"Always remember thy mother and this, her advice.""Always remember thy mother and this, her advice."
"Always remember thy mother and this, her advice.""Always remember thy mother and this, her advice."
"But why, good mother, dost thou speak as though I never more might see thee?" asked the poor child, as he struggled vainly to restrain his tears, and show his courage.
"Nay, my dear, thou dost not understand my words. I did but mean that thou shouldst leave me with a full store of advice to help thee through the world; for no one can foresee what may happen to us ere thou dost again join us. Of course we trust that all things will be well, but, in these times, who but a prophet can foresee that which may happen within the next revolution of the sun."
Then, after bidding their sisters and us all farewell, Dorset and young Richard made their exit and departure from the Sanctuary, by an unfrequented way, that they might avoid the danger of being seen by eyes to which they might be known.
As Dorset placed the boy upon his palfrey the child gave way completely, and, turning to his mother, with outstretched arms, a world of sadness in his tear-dimmed eyes, he cried out, like the wail of a soul but new-condemned to an eternity of woe:—"Oh! mother dear, send me not from thee. Let me abide with thee and with my sisters; for now I feel within my bosom here something that maketh me to feel that if I leave thee now I ne'er shall see thee more!"
"Nay, nay, my dearest, God, the King of Kings, will not be so cruel. He will again unite those which truly love him and keep his commandments. Break not one of these by not obeying thy mother. Go with thy brother, my dear, and thus escape the danger that here must soon o'ertake thee, if thou dost tarry. Go, go! our prayers follow thee, and may God protect thee and still have thee in his keeping!"
Dorset seized the palfrey's rein and started on his journey. The Queen mother stood gazing after them, and her lips still muttered prayers. Soon they were lost to view, as they turned a corner in the path.
As the Queen slowly re-entered the Sanctuary the bell from the chapel began to toll for some poor soul whose body was about to be returned to mother earth, to be the food of worms. As the bell rang out, like a soul-rending cry of anguish, the Queen started as though she had been stabbed. "A bad omen," I heard her mutter, as she leaned upon mine arm.
When Gloucester discovered how he had been duped by the Queen his feelings can better be imagined than described. However, he was too clever a man, by far, to show his disappointment openly, or even to let the world know that he had been outwitted. He had the audacity to have the statement quietly circulated, in such a manner as to give to each person the impression that he was the trusted possessor of a state secret, that an attempt had been made to abduct the Duke of York, but that it had miscarried. "Therefore," said the Duke's friends, "it has become necessary for the Lord Protector, in the proper fulfilment of his duties of the high office with which the people have honoured him, to take every precaution to prevent another attempt of the same kind from being more successful."
"Yea," said the gossips, who were no doubt paid by the Protector, "'tis even feared that the King himself may be the object of their next attempt. Therefore the good Lord Protector, in his wisdom, and by reason of his great solicitude for the safety of the King—his lord and master—hath deemed it best that both the young King and his little brother, the Duke of York, be placed in safety, within the strong walls of the noble Tower that Cæsar,—though a heathen, was yet no doubt the instrument of God,—laid the foundations of. And, unquestionably, the Lord foresaw just such a necessity for such a strong place of safety when he compelled that ancient pagan to thus work for his ends."
When my friend and I heard this news, my children, our hearts were indeed sad. Remember, my dears, we knew not whether the statement that the little Duke had been taken by Gloucester were true or no. At first we thought it but a device of Gloucester's to hold the confidence of the people; but upon more careful consideration we came to the conclusion that even the Protector could scarcely have the audacity to thus risk the consequences of such a deception being discovered, which, according to the rules of all common sense, it must in time be. This conclusion in no wise served to relieve our feelings of disappointment and sorrow, on the Queen's account. We could not help but feel in some measure responsible for the revenge of Gloucester for the attempt made by the Queen to have her son escape him; for such we considered the confinement of the Princes to the Tower.
However, on the day following the King's removal to the prison we again visited the Sanctuary, or rather some of its inmates, and were rejoiced to learn that the Queen had received a letter from Dorset, which informed her of the successful manner in which they had escaped, not only capture, but even suspicion. Consequently we found the Queen in a most happy state of mind. This contentment was doomed to be short lived, for we were reluctantly compelled to inform her of her son's imprisonment and of the reports circulating about the Duke of York's attempted abduction.
However, we had no great time in which to wonder what was Gloucester's object in thus causing the young King to be placed under restraint, and the report to be circulated that his brother kept him company.
The next news to startle the court, and cause consternation among the friends of the Queen and exultation in the ranks of her adversaries, was the condemnation of the three unhappy prisoners at Pomfret—Rivers, Grey and Vaughan.
Again was it our unhappy duty to be the bearers of this most heavy news to that poor woman of woe, the unfortunate wife of the great Edward.
"What new sorrow do ye bring me now; for well do I know that countenances painted thus heavy with the brush of sadness must be but the dark covers to another book of woe?" said her Majesty, as my friend and I, whose sole duties now seemed to be the bearing of heavy news, were shown into her presence.
"Uncommon bad news we bring, madam;" I replied; "yet it is such as we might all have expected, and therefore do I hope that your Majesty may bear it better than thou couldst have done had it been unexpected."
When we had finished the relation of this latest tale of Richard's vengeance on the faithful to the Queen her Majesty seemed stupefied with grief. She sat as one who hath just received a heavy blow with the flat side of a sword,—dazed and benumbed and still incapable of raising protest against the causer of the pain. Then with her hand she feebly tried to brush away from before her eyes some cloud that did obstruct her vision. A look of hopeless resignation then settled on her features, and two silent tears ran slowly down her cheeks. A heavy sigh, like the parting of a soul from its earthy home and comrade, escaped her, and she asked in a voice in which was nothing but the tone of resigned indifference:—"When do they die?"
"This day, madam; even now."
"I had scarce looked for such expediency," she remarked, without the least emotion.
"What do ye think Gloucester's intentions may be with regard to my son, the King?" she asked in that unnatural voice.
"Oh, madam," I replied, glad at last to be able to tell her something not unhappy, "even now the Counsellors are met within the Tower to decide upon the coronation of his Majesty."
"And doth Lord Hastings there attend?"
"He does, madam."
"And the Protector, I presume?"
"Ay, madam, the Duke of Gloucester seems bent on having his Majesty's coronation take place at once; and therefore, at least so says report, he doth attend in person that his presence there may urge the Counsellors to set an early day for the ceremony; 'For,' say the Protector's confidants, 'the Duke desires to have the weight of full responsibility, that now rests upon his shoulders, in a considerable measure lightened.' But, madam," I added, "it is for thee to judge the weight of these reports."
"Hastings," said her Majesty, without taking any apparent note of my remark, "though he doth dislike me much, still, methinks, is loyal to my son, if for no other reason than for the favours the boy's father showed him, even against my pleasure."
Then, after sitting silent whilst one might tell an hundred, she spoke out suddenly, as though she thought aloud:—"Surely his uncle dare not harm my pretty Edward! Oh, no! not while my little Richard doth remain to be his avenger," she added, with a smile of satisfaction.
The Queen had evidently forgot the presence of her woeful messengers, so absorbed was she in her deep train of thought.
"A pleasant thing it is indeed to be the widow of a King, and the mother of a King," she said, again speaking to her heart. "Great, powerful, respected, happy. Ha, ha, ha! Yes, respected and happy.
"Hush! fear not; he shall not harm thee. Thou art with thy mother; and thy mother is the Queen. We had to fly to Sanctuary before, when Margaret had success. But look how thy father did defeat her, and again we came to power. Thy father is the King, and a great and gallant warrior. Again will he trample on his enemies. There, there, fear not, all things shall be well, all things shall be well. There's a good pet; go to sleep in thy mother's arms as thou didst years ago," and she patted an imaginary child in the gentle, soothing way known only to a mother.
I glanced enquiringly at Harleston.
He nodded.
We walked on tip-toe to the door, and stole softly from the room.
The sorrow of this woman was too sacred to be looked on by vulgar mortal eyes.
"What punishment can be severe enough to repay the causer of such woe for his accursed acts?" I asked of my friend, when we were alone in the room adjoining the one we had just left.
"Fear not," he replied; "his punishment must overtake him.
"Gloucester is clever. But no man is so clever that he can deceive the whole world for long. 'Tis possible to do so for a time; and Gloucester is doing it. But wait," added Harleston; "success is like everything else in this world; each man has a certain amount allotted to him when he begins life. If carefully husbanded, and put to a proper use, it multiplies. But let the possessor use it in an improper manner and the supply is soon cut off. 'Tis like the pulling of a heavy boat through the water, by means of a slender line; if pulled gently, and with great care, success must crown your efforts. But attempt to force the vessel faster through the water, and the line parts and the boat is lost. Richard is now attempting to draw in the ship of power, laden with the cargo of sovereignty. He hath a firm hold on the line. There are many obstacles betwixt the ship and Gloucester. By patience, more than that possessed by mortals, these all might be removed. But Richard, encouraged by his success in brushing some aside, will pull harder on the line. It cannot bear the strain of this impatient force. It breaks, and Gloucester tumbles from his height of audacity, to be dashed to pieces on the rocks of consequence."
"Dost thou then think he will dare to usurp the throne, now that the King's young brother hath escaped falling into his power?" I asked.
"Why not?" he replied.
"That which the Queen said methinks is true; Hastings will be loyal; but after the example we have to-day, the execution of Rivers, Grey and Vaughan, what may we expect from the Chancellor's influence? Were he to oppose the Protector he might be the next to post to Heaven. No," continued my friend, "we must not look for succour, from the tyranny of Richard, to any source but the whole people. They, when they are all united, have the power to force him to do right. But no single noble is sufficiently powerful to cope successfully with Gloucester."
"But how long must this crime and tyranny endure, ere a period be put to them?"
"Not long. Richard is now building a tower of crime. Such structures are but frail houses in which to dwell. Presently a strong tempest of popular indignation will sweep across the land; the structure must fall, and the builder shall be crushed beneath the ruins. He is building it in great haste; therefore it shall fall the sooner."
Harleston spoke with such confidence, as though the whole scene had been enacted before his eyes, that one could not help but believe him to be right.
Just then the girls entered. This put an end to our gloomy conversation, for which I, for one, was glad. The close life of the Sanctuary was now beginning to make the effects of its work visible in the paler hues and careworn looks of the girls' faces.
"Oh, Walter dear, I am so tired of this life of sorrow!" said Hazel, when we had strolled to that part of the room most distant from Mary and Frederick.
"Yes, my fair one, and I can see no reason why thou shouldst forever share the sorrows and burdens of others, even though they are the troubles of those which thou lovest well. When the present situation may change, God alone can tell.
"Remember the promise that thou didst make, when we lived in happier times. When our path seemed flooded with the light of Heaven. Then came this heavy cloud, that seemeth ever to grow blacker. Let us sweep on from beneath its chilling shadow, and let the sun of love and happiness, as we stroll among the flowers, beneath the trees of our joint home, drive away the troubled memories of this heart-chilling imprisonment within the dreary walls of a Sanctuary, made yet more sad by the unfortunate family which here takes refuge. Thou canst not help them by thus sharing their sorrows, and it doth but make two other souls unhappy." As I spoke these words the scene, drawn by my mind as I paced back and forth across my room that happy night of the last ball given by Edward at Windsor, when all my ambitions seemed about to be realized, and yet when the first clouds were gathering, came again clearly to my mind. I therefore waited, with the pain of expectation, for Hazel to answer.
When, after a short silence, in which she seemed weighing her reasons both pro and con granting my request, her answer came, and was partly what I had hoped to hear, and wholly what I had expected.
"Yes, Walter, the promise that I made to thee that night, when we were both so light of heart, and which now seemeth such a long time since, I long to now fulfil. Yet," she continued, with a sigh, "my gratitude for those which have ever been so kind to me doth whisper to my love and it bids it wait, for but a little space, and show them some sacrifice, to repay them for their kindness. Still do I promise thee," she continued quickly, as she saw my jaw drop in disappointment, "to wait a short time only; and if, after the King's coronation, the condition of the Queen's family changes not, then will I ask my dear foster-mother for her consent to our union taking place at once."
"Wilt thou indeed?"
"Ay, indeed; though even this I fear to be selfish in me, and looketh as though I cared not for the troubles of my friends, when I can be happy whilst they suffer."
"Nay, not so," I replied, as some of the reasoning of Harleston came to my mind. "Life is given but that it may be enjoyed. Some accomplish this purpose in one way; some, another. Sorrow is sent but that it may teach us how to enjoy happiness the better. We all must have our sorrow. Some have more, and some less of this chastening agent's presence. The reason for this I know not, unless it be that some of us require a more severe training ere we are capable of following our especial path in life, without straying off upon by-ways that nature never intended we should tread. Some, I will admit, seem never to have found their way. The consequence is, remorseless Nature, who departs not from her laws, with stern hand of iron scourges him full hard. Sometimes this drives him to his more fitting path; again it maketh him to despair, and, filled with spleen and useless stubbornness, he ploddeth on along a path not suited to his step, when there, within reach of his sight, had he but turned his head, doth lie his own fair way. Some few hills there are, of course; but these are suited to his stature."
"By my troth thou hast been changed by Frederick into a full-fledged philosopher," laughed Hazel. "But tell me the lesson that this should teach to me, and why I should not longer tarry with the Queen."
"'Tis this," I replied. "Her Majesty's path is now blocked up with obstacles. 'Tis right that thou shouldst sympathize with her, and cheer her on. Yea, if it be within thy power to lend to her assistance, thou art bound by the bonds of love and gratitude to give it. Still, it is not required of thee, by either of these ennobling masters, that thou shouldst tread her path thyself. Nay," I continued, as I saw a look that told me I had gained my point steal o'er her face, "'tis even wrong for thee to leave the way that Nature chose for thee to cheer."
"Thine eloquence hath won me from the doubt that haunted me and made me to feel ungrateful. But truly, Walter, thou must stop thy bursts of poetic speeches, lest in the future thy songs do change the minds of people, and Master Chaucer's wit then be forgot," and she laughed in mine earnest face, until I joined her in her gaiety.
When we reached the Palace imagine our surprise and horror to learn that Lord Hastings, whilst at the meeting in the Tower, to discuss the coronation of young Edward, had, through some thoughtless remark dropped in the presence of Gloucester, given to that most murderous tyrant a poor excuse for putting on a towering rage and ordering the execution of the Chancellor. Seized as he sat at the table of the council he was hurried, by that murderer, Tyrrell, whose list of crimes were now being added to with lightning swiftness, to the black-stained block within the courtyard of the Tower, and there his head was severed from the trunk, and the bleeding trophy carried to the Duke. A fitting meal it was, indeed, for the vengeance of such a man to feed on.
This speech of Hastings' that had caused his soul to follow, within so short a time, the spirits of his rivals, who met their fate at Pomfret, served also, as I verily believe Richard had foreplanned it should, to postpone the discussion of the young King's coronation.
"Richard hath pulled harder on the line," said Harleston, when we had heard the complement of the news—namely, that Lord Stanley had been wounded, by accident, during the arrest of Hastings. "Another obstacle hath been removed from the course of his heavy ship and cargo. The line still bears the strain. Wait with patience and expectancy: he'll pull again; observe the result."
Harlston's statement, that the line of Richard's success must part, and that he could not gain the ship's cargo, proved to be wrong. Gloucester had met with success where'er he turned.
Hastings' death had been received with but grumblings of discontent and not, as we had hoped, with clamorous outbursts of bloody insurrection.
Stanley, for remonstrating with Gloucester, in an attempt to save his friend, Hastings, from his fate, was now confined within the Tower's walls. The Archbishop of York and the Bishop of Ely here kept him company.
Whisperings there now were of the coronation of a different King from Edward. Richard's full hand was now being shown to the whole broad world. Most of those which lived at court had seen it, ere this last card was laid upon the board.
Rumours to the effect that young Edward's father's marriage with the Lady Grey, the young King's mother, had been illegal now had a noble circulation. 'Twas whispered in the court, and gossipped o'er. 'Twas the sole story on the tradesman's lips. The urchin in the street had heard it told, and each ear did either credit or despise the tale, that Edward, the father of our present King, had been united by the bonds of wedlock with the Lady Eleanor Talbot, daughter of the Earl of Shrewsbury, previous to his union with the Lady Grey. This tale, 'tis scarce necessary for me to say, was but one of many similar inventions of Richard to throw discredit on the rightful Sovereign, and thus help him to reach that awful height to which he was determined to climb.
As my friend and I were one day passing the great Church of St. Paul, we were attracted by a surging crowd of people trying, as best they might, to see some poor soul who had just finished doing penance in a sheet of white, and who now stood, in pitiful abashment, upon the church's steps. Behold her as she stands there, an object of curiosity and derision. Hear the coarse jests of the vulgar rabble, who, in their delight at the sight of fallen power, hurl at her defenseless ears all the filthy epithets in the vocabulary of the indecent. Compare her authority of yesterday with her degradation of to-day. Not one of those who were helped to power and greatness, by this woman, now speak one word of sympathy or regret. Such a scene should find in Hell more fitting surroundings for its tragic action. So could I imagine the condemned souls revel and domineer when a Prince of Darkness hath been reduced to a lower level. Another triumph for the Protector. This is Jane Shore, the mistress of the late lamented Edward. Gloucester, the better to deceive the people, and make them to believe in his purity and religious ardour, compelled this poor woman, whose sole crime against the state was that her Creator had given her such beauty as to cause the amorous Edward to cast a longing eye upon her—which, with that fiery Sovereign, was ever the prologue to a history of a woman's loss of character—to thus do penance, draped in a sheet, before the insulting eyes of the scum of the city's population.
"Look at the shameless hussy standing, with bowed head, as though she cared a hair for all this gentle penance. See how she stands, blushing, as a properer dame might do," said a heartless wretch, dressed in the garb of a gentleman.
Harleston stooped and, taking up a stone, he handed it to this fellow, with these words:—'There, my fine fellow, hurl thou this pebble at the woman there. 'Tis much to be regretted, sir, that thou didst not live in the days of Christ. He asked for such an one as thou to hurl the stone at Mary Magdalene."[1]
"And who art thou, sir, to criticise my words?"
"A gentleman," replied Harleston with a slight bow. Then, as the fellow stared stupidly into his face, my friend again said:—"I suppose, sir, that thou dost not e'en comprehend the meaning of that name. I should have used another word. This, then, is the definition of that article with which you have no doubt often met, and still you understand not. First, he is a man; second, his speech is courteous, to those whose manner doth deserve such speech; third, he protects the weak and defenceless, and doth not insult a helpless woman, as thou this day hast done; fourth, he is possessed of a quality known by the name of honour, the which to brush against or attempt to stain means death to the transgressor or himself; last, and yet first above all else, he must be brave, and not submit to insult such as thou dost bear; and 'twould be death for one to strike a blow upon his cheek, as I now do to thee." And, suiting the action to the word, Harleston gave him a stinging slap upon the ear that almost caused the other to drop upon his knees.
My friend's judgment of the knave was right. He was, as all these blackguards are, a coward through and through. A plenteous supply of bluster had he, to be sure, and this he commenced to fling at Harleston. However, he got not far in his list of compliments; for my friend, losing all patience with this blackguarding knave, took him by the ear, that now was the colour of a fiery sunset, and, turning him about, he placed his knee beneath his doublet tail and hurled him upon his hands and knees among the legs and feet of the surging crowd about. I had never known Harleston to act thus before, and greatly was I surprised to see him so ready to pick up a quarrel.
When we left the crowd before the Church and continued on our way I thought to find him still heated with his indignation. But in this I had again misjudged this man whose brain seemed balanced with such an exactness. He was as quiet and unruffled as though he had been but talking with a priest about some books, of which he was most fond.
"Strange," said he in musing tone, "that men so love to see their fellows lowered. Why can they not mourn for their sorrows and exult when others do succeed? Instead of doing this, they glory in another's fall, and when the downcast tries to regain his feet, cruel and remorseless blows are heaped upon his head, till the poor creature, hopeless of success, lies back there where he falls, among the quick and devouring sands of vice, or other misery. Still he sinks lower, and, as he disappears, the sands put on their faces of harmlessness and tempting beauty, to await another victim. And the cold world jeers at the sufferer's dying struggles, and laughs, and he's soon forgot."
"Why, my friend, thou art quite mournful," I remarked.
"Nay, by my troth, mine heart was never lighter. Misunderstand me not. The picture that my mind now draws is sad, 'tis true. But verily do I tell thee, Bradley, mine eye enjoys the sight. What song is there so sweet as that which telleth to our hearts a tale of woe?"
Again doth Richard triumph. The ship sails quickly through the water, brushing aside the difficulties that would impede its progress. Gloucester steps o'er the rail and takes possession of the cargo.
Thus, after the disgraceful scene in the Cathedral of St. Paul, when Doctor Shaw preached his now notorious sermon on the bastardy of young Edward and his brother, and after the Lord Mayor and the Duke of Buckingham had wrung from a small gathering of London's citizens an unwilling consent to the crown being placed upon the head of Richard, instead of on our gentle, rightful, boyish King, Richard was crowned with great pomp and ceremony, and ruled England as the rightful heir by birth, whilst his young nephew lay within the Tower, uncrowned, a stain attempting to hang upon his name, and treated as a malefactor, who should have worn the diadem of England.
Richard's court was now removed to Crosby Place, where the boar bedecked himself and his surroundings with all the gaudy finery, of which he was so fond.
Then whisperings began to circulate, to the effect that both of the little Princes (for the people all believed that little York was also there) had been murdered in the Tower. This tale, which soon became general court gossip, was never contradicted by the friends of our new King Richard, and therefore it soon came to be believed about the court, from whence the people had it, and believed. Some said that Tyrrell, with an order from the usurping King, went to the Tower and took full charge thereof for but one night. That with him went three others which, whilst the young Princes slept, smothered them to death. This was the version most generally believed, and, to my mind, it indeed seemeth a likely tale, in so far, of course, as it refers to young Edward; for well did my friend and I know that little York was far from London at that time; though where he was we knew not. We dreaded telling to the Queen this news, and therefore waited for some time before we again visited the Sanctuary. When at length we did go, we were saved from again inflicting torture on this poor woman. Lord Stanley, who had been released from his imprisonment but a few days previous and now had been appointed to the office of Steward at the Palace, had been there before us and told the Queen the whole sad story of how her son had, in the night, been murdered whilst he slept.
This time the Queen was not resigned nor stupefied. Bold determination and a hunger for revenge were imprinted on her features.
When I look back to those harsh, cruel days of misery for that woman, I compare her, in my mind, with those savage tribes which dwell in that distant land beyond the seas, discovered by that Genoese sailor. 'Twas told to me, by Cabot and his son, that they, when injured, show but little spleen; but with deliberation and the greatest care they plan, with wonderous skill, some grand invention that enables them to have revenge in the most complete and properest of ways.
Cold and deliberate was the ex-Queen, as she informed us that she had sent her son, Dorset (which had returned, after leaving the little Duke of York in a Sanctuary in France) with a letter to the Earl of Richmond, who then resided, in exile, at the court of Brittany, asking him to take up arms in her cause, and his own, and fight King Richard, with the crown of England as the stake.
"I have decided on this course," said the ex-Queen, "because I realize that my son, the Duke of York, may never rule so long as Richard lives. If Richmond doth accept mine offer, and if he wins the crown away from the murderous Usurper, then will I make him regent during the minority of my little Richard. All this I have set forth distinctly in my letter to the Earl. I also promised him my daughter Elizabeth's hand in marriage. Such offers, methinks, no sane man would refuse, unless he be a coward, which 'tis not possible for him to be. 'Tis true he belongs to the Lancastrian party, which hath ever been our enemies; but, under the circumstances in which I now find myself placed, I cannot choose, but must accept that which is best for my poor son's welfare. Therefore I have asked for Richmond's aid."
"Madam," said Harleston, when Elizabeth had finished speaking, "I pray that thou wilt pardon the liberty I am about to take, in making a remark about thine own affairs. Mine excuse for doing so is that thou, madam, hast honoured me ere this by asking mine advice."
"Speak out, Sir Frederick," said Elizabeth. "Well dost thou know that no word of thine, intended for my help, will be considered as impertinent."
"Then, madam, I would ask if thou dost consider it as safe to thus invite the Earl of Richmond to your aid? Dost thou not fear that he—should he be successful—will claim the throne as his very own by right of conquest by the sword? 'Tis but a possibility, madam, but methinks 'tis worthy of consideration."
"But how could he claim the throne, having no right thereto?"
"Richard hath taken it."
"Ay, true, true, true!" wailed the poor Queen, as she walked about the room, wringing her hands.
"Dost thou not think, madam," continued Harleston, "that it would be better if thou wert to try and win over Buckingham to thy cause?"
"He is the friend of Richard."
"Ay, madam; but he is also ambitious. Two such men as he and the Usurper cannot for long agree. Richard must fear that some day Buckingham's prestige with the people will be too great. No doubt some jealousy doth exist already. Have Lord Stanley, in thy behalf, offer to the Duke some noble inducement to bring him to thy side. The people, indignant at the murder of thy son, could soon be tempted to revolt and make up a strong force; drive forth the Usurper from the throne and place the crown upon the rightful head."
"But how shall I prevent the Earl of Richmond from coming to mine aid, now that I have once invited him?"
"Prevent him not, madam. He shall be of the greatest possible assistance. He and your brother-in-law, the Duke of Buckingham, united should face the boar; and then, when victory doth rest upon their arms, the Duke can hold the Earl in check."
"A happy thought; I'll act upon it straight away. Ah! Sir Frederick, what should I do without thine ever sage advice? Pray God the time will soon come when I can reward my friends, with more than thanks. When my son cometh to his own thou, Sir Frederick, shalt be his Counsellor."
This promise was doomed to never be fulfilled.
[1] Harleston's knowledge of scripture was evidently not great. K.M.
Angry were the people with Richard for his savage murder of the young and rightful King. Discontent and a proper desire to punish the criminal for his act were discernible in the sullen manner in which the Usurper was received where'er he went among them. Scowls, and not resounding cheers, greeted him as he passed through the streets of London, as was his almost daily habit.
Richard was not slow to comprehend the cause, and see what should be the outcome, of this unpopularity, were it permitted to take a firmer root in the minds of the people.
Some people, I know, contend that the best plan for killing discontent and opposition is to notice them not and they, in time, will realize their insignificance, and die by cold neglect. To me this seemeth but a poor device for ridding one of that which doth torment him. Methinks it is like the neglecting of a weed, in the hope that it will come to be disheartened by reason of its lack of opposition and wither up and die. To my poor way of thinking 'tis better, far, to remove the weed, with all its roots intact.
Richard was evidently of the same way of thinking; for he at once proceeded to remove this opposing growth, with all expediency. Subsequent events shall show whether or no the roots came with the stalk and leaves. To accomplish his purpose it was necessary for him to please the people and gain their affection. The most easy and direct way to do this was to, in some manner, contribute to their happiness. In what way could this be so well accomplished as by appealing to the warlike spirit of England, by holding a grand tournament. Ever hath it been the custom of our country's rulers to hold these martial gatherings whenever the good will of all classes is desired. Richard was not slow to follow the example of his predecessors. Therefore was it given out that our generous-hearted Sovereign, to in some small way show his appreciation of the honour done him by the people when they reposed the trust of England's crown with him, would straight-way give the grandest exhibition of all forms of war-like skill that ever England gazed with wondering eyes upon.
Catesby, who had been absent from court ever since the Usurper's coronation, on some business of Richard's (for now he seemed to be to Richard the properest man, though to all others a scoundrel) about this time returned. For this, my dears, I was truly pleasured; for dearly did I then desire an opportunity to be revenged on him for his insult to Hazel. I was determined that nothing should now prevent our meeting; for if he did not willingly enter for the contests I would openly challenge him to fight, the which to refuse, as ye all do know, would stamp him as a coward throughout all Christendom. This I knew well he would not bear; for Catesby, no matter what his failings were, was no physical coward.
Long seemed the time whilst we, with the spirit of impatience, were waiting for the tournament.
Hazel and I planned and decided on my making some excuse and leaving the court of Richard, so soon as the jousts should be ended. Settle down we would and live in peace and quiet within our happy home, far from the strife and intrigue of the court. 'Tis true I did not promise to lay aside the sword and shield forever. On the contrary, faithfully did I promise the ex-Queen to aid her party when the proper time arrived. And, besides, I had an oath to be fulfilled.
No longer could I bear to serve the murderous tyrant, even for mine ends. Indeed he treated me with great civility and some consideration. Yet ever would there rise before my memory's eye the traitorous scene at Stony Stratford. 'Twas when Richard smiled I feared him most. Beware, my children, of a man who smileth on ye all too frequently. Such men are seldom to be trusted. Never did I fall asleep without the fear ahaunting me that I should never gaze upon the sun again; but that the three which murdered our young King would rid our present ruler of one which visited Elizabeth; for no hope of mine could be so sanguine as to cause me to believe that I had thus far escaped Richard's ever-watchful eye.
At length the day before the commencement of the tournament came around, and knights and squires all were busy with the work of preparation.
The place chosen by the King for the holding of the joust was just beyond the city's gates, between London and Westminster, and in the direction of the setting sun, that cast its fiery rays along the bosom of the earth, that it might point out to each separate champion the levelest spot for the pitching of his tent. Where'er the ground had received a wound, and the scar remained, the King of Day, as he settled down to rest, did paint the surrounding turf and leave a darker spot upon the earth, to guide the warrior's servants from their putting up his canvas house.
My friend and I both occupied the one tent, which was both high and broad.
My faithful Michael, and our other servants, bustled about in preparation for the morrow's work.
Pennons and streamers of England's noblest sons now floated on the evening flower-scented breeze, which bore in its fairy arms the sounds of the armourer's anvils, as the men worked, putting on some fine completing touches. Some of these pleasant and familiar sounds were worn to such a thinness as to scarcely have existence, they having travelled from the far end of the field and, in their flight, visited the ears of many knights and squires who, fond of this sweet martial music, consumed a part each one. Others there were ranging in bodily strength until they reached a rich, full ring, proceeding from before our own tent door, where our armourers examined the suits given us by the late King Edward, and which had never since been tested with the lance.
The sun at length sank beneath the floor of earth, and the windows of Heaven began to throw forth their each particular ray of light. As we sat there, watching those far away, twinkling points, I could not refrain from wondering why the Saints and Angels there all seem so busy in the still night time; as can be seen by their passing and repassing of the windows, in never ceasing numbers, each casting a fleeting shadow as he goes. As the light on earth kept fading, more shades in Heaven were drawn aback, as though the kindly folk up there would lend to us more cheer.
Then the pale and trouble-featured moon raised up her hairless head above the earth's surface, and slowly climbed she up the Heaven's arch.
As the sounds of the armourers and the grooms died out, the nightingale did make his voice more plainly heard, as he hurled down, from his perch beside the field, upon our ears, his darts of Heaven's own joy. Aslanting did the music come, as borne by the gentle evening breeze it fell, like April's rain, into our ears and drenched our hearts with sweetness.
The wide-eyed frogs, far from the field, as they sat on their floating thrones, flung, from their baggy throats, at the stars, as countless as themselves, their quavering coward-challenges of battle. Yet no doubt these were as well meant as some we should hear to-morrow.
The moon now stood well up the sky and therefore, when the flap was closed a trifle, shone not far back into the tent.
The nightingale had ceased to sing.
The frogs still hurled their insolence.
Frederick and I, who had been in silence sitting for some time, arose and walked back under our covering. Michael followed, and, when we had laid down, stretched his huge frame across the opening. How like a lifeless statue there he lay; his arms locked o'er his chest. 'Twas seven feet of Hercules, as broad as two good men. Gazing at this picture of strength and loyalty, the latter shown in his firm-cut, honest face, with our shields beneath our heads, my friend and I sank into sleep.
After a night of refreshing, sweet oblivion we awakened bright and strong, well fitted for a day of tilting. It was uncommon early to be stirring; but Richard had given out that the games should commence about the hour of ten; therefore it was necessary to rise early, in order that we might have ample time in which to look over the ground and judge its character, previous to our arming for the fray.
Cool and fresh was the morning; but the cloudless sky and bright-faced sun were indications of a greater warmth when the day should be further advanced.
Shortly after we had breakfasted the King, who had spent the night upon the field instead of at his Palace, rode around the lists, attended by Buckingham, Stanley, Lovell, Ratcliffe and Catesby. Richard wore not his armour; but all of the others were fully armed, but for the lack of their helms; instead of which they wore caps of velvet.
"Ah! Walter, thou art at last to have an opportunity to slake thy thirst for vengeance; for Catesby seemeth ready to take to the field at once," said Harleston, as we stood at the opening of our tent and watched them as they made their tour of inspection.
I smiled my satisfaction.
"Wilt thou ride with headless spear, or wilt thou use the point, and make thy prize his blood, as well as arms?"
"I desire not his steed nor arms," I answered. "No, Frederick, I would rather have the last red drop that now is in his heart than wear King Richard's crown. Long have I kept me quiet, and but little have I spoken of the insulting cur since first mine ears did hear of his black-coward's act. Well dost thou know the human heart, my friend, and mine the best of all. It must be plain to thee that when the coals are left upon the hearth, withouten wood to cause a showy flame, they burn with greater, though more quiet, heat. I made a promise to the Lady Hazel that I would not challenge him to meet me in a duel. Therefore have I held my peace, and waited for such an opportunity as this for working my revenge upon him. If I can kill the knave upon this field I'll do so with as light a heart as any ever worn by man."
"Right, right! my friend," cried Frederick. "I wondered how thou, for this long time since, didst tie down that impatient spirit of thine, and wait with patience for thy vengeance. Thou art a true knight, Sir Walter. Mild when not roused; but when thy spleen is stirred thou art as fiery as the devil," and he grasped my hand and slapped me on the shoulder, as was his familiar custom.
The people from the city commenced now to arrive. Some were mounted, but the majority either rode in carts or came in the less pretentious style—afoot.
"By Heaven!" said Frederick, "and they stop not coming in such numbers we knights shall be compelled to withdraw us from the field and leave it to the tradesmen."
"Come," said I, "'tis time that we should arm. What ho! Michael! where the devil art thou?" Michael, contrary to his habit, did not appear when I called. I walked to the tent door and called again. Then, as I looked beyond the barriers that kept the spectators from crowding into the space reserved for the tents of the knights, I saw him just leaving two old ladies, after having procured for them comfortable seats, in a position from where their eyes commanded an excellent view of the field; and being in that part opposite to where sat the King. I stood in the doorway, awaiting Michael's return, and wondering who the old ladies were to whom he showed such attention.
When Michael, as he hurried back, raised his eyes and beheld me gazing at him, I heard him mutter, in his short, quick way, which ever so amused me:—"Hill!"
When he came up to me he said:—"Pardon sor; but sor, thim ladies, Oi'm jist after asittin' down, is friends o' a wourthy and gallant knoight who hath ivir bin most koind to a poor orphan loike moysilf, sor; and they axed me to foind me a sate fer thim, sor, and Oi hadn't the heart to refuse thim, sor; though had Oi known that yer honour wanted me so soon Oi'd have bin a dale quicker than Oi was, sor."
"I knew not that thou wert known so well among the knighthood of England," I answered with a smile. "But come, Michael, thou needst not to crave pardon of Sir Walter Bradley when thou dost serve such a noble purpose. The ladies, whether known to us or not, come before all true knights or gentlemen; and 'tis when we pay respect to them that we do ennoble ourselves."
"Yis sor," said Michael, as he buckled on my breast plate. "Oi knew that yer honour would pardon me fer lavin' ye, whin Oi tould what moine errand was." This as he buckled on a shoulder-piece.
"Uh! what a pity, sor, to have sich armour, with all that gould in it, dinted with the pint o' a spear," said he, when he had fastened on all but my helm.
The trumpets now sounded a warning blast, and the heralds rode forth and entered the lists at the southern extremity, all their gay trappings tossing in the pleasant morning wind.
Michael, after finishing his employment, by fastening on my sword and lacing my splendid head-piece, went to the pile of lances, from which he selected one both straight and heavy, but having no point.
"Not that to-day, Michael; for the rules of this joust do permit of pointed weapons."
"Uh! sure thin, sor, that impudint Catesby 'll take his dinner with his master, the divil, this day; fer will do Oi know, sor, that he's the varmint yer honour's after."
I always forgave Michael for his familiarity; for without it he should not have been Michael, and never did it harm me. At this remark about Catesby I merely smiled and said:—"Have a headless spear ready, lest I do need one also."
"Oi'll do that same, sor; but Oi'd loike to see yon Catesby's blood upon the pint o' this, sor," and he motioned with his head in the direction of mine enemy's tent and patted the point of the lance. The faithful fellow always looked on Catesby as an enemy common to himself and me.
Again the trumpets rang out full merrily, both long and loud. Then the heralds, which had halted in the centre of the field, separated, one remaining in the centre and the other two riding with their backs to one another until one reached the North and the other the South end of the lists, where each took his especial post. Then the one which had remained in the centre called out the rules of this passage of arms.
After the customary prologue, that I ever considered tedious and unnecessary; for Heaven knows even the balance of these fellow's speeches is long enough, he at length reached the part that he had set out to say.
"Know, all ye true knights and gentlemen of his Most Gracious Majesty of England, Ireland and of France, or of whatever other Sovereign King ye may be faithful subjects, that any knight, of proper standing and untarnished honour, shall here be permitted to enter for these tilts. All such aforesaid valiant knights and gentlemen, which have not ere this had their names placed upon the recorder's list, are hereby warned to do so now, with all expediency, or be content to live without the honour of taking part in these noble contests. Any untarnished knight now has the privilege of challenging to combat, either courteous or martial, any other such knight, whose name is on the record for this joust. When such a number of these tilts as his Most Gracious Majesty doth consider to be proper shall have been decided, from amongst the names contained in the recorder's sheets shall be selected, by means of draft, two parties of twelve knights each, to which said parties shall be added one other knight for each party, which knight shall have the honourable post of leader, each of his particular party, by whom he shall be drawn.
"In tilts of courtesy lances without heads must alone be used. In the more warlike contests both knightly weapons may be used at the discretion of, and the manner most pleasing to, the combatants.
"Any contest shall be considered at an end only at such time as his Majesty, King Richard, shall see fit to signal for its stoppage by the honourable marshals of the field, or when one or the other of the opposing champions shall have owned himself up defeated.
"His Most Gracious Majesty will decide who is the victor in each separate contest; and to the victor shall go the arms and armour, together with the charger and its equipment.
"In the more fiercer contest of the thirteen good knights on each side, they shall fight with pointed lance and with the sword until his Majesty doth see good to cause the contest to be stopped. Then will his Majesty decide which is the winner in the contest. And to the victors shall go the spoils, the same as in the single contests.
"God save King Richard!"
"God save King Richard!" replied the other heralds.
"God save King Richard!" cried the people, as though they meant the words they said.
"God save King Richard!" echoed the city's walls.
Then the herald at the southern extremity of the lists sang forth the same long-winded recitation in the self same monotone, that added nothing to the clearness of the rules, which might have been said in two score of words.
When the third had followed the example of his fellows they all three withdrew from the lists, and the marshals of the field rode forth from where they had been waiting, drawn up in line, armoured and armed as though for a day of battle, and took their posts in groups at the four corners of the field, ready to do their duty.
My horse, fully caparisoned and impatient, like his master, for the field, my groom now led to where I stood, by Harleston's side, before my tent. Hastily mounting I rode down to the barrier gate that gave entry to the lists.
My friend overtook me as I reached the gate. He was mounted upon a splendid charger of a chestnut hue, as I could see from the only visible part of the animal, namely, his legs. Frederick sat his saddle like an armoured statue. Verily, my children, and without conceit I say it, to a spectator we looked as though but few upon that field would have the courage to touch either shield with any other than a pointless lance.
Much then was my surprise when the gate at the end further from where we waited, with impatient plumes and restless pennants, was, for some reason unknown to all of us knights which waited at the North, flung open, whilst ours remained closed. At this opening in dashed a knight which, when he came sufficient close, I recognized, by his device, to be none other than mine old foe, Catesby. Straight he rode up to where I sat, grinding my teeth together, as silently I cursed my fortune for preventing me from riding forth to meet him, that I might strike his shield with my lance's point—for verily did I believe he came thus soon to foil my purpose by challenging me to fight with pointless weapon. On he came and, to my great surprise and pleasure, struck he my shield with the sharp point of his lance.
Ah! my brave sons, ye all do know the pleasure 'tis when, with ring of shield, ye are informed an enemy hath come to do ye battle.
Now were the separating bars removed, and, as Catesby rode to the far end at a gentle trot, I entered with alacrity the field.
As Catesby passed the centre of the lists he paused for a moment whilst, with much grace, he saluted the King, and then the ladies. His example I followed.
After this came much cheering, and well meant advice, from those which thought they better understood the game at which we were about to play than we ourselves did. Most of these warnings came from old warriors of other days, veterans of our great civil wars.
The trumpets now rang out from their metal throats the signal for the fray. Forward we dashed, like two opposing thunderbolts. The hot wind of the summer's morn whistled past mine ears, and sounded like unto when one by accident doth irritate the canvas of his tent by scraping against it with his scabbard's point, causing it to raise its high-pitched voice in protest against the affront. The space betwixt us closed up as quickly as when one with haste doth shut the covers of a book. A crash! a benumbing twinge from finger's tips to shoulder;—a blow, as from a hammer, on the shield;—the steeds stand up and paw the air madly, as does a man when struggling in the waters;—my helm's plumes do bend before mine eyes;—and when the particles of sand are borne aside by the gentle broom of Nature I hold in my gauntlet's grasp only a cloth yard's length of shivered spear. As, with a pat upon my good steed's neck, I brought him to his fore feet, Catesby, whose lance had met a fate similar to mine own, with brandished sword now dashed afresh upon me. His lighter weight had enabled him to regain control of his steed ere I had mastered mine. No time was there for thought. As he leaped forward I flung with my full force, straight at his iron head, the remnant of my lance. His horse, affrighted at this strange weapon, swung from its course to avoid it, and thus saved his master from the blow. This gave me the respite I wanted, and of which I took advantage by drawing mine own good sword.
Loud cheered the crowd of spectators when they saw how equal had been the tilt; and louder again did they shout when they saw us, with clamorous blows, hotly engaged in sword play. One voice, clear and distinct above all others did I hear, and pleased was I when I heard its rich full ring, as its possessor used to their utmost strength his mighty lungs. It was Michael.
I drove my spurs into my horse's flanks and bounded at mine antagonist with the speed of lightning. He avoided my rush in time to save himself; but my steed, with his shoulders, struck his in the hind quarters, and almost bore mine opponent to the earth. As I passed him in my career I struck at him a backhand blow; but he caught it, with great dexterity, upon his shield.
Again did the applause burst forth with all its discordant notes.
Wheeling quickly around I again rode at him, with my sword swung far behind my shoulder, determined to beat him from his saddle. I stood up in my stirrups, and with the full force of my sword arm I drove a blow fairly at his plumaged head. He caught it right manfully upon his shield; but the blow was so powerful that he might as well have held up a frail piece of wood. The keen edge of my sword broke through the buckler's curving surface and forced the wounded steel protector, and its supporting arm, with stunning force against their master's head. He reeled slightly in his saddle; and, ere he could regain control of his scattered senses, again did my remorseless blade fall on his helmet crest, with the sound like the driving of an iron spike between a stone wall's members, by means of a heavy hammer. His horse sprang forward with its master's senseless body crushed down upon the saddle. Then the steed swerved from its straight course, and Catesby lurched and fell headlong, like an armoured scare-crow, all joints and not a bone, into the dusty lists.
The King signed to the heralds, and the trumpets warned the marshals to stop the fight; for in my passion I rode to where mine enemy lay, and, truly, I would have given him his quietus but for the marshal's interference. They bore him to his tent, and I saw no more of him that day. He was not killed however, and this did greatly disappoint me.
Sharply I spurred my steed till he sprang forward and upward like the carrier of Valkyrie. Amid the acclamations of the spectators who, as they ever do, waved their scarfs and bonnets like creatures dispossessed of reason I dashed up before the King's seat and, pulling suddenly upon the rein, caused my good steed to paw the air with his fore feet whilst, with a low bow and a wave of my faithful sword, I respectfully saluted the Usurper.
He acknowledged my salute; but methought the smile that he did wear had, lurking behind it somewhere, a sentiment that, to say the least, was not favourable to me.
After saluting mine enthusiastic admirers (which would bestow the same attentions upon another knight were he to ride out and slay me in the next tilt) I galloped back to the northern barrier. Here my dear friend Frederick did warmly shake me by the hand, whilst Michael went almost mad with delight. So loud, and sometimes profane, were his remarks about Catesby's defeat that I unwillingly was compelled to keep him in some check.
Two other knights now took the field and fought with pointless weapons. This was but a not interesting combat; as the challenger was, in the first course run, thrown from his saddle with a considerable force, after having shown his miserable command of his weapon by altogether missing his opponent; his lance passing harmlessly past his adversary's right shoulder. For this exhibition of the lack of all skill he was prohibited from taking any further part in the tournament, and his name was stricken from the list.
Some three or four other pairs of lances were shivered, and then Harleston gave an exhibition of the most skilled and perfectest way of unhorsing a knight that ever I had, before that day, seen. He entered the lists and rode, with stately ease and graceful respect, past the ladies and the King, until he reached the spot where Sir Thomas Falstone was sitting his horse in a listless fashion, as though he felt assured that no one there would dare to touch his shield. For Sir Thomas was considered one of the first, if not the very first, lance in England at that time; he having been chosen to represent the late King Edward in the last tournament given by that indolent Sovereign. My friend, with a courtly inclination of his head, struck the shield of Sir Thomas a gentle blow with the blunt end of his spear, and then did he rein back his steed that he might return to receive his pointless weapon.
"Tarry an instant, Sir Knight," called out Sir Thomas.
"I await thy speech," replied Frederick.
"Hast thou grown tired of sitting on yon saddle, that thou dost wish to be removed from off its irritating back? Be assured, young sir, 'twere more gentle, far, wert thou to have thy squire remove thee."
"Thou dost mistake my purpose," replied my friend; "I come but to awaken thee from thy dreams of past conquests; which are but poor weapons with which to fight fresh battles, unless other arms be brought to their assistance."
At this rebuff to the over-confident knight the King laughed both long and loud, and of course the courtiers which surrounded him followed his example.
"By the light of Heaven, thou shalt pay dearly for thine insolence when I do hurl thee from thy saddle as a stone goeth from its sling!" called out the enraged Sir Thomas, as my friend rode at a gentle walk in the direction of the northern end.
When he heard this Harleston turned hastily around, and rode back to Sir Thomas and said:—
"As thou still dreamest, methinks 'twere better to arouse thee with the point," and he did strike the surprised knight's shield with the armed end of his lance, and caused it to ring out right lustily.
"Ah! that is better," laughed Sir Thomas. "Now I may have the pleasure of spitting thee like a rotten apple and then hurling thee from my lance's point."
"Verily thou speakest from experience," returned Sir Frederick; "thou hast, no doubt, been in the habit of spitting rotten apples, and nothing more dangerous; else where didst thou get leisure to grow yon ponderous paunch, next to thy speech, the most formidable part of thee?" And amid a roar of applause and laughter he rode back to where I waited. Here he handed to his squire the lance he carried, and in its place he chose another, very heavy and unwieldy, as I thought; but to balance these defects it did have a much greater strength than the one with which he had challenged.
The two knights now took their places, and the trumpets again rang out the signal for the contest.
Both horses dashed forward as though they had been connected, in some invisible way, with the voice of the trumpets.
Sir Thomas aimed straight at Harleston's visor; evidently for the double purpose of exhibiting his skill and administering a severe blow to his opponent.
Sir Frederick, to my great surprise, seemed aiming more at his adversary's horse than at the rider. I could not believe that he did intend committing such a breach of the rules of chivalry; and yet it was clear his point was not directed to the rider.
A heavy blow;—a clatter;—and a cloud of dust, and my friend rides bravely on, waving on high a lance without a point; and here, racing madly towards the northern end, doth come Sir Thomas's steed, without its rider or its saddle.
Harleston had, at the last moment, swung his head to the one side, avoiding the other's point; thus he had escaped unharmed.
But how did Sir Thomas's horse come to be without a saddle as well as riderless?
It happened thus, as my friend told me, when, amidst great cheering, he rode back to where I sat waving my lance and cheering with the others. He had aimed, not at his adversary's horse, as had appeared, but at that part of his saddle where the lance doth lie in rest. This mark he did hit fairly, and the fury of the onset, aided by the heavy spear, caused his opponent's saddle girths to break; and thus Sir Thomas was ignominiously unhorsed, and his gay trappings heaped upon him.
It was a dangerous game to play; for had Harleston so much as scratched, with his lance, his adversary's steed, he had then been disgraced.
Harleston was satisfied with the punishment he had administered in return for the other's boasting, and did not further molest the fallen knight. And indeed there had been but little honour in pressing his victory to a completer stage; for 'twas with great difficulty that Sir Thomas's grooms were able to lift up their bulky master and assist him from the field.
I now rode forth again, and, stopping in the centre of the lists, I opened my visor and, standing up in my stirrups, I called out at the full power of my speech:—
"Know, all true knights here assembled to take part in this noble joust, that I, Walter Bradley, hereby challenge any true knight among ye, which doth desire so to do, to break a lance, with or without a point, as the aforesaid knight doth desire."
For the space of whilst one might tell an hundred no one appeared. At the end of this time, however, a knight, as though in haste, dashed into the lists and, riding with the ease of an accomplished horseman, advanced rapidly to where I waited. He gently touched my shield with the butt of his lance.
On his shield was no device; but his rich inlaid armour, and the courtly bearing of its wearer, seemed to mine eyes as though this were not the first time they had beheld this unknown champion.
As we passed each other in turning, the stranger, in a hurried voice, whose accent told me he was no Englishman, said:—
"I have a message for thee, Sir Walter. May I see thee in thy tent?" There was no time for more.
"Yes," I answered, in the same low tone.
As I rode back to take up my position for the tilt my mind kept tormenting me in its desire to recall where and when I had before heard that voice. The attempt was useless; so placing my lance in rest I made ready for the trumpet's signal.
Loud did they blow.
A rushing rattle, followed by a clattering, tearing sound, and both spears burst into a thousand slivers, as though some foul fiend had been confined within the shaft of each, and at the instant of encounter they spread apart their arms and threw their frail wooden prisons from them with the contempt that Sampson had for cords.
Neither had an advantage. Both his horse and mine own were forced back on their haunches; but we both kept our seats full firm.
And thus in succession did we break three pairs of lances' without either being able to unhorse, or gain any perceptible advantage over the other. Therefore our contest was declared to be a fair and equal one, without a victor.
After this the heralds again rode into the lists and announced that no more single contests should be permitted; but that the contest of the six and twenty knights should be the next feature of that day's list of exhibitions of knightly feats of arms.
However, preceding this there was now to be an exhibition of skilful archery and sword play, by the yeomanry of England, and the men-at-arms.
When this announcement was made the majority of the knights withdrew them to their tents, as they had no interest in these contests.
Soon after my friend and I had dismounted and entered our tent the knight with whom I had last contended, and which had so strangely spoken with me in the lists, came to where Michael stood before the door and enquired of him if his master were within.
Hearing his voice I went to the door and invited him to enter.
"Ah! Monsieur, I hope that I intrude not," said he, as he saw Harleston with me.
"Nay, be assured Sir Knight, whose name I have not the honour of knowing, that any message that thou art pleased to give me shall be common to my friend, Sir Frederick Harleston, and me."
"Then everything is well. I may then speak out boldly and inform you, gentlemen, what is my true name: and I now do tell ye that it is to but few here that it is known. My name then is Count Louis de Saint-Esteve, though in England, upon my present mission, I am known as Sir Gil de Trailles."
We expressed our pleasure at the acquaintance and asked him to be seated. I then ordered Michael to close the flap of the tent, and to himself remain outside, to see that no one should overhear our conversation; for I could see by the stranger's manner that what he had to say was most secret.
After a silence of a few moments he said, in an almost whisper:—
"My business in England upon the present occasion is on the Earl of Richmond's account. Her Majesty, the ex-Queen of the Royal Edward, hath informed me that both of you gentlemen are in her confidence. I therefore speak thus freely of the Earl's plans. In a short time he shall land in England. The usurping King Richard shall be given to understand that the landing shall be made upon the eastern coast. On the contrary, the noble Earl shall land in Wales, where he hath many followers. Buckingham, Lord Stanley, and his brother are the most powerful of the Earl's friends. However, Lord Stanley is not to declare in favour of the noble Richmond until the day of battle; when the Usurper's forces shall melt away as doth the snow in Spring. An usurping tyrant cannot prosper; and what should be black treachery, in another case, in this is but God's retribution."
"But how long shall it be ere the Earl of Richmond doth land?" asked Harleston.
"So soon as the Duke of Buckingham rebels in Wales," replied the Frenchman. "Any day," he continued, "ye may expect to hear that this latter hath happened. Watch then and be prepared; for deliverance is near at hand.
"But now I come to that part of my mission that most affects thee, Sir Walter. The ex-Queen, this morning as I was leaving the Sanctuary, commissioned me to acquaint thee with a plot to ruin thee most thoroughly.
"Thine enemy, that one which doth play the dog for Richard, hath informed his master of the part that he doth suspect that thou didst play at Stony Stratford. Before he came to such a position of influence with the Usurper he feared to so inform on thee. But now that he doth practically rule England he hath planned for thy destruction. His object in so doing is no doubt better known to thee than it is to me. 'Twas Lord Stanley who informed the ex-Queen, and he had it from Richard himself, who now doth trust Stanley as though he had ever loved him."
"I thank thee much for thy kindness in thus warning me of the danger that doth threaten," I replied; "but I scarce see what better I can do than remain still at court, until Earl Henry doth arrive in England. The time, you say, is short; therefore Catesby shall not have long in which to work his vengeance.
"The Usurper cannot molest me unless he doth have more reason for so doing than Catesby's mere suspicion."
"Did the young and rightful King have fair trial, and was he convicted of rank treachery to the state?" asked Harleston. Then my friend answered his own question with a definite "No." This was ever his most forcible way of driving home his opinions.