from your lips. I have heard few like them since I landed. You wish well to the Prince of Spain?”
“I wish well to him because he is to be the Queen’s husband, and she has no more loyal subject than myself. I could not wish him better than to be the chosen spouse of so excellent a Princess.”
“He might be better pleased, Madam, if her Majesty resembled you,” observed Philip.
“The Prince cannot be of your opinion, Sir,” returned Constance, “for I hear he is singularly devout. He will require no other graces in her Majesty save those of her mind and heart.”
“You have been rightly informed as to the Prince’s zeal in religious matters, Madam,” said Philip. “He is as strict as you appear to be; but he is by no means indifferent to beauty, and I am certain he could not behold you unmoved.”
“You do him wrong, Sir,” said Constance. “The Queen must now exclusively occupy his heart. A thought of any other would be sinful, and a pious prince would never indulge such a thought.”
“A very pertinent remark. I trust he may profit by it,” muttered Osbert.
“The sin being involuntary, would lie lightly on his conscience,” observed Philip. “But I must prevail on the Prince to mention your name to the Queen. She ought to be made acquainted with your merits, and might, possibly, find some place for you near her royal person.”
“I pray you, Sir, do not. I have no desire to emerge from my present obscurity. But for my father, I should embrace the life of a cloister. That is my real vocation.”
“It must not be, Madam!” exclaimed Osbert, unable torestrain himself. “You would do a wrong to society to deprive it of its chief ornament.”
“You see, Madam, that this gentleman is as much opposed to the step as I myself should be,” observed Philip. “You must not quit a world you are so well calculated to adorn. No, no; you must be one of her Majesty’s attendants—you must grace a court.”
“I grace a court!” exclaimed Constance. “I am not fit for it. But you are mocking me, Sir.”
“By Saint Iago I am not!” cried Philip. “I was never more serious in my life. I will prove to you I am in earnest——”
“Nay, I desire no such proof, Sir,” interrupted Constance, alarmed by his impassioned tone. “I must go. Do not detain me. I have stayed too long already discoursing with a stranger.”
“It will be your own fault if I continue a stranger to you, sweet Constance,” said Philip. “Rather than you should doubt my sincerity, I will declare myself.”
“Hold!” exclaimed Osbert. “Pardon me,” he added to the Prince; “I feel it my duty to interpose.”
“It would avail me nothing to know your name and quality, Sir,” said Constance. “Henceforth we must be entire strangers to each other.”
“Not so!—not so! sweet Constance!” cried the Prince. “Will you not suffer me to attend you to your home?”
“I am too well known to need an escort,” she rejoined. “Nay, I am peremptory,” she added, seeing the Prince meant to accompany her. “You will not, I am sure, disoblige me. Come, Dorcas. Fare you well, Sir.”
“Adieu, sweet Constance!” exclaimed the Prince; adding, as she disappeared with her attendant, “notwithstanding your interdiction, weshallmeet again.”
OF THE MURTHEROUS ATTACK MADE UPON THE PRINCE INTHE COURT OF THE HOSPITAL.
OF THE MURTHEROUS ATTACK MADE UPON THE PRINCE INTHE COURT OF THE HOSPITAL.
OF THE MURTHEROUS ATTACK MADE UPON THE PRINCE IN
THE COURT OF THE HOSPITAL.
“Considering that I have been little more than an hour in England, I have employed my time not unprofitably,” remarked the Prince, gaily.
“If your Highness was in search of an adventure, you have certainly been lucky in meeting with one,” observed Osbert. “But I presume you are now content, and disposed to go on board.”
“Presently,” replied Philip. “But I must pause for a moment to think over the interview—to recall her words, and the music of her voice. She has cast a spell upon me.”
“So it would seem,” muttered Osbert. “Hah! she is here again!” he exclaimed, as Constance and her attendant suddenly re-entered the court.
“Returned so soon!” exclaimed Philip, springing joyfully towards the damsel. Then remarking her agitation, he added, “But what has happened? Have you come to claim our escort?”
“I am come to warn you,” she replied, trembling. “Your life is in danger.”
“The danger is welcome, since it procures me the happiness of seeing you again,” said the Prince.
“Oh! trifle not thus,” she rejoined. “’Tis no imaginary peril. Listen to me, I beseech you. There are some evil-minded men in the street, whose design, I am certain, is toset upon you as you come forth. They have weapons in their hands, and their talk left me no doubt as to their sanguinary purpose.”
“But why should they lie in wait for me?” rejoined Philip, carelessly. “However, be that as it may, I am infinitely obliged to them for proving to me that you are really interested in my safety.”
“How could I fail to be, when I learnt from some words that fell from these miscreants, what I might have conjectured before, that you are no less exalted a personage than the Prince of Spain?”
“In what way did the villains obtain the information?” cried Philip. “It must be mere guess-work on their part. But make yourself easy, sweet Constance. They will not dare to assault me; or, if they do, I shall know how to defend myself. Besides, I am not alone. This gentleman, Master Osbert Clinton, I make no doubt, is a tolerable swordsman, and will help me to give a good account of the rogues.”
“Your Highness may depend on me,” said Osbert. “But you must not place yourself in this jeopardy. The street is dark and lonely, and favourable to a murtherous attempt of this kind. Already, more than one foul deed has been perpetrated within it.”
“The wretches are lying in ambush ready to attack you unawares,” said Constance. “I saw them extinguish the only lamp in the street, and then retire behind a buttress in the wall.”
“By Holy Mary! my young mistress speaks the truth,” said old Dorcas, her teeth chattering with fright. “I counted the villains. There are six of them.”
“Then they will be three to two,” rejoined the Prince, lightly. “We can manage that odds, eh, Master Clinton?”
“Your Highness must not thus expose yourself,” said Constance. “It will be impossible to escape them. I pray you to be ruled by me, and enter the hospital till a guard be procured.”
“I am well content to do so, if you will tarry with me,” answered Philip. “But who will bring the guard?”
“Be that task mine,” cried Osbert. “As soon as your Highness is in safety, I will fly to procure assistance.”
“Nay, you must not go, Sir,” said Constance. “The peril will be as great to you as to the Prince himself. You will only throw away your life in the attempt. I will summon the watch. I shall run no risk.”
“She will, at least, pity me if I fall—I will go!” mentally ejaculated Osbert.
“I will procure your Highness instant admittance to the hospital,” said Constance, “and then——”
“Nay, you must bear me company, or I will not enter,” interrupted Philip.
Osbert waited till they had nearly reached the door of the hospital, and then, drawing his sword, rushed down the passage leading to the street.
“Ah! rash young man!” exclaimed Constance, in accents of pity which might have gratified Osbert if he could have heard them. “He is rushing to certain destruction.”
Scarcely were the words uttered, when the clashing of steel was heard without, accompanied by other sounds, proving that a desperate conflict was going on.
“I must leave you, Constance, and fly to his assistance,” cried the Prince, plucking his rapier from its sheath.
“No,” she rejoined, holding him. “Your life is too precious to be thus sacrificed—too precious to the Queen.”
“I will strike down these assassins in her name,” rejoined Philip. “I am proof against their blades. The son of Charles V. is not destined to perish thus obscurely.”
“’Twere far better you sought an asylum here; but, if go you will, may Heaven and all good saints guard you!”
And as she relinquished her hold of him, and sought to enter the hospital, she found the door was fastened.
Perceiving this, old Dorcas knocked against it, calling out lustily, “Within! I say, within!” But there being no answer to the summons, she added despairingly, “Deaf old Absalom, the porter, must have gone to bed. What will become of us?”
Meanwhile, the Prince had quickly divested himself of his cloak, and, wrapping part of it round his left arm, leaving the other half hanging down, he flew to the passage, rapier in hand. On reaching it, he found it occupied by Osbert and his assailants. The young man was defending himself like a lion against his opponents, one of whom he hadalready disabled, but he was compelled to retreat; his position being such, that for the moment the Prince could render him no assistance. But the foremost of the assassin band caught sight of Philip, and shouting out to his comrades,—
“There stands the accursed Spanish Prince who would enslave us! We have him now—we have him!” Whereupon, incited by the words, they attacked Osbert so furiously that they drove him down the passage.
“Ah! why do I find your Highness here?” cried young Clinton, despairingly, as the Prince joined him, and helped him to keep off his assailants.
“You hear what he says, comrades,” cried the leader of the band, a formidable-looking ruffian in a buff jerkin and steel cap, who looked like a disbanded soldier. “I was not mistaken, you see. ’Tis the Prince in person. ’Tis the bloodthirsty tyrant who would rob us of our liberties, and place us under a foreign yoke; who would force us by fagot and fire and other severities, conceived in hell, to return to the Romish idolatries we have abjured. But he has been delivered into our hands ere the wicked devices of his heart can be accomplished. It is Heaven’s will that he should die, and in putting him to death we shall earn the gratitude of our country.”
“Besides the hundred rose-nobles each that we are to have for the deed,” cried one of his comrades.
“I would do the deed for nothing,” shouted another of the band, “for it will redound to our credit. So have at him!”
“Harkye, young Sir,” cried the leader of the band, addressing Osbert. “We do not desire your life—nay, we would willingly spare you. Our sole object is to crush this spawn of hell. Retire, and leave him to our justice.”
“Think you I will stand tamely by and see you execute your ruthless purpose?” cried young Clinton. “No; I will defend the Prince to my last gasp.”
“Your blood be upon your own head, then,” rejoined the ruffian. “Upon them, comrades! Strike, and spare not.”
“Thou, at least, will never be executioner,” cried the Prince.
And as the ruffian made a desperate lunge at him, hedexterously caught his sword in the hanging part of his cloak, and returning with a full thrust, transfixed his antagonist with his rapier.
“This comes of Spanish practices,” groaned the wretch, as he fell to the ground. “Had he fought like an Englishman, without the cloak, I had killed him. Revenge me, comrades,” he added, with his last breath.
“I have done thee too much honour in killing thee, vile caitiff,” cried Philip, spurning the body with his foot.
The death of the leader caused a momentary pause in the assault. But determined to make sure of their prey, three of the ruffians now attacked the Prince, leaving the fourth engaged with Osbert. But for his activity and address it might now have fared ill with Philip. His cloak saved him from many a deadly thrust aimed at his breast, and distracted his assailants. Strange to say, he was entirely untouched, though all three of his opponents had felt the point of his weapon. He tried to separate them, but without success. They were too wary to be caught by the stratagem.
In this way, he was driven back towards the door of the hospital, before which stood Constance and old Dorcas, unable to gain admittance, and filling the court with cries for help. Presently at this juncture, and as if to afford him a means of retreat, the door of the hospital was thrown open by old Absalom, the porter, who held a lamp in his hand, and was shaking with terror. While stepping nimbly backwards in the hope of passing through the doorway, Philip encountered some obstacle, and fell, thus lying at the mercy of his opponents.
In another moment all had been over with him, if Constance had not heroically thrown herself before him, and the ruffians, having some touch of manhood in their breasts, forbore to strike. With terrible oaths, however, they ordered her to stand aside, but, with unshaken resolution, she maintained her place, and they were preparing to execute their fell purpose in spite of her, when a loud clatter in the passage leading to the street warned them that succour was at hand, and made them pause. The next moment Rodomont Bittern and his friends, shouting and flourishing their swords, and accompanied by two or three torch-bearers, rushed into the court.