Come back with me, dear reader, come back with me both in time and space; for we must return to the morning before, and to the little hill-top--not far from the spot where the road to Tamworth and to Fazely separates--over which, at that time, spread brown turf, green gorse, and a few patches of stunted heath, with here and there a hawthorn, rugged and thorny, like a cankered disposition. There is a man on horseback at the top of the mound; and he looks, first eagerly towards Tamworth, then at the sun, just rising over the distant slopes. Lo, two or three horsemen coming on the road from Tamworth! All stop but one, and turn back. The one comes forward at fiery speed, quits the road, gallops up the hill, and stands fronting the other.
"Good morrow, my Lord Fulmer," said Chartley. "I am here alone. No one knows of my being here. You have brought men with you along the road."
"They have gone back to Tamworth," replied Lord Fulmer, with a look of fierce satisfaction upon his brow. "I take no advantage, Lord Chartley. It is quite satisfaction enough to me to have you here at my sword's point, without my seeking to punish you otherwise. Come, draw, my lord, and take your last look of earth; for either you or I quit not this spot alive."
"On horseback, then?" said Chartley. "So be it;" and he drew his sword.
Lord Fulmer wheeled his horse a little, to gain ground, and then spurred furiously on his adversary, his strong charger coming forward with tremendous force. Chartley's was a lighter horse, but far more agile; and, knowing that it would not stand the shock, he drew the right rein, and struck the beast's flank with the left spur. The horse passaged suddenly to the right; and Lord Fulmer was borne past, aiming a blow at Chartley's head as he went. The other, however, parried it with a cool smile, and then wheeling suddenly upon him, in a manner he had learned in other lands, met him, in the act of turning, and, striking him in the throat with the pommel of his sword, hurled him backwards out of the saddle.
The moment this was done, he sprang to the ground; but Fulmer was already on his feet, and ready to attack his adversary sword in hand.
"A pitiful mountebank's trick," he cried, "unworthy of a knight and gentleman."
"I would fain spare your life, boy," cried Chartley, somewhat angry at his insulting words.
"I will not hold it at your pleasure," returned Fulmer, attacking him furiously, with his dagger in one hand, and his sword in the other. The combat was now somewhat more equal, though Chartley was the stronger man, and the better swordsman; but, to use a common expression, he gave many a chance away, unwilling that men should say he had slain Lord Fulmer, to obtain his contracted bride. For several minutes he stood upon the defensive, watching an opportunity to wound or disarm his foe. But even a calm and patient spirit, which Chartley's was not, will get heated under strife like that. Soon he began to return the blows, and the contest waxed fierce and strong; but, even in his heat. Chartley forgot not his skill; and Fulmer did. A conviction, a dark and fearful conviction, which vanity had hidden from him before, that he was no match for the man to whom he was opposed, began to mingle with his anger. The blows that fell about him like rain, the thrusts that he could hardly parry, confused his mind and dazzled his sight. He was driven round and round, back upon the side of the hill, where the footing was unsteady; and then suddenly he felt his guard beat down; a strong grasp was laid upon his throat, and once more he was hurled prostrate on the turf. His sword was lost, the hand which held his dagger mastered, and, when he looked up, he saw the blade of Chartley'smiséricorderaised high and gleaming above his head. Chartley paused for an instant. The better spirit came to his aid; and, still holding tight the fallen man's left wrist, with his knee upon his chest, he brushed back the curls of hair from his own forehead, with the hand that held the dagger. At that instant he heard a sound behind him, which, in the eagerness of the strife, he had not before noticed, and in an instant his arms were seized.
Shaking off the grasp laid upon him, as he started up, he turned fiercely and indignantly round. Ten or twelve men on foot and horseback were now around him; and, with a withering glance at Lord Fulmer, who by this time had risen on his knee, Chartley exclaimed, "Cowardly traitor, is this your good faith?"
"On my honour, on my soul!" exclaimed Lord Fulmer, rising and passing his hand across his eyes, as if his sight were dim, "I have no share in this. These people are none of mine."
"What would you, sirs?" exclaimed Chartley, as the men advanced towards him again, "Keep back, for I am not to be laid hands on lightly."
"Stay, stay," cried one of the men on horseback, riding forward. "Your name is Lord Chartley, or I much mistake--nay, I know it is; for I have seen you often at the court. Yield to the king's officer. I am commanded to apprehend you, and carry you to the nearest post of the royal troops. We have pursued you hither from St. Clare, and have come just in time, it seems. Do you yield, my lord, or must I use force?"
Resistance was in vain; and, with a heavy heart, Chartley replied, "I yield, of course, to the king's pleasure. What have I done that should cause his grace to treat me thus?"
"He was informed, my lord," replied the officer, "that you were leading your men straight to the army of the rebel Richmond."
"Or rather, you should say, straight towards the forces of the good Lord Stanley. Upon my life 'twill make a goodly tale, to hear that the king imprisons those who go to meet his foes, and honours those who run away before them."
"There are some other matters too against you, sir," replied the officer. "Reports have come from a good man, lately the bailiff of the abbey of St. Clare, tending to show that you have had schemes in hand, contrary to the king's good pleasure. If you were going to Lord Stanley, however, in that matter you can soon exculpate yourself, as into his hands I shall deliver you, his being the nearest force at this moment. Pray mount your horse, my lord. Some one take up his sword and give it me."
During all this time, Lord Fulmer had stood by, with his eyes bent down and his arms folded; but now, as if with a sudden emotion, he started forward to Chartley's side, exclaiming, "Upon my honour and my conscience, I have had nought to do with this."
Chartley sprang into the saddle, and gave him a look of scorn, saying, "My noble lord, it is mighty strange they should know the day, and hour, and place where to fall on me, many against one. Had I not come hither to meet you, they would have found me with good three hundred spears, and might have bethought them once or twice, before they judged it fit to tell me such a tale. Now, sir, which way? I am your humble varlet."
"To the right," said the officer; and the whole party moved on upon the road to Atherston.
Chartley was in no mood for conversation; but with his head bent, and his heart full of bitter disappointment, he rode slowly forward with the soldiers, half inclined, at the turning of every road they passed, to put spurs to his horse, and see whether he could not distance his captors. But, as if judging that such an attempt was likely, wherever an opportunity presented itself, one of the soldiers rode forward to his right hand or his left; and he saw that several of the footmen, who were archers, kept their bows bent and their arrows on the string.
At length there was a sound of horse, coming at a quick pace behind; and a party of some two hundred men, all clad in glittering armour, and bearing a banner at their head, rode by at a rapid trot, going in the same direction as themselves, and only turning their heads to look at the small party as they passed by.
The officer, however, who rode by Chartley's side, instantly shouted loudly, "Lord Stanley, Lord Stanley!" and then spurred on. Chartley saw him speak to a gentleman at the head of the other troop, who seemed to wait and to listen with impatience; for his gestures were quick and sharp, and he soon rode on again. The officer immediately returned, and, ordering the archers to follow as speedily as they might, he said, "Now, my lord, we must gallop forward to Atherston."
He then put his troop at once into a more rapid pace, and rode after the body of horse which had gone on.
"Did Lord Stanley say aught regarding me?" asked Chartley, when they had nearly overtaken the others.
"Ay, my lord, he did," replied the officer, in a gruff tone. "He said your men opposed the passage of his force through Fazely this morning, but that he had driven them out, and let them go, for, friends or enemies, 'twas no matter, they were but a handful."
"'Twas by no orders of mine," answered Chartley. "Had I been there, it would not have happened."
"That you must explain yourself, my lord," answered the officer. "I only do my duty, and that with no good will."
At the pace they went, a very short space of time brought them to Atherston; and at the door of an old-fashioned inn, which then stood there, and in which Chartley had lodged for some weeks, Lord Stanley sprang to the ground, saluted by a number of gentlemen and soldiers, by whom the little town was already occupied. He spoke for a moment or two to one of them, and then entered the inn, saying aloud, "That will do--only set a guard;" and the gentleman whom he addressed immediately advanced to the spot where Chartley still sat upon his horse, saying, "Your lordship must follow me. I am sorry that I must place a guard over you."
"Can I not speak with Lord Stanley?" demanded Chartley.
"Not at present, my good lord," replied the gentleman. "He is full of business. The king marches from Leicester to-morrow; and we must not be tardy."
Chartley made no reply, but followed in bitter silence, passing through the groups of gazing idlers round the inn-door, to a room up one flight of stairs, where some of his own servants used to sleep. There he was left alone, with the door locked and barred upon him. A moment after, he heard the tread of a sentry, and then the voice of some one speaking from a window to a person in the street, and saying, "Hie away to the king, and tell him you have caught him. Beseech his grace to send me orders what I am to do with him, for I have no instructions. Add that I will send in our muster-roll to-night."
Chartley mused over what he heard. The words evidently applied to him; and he asked himself what would be the result of the message. The fate of Gray, Vaughan, Hastings, Rivers, Buckingham, warned him of what was likely to befall him; short shrift and speedy death. All the bright visions had vanished; the gay and sparkling hopes that danced in his bosom on the preceding night were still. If death is terrible, how much more terrible when he comes to put his icy barrier between us and near anticipated joys. Chartley could have died in the field with hardly a regret, but the cold unhonoured death of the headsman's axe, the inglorious unresisting fall, it was full of horrors to him. Yet he nerved his spirit to bear it as became him; and he communed with and schooled his own heart for many a live-long hour. The minutes crept on minutes, the shadow wandered along the wall, a thunderstorm closed the day, and the rain poured down in torrents. Chartley marked not the minutes, saw not the shadow, hardly heard the storm that raged without. He thought of Iola; and he asked his heart, "What will become of her?"
They brought him food; but he hardly tasted it, and wine, but he knew there was no consolation there; and when the sun went down, he crossed his arms upon his chest, and, gazing forth from the window, said to himself, "Perchance it is the last that will ever set for me."
Shortly after, alight was brought him; and he asked if he could get paper and pen and ink; but the man went away, saying he would see, and did not return.
The whole night passed. There was no bed in the room; and though once or twice his eyes closed in sleep for a few minutes, with his arms leaning on the table, yet it was but to wake up again with a start. The next morning, dawned fair, but for some hours no one came near him. At length food was again brought, but the man who carried it either would not or could not answer any questions, and the day rolled on, chequered by sounds and sights in the streets, such as commonly are heard and seen in a small town filled with soldiery.
It was a long and weary day, however; and Chartley's heart fell under the most wearing of all things--unoccupied solitude; but, at length, the sky grew grey, and night and darkness came on.
Nearly an hour then passed in utter silence; and the whole house seemed so quiet that Chartley could hardly imagine that Lord Stanley and his train still remained there. But at the end of that time he heard a quick step, the challenge of the sentry at his door, and then the pass-word, "The Crown." The next instant the door opened, and Lord Stanley himself appeared.
There was but slight acquaintance between him and Chartley; and his brow was thoughtful and anxious, boding no good, the young nobleman thought.
"I grieve, my lord," he said, closing the door behind him, "that it has not been in my power to see you sooner, and grieve still more to be your jailer; but I have no choice, and better perhaps it is that you should fall into my hands than those of an enemy."
"Much better," answered Chartley, courteously; "but imprisonment is hard at any time; and now I have a pass under your own hand sent me by a mutual friend. I beseech you to think of this circumstance, and not to detain me here, to my peril and great loss of time."
Lord Stanley seemed a good deal agitated, by feelings he did not explain; for he walked once or twice up and down the room without reply; and Chartley went on to say, "I have not mentioned this pass, or the letter which accompanied it, to any one, lest by so doing I might injure you much, and a cause I have much at heart."
Stanley approached close to him, and laid his hand upon his arm, replying with great earnestness, but in a very low tone, "My dear lord, I freely tell you, that I would let you escape within half an hour, were the danger only to myself; but the truth is, my son's life is in peril. The king keeps him as a hostage at the court. He is never for a moment out of some one's sight, and if I but trip in the hazardous path I have to tread, I am made childless in an hour. But tell me, my good lord, how happened it that your men refused me a passage through Fazely yesterday?"
"I know not," answered Chartley; "some foolish mistake, I suppose, for I myself was not present;" and he proceeded to relate all that had occurred to him since he left Fazely.
"'Tis most unfortunate," said Stanley; "but still, till the very last moment, I must either obey the orders of the king, whatever they may be, or be the murderer of my own child. If he should bid me put you in still stricter confinement, or send you on at once to him--which were indeed ruin to my hopes for you--yet I must obey. The mere confinement here is no great evil. Your men have by this time joined the earl of Richmond; and though, doubtless, you would wish to lead them yourself, yet, if you lose glory, you will escape some danger and hard blows."
"Ay, my good lord," said Chartley, "but there are other perils too. What if Richard orders you to put me to death?"
"You must have form of trial," said Stanley.
"None was granted to Buckingham, nor to many another I could name," answered the young nobleman.
"Now God forfend," cried his companion; "but yet, my lord, think what a son's life is to a father; and judge in my situation what I could do. Hark!" he added, "there is a horse's feet below. Perchance it is the messenger returned. We shall soon know."
An interval of gloomy silence succeeded, each listening with anxious and attentive ear. They could hear some words spoken, but could not distinguish what they were. Then came a step upon the somewhat distant stairs, and then in the passage. The sentry gave the challenge; and some one, in a rough loud tone, demanded to speak with Lord Stanley, adding, "They say he is up here."
Stanley instantly rose and went out, and Chartley could hear him demand, though in a low voice, "Well, what says the king?"
"As to the musters, my lord, he says that noon to-morrow will be time enough," replied the same rough tone; "and as to the prisoner, he says, 'Strike off his head before breakfast; there are proofs of treason against him.'"
Stanley muttered something to himself which Chartley did not hear, and then came a pause; but at length the steps were heard receding, and Lord Stanley did not again appear.
"It is determined," said Chartley to himself. "Well, death can come but once. What matters it, the axe, or the spear point? but yet, poor Iola! This room is very hot, I shall be stifled here, and disappoint them;" and, walking to the window, he threw it open and looked out.
The room was a considerable height above the street, and to leap or drop from it might have risked the breaking of a leg or of a neck. Nevertheless, Chartley perhaps might have tried it, but there was a still more serious impediment. Two sentinels were stationed at the door, and walked up and down before the house, passing and repassing beneath his window. There were numerous groups, too, talking together in the narrow road, notwithstanding the darkness of the night, which, though fair and starlit, was quite moonless. A lantern passed along from time to time, and Chartley easily conceived that there would not be much repose in Atherston till dawn. The hope of escape faded.
In a few minutes the sound of horses' feet was heard at some distance. They came nearer and nearer, and Chartley could just see the figures of three mounted men ride up to the house, and there draw in the rein.
The foremost, without dismounting, asked the sentry, "Is the Lord Stanley quartered here?"
"Yes," replied the man; "but he is gone to repose, I think."
"Tell him I am a messenger from his brother, bringing news of importance, which must be delivered to himself alone," said the other.
As he spoke he began to dismount slowly; and while one of the two men who accompanied him took the bridle, the third sprang with great alacrity to hold the stirrup, showing, as Chartley thought, reverence somewhat extraordinary for a mere messenger. The soldier at the door called out somebody from within, who seemed to be a domestic servant of Lord Stanley's; and the moment the man beheld the messenger's face, he said, "Oh, come in, sir, come in. My lord will see you instantly." The stranger followed him into the house, while his two companions walked his horse up and down the road.
About half an hour elapsed ere the messenger came out again; and then, springing on his horse at once, he rode away at a quick pace.
A few minutes after this, Chartley's dark reveries were interrupted by two men bringing in a truckle bed, for there had been none in the room before. One of them was a servant of the inn, whom the young lord knew well by sight, and had been kind to. The man, however, took not the least notice of him, any more than if he had been a stranger; and, saying to himself, "Fortune changes favour," the young nobleman turned to the window again.
A minute or two sufficed to set up the bed in its place; and then the servant of the inn said to the other man, "Go fetch the blankets and the pillow; they are at the end of the passage, I think."
The moment he was gone and the door closed, the man started forward and kissed Lord Chartley's hand.
"Comfort, comfort, my lord," he said. "The headsman may sharpen his axe, but it is not for you. Look under the pillow when I am gone; keep your window open, and watch. But do not be rash nor in haste. Wait till you have a signal;" and then, starting back to his place, he began to stretch the cross bars of the bed out a little farther.
A minute or two after, the other man returned loaded with bedding, which was soon disposed in order; but just as they were retiring again, the servant of the inn seemed to see something amiss about the pillow, and returned for an instant to put it straight, after which the two left the room together. The key was turned, the bolt was shot, and Chartley, putting his hand under the pillow, drew forth a billet, folded and sealed. It bore no address, and contained but few words. They were as follows:
"The sentinels at the gate will be removed at midnight. Blankets and sheets have made ropes before now; and a grey horse, whose speed you know, stands half a mile down the road. Turn to the right after your descent. Before you go, in justice to others, burn the pass and the letter which came with it; and, if you understand these directions, extinguish your light at eleven."
"Who could the letter come from?" Chartley asked himself. "It was neither the handwriting nor the composition of an inn chamberlain, that was clear," and, taking out the pass, he compared the writing of the two. There was a very great similarity.
Chartley's heart beat high again, but, as he gazed upon the two papers, the clock struck ten. "Two long hours!" he thought, "two long hours!" How wearisome seemed the passing of the time. But it did pass; and when he calculated that eleven o'clock was drawing near, he approached the pass to the flame of the lamp. It caught and burned; but ere the whole was consumed, there came across the prisoner's mind a doubt--a suspicion. It was the only hold he had upon Lord Stanley; a paper which proved that nobleman had connived at his march to join the earl of Richmond; a paper which he dared not order to be taken from him by force lest it should discover its own secret. The next instant, however, nobler thoughts succeeded. "Away, injurious suspicions!" he said, and, casting the paper down upon the floor, he suffered it to consume, and then trampled out the sparks with his foot. The letter from Richmond, which had accompanied it, shared the same fate; and then he waited and watched for the stroke of eleven. It was longer than he had thought it would be; and at length he began to fancy that the clock had stopped.
Presently after there was a stroke of the hammer on the bell; another, and another, and another. The tale was complete, and he blew out the light. Then, placing himself at the window, he watched. The road was now nearly deserted. In a house opposite there was a candle burning, but it was extinguished in a few minutes. A small body of soldiers passed along with measured tramp. Next came a drunken man, brawling and shouting till his voice was lost in the distance. A deep silent pause succeeded. Chartley could have counted the beatings of his own heart. Then a man passed by, singing a low plaintive air in a sweet voice, and his footfalls sounded as if he were somewhat lame. After that there was another longer pause, and all was still again. Then came a little noise in a distant part of the inn, which soon subsided, and silence reigned supreme. It lasted long; and Chartley, thinking the hour must be near, tied the clothing of the bed together, and fastened the end to a hook and bar fixed into the wall for the purpose of suspending a sconce. It was but a frail support for the weight of a strong man; but he thought, "It will break the fall at least." When that was done, he sat down in the window seat again, and watched. Oh, the slow minutes, how they dragged along. At length the clock struck twelve, and still the sentinels paced up and down. Three minutes had perhaps elapsed, though to him they seemed many; and then the great door of the inn opened, and a voice said, "Guard dismissed! quarters, twenty-two. Roll call at dawn!"
There was a clatter of arms, and then side by side the soldiers marched up the town. He waited till their tramp could no more be heard, then put his head to the door of the room, and listened. Some one was breathing heavily without, as if in sleep. Approaching the window softly, he drew forward the end of the sort of rope he had formed, cast it over, and mounted on the window seat. Then, holding fast with both hands, he contrived to grasp one of the knots with his feet, and slid part of the way down. He loosened one hand, then the other, and then freed his feet. Still the hook and bar held firm, and a moment after his feet touched the ground.
There was a light burning in a room below, but no one stirred; and, passing quietly all along the front of the house, he soon accelerated his pace, and, almost at a run, reached the verge of the little town.
The moon peeped up above the edge of the slope, and Chartley looked eagerly forward. There seemed some dark object under a group of trees about three hundred yards in advance. He thought it looked like a horse, but as he came nearer he saw two, and paused for an instant; but the moment after came a low sweet whistle, like the note of a bird, and he went on.
Beneath the shade of the trees he found his own horse and another standing, and a man holding the bridles of both. With a wild feeling of liberty Chartley, without putting foot in stirrup, vaulted on the noble beast's back; and it gave a neigh of joy, as if it felt that its lord was free again.
Then, drawing forth his purse, the young nobleman would have rewarded the man who held the charger; but, in a voice Chartley seemed to know, he said, "Wait, my lord, wait, I go with you to guide you. You go to Tamworth, is it not?"
"To Lichfield, to Lichfield," said Chartley; and he spurred on upon the road which he knew right well. They rode on, the man following some way behind, till Atherston was left afar, and the chance of pursuit became less and less. At the distance of about four miles from the little town, Chartley was overtaken by his follower, who had put his horse into a gallop, to catch the fleeter beast which the young nobleman was riding.
"To the left, my lord," he said, "to the left, if you must needs to Lichfield, though the earl's army is at Tamworth. The small bridle paths save us a mile and a half, and will not be bad now."
"Who are you?" asked Chartley, turning his horse into a narrow lane, to which the man pointed. "I know your voice, surely."
"Poor Sam the piper," answered the man, "though now rich, and no longer the piper. Now you marvel how I should have been pitched upon to guide you; but that is soon explained. I was sent over by one you know well, to bear some news to the Lord Stanley, and there I heard what was likely to befall you. I would have found means to get you out, if Heaven had not put it in the good lord's mind to be kindly himself; but as I was recommended to him as a man of discretion, who could be trusted, and as I caught a glance of the good earl of Richmond going in, and told the Lord Stanley so, he might think that it would be well to employ me in what would put me out of the way."
"The good earl of Richmond!" exclaimed Chartley; "has he been with the Lord Stanley?"
"Ay, this very night," replied the other, "with nought but two grooms in company, which shows that he knows his game is very sure."
Chartley mused as he sped onward; for though few doubted, except the one who might have been expected to doubt most, that secret intelligence existed between Richmond and his step-father, yet the young nobleman had not imagined so bold a step as a personal conference would be ventured by either.
It was still dark when he arrived at Lichfield; and Chartley spent more than half an hour in awakening the sleepy ostlers from their beds, and obtaining some accommodation at the principal inn, for there were, at that time, two in the good town. No information could he procure either regarding Iola or his men; for there had been so many persons passing to and fro within the last eight-and-forty hours, that no description served to distinguish one from another. There was no lady lodging in the inn, however, one of the ostler's assured him, except "the fat canoness of Salisbury;" and as to the troops, they had all marched out of the town, and gone to Tamworth. Forced to be satisfied with this small intelligence, Chantey gave orders that his good guide should be well taken care of, and that he himself should be awakened at sunrise; and he then cast himself down upon a bed. For the greater part of two nights and two days he had not closed an eye; and, notwithstanding much love and some anxiety, drowsiness overpowered him in a moment; the many busy thoughts which were whirling through his brain grew confused and indistinct, and he slept.
From a deep, dead, heavy slumber, he woke with a start, and gazed around. The room was full of light. Sounds of busy life made themselves heard on all sides. There was a girl crying water-cresses in the street, and people laughing and talking in the full-day bustle of the world, while a creaking wood-cart wended slowly along, singing its complaining song. It was evident that he had been forgotten; and, going to the door, he called loudly for the chamberlain.
The man declared that he knew not any one was sleeping in that room, but informed him it was well nigh ten o'clock, which was confirmed the moment after by the church clock striking. No other information could he afford, but that no lady was in the house, except the fat canoness; and Chartley instantly set out to inquire at the other inn. There he was likewise disappointed; and to every place where he was likely to gain intelligence he went in vain. We all know how much time may be occupied in such searches; and at that period Lichfield was full of monasteries and convents, at each of which Chartley applied. At only one of them did he gain any indication of the course of the fair fugitive. It was a small community of hospitable nuns, where the withered portress informed him that three ladies had slept there the night before, and she did think that one of them had come up to the gates with an odd-looking brown man.
"We do not lodge men," she said, "and so he went somewhere else; but the lady we took in; and she, and the servant, for so he seemed, went away at ten this morning."
Chartley demanded eagerly whither they had gone; and the old sister replied, "To Coventry, I believe. All the three ladies went to Coventry, to get out of the way of the war; for they said there would be a battle to-day. Have you heard of such a thing, young gentlemen?"
Chartley replied he had not; but the good woman's words threw his mind upon another train of thought, and he hurried back to the inn.
He leaned his head upon his hand, and meditated. "A battle, and I not present? That must never be. Yet Richmond was at Tamworth last night, and Stanley at Atherston. It can hardly have been fought. Yet it may be ere nightfall. It is now near four; and many a field has been fought and won, in the hours of daylight that are left." Thus he thought, and then, starting up, he called aloud, "Drawer Drawer! Bring me some wine and bread. Bid them prepare my horse instantly, and call the man who came with me hither."
The wine and bread were brought, and Sam was soon in the young lord's presence.
"Here, my good friend," said Chartley, giving him some gold. "You have served me well, on this and other occasions, as I learn. I will reward you further if I live. Now I must away to Tamworth; for I hear there will be a battle soon, if it be not already fought; and I would not, for one half a world, be absent."
"Nor I either, my good lord," replied Sam. "I have always prayed to see another battle, ere I died; and now I've a good chance, which I will not lose. So, with your leave, I'll ride with you."
"Be it as you like," replied Chartley. "But keep me not; for I depart as soon as I have quitted my score."
One cannot always get out of an inn, however, as soon as one likes; and in those days all things moved more slowly than they do now. There is nothing in which the advance of society is seen so much as in facilities; and there were few of them in Europe at that period. Men were often a month going the distance they would now travel in two days; and at every step of the road some drag or another was put upon the wheels of progress. The score was five minutes in reckoning, although the items were but few. The horse was not ready when this was done, and more time elapsed. Both the ostlers had gone out to see a procession of grey friars; and the bit and bridle were not to be found. In all, half an hour was consumed; and then Chartley set off, and rode to Tamworth with speed.
When he entered the little town, all seemed solitary. The setting sun shone quietly through the deserted street. Not a cart, not a waggon was to be seen; and a dog that came out of one of the houses, and barked at the heels of the horses, was all the indication of life within the place.
"They have marched out, sir," said Sam, who followed him close behind; "and all the good folks have gone after them to see the sport."
"Then there has been no battle yet," answered Chartley; "but we must find out which way they have gone. There is a man talking with some women down that road. Ride down and gather news, while I go on to the inn, the Green Dragon, there, and order some provender for the horses."
Before Sam returned, Chartley learned that Richmond, with his small army, had marched towards Market Bosworth. "He won't get there without a fight," said the elderly host, who had come out at his call, "for King Richard is at the Abbey of Merrival. God help the right!"
"Did you chance, mine host," demanded Chartley, without dismounting, "to see with the earl's army the bands of the Lord Chartley?"
"To be sure, to be sure," answered the host. "They are joined with Sir John Savage's men. They marched in the rearguard."
Chartley asked their colours and ensigns; and the old man answered readily, showing that in reality he knew nothing about them, and, after feeding his horses, Chartley rode on towards Bosworth.
As the young nobleman advanced, he met numerous groups of Tamworth people returning to the town at nightfall; and from them he obtained information sufficient for his guidance. The two armies, he found, were in presence, and a battle on the following day was certain. Richard's head-quarters were at the Abbey of Merrival; but Richmond had pitched his tent in the field. The number of the king's army was greatly exaggerated, and many of the men shrugged their shoulders, as they spoke of Richmond's force, evidently judging that his cause was hopeless.
"He had better have waited a day or two," said an elderly man, riding on a cart, which had apparently conveyed some of the baggage of the army; "for people were flocking to him very fast; but, fighting now, he will be overwhelmed; and, if I were you, young gentleman, I would keep myself from others' ill-luck."
"I should deserve bad luck myself if I did," replied Chartley, and rode on.
Night now fell heavily; but soon after a noise began to be heard. First came a murmur, like that of the distant sea; and then, as the young nobleman spurred forward, louder sounds separated themselves from the indistinct buzz. Voices shouting, ringing laughter, and the clang of arms were heard. Twice, too, there was the blast of a trumpet, but that was more distant; and Chartley found that he must be approaching the rear of Richmond's host.
Small as was the force with which the earl had landed in England, and small as it was still, when he encamped on Bosworth field, it had not failed to attract, as it marched on, a number of the idle, the dissolute, and the greedy, in even a greater proportion than is usually the case. The camp was kept clear by sentinels; but, for full half a mile before he could see a tent, Chartley passed through innumerable groups of men and women, and even children, from Tamworth and Lichfield, and as far as Shrewsbury. He had no difficulty in passing the sentinels, however, though he had not the word; for, to say truth, they kept no very strict watch, and his appearance was passport sufficient.
When he had entered the little camp he inquired for his own men in vain for nearly an hour. It was too dark to see the colours, or the ensigns of the different leaders, though most of them had a banner or a pennon pitched before his tent; and along the whole of the left wing of the army he passed without gaining any intelligence. At length some one told him that a body of horse, which had joined the earl at Tamworth, was encamped on the extreme right, near a morass. "There where you see those fires," said the man; "for they brought no tents with them, and have cut down the apple trees in a goodman's orchard to keep themselves warm."
Chartley turned his horse thither, and rode on quickly; but at the first fire he came to, he found no faces round it which he knew; and the men took little notice of him. As he drew near the second, however, a man who was sitting by it turned his head, and then, starting on his feet, waved his steel cap in the air, crying out aloud, "Here is my lord!"
Instantly the whole body sprang up, with a shout of gratulation; and in a minute after the master of the young lord's household, and several of the leaders of his bands, had gathered round his horse.
Chartley's first inquiries were with regard to Iola; but the account of the master of his household satisfied him that she had taken her way to Lichfield, accompanied by Ibn Ayoub alone. He thought it strange, indeed, that she should have gone on to Coventry; but he doubted not that something had occurred which he knew not of, to make her decide upon such a course. The old man went on to explain that, following the directions contained in the letter which his lord had left with him, the soldiers, on being expelled from Fazely by the troops of Lord Stanley, had immediately gone to join the forces of the earl of Richmond.
"We were in sad alarm about you, my lord," he continued; "but, thank God, here you are safe. Would it were so with good Sir William Arden too."
"Ha, have you news of him?" demanded Chartley.
"Ay, my lord, sad news," replied the old man. "Two men, who came over to join us from the enemy, about an hour ago, tell me that he was caught upon the road, stealing a nun from a convent; that he and his men turned and fought like tigers, while she and a woman who was with her made their escape. I said it was nonsense, for Sir William was always a very sober and discreet gentleman, rather rough with his tongue, but a good man at heart. One of the men, however, swears it is true, declares that he kept guard over him himself, in the king's camp out there, and that his head is to be struck off to-morrow morning, between the two armies."
"Are the men here?" demanded Chartley.
"Yes, my noble lord," replied the other.
"Then bring them to me," said Chartley; and, dismounting from his horse, he seated himself by the fire.
Shakspeare made a mistake. The morning was bright and clear, and the sun shone strong and powerfully, drawing up a light mist from a marsh which lay between a part of the earl of Richmond's forces, and the much larger army of the king. At an early hour in the morning, all was bustle and preparation; and, notwithstanding a great inferiority in point of numbers, a calm and steady cheerfulness reigned in Richmond's army, which was not the case in the royal host. There each man looked upon his neighbour with doubt; and rumours were current of emissaries, from the enemy's camp, having been seen busily passing from tent to tent, amongst the king's troops, which was evinced by the doggerel lines fixed on the duke of Norfolk's pavilion, as well as by several other circumstances which made a noise for a moment or two, but were soon forgotten. The impression, however, existed and gained strength, that much dissatisfaction reigned amongst the leaders; and when the forces of Lord Stanley appeared on the one wing, and those of his brother on the other, without advancing nearer than half a mile, fresh doubts and suspicions arose.
The man[oe]uvres on both parts, before the action began, were few and simple. A tardy sort of lethargy seemed to have fallen upon Richard; and though he rode forth with a crown upon his helmet, as if desirous of courting personal danger, he moved his men but little, till the day was considerably advanced.
Richmond rode over the whole field in person accompanied by the earl of Oxford, Sir William Brandon, Sir Gilbert Talbot, and Sir John Savage, and caused the marsh to be examined and its depth tried with a lance. He then commanded a considerable movement to the left, with a slight advance of the right wing, so as to allow the extreme of the line to rest upon the edge of the morass, with the position which he thus took up fronting the north west. He was observed to smile when he saw the position assumed by Lord Stanley, in front of the morass and to his own right, commanding the whole of the open field, between the two armies; and, immediately after, the earl of Oxford pointed out to him another considerable body of troops, advanced to a spot exactly facing those of Stanley; so that the ground enclosed between the four lines appeared very like a tilt yard on a large scale.
Richmond nodded his head, merely saying, "They are Sir William's men." Then, turning round, he demanded, "Which are Lord Chartley's troops?"
"Here, my lord," said a man from the ranks.
"I fear poor Chartley is not here to head them," said the earl of Oxford, in a low tone, running his eye along the line.
"He was here last night," said Richmond, "and sent me a strange note, saying he would be with me betimes this morning; but he has not come."
"My lord, the enemy is moving in two lines," said a horseman, riding up; and, cantering back to the centre of his force, the rest of Richmond's arrangements were soon made. His disposition in some respects resembled that of his adversary. In two lines also his men were ranged, having somewhat the advantage of the ground, but the great advantage of the sun behind them, while the fierce rays shone strong in the face of Richard's soldiers.
The earl of Oxford commanded the first division, Richmond himself the second, Talbot one wing, and Sir John Savage the other; and all the leaders knew that death awaited them if they were taken.
In what are called pitched battles, not brought on by skirmishing or any accidental circumstance, but where parties meet with the full determination of casting all upon the stake, there is generally a short pause before the strife begins. For, perhaps, a minute, or a minute and a half, after the troops were within less than a bow shot distance of each other, and each could see the long line of faces under the steel caps of the archers in the opposite ranks, there was a dead silence; the trumpets ceased to sound; each bowman stood with his arm and foot extended; the fiery cavalry reined in their horses; and one might have heard a drop of rain, had it fallen upon the dry grass. Then a baton was thrown up into the air on Richard's side; and every man of the centre front line drew his bow string to his ear and sent an arrow into the ranks of the enemy. Nor was this flight of missiles without reply; for closer and faster still, though not so numerous, fell the shafts from Richmond's little host amongst the adverse troops. Their aim was truer too; for the eyes of his men were not dazzled by the bright beams which poured into the faces of the enemy; and many of the foe were seen to fall, while a good deal of confusion spread along the line. Mounted on a tall horse, on the summit of a little mound, towards the centre of the second line, Richmond could see over the whole field; and, marking the disarray of the centre of Richard's army, he said aloud, "Now, had we men enough for a charge on that point, we might win the day at once."
"You and yours were lost, did you attempt it," said a deep voice near; and, looking round, the earl saw a tall figure, mounted on a strong black horse, with armour not the best polished in the world, though of fine quality and workmanship, and bearing in his hand a sharp stout lance, which, in addition to the long tapering point, carried the blade of an axe, like that of a woodman, forming altogether a weapon somewhat resembling an ordinary halbert. His horse was totally without armour; even the saddle was of common leather but the stranger bore the spurs of knighthood; and over his neck hung a gold collar, and a star.
"Why say you so, sir knight?" demanded Richmond.
"Look to the right," replied the stranger; and, turning his eyes in that direction, the earl beheld a horseman galloping at full speed towards the centre of Richard's line, where the king evidently was in person, while the large body of horse, commanded by the duke of Norfolk, was seen gliding down between the marsh and the troops of Lord Stanley. It was a moment of intense anxiety; but at the same instant Chartley's squadrons of horse were seen to fall back a little, in good order, so as to face the road leading round the morass; and Stanley's whole force wheeled suddenly on its right, so as to join the earl's line, and nearly hem in the duke of Norfolk, between it and the marsh.
Richard's cavalry instantly halted and retreated in perfect array, just in time to save themselves from destruction. They did not escape without a charge however; and at the same time, the two front lines of the armies advancing upon each other, the battle raged hand to hand all along the field.
It was just at this moment, that coming up from the rear, a little to the left of the spot where the earl of Richmond stood, rode forward a young knight in splendid armour, mounted on a beautiful grey horse. By his side was a man no longer young, though still in the prime of life, totally unarmed, even without sword or dagger; and behind came ten spears wearing the colours of Lord Chartley. The young nobleman paused for an instant, gazing over the field, and the strange confused sight presented by a battle, at a period when cannon were little used and no clouds of smoke obscured the view, extending over a line of more than half a mile. Here squadrons of horse were seen charging the enemy's line; there two cavaliers seemed to have sought each other out in single combat; in one place a company of foot was pushing on with the levelled pike; in another, the archers with their short swords were striving hand to hand; the banners and pennons waved in the wind, fluttered, and rose and fell; and long and repeated blasts of the trumpet sounded to the charge, and animated the soldiers to the fight.
It was a wild, a sad, a savage, but an exciting scene; and Chartley's face, as he gazed with his visor up, looked like that of an eager young horse, furious to start upon a course.
"There is the earl, Chartley," said Sir William Arden. "That is his standard. The taller one in front must be the man."
Chartley instantly turned his horse, and rode up to Richmond's side.
"I am late upon the field, my lord," he said, "but I will make up for lost time. I went to save my noble friend, Sir William Arden here, from the headsman's axe. I beseech you keep him with you; for you will find his counsel good, and he is unarmed. Whither shall I go?"
"Lord Chartley, I presume," said Richmond; "a gallant soldier never comes too late to be of glorious use. There, straight forward on your path is your noble friend, the earl of Oxford. I beseech you give him help. He is sore pressed and terribly outnumbered."
"Follow!" cried Chartley, turning to his men and raising his arm; and down he dashed into the thickest of the fight.
Small though the aid was, the effect was soon apparent. Some ground which had been lost was regained in a instant; the first line of Richard's troops was pressed back in the centre. The banner of Lord Oxford made way in advance; but just then Sir William Brandon exclaimed, "Richard is coming down with all his power, my lord."
"Then must we not be behind," replied Richmond. "Advance the banner, Brandon! Good men and true, keep your men back yet a while, till you receive command. Then down upon the boar, and pin him to the earth; for I will leave my bones upon the field or win this day." Thus saying, he rode on towards a spot which had been left vacant in the struggle which was going on; and those who were above could see that a group of some twenty or thirty persons from the enemy's side moved down as if to meet him. The greater part, however, paused where the two lines were still striving man to man, some engaging in the combat, some gazing idly forward.
One, man, however, with two or three pages running by his side, burst from the rest like the lightning from a cloud. He was covered with gorgeous armour; his mighty horse was sheathed in steel; and circling round his helmet, beneath the waving plume, appeared the royal crown of England. Straight towards Richmond he dashed, trampling down a foot soldier in his way, and rising the gentle slope, with his lance in the rest, without the slightest relaxation of his horse's speed.
"Mine, mine!" cried Sir William Brandon. "Mine to win a coronet!" and, giving the standard to another, he couched his lance and bore down to meet the king. But that unerring hand failed not. The eye was but too keen. Straight in the throat, the point of Richard's spear struck the standard-bearer, and hurled him dead upon the plain, while the knight's own lance shivered on the king's corslet. Brandon's horse also rolled upon the ground, but Richard leaped his charger over it with a shout, and spurred on.
Without asking leave, Sir John Cheney darted forth to meet him. His fate, however, was but little better; for, though not slain, he was hurled wounded from the saddle in an instant. But at that moment Richard was met by a new adversary; for, as he was rapidly approaching the spot where Richmond stood, the tall knight, whom I have mentioned, sprang from his unarmed horse and threw himself on foot in the king's way. Richard checked up his horse for an instant at the unexpected sight, and dropped the point of his lance, to strike this new adversary in the face; but ere he could accomplish it, with a tremendous sweep of both his arms, the knight struck him on the side of the helmet. The lacings gave way. The casque and crown fell off; and a deep stream of gore flowed down the pale face, which was seen, as he hung for a moment in the stirrups. The horse rushed on, but the king soon dropped upon the field; and three or four footmen, springing on him, dispatched him with their daggers.
The tall knight leaned for an instant on the staff of his weapon, and looked up and down the field; and then, as if he had gathered all in that brief glance, he exclaimed, in a loud and vehement voice. "Now, earl of Richmond, gaze not on the dead, but on to support the living! Sir William Stanley is charging the enemy in the flank. On with your whole force, and the day is yours. If not, it may be lost still. Give me my horse, boy."
The order was instantly given; the whole force of Richmond moved down the hill; and though the struggle was protracted for some twenty minutes longer, it was no longer doubtful. All was confusion indeed, in the ranks of Richard; but Norfolk and many other noble gentlemen struggled to the last, and died without yielding an inch of ground. Northumberland took no part in the fight; and others fled soon, while others again remained to be made prisoners; but steadily the earl of Richmond's line advanced, till the whole of Richard's host either lay on Bosworth field, or were in full flight across the country.
At the end of two hours from the commencement of the battle the trumpet sounded the recall, and Richmond's tent was set up, on the spot where Richard had commanded at the beginning of the day. The curtains were drawn up, and knights and noblemen crowded round, while the field was searched, to ascertain the numbers and the quality of the slain. Litters, formed hastily of lances laid across, were seen moving about the plain, bearing the wounded from the field of carnage; and many a group might be observed, in distant parts of the prospect, engaged probably in less pious offices.
Richmond, now on foot, and with his casque laid aside, stood for several minutes gazing silently on the scene before him; and, oh, who shall tell what passed through his mind at that moment? How often has the flood of success a petrifying effect upon the heart! and, doubtless, it was so with him; but he had then just stepped into those Lethe waters, which so often drown in dull oblivion all the nobler and more generous feelings of the soul.
Nobody ventured to break upon his silence; for it was evident to all that strong emotions were busy at his heart, till, at length, a voice without, said--
"Lord Stanley!" and many others took it up, repeating, "Stanley, Stanley!"
Richmond took a step forward; but ere he reached the verge of the tent Stanley himself appeared. He bore in his hands the royal croft, which Richard had carried on his helmet, and, without a word, he advanced straight to Richmond, and placed it on his brows. Then, bending the knee, he said, aloud--
"Hail, king of England! Long live our sovereign lord, King Henry the Seventh!"
Richmond embraced him warmly, while a shout rent the air, and some words passed between the two which no ear heard. Then advancing, with the crown upon his head, Henry graciously thanked those around him for their aid and service, adding a few words upon the glorious event of the day.
"There is one, however," he continued "whom I see not here, and to whom double thanks are due. I cannot name him, for I know him not; but his hand defended my life when two gallant gentlemen had fallen before my enemy, and his hand slew the usurper of the crown I now bear. He wore round his neck the collar and star of some foreign order, and--"
"He is fearfully wounded, sire," said Lord Chartley, who had just come up. "That litter, which you see yonder, is bearing him, at his own request, to the abbey of St. Clare. He earnestly besought me to entreat your grace, if your time would permit, to pass thither for a brief space, on your march. He is a man of high and noble birth, allied to a royal house; but I must say no more. The rest he will tell you, if he live till you arrive."
"Noble Lord Chartley, to you too I owe great thanks," said Henry; "and they shall be paid in coin that you will like full well. But this noble gentleman has taken strong possession of my mind. How did he fall?--I saw him late in the battle, safe and foremost."
"True, sire," replied Chartley; "he was before Sir George Talbot and myself, as we followed the last troops of the enemy which kept together, to disperse them. Then, however, just on the brow of the hill, the young Lord Fulmer turned with his band, and bore my noble friend down with his lance while he was contending with two men in front."
"But you avenged him, Chartley," said Sir George Talbot; "for you carried the young serpent back on your lance's point, like an eel on an eel-spear. He will never take odds against a gallant knight more."
"I know not that," said Chartley; "for I saw him remounted and led away between two servants. But, if your grace will visit the noble gentleman of whom you spoke, I will forward at once and bear the tidings after him."
"I will not fail," replied Henry; "'tis but a mile or two about, I believe; and, as soon as we have taken some order here, I ride thither ere I go to Leicester."
Chartley thanked him and retired; and the king, calling a page, whispered to him some brief words, adding aloud, "To Tamworth then, with all speed. Say, there must be no delay--no, not a moment."