'Twas useless for me to try to deceive myself in regard to the danger threatening me. I ever have considered a man to be but little removed from a fool when he doth despise his enemies. I therefore admitted that my friend was right, and asked for his advice.
"Methinks it were best for thee to betake thee from the court, with all expediency, and journey in the direction of the coast of Wales, in order that thou mayest be ready there to join the Earl of Richmond when he lands," said Frederick, after a brief consideration. "I may remain at court until the last moment, and then follow thine example."
"Thou knowest," said I, "that what thou dost propose is not within the bounds of possibility. How may I leave the Palace, and risk the danger of the Lady Hazel falling into that scoundrel's hands. He desires to be rid of me but that he may have her in his power. Were I to fly his purpose should then be accomplished as well as if my head had fallen on the block. No," I said, with full determination, "here must I remain and risk my fate; there is no other way."
"Why not take the lady with thee, Monsieur?"
"The danger should be too great," I replied.
"Then, gentlemen, I can be of no further assistance," said the Count, as he arose to depart.
"Tarry a moment, Sir Knight," said Harleston; "a glass of wine before thou goest."
"With all my heart," replied the other. And now for the first time since he had entered the tent he opened his visor.
"By Heaven and all its Saints!" cried Harleston; "I felt assured that I had seen yon suit of armour ere this day. Yes," he continued, "the last time I had the honour of meeting thee was on the field of battle; when we took Berwick from the Scots."
"And art thou the knight which did so kindly cut my helm's lace, after hurling me from my steed?"
"The same," laughed my friend; "and thou dost owe Sir Walter and me each a good sword in payment for those that thou didst break that day."
"When I did come to my senses," said the Frenchman, "I thanked Heaven that I had fallen before a gentleman."
Here we each grasped the Frenchman's hands, and we all laughed and were three good friends.
And thus we sat over our wine and talked, until the trumpets of the heralds warned us that it was time to draw for the contest of the six and twenty knights. Mounting our horses we rode to the southern extremity of the lists, where the draughting was to take place.
Tired were we when at length night came and the first day of the great tournament was ended. 'Twas five of the clock when King Richard threw down his truncheon, and thus put an end, until the morrow, to the jousts.
My total injuries for the whole long day were a few dints in my shield and armour, and the loss of my fine plumes, which had been shorn off with a sword blow from behind, whilst I was engaged with another knight, in the battle of the six and twenty, which had been declared an even contest; though verily do I think our side had a slight advantage; for when, at last, the contest was stopped, on account of the great blood-shed caused, we still had five knights mounted, whilst our opponents had but four. True our leader had been placedhors de combat, but methinks this was more than compensated for by there being one more in the saddle on our side. However, it may have been more fair to both parties to have the decision as it was, though for my own part I had preferred to have the battle fought to a definite conclusion. Then again, the Usurper lost not any supporters by stopping the contest before either side had any decided advantage.
We had been in our tent for some time previous to the conclusion of the day's events, the last of which was more archery.
Michael, after assisting me in the removal of mine armour, asked, in that fashion that ever made it impossible for me to refuse his request:—
"Sure, yer honour, may Oi agin crave yer honour's pardon fer axin' ye, sor, to be absent a short toime, whoilst Oi agin look after thim ould ladies yonder. Sure ye know, sor, Oi'd not be botherin' loike, if Oi wasn't so bound by moy falein's to look after thim in the crowd."
"Yes, Michael, thou mayest go; but tarry not after thou hast taken them safely from the field."
"Uh! sure, sor, Oi fale loike a thafe fer so botherin' yer honour with ivir wantin' somethin'. Thank ye sor. Oi'll be back the minute that Oi takes thim out o' danger," and with a respectful salute he vanished.
We were at our supper when Michael returned, completely out of breath, as though he had travelled far at no slow pace.
"What in the devil's name hast thou been doing unto thyself?" I asked in surprise.
"Runnin', sor," he gasped.
"Short and definite, as well as evident," said I. "But for why didst thou come in such haste?"
"Uh! sure, yer honour, as Oi was returning after takin' the ould ladies to a place o' safety, and as Oi came in soight o' yer honour's tint, uh! sure if Oi didn't behould a damned varmint o' a raven a floyin' in circles ouver this viry tint. Sure, sor, it's an ill day fer poor Moichael when Oi have the misfortune to have to till moy master o' sich bad luck," and he wrung his enormous hands in pure agony of spirit.
"Nay, my faithful friend, feel thankful rather that thou wert permitted to see, and thus inform me of the ill-omened bird's presence, in which the Royal Arthur now flies on wings of Hell's own darkness o'er this fair land, employed as he is in the worthy mission of warning those which danger threatens, and thus giving them some time to be employed in guarding against the trouble."
"But did it alight upon the tent, or merely circle overhead?" asked Harleston.
"Nay, sor; it was about to aloight, and had its avil bake agap to utter some foul curse whin, at moy full spade, Oi rushed, with wavin' o' moy arms in its doirection.
"I thank thee truly, Michael, for thy timely aid; for since it alighted not, the danger is less great."
"True then was what the Frenchman told us of thy danger," said my friend, speaking most serious. "Come, think again, Walter, and resolve to leave the court at once. The Lady Hazel shall be protected from thine enemy so long as Frederick Harleston hath a sword to swing in her defense. Besides this," he added, "I can contrive to have her leave the Sanctuary in safety, and go to thee, when thou hast found some fit abode for both. Thou canst not here avoid the danger that doth threaten thee; and if thou dost fall a victim to Catesby's vengeance, bethink thee of the fate that shall then be her's. Let thy love for thy promised wife o'er-rule thy pride, and resort to flight, where it is to thy profit."
"Ah! my friend, it is a bitter draught to swallow, my flying from mine enemy."
"Yes, Walter; but remember that one might better fight a giant, which is armoured cap-à-pie, holding in his hand a sword of ponderous weight, with edge as sharp as is thy razors, than match thy strength against a child, which holds in its puny grasp the seal of power."
I could not help but admit the truthfulness of this statement; but still I did not relish the idea of fleeing like a hunted animal. I therefore replied:—
"Well, Frederick, I promise thee to consider and debate within my mind on what thou hast said. In the morning I will tell thee which hath conquered, my pride or better reason."
So, wearily throwing ourselves upon the cloaks stretched on the ground, we soon thought not of danger.
"Ha! thou bloody varmint! Mither-o'-Gawd! ye murtherin' baste!"—A scuffle, "Thou wouldst scratch? Thare, damn ye, take that!"—A heavy blow that sounded like unto when one doth strike, with his clenched fist, his armoured thigh,—a heavy, clattering fall,—more swearing from Michael.
"Ha, thou bloody varmint.""Ha, thou bloody varmint."
"Ha, thou bloody varmint.""Ha, thou bloody varmint."
These were the confusing and unusual sounds that caused me to awaken with a start, and in my half dazed state to grasp my sword and shield, as though by instinct.
"Anither mouve out o' ye and ye'll have moure than a browken arm to carry to Hill along with yer bloody soul, if thou hast wan, thou damned, snakein' dawg," again growled Michael, as he stood and shook his enormous fist over a prostrate form, lying betwixt the door and me, from which came groans of agony.
"What is it, Michael?" asked Harleston and I, both in the same words, as we sprang to our feet and stood before the enraged squire.
"Sure, yer honours, its some koind o' baste that useth a dagger with too great a fradom.
"Loy quoite, ye spalpeen, or Oi'll tramp the dawg's loife out o' ye with the hale o' moy boot!"
"Open still further the flap of the tent," I commanded Michael. Then, speaking to the prostrate form upon the ground, I said:—
"Arise sirrah, and tell us truthfully what is thy name, and what thy business here at this unseemly hour."
He slowly rose. Then, as Michael opened wider the tent door, the bright moon's rays fell on the shining blade of a dagger lying at my feet.
"What means this dagger, sirrah?" and I stooped to pick it up.
"Hold! Beware there, Michael!" cried Harleston, as he dashed after the stranger, which had taken advantage of my stooping, to attempt to make good his escape.
Michael, who was outside of the tent, making fast the flap, sprang after the fugitive with the speed of a horse. Almost he had the knave by the collar when, as fortune would have it, his foot caught upon one of the cords which served in securing the tent from being blown to the ground, and fell headlong upon his face, with as great a noise as that made by a falling tree. Harleston, at the same instant, dashed at full speed from the tent and, tripping on the fallen Michael, fell with his full weight upon my squire, thereby adding nothing to that angry person's comfort.
"Uh!" said Michael, "this is that damned raven's work. 'Tis useless; the varmint must escape; all Hill is with him."
I heard no more; but, leaving Harleston and Michael to regain their feet, I hastened in pursuit of the owner of the dagger. He was at that moment disappearing among the scores of tents with which this part of the field was filled. I pursued him until I realized how impossible it was to here find anyone desirous of escaping capture, and then giving up the attempt I returned to my own tent.
Michael was still swearing, and cursing the raven for the luck that it had brought unto us.
"Hill! Whoy didn't Oi brake the varmint's skull, instid o' his arm? Thin the charm had bin browken. Now Gawd knows what'll be the nixt to curse us."
"Come, Michael," said Frederick, "no one is to blame for his escape. Thou didst do right nobly in the saving of our lives from being taken by the dagger of an assassin."
"But tell us," said I, "how thou didst learn of his presence here, and what he was doing when thou didst attack him."
"Will, sor, it was loike this:—Oi was awakened by some wan astippin' ouver moy chist, as though he feared to disturb me. At first, sor, Oi thought it must be ather thee or Sor Fridrick. Thin, thinks Oi to moysilf, what in the divil's name doth make Sor Walter or Sor Fridrick walk so cautious loike? He jist takes a stip in the doiriction o' thee, sor, and thin he stops and waits, whoilst wan moight count a score, as though he was alistenin' fer somethin'. 'Tis moighty strange that ather wan o' yer honours would go on loike that in yer own tint, sez Oi, to moysilf. This koind o' made me curious loike, so Oi jist sits up and watches him. Thin, Mither-o'-Gawd, sor! the blissid moon shines on a dagger in the varmint's hand. Thin, sor, Oi pounces upon him, and the varmint troid to stab me with his damned dagger. This made me lose moy timper, loike; so Oi jist gives him a rap on the arm, and sure, sor, the thing snapped loike a rotten branch astickin' from out the soide o' a dead tree. Thin, sor, Oi lays him down, akoind o' rough loike, and he thought he'd bitter stay thare. Jist at that toime yer honours wakened up, and ye know the rist as will, or bitter, than Oi do."
"Ah! Michael, my faithful friend, what should I do without thee? Thou hast saved my life, this night, and repaying that is beyond my power; unless thou art ever threatened, when I would save thee and risk mine own life, as thou hast done for me."
"Uh! sure, yer honour, dount talk loike that; Oi have no moure than done moy dooty. Sure it's ashamed o' moysilf Oi should be if Oi didn't crush a snakein' varmint loike that, whin he comes acrawlin' into moy master's tint, and roight ouver me, as though I wasn't thare to guard the door."
I could not help but laugh at the easy way in which Michael turned all the credit from himself. I grasped his hand, and slapped him on his huge shoulder. 'Twas useless to say anything more; and indeed my heart took all my speech away.
For this Michael seemed thankful. He betook himself to his position, across the opening of the tent, and, stretching himself at his ease, he soon forgot the part he had played in that night's almost tragedy.
However, Frederick and I sat up and conversed in low tones for some time after Michael had entered that happy land of oblivion, where troubles or plots—except sometimes those that have no reality—intrude not.
"Was it Catesby, thinkest thou?" asked Harleston. "The person was about his stature; and he spoke not even when his arm was broken; a circumstance that points to his fear of his voice being known unto us."
"Verily it was Catesby," I replied. "What other man is there upon this field would attempt such an act? Besides, he alone hath an interest in my death.
"Ah! Catesby," said I, betwixt my clenched teeth, "some day we shall meet again, where there shall be no rules of tourney to put a stop to my revenge.
"Tell me, Frederick, why it is that such scoundrels are permitted to have such positions of authority? Why doth the Ruler of Heaven and Earth permit it? Tell me, for I feign would know."
"My dear Walter," he replied, in that gentle, reasoning way, "thou dost not observe the laws of nature, or thou shouldst not have asked that question.
"The brightest flowers in the stagnant pond of life do rise to the surface with their worthy blooms."
"Surely thou dost not put Richard and Catesby in that class?"
"Nay, nay," he replied, "do but let me finish.
"True, the flowers do come unto the surface," he continued; "but ever remember, Walter, that they must first make their way through the green and evil-smelling scum that also floats on top. The beauteous blossom is made stronger and more large by reason of its stinking opposition. Such is life in all its forms, and such shall it ever be.
"But come," said he, changing from his philosophical to his practical style of conversation, "does not this night's work make clear to thee thy danger? Surely thou wilt not longer hesitate?"
"Verily, I have decided," I replied.
"That is the part of wisdom."
"Do but wait until I have finished; as thou but now saidst to me."
"I do," he smiled.
"Yes, Harleston, I am fully resolved,—to fly not."
"What?"
"Before this incident of the night did happen 'tis possible I might have decided to follow thine advice, the which is no doubt the properest and most reasonable course. But sith Master Catesby hath attempted to play the part of an assassin I am determined to remain and show to his coward's face that Walter Bradley fears him not. Let him do his worst. In London I remain until the Earl of Richmond lands."
"Oh, Bradley, Bradley, that hot head of thine will never be content until it has been severed from its trunk. And yet," he continued thoughtfully, "thou hast most excellent reason, if it were not for thine accursed temper. Well, well, I know that it is now useless to attempt to change thee. The next best thing to do is to try and save thee, after thou art in his power. 'Tis a difficult task; but it's all that your friends can do for thee."
"What dost thou think his next move will be?"
"He will not use the dagger, after to-night's failure," replied Frederick; "and besides, he hath a broken arm if it were he which visited us."
"Thou meanest that his next attempt will be the axe of the executioner?"
"Yes."
"A pleasant prospect; but one that the loss of sleep cannot save from." So saying I stretched me upon my cloak and soon thought naught of Catesby nor his vengeance.
Loud and trembling blew the trumpets to arouse the lazy sleepers and warn them that the second and last day of the grand tournament had dawned. Then, had one but had the heads of Ægeon, and had he been able to place heads in separate parts of the field, among the tents of knights and squires, his numerous ears had heard low-muttered curses issue from each tent, as the inmates awakened, protested, turned to the other side, shrugged up their each particular pair of shoulders and again sank into sleep.
Another hour passed, and again rang out the trumpets, with their unwelcome sound. This time they must not be denied, as the sun was well started on his circling journey.
Michael was busy superintending the preparing of our morning meal.
Harleston, as ever, did not rise until the last moment; and then he hurriedly arose and joined me at breakfast.
"Well, Michael," said Frederick, "whom dost thou think it was last night, that thou didst handle so roughly? Thinkst thou that it was Catesby?"
"Sure, sor, Oi know not fer a surety, but methinks it must ha' bin anither."
"And why?"
"Because, sor, he seemed to lack the stringth that Catesby doth possiss."
"Methinks that it had been all one to thee had he been possessed of twice the power of Catesby. I doubt me much that thou had noticed any difference," laughed Frederick.
At this compliment to his strength Michael blushed like a maiden, and returned no answer.
"Come, Walter, what wilt thou wager that the would-be assassin of last night was or was not Catesby?" asked my friend.
"Truly, my wish is so strong that it was mine old enemy that I will make it father of the thought, and for the wager,—say—a new cloak, of Paris's latest fashion."
"Done, by Heaven! That cloak will suit me well. I'll lay on Michael's judgment."
When we were fully armed we strolled forth from our tent to watch the spectators arrive in one continuous stream, like a sluggish, winding river, and well nigh as unceasing.
Michael again did ask permission to be absent for a little while, that he might escort the old ladies unto their seats, and protect them in the enormous crowd. In a short time we saw his head moving towards the rows of seats, as he brushed aside, as though they had been reeds, the groups of angry tradesmen, that he might make way for those which he did escort.
"What friends of Michael's are those same old ladies, to which he showeth such faithful attention and care?" asked Frederick.
"Thou knowest them as well as I."
"Nay, but hast thou never asked him?"
"No; I thought it of but little moment until now. But methinks that I have seen those same figures somewhere ere this; though where, I cannot now recall," said I, as Michael and his charge appeared from out the crowd. "I will ask Michael when he returns."
But ere my squire did return the heralds rode into the lists, and started their tedious recitation of the rules of that day's sports; the which we were so absorbed in listening to, in the effort to gather some small particle of sense from, that I thought not of that which I had intended asking Michael.
The marshals then entered the field, and took up their customary positions to enforce the rules of the joust; the which were, as near as I could make out, not different from the first day's.
"There, Walter, I have won my wager; for, if mine eyes do serve me aright, thine ancient foe, Catesby, hath taken his place among the King's guards."
"Thou art right; the cloak is thine. But see! he wears not his armour, although his both arms appear to be whole and sound."
"True, your treatment of him yesterday hath been sufficient to satisfy his appetite for glory and revenge, such as he obtained in the lists."
Then, as mine enemy turned his head, Michael, who was now standing behind me, exclaimed, in a voice low but heavy, like the roll of distant thunder:—"The damned villain's head is cracked; fer look at the clout that shows beneath his cap. Sure its bad luck that the blow that did it stopped ere it rached the varmint's chin."
That evening, as we journeyed slowly and wearily back from the field that had been during the last two days the scene of so many noble feats of arms, and of which nothing now remained but the long and narrow strip of sandy ground where the sod had been removed to leave a level and firm place for the list, and the black spots to point out the places where had glowed the fires, Harleston remarked in his low and musing voice:—
"Verily, yon place doth represent the lives of men."
"How so?" I asked.
"Records of our deeds are imprinted in the sand. If a storm doth arise to-night, all the little mounds that indicate some noble courses run shall be levelled, and a traveller passing there to-morrow will notice nothing but a barren strip, with nowhere on its face a mark to tell of glorious deeds performed."
The thought of this was sad, and yet 'twas true; as are the most of gloomy thoughts. It is for this same reason that I ever try to turn my mind's eye to the pleasures and the joys of life, the which are far from few. I therefore, on this occasion, turned from the contemplation of this dreary sight to the scene that should await me when, that evening, I would go unto the Sanctuary; for such was mine intent. I could picture, in my mind's eye, my fair Hazel waiting and watching with the agony of expectation for me; wondering if I ever should return from that sport which she so much disliked on account of its "inhumanity," as she had said.
I wondered if Harleston's mind were not drawing the same picture. Had he yet asked Mary to be his wife? I believed he had; for the day before we rode forth to the tournament, when we had visited the girls, Hazel had let drop a remark that did arouse my suspicions; and when I questioned her upon the point she laughingly informed me of the fact that I was "too inquisitive," the which I doubt not. And try as I would I could get nothing more from her. I had not liked to ask Harleston; for there seems to be a something, the name of which I know not, that ever doth keep us from mentioning this subject to one which we believe to be in love, unless they first do bring it up.
By this time we had almost reached the Palace of King Richard.
Loud cheered the people as the King rode along the crowd-lined streets and scattered gold among them with a lavish hand.
"God save King Richard!" rang out on every side.
I had as soon cried:—"God save the devil!"
The broken-headed Catesby rode beside the King. The two seemed to be conversing as we reached Crosby Place.
"Not favourable to me," said I in Harleston's ear, as I nodded in the direction of the hump-backed King and his adviser.
My friend did not reply, in words; but he shook his head in a manner which showed that he realized my danger fully.
After giving our horses to our grooms we entered the great hall, and from there—when the King had withdrawn himself—we went to mine own room.
How gloomy and lonely did it seem. Something huge, black and terrible did seem to vanish from the centre of the room, dividing into a score of parts, and each part retaining, for an instant only, a pair of fiery eyes, as the light of our lamp burst into the room, dispelling all the darkness.
Now, on this night my room seemed not the same. Ever did I expect to see some spirit of evil arise before mine eyes and stretch out its fantastic arms to seize me. A great gloom had fallen on us both. Neither spoke for some time; and when at length I said to Harleston:—
"No longer can I bear this life; to-morrow I leave this Palace forever," mine own voice did seem to startle me; so hollow and unnatural did it sound.
Then, as if the words I had said were to be turned into a prophecy, a knock came at the door, and, upon opening, in walked Sir James Tyrrell and a half a score of men-at-arms.
"I regret, Sir Walter Bradley, that I am compelled to ask you for your sword, and to tell thee that I now arrest thee."
"Upon what charge?"
"High treason, Sir Walter."
Harleston arose and grasped my hand in a grip that could not be mistaken.
"Tell not my dear Hazel of this; that is, not at present."
"Keep up thy courage," he replied; "thou shalt not die by the hand of an executioner. I, thy friend, Harleston, have said it, and I never yet have told a lie."
I thanked him for his kind words with the pressure of my hand, and with a firm step marched from the room.
In the hall I met Michael on his way to my quarters. When he saw me he made a movement as though he thought to attack the soldiers which surrounded me.
"Farewell, Michael," I said, as a great lump arose in my throat, and I gripped his mighty hand. "Go to Sir Frederick, in my room, and in future serve him as faithfully as in the past thou hast served me."
He dropped to one knee and, though I tried to prevent him, he kissed my hand as though I were a King. Then he arose and walked slowly toward the door where Harleston stood.
As I marched on I wiped two drops of moisture from the back of my hand.
I was conducted into the Tower through the "Traitor's Gate," the which, when I passed through, added nothing unto my lightness of spirit. As I gazed at the enormous arches, the memory of past events when, as a boy, I had heard of those which had entered this waterway with the charge of treason clinging to their names, never again to be heard of by the outside world, came to my mind with a renewed freshness and a force never to be by me forgotten, so long as mine old grey head retains its wonted reason.
But then, this was as nothing compared with the great feeling of loneliness, and crushing weight of the conviction of hopelessness which settled on my heart when the door of my prison had been closed and locked, and I was left alone, but for my tormenting thoughts, within my cruel room in that Tower which rumour told had been the place of murder of our little King.
When the keepers had departed, and the sound of their clanking steps had died out, I still stood in the centre of the room, benumbed and dazed, as the full reality of my situation was gradually absorbed by my whirling mind. Then I moved, and mine armour rattled with a noise that sounded, to mine ears, as though a shield had fallen from a great height and alighted on a floor of stone. I started, gasped, and my hand flew to the place where should have hung my sword. I felt my brow. It was cold and moist. I laughed at my foolishness; but the sound of mine own voice was so awful that I was as much startled as I had been by the sound of mine armour. Then I stood still and held my breath and listened, for what I know not. The stillness was so intense that it did seem to have a substance, and press into mine ears with such a force as did cause me to think that they were like to burst.
How long I stood thus I know not; it did seem to be an age.
Presently I heard a distant footstep. Ashamed of my childish feeling of fear, I, that would stand alone and face a score of warriors and never quaver, as the sound of the feet approached, started to pace hurriedly the floor of my prison. As the causer of the sounds in the corridor reached my door he stopped, and I heard the key rattle, as he did insert it in the lock. I sat myself down upon my couch and tried, as best I could, to appear to be at mine ease when the jailer should enter.
He brought with him a lamp and a small table, for both of which I was glad.
He was a not-bad-natured, though coarse-looking fellow of about some forty years; of rather more than middle height, and a girth and breadth of shoulder which bespoke not lack of bodily strength. A shock of yellow hair, mixed liberally with grey, stood out from beneath his cap of steel, like a wisp of straw.
After placing the articles that he had brought, upon the floor, he cast but one glance at me, and then turned on his heel and left me. Presently he returned with my supper, which he placed upon the table much in the same manner as one would arrange the meal of swine.
"There, sir," said he, "thou hast nothing to complain of. That supper is fit for a King. And it's better than one King had whilst he lived in this very room."
"What! did the young King Edward occupy this room?"
"As for whether he occupied it or not, now that I know not; but he was kept in this same room until he went out feet first."
"Horrible!" I gasped.
"Horrible? Lord, sir! methinks that thou shouldst feel honoured by the thought of being let sleep in the same room where a royal King did sleep. I know that I would," he added, with a grim smile.
"And dost thou know who killed him?" I asked.
"Nay, nay, I said not nothing of his being killed," he replied, with a grin and a wise twist of his head, accompanied by the uplifting of the one of his shoulders until it touched his ear.
"Well then, of what distemper did he die?"
"Ha, ha!" he laughed, as though I had amused him vastly. "What distemper? Ha, ha, ha! Well upon my soul! ha, ha, ha!" he burst forth again.
His voice, when he laughed, was ample evidence that he had in his day consumed no small quantity of spirits of different sorts; for it sounded as though a goodly quantity of the liquids had remained in his throat, where it did some prodigious bubbling.
"The distempers that one gets when a prisoner here are most always of one kind. Ha, ha, ha! What distemper? Well upon my soul!" And still laughing at that which he no doubt imagined was wit, he went out and locked the door and I was again alone with my thoughts, which were no more cheerful than they had been previous to his visit.
That night my sleep, if such it may be called, was an almost endless succession of tormenting and extravagant dreams of terror, divided from each other by an awakening start of horror.
And so the weary days and nights of mine imprisonment dragged slowly on. Slowly, for the weight of sorrow and tormenting agony of uncertainty for the fate of the one I loved did impede their progress, as doth the heavy weight upon the poor snail's back cause it to drag its weary body so slowly along its slimy course.
My sole occupation, with which I tried to prevent my mind from brooding, was the reading of the different sad histories of those which writ down their thoughts, and fates to be, upon their—and now my—prison's walls. One of these, whose sadness and beautiful resignation—even though it hath no great poetic merit—most affected me, I now set down. The lines and words are imprinted on the pages of my memory with such a force as never can fade, so long as the old, worn book doth hold together. Here they are, my children; and much profit may be gathered from their calmness and resignation:—
"Somewhat musing, and more mourning,In remembering the unsteadfastness,This world being of such wheeling,Me contrarying, what can I guess?
"I fear, doubtless, remediless,Is now to seize my woful chance;For unkindness, withouten less, (lessening)And no redress, doth me avance.
"With displeasance, to my grievance,And no surance of remedy;Lo, in this trance, now in substance,Such is my dance, willing to die.
"Methinks, truly, bounden am I,And that greatly, to be content;Seeing plainly Fortune doth wryAll contrary from mine intent
"My life was lent me to one intent;It is nigh spent. Welcome Fortune!But I ne went (thought) thus to be shent,But she it meant, such is her won (wont)"[1]
Evidently the woeful writer of these lines had been condemned to death. His bones had now lost their fleshly mantle, and forgotten he lay, far from those he loved. "How long ere I shall be in the same condition?" thought I, as I stood before my secure-barred window and gazed at the rain, as it fell in one unceasing torrent.
"Verily the heavens do weep for the sufferings of poor England," I said aloud; for now I spoke unto myself as though I were another.
For I know not how many days, for in my sorrow I lost all track of time, the rain fell with unabated fury.
How I longed to hear how fared my gentle Hazel.
"Hell and furies!" would I cry, and grip at the same time the iron bars that stood like the gate of Hell betwixt me and my liberty. How relieving did it feel to my pent up hate to twist at an iron bar and imagine that it was Catesby's throat I held.
"Ha! thou accursed villain!" would I cry aloud, "thou now shalt know the fury of my vengeance!" Then would I strike the cruel metal with my bare and clenched fist, with such a force as did drive the tender skin back from the bone and leave a bleeding tear.
The days lengthened into weeks; and still no word from the outside world. No trial; no condemnation; no execution; and that which I then most distasted, no definite knowledge of what should be my fate.
But let me now imagine myself as a free man, outside the Tower's walls—the which I then saw no chance of my ever being—and let me now describe the strange and important events that there were happening.
The next day after my arrest the Duke of Buckingham left the court, as though in haste. He and Lord Stanley had been together in the apartments of the Duke until a late hour on the night of my arrest. Whisperings there were to the effect that Buckingham had parted from the King in a spirit of animosity. Whether this were or were not the case I know not. However, the next news of Buckingham was of such a kind that it left no room for a doubt as to their then relations, no matter what they had been previous to the Duke's departure.
"Buckingham hath rebelled against King Richard: he is now raising an army in Wales. The Earl of Richmond is coming to his aid. More war and bloodshed for poor England." Such was the intelligence that now flew on from mouth to ear throughout the land. Had mine imprisoned ears but heard it then, how welcome had it been.
Catesby, who had on several occasions attempted to gain admittance to the Sanctuary, and had as many times met with refusal, was now obliged to attend to the affairs of state. Thus my fair Hazel was saved from his further molestation. Those days of tortuous anxiety to me could have been scarce less agonizing to her.
The Usurper, with that energy ever his chiefest characteristic, now raised an army to face the rebellious Duke.
Then did commence to fall those fearful rains, that never once did cease for days and nights I know not how many; but as I think, some ten days or two weeks.
The army of the Duke, thinking this unceasing rain was a message from Heaven forbidding them to thus rebel, deserted their leader, and each particular man did betake himself unto his separate home.
Then, as every congregation of people must have its Judas, the Duke was betrayed into the hands of the usurping tyrant, and there at Salisbury, where Richard had taken his post—for he thought that Richmond did intend joining Buckingham near this place—the Duke's head fell upon the block, and Richard was rid of one more great enemy.
Still did not Richmond land; so Richard and his army returned to London.
When Catesby, who had been with Richard in this expedition, came again to the Palace it did cause Harleston great anxiety; for he feared for the safety of the Lady Hazel. However, Catesby, to my friend's surprise, went not near the Sanctuary.
This was but the deceiving prologue to another history of suffering and reverses to us, that ever seemed bent on rending us asunder, whose hearts were bound together with such mighty bonds of love.
One evening as Frederick returned from a visit to the Sanctuary—where he had learned that Richmond had at last landed in Wales, and was even now on his way to London—on entering his room Michael handed him a sealed packet which proved to be an order for him to be prepared to march, at sunrise, in the ranks of Richard's army. This, however, was no surprise, as he had been expecting it for more than a week. He walked over to the table and laid the letter upon it.
"What is this, Michael?" he called, as his eyes fell upon another well sealed packet.
Michael, however, knew not from whence it came or how it got there.
"Michael," said Frederick, "thou knowest that I desire no one to be permitted to enter this room during mine absence. How is it, therefore, that this letter found its way here without thy knowledge?"
"Sure, yer honour, it must have bin thare afore ye lift, sor; fer Oi was out o' the room but fer a few minutes, and thin Oi made fast the door behind me, and took the kay along with me, sor. Divil a soul could inter, sor, barrin' that they came through the kay-houle."
"Strange," said Harleston, as he commenced to read the lengthy letter. But stranger still he thought it ere he had finished its contents. It was writ in a labored hand, as though to avoid recognition, and read as follows:—
"To SIR FREDERICK HARLESTON,Greeting.
"The writer of these words, though—for reasons that he is not at liberty to state—he signs not his name, is well known to thee, and to thine unfortunate friend, Sir Walter Bradley; both of which he loveth well.
"To-morrow Sir Walter is to go through a form of trial—the result of which must be his conviction—and he shall immediately be taken unto Tower Hill, where his head shall be stricken from the trunk. Unless, ere to-morrow's dawn, he, by the aid of his friends, doth contrive to escape from the Tower, and make his way from London to a place of safety, he must surely die.
"Sir Walter is now confined within the square tower next after passing through the Tower of St. Thomas, which, thou no doubt knowest, is that one into which the "Traitor's Gate" doth lead.
"If thou wilt but turn to the enclosure in this letter thine eyes shall behold an order, signed by his Majesty, King Richard, that shall obtain for the bearer admittance to and exit from any part of the Tower. However, this cannot give unto thee power to take forth a prisoner with thee. That must be done at thine own risk, and in the manner following:—
"There is but one keeper in attendance on Sir Walter. Him thou must master, and in a quiet manner. Take then from his belt the keys that do depend therefrom. Leave the keeper in such a condition as shall secure thee of his quietness. The aforesaid keys will give unto you an exit into the space before the square tower. When ye have reached this, turn to your left, and again will the keys open the gate in this wall with which ye shall soon be confronted. Then, looking to your right, ye shall behold the wall that doth separate the yard from the watery moat. Approach this with the exercise of great caution and ye shall then observe an opening where the wall is now being repaired by workmen, in the day time, and at night it is guarded by a single soldier, armed with a pole-axe. Ye must quiet this man by whatever means best serving. But over and above all else, the neglect of which advice must be the ruin of ye both, permit him to make not any noise; for the utterance of but one word by him shall be the signal for his fellows to come to his assistance; in which case escape is impossible.
"When the sentry shall have been removed the moat must be crossed as best ye can. The water therein is now both fresh and high, and therefore it will not be difficult for ye to descend into it and swim across. This ye must do in a most careful manner, that the guard be not disturbed by the noise of splashing water.
"At a point directly opposite to the place where the wall is now being repaired ye shall find a ladder made of ropes and cross pieces, placed there for your especial use and privilege.
"By these same means ye may assist your friend to freedom, and that, without great risk; providing that the aforesaid instructions be followed with exactness and care."