Though Harleston and I were both anxious to go at once unto the Sanctuary, and see the girls, yet my friend, who thought it might arouse suspicion were we to be seen there by the Cardinal and the Bishop, persuaded me to wait until the following day. "For," said he, "I do believe that fellow Catesby already suspects us of being in some way connected with the Queen's flight. Methinks 'twas in reference to that he whispered to Hastings, and which caused Lord William to look on us so unpleasantly."
"I believe that thou art right," I replied.
We were sitting in my room when this conversation took place. Just then a knock came at the door. I feared that we might have been overheard, so I thought the best plan should be to open, without any show of mystery. I therefore called out, without changing my position:—"Come in!" I scarcely know what I expected to see when the door should open; yet methinks I had not been surprised had it been either Lord Hastings himself, or a body of yeomen sent to arrest me. Remember, my dears, after the example I had seen as we were entering Stony Stratford my mind was in a fit state to expect something of this kind. It was with a sigh of relief, therefore, that I did recognize mine Irish messenger, which had so well fulfilled his mission. The enormous fellow completely filled the door, as he stood upon the threshold, cap in hand, awaiting a further command ere he did enter.
"Ah! Michael, it is thou."
"Divil anither," he replied, without moving a muscle.
I smiled at his serious humour, and asked him to enter and close the door; for I knew from his manner that he had something to communicate. "And now, Michael, I must thank thee for the speedy way in which thou didst fulfil thy mission."
"Uh! yer honour, it's no thanks Oi desarve fer doin' moy dooty," and he shifted from one foot to the other and struck his boot with his cap, as though my thanks but made him to feel uneasy. With all his giant strength he was at heart but a great boy.
"But what is now thy business with me? If there be aught that I can do for thee thou hast but to ask and it is done, Michael."
"No, yer honour, it is not that," he replied. "Oi came but to till thee, sor, that thoine armour—which was rusted some—hath bin clained and is now ridy fer wear," said he, quickly, as he eyed Harleston closely.
"What in the devil's name art thou talking about? Why, I have no armour that is rusted."
"No, not now, sor," said he, with that same serene face. When he had finished this, however, and saw Harleston's head thrown back, as my friend stared at the ceiling, in an effort to refrain from laughing, Michael raised his eyebrows, and jerked his head in Frederick's direction.
"Ah! so that is the difficulty," said I, laughing. "'Tis my friend thou fearest. Ah, Michael, I am proud of thy discretion," I continued, as I walked over to where he stood, and slapped him on that shoulder which stood out like a block of iron draped with cloth. And indeed one might as well have struck a piece of steel as that shoulder with its shirt of mail beneath the rough coarse jacket. "However, thou needst not fear to speak out boldly before Sir Frederick, as I have no secret that is unknown to him."
"In that case, sor, Oi must pray thoy pardon," said he, speaking to Harleston; "but in these toimes, whin great min, as will as the common folk, turn out to be divils it be moighty hard to pick out the honest soul."
"Indeed thou art right, Michael, and it shall be well for thee to continue to trust but those that thou knowest full well to be true and honest men," said my friend, which admired this frank admission of suspicion. "Thou art an honest fellow, and I like thee well; but be careful of this," he continued,—"be sure that thou dost practise thine honesty with great caution. Honesty, now-a-days, seems to be the shortest road to the block; unless thou art cautious enough to be honestly dishonest."
"Oi understand not thoy wourds," said Michael, as he scratched his head, with a puzzled look; but for a moment only. "Uh!" said he, "Oi think that Oi have a hould on what yer honour manes, and Oi'll profit by yer advice, sor."
"But come," said I, "What is it that thou wishest to tell me? For well do I know that story about mine armour to be but a disguise."
"In faith it was, sor, and Oi now craves yer pardon fer the tillin' of a loie to yer honour."
"It had been granted ere thou didst ask. Come, to thy news."
"Will, sor, it was jist after Oi had delivered thoy missage, and was walkin' along the hall on moy way to look after moy horse, which was sore toired, that Oi mit his honour, Sor William Catesby. As Oi took off moy cap to him, he stops me, and sez he:—'Whare didst thou come from?'
"'From Oireland, yer honour,' sez Oi. This Oi said that Oi moight have toime to git a good loie through moy thick skull.
"'Thou needst not have tould me that,' sez he, and he began to laugh, though fer the loife o' me Oi know not yit what so playzed him."
I glanced at Harleston. His head was thrown back in his chair, as was his habit whilst sitting and listening to anything that interested him. I could see by his amused smile that he was not surprised at Catesby's laughter. No more was I.
"What said you then?" asked I, as I saw Michael looking at me in surprise. No doubt he was wondering what I saw to so amuse me.
"Uh! thin Oi said:—'But yer honour axed me, so Oi had to till thee.'
"'Oi mint not whare wast thou born, but whare hast thou come from jist now?' sez he.
"'Uh! yer honour manes whare am Oi jist after lavin', this minit?' sez Oi.
"Thin he nodded, and still kipt on a smoilin'.
"'Bad luck to me fer a stoopid clown,' sez Oi. 'Oi moight have known what yer honour mint, without kapin' ye standin, explainin' the houle o' this toime.'
"Now all this whoile, sor, Oi was warein' out what little brains the good Lord gave me (and Oi think he moight have bin moure liberal or ilse kape me out o' the way o' sich confusin' quistions) to troy and foind a somethin' raisonable excuse fer bein' thare. At last Oi saw that Oi had gained all the toime that moight be, without makin' him angry, so Oi said the first thing that came to moy tongue.
"'Uh! sor,' sez Oi, 'some wan's stray dawg came in at the oupen door, so Oi came after to troy and put the baste out.'
"'Thou lookest strangely besmeared with mud. Didst thou git that with chasin' of the dawg?' sez he, and he oyed me loike the divil.
"'Uh! sure, yer honour, Oi was jist a gittin off o' moy horse whin Oi saw the baste inter,' sez Oi.
"'And whare moight you have bin on thoy horse?' sez he.
"'Whoy, upon his back, sor,' sez Oi.
"'Nay, nay,' sez he, 'Oi mane from whare didst thou roide to-day, fer from thoy looks thou hast bin beyond the city gates?'
"'Yis, yer honour,' sez Oi, 'thou hast found me out; but Oi pray thee do not report me to moy master, whin he returns.'
"'And who is thoy master?' sez he.
"'Sor Walter Bradley, and it playze yer honour,' sez Oi.
"Now methought, sor, that this would put him off the scint; fer by the close way he quistioned me Oi filt sure he must be on it. But whin Oi mintioned thoy name, sor, he wint into a divil of a timper, indade he did, yer honour. And thin he turned on me and called me sich avil names as made it hard fer me to hould back moy hand from brakin' the head o' the spalpeen; fer indade, sor, he is no gintlemin, with all his foine airs, and knoight though he be."
"And what said he of me?" I asked. "Surely he had a bad word for me."
"Uh! yer honour, Oi would not repate his insults fer the wourld. Indade its ashamed o' moysilf Oi am fer not crackin' his skull with moy fist, fer what he said o' thee. The raison Oi did not, was because Oi feared to do it without thoine order. Do but say the wourd and he is a corpse, sor."
"No, do the knave no harm, Michael; for it should but cause thy death. Indeed thou art right, he is a disgrace to knighthood; still, he is a friend of my Lord Hastings, whose vengeance would fall on thee."
"Sure methinks his lordship should thank me fer riddin' him o' sich a noosance," said Michael, with a shrug of his shoulders which clearly showed his contempt for Catesby.
"But did he question thee any further?" I asked.
"Did he quistion me anny further, yer honour? Hivins, sor! Oi should think he did that same," said Michael with a force that left no room for doubt in my mind.
"'Uh!' sez he, whin he had stopped his foul talk about thee, sor; 'Oi belave thou hast jist ridden from Northampton, thou villain,' sez he; as though he had anny roight to call an honest man a villain, But thin, mayhap he gits other folks mixed up with hissilf, whin he gits excoited loike," added Michael with prodigious solemness.
I was compelled to laugh, despite the anxiety I felt about this matter.
"'Northampton?' sez Oi, in surprise loike, as though Oi had nivir heard o' sich a place.
"'Didst thou not roide from Ludlow to Northampton with the King?" sez he.
"'From whare, sor?' sez Oi.
"'From Ludlow, thou stoopid varlet,' sez he; and he raised his hand as though he filt loike hittin' me a blow on the ear.
"'Uh! yer honour,' sez Oi, 'it's makin' sport o' poor common souldier thou art doin'. Hivin knows, sor, whare that place ye spake o' may be; but fer moy part, yer honour, Oi nivir heard o' it afore.'
"'Oi know not what to make o' thee,' sez he, after he had stood a starin' at me whoilst a man moight brathe about the quarter o' a score o' toimes.
"'Mither-o'-Gawd!' sez Oi, a prayin' loike, 'dount lit him make me into anny thing loike hissilf.'"
This was too much for Harleston. He lay doubled up in his chair like a wizzled leaf in the fall of the year, and shaking as though the leaf he resembled was an aspen. He made no sound, but I could see it was all that he could do to refrain from bursting forth into one roar.
"Go on, Michael," said I, when I had somewhat recovered myself; for I too was bursting with pent up laughter, "What did he then say?"
"Uh! sure sor, he saw that Oi was but a poor fool, and that he could not git anny news out o' me, so he shrugged his shoulders loike a damned Frinchmin and walked on. But still he kipt alookin' back as though he didn't know whither to belave me or not."
"Ah, Michael, thou art indeed a true soldier and a faithful servant. From this time forth I do desire thee to attend me as my squire. In field of battle, or in the lists, do thou attend me; for well do I know that a truer heart or a stronger arm in England there is not."
"Thou art right, Bradley," said Harleston, with a hearty warmth, "and hadst thou not made this man the offer that thou hast just made I would have asked him to serve me."
Poor Michael stood speechless before us. First would he look at me, and then to my friend. He could not speak his thanks in words; but he did it with such an eloquence by his looks as had been more than sufficient, even had I done him the greatest favour in my power. But I believe to this day that I could not have better pleased him had I been the King and made him my Lord High Chancellor.
"But, sor," said Michael, when he had somewhat recovered himself, and knelt and, despite mine efforts to prevent him, kissed my hand, "Oi 'am not wourthy o' sich an honour. Sure, sor, Oi can lay on a hard blow and sich loike, but as fer attindin' on a gintlemin, in a proper way loike, uh! bad luck to me, Oi'd be but a disgrace to thee, sor."
"Come, come, Michael, thou must not be too modest," said I.
"Remember this advice that now I give thee," said Harleston. "If thou wouldst rise in this world that is filled with the gusts of opportunities do not let modesty nor fear close up thy wings of advantage. But spread them rather, that they may catch these eddying gusts, and thou be borne upon them to the heights of greatness."
Michael stood and stared at Harleston, with his mouth open, for a breathing space. Then said he in surprise:—"But, yer honour, divil a wing have Oi to moy name, and Oi dount want thim jist yit, seein' that one must go through purgatory ere he begins to grow thim."
Evidently Harleston's speech was beyond the depth of Michael's understanding.
"Uh! sor," said he, when he had expressed his opinion of the wings of advantage, "Oi was about to finish about Sor William whin yer honours spoke to me so koindly.
"What, was there more?"
"Thare was, sor. Oi walked down the hall till Oi came to a corner, and, as he had koind o' made me inquisitive loike, by his quistioning o' me so close, Oi jist stipped around the corner and stopped to look back to see whare he wint, sor."
"Yes, and where did he go?" I asked with interest.
"Sure, sor, he wint straight up to the door whare the ladies came out o', and he stops thare, sor, and he looks back to see if thare was anny one behoind him loike. Will, sor, Oi was out o' soight by the toime his eyes had rached the place whare Oi was hidin'. Whin Oi looks out agin he was not thare; but the ladies' door was open."
"Death and damnation!" I almost shrieked. Then turning to Michael:—"Go on, go on!" I cried.
"He was ounly in fer the space o' whoilst ye moight brathe about a half a score o' toimes, thin out he comes, with a koind o' disappintment on his face.
"'Must be in the park,' sez he, as he started fer the door. 'Damned if she'll escape me this toime.'
"Oi gits out as fast as moy long legs could carry me. But Oi waited outsoide and saw him go into the park, astrollin' along at his aise loike.
"As soon as he had got out o' soight Oi takes after him, afollowin' the same path that he took. He wint all over the houle damned place, alookin' here and alookin' thare, as though he ixpicted to foind some wan. Mither-o'-Gawd! sor, had the ladies bin thare he'd o' found some wan behoind him afore anny harm could o' come to thim fair craters; fer, yer honour, avin though he be a knoight, Oi'd not trust him as far as Oi could throw him with a browken arm."
"Thou art right there," said Harleston; "he hath fallen to the lowest depths, and needs must soon be called upon to answer for his conduct."
"Fallen! Harleston; dost thou say fallen?" I cried; "Why, the dog hath never been aught but what he is. 'Tis but the influence that he hath obtained with Lord Hastings that is now lending him more audacity."
"Will, sor," continued Michael, when again I told him to proceed with his story, "he discouvered not the ladies in the park. Thin, yer honour, he starts back, and it did give me the divil o' a toime to kape out o' soight o' the varmint. Jist as he come in soight o' the court yard he yills out as though some wan had struck him with a dagger—bad luck that some wan didn't—'What the divil manes this?' sez he, so loud that Oi could hear him, and he starts off at a run, as though the houle Palace was afoire.
"'Uh! murther!' sez Oi, and Oi takes after him.
"Whin Oi came close enough, Oi saw the Quane, Gawd bliss her, and all o' the Princesses, and the little Dooke o' York and his Hoighness, the Marquis o' Dorset, and the Lady Hazel and the Lady Mary, and thare was a strong body o' souldiers walkin' all around thim and protictin' thim loike.
"Sor William stood alookin' after thim as they wint across the yard, and all the whoile he was standin' he was acursin' and aswearin' as will as a bitter man moight.
"Oi lift him astandin' thare whoilst Oi wint and took care o' moy horse.
"Whin Oi came back near the place whare he had bin, Hivin hilp me if he wasn't still astandin' thare, with his head down, alookin' at his fate! "'Uh!' sez he, as Oi came within ear-shot o' his tongue, 'the Dook will give me the divil fer this. It must have bin that knave o' an Oirishman that brought her the news o' her brother's and son's fate. It would not be so bad if they hadn't taken little York,' sez he, still atalkin' to hissilf, though he ought to be ashamed o' hissilf fer spakin' to sich a knave.
"Thin Oi thought it was toime fer me to git out o' soight, as he moight not loike to be caught atalkin' to hissilf loike—and Oi dount blame him a bit nather. So Oi jist gits behoind the gate that goes down that soide alley, and Oi waits fer anny thing more that's comin'.
"'Bradley shall pay for this,' sez he; 'he must be the wan which hath warned the Quane,' sez he. 'Oi had bitter go and till Hastin's,' sez he, after he had agin stood soilent fer some toime. 'Oi wounder what Lord William will think o' Richard's plan.'
"'If it's wan that thou dost agray with,' sez Oi to moysilf, the same as Sor William sez to hissilf, 'and he be an honest man, he'll have a damned poor opinion o' it,' sez Oi.
"Thin Sor William goes on agin, amumblin' to hissilf, so that Oi could hardly hear him. 'If he knows what is good fer him he'll agray with Dook Richard, and lind him his support. Still,' sez he, after stoppin' agin, 'if Hastin's was remouved loike Oi moight some day be the Chancellor moysilf,' sez he, and he straightens hissilf up and rached up into the air as though he was a-tryin' to catch a floy, though agoin' so slow that anny smort baste, loike a floy, could git away afore he got within soight o' it. Thin, whin he thought he had whativir he was after, he straightins his arm out to the houle o' its lingth, and houlds it thare, with his head athrown back, as though he was his Houliness the Pope at Rome.
"'Ah! wilth, power, and ivirythin',' sez he, and he smoiled loike the divil.
"'Ah! Bradley, thoy toime is drawin' short. Whin Oi till Richard the part that thou hast takin aginst him methinks Oi see thoy head upon the block, whare Rivers', Grey's and Vaughan's soon shall be.'
"Lord, sor, Oi did have the divil's own toime to kape from killin' the murtherin' spalpeen!
"Whin he had finished his big talk he started off, and had his sarvant git his horse ridy, and he sits out fer somewhare as though the divil hissilf was at his hales—and its moysilf that am thinkin' he's in the varmint's heart.
"Oi thin waited with fear and trimblin' fer yer honour to return, and as soon as Oi saw thee come to thoy rooms Oi followed thee at once, sor, that Oi moight warn thee not to trust that knave, who is full, intoirely, of all that belongs to Hill, as is plainly seen by his mane lookin' face."
When Michael had finished his somewhat lengthy, yet to me the interestingest story that I might hear, both Harleston and I sat for some time without speaking. At length I addressed Michael. "Thou hast done better than I could have wished for, and indeed thine information is of the greatest use to me. I cannot thank thee, nor repay thee, sufficiently for this service; but if I fall not into the snares of this scheming villain thou shalt lack for naught that is in my power to give thee."
"Uh! sor, thou hast given thanks that Oi do not desarve; for Oi have but done my dooty to moy master. But Oi till thee this, sor,—In case annything should go amiss with thee, through that spalpeen, Oi hare take moine oath that Oi'll have the loife o' that varmint fer it."
"Well, Harleston," said I, after Michael had left us, "here is the position in which I now find myself placed. Methinks thou wilt agree with me when I say that my prospects are anything but of the brightness of the sun.
"The Queen hath fled from her home and hath taken refuge in a Sanctuary for reason of her fear of Gloucester. The young King, her son, is in the power of the man from whom she hath fled. Catesby, who is evidently in the service of Richard, hath good reason for his belief that I warned the Queen and thus have been the cause of her taking refuge. Richard hath some scheme in hand, the object of which we know not. The death of Rivers, Grey and Vaughan, is evidently decided upon merely because they are friends to the Queen. Gloucester is bent on gaining possession of the King's little brother, for what purpose we know not. What chance then have I of escaping the tusks of the boar?" asked I, when I had finished this somewhat gloomy list of facts.
"My dear friend," replied Harleston, "however strange it may sound, I must say methinks thou hast naught to fear from Catesby's telling to Richard the part thou hast played in connection with the Queen's flight."
"Why?" I asked in surprise.
"For this reason," replied my friend, "Catesby was evidently instructed to prevent any messages from reaching the Queen, else why should he so question Michael, and, when speaking to himself, say that Richard would give him the devil when he should learn of the Queen's flight?"
"Well?" I asked, "and what hath that to do with removing the danger from me?"
"This," replied my friend in his quiet yet most impressive manner. "Thinkest thou that Catesby would dare to tell Gloucester that he did permit a common soldier to carry a message unto the Queen, when he should have prevented it? No," said he answering his own question, "it is more likely that he would attribute the warning to Dorset, over whom he could have no control, and therefore could not be blamed for allowing him to warn the Queen."
"That may be so," I cried. "And if it be, why then I still may wear my head; for if Catesby doth tell Richard I feel a tickling in the back of my neck which tells me it then must needs be severed."
"However," said Harleston, "thou art not by any means out of danger. Remember this," he continued; "some one must have warned Dorset. Catesby may suggest that thou wert the man which sent the news to him."
"Then the danger is as great as ever!" I cried in disappointment. "Come, come, Harleston, thou art becoming as bad as Michael, with thy surprises and disappointments. Why didst thou raise my hopes only to dash them again to earth and crush them like an egg?" This I said with a forced smile; for I tried to accept the inevitable with a philosophy that I was far from feeling.
"No," said my friend, with a grave face, "I think thy danger is not great; for though Catesby may cause Richard to suspect thee of being the cause of the Queen's flight, he cannot prove it without showing neglect of duty on his part."
"Thou art right, my friend," said I, as I grasped his hand and shook it warmly. "Truly, I know not what I could do without thine advice.
"But tell me this," I said, as I remembered the incident in the Council room. "What did Catesby whisper to Lord Hastings that made the Chancellor frown on us?"
"Nay, nay, my friend," said Frederick, laughing, "thou must not think that I can read the thoughts of people." Then he added more seriously:—"'Tis like he did but tell Lord William that he suspected thee of being connected with Dorset in the warning of the Queen."
"Yes, that must have been it. How clear thou dost make everything, Harleston. I would that I could look on life as calmly, and think more ere I act. Now who but a prophet could have foreseen any danger in informing the Queen of her friends' arrest: yet," I added, "I thank God for having permitted me to succeed in doing it, even though I lose my head for having done it."
"Thou must not give me credit for having foreseen any danger in sending a message by the hand of a servant; for Heaven knows I had no idea that their plan was so complete as to take precautions to prevent the Queen from being warned."
"Still, thou didst think it might be dangerous for me to come myself to Westminster; therefore, something must have told thee that they did not wish the Queen to know of her brother's and her son's arrest."
"Yes," he replied, "but thou dost give me credit that belongs not to me. The only danger I foresaw was the affront it might give Gloucester. I did not for one moment think that they would dare to intercept a message to the Queen."
"Well, Frederick," said I, "thou seest now that they dare do anything. When Richard even threatens to take the little Duke from his Mother, by force, and that when they are in the Sanctuary, which has ever been considered too holy for force to be used upon it, we need not be surprised at any move his Highness makes. Harleston, thy prophecy is being fulfilled."
"When did I make a prophecy?" asked my friend.
"Dost thou not remember when first we met, and thou didst say that Richard, if he were ever made Protector, would be revenged upon those who did oppose him?"
"Ah, yes, I do remember me; but since that night my mind and body have been so occupied that I have not noticed my prediction reaching its fulfilment. However," he continued, "but part of it, and that the minor one, is now being played. If this part lasts not too long we shall live to see the last and bloodiest of the prophecy. Do but, look back over the history of our race and thou shalt see, wherever a man of Richard's character—if ever such there has been—came into a position of power he shone out with the brilliancy of a star. But the star they all resembled was a falling one, and left a trail of blood behind it, as it tumbled from its height."
That night my sleep was troubled with strange and fantastic dreams. I know not how many different forms these delusions took; but through all these tormenting and hideous scenes, in which I seemed to be playing a troubled part, there was one person present which ever prevented the final calamity from falling upon my head. No sooner was I saved from certain destruction in one form than the dream was changed, gradually, and, after passing through a cloudy stage, again was I struggling against some fearful monster. Then would this friend, the face of whom I could not see, stretch forth a mighty arm and brush the awful creature from my chest, where he was perched, crushing out my life.
At last even the cords of sleep, with which I had been so securely bound, could bear the strain no longer; so I awoke to find myself completely worn out, from my struggles with these phantom foes.
It was still too early for the inmates of the Palace to be stirring.
"'Tis well that I awoke when I did," thought I; "for a double reason. First, had I slept much longer I had surely been strangled by those accursed monsters; and second, I now may leave the Palace, and proceed to the Sanctuary, without fear of arousing suspicion, and therefore, of being followed." For truly, my dears, I began to fear that I might soon find myself in the Tower, were I to be seen having any relations with the Queen; and I felt sure that Catesby would give his right hand to see my headless corpse.
I hastily dressed myself and repaired unto my friend's quarters. I had some difficulty in arousing him without disturbing those in the adjoining apartments; for Harleston admitted that naught but the sound of the last trump could ever awaken him until he had finished basking in the sunny smiles of the Goddess of Sleep. As this speech of his came to my mind I could not help but shudder as I thought of the treatment that faithfully-worshipped Goddess had bestowed upon me. Instead of smiling, how cruelly had she frowned.
At length I succeeded in drawing forth a lazy enquiry as to who I was and what was my business.
"Come, Harleston, bestir thyself, for the love of Heaven. Sleeping at this time of the day? 'Tis absurd," called I, gently, through the keyhole.
"Ah! Walter, it is thou," said Harleston, as he opened the door. "Heigh-ho! why, art thou completely dressed already? What hour is it?" he asked, as he made a frantic effort to dislocate his shoulders, neck and jaw, all at one and the same time.
"'Tis almost sun up, and we must be stirring and proceed unto the Sanctuary before the others do arise, that we may not be observed."
"Ah! a good idea, Bradley. One moment and I will be with thee," he said, as he began hastily to dress. He was soon ready, so we crossed over.
The Queen, her family, and the girls, were at matins when we asked to be permitted to enter; so we were compelled to walk up and down before the door, and bide our time as best we could until her Majesty had finished her devotions; for at that time it was even more difficult to obtain admittance to the Sanctuary than it had been at any other, on account of her Majesty being within its sacred walls.
At the end of what seemed to us an age, but what in reality must have been but a very short space, for anxious love makes the moments into hours, the slide in the door was pushed back and a not unpleasant voice asked what names we might wish to send unto the Queen.
"Sir Frederick Harleston and Sir Walter Bradley, but late returned from Ludlow with the King, pray to be admitted to the presence of the Queen, as we have information that is of importance to her Majesty," said I.
Again the sliding panel was closed, and again were we compelled to struggle with our impatient spirits. But this time it was not for long. Presently the slide was opened to the width of a lady's hand. To this opening was applied an eye, beautifully draped with long and curling, dark brown lashes, through which that orb—the true transmitter of the workings of the soul—sparkled with expectancy and love, like a precious jewel held in a gentle shadow. And indeed what jewel could equal it in preciousness? For it belonged to Hazel. Then the door flew open, and we were locked in each other's arms in a shorter space of time than one might draw a breath in.
Seldom, if ever, had that holy house been the scene of such a meeting. Verily, it is a wonder that we were not struck dead for daring to thus demonstrate our love in that cold, consecrated edifice, where one is scarce expected to draw a breath, except for the purpose of praying. But mayhap this house had become used to unholy men, during the wars of the white rose with the red. Be this as it may, nothing of harm befell us for our conduct.
"Oh! my dear, fair flower," I cried, as my lips touched her on the forehead; "great is my joy at seeing thee, as is my sorrow that thou shouldst be compelled to thus seek safety from those accursed scoundrels which now surround our King."
"Walter, dear, I think not of that, now that thou art again returned to me. But come," she said suddenly, as she remembered my mission, "the Queen awaits thee anxiously; so let us go to her at once. Afterwards we may talk, as I have much to tell thee."
"Hast thou no word for Sir Frederick?" I asked, as we started down the corridor.
"Ah! Sir Frederick, thou must forgive me;" said Hazel, in confusion, "but I was so surprised and—"
"Yes, yes," interrupted Harleston, with a smile, "I quite understand. Indeed, Lady Hazel, thine oversight carries not with it the sting of slight; for, under the circumstances, I had been a churl indeed to have been offended by such a pretty show of love's one-heartedness."
This brought a succession of crimson waves to Hazel's lovely face, adding to its beauty as does the evening sunlight to the rose.
"But how knowest thou so much of these things that thou dost speak of?" she asked, as she looked up at Harleston's face with her head held to the one side and a smile of triumph playing about her mouth. "Surely one could not discourse so learnedly on any subject without having had practical experience."
Harleston was fairly taken aback; but as he attempted to stammer out something in reply we came to her Majesty's room; so Sir Frederick was permitted to escape Hazel's criticism of his explanation.
We were admitted to the Queen's presence by her son, the Marquis of Dorset, who met us at the door.
"Ah! my friends," said he, pleasantly, "I am indeed pleasured that ye have come. Her Majesty and I have been awaiting your arrival with great anxiety; for we would hear from your lips the recital of that unhappy and treacherous event which took place at Stony Stratford."
"Yes," said the Queen, "well would I like to hear a fuller description of that which happened to our dear relatives and friends, than was given in your letter to me, or rather to Hazel," she corrected.
Harleston here left me to be spokesman, whilst he, by some admirable manoeuvring, made his way unto the other end of the room, where was sitting Mary, apparently most busily engaged in stitching upon a piece of tapestry. Whilst faithfully I told the story of Gloucester's treachery, which I have already put down, and therefore need not repeat, my friend approached Mary, who appeared not to see him until he stood before her. I say she appeared to not see him; and yet this is not exactly correct. I should say she tried to appear to have not seen him. But what then caused that hand of lily whiteness so gently to tremble, like an aspen leaf? And that bosom of Venus' mould to rise and fall so quickly, if it were not that the heart beneath had buried in its core the fire-pointed arrow shot by that lovely tyrant, Cupid, with such unerring accuracy as had put Robin Hood to shame?
When at length she did look up it was with the pleasant smile with which she would greet a friend from whom she had parted but an hour before. Evidently Mary was becoming more timid, and using the greater care to conceal her feeling the more hopelessly she felt herself entangled in love's silken meshes. As is ever the case with those of proud spirit, when they are fairly trapped, they play the indifferent, to conceal their real feelings from the eyes of their captors, or the curious. However, ere I had finished the telling of the tale to the Queen, Mary had changed her manner as she would a garment, and stood before Harleston, looking up in to his face, as though drinking in his every word. I know not what was the tale he was unfolding; but of one thing I am certain, and that is, it was not the same as I was telling to the Queen. This could I see by the expression upon Mary's face, which reflected nothing if not pleasure.
When I had finished with my story, the Queen, in her gentle look, thanked me for the service. "But oh! Sir Walter, I have yet greater trouble than the fate of those at Pomfret," said her Majesty, after sitting with folded hands and gazing with fixed eyes into vacancy.
"Yes, madam, and what may be worse than the evil fate of those we love?" I asked, though I knew full well what would be her answer.
"Yestere'en," she said, "Cardinal Bouchier, accompanied by the Bishop of York, came here to see me. When admitted the Cardinal fawned, as is his custom, and with oily tongue informed me that my late husband's hump-backed brother desired my little Prince, the Duke of York, to be permitted to attend his brother's coronation.
"'Go back to him that sent thee and say that the Queen, the little Prince's mother, hath the Duke of York in her own keeping, where he prefers to be, instead of with his uncle.'
"'But, madam,' said the Bishop, 'the little King desires to have his brother with him, that he may not be lonely.'
"'He should be permitted to come and tell his mother so, instead of resting as a prisoner, the which mayhap he is," I replied.
"'Nay, madam, truly,' said the Bishop, 'it is the King's own will that doth not permit him to come and see your Majesty.'
"'And why, sir, may I ask?' Then, without waiting for his answer, I continued:—'Ah yes, I understand. His Highness, the Protector, hath poisoned the boy's mind against his mother. A fit act for his Royal Highness.'
"'No, madam, I am sure that thou dost wrong the Duke, who is filled with all respect and love for your Majesty,' put in the Cardinal.
"'Ay, my Lord Cardinal,' I replied, 'well hath he shown his love for me and mine. Look at the prisoners at Pomfret, which never did offence to Gloucester, except that the love they bore my late lamented husband and his family hath stirred up anger in his savage bosom.'
"'Nay, indeed, your Majesty, thou dost abuse and misjudge the Duke of Gloucester,' said the Cardinal. 'As I understand the matter, it is this,' he continued; 'Lord Rivers, Sir Richard Grey and Sir Thomas Vaughan, were suspected of some plot against the King's freedom, and Duke Richard, when he learned of it, caused these three gentlemen to be detained until after the King is crowned, when it shall be for his Majesty to decide whether they shall be set at liberty or no.'
"'A pretty tale indeed is this about a plot to gain control of the King's person,' I replied with scorn. 'My Lord Cardinal, no one knows better than dost thou that my brother would be the last to so conspire against my son. 'Tis but a lie, devised by that accursed Richard!' I cried, as mine indignation began to gain ascendency over my better reason, 'to shield his own black treason. Well do I believe, my Lord Cardinal, that this limping villain desires but to gain control of both my sons, that he may work his will upon them; and God, or rather the devil, and himself do know what that may be. And be assured of this, Master Cardinal!' I almost shrieked, to such a state of fury had this rehearsal of my wrongs aroused me, 'I shall not permit my tender son, the Duke of York, to fall into the hands of that traitorous cur, so long as this Sanctuary stands to protect the gentle babe. Gloucester hath already, through treachery, obtained control of one of my pretty children; but so long as his mother can protect the other be thou assured, good Cardinal, that hump-backed Gloucester shall not control him.'"
The Queen, as she said these words, in her excitement arose from her chair and, standing like a statue before me, her head thrown a little aback, her nostrils slightly distended, like those of a horse that hath just scented fresh-spilled blood, and her whole pose bespeaking resolution and defiance, looked like some angry Goddess about to hurl destruction upon those which had been the cause of her anger. Verily, my children, this was indeed a Queen.
My soul was so filled with admiration for this noble and unfortunate woman that I needs must kneel at her feet and kiss the hem of her gown.
"Arise, Sir Walter," said her Majesty, tenderly; "I do not deserve such homage. This trouble is but God's punishment for so neglecting his commands, when I was in a position of power. Ah, my friend, sorrow doth tame the haughty spirit and maketh us to realize that we must live for other purposes than the fulfilment of our ambitious dreams.
"Thou mayest think it strange in me to thus take thee into my confidence and tell thee of my troubles. But this, I tell thee, Sir Walter, is the reason. Thy father was ever a faithful servant and friend of my dear husband's house; and had King Edward lived thou hadst been raised to considerable power. Thou hast proven thy loyalty to me, even in my trouble, when those which have received, at my hand, the greatest honours have deserted, what seems to them, a sinking ship. Besides all this, my soul must needs pour out its grief on some sympathetic ear. Therefore I tell thee this story of the troubles of a Queen which, whilst her husband lived, had scarce to express a wish, and the policy of an empire changed as does the wind. To-day she seeks safety for herself and family within the precincts of a Sanctuary, than which place, where is safer? And even it is not."
"Come, madam, thou must not yet despair," said Dorset, tenderly, as he saw tears rushing unto his mother's eyes. "Surely Gloucester dare not do harm to the little Duke."
"Ah, my son," replied the Queen, "well do I know that thou dost speak thus to lighten my heart with hopes of safety for my little Prince.
"But Sir Walter has not yet heard all of my conversation with the Churchmen. When I had finished my declaration that Gloucester should not have my son, so long as Westminster would protect me," continued the Queen, as she again took her seat, "the Cardinal, with a look of great sorrow, which methinks was feigned—for well do I believe him to be of Gloucester's party—again spoke:—'Then, your Majesty,' said he, 'it is only left for me to deliver the rest of the Protector's message. Believe me, madam, I would rather have my tongue torn from my throat than be the bearer of such a message unto your Majesty.'
"'Come, cease thy snivelling, and deliver thy message,' said I. 'Thou art but a lackey messenger, and therefore thou art not responsible for aught that thy master doth say, of insult though it be.' This offence to him mayhap was not good policy, but methinks it had made but little difference even had I spoken in more gentle tone," said the Queen, addressing herself to me.
"'Well then, madam,' said the Cardinal, with a great show of offended dignity; though how he came by it I know not, 'hear the complement of the Lord Protector's message. In case thou dost still persevere in thine obstinate refusal to deliver the young Duke into the hands of his duly appointed guardian, his Royal Highness, the Duke of Gloucester, his aforesaid Royal Highness, the Protector, by this act of thine, and by no desire or willingness of his, must needs obey the wishes of the King and take the aforesaid little Prince from this place by force; which act, in any other case than this, shouldst be a sacrilege, and an offence most grievous unto Heaven.'
"'What! tellest thou me that Gloucester dare to take from a Sanctuary one that hath taken refuge there?' I cried.
"'Indeed, madam, he surely will,' replied the Cardinal.
"'And wilt thou, a Cardinal, permit such an insult to a house of God?' I asked.
"'Ah! your Majesty, thou dost not understand the circumstance,' he replied, with a smile that had cost him his head, before that hump-back came to power.
"'And what strange circumstance, Master Cardinal, is my son placed under, that so permits of armed force, without the fear of God's indignation, to take him from a Sanctuary?' I asked.
"'It is this,' he replied. 'Your son, the Duke of York, is of too tender years to be, and in fact is not, guilty of any offence. Therefore he hath not the right of Sanctuary, which right, according to the strict interpretation of the rules of Holy Church, belongs solely to those standing in the fear of our Country's laws. This rule,' he continued, as though he shamed to say the words, 'Duke Richard will see fit to resort to, in case your Majesty should be obstinate.'
"'And in this hath he thine approval and help?' I cried.
"'Nay, madam,' he replied, 'I am but the lackey messenger, and therefore am far beneath the honour of being consulted in this matter.'
"'Leave me, thou insolent cur!' I cried; 'How darest thou to stand before my face and mock me? A pretty servant of God art thou, to side with one who hath the position of power, against what thou knowest to be right. Be assured, sirrah, that thou shalt be reported to thy master, the Pope at Rome, for thy disgraceful conduct in thus seconding a powerful villain against a defenceless woman. Now leave me, thou knave, and tell that slave of Hell, the Lord Protector, to send to me to-morrow, and he shall have mine answer, as to whether he shall have my little son or no!'
"Then, sir, he left me," said her Majesty, quietly, as she heaved a great sigh, as though even the memory of this Churchman's departure were a relief to her. "But here's the day come around when I must give my final answer to Gloucester's messenger;" she continued, "and which it is to be I am not yet determined. If I do refuse to hand my dear son over to the boar, he, verily do I believe, will carry out his threat, and tear him rudely from me. 'Twas with the thought of getting advice from thee—for thou hast had good opportunities for observing the hump-back's habits lately—as to what course I had best take, that I did so anxiously await your coming."
"Ah, madam," I replied, "thou dost honour me over much by asking advice of one which hath had so little experience. Yet, since thou hast so honoured me, I needs must tell the truth. Therefore do I say this:—My natural impulse is to offer what resistance thou canst, in case the Duke doth make use of force. Yet, what little of the cooler stream of reason I have within my blood doth tell me how vain must be the effort to save the little Prince from falling into the Protector's hands, backed as that villain is by such powers as the nobles that surround him.
"Now, shouldst thou grant the Duke's request and hand the little Prince over to his Highness, his position could not be worse than it now is, granting of course, that the Duke of Gloucester dare to carry out his threat, which, I am sad to say, I fear he would not hesitate to do. Then, if thou dost decide to oppose force by force, the result of which, unhappily, must be a victory for the Protector, the little Prince might not receive the same consideration that he should were he to go to his uncle peaceably."
"Ah, yes, Sir Walter, thou art right," replied the Queen; "yet I had hoped to hear that my tender babe had still a chance of escaping the tusks of the bloody boar."
"May I crave thy pardon, madam?" said Harleston, who had approached whilst the Queen was speaking. "Methinks I have a plan which, if thou hast time to carry it out, may yet keep the little Prince from falling into the hands of his uncle."
"Let me hear it, for the love of Heaven!" cried the Queen, to whom any suggestions of a chance of saving her son from Gloucester was as a voice from Heaven.
"Well, madam, it is this," continued Harleston. "With all expediency let thy son be conducted from this place, without the knowledge of the Duke of Gloucester. No doubt my Lord of Dorset knows of some place, either within the kingdom or across the channel, where the little Prince need have no fear of falling into the Protector's hands."
"Now, by my soul, that is well thought of!" cried the Marquis, as, in his delight, he slapped Frederick on the shoulder.
"Oh! I thank thee, sir, for those words of hope!" cried the Queen as she started from her seat and, in her excitement, grasped my friend by the hand, as though he were an equal.
Frederick dropped to his knee and touched her fingers gently with his lips.
"But come, we must make haste!" said her Majesty, "and have my little son away from here before Gloucester doth send hither for him. Do thou go, my son," said she, speaking to the Marquis, "and assemble as many of thy followers as thou canst, whilst I prepare young Richard for the flight."
"Again, madam, may I crave permission to offer a suggestion?" interrupted Harleston.
"Indeed I long to hear what thou hast to say," replied the Queen. "And if thine advice shall be as good this time as it was last much unquietness of spirit shall it save me."
"Then, madam," said my friend, "I would advise that thou shouldst send no other than my Lord of Dorset, to escort the little Prince. Were he to be surrounded by a body of armed men he needs must attract attention, and therefore could easily be followed. But, madam, if he goeth unattended, except for one gentleman, no curiosity will be aroused, and then he will leave no trail behind, that may guide his pursuers, in case the Duke of Gloucester has him searched for, which 'tis like he will."
"Again art thou right," replied the Queen. "And yet," she said, as a troubled expression came into her face, "it likes me not to send my little son so far, without a stronger guard."
"Still, mother, Sir Frederick's plan is safer than if we took a regiment," put in Dorset. "Besides," he continued, "I promise thee that no harm shall come unto my little brother so long as I can wield a sword. And be assured, good mother, that every drop of my heart's blood shall be spilled ere Gloucester shall wrench him from me."
"Cold comfort for a mother," said the Queen, with a sad smile. "Then, if I lose one son, I must needs lose another. But come," she said suddenly, "whilst we talk here precious moments, which might be used in flight, are passing by. Go, my son, and make thee ready with all speed for thy journey, whilst I go to prepare thy little brother."
She followed Dorset from the room, and we were left with the girls, alone.
Then it was that Hazel told me of the happenings at court whilst I was absent therefrom.
The Queen was not long gone. When she returned she was accompanied by her little son, the Duke of York. He was fully dressed for the road.
"Mother, I do not like to leave thee," said he, as they entered.
"Nay, my darling, no more do I desire thee to go," returned his mother, tenderly. "But, Richard, my pet," she continued, "thou goest with thy brother, so thou needst not to be lonely. Besides, thou shalt not be for long separated from us—I hope," she added.
"But wilt thou follow me shortly, mother dear?"
"I hope to soon be with thee, Richard," replied his mother. Then, as the boy began to cry, she said:—"come, my little man, thou must show thyself to be the true son of a King. Be brave, and do as thy mother doth direct thee; then I shall be proud of my little son."
This had the desired effect upon the proud spirit of his noble father, that was so easily discernible in this young offshoot of the proud house to which he belonged.
At this moment Dorset entered, fully equipped and ready for the road.
The Queen took the Marquis, Harleston and me, to the far end of the room, leaving the little Duke with Hazel and Mary, from whom he seemed most sad to part.
"Thou hast not yet told me where thou art taking Richard," said her Majesty, in a low voice, to Dorset.
"Nay, mother, that have I not," replied he; "for the reason that I yet know not what place of safety can be reached the most easily; and besides I do think it best that no fixed place should be set. When I have come unto some shelter, I shall leave my little brother in good hands, and return again to thee."
"Methinks that thy plan is a good one," said his mother, after a pause; "but what thinkest thou of it, Sir Frederick?" she asked, as she turned to her new-found counsellor.
"In my poor opinion," replied Harleston modestly, "it is the only course left open. However, methinks 'twere best to put the channel betwixt the little Prince and his uncle, the Protector; for well do I believe that he will have all England searched, so anxious is he, madam, to obtain possession of your son."
"Fear not;" said Dorset, "Gloucester must search with great diligence, indeed, if he be to find the little Duke. But come," he continued, "we must take to the road at once, lest we be interrupted by foul Richard's messenger."
'Twas a sad sight for the eye to gaze on, that parting of the Queen and her little son. As her Majesty clasped the child in her gentle arms, and pressed him to her heart, the strong love of the mother struggled with the cold dignity of the Queen, that had been worn to bind down that ruler of the world—love—and, as is ever the case, love conquered, and the mother sobbed aloud.
"Richard, my dearest treasure, no matter what may happen to thee, always remember thy mother and this, her advice," said the Queen, as her tears fell fast. "Be brave, but gentle, proud, but not haughty, firm, but not obdurate, generous, but not prodigal, and above all," she concluded, as she released the Duke from her protecting arms, "forget not to revenge any wrong that may be inflicted upon any of your family. That is Heaven's especial favour to the son of a King. Yea, 'tis even a command."