Chapter Two.The Shepherd Lord, by Julia Corner, Author of the “Historical Library,” etcetera.It is now about four hundred years since a great feast was held at Skipton Castle, to celebrate the birth of a son and heir to the noble house of De Clifford. The young lord of the domain had just succeeded to the title and vast possessions of his father, Thomas Lord Clifford, who was killed in the battle of Saint Albans, at the beginning of the civil wars between the rival houses of York and Lancaster, and, by his death, his only son John, then not much more than twenty years of age, became lord of the great manor of Skipton in Yorkshire, and of Brougham Castle, with its wide lands, in Westmoreland, besides other castles and estates in different parts of the Northern Counties. A rich and powerful family were the De Cliffords, descended from Richard of Normandy, the uncle of William the Conqueror, and the first Lord Clifford was the fatherof the lady called Fair Rosamond, who lived in the reign of King Henry the Second, and was so beautiful that it is said in some histories of England that the queen was jealous of her, and obliged her to take poison; but this story is now supposed to be untrue, as there is reason to believe that Fair Rosamond became a nun and died in a convent. The De Cliffords held the Barony of Clifford in Herefordshire, and the extensive manor of Skipton in Yorkshire, when the grandson of Rosamond’s father married a rich heiress, who brought him the Barony of Westmoreland, to which Brougham Castle belonged, and after that other lords of the race acquired estates by their marriages, so that the wealth and grandeur of the family had been continually increasing. The wife of the present Lord Clifford, the beautiful and accomplished Lady Margaret, was the only child, consequently the heiress of Henry Bromflete Lord de Vesci, who was also possessed of large estates, one of which was Londesborough in Yorkshire, so that Henry, the hero of this tale, was born heir to great riches and honours, and in his childhood was surrounded with all the magnificence of a royal prince, for his father lived in kingly state, and his mother had her maids of honour, her squires and pages, just like a queen. It was not long after young Henry’s birth that Lord Clifford removed his family from Skipton to Brougham Castle, where two more children were born, a boy who was named Richard, and a girl named Elizabeth. These children had their separate nurses and attendants, as was befitting their high station, and Henry’s chief nurse, whose name was Maud, was as fond of him as if he had been her own child, for he was a very sweet-tempered, affectionate boy, and he loved her better than any one else in the world, except his parents and his little brother and sister.Lord Clifford was now very seldom at home, being deeply engaged in the wars, but he came sometimes and stayed for a few days or weeks, as it might be, and on these occasions Henry, as soon as he was old enough, used to dine in the Castle hall, where not less than a hundred knights and gentlemen, besides a great number of pages and domestics of all kinds, sat down to dinner all together every day, for such was the custom of those times in great families. The dinner hour was about noon, or even earlier, when everybody belonging to the establishment assembled in the hall, where they took their places at the board according to their rank. At the upper end was a table raised above the rest on a daïs, for the lord of the castle and his family, with any guests of distinction that might happen to be present, and below this was a long oak table extending from it lengthways down the centre of the hall, in the middle of which stood an enormous salt-cellar, as a sort of boundary between such as were of gentle birth, and those of lower degree; the former sitting above, the latter below the salt. The style of living in those days would appear very uncivilised to us in this more refined age, for the dishes were set on the board without any cloth, and the people ate off wooden or pewter plates, and used their fingers instead of forks, while many of the nobles would have their favourite hounds beside them, and feed them from the table; for, as the floor was always thickly strewed with rushes, they did not mind throwing down pieces of meat to their dogs. However there was always great plenty, and such a banquet was thought very grand then; and the young Henry de Clifford, as being the eldest son, was treated with great homage by all his father’s dependents. Often, too, chiefly for his amusement, mummers, jugglers, and tumblers were allowed to exhibit their performances in the hall, for he took great delight in such entertainments, and no indulgence, however costly, was thought too great for De Clifford’s heir, whose pleasure was studied by every member of the numerous household. It was well for him that his wise and excellent mother taught him not to be too proud of his exalted rank, or haughty in his manners to those of humbler grade, but to be courteous and kind to every one, even to the lowest menial, so as to gain the good-will of all; and, as he was a very docile boy, and moreover believed that nobody in the world was so good or so beautiful as his own dear mother, he did not fail to profit by her gentle precepts, and become all that she could wish. Poor boy! he little dreamed then how greatly he would stand in need of a humble spirit, or what a sad reverse of fortune he was destined soon to experience.His good nurse Maud had left to go to her own home at Skipton, where she married a shepherd belonging to the estate, and after her departure Henry was much more with his mother, who had begun to instruct him in such branches of learning as were considered essential to the education of the young nobility. She taught him to play on the harp and other stringed instruments, to recite verses, sing many of the songs she had herself learned from the minstrels in her father’s halls, and, what was of still more importance, she was about to teach him to read, which was not a common accomplishment in those days, for there were no printed books in England till some time afterwards. Printing was then a new invention, and only practised in Germany at one or two of the principal towns, so that the only means of learning to read was from manuscripts written by the monks, generally on parchment or vellum, and beautifully illuminated with a border round every page, in brilliant colours intermixed with gold. In every monastery some of the monks were always employed in making copies of the manuscripts their libraries contained, and others in illuminating them; but these written books were so expensive that none but very rich people could afford to buy them. Lady Clifford, however, possessed a few of these valuable works, and was intending that her son, who was now in his seventh year, should begin to study them, when a heavy blow fell upon the house of De Clifford; and the noble youth, who was born to be a great and wealthy lord, was reduced to the humble condition of a shepherd’s boy.Henry was very desirous to know something about the war that kept his father so much from home, and Lady Margaret took great pains to explain to him how it had been occasioned, and why the English people should all be fighting against each other. She told him it was the opinion of many persons that the king, Henry the Sixth, who was then reigning, had no right to the crown, which belonged properly to the Duke of York, who had come over from Ireland and raised an army for the purpose of dethroning the sovereign, and getting himself made king in his stead. She also told him that King Henry, though a very good man, was neither very brave nor very clever, so that he did not take an active part in the war himself, but trusted everything to his queen, Margaret of Anjou, a Frenchwoman, whose bold and daring spirit enabled her to support her husband’s cause.“But which do you think is right, mother?” said Henry.“It is a difficult question to answer, my child; your father takes the part of the king, or rather of the queen, for the king is now a prisoner in the hands of his enemies. But the claim of the Duke of York is not without foundation, and those who take his part of course believe him to be in the right. But it is a sad thing, my Henry, that a dispute between two princes should cause so much misery and bloodshed as has already been occasioned by this unhappy quarrel, and it may be a long time yet before peace is restored.”“Why do they say my father is for Lancaster and the Red Rose?”“Because our king’s grandfather, Henry the Fourth, was Duke of Lancaster before he became king. He gained the crown by force from his cousin Richard the Second, and although the people consented to have him for their king, and his son Henry the Fifth after him, and now his grandson Henry the Sixth, it does not prove that he had a right to take the crown from Richard.”“And who is this Duke of York, mother? Why do they think he ought to be the king?”“To make you understand that, Henry, I must go back a little further to the reign of Edward the Third. He, you know, was the father of that good and brave prince Edward, whom we call the Black Prince, and who would have been king if he had not died before his father. The Black Prince had four younger brothers, but he had a son also, who succeeded to the throne at the death of his grandfather. He was the Richard the Second whose crown was taken from him by the Duke of Lancaster, his cousin, who is, therefore, considered a usurper. This Duke of Lancaster was also a grandson of Edward the Third, but his father was one of the younger sons of that king; and the Duke of York, who has now come forward to claim the crown, and stirred up all this terrible strife, is a descendant of one of King Edward’s elder sons. Do you understand all this?”“Yes, I think I do; but I cannot tell which is in the right after all.”“No, my dear boy, I dare say you cannot, neither can I inform you, for there is much to be said on both sides. I do not pretend to judge between them, I can only be grieved to see how much sorrow is caused by the war, and wish that it was ended.”“But you have not told me now, mother, why they say my father is for the Red Rose.”“The Red Rose, Henry, is a badge to distinguish the king’s party. The crimson rosette they all wear is meant to represent a red rose. The friends of the Duke of York wear a white one, and from these party signs the war has come to be called the ‘War of the Roses.’”One day, soon after this conversation, it was just before Christmas, the Lady Margaret, who often entered into the diversions of her children, was teaching her two boys to shoot at a target in the gallery above the hall, with a miniature bow and arrows. Some of her maidens were present looking on at the sport, and when either of the boys shot near the mark they clapped their hands in applause, and exclaimed, “In good truth, that was well aimed, my Lord Henry!” or “Bravely done, my Lord Richard! It went within a hair’s breadth.” And so they went on laughing and playing for a long while, one or other of the damsels, and sometimes the lady herself, trying their skill, the two boys being highly delighted with the sport, when they were suddenly interrupted by the sound of the warder’s horn, and in another moment the loud, heavy tramp of many horses was heard.“It is my lord returned!” cried Lady Margaret. “Now, heaven be praised. Come with me, Henry, to the gate to meet your father; and you, Cicely, bring down Richard. He must not say we are slow to bid him welcome.”The drawbridge had been let down, the castle-gates flung wide open, and in a few minutes the hall was filled with a host of soldiers who had returned with their lord from the wars. The noble chief responded lovingly to the affectionate greetings of his lady and his boys, then left the hall with them, whilst the seneschal collected all the chief domestics and their servitors to make ready a banquet for the unexpected guests. A sumptuous feast was speedily prepared, and Lord Clifford, with the Lady Margaret and his son Henry, dined in state that day—it was for the last time—in Brougham Castle.The joy occasioned by his return was but short-lived, for it was quickly known that he was to depart again on the morrow, and much news was told to the inmates of the castle by those who had newly arrived. It appeared that the whole country was in a dreadful state. The king had been made prisoner at the last battle, and the queen was now in the northern counties with her son, the young prince Edward, endeavouring to raise fresh forces. These were hard times for the poor country-people, who suffered greatly from famine, as the soldiers were marching about in all directions, pillaging and destroying wherever they came. Almost every nobleman in England had joined either one side or the other, and many men, who would much rather have stayed at home in peace with their families, to work in the fields, or tend their flocks and herds, were compelled to take up arms at the bidding of their lords; but the peasantry in those days were so dependent on the nobles that every man was obliged to obey the commands of the lord of the land whereon he dwelt, for although the lower orders were not vassals and serfs as they used to be in earlier times, still they were not so free as they are now. Lord Clifford had come home chiefly for the purpose of leaving some of his trusty followers to defend the castle in case it should be attacked, which he thought probable, and as he had taken away all the fighting-men, there had latterly been none left in the castle but such as were too old or infirm to do much service. He therefore appointed a sufficient number to remain as a guard, then prepared to bid adieu once more to his wife and children. Lord Clifford was fierce and cruel in the wars, but he was fondly attached to his own family, and it was perhaps in some measure owing to his strong feelings with regard to domestic ties, united with a natural ferocity of disposition, that made him so unsparing towards his enemies as to obtain the name of “the butcher,” by which he is distinguished in history to this very day; for when his father fell at the battle of Saint Albans, he made a vow that he would revenge his death by never showing mercy to a partisan of the house of York, and he kept that vow but too well, as you will presently hear.The gentle Lady Margaret watched, with a saddened heart and tearful eyes, the hurried preparations for her husband’s departure, while Henry and Richard stood near him, gazing with childish admiration on his stately form arrayed in armour of polished steel, over which he wore a tabard, or short coat of crimson velvet, richly embroidered with gold, and under its wide open sleeves the shining armour looked very splendid. His helmet was adorned with a plume of feathers, and as he was a tall, handsome man, no doubt he looked very magnificent in the eyes of his children. It was the last time they ever saw him.Brougham Castle stood on the bank of a narrow river, and its principal entrance was an arched gateway opening to the riverside. The drawbridge had been let down, and some of the horsemen had already passed over, and were waiting on the opposite bank for their leader, who still lingered to say a few more parting words to the beloved ones he was leaving behind. The little baby girl was brought to him for a last kiss, then he took Richard in his arms, and kissed him too, and stroking the glossy curls of Henry’s light brown hair, he said—“I wish you were a few years older, my son, that you might go with me to fight for your king and queen.”“I thank God that he is not old enough,” returned Lady Margaret; “it is grief enough for me to part with my husband. Oh! that these cruel wars were over, for they bring nothing but sorrow to the land!”“Thou hast but a faint heart, my Margaret. Our queen is a lioness compared with thee!”“I would not wish to resemble her then,” said the lady.“Nor would I desire that thou shouldst,” replied her husband. “But keep up a brave spirit, for thou mayest need it.”Again he embraced her lovingly, and mounting his gallant charger he rode from the castle-gate, with about fifty knights and esquires in his train, all well armed and mounted.The first news that reached Brougham, was a cause of the deepest sorrow to Lady Margaret, although it told of a great battle that had been won by her husband’s party at Wakefield, and also of the death of Richard, Duke of York, who had fallen on the field. But it also told of a barbarous deed done by Lord Clifford, which she was sure would turn all hearts against him; and so it did, for it shocked both friends and foes, and has left a blot on his name that will never be effaced.It was after the battle was over, as he was riding towards the town to rejoin the queen, that he overtook the young Earl of Rutland, second son of the unfortunate Duke of York, a youth about fourteen years of age, who had just heard of his father’s fate, and, overwhelmed with grief, was being hurried away by his tutor, Sir Robert Aspall, who had been left in charge of him near the field of battle, to seek refuge in a neighbouring convent. Clifford seized the affrighted boy, who fell on his knees and begged for mercy.“Who is he?” demanded the fierce nobleman in a thundering tone.“He is the son of a prince who is now beyond thy power,” answered the venerable tutor. “But I pray you to spare him, for he is too young to do hurt to thee or thy cause.”“He is a son of York, and he shall die!” exclaimed Lord Clifford, plunging his dagger into the heart of the hapless boy, who fell dead at his feet.It was in consequence of this wanton act of cruelty, and of the numbers he slew at the battle of Wakefield with his own hand, that he was thenceforth called “the butcher,” a terrible distinction, which will cling to his memory for ever.Lady Clifford lamented sadly over the fate of poor Rutland, for she would have given all the wealth she had in the world, rather than her lord should have been guilty of such a wicked deed; and when she looked at her dear boy Henry, she wondered that the thought of his own son should not have softened a father’s heart, and prevented him from destroying an innocent youth, even though he was the son of an enemy.One day, soon after this news was brought, there came to the castle one of those wandering minstrels who were in the habit of going about the country with their harps, and were sure to find a welcome at the mansions of the great, where, in return for a night’s lodging and entertainment, they would amuse the company with their songs and music. Lady Clifford never went down to the great hall when her lord was away, but confined herself to her own private apartments with her female attendants and her children, but she readily gave permission for the domestics to admit the minstrel for their own amusement, and right glad they were of this indulgence, as they had spent but a dull Christmas.“May we not go down, dear mother, to hear the minstrel play and sing?” said Henry.“Yes, you and Richard may go for awhile if you wish it,” replied Lady Margaret; and, sending for the old seneschal or steward of the castle, she bade him take charge of the boys while they listened to the harper’s songs. There were not many people in the castle now, but all that were there assembled in the hall to make merry with the new comer, except Lady Clifford herself, and the little Lady Elizabeth. The minstrel sang a long ballad all about the warlike achievements of the De Cliffords in former times, filling up the pauses with the animated strains of his harp, and when the song was done, and the servants were preparing to dance, the boys returned to their mother, highly delighted with what they had heard.The next morning the seneschal came to his mistress and told her that the minstrel begged for a private audience, as he had something of importance to communicate, “And I think, my lady,” said the old man, “it is about our lord that he wishes to speak, for he has just come from Wakefield.”“Then bring him hither, Hubert,” said the lady, “I will hear what he has to say.”Hubert bowed respectfully and withdrew, but soon returned with the minstrel, who was instantly recognised by Lady Margaret as a faithful retainer of Lord de Vesci, her father; and seeing by his looks that what he had to communicate was for her ear only; she dismissed all who were present, and remained alone with him.“What is it, Rolf,” she asked in alarm. “Why do you come here in disguise? what of my father? is he well?”“He is well, dear lady. It is not of him I came to speak. I am just from Wakefield, and I come to warn you to watch well over your sons, for the friends of York have sworn, one and all, to take revenge for the death of young Rutland; and I fear me the threat points towards Lord Clifford’s children. You must not trust them out of the castle, where for the present they are safe; but if Edward of York should be made king, and he is more likely to succeed than his father was, I am afraid there will be no safety for them even here. I assumed this disguise because if it became known amongst your enemies that one of your father’s people had come from Wakefield here, they would suspect it was to put you on your guard.”“Now heaven help me!” said the lady, “how am I to ward off this misfortune? I must depend on you, my good and faithful Rolf, to keep watch, and let me know should any immediate danger threaten us; and, in the meanwhile, I will concert some plan for removing my children in case of need.”“This I will do, lady, and as much more as may lie within my power. In this minstrel’s guise I can visit the camp of the Yorkists from time to time, and bring you intelligence of what is passing there. They will not know that I am one of your house, and I shall pass free.”Lady Margaret was truly grateful to the trusty Rolf, who departed from the castle that same day; but she confided to none, except the good old seneschal, what had been the purport of their conference. Day after day she waited with ill-concealed dread for further tidings, and at length a messenger came from her lord, from whom she learned that more battles had been fought, that the king was released from prison, but that the young Duke of York had been proclaimed king in London, by the title of Edward the Fourth. Soon afterwards another messenger arrived with news that King Henry and the queen were again in Yorkshire collecting more forces, and that King Edward (for there were now two kings) was advancing northward with a large army to oppose them. The poor women and children from the neighbouring villages now came flocking for refuge to Brougham Castle, which was put into a state of defence, for it was quite certain there would soon be a great battle, and, if King Edward should gain the day, there was but little doubt that the castle would be besieged.Lord Clifford was now with the king and queen in the city of York. Their army amounted to sixty thousand men; and King Edward was coming with about fifty thousand, so that the conflict was certain to be a very great and terrible one. It took place at Towton, on Palm Sunday, just four months after the battle of Wakefield, and amongst the many thousands slain on that dreadful day was Lord Clifford, who was then scarcely twenty-six years of age. It is needless to dwell on the grief occasioned by these fatal tidings; it was sad to hear and sad to see. The unhappy lady had now to think of providing for the safety of her fatherless children, for although Rolf had promised to bring her word if he saw they were in danger, there was no certainty of his being able to do so, as it was possible he might have been killed himself, for she had not heard of him. At last he came, but it was again in his adopted character of a minstrel, and he would have had some difficulty in gaining admittance, had it not been for the old seneschal, who guessed his errand, and saw that he was allowed to enter, saying that, dismal as the times were, it could be no harm to listen to a minstrel’s lay.With much caution he conducted him secretly to Lady Clifford’s private apartments, for he thought there might be some hazard in letting it become known who he was or why he came, as among the many who were now within the castle walls, who could say that all were true.From Rolf’s account it appeared that, after the defeat at Towton, the queen had placed her husband, who was half imbecile, in a monastery at Edinburgh, and fled with her son, Prince Edward, to France; while the new king, Edward the Fourth, had taken full possession of the throne, and was publicly acknowledged as sovereign of England. He had declared his intention of seizing the estates of all those nobles who had fought against him; and it was reported that he had said he would revenge the murder of his brother, young Rutland, on Clifford’s heir. Henry’s life was therefore now in danger, and Rolf had come to assist in saving him.“Have you devised any plan, lady,” said the faithful servant, “in case of this extremity?”“Yes, my good Rolf, I have thought of it day and night, ever since that fatal battle. I must part from my boy. I must trust him to you. Do you think you can convey him, without suspicion, to his nurse Maud, at Skipton? I can depend on her to be careful of my child, and on her husband also; but they must not remain there, they must remove to Londesborough, and you must go yourself to my father, who is now there, and tell him from me to provide them with a dwelling, but not to notice the boy as his grandson, for Henry must pass for Maud’s own child. Think you, Rolf, that you can accomplish all this?”“I will try, my lady; but we must speak of it to Lord Henry, that he may understand his life depends on its not being known that he is Lord Clifford’s son.”“My Henry is wise beyond his years,” replied the lady, “and I fear me not that he will submit to this necessity without a murmur.”“No doubt, no doubt, dear lady; and you had better prepare him at once, for we know not how soon the blow may come.”“My Henry,” said Lady Margaret, “you are going to Skipton, to your good nurse Maud, who will take you to Londesborough, where you must live with her and her husband till there is peace again in the land, which we will both earnestly pray for. And you must remember, my child, that you are to pass for Maud’s own son, and that you are to call her mother, and her husband, Robin, the shepherd, father. I have already explained to you what would be the terrible consequences should you ever forget this.”“I will not forget, mother; but shall I never see you there? I love Maud very much, but not as I love you, my own dear mother!”And the noble boy threw himself into his mother’s arms, laid his head upon her bosom, and burst into tears. She kissed him tenderly, and endeavoured to speak cheerfully.“My darling boy, this separation is only for the present, and I hope I shall be able to see you sometimes, for I intend, after awhile, to live at Londesborough, which is mine, and may some day be yours; but not yet, not till our enemies believe that you and your brother are far away beyond the seas; and even then, when I come to visit you, Henry, no one must know it except ourselves and nurse; for if it came to be known that I felt any interest about the shepherd’s boy, the people might suspect who you are, and that is what we have to guard against.”“And Richard, mother—is he to go away too?”“Yes, Henry, I must part with you both—but your little sister I may keep with me; it is not her life they seek. And now, my beloved child, you understand what it is you have to do—keep up a brave heart and endeavour not to repine at your lot, but be thankful you have not fallen into the hands of those who would show you no mercy. But above all, my son, put your trust in God, and pray to him that happier days may come, when we can be together again without fear or concealment.”The next day after this conversation, Lady Clifford left Brougham Castle, with her three children, her maid Cicely, old Hubert, and a few trusty attendants on whose fidelity she could rely, but not even to them did she reveal her son’s destination, which was only known to her faithful seneschal. The lady, with her maid and the children, travelled in a litter, a sort of light van shut in with curtains, which, at that period, when coaches were unknown, was often used by invalids and those who did not want to travel on horseback. The litter for one person was sometimes slung on poles and carried by men, but a large one, containing more than one traveller, was usually mounted on wheels and drawn by horses. It had been arranged that Rolf should meet Lady Clifford’s party in a forest, between Brougham Castle and York, and that he should bring with him a peasant boy’s coarse woollen dress, to disguise Henry for his flight; and oh, how sad were the hearts of the mother and son when they came in sight of the tall trees of that forestwhere they were to part for they knew not how long! The path was wide enough to admit of the vehicle, and they had not gone far when Rolf met them. He was not in his minstrel’s dress, so that the people did not know him. He came to the side of the litter, and spoke in a low tone to the lady, who called one of her attendants, and said to him—“This good man brings me word that it will not be safe for us to go to York, therefore I shall alter my course and proceed at once to the sea-coast, and take ship for the Netherlands. He also thinks that it would be better we should not all travel together, therefore I shall send on my eldest son with him and Hubert. He has a conveyance waiting close by in the forest, and when I have seen them off, I will return here. You can, meanwhile, rest and refresh yourselves, for we have a long day’s journey yet before us.”The men, who were glad of this respite, dismounted, and began to unpack the provisions with which they were plentifully provided, whilst the sorrowful lady, leading her son by the hand, accompanied by Hubert, followed Rolf, who led them to a spot quite hidden from the view of the rest of the party, where a small cart, such as was used by the villagers in their rural occupations, was really in waiting.This was indeed a trying moment. The young lord was now to be transformed into the peasant boy—his long bright curls were cut off, his face and hands were stained with a brown liquid to make him look sunburnt, as if he was used to work in the fields, and his rich velvet apparel was changed for coarse homespun woollen cloth. But he cared not what they put him on—his only thought was that he was going away from his beloved mother, perhaps never to see her more. He clasped his arms round her neck and clung to her sobbing, as if his heart would break, and the tears were streaming down her cheeks too, as she fell on her knees and murmured a prayer that heaven would watch over and protect her fatherless boy.“My lady—my dear lady,” said old Hubert; “you must not stay here longer—the sooner this parting is over the better it will be for you both. Come, my Lord Henry, it is time we were moving.”So saying he gently disengaged the boy from his mother’s encircling arms and lifted him into the cart, making a private signal to Rolf to drive away as fast as he could. He then respectfully entreated his unhappy lady to return to her party, and she, scarcely conscious of what she was doing, suffered him to lead her back, and as soon as he had seen her safely placed in the litter with Cicely and the two children, he mounted his horse and galloped off as if to join Rolf and his young charge, but in reality to take quite another route, for Henry was to pass, during this journey, for a poor boy whom Rolf was taking home to his native village, and it would not have done for him to be attended by Lady Clifford’s seneschal.It was well he had been sent away, for just about this time King Edward caused an act of attainder to be passed against all the noblemen who had fought for the cause of Henry the Seventh, that is, they were deprived of their titles, and their estates were declared forfeited to the crown; he also issued a command that the children of the attainted nobles should be sent to London to be disposed of, as he, the king, should think fit; and this was probably done for the very purpose of getting Clifford’s children into his power; for no sooner had Lady Clifford taken up her abode with her father, the aged Lord de Vesci, than she was summoned to London, and closely questioned as to what had become of her boys. She said she had sent them out of the country, but as she had heard nothing of them since, she did not know whether they were alive or dead, and so the retreat of the high-born shepherd boy remained unknown. But all the castles and broad lands that were his by right of inheritance were given to the enemies of his family. The Barony of Westmoreland, with Brougham Castle, was bestowed by Edward on his brother Richard Duke of York, afterwards Richard the Third; and the great manor of Shipton was conferred on Sir William Stanley, who, at a later period, went over to the Lancasterian party himself, and you may read in Shakespeare’s play of “Richard the Third,” that it was he who, after the battle of Bosworth, where Richard was killed, picked up the crown and placed it on the victor’s head, saying, “Long live Henry the Seventh!” We shall presently see what this event had to do with our hero, Henry de Clifford.II.Londesborough was a beautiful place in the county of York, about sixteen miles from York city. Lord de Vesci had other and larger estates, but as his dignity of baron was limited to male heirs, his daughter could only inherit two of his possessions, and Londesborough was one of them, consequently young Henry de Clifford was its next heir in right of his mother. He knew this, yet so well had his mind been trained by that excellent parent, that he was content to live in a shepherd’s cot outside its gates with Robin and Maud, whom he soon became accustomed to call father and mother. As they had come from Skipton, and brought with them two little children of their own, the people of the hamlet where they were now settled, did not know but that Henry was their eldest son, and the little ones were so young that they were easily taught to believe he was their brother. He wore a shepherd’s frock of grey serge, fastened round the waist by a leather belt, with half-boots made of untanned deer-skin; and every morning he went out with his foster-father to mind the flocks, taking with him, in a little wallet slung over his shoulder, his mid-day meal, which he would eat as he sat on some grassy mound, or by the side of a rivulet, from which he could fill his horn cup with water. How different was this from the costly banquet in his father’s hall, where he had servants to attend upon him, and drank out of a goblet of gold or silver. Yet he did not repine, but performed his duties with a willing spirit, and instead of thinking his lot was a hard one, he often reflected how much worse it would have been if he had fallen into the hands of his father’s foes; still he could not help feeling melancholy at times, for he longed to see his dear mother again, and more than two months had passed, yet she came not. There was no occasion now to stain his hands and face, for the sun had embrowned them quite enough, and his long curls had been suffered to grow again, for Maud said it was a great pity to cut them off, and she was proud of hearing her neighbours say what nice hair her boy had got, and she would answer—“Ay, my goodman tells me I take over much pride in Henry’s curly locks, but he is my eldest, and sure it is natural for a mother to take pleasure in the beauty of her child, and, though I say it, he is as pretty a boy, and as good too, as any in the village.”One evening Henry had brought home the sheep, and having seen them safe in the fold, was sitting on the ground outside the cottage door eating his supper. One arm rested on the neck of a large dog, that was idly reposing by his side, as if tired with the toils of the day, for it was the shepherd’s dog, and its duty was to guard the flocks as they were feeding in the fields, and warn his master if any danger seemed near them. At length the boy arose and walked slowly towards the entrance of a fair domain, where he stood gazing with tearful eyes through a long vista of tall oaks, on a noble mansion standing on the summit of a verdant slope, and his young heart was oppressed with unusual sadness as he looked wistfully on this his rightful home. He had stood there for some time when his foster-father came up and laid his hand kindly on his shoulder.“Come, my boy, you are giving way to idle regrets. I do not like to see you here, Henry, for I know your thoughts are not what they should be.”“I know it is wrong, father, but I cannot help it sometimes.”“Whenever this feeling comes over you, Henry, try to drive it from you, and think of the past as if it had been but a dream. A dark prison, my boy, would have been a worse dwelling-place than a thatched cottage. Think of that, and be content.”“Indeed I am content, father, for you are very kind to me. But when, oh when, do you think my own dear mother will come?”“Nay, I cannot tell; but let us hope it will not be, long first. And now, Henry, come home and go to your bed, for the sun is set, and you must be up betimes. See, here is Lion coming to meet us. Poor Lion! he does not like to lose sight of his master.”Henry, who had dried his tears and was smiling again, sprang forward to caress the faithful dog, who frolicked round him as if he thought he had been long away, and was rejoiced at his return. Maud had put aside her spinning-wheel, for it was nearly dark; the two younger children were already asleep, and Henry was about to retire to rest, when the door was opened softly, and there entered one whose form was muffled in a long dark cloak, the hood of which was drawn over the head to conceal the face from view. Robin and Maud trembled with fear as the idea struck them both that the boy’s retreat had been discovered; but Henry, with the true instinct of affection, uttered the word “mother!” and rushed into the arms of the mysterious visitant, who threw off her disguise, and clasped her boy fondly to her bosom.“My honoured lady!” exclaimed Maud, as she recognised the beautiful, but pale and careworn countenance of her mistress.“Hush! Maud, hush!” said the lady; “are you sure we are quite safe?”“Yes, madam, we are safe,” answered Robin, “there is no one within hearing, and I will fasten the door, so that none shall enter without giving notice.”And so saying he proceeded to make all secure, whilst Henry laughed and wept by turns in the excess of his joy, and, amidst kisses and embraces, asked many questions about his brother and sister.“I hope they are both well, my darling. Elizabeth I have seen lately, but I have not heard of Richard since his arrival in the Low Countries. Nevertheless, I trust he is safe and well. But how fares it with you, my best and dearest? Can you make yourself happy in this new life?”“As happy as I can be away from you, dear mother. I do not mind the sort of life I lead so much as I thought I should; for I am getting used to it now.”“In truth he takes to it bravely, my lady,” said Robin. “I only hope my own lad will be as good a shepherd as Henry, when he is as old.”Lady Margaret sighed deeply, for although the worthy man did not mean to give her pain, but rather pleasure, by this rough applause, she could not help feeling how very low the fortunes of De Clifford’s son had fallen. But she did not make this thought apparent, she folded him closer to her heart, and whispered words of encouragement and praise.“You have shown yourself a true hero, Henry, for nothing is more noble than to bear misfortune nobly, and this you have done. I am proud of my son, and should you ever be permitted by Providence to take your own name again, you will be doubly worthy of it.”“And that time will come, my lady,” said Maud, fervently, “as sure as there are stars in yonder heavens!”“We will hope so, Maud. And how shall I thank you for the care you have taken of my treasure? he looks well; the bloom of health is on his cheek. I would fain give you some token of my gratitude, if I durst do so.”“Better not, my lady,” said Robin in his blunt way. “Besides it is for us, not you, lady, to talk of gratitude, since we owe all that we possess to your goodness. Even this cottage we live in, was it not your gift? It would be hard, then, if your child should meet with aught but kindness beneath its roof.”Lady Clifford did not stay long, fearing that her absence from her own abode might be discovered, and lead to suspicion; but she said she was going to stay some time at Londesborough, and should pay a visit to the cottage whenever she saw an opportunity of doing so without risk. For a few weeks she often came at nightfall without attracting the notice of the villagers; but at length she was obliged to leave Londesborough, and Henry saw her no more for a very long while. By degrees, however, he grew reconciled to her absence, and, as time wore on, the events of his early life were less distinctly remembered, until he could almost believe that his former grandeur had never been a reality. He often thought of his brother, and wondered where he was, and whether he was living like a peasant too, for he did not know till long afterwards that poor little Richard died soon after he was sent out of England.When Henry was about fourteen, the death of his grandfather, Lord de Vesci, brought new dangers upon him, for a rumour got spread abroad that he was still live and in England, and, as he was the rightful heir to all the estates as well as the honours of the Bromfletes, the king’s emissaries began to inquire into the matter, and make search in different parts of the country, where it was supposed he might be concealed. This alarming intelligence was first conveyed to his mother by the faithful Rolf, who, you remember, was one of the old Lord de Vesci’s people, and devotedly attached to Lady Clifford. But she was not Lady Clifford now, for she was married to a noble knight named Sir Lancelot Threlkeld, whose domain was in the mountainous part of Cumberland, and was called Threlkeld. He was a kind-hearted, noble gentleman, and, as he had not taken an active part in the wars, he had been left in possession of his lands and dignities, and was living quietly on his own estate, when he offered his hand to the widowed Lady Clifford, who consented to become his wife because she knew he would be a friend to her dear boy, and they were married soon after the lady went away from Londesborough.As soon as they heard that King Edward had instituted a search for the young heir, Sir Lancelot proposed to his lady to remove Robin the shepherd, with all his family, including Henry, from Londesborough to the hills of Cumberland, and settle them as near as possible to Threlkeld.Robin and Maud had now five children of their own, who all looked up to Henry as their elder brother, and, as he was always kind and good-natured amongst them, treating them exactly as if they had been his brothers and sisters, they were very fond of him, nor did they ever suppose he was not the child of their parents. It was the beautiful summer-time when Sir Lancelot Threlkeld paid a visit to Londesborough, and sent for Robin, to whom he told what had happened, and explained his designs.“The boy is no longer safe here,” he said; “his life may depend on his immediate removal, but it must be very cautiously done. I shall tell the people here that we have increased our flocks at Threlkeld so that we want more shepherds there, and have fixed on Robin, whose three sons, being active lads, will be very useful. What think you of this plan?”“It is good,” replied the shepherd. “But you will see Henry yourself, my noble lord?” (It was thus he styled his lady’s husband, whose servant he now deemed himself to be.)“No, I think not,” returned the knight; “it would please me much, but it will be better for him that I should not seem to think about him at all. There may be spies on the watch to take note of my movements, and if only the shadow of a suspicion should be awakened, all would be lost. We should have no power to save him then. How soon can you be ready to commence the journey?”“To-morrow if you will, my lord.”“To-morrow let it be then, and may heaven send us a safe deliverance from this peril!”“Amen!” responded the peasant, devoutly crossing himself. “It will be a happy day for me, and my dame too, should we live to see our Henry restored to his rights.”The worthy knight shook his head as he replied, “I fear me there is but small chance of that. The king is a young man; he is popular, and has sons to succeed him, and so long as there is one of the line of York to hold the sceptre of England, the house of De Clifford will be under a ban.”“Time, with the aid of Providence, works wonders, my lord.”“True, good Robin, true; but there is not much at present to encourage such hopes, and I would not have you speak thus to Henry.”“There would be little wisdom, indeed, in that,” replied Robin smiling. “Shall I tell him I have seen you, my lord?”“Yes, surely—and you can tell him, also, why I thought it prudent to depart without seeing him, for I would not have him think me careless or unkind.”He then gave Robin money for his journey, and when all was arranged the good man took his leave, and Sir Lancelot Threlkeld departed from Londesborough that same day.It was joyful news for Henry to hear that he was going to live so near to his own dear mother again. In the gladness of his heart he was almost inclined to regard his enemies in the light of friends, since they had been the cause of this happy change. Maud was very glad too, for anything that gave pleasure to Henry was always pleasing to her, besides which she was devotedly attached to Lady Margaret, and rejoiced in the thought of being settled in a place where she would see her more frequently than she had done of late, and as for the children, they were almost out of their wits with delight, for young folks were quite as fond of novelty four hundred years ago as they are now.The journey was a long and a rough one, as travellers of a humble class could not get on very fast in those days when there were no roads, and it was often a difficult matter to make their way through forests, or over wide tracts of waste land where the ground was rugged, uneven, and covered with brushwood. The vast forests which then existed in the north of England, have long since been cleared away, and wild trackless heaths have been converted into parks, meadows, and corn-fields. Maud and the two girls rode in a waggon wherein they had placed some wooden stools, several baskets of provision, and all their clothing, with such other things as they wished to take with them. Robin drove, while Henry and the other boys took it in turns to ride one at a time, the rest walking by the side of the clumsy vehicle, which could only proceed at a foot pace, so that their progress was but slow. They had taken care to put plenty of rushes in the waggon, so that some of them might sleep comfortably in it at night, while Robin and the elder lads, as it was summer-time, and warm, dry weather, could rest under the trees, wrapped in their shepherd’s cloaks. In this manner they proceeded, sometimes halting at the villages to get a fresh supply of food and water, until at length they reached their destination, a small farm in a beautiful and romantic part of Cumberland, close to the borders of Scotland, but still within the domain of Sir Lancelot Threlkeld, which extended far and wide. You may be sure it was not long before our hero was again clasped to the heart of his fond mother, who, however, as before, only visited him in secret and under cover of the night. She was sometimes accompanied by Sir Lancelot, who was a kind-hearted man, and had always been well disposed towards the noble youth whom he delighted to call his son when they were alone, but at all other times he only noticed him as one of his shepherds.Much of Henry’s time was spent in solitude, as he watched his flocks feeding on the mountains, and being of a meditative disposition, he thought much and deeply of the beautiful works of the Great Creator that he beheld around him. Though wholly unlettered, though he could neither read nor write, he possessed a native nobleness of mind that raised him far above the class to which he seemingly belonged; yet his manners were plain and simple, nor did the knowledge of his high birth ever lead him to assume an air of superiority over the peasants with whom he was associated. In his solitary musings he thought so much about the wonders of the earth, the sea, and the skies, that he became quite a natural philosopher; but his chief delight was in the contemplation of the heavenly bodies, and he would watch the moon in her course, or gaze for hours on the myriads of stars that shone in the blue vault above him, until he acquired an ardent taste for the sublime study of astronomy, in which he indulged to the full at a later period of his existence.And so the time passed on, bringing no change to Henry de Clifford, save the gradual increase of years, that transformed the slight delicate youth into the well-grown, powerful man, whose fine form, handsome face, and gentle manners won the hearts of the rustic maidens, and matrons too, of Threlkeld.His foster-brothers and sisters, one by one, married amongst the villagers belonging to Sir Lancelot’s estate, so that, at last, Henry was left alone with the worthy pair he called his father and mother.In the meanwhile many stirring events were passing in England, though little was heard about them in the remote and quiet regions of Threlkeld. The wars of the Roses had never wholly ceased. There had been some peaceful intervals, but they had not lasted for long together, as Queen Margaret, assisted by the great Earl of Warwick, the most powerful baron in the kingdom, had resolved never to give up the cause so long as the least chance remained of replacing her husband on the throne, and securing the right of succession to her son. The Earl of Warwick had at first fought for the Duke of York, and it was through his power and influence that Edward the Fourth was made king, for he had more men and more money at his command than any other nobleman in the country. However, King Edward was unwise enough to quarrel with this high and mighty earl, who thereupon went over to the queen’s party, and actually restored the poor, weak-minded King Henry the Sixth to the throne; on which Edward went over to Holland to get assistance of the Duke of Burgundy, his brother-in-law, who placed an army of foreigners at his command, with which he came back to England, and being joined by many of his partisans, a great battle was fought, in which the Earl of Warwick was slain. This event took place exactly ten years after the battle of Towton, where Lord Clifford fell. King Henry was then sent back a prisoner to the Tower, where he soon died; but Queen Margaret, who had just arrived from France, with Prince Edward, her son, who was then seventeen years old, resolved for his sake to make one more effort; but it would have been better for him and for her too, if they had given up this hopeless cause, and gone back to the court of her father, who was King of Anjou in France, for the battle was lost, the young prince was made prisoner, and being taken into the royal tent, the king spoke to him so rudely that he was provoked to answer with more spirit than he had been expected, on which some of the nobles who were standing by fiercely drew their daggers and killed him on the spot.The unhappy queen having no one to care for, gave up the contest, and went to end her days in France, and for thirteen years afterwards there was no more open warfare in England; but there were still two parties, so that the White and the Red Rose were badges of enmity as before, for it was natural enough that all who, like the De Cliffords, had suffered from the success of the Yorkists, should wish to see the line of Lancaster restored. The existing heir of that family was Henry, Earl of Richmond, who was an exile in France, when Edward the Fourth died, leaving two sons, the eldest only eleven years of age. These were the two little princes that were sent to the Tower by their cruel, ambitious uncle, Richard the Third, who contrived that they should both die there, that he might wear the crown himself; but he had reigned very little more than two years when some of the great nobles, disgusted by his tyranny, sent word to the Earl of Richmond that, if he came to England, with a view to dethrone the usurper, he would find plenty of friends ready to assist him. The earl was soon here at the head of a large army, and met King Richard at Bosworth in Leicestershire, where the great battle was fought that put an end to the War of the Roses and to the life of Richard the Third.You remember that when Edward the Fourth deprived the Cliffords of their lands and honours, the great manor of Skipton, with its fine old castle, was given to Sir William Stanley. This brave knight had remained faithful to King Edward, but he was amongst those who turned against Richard; and it was he who, when the fight was over and the victory won, took up the crown, which it appears, Richard had worn on the field, and placed it on Richmond’s head, calling out aloud, “Long live King Henry the Seventh!” And this cry passed from one to another till the air resounded with the shouts of the victors, who thus proclaimed the new sovereign on the battle plain. When this momentous event took place Henry de Clifford was about thirty years of age. He had now dwelt for sixteen years amongst the mountains of Cumberland, and one thing only had occurred to disturb the even tenor of his peaceful life.A gentleman of noble family and good estate, Sir John Saint John, of Bletso, in Bedfordshire, came on a visit to Threlkeld with his daughter Anne, a fair girl in the bloom of youth and beauty. Henry, who had seen her riding out over the hills with her father and Sir Lancelot, thought he had never beheld so lovely a maiden; and he was right, for in all England there were few to compare with Anne of Bletso. She had seen him too, and had observed how far superior he was in appearance to other rustic swains, for the shepherd’s frock of homely grey could not conceal the graces of his person, which also attracted the notice of the worthy knight, her father, who, on one occasion, said to Sir Lancelot—“That is a well-favoured youth of yours; I have seen a face like his before, but I cannot bethink me where or when, yet it is no common face either.”“He is the son of my chief shepherd,” replied Sir Lancelot; “he was always a good-looking lad, and is an excellent servant.”Then, anxious to divert Sir John’s attention from Henry, whose handsome features he feared might remind the knight of the late Lord Clifford, whom his son strongly resembled, he began to talk of other things. But Henry did not forget the sweet face of the young lady, or the beautiful eyes he had seen fixed intently upon him, eyes as bright as the stars he was so fond of gazing upon, and he could not help feeling sad to think the fates had placed him in a sphere so much beneath her.It chanced one day as he watched his flocks feeding on the mountains, he saw the damsel on her white palfrey, attended by a single page, riding direct towards the spot where he was reclining in profound meditation, beneath the spreading branches of a luxuriant oak, that shielded him from the noonday sun. He rose at her approach, and took off his cap, displaying a rich profusion of nut-brown hair as he gracefully made his obeisance, supposing she would pass by with merely a slight notice, therefore he blushed with surprise and pleasure when she stopped her horse, and said in the sweetest tone imaginable—“Good day, shepherd Henry; I come to ask a service of you.”“If I can render you service, lady, you may command me, even to the peril of my life.”“Nay, I would not have you peril your life for my behoof,” she replied, with a smile.“In riding over the hills this morning, I have lost a golden clasp, with three diamonds, that fastened my gorget, and I would ask you, should you meet with such a bauble in your ramblings, to carry it to the Lady Margaret of Threlkeld, who will see that it is restored to me.”“Lady I will not fail to do your bidding. Few persons traverse those hills, and I doubt not the jewel may be recovered.”“Thanks, gentle shepherd. We leave Threlkeld this day; so farewell, and be assured your courtesy will not be forgotten by Anne of Bletso.”That night, by moonlight, Henry wandered over the hills in search of the lost treasure, and for many hours he sought in vain; but at length, oh joyful sight! he saw the diamonds glittering in the moonbeams, at the bottom of a deep ravine, and without a moment’s hesitation he commenced the dangerous descent. A single false step and he would have been dashed to pieces against the sharp points of the craggy rock, but with a steady hand and firm foot he gained the depth in safety, seized the prize; then, with great difficulty, and not without a few wounds and bruises, he climbed up again, and stood triumphant on the brink of a really frightful precipice. If the young lady had known where her clasp was to be found, she certainly would not have asked him to look for it; but he was himself well pleased to have encountered any danger for her sake, and in thoughtful mood he returned to the cottage, and repaired to his humble couch to dream of Anne Saint John.“Why, Henry, what hast thee been doing to face and hands, boy?” said Robin the next morning.“I stumbled into a brake, father,” replied Henry, laughing, “and got a few scratches, that’s all.”“Dear heart, but they are grievous hurts!” exclaimed Maud, “you must let me put a balsam to them, Henry.”“As you will, mother, but it is hardly worth while for so light a matter.”The balsam, however, was applied, and the wounds were speedily healed, but Henry did not recover his wonted peace of mind. As Lord Clifford he might have won the hand of the high-born maiden on whom his thoughts now constantly dwelt; but, as Henry the Shepherd, even to speak to her was presumption. Never had he lamented over his fallen fortunes as he did now; but he buried his regrets in his own bosom, nor did he let it appear, either by word or look, that he was less contented than he was before.Lady Margaret had taken care of the clasp, but she told him the country was again threatened with warfare, so that it would not be safe to entrust anything of value to the hands of a messenger; therefore she would keep it till Sir Lancelot went to Bletso, which he intended to do ere long. She did not tell him that Sir John Saint John had come to Threlkeld to give secret information to herself and her husband of the project contemplated by the chief nobles, to depose King Richard and place the Earl of Richmond on the throne. She was afraid of exciting hopes that might end in disappointment, yet she was herself sanguine as to the possibility of De Clifford being restored to his rights if the crown should be won by a prince of the House of Lancaster. Sir John took great interest in the cause, being himself related in a distant degree to Henry Earl of Richmond; therefore the Saint John’s of Bletso had royal blood in their veins.It was the close of the autumn, in the year 1485, when Lady Margaret came one evening to Robin’s cottage, not secretly as heretofore, not in fear and trembling lest it should be known for whom her visit was intended, but openly to greet her son as De Clifford’s heir. Little did he guess the purport of her coming as he returned her fond embrace, but he saw that her countenance was radiant with happiness, and he asked if Sir Lancelot had returned.“No, my son, he is in London; and, Henry, I have important news to tell. Have you courage to hear it?”“Why should I need courage, dear mother? You do not look as if you had evil tidings to communicate.”“The tidings I bring are not evil; but it requires fortitude to bear a great joy as well as a great sorrow, when it comes upon us unexpectedly.”Henry’s heart began to beat more quickly, his face flushed, and his voice trembled as he asked—“Mother, what has happened? Tell me at once, I beseech you.”“I told you, Henry, that we were looking for a renewal of the war.”“Yes, you told me so. Has it begun again?”“It has begun and ended, I hope, for ever. There has been a battle; King Richard is killed, and a prince of the House of Lancaster now sits on the throne.”Henry started up from his seat, his eyes fixed on Lady Margaret’s face in an agony of suspense.“And I, mother, what have I to do with this?”“Much, my beloved son. Henry the Seventh is a just and noble prince, and your father, my husband, is at his court even now.”“Then, am I—am I—” he could not give utterance to what he wished to say, but Lady Margaret knew what he would ask, and replied—“Yes, my Henry, it is even so. You are now Lord Clifford before all the world, and I, your mother, may once more fearlessly acknowledge my son.”Henry fell on his knees, and raised his clasped hands and streaming eyes in gratitude to heaven. He could scarcely realise this great, this overwhelming happiness. Again and again he embraced that tender mother, who, for so many years had watched over him like a guardian angel, and smoothed the rugged path he had been forced to tread.When the first emotions of joy had in some degree subsided, and he was calm enough to listen to the account of how this happy change had been brought about, Lady Margaret told him that the new sovereign, immediately on his accession, had declared his intention of restoring to their rights all those nobles who had been dispossessed of their lands and titles by Edward the Fourth; and that Sir Lancelot Threlkeld, on hearing this, had proceeded to the court, with Sir John Saint John of Bletso, in order to make known to the king that the heir of the late Lord Clifford was still in existence. She said she had that morning received intelligence from Sir Lancelot that the royal decree was already passed for the restoration of Clifford’s son to all his father’s lands and dignities, and it was with the utmost surprise Henry now learned, for the first time, how immense were the possessions to which he was entitled; for, besides the great estates of Skipton and Brougham, his inheritance comprised the castles, manors, and lordships of Appleby, Pendragon, Brough, and Mallerstane Chase in Westmoreland; Barden Tower, Copley Feld, and other manors in Yorkshire; with lands and castles in Cumberland, Northumberland, Derbyshire, Worcestershire and Surrey. Clifford’s Inn, which is now used as law offices and chambers, in Fleet Street, was then a nobleman’s mansion with beautiful gardens; and this was Lord Clifford’s residence in London.No wonder the humble shepherd should be dazzled and astonished to find himself all at once the lord of those vast domains; and not only these, but all the Bromflete estates, that had belonged to Lord de Vesci, his grandfather, were now his by right of inheritance. It would be impossible to describe the joy of the worthy couple who had so long performed the part of parents to the shepherd lord, at the wondrous turn of fortune that had raised him once more to the elevated sphere that was his birthright.“We have lost a son,” said old Robin, “but we have found a noble master; and may heaven grant him a long life to enjoy his own.”“Think not, my father, that you have lost a son,” said Henry, pressing the old man’s hand with affectionate warmth. “I shall be ever a son to you.”“And to me also, my Lord Henry,” said Maud, “for it would break my heart now if you should bear yourself towards me proudly in your own grand castle.”“I should ill deserve my good fortune, dear Maud, if it made me so ungrateful as to bear myself proudly towards you. Though I may be the lord of fifty castles, you will always be to me a second mother.”The next day Henry took his place in the house of Sir Lancelot Threlkeld as Lord Clifford. He laid aside the peasant’s suit of homely grey for a dress befitting his rank, which Lady Margaret furnished him with from her husband’s wardrobe; and very handsome he looked in a mulberry coloured vest richly embroidered with gold, a short cloak of blue satin falling over one shoulder, and a diamond hilted sword by his side, for such was the fashion of the age.The faithful Rolf was despatched to Brougham Castle to see that all was prepared for the reception of its lord; and right well did he execute the commission. A sumptuous feast was provided, and a grand pageant prepared to meet him at the castle-gate. All the ancient banners that had been taken down and thrown aside, were now displayed again in the hall, and, under the superintendence of Rolf, everything was made to look just as it did before the banishment of the family.At length the bright day dawned that was to see Henry de Clifford restored to the beloved home of his childhood, and the people had flocked from far and near to hail the return of Brougham’s rightful lord. It was nearly noon when the cavalcade was seen approaching. Then loud acclamations rent the air, and, as Henry lifted his plumed and jewelled cap to acknowledge the greeting of the joyous multitude, his heart was overflowing with gratitude to the Father of all mercies, and he could scarcely restrain the tears that were ready to gush from his eyes. He was mounted on a fine grey horse, and on one side of him rode his lady mother, on the other Sir Lancelot Threlkeld, while behind him came a fair lady, escorted by a gentleman of noble mien. This was his sister Elizabeth, who had lived for many years in the Netherlands, and was married to Sir Robert Aske, a wealthy knight, who was now with her. They were followed; by a long train of knights and gentlemen and their attendants, forming a retinue that might have graced a prince, and so they came onward towards the castle-gate, where a triumphal arch was erected, on the top of which were two figures clothed in white, with outspread wings, and golden crowns, intended, perhaps, to represent angels; and as Clifford passed under the arch, they chanted these lines—“Now the Red Rose blooms again,Clifford o’er his own shall reign.Fill the cup, and sheath the sword,To welcome back our noble lord.”And now the shepherd lord stood once more in his father’s bannered hall. Silently he gazed around him on the well-known scene, too powerfully affected to give utterance to his feelings; and, as his mother clasped his hand, she felt that it trembled even more than her own.“Let us pass on, my Henry,” she whispered softly, “we must hold communion alone.”Henry could not speak, but he pressed her hand assentingly, and they left the hall together, amid the congratulations and good wishes of all therein assembled.The mother and son were absent for the space of an hour, engaged, no doubt, in prayer and thanksgiving, for when they returned to the hall Henry had recovered his composure, and took the highest seat at the sumptuous banquet with all the dignity of his noble race.Gladsome was the feast that day at Brougham Castle; joyous were the songs of the minstrel bards as they celebrated, in extempore verse, the exile’s restoration to his long lost home.You may be sure that amongst the joyful assemblage that crowded the banquetting hall on that auspicious day, old Robin and his wife Maud held a distinguished place; and proud indeed were they to hear themselves addressed by the noble host as father and mother.It was not long after that another grand feast was held at Brougham Castle in honour of the marriage of its lord, which had been celebrated at Bletso, where the beautiful daughter of Sir John Saint John willingly bestowed her hand on him who, as a simple shepherd, had won a place in her heart.The only drawback to the happiness of our hero was the consciousness of his neglected education. Unable to read or write, he cared not to mix with the nobles of the court, but preferred living in retirement, and with great simplicity. His grand object was to repair all his castles, which had been much injured daring the wars, and he expended vast sums of money in fitting up some of them with princely magnificence; but his own favourite residence was a quiet retreat called Barden Tower, near Bolton Priory, in Yorkshire. He chose this for his chief abode because it afforded him the opportunity of spending much of his time at the Priory with the monks, who assisted him in the delightful study of astronomy, which he was passionately fond of; but he beautified the place, and kept up a noble establishment there, worthy of his own exulted station, and of the lady he had made his bride.“Glad were the vales, and every cottage hearth;The shepherd lord was honoured more and more:And ages after he was laid in earth,‘The good Lord Clifford’ was the name he bore.”Wordsworth.
It is now about four hundred years since a great feast was held at Skipton Castle, to celebrate the birth of a son and heir to the noble house of De Clifford. The young lord of the domain had just succeeded to the title and vast possessions of his father, Thomas Lord Clifford, who was killed in the battle of Saint Albans, at the beginning of the civil wars between the rival houses of York and Lancaster, and, by his death, his only son John, then not much more than twenty years of age, became lord of the great manor of Skipton in Yorkshire, and of Brougham Castle, with its wide lands, in Westmoreland, besides other castles and estates in different parts of the Northern Counties. A rich and powerful family were the De Cliffords, descended from Richard of Normandy, the uncle of William the Conqueror, and the first Lord Clifford was the fatherof the lady called Fair Rosamond, who lived in the reign of King Henry the Second, and was so beautiful that it is said in some histories of England that the queen was jealous of her, and obliged her to take poison; but this story is now supposed to be untrue, as there is reason to believe that Fair Rosamond became a nun and died in a convent. The De Cliffords held the Barony of Clifford in Herefordshire, and the extensive manor of Skipton in Yorkshire, when the grandson of Rosamond’s father married a rich heiress, who brought him the Barony of Westmoreland, to which Brougham Castle belonged, and after that other lords of the race acquired estates by their marriages, so that the wealth and grandeur of the family had been continually increasing. The wife of the present Lord Clifford, the beautiful and accomplished Lady Margaret, was the only child, consequently the heiress of Henry Bromflete Lord de Vesci, who was also possessed of large estates, one of which was Londesborough in Yorkshire, so that Henry, the hero of this tale, was born heir to great riches and honours, and in his childhood was surrounded with all the magnificence of a royal prince, for his father lived in kingly state, and his mother had her maids of honour, her squires and pages, just like a queen. It was not long after young Henry’s birth that Lord Clifford removed his family from Skipton to Brougham Castle, where two more children were born, a boy who was named Richard, and a girl named Elizabeth. These children had their separate nurses and attendants, as was befitting their high station, and Henry’s chief nurse, whose name was Maud, was as fond of him as if he had been her own child, for he was a very sweet-tempered, affectionate boy, and he loved her better than any one else in the world, except his parents and his little brother and sister.
Lord Clifford was now very seldom at home, being deeply engaged in the wars, but he came sometimes and stayed for a few days or weeks, as it might be, and on these occasions Henry, as soon as he was old enough, used to dine in the Castle hall, where not less than a hundred knights and gentlemen, besides a great number of pages and domestics of all kinds, sat down to dinner all together every day, for such was the custom of those times in great families. The dinner hour was about noon, or even earlier, when everybody belonging to the establishment assembled in the hall, where they took their places at the board according to their rank. At the upper end was a table raised above the rest on a daïs, for the lord of the castle and his family, with any guests of distinction that might happen to be present, and below this was a long oak table extending from it lengthways down the centre of the hall, in the middle of which stood an enormous salt-cellar, as a sort of boundary between such as were of gentle birth, and those of lower degree; the former sitting above, the latter below the salt. The style of living in those days would appear very uncivilised to us in this more refined age, for the dishes were set on the board without any cloth, and the people ate off wooden or pewter plates, and used their fingers instead of forks, while many of the nobles would have their favourite hounds beside them, and feed them from the table; for, as the floor was always thickly strewed with rushes, they did not mind throwing down pieces of meat to their dogs. However there was always great plenty, and such a banquet was thought very grand then; and the young Henry de Clifford, as being the eldest son, was treated with great homage by all his father’s dependents. Often, too, chiefly for his amusement, mummers, jugglers, and tumblers were allowed to exhibit their performances in the hall, for he took great delight in such entertainments, and no indulgence, however costly, was thought too great for De Clifford’s heir, whose pleasure was studied by every member of the numerous household. It was well for him that his wise and excellent mother taught him not to be too proud of his exalted rank, or haughty in his manners to those of humbler grade, but to be courteous and kind to every one, even to the lowest menial, so as to gain the good-will of all; and, as he was a very docile boy, and moreover believed that nobody in the world was so good or so beautiful as his own dear mother, he did not fail to profit by her gentle precepts, and become all that she could wish. Poor boy! he little dreamed then how greatly he would stand in need of a humble spirit, or what a sad reverse of fortune he was destined soon to experience.
His good nurse Maud had left to go to her own home at Skipton, where she married a shepherd belonging to the estate, and after her departure Henry was much more with his mother, who had begun to instruct him in such branches of learning as were considered essential to the education of the young nobility. She taught him to play on the harp and other stringed instruments, to recite verses, sing many of the songs she had herself learned from the minstrels in her father’s halls, and, what was of still more importance, she was about to teach him to read, which was not a common accomplishment in those days, for there were no printed books in England till some time afterwards. Printing was then a new invention, and only practised in Germany at one or two of the principal towns, so that the only means of learning to read was from manuscripts written by the monks, generally on parchment or vellum, and beautifully illuminated with a border round every page, in brilliant colours intermixed with gold. In every monastery some of the monks were always employed in making copies of the manuscripts their libraries contained, and others in illuminating them; but these written books were so expensive that none but very rich people could afford to buy them. Lady Clifford, however, possessed a few of these valuable works, and was intending that her son, who was now in his seventh year, should begin to study them, when a heavy blow fell upon the house of De Clifford; and the noble youth, who was born to be a great and wealthy lord, was reduced to the humble condition of a shepherd’s boy.
Henry was very desirous to know something about the war that kept his father so much from home, and Lady Margaret took great pains to explain to him how it had been occasioned, and why the English people should all be fighting against each other. She told him it was the opinion of many persons that the king, Henry the Sixth, who was then reigning, had no right to the crown, which belonged properly to the Duke of York, who had come over from Ireland and raised an army for the purpose of dethroning the sovereign, and getting himself made king in his stead. She also told him that King Henry, though a very good man, was neither very brave nor very clever, so that he did not take an active part in the war himself, but trusted everything to his queen, Margaret of Anjou, a Frenchwoman, whose bold and daring spirit enabled her to support her husband’s cause.
“But which do you think is right, mother?” said Henry.
“It is a difficult question to answer, my child; your father takes the part of the king, or rather of the queen, for the king is now a prisoner in the hands of his enemies. But the claim of the Duke of York is not without foundation, and those who take his part of course believe him to be in the right. But it is a sad thing, my Henry, that a dispute between two princes should cause so much misery and bloodshed as has already been occasioned by this unhappy quarrel, and it may be a long time yet before peace is restored.”
“Why do they say my father is for Lancaster and the Red Rose?”
“Because our king’s grandfather, Henry the Fourth, was Duke of Lancaster before he became king. He gained the crown by force from his cousin Richard the Second, and although the people consented to have him for their king, and his son Henry the Fifth after him, and now his grandson Henry the Sixth, it does not prove that he had a right to take the crown from Richard.”
“And who is this Duke of York, mother? Why do they think he ought to be the king?”
“To make you understand that, Henry, I must go back a little further to the reign of Edward the Third. He, you know, was the father of that good and brave prince Edward, whom we call the Black Prince, and who would have been king if he had not died before his father. The Black Prince had four younger brothers, but he had a son also, who succeeded to the throne at the death of his grandfather. He was the Richard the Second whose crown was taken from him by the Duke of Lancaster, his cousin, who is, therefore, considered a usurper. This Duke of Lancaster was also a grandson of Edward the Third, but his father was one of the younger sons of that king; and the Duke of York, who has now come forward to claim the crown, and stirred up all this terrible strife, is a descendant of one of King Edward’s elder sons. Do you understand all this?”
“Yes, I think I do; but I cannot tell which is in the right after all.”
“No, my dear boy, I dare say you cannot, neither can I inform you, for there is much to be said on both sides. I do not pretend to judge between them, I can only be grieved to see how much sorrow is caused by the war, and wish that it was ended.”
“But you have not told me now, mother, why they say my father is for the Red Rose.”
“The Red Rose, Henry, is a badge to distinguish the king’s party. The crimson rosette they all wear is meant to represent a red rose. The friends of the Duke of York wear a white one, and from these party signs the war has come to be called the ‘War of the Roses.’”
One day, soon after this conversation, it was just before Christmas, the Lady Margaret, who often entered into the diversions of her children, was teaching her two boys to shoot at a target in the gallery above the hall, with a miniature bow and arrows. Some of her maidens were present looking on at the sport, and when either of the boys shot near the mark they clapped their hands in applause, and exclaimed, “In good truth, that was well aimed, my Lord Henry!” or “Bravely done, my Lord Richard! It went within a hair’s breadth.” And so they went on laughing and playing for a long while, one or other of the damsels, and sometimes the lady herself, trying their skill, the two boys being highly delighted with the sport, when they were suddenly interrupted by the sound of the warder’s horn, and in another moment the loud, heavy tramp of many horses was heard.
“It is my lord returned!” cried Lady Margaret. “Now, heaven be praised. Come with me, Henry, to the gate to meet your father; and you, Cicely, bring down Richard. He must not say we are slow to bid him welcome.”
The drawbridge had been let down, the castle-gates flung wide open, and in a few minutes the hall was filled with a host of soldiers who had returned with their lord from the wars. The noble chief responded lovingly to the affectionate greetings of his lady and his boys, then left the hall with them, whilst the seneschal collected all the chief domestics and their servitors to make ready a banquet for the unexpected guests. A sumptuous feast was speedily prepared, and Lord Clifford, with the Lady Margaret and his son Henry, dined in state that day—it was for the last time—in Brougham Castle.
The joy occasioned by his return was but short-lived, for it was quickly known that he was to depart again on the morrow, and much news was told to the inmates of the castle by those who had newly arrived. It appeared that the whole country was in a dreadful state. The king had been made prisoner at the last battle, and the queen was now in the northern counties with her son, the young prince Edward, endeavouring to raise fresh forces. These were hard times for the poor country-people, who suffered greatly from famine, as the soldiers were marching about in all directions, pillaging and destroying wherever they came. Almost every nobleman in England had joined either one side or the other, and many men, who would much rather have stayed at home in peace with their families, to work in the fields, or tend their flocks and herds, were compelled to take up arms at the bidding of their lords; but the peasantry in those days were so dependent on the nobles that every man was obliged to obey the commands of the lord of the land whereon he dwelt, for although the lower orders were not vassals and serfs as they used to be in earlier times, still they were not so free as they are now. Lord Clifford had come home chiefly for the purpose of leaving some of his trusty followers to defend the castle in case it should be attacked, which he thought probable, and as he had taken away all the fighting-men, there had latterly been none left in the castle but such as were too old or infirm to do much service. He therefore appointed a sufficient number to remain as a guard, then prepared to bid adieu once more to his wife and children. Lord Clifford was fierce and cruel in the wars, but he was fondly attached to his own family, and it was perhaps in some measure owing to his strong feelings with regard to domestic ties, united with a natural ferocity of disposition, that made him so unsparing towards his enemies as to obtain the name of “the butcher,” by which he is distinguished in history to this very day; for when his father fell at the battle of Saint Albans, he made a vow that he would revenge his death by never showing mercy to a partisan of the house of York, and he kept that vow but too well, as you will presently hear.
The gentle Lady Margaret watched, with a saddened heart and tearful eyes, the hurried preparations for her husband’s departure, while Henry and Richard stood near him, gazing with childish admiration on his stately form arrayed in armour of polished steel, over which he wore a tabard, or short coat of crimson velvet, richly embroidered with gold, and under its wide open sleeves the shining armour looked very splendid. His helmet was adorned with a plume of feathers, and as he was a tall, handsome man, no doubt he looked very magnificent in the eyes of his children. It was the last time they ever saw him.
Brougham Castle stood on the bank of a narrow river, and its principal entrance was an arched gateway opening to the riverside. The drawbridge had been let down, and some of the horsemen had already passed over, and were waiting on the opposite bank for their leader, who still lingered to say a few more parting words to the beloved ones he was leaving behind. The little baby girl was brought to him for a last kiss, then he took Richard in his arms, and kissed him too, and stroking the glossy curls of Henry’s light brown hair, he said—
“I wish you were a few years older, my son, that you might go with me to fight for your king and queen.”
“I thank God that he is not old enough,” returned Lady Margaret; “it is grief enough for me to part with my husband. Oh! that these cruel wars were over, for they bring nothing but sorrow to the land!”
“Thou hast but a faint heart, my Margaret. Our queen is a lioness compared with thee!”
“I would not wish to resemble her then,” said the lady.
“Nor would I desire that thou shouldst,” replied her husband. “But keep up a brave spirit, for thou mayest need it.”
Again he embraced her lovingly, and mounting his gallant charger he rode from the castle-gate, with about fifty knights and esquires in his train, all well armed and mounted.
The first news that reached Brougham, was a cause of the deepest sorrow to Lady Margaret, although it told of a great battle that had been won by her husband’s party at Wakefield, and also of the death of Richard, Duke of York, who had fallen on the field. But it also told of a barbarous deed done by Lord Clifford, which she was sure would turn all hearts against him; and so it did, for it shocked both friends and foes, and has left a blot on his name that will never be effaced.
It was after the battle was over, as he was riding towards the town to rejoin the queen, that he overtook the young Earl of Rutland, second son of the unfortunate Duke of York, a youth about fourteen years of age, who had just heard of his father’s fate, and, overwhelmed with grief, was being hurried away by his tutor, Sir Robert Aspall, who had been left in charge of him near the field of battle, to seek refuge in a neighbouring convent. Clifford seized the affrighted boy, who fell on his knees and begged for mercy.
“Who is he?” demanded the fierce nobleman in a thundering tone.
“He is the son of a prince who is now beyond thy power,” answered the venerable tutor. “But I pray you to spare him, for he is too young to do hurt to thee or thy cause.”
“He is a son of York, and he shall die!” exclaimed Lord Clifford, plunging his dagger into the heart of the hapless boy, who fell dead at his feet.
It was in consequence of this wanton act of cruelty, and of the numbers he slew at the battle of Wakefield with his own hand, that he was thenceforth called “the butcher,” a terrible distinction, which will cling to his memory for ever.
Lady Clifford lamented sadly over the fate of poor Rutland, for she would have given all the wealth she had in the world, rather than her lord should have been guilty of such a wicked deed; and when she looked at her dear boy Henry, she wondered that the thought of his own son should not have softened a father’s heart, and prevented him from destroying an innocent youth, even though he was the son of an enemy.
One day, soon after this news was brought, there came to the castle one of those wandering minstrels who were in the habit of going about the country with their harps, and were sure to find a welcome at the mansions of the great, where, in return for a night’s lodging and entertainment, they would amuse the company with their songs and music. Lady Clifford never went down to the great hall when her lord was away, but confined herself to her own private apartments with her female attendants and her children, but she readily gave permission for the domestics to admit the minstrel for their own amusement, and right glad they were of this indulgence, as they had spent but a dull Christmas.
“May we not go down, dear mother, to hear the minstrel play and sing?” said Henry.
“Yes, you and Richard may go for awhile if you wish it,” replied Lady Margaret; and, sending for the old seneschal or steward of the castle, she bade him take charge of the boys while they listened to the harper’s songs. There were not many people in the castle now, but all that were there assembled in the hall to make merry with the new comer, except Lady Clifford herself, and the little Lady Elizabeth. The minstrel sang a long ballad all about the warlike achievements of the De Cliffords in former times, filling up the pauses with the animated strains of his harp, and when the song was done, and the servants were preparing to dance, the boys returned to their mother, highly delighted with what they had heard.
The next morning the seneschal came to his mistress and told her that the minstrel begged for a private audience, as he had something of importance to communicate, “And I think, my lady,” said the old man, “it is about our lord that he wishes to speak, for he has just come from Wakefield.”
“Then bring him hither, Hubert,” said the lady, “I will hear what he has to say.”
Hubert bowed respectfully and withdrew, but soon returned with the minstrel, who was instantly recognised by Lady Margaret as a faithful retainer of Lord de Vesci, her father; and seeing by his looks that what he had to communicate was for her ear only; she dismissed all who were present, and remained alone with him.
“What is it, Rolf,” she asked in alarm. “Why do you come here in disguise? what of my father? is he well?”
“He is well, dear lady. It is not of him I came to speak. I am just from Wakefield, and I come to warn you to watch well over your sons, for the friends of York have sworn, one and all, to take revenge for the death of young Rutland; and I fear me the threat points towards Lord Clifford’s children. You must not trust them out of the castle, where for the present they are safe; but if Edward of York should be made king, and he is more likely to succeed than his father was, I am afraid there will be no safety for them even here. I assumed this disguise because if it became known amongst your enemies that one of your father’s people had come from Wakefield here, they would suspect it was to put you on your guard.”
“Now heaven help me!” said the lady, “how am I to ward off this misfortune? I must depend on you, my good and faithful Rolf, to keep watch, and let me know should any immediate danger threaten us; and, in the meanwhile, I will concert some plan for removing my children in case of need.”
“This I will do, lady, and as much more as may lie within my power. In this minstrel’s guise I can visit the camp of the Yorkists from time to time, and bring you intelligence of what is passing there. They will not know that I am one of your house, and I shall pass free.”
Lady Margaret was truly grateful to the trusty Rolf, who departed from the castle that same day; but she confided to none, except the good old seneschal, what had been the purport of their conference. Day after day she waited with ill-concealed dread for further tidings, and at length a messenger came from her lord, from whom she learned that more battles had been fought, that the king was released from prison, but that the young Duke of York had been proclaimed king in London, by the title of Edward the Fourth. Soon afterwards another messenger arrived with news that King Henry and the queen were again in Yorkshire collecting more forces, and that King Edward (for there were now two kings) was advancing northward with a large army to oppose them. The poor women and children from the neighbouring villages now came flocking for refuge to Brougham Castle, which was put into a state of defence, for it was quite certain there would soon be a great battle, and, if King Edward should gain the day, there was but little doubt that the castle would be besieged.
Lord Clifford was now with the king and queen in the city of York. Their army amounted to sixty thousand men; and King Edward was coming with about fifty thousand, so that the conflict was certain to be a very great and terrible one. It took place at Towton, on Palm Sunday, just four months after the battle of Wakefield, and amongst the many thousands slain on that dreadful day was Lord Clifford, who was then scarcely twenty-six years of age. It is needless to dwell on the grief occasioned by these fatal tidings; it was sad to hear and sad to see. The unhappy lady had now to think of providing for the safety of her fatherless children, for although Rolf had promised to bring her word if he saw they were in danger, there was no certainty of his being able to do so, as it was possible he might have been killed himself, for she had not heard of him. At last he came, but it was again in his adopted character of a minstrel, and he would have had some difficulty in gaining admittance, had it not been for the old seneschal, who guessed his errand, and saw that he was allowed to enter, saying that, dismal as the times were, it could be no harm to listen to a minstrel’s lay.
With much caution he conducted him secretly to Lady Clifford’s private apartments, for he thought there might be some hazard in letting it become known who he was or why he came, as among the many who were now within the castle walls, who could say that all were true.
From Rolf’s account it appeared that, after the defeat at Towton, the queen had placed her husband, who was half imbecile, in a monastery at Edinburgh, and fled with her son, Prince Edward, to France; while the new king, Edward the Fourth, had taken full possession of the throne, and was publicly acknowledged as sovereign of England. He had declared his intention of seizing the estates of all those nobles who had fought against him; and it was reported that he had said he would revenge the murder of his brother, young Rutland, on Clifford’s heir. Henry’s life was therefore now in danger, and Rolf had come to assist in saving him.
“Have you devised any plan, lady,” said the faithful servant, “in case of this extremity?”
“Yes, my good Rolf, I have thought of it day and night, ever since that fatal battle. I must part from my boy. I must trust him to you. Do you think you can convey him, without suspicion, to his nurse Maud, at Skipton? I can depend on her to be careful of my child, and on her husband also; but they must not remain there, they must remove to Londesborough, and you must go yourself to my father, who is now there, and tell him from me to provide them with a dwelling, but not to notice the boy as his grandson, for Henry must pass for Maud’s own child. Think you, Rolf, that you can accomplish all this?”
“I will try, my lady; but we must speak of it to Lord Henry, that he may understand his life depends on its not being known that he is Lord Clifford’s son.”
“My Henry is wise beyond his years,” replied the lady, “and I fear me not that he will submit to this necessity without a murmur.”
“No doubt, no doubt, dear lady; and you had better prepare him at once, for we know not how soon the blow may come.”
“My Henry,” said Lady Margaret, “you are going to Skipton, to your good nurse Maud, who will take you to Londesborough, where you must live with her and her husband till there is peace again in the land, which we will both earnestly pray for. And you must remember, my child, that you are to pass for Maud’s own son, and that you are to call her mother, and her husband, Robin, the shepherd, father. I have already explained to you what would be the terrible consequences should you ever forget this.”
“I will not forget, mother; but shall I never see you there? I love Maud very much, but not as I love you, my own dear mother!”
And the noble boy threw himself into his mother’s arms, laid his head upon her bosom, and burst into tears. She kissed him tenderly, and endeavoured to speak cheerfully.
“My darling boy, this separation is only for the present, and I hope I shall be able to see you sometimes, for I intend, after awhile, to live at Londesborough, which is mine, and may some day be yours; but not yet, not till our enemies believe that you and your brother are far away beyond the seas; and even then, when I come to visit you, Henry, no one must know it except ourselves and nurse; for if it came to be known that I felt any interest about the shepherd’s boy, the people might suspect who you are, and that is what we have to guard against.”
“And Richard, mother—is he to go away too?”
“Yes, Henry, I must part with you both—but your little sister I may keep with me; it is not her life they seek. And now, my beloved child, you understand what it is you have to do—keep up a brave heart and endeavour not to repine at your lot, but be thankful you have not fallen into the hands of those who would show you no mercy. But above all, my son, put your trust in God, and pray to him that happier days may come, when we can be together again without fear or concealment.”
The next day after this conversation, Lady Clifford left Brougham Castle, with her three children, her maid Cicely, old Hubert, and a few trusty attendants on whose fidelity she could rely, but not even to them did she reveal her son’s destination, which was only known to her faithful seneschal. The lady, with her maid and the children, travelled in a litter, a sort of light van shut in with curtains, which, at that period, when coaches were unknown, was often used by invalids and those who did not want to travel on horseback. The litter for one person was sometimes slung on poles and carried by men, but a large one, containing more than one traveller, was usually mounted on wheels and drawn by horses. It had been arranged that Rolf should meet Lady Clifford’s party in a forest, between Brougham Castle and York, and that he should bring with him a peasant boy’s coarse woollen dress, to disguise Henry for his flight; and oh, how sad were the hearts of the mother and son when they came in sight of the tall trees of that forestwhere they were to part for they knew not how long! The path was wide enough to admit of the vehicle, and they had not gone far when Rolf met them. He was not in his minstrel’s dress, so that the people did not know him. He came to the side of the litter, and spoke in a low tone to the lady, who called one of her attendants, and said to him—
“This good man brings me word that it will not be safe for us to go to York, therefore I shall alter my course and proceed at once to the sea-coast, and take ship for the Netherlands. He also thinks that it would be better we should not all travel together, therefore I shall send on my eldest son with him and Hubert. He has a conveyance waiting close by in the forest, and when I have seen them off, I will return here. You can, meanwhile, rest and refresh yourselves, for we have a long day’s journey yet before us.”
The men, who were glad of this respite, dismounted, and began to unpack the provisions with which they were plentifully provided, whilst the sorrowful lady, leading her son by the hand, accompanied by Hubert, followed Rolf, who led them to a spot quite hidden from the view of the rest of the party, where a small cart, such as was used by the villagers in their rural occupations, was really in waiting.
This was indeed a trying moment. The young lord was now to be transformed into the peasant boy—his long bright curls were cut off, his face and hands were stained with a brown liquid to make him look sunburnt, as if he was used to work in the fields, and his rich velvet apparel was changed for coarse homespun woollen cloth. But he cared not what they put him on—his only thought was that he was going away from his beloved mother, perhaps never to see her more. He clasped his arms round her neck and clung to her sobbing, as if his heart would break, and the tears were streaming down her cheeks too, as she fell on her knees and murmured a prayer that heaven would watch over and protect her fatherless boy.
“My lady—my dear lady,” said old Hubert; “you must not stay here longer—the sooner this parting is over the better it will be for you both. Come, my Lord Henry, it is time we were moving.”
So saying he gently disengaged the boy from his mother’s encircling arms and lifted him into the cart, making a private signal to Rolf to drive away as fast as he could. He then respectfully entreated his unhappy lady to return to her party, and she, scarcely conscious of what she was doing, suffered him to lead her back, and as soon as he had seen her safely placed in the litter with Cicely and the two children, he mounted his horse and galloped off as if to join Rolf and his young charge, but in reality to take quite another route, for Henry was to pass, during this journey, for a poor boy whom Rolf was taking home to his native village, and it would not have done for him to be attended by Lady Clifford’s seneschal.
It was well he had been sent away, for just about this time King Edward caused an act of attainder to be passed against all the noblemen who had fought for the cause of Henry the Seventh, that is, they were deprived of their titles, and their estates were declared forfeited to the crown; he also issued a command that the children of the attainted nobles should be sent to London to be disposed of, as he, the king, should think fit; and this was probably done for the very purpose of getting Clifford’s children into his power; for no sooner had Lady Clifford taken up her abode with her father, the aged Lord de Vesci, than she was summoned to London, and closely questioned as to what had become of her boys. She said she had sent them out of the country, but as she had heard nothing of them since, she did not know whether they were alive or dead, and so the retreat of the high-born shepherd boy remained unknown. But all the castles and broad lands that were his by right of inheritance were given to the enemies of his family. The Barony of Westmoreland, with Brougham Castle, was bestowed by Edward on his brother Richard Duke of York, afterwards Richard the Third; and the great manor of Shipton was conferred on Sir William Stanley, who, at a later period, went over to the Lancasterian party himself, and you may read in Shakespeare’s play of “Richard the Third,” that it was he who, after the battle of Bosworth, where Richard was killed, picked up the crown and placed it on the victor’s head, saying, “Long live Henry the Seventh!” We shall presently see what this event had to do with our hero, Henry de Clifford.
Londesborough was a beautiful place in the county of York, about sixteen miles from York city. Lord de Vesci had other and larger estates, but as his dignity of baron was limited to male heirs, his daughter could only inherit two of his possessions, and Londesborough was one of them, consequently young Henry de Clifford was its next heir in right of his mother. He knew this, yet so well had his mind been trained by that excellent parent, that he was content to live in a shepherd’s cot outside its gates with Robin and Maud, whom he soon became accustomed to call father and mother. As they had come from Skipton, and brought with them two little children of their own, the people of the hamlet where they were now settled, did not know but that Henry was their eldest son, and the little ones were so young that they were easily taught to believe he was their brother. He wore a shepherd’s frock of grey serge, fastened round the waist by a leather belt, with half-boots made of untanned deer-skin; and every morning he went out with his foster-father to mind the flocks, taking with him, in a little wallet slung over his shoulder, his mid-day meal, which he would eat as he sat on some grassy mound, or by the side of a rivulet, from which he could fill his horn cup with water. How different was this from the costly banquet in his father’s hall, where he had servants to attend upon him, and drank out of a goblet of gold or silver. Yet he did not repine, but performed his duties with a willing spirit, and instead of thinking his lot was a hard one, he often reflected how much worse it would have been if he had fallen into the hands of his father’s foes; still he could not help feeling melancholy at times, for he longed to see his dear mother again, and more than two months had passed, yet she came not. There was no occasion now to stain his hands and face, for the sun had embrowned them quite enough, and his long curls had been suffered to grow again, for Maud said it was a great pity to cut them off, and she was proud of hearing her neighbours say what nice hair her boy had got, and she would answer—
“Ay, my goodman tells me I take over much pride in Henry’s curly locks, but he is my eldest, and sure it is natural for a mother to take pleasure in the beauty of her child, and, though I say it, he is as pretty a boy, and as good too, as any in the village.”
One evening Henry had brought home the sheep, and having seen them safe in the fold, was sitting on the ground outside the cottage door eating his supper. One arm rested on the neck of a large dog, that was idly reposing by his side, as if tired with the toils of the day, for it was the shepherd’s dog, and its duty was to guard the flocks as they were feeding in the fields, and warn his master if any danger seemed near them. At length the boy arose and walked slowly towards the entrance of a fair domain, where he stood gazing with tearful eyes through a long vista of tall oaks, on a noble mansion standing on the summit of a verdant slope, and his young heart was oppressed with unusual sadness as he looked wistfully on this his rightful home. He had stood there for some time when his foster-father came up and laid his hand kindly on his shoulder.
“Come, my boy, you are giving way to idle regrets. I do not like to see you here, Henry, for I know your thoughts are not what they should be.”
“I know it is wrong, father, but I cannot help it sometimes.”
“Whenever this feeling comes over you, Henry, try to drive it from you, and think of the past as if it had been but a dream. A dark prison, my boy, would have been a worse dwelling-place than a thatched cottage. Think of that, and be content.”
“Indeed I am content, father, for you are very kind to me. But when, oh when, do you think my own dear mother will come?”
“Nay, I cannot tell; but let us hope it will not be, long first. And now, Henry, come home and go to your bed, for the sun is set, and you must be up betimes. See, here is Lion coming to meet us. Poor Lion! he does not like to lose sight of his master.”
Henry, who had dried his tears and was smiling again, sprang forward to caress the faithful dog, who frolicked round him as if he thought he had been long away, and was rejoiced at his return. Maud had put aside her spinning-wheel, for it was nearly dark; the two younger children were already asleep, and Henry was about to retire to rest, when the door was opened softly, and there entered one whose form was muffled in a long dark cloak, the hood of which was drawn over the head to conceal the face from view. Robin and Maud trembled with fear as the idea struck them both that the boy’s retreat had been discovered; but Henry, with the true instinct of affection, uttered the word “mother!” and rushed into the arms of the mysterious visitant, who threw off her disguise, and clasped her boy fondly to her bosom.
“My honoured lady!” exclaimed Maud, as she recognised the beautiful, but pale and careworn countenance of her mistress.
“Hush! Maud, hush!” said the lady; “are you sure we are quite safe?”
“Yes, madam, we are safe,” answered Robin, “there is no one within hearing, and I will fasten the door, so that none shall enter without giving notice.”
And so saying he proceeded to make all secure, whilst Henry laughed and wept by turns in the excess of his joy, and, amidst kisses and embraces, asked many questions about his brother and sister.
“I hope they are both well, my darling. Elizabeth I have seen lately, but I have not heard of Richard since his arrival in the Low Countries. Nevertheless, I trust he is safe and well. But how fares it with you, my best and dearest? Can you make yourself happy in this new life?”
“As happy as I can be away from you, dear mother. I do not mind the sort of life I lead so much as I thought I should; for I am getting used to it now.”
“In truth he takes to it bravely, my lady,” said Robin. “I only hope my own lad will be as good a shepherd as Henry, when he is as old.”
Lady Margaret sighed deeply, for although the worthy man did not mean to give her pain, but rather pleasure, by this rough applause, she could not help feeling how very low the fortunes of De Clifford’s son had fallen. But she did not make this thought apparent, she folded him closer to her heart, and whispered words of encouragement and praise.
“You have shown yourself a true hero, Henry, for nothing is more noble than to bear misfortune nobly, and this you have done. I am proud of my son, and should you ever be permitted by Providence to take your own name again, you will be doubly worthy of it.”
“And that time will come, my lady,” said Maud, fervently, “as sure as there are stars in yonder heavens!”
“We will hope so, Maud. And how shall I thank you for the care you have taken of my treasure? he looks well; the bloom of health is on his cheek. I would fain give you some token of my gratitude, if I durst do so.”
“Better not, my lady,” said Robin in his blunt way. “Besides it is for us, not you, lady, to talk of gratitude, since we owe all that we possess to your goodness. Even this cottage we live in, was it not your gift? It would be hard, then, if your child should meet with aught but kindness beneath its roof.”
Lady Clifford did not stay long, fearing that her absence from her own abode might be discovered, and lead to suspicion; but she said she was going to stay some time at Londesborough, and should pay a visit to the cottage whenever she saw an opportunity of doing so without risk. For a few weeks she often came at nightfall without attracting the notice of the villagers; but at length she was obliged to leave Londesborough, and Henry saw her no more for a very long while. By degrees, however, he grew reconciled to her absence, and, as time wore on, the events of his early life were less distinctly remembered, until he could almost believe that his former grandeur had never been a reality. He often thought of his brother, and wondered where he was, and whether he was living like a peasant too, for he did not know till long afterwards that poor little Richard died soon after he was sent out of England.
When Henry was about fourteen, the death of his grandfather, Lord de Vesci, brought new dangers upon him, for a rumour got spread abroad that he was still live and in England, and, as he was the rightful heir to all the estates as well as the honours of the Bromfletes, the king’s emissaries began to inquire into the matter, and make search in different parts of the country, where it was supposed he might be concealed. This alarming intelligence was first conveyed to his mother by the faithful Rolf, who, you remember, was one of the old Lord de Vesci’s people, and devotedly attached to Lady Clifford. But she was not Lady Clifford now, for she was married to a noble knight named Sir Lancelot Threlkeld, whose domain was in the mountainous part of Cumberland, and was called Threlkeld. He was a kind-hearted, noble gentleman, and, as he had not taken an active part in the wars, he had been left in possession of his lands and dignities, and was living quietly on his own estate, when he offered his hand to the widowed Lady Clifford, who consented to become his wife because she knew he would be a friend to her dear boy, and they were married soon after the lady went away from Londesborough.
As soon as they heard that King Edward had instituted a search for the young heir, Sir Lancelot proposed to his lady to remove Robin the shepherd, with all his family, including Henry, from Londesborough to the hills of Cumberland, and settle them as near as possible to Threlkeld.
Robin and Maud had now five children of their own, who all looked up to Henry as their elder brother, and, as he was always kind and good-natured amongst them, treating them exactly as if they had been his brothers and sisters, they were very fond of him, nor did they ever suppose he was not the child of their parents. It was the beautiful summer-time when Sir Lancelot Threlkeld paid a visit to Londesborough, and sent for Robin, to whom he told what had happened, and explained his designs.
“The boy is no longer safe here,” he said; “his life may depend on his immediate removal, but it must be very cautiously done. I shall tell the people here that we have increased our flocks at Threlkeld so that we want more shepherds there, and have fixed on Robin, whose three sons, being active lads, will be very useful. What think you of this plan?”
“It is good,” replied the shepherd. “But you will see Henry yourself, my noble lord?” (It was thus he styled his lady’s husband, whose servant he now deemed himself to be.)
“No, I think not,” returned the knight; “it would please me much, but it will be better for him that I should not seem to think about him at all. There may be spies on the watch to take note of my movements, and if only the shadow of a suspicion should be awakened, all would be lost. We should have no power to save him then. How soon can you be ready to commence the journey?”
“To-morrow if you will, my lord.”
“To-morrow let it be then, and may heaven send us a safe deliverance from this peril!”
“Amen!” responded the peasant, devoutly crossing himself. “It will be a happy day for me, and my dame too, should we live to see our Henry restored to his rights.”
The worthy knight shook his head as he replied, “I fear me there is but small chance of that. The king is a young man; he is popular, and has sons to succeed him, and so long as there is one of the line of York to hold the sceptre of England, the house of De Clifford will be under a ban.”
“Time, with the aid of Providence, works wonders, my lord.”
“True, good Robin, true; but there is not much at present to encourage such hopes, and I would not have you speak thus to Henry.”
“There would be little wisdom, indeed, in that,” replied Robin smiling. “Shall I tell him I have seen you, my lord?”
“Yes, surely—and you can tell him, also, why I thought it prudent to depart without seeing him, for I would not have him think me careless or unkind.”
He then gave Robin money for his journey, and when all was arranged the good man took his leave, and Sir Lancelot Threlkeld departed from Londesborough that same day.
It was joyful news for Henry to hear that he was going to live so near to his own dear mother again. In the gladness of his heart he was almost inclined to regard his enemies in the light of friends, since they had been the cause of this happy change. Maud was very glad too, for anything that gave pleasure to Henry was always pleasing to her, besides which she was devotedly attached to Lady Margaret, and rejoiced in the thought of being settled in a place where she would see her more frequently than she had done of late, and as for the children, they were almost out of their wits with delight, for young folks were quite as fond of novelty four hundred years ago as they are now.
The journey was a long and a rough one, as travellers of a humble class could not get on very fast in those days when there were no roads, and it was often a difficult matter to make their way through forests, or over wide tracts of waste land where the ground was rugged, uneven, and covered with brushwood. The vast forests which then existed in the north of England, have long since been cleared away, and wild trackless heaths have been converted into parks, meadows, and corn-fields. Maud and the two girls rode in a waggon wherein they had placed some wooden stools, several baskets of provision, and all their clothing, with such other things as they wished to take with them. Robin drove, while Henry and the other boys took it in turns to ride one at a time, the rest walking by the side of the clumsy vehicle, which could only proceed at a foot pace, so that their progress was but slow. They had taken care to put plenty of rushes in the waggon, so that some of them might sleep comfortably in it at night, while Robin and the elder lads, as it was summer-time, and warm, dry weather, could rest under the trees, wrapped in their shepherd’s cloaks. In this manner they proceeded, sometimes halting at the villages to get a fresh supply of food and water, until at length they reached their destination, a small farm in a beautiful and romantic part of Cumberland, close to the borders of Scotland, but still within the domain of Sir Lancelot Threlkeld, which extended far and wide. You may be sure it was not long before our hero was again clasped to the heart of his fond mother, who, however, as before, only visited him in secret and under cover of the night. She was sometimes accompanied by Sir Lancelot, who was a kind-hearted man, and had always been well disposed towards the noble youth whom he delighted to call his son when they were alone, but at all other times he only noticed him as one of his shepherds.
Much of Henry’s time was spent in solitude, as he watched his flocks feeding on the mountains, and being of a meditative disposition, he thought much and deeply of the beautiful works of the Great Creator that he beheld around him. Though wholly unlettered, though he could neither read nor write, he possessed a native nobleness of mind that raised him far above the class to which he seemingly belonged; yet his manners were plain and simple, nor did the knowledge of his high birth ever lead him to assume an air of superiority over the peasants with whom he was associated. In his solitary musings he thought so much about the wonders of the earth, the sea, and the skies, that he became quite a natural philosopher; but his chief delight was in the contemplation of the heavenly bodies, and he would watch the moon in her course, or gaze for hours on the myriads of stars that shone in the blue vault above him, until he acquired an ardent taste for the sublime study of astronomy, in which he indulged to the full at a later period of his existence.
And so the time passed on, bringing no change to Henry de Clifford, save the gradual increase of years, that transformed the slight delicate youth into the well-grown, powerful man, whose fine form, handsome face, and gentle manners won the hearts of the rustic maidens, and matrons too, of Threlkeld.
His foster-brothers and sisters, one by one, married amongst the villagers belonging to Sir Lancelot’s estate, so that, at last, Henry was left alone with the worthy pair he called his father and mother.
In the meanwhile many stirring events were passing in England, though little was heard about them in the remote and quiet regions of Threlkeld. The wars of the Roses had never wholly ceased. There had been some peaceful intervals, but they had not lasted for long together, as Queen Margaret, assisted by the great Earl of Warwick, the most powerful baron in the kingdom, had resolved never to give up the cause so long as the least chance remained of replacing her husband on the throne, and securing the right of succession to her son. The Earl of Warwick had at first fought for the Duke of York, and it was through his power and influence that Edward the Fourth was made king, for he had more men and more money at his command than any other nobleman in the country. However, King Edward was unwise enough to quarrel with this high and mighty earl, who thereupon went over to the queen’s party, and actually restored the poor, weak-minded King Henry the Sixth to the throne; on which Edward went over to Holland to get assistance of the Duke of Burgundy, his brother-in-law, who placed an army of foreigners at his command, with which he came back to England, and being joined by many of his partisans, a great battle was fought, in which the Earl of Warwick was slain. This event took place exactly ten years after the battle of Towton, where Lord Clifford fell. King Henry was then sent back a prisoner to the Tower, where he soon died; but Queen Margaret, who had just arrived from France, with Prince Edward, her son, who was then seventeen years old, resolved for his sake to make one more effort; but it would have been better for him and for her too, if they had given up this hopeless cause, and gone back to the court of her father, who was King of Anjou in France, for the battle was lost, the young prince was made prisoner, and being taken into the royal tent, the king spoke to him so rudely that he was provoked to answer with more spirit than he had been expected, on which some of the nobles who were standing by fiercely drew their daggers and killed him on the spot.
The unhappy queen having no one to care for, gave up the contest, and went to end her days in France, and for thirteen years afterwards there was no more open warfare in England; but there were still two parties, so that the White and the Red Rose were badges of enmity as before, for it was natural enough that all who, like the De Cliffords, had suffered from the success of the Yorkists, should wish to see the line of Lancaster restored. The existing heir of that family was Henry, Earl of Richmond, who was an exile in France, when Edward the Fourth died, leaving two sons, the eldest only eleven years of age. These were the two little princes that were sent to the Tower by their cruel, ambitious uncle, Richard the Third, who contrived that they should both die there, that he might wear the crown himself; but he had reigned very little more than two years when some of the great nobles, disgusted by his tyranny, sent word to the Earl of Richmond that, if he came to England, with a view to dethrone the usurper, he would find plenty of friends ready to assist him. The earl was soon here at the head of a large army, and met King Richard at Bosworth in Leicestershire, where the great battle was fought that put an end to the War of the Roses and to the life of Richard the Third.
You remember that when Edward the Fourth deprived the Cliffords of their lands and honours, the great manor of Skipton, with its fine old castle, was given to Sir William Stanley. This brave knight had remained faithful to King Edward, but he was amongst those who turned against Richard; and it was he who, when the fight was over and the victory won, took up the crown, which it appears, Richard had worn on the field, and placed it on Richmond’s head, calling out aloud, “Long live King Henry the Seventh!” And this cry passed from one to another till the air resounded with the shouts of the victors, who thus proclaimed the new sovereign on the battle plain. When this momentous event took place Henry de Clifford was about thirty years of age. He had now dwelt for sixteen years amongst the mountains of Cumberland, and one thing only had occurred to disturb the even tenor of his peaceful life.
A gentleman of noble family and good estate, Sir John Saint John, of Bletso, in Bedfordshire, came on a visit to Threlkeld with his daughter Anne, a fair girl in the bloom of youth and beauty. Henry, who had seen her riding out over the hills with her father and Sir Lancelot, thought he had never beheld so lovely a maiden; and he was right, for in all England there were few to compare with Anne of Bletso. She had seen him too, and had observed how far superior he was in appearance to other rustic swains, for the shepherd’s frock of homely grey could not conceal the graces of his person, which also attracted the notice of the worthy knight, her father, who, on one occasion, said to Sir Lancelot—
“That is a well-favoured youth of yours; I have seen a face like his before, but I cannot bethink me where or when, yet it is no common face either.”
“He is the son of my chief shepherd,” replied Sir Lancelot; “he was always a good-looking lad, and is an excellent servant.”
Then, anxious to divert Sir John’s attention from Henry, whose handsome features he feared might remind the knight of the late Lord Clifford, whom his son strongly resembled, he began to talk of other things. But Henry did not forget the sweet face of the young lady, or the beautiful eyes he had seen fixed intently upon him, eyes as bright as the stars he was so fond of gazing upon, and he could not help feeling sad to think the fates had placed him in a sphere so much beneath her.
It chanced one day as he watched his flocks feeding on the mountains, he saw the damsel on her white palfrey, attended by a single page, riding direct towards the spot where he was reclining in profound meditation, beneath the spreading branches of a luxuriant oak, that shielded him from the noonday sun. He rose at her approach, and took off his cap, displaying a rich profusion of nut-brown hair as he gracefully made his obeisance, supposing she would pass by with merely a slight notice, therefore he blushed with surprise and pleasure when she stopped her horse, and said in the sweetest tone imaginable—
“Good day, shepherd Henry; I come to ask a service of you.”
“If I can render you service, lady, you may command me, even to the peril of my life.”
“Nay, I would not have you peril your life for my behoof,” she replied, with a smile.
“In riding over the hills this morning, I have lost a golden clasp, with three diamonds, that fastened my gorget, and I would ask you, should you meet with such a bauble in your ramblings, to carry it to the Lady Margaret of Threlkeld, who will see that it is restored to me.”
“Lady I will not fail to do your bidding. Few persons traverse those hills, and I doubt not the jewel may be recovered.”
“Thanks, gentle shepherd. We leave Threlkeld this day; so farewell, and be assured your courtesy will not be forgotten by Anne of Bletso.”
That night, by moonlight, Henry wandered over the hills in search of the lost treasure, and for many hours he sought in vain; but at length, oh joyful sight! he saw the diamonds glittering in the moonbeams, at the bottom of a deep ravine, and without a moment’s hesitation he commenced the dangerous descent. A single false step and he would have been dashed to pieces against the sharp points of the craggy rock, but with a steady hand and firm foot he gained the depth in safety, seized the prize; then, with great difficulty, and not without a few wounds and bruises, he climbed up again, and stood triumphant on the brink of a really frightful precipice. If the young lady had known where her clasp was to be found, she certainly would not have asked him to look for it; but he was himself well pleased to have encountered any danger for her sake, and in thoughtful mood he returned to the cottage, and repaired to his humble couch to dream of Anne Saint John.
“Why, Henry, what hast thee been doing to face and hands, boy?” said Robin the next morning.
“I stumbled into a brake, father,” replied Henry, laughing, “and got a few scratches, that’s all.”
“Dear heart, but they are grievous hurts!” exclaimed Maud, “you must let me put a balsam to them, Henry.”
“As you will, mother, but it is hardly worth while for so light a matter.”
The balsam, however, was applied, and the wounds were speedily healed, but Henry did not recover his wonted peace of mind. As Lord Clifford he might have won the hand of the high-born maiden on whom his thoughts now constantly dwelt; but, as Henry the Shepherd, even to speak to her was presumption. Never had he lamented over his fallen fortunes as he did now; but he buried his regrets in his own bosom, nor did he let it appear, either by word or look, that he was less contented than he was before.
Lady Margaret had taken care of the clasp, but she told him the country was again threatened with warfare, so that it would not be safe to entrust anything of value to the hands of a messenger; therefore she would keep it till Sir Lancelot went to Bletso, which he intended to do ere long. She did not tell him that Sir John Saint John had come to Threlkeld to give secret information to herself and her husband of the project contemplated by the chief nobles, to depose King Richard and place the Earl of Richmond on the throne. She was afraid of exciting hopes that might end in disappointment, yet she was herself sanguine as to the possibility of De Clifford being restored to his rights if the crown should be won by a prince of the House of Lancaster. Sir John took great interest in the cause, being himself related in a distant degree to Henry Earl of Richmond; therefore the Saint John’s of Bletso had royal blood in their veins.
It was the close of the autumn, in the year 1485, when Lady Margaret came one evening to Robin’s cottage, not secretly as heretofore, not in fear and trembling lest it should be known for whom her visit was intended, but openly to greet her son as De Clifford’s heir. Little did he guess the purport of her coming as he returned her fond embrace, but he saw that her countenance was radiant with happiness, and he asked if Sir Lancelot had returned.
“No, my son, he is in London; and, Henry, I have important news to tell. Have you courage to hear it?”
“Why should I need courage, dear mother? You do not look as if you had evil tidings to communicate.”
“The tidings I bring are not evil; but it requires fortitude to bear a great joy as well as a great sorrow, when it comes upon us unexpectedly.”
Henry’s heart began to beat more quickly, his face flushed, and his voice trembled as he asked—
“Mother, what has happened? Tell me at once, I beseech you.”
“I told you, Henry, that we were looking for a renewal of the war.”
“Yes, you told me so. Has it begun again?”
“It has begun and ended, I hope, for ever. There has been a battle; King Richard is killed, and a prince of the House of Lancaster now sits on the throne.”
Henry started up from his seat, his eyes fixed on Lady Margaret’s face in an agony of suspense.
“And I, mother, what have I to do with this?”
“Much, my beloved son. Henry the Seventh is a just and noble prince, and your father, my husband, is at his court even now.”
“Then, am I—am I—” he could not give utterance to what he wished to say, but Lady Margaret knew what he would ask, and replied—
“Yes, my Henry, it is even so. You are now Lord Clifford before all the world, and I, your mother, may once more fearlessly acknowledge my son.”
Henry fell on his knees, and raised his clasped hands and streaming eyes in gratitude to heaven. He could scarcely realise this great, this overwhelming happiness. Again and again he embraced that tender mother, who, for so many years had watched over him like a guardian angel, and smoothed the rugged path he had been forced to tread.
When the first emotions of joy had in some degree subsided, and he was calm enough to listen to the account of how this happy change had been brought about, Lady Margaret told him that the new sovereign, immediately on his accession, had declared his intention of restoring to their rights all those nobles who had been dispossessed of their lands and titles by Edward the Fourth; and that Sir Lancelot Threlkeld, on hearing this, had proceeded to the court, with Sir John Saint John of Bletso, in order to make known to the king that the heir of the late Lord Clifford was still in existence. She said she had that morning received intelligence from Sir Lancelot that the royal decree was already passed for the restoration of Clifford’s son to all his father’s lands and dignities, and it was with the utmost surprise Henry now learned, for the first time, how immense were the possessions to which he was entitled; for, besides the great estates of Skipton and Brougham, his inheritance comprised the castles, manors, and lordships of Appleby, Pendragon, Brough, and Mallerstane Chase in Westmoreland; Barden Tower, Copley Feld, and other manors in Yorkshire; with lands and castles in Cumberland, Northumberland, Derbyshire, Worcestershire and Surrey. Clifford’s Inn, which is now used as law offices and chambers, in Fleet Street, was then a nobleman’s mansion with beautiful gardens; and this was Lord Clifford’s residence in London.
No wonder the humble shepherd should be dazzled and astonished to find himself all at once the lord of those vast domains; and not only these, but all the Bromflete estates, that had belonged to Lord de Vesci, his grandfather, were now his by right of inheritance. It would be impossible to describe the joy of the worthy couple who had so long performed the part of parents to the shepherd lord, at the wondrous turn of fortune that had raised him once more to the elevated sphere that was his birthright.
“We have lost a son,” said old Robin, “but we have found a noble master; and may heaven grant him a long life to enjoy his own.”
“Think not, my father, that you have lost a son,” said Henry, pressing the old man’s hand with affectionate warmth. “I shall be ever a son to you.”
“And to me also, my Lord Henry,” said Maud, “for it would break my heart now if you should bear yourself towards me proudly in your own grand castle.”
“I should ill deserve my good fortune, dear Maud, if it made me so ungrateful as to bear myself proudly towards you. Though I may be the lord of fifty castles, you will always be to me a second mother.”
The next day Henry took his place in the house of Sir Lancelot Threlkeld as Lord Clifford. He laid aside the peasant’s suit of homely grey for a dress befitting his rank, which Lady Margaret furnished him with from her husband’s wardrobe; and very handsome he looked in a mulberry coloured vest richly embroidered with gold, a short cloak of blue satin falling over one shoulder, and a diamond hilted sword by his side, for such was the fashion of the age.
The faithful Rolf was despatched to Brougham Castle to see that all was prepared for the reception of its lord; and right well did he execute the commission. A sumptuous feast was provided, and a grand pageant prepared to meet him at the castle-gate. All the ancient banners that had been taken down and thrown aside, were now displayed again in the hall, and, under the superintendence of Rolf, everything was made to look just as it did before the banishment of the family.
At length the bright day dawned that was to see Henry de Clifford restored to the beloved home of his childhood, and the people had flocked from far and near to hail the return of Brougham’s rightful lord. It was nearly noon when the cavalcade was seen approaching. Then loud acclamations rent the air, and, as Henry lifted his plumed and jewelled cap to acknowledge the greeting of the joyous multitude, his heart was overflowing with gratitude to the Father of all mercies, and he could scarcely restrain the tears that were ready to gush from his eyes. He was mounted on a fine grey horse, and on one side of him rode his lady mother, on the other Sir Lancelot Threlkeld, while behind him came a fair lady, escorted by a gentleman of noble mien. This was his sister Elizabeth, who had lived for many years in the Netherlands, and was married to Sir Robert Aske, a wealthy knight, who was now with her. They were followed; by a long train of knights and gentlemen and their attendants, forming a retinue that might have graced a prince, and so they came onward towards the castle-gate, where a triumphal arch was erected, on the top of which were two figures clothed in white, with outspread wings, and golden crowns, intended, perhaps, to represent angels; and as Clifford passed under the arch, they chanted these lines—
“Now the Red Rose blooms again,Clifford o’er his own shall reign.Fill the cup, and sheath the sword,To welcome back our noble lord.”
“Now the Red Rose blooms again,Clifford o’er his own shall reign.Fill the cup, and sheath the sword,To welcome back our noble lord.”
And now the shepherd lord stood once more in his father’s bannered hall. Silently he gazed around him on the well-known scene, too powerfully affected to give utterance to his feelings; and, as his mother clasped his hand, she felt that it trembled even more than her own.
“Let us pass on, my Henry,” she whispered softly, “we must hold communion alone.”
Henry could not speak, but he pressed her hand assentingly, and they left the hall together, amid the congratulations and good wishes of all therein assembled.
The mother and son were absent for the space of an hour, engaged, no doubt, in prayer and thanksgiving, for when they returned to the hall Henry had recovered his composure, and took the highest seat at the sumptuous banquet with all the dignity of his noble race.
Gladsome was the feast that day at Brougham Castle; joyous were the songs of the minstrel bards as they celebrated, in extempore verse, the exile’s restoration to his long lost home.
You may be sure that amongst the joyful assemblage that crowded the banquetting hall on that auspicious day, old Robin and his wife Maud held a distinguished place; and proud indeed were they to hear themselves addressed by the noble host as father and mother.
It was not long after that another grand feast was held at Brougham Castle in honour of the marriage of its lord, which had been celebrated at Bletso, where the beautiful daughter of Sir John Saint John willingly bestowed her hand on him who, as a simple shepherd, had won a place in her heart.
The only drawback to the happiness of our hero was the consciousness of his neglected education. Unable to read or write, he cared not to mix with the nobles of the court, but preferred living in retirement, and with great simplicity. His grand object was to repair all his castles, which had been much injured daring the wars, and he expended vast sums of money in fitting up some of them with princely magnificence; but his own favourite residence was a quiet retreat called Barden Tower, near Bolton Priory, in Yorkshire. He chose this for his chief abode because it afforded him the opportunity of spending much of his time at the Priory with the monks, who assisted him in the delightful study of astronomy, which he was passionately fond of; but he beautified the place, and kept up a noble establishment there, worthy of his own exulted station, and of the lady he had made his bride.
“Glad were the vales, and every cottage hearth;The shepherd lord was honoured more and more:And ages after he was laid in earth,‘The good Lord Clifford’ was the name he bore.”Wordsworth.
“Glad were the vales, and every cottage hearth;The shepherd lord was honoured more and more:And ages after he was laid in earth,‘The good Lord Clifford’ was the name he bore.”Wordsworth.