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Title: The Last Of The Barons, Volume 4.

Author: Edward Bulwer-Lytton

Release Date: March 2005  [EBook #7718]
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[This file was first posted on May 6, 2003]

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BOOK IV.

INTRIGUES OF THE COURT OF EDWARD IV.




CHAPTER I.

MARGARET OF ANJOU.

The day after the events recorded in the last section of this
narrative, and about the hour of noon, Robert Hilyard (still in the
reverend disguise in which he had accosted Hastings) bent his way
through the labyrinth of alleys that wound in dingy confusion from the
Chepe towards the river.

The purlieus of the Thames, in that day of ineffective police,
sheltered many who either lived upon plunder, or sought abodes that
proffered, at alarm, the facility of flight.  Here, sauntering in twos
or threes, or lazily reclined by the threshold of plaster huts, might
be seen that refuse population which is the unholy offspring of civil
war,--disbanded soldiers of either Rose, too inured to violence and
strife for peaceful employment, and ready for any enterprise by which
keen steel wins bright gold.  At length our friend stopped before the
gate of a small house, on the very marge of the river, which belonged
to one of the many religious orders then existing; but from its site
and aspect denoted the poverty seldom their characteristic.  Here he
knocked; the door was opened by a lay-brother; a sign and a smile were
interchanged, and the visitor was ushered into a room belonging to the
superior, but given up for the last few days to a foreign priest, to
whom the whole community appeared to consider the reverence of a saint
was due.  And yet this priest, who, seated alone, by a casement which
commanded a partial view of the distant Tower of London, received the
conspirator, was clad in the humblest serge.  His face was smooth and
delicate; and the animation of the aspect, the vehement impatience of
the gesture, evinced little of the holy calm that should belong to
those who have relinquished the affairs of earth for meditation on the
things of heaven.  To this personage the sturdy Hilyard bowed his
manly knees; and casting himself at the priest's feet, his eyes, his
countenance, changed from their customary hardihood and recklessness
into an expression at once of reverence and of pity.

"Well, man--well, friend--good friend, tried and leal friend, speak!
speak!" exclaimed the priest, in an accent that plainly revealed a
foreign birth.

"Oh, gracious lady! all hope is over; I come but to bid you fly.  Adam
Warner was brought before the usurper; he escaped, indeed, the
torture, and was faithful to the trust. But the papers--the secret of
the rising--are in the hands of Hastings."

"How long, O Lord," said Margaret of Anjou, for she it was, under that
reverend disguise, "how long wilt Thou delay the hour of triumph and
revenge?"

The princess as she spoke had suffered her hood to fall back, and her
pale, commanding countenance, so well fitted to express fiery and
terrible emotion, wore that aspect in which many a sentenced man had
read his doom,--an aspect the more fearful, inasmuch as the passion
that pervaded it did not distort the features, but left them locked,
rigid, and marble-like in beauty, as the head of the Medusa.

"The day will dawn at last," said Hilyard; "but the judgments of
Heaven are slow.  We are favoured, at the least, that our secret is
confined to a man more merciful than his tribe."  He then related to
Margaret his interview with Hastings at the house of the Lady
Lougueville, and continued: "This morning, not an hour since, I sought
him (for last evening he did not leave Edward, a council met at the
Tower), and learned that he had detected the documents in the recesses
of Warner's engine.  Knowing from your Highness and your spies that he
had been open to the gifts of Charolois, I spoke to him plainly of the
guerdon that should await his silence.  'Friar,' he answered, 'if in
this court and this world I have found it were a fool's virtue to be
more pure than others, and if I know that I should but provoke the
wrath of those who profit by Burgundian gold, were I alone to disdain
its glitter, I have still eno' of my younger conscience left me not to
make barter of human flesh.  Did I give these papers to King Edward,
the heads of fifty gallant men, whose error is but loyalty to their
ancient sovereign, would glut the doomsman; but,' he continued, 'I am
yet true to my king and his cause; I shall know how to advise Edward
to the frustrating all your schemes.  The districts where you hoped a
rising will be guarded, the men ye count upon will be watched: the
Duke of Gloucester, whose vigilance never sleeps, has learned that the
Lady Margaret is in England, disguised as a priest.  To-morrow all the
religious houses will be searched; if thou knowest where she lies
concealed, bid her lose not an hour to fly.'"

"I Will NOT fly!" exclaimed Margaret; "let Edward, if he dare,
proclaim to my people that their queen is in her city of London.  Let
him send his hirelings to seize her.  Not in this dress shall she be
found.  In robes of state, the sceptre in her hand, shall they drag
the consort of their king to the prison-house of her palace."

"On my knees, great queen, I implore you to be calm; with the loss of
your liberty ends indeed all hope of victory, all chance even of
struggle.  Think not Edward's fears would leave to Margaret the life
that his disdain has spared to your royal spouse.  Between your prison
and your grave, but one secret and bloody step!  Be ruled; no time to
lose!  My trusty Hugh even now waits with his boat below.  Relays of
horses are ready, night and day, to bear you to the coast; while
seeking your restoration, I have never neglected the facilities for
flight.  Pause not, O gracious lady; let not your son say, 'My
mother's passion has lost me the hope of my grandsire's crown.'"

"My boy; my princely boy, my Edward!" exclaimed Margaret, bursting
into tears, all the warrior-queen merged in the remembrance of the
fond mother.  "Ah, faithful friend! he is so gallant and so beautiful!
Oh, he shall reward thee well hereafter!"

"May he live to crush these barons, and raise this people!" said the
demagogue of Redesdale.  "But now, save thyself!"

"But what! is it not possible yet to strike the blow?  Rather let us
spur to the north; rather let us hasten the hour of action, and raise
the Red Rose through the length and breadth of England!"

"Ah, lady, if without warrant from your lord; if without foreign
subsidies; if without having yet ripened the time; if without gold,
without arms, and without one great baron on our side, we forestall a
rising, all that we have gained is lost; and instead of war, you can
scarcely provoke a riot.  But for this accursed alliance of Edward's
daughter with the brother of icy-hearted Louis, our triumph had been
secure.  The French king's gold would have manned a camp, bribed the
discontented lords, and his support have sustained the hopes of the
more leal Lancastrians.  But it is in vain to deny, that if Lord
Warwick win Louis--"

"He will not! he shall not!--Louis, mine own kinsman!" exclaimed
Margaret, in a voice in which the anguish pierced through the louder
tone of resentment and disdain.

"Let us hope that he will not," replied Hilyard, soothingly; some
chance may yet break off these nuptials, and once more give us France
as our firm ally.  But now we must be patient.  Already Edward is fast
wearing away the gloss of his crown; already the great lords desert
his court; already, in the rural provinces, peasant and franklin
complain of the exactions of his minions; already the mighty House of
Nevile frowns sullen on the throne it built.  Another year, and who
knows but the Earl of Warwick,--the beloved and the fearless, whose
statesman-art alone hath severed from you the arms and aid of France,
at whose lifted finger all England would bristle with armed men--may
ride by the side of Margaret through the gates of London?"

"Evil-omened consoler, never!" exclaimed the princess, starting to her
feet, with eyes that literally shot fire.  "Thinkest thou that the
spirit of a queen lies in me so low and crushed, that I, the
descendant of Charlemagne, could forgive the wrongs endured from
Warwick and his father?  But thou, though wise and loyal, art of the
Commons; thou knowest not how they feel through whose veins rolls the
blood of kings!"

A dark and cold shade fell over the bold face of Robin of Redesdale at
these words.

"Ah, lady," he said, with bitterness, "if no misfortune can curb thy
pride, in vain would we rebuild thy throne.  It is these Commons,
Margaret of Anjou--these English Commons--this Saxon People, that can
alone secure to thee the holding of the realm which the right arm
wins.  And, beshrew me, much as I love thy cause, much as thou hast
with thy sorrows and thy princely beauty glamoured and spelled my
heart and my hand,--ay, so that I, the son of a Lollard, forget the
wrongs the Lollards sustained from the House of Lancaster; so that I,
who have seen the glorious fruitage of a Republic, yet labour for
thee, to overshadow the land with the throne of ONE--yet--yet, lady--
yet, if I thought thou wert to be the same Margaret as of old, looking
back to thy dead kings, and contemptuous of thy living people, I would
not bid one mother's son lift lance or bill on thy behalf."

So resolutely did Robin of Redesdale utter these words, that the
queen's haughty eye fell abashed as he spoke; and her craft, or her
intellect, which was keen and prompt where her passions did not deafen
and blind her judgment, instantly returned to her.  Few women equalled
this once idol of knight and minstrel, in the subduing fascination
that she could exert in her happier moments.  Her affability was as
gracious as her wrath was savage; and with a dignified and winning
frankness, she extended her hand to her ally, as she answered, in a
sweet, humble, womanly, and almost penitent voice,--

"O bravest and lealest of friends, forgive thy wretched queen.  Her
troubles distract her brain,--chide her not if they sour her speech.
Saints above! will ye not pardon Margaret if at times her nature be
turned from the mother's milk into streams of gall and bloody purpose,
when ye see, from your homes serene, in what a world of strife and
falsehood her very womanhood hath grown unsexed?" She paused a moment,
and her uplifted eyes shed tears fast and large.  Then, with a sigh,
she turned to Hilyard, and resumed more calmly, "Yes, thou art right,
--adversity hath taught me much.  And though adversity will too often
but feed and not starve our pride, yet thou--thou hast made me know
that there is more of true nobility in the blunt Children of the
People than in many a breast over which flows the kingly robe.
Forgive me, and the daughter of Charlemagne shall yet be a mother to
the Commons, who claim thee as their brother!"

Thoroughly melted, Robin of Redesdale bowed over the hand held to his
lips, and his rough voice trembled as he answered, though that answer
took but the shape of prayer.

"And now," said the princess, smiling, "to make peace lasting between
us, I conquer myself, I yield to thy counsels.  Once more the
fugitive, I abandon the city that contains Henry's unheeded prison.
See, I am ready.  Who will know Margaret in this attire?  Lead on!"

Rejoiced to seize advantage of this altered and submissive mood, Robin
instantly took the way through a narrow passage, to a small door
communicating with the river.  There Hugh was waiting in a small boat,
moored to the damp and discoloured stairs.

Robin, by a gesture, checked the man's impulse to throw himself at the
feet of the pretended priest, and bade him put forth his best speed.
The princess seated herself by the helm, and the little boat cut
rapidly through the noble stream.  Galleys, gay and gilded, with
armorial streamers, and filled with nobles and gallants, passed them,
noisy with mirth or music, on their way.  These the fallen sovereign
heeded not; but, with all her faults, the woman's heart beating in her
bosom--she who in prosperity had so often wrought ruin, and shame, and
woe to her gentle lord; she who had been reckless of her trust as
queen; and incurred grave--but, let us charitably hope, unjust--
suspicion of her faith as wife, still fixed her eyes on the gloomy
tower that contained her captive husband, and felt that she could have
forgotten a while even the loss of power if but permitted to fall on
that plighted heart, and weep over the past with the woe-worn
bridegroom of her youth.




CHAPTER II.

IN WHICH ARE LAID OPEN TO THE READER THE CHARACTER OF EDWARD THE
FOURTH AND THAT OF HIS COURT, WITH THE MACHINATIONS OF THE WOODVILLES
AGAINST THE EARL OF WARWICK.

Scarcely need it be said to those who have looked with some philosophy
upon human life, that the young existence of Master Marmaduke Nevile,
once fairly merged in the great common sea, will rarely reappear
before us individualized and distinct.  The type of the provincial
cadet of the day hastening courtwards to seek his fortune, he becomes
lost amidst the gigantic characters and fervid passions that alone
stand forth in history.  And as, in reading biography, we first take
interest in the individual who narrates, but if his career shall pass
into that broader and more stirring life, in which he mingles with men
who have left a more dazzling memory than his own, we find the
interest change from the narrator to those by whom he is surrounded
and eclipsed,--so, in this record of a time, we scarce follow our
young adventurer into the court of the brilliant Edward ere the scene
itself allures and separates us from our guide; his mission is, as it
were, well-nigh done.  We leave, then, for a while this bold, frank
nature-fresh from the health of the rural life--gradually to improve,
or deprave itself, in the companionship it finds.  The example of the
Lords Hastings, Scales, and Worcester, and the accomplishments of the
two younger Princes of York, especially the Duke of Gloucester, had
diffused among the younger and gayer part of the court that growing
taste for letters which had somewhat slept during the dynasty of the
House of Lancaster; and Marmaduke's mind became aware that learning
was no longer the peculiar distinction of the Church, and that Warwick
was behind his age when he boasted "that the sword was more familiar
to him than the pen."  He had the sagacity to perceive that the
alliance with the great earl did not conduce to his popularity at
court; and even in the king's presence, the courtiers permitted
themselves many taunts and jests at the fiery Warwick, which they
would have bitten out their tongues ere they would have vented before
the earl himself.  But though the Nevile sufficiently controlled his
native candour not to incur unprofitable quarrel by ill-mannered and
unseasonable defence of the hero-baron when sneered at or assailed, he
had enough of the soldier and the man in him not to be tainted by the
envy of the time and place,--not to lose his gratitude to his patron,
nor his respect for the bulwark of the country.  Rather, it may be
said, that Warwick gained in his estimation whenever compared with the
gay and silken personages who avenged themselves by words for his
superiority in deeds.  Not only as a soldier, but as a statesman, the
great and peculiar merits of the earl were visible in all those
measures which emanated solely from himself.  Though so indifferently
educated, his busy, practical career, his affable mixing with all
classes, and his hearty, national sympathies made him so well
acquainted with the interests of his country and the habits of his
countrymen, that he was far more fitted to rule than the scientific
Worcester or the learned Scales.  The Young Duke of Gloucester
presented a marked contrast to the general levity of the court, in
speaking of this powerful nobleman.  He never named him but with
respect, and was pointedly courteous to even the humblest member of
the earl's family.  In this he appeared to advantage by the side of
Clarence, whose weakness of disposition made him take the tone of the
society in which he was thrown, and who, while really loving Warwick,
often smiled at the jests against him,--not, indeed, if uttered by the
queen or her family, of whom he ill concealed his jealousy and hatred.

The whole court was animated and pregnant with a spirit of intrigue,
which the artful cunning of the queen, the astute policy of Jacquetta,
and the animosity of the different factions had fomented to a degree
quite unknown under former reigns.  It was a place in which the wit of
young men grew old rapidly; amidst stratagem, and plot, and ambitious
design, and stealthy overreaching, the boyhood of Richard III.  passed
to its relentless manhood: such is the inevitable fruit of that era in
civilization when a martial aristocracy first begins to merge into a
voluptuous court.

Through this moving and shifting web of ambition and intrigue the
royal Edward moved with a careless grace: simple himself, because his
object was won, and pleasure had supplanted ambition.  His indolent,
joyous temper served to deaden his powerful intellect; or, rather, his
intellect was now lost in the sensual stream through which it flowed.
Ever in pursuit of some new face, his schemes and counterschemes were
limited to cheat a husband or deceive a wife; and dexterous and
successful no doubt they were.  But a vice always more destructive
than the love of women began also to reign over him,--namely, the
intemperance of the table.  The fastidious and graceful epicurism of
the early Normans, inclined to dainties but abhorring excess, and
regarding with astonished disdain the heavy meals and deep draughts of
the Saxon, had long ceased to characterize the offspring of that
noblest of all noble races.  Warwick, whose stately manliness was
disgusted with whatever savoured of effeminacy or debauch, used to
declare that he would rather fight fifty battles for Edward IV. than
once sup with him!  Feasts were prolonged for hours, and the banquets
of this king of the Middle Ages almost resembled those of the later
Roman emperors.  The Lord Montagu did not share the abstemiousness of
his brother of Warwick.  He was, next to Hastings, the king's chosen
and most favourite companion.  He ate almost as much as the king, and
drank very little less.  Of few courtiers could the same be said!
Over the lavish profligacy and excess of the court, however, a veil
dazzling to the young and high-spirited was thrown.  Edward was
thoroughly the cavalier, deeply imbued with the romance of chivalry,
and, while making the absolute woman his plaything, always treated the
ideal woman as a goddess.  A refined gallantry, a deferential courtesy
to dame and demoiselle, united the language of an Amadis with the
licentiousness of a Gaolor; and a far more alluring contrast than the
court of Charles II. presented to the grim Commonwealth seduced the
vulgar in that of this most brave and most beautiful prince, when
compared with the mournful and lugubrious circles in which Henry VI.
had reigned and prayed.  Edward himself, too, it was so impossible to
judge with severe justice, that his extraordinary popularity in
London, where he was daily seen, was never diminished by his faults;
he was so bold in the field, yet so mild in the chamber; when his
passions slept, he was so thoroughly good-natured and social, so kind
to all about his person, so hearty and gladsome in his talk and in his
vices, so magnificent and so generous withal; and, despite his
indolence, his capacities for business were marvellous,--and these
last commanded the reverence of the good Londoners; he often
administered justice himself, like the caliphs of the East, and with
great acuteness and address.  Like most extravagant men, he had a
wholesome touch of avarice.  That contempt for commerce which
characterizes a modern aristocracy was little felt by the nobles of
that day, with the exception of such blunt patricians as Lord Warwick
or Raoul de Fulke.  The great House of De la Pole (Duke of Suffolk),
the heir of which married Edward's sister Elizabeth, had been founded
by a merchant of Hull.  Earls and archbishops scrupled not to derive
revenues from what we should now esteem the literal resources of
trade.  [The Abbot of St. Alban's (temp. Henry III.) was a vendor of
Yarmouth bloaters.  The Cistercian Monks were wool-merchants; and
Macpherson tells us of a couple of Iceland bishops who got a license
from Henry VI. for smuggling. (Matthew Paris.  Macpherson's "Annals of
Commerce," 10.)  As the Whig historians generally have thought fit to
consider the Lancastrian cause the more "liberal" of the two, because
Henry IV. was the popular choice, and, in fact, an elected, not an
hereditary king, so it cannot be too emphatically repeated, that the
accession of Edward IV. was the success of two new and two highly--
popular principles,--the one that of church reform, the other that of
commercial calculation.  All that immense section, almost a majority
of the people, who had been persecuted by the Lancastrian kings as
Lollards, revenged on Henry the aggrieved rights of religious
toleration.  On the other hand, though Henry IV., who was immeasurably
superior to his warlike son in intellect and statesmanship, had
favoured the growing commercial spirit, it had received nothing but
injury under Henry V., and little better than contempt under Henry VI.
The accession of the Yorkists was, then, on two grounds a great
popular movement; and it was followed by a third advantage to the
popular cause,--namely, in the determined desire both of Edward and
Richard III. to destroy the dangerous influence of the old feudal
aristocracy.  To this end Edward laboured in the creation of a court
noblesse; and Richard, with the more dogged resolution that belonged
to him, went at once to the root of the feudal power, in forbidding
the nobles to give badges and liveries (this also was forbidden, it is
true, by the edict of Edward IV. as well as by his predecessors from
the reign of Richard II.; but no king seems to have had the courage to
enforce the prohibition before Richard III.),--in other words, to
appropriate armies under the name of retainers.  Henry VII., in short,
did not originate the policy for which he has monopolized the credit;
he did but steadily follow out the theory of raising the middle class
and humbling the baronial, which the House of York first put into
practice.] shown itself on this point more liberal in its policy, more
free from feudal prejudices, than that of the Plantagenets.  Even
Edward II. was tenacious of the commerce with Genoa, and an
intercourse with the merchant princes of that republic probably served
to associate the pursuits of commerce with the notion of rank and
power.  Edward III. is still called the Father of English Commerce;
but Edward IV. carried the theories of his ancestors into far more
extensive practice, for his own personal profit.  This king, so
indolent in the palace, was literally the most active merchant in the
mart.  He traded largely in ships of his own, freighted with his own
goods; and though, according to sound modern economics, this was
anything but an aid to commerce, seeing that no private merchant could
compete with a royal trader who went out and came in duty-free, yet
certainly the mere companionship and association in risk and gain, and
the common conversation that it made between the affable monarch and
the homeliest trader, served to increase his popularity, and to couple
it with respect for practical sense.  Edward IV. was in all this pre-
eminently THE MAN OF HIS AGE,--not an inch behind it or before!  And,
in addition to this happy position, he was one of those darlings of
Nature, so affluent and blest in gifts of person, mind, and outward
show, that it is only at the distance of posterity we ask why men of
his own age admired the false, the licentious, and the cruel, where
those contemporaries, over-dazzled, saw but the heroic and the joyous,
the young, the beautiful,--the affable to friend, and the terrible to
foe!

It was necessary to say thus much on the commercial tendencies of
Edward, because, at this epoch, they operated greatly, besides other
motives shortly to be made clear, in favour of the plot laid by the
enemies of the Earl of Warwick, to dishonour that powerful minister
and drive him from the councils of the king.

One morning Hastings received a summons to attend Edward, and on
entering the royal chamber, he found already assembled Lord Rivers,
the queen's father, Anthony Woodville, and the Earl of Worcester.

The king seemed thoughtful; he beckoned Hastings to approach, and
placed in his hand a letter, dated from Rouen.  "Read and judge,
Hastings," said Edward.

The letter was from a gentleman in Warwick's train.  It gave a glowing
account of the honours accorded to the earl by Louis XI., greater than
those ever before manifested to a subject, and proceeded thus:--

"But it is just I should apprise you that there be strange rumours as
to the marvellous love that King Louis shows my lord the earl.  He
lodgeth in the next house to him, and hath even had an opening made in
the partition-wall between his own chamber and the earl's.  Men do say
that the king visits him nightly, and there be those who think that so
much stealthy intercourse between an English ambassador and the
kinsman of Margaret of Anjou bodeth small profit to our grace the
king."

"I observe," said Hastings, glancing to the superscription, "that this
letter is addressed to my Lord Rivers.  Can he avouch the fidelity of
his correspondent?"

"Surely, yes," answered Rivers; "it is a gentleman of my own blood."

"Were he not so accredited," returned Hastings, "I should question the
truth of a man who can thus consent to play the spy upon his lord and
superior."

"The public weal justifies all things," said the Earl of Worcester
(who, though by marriage nearly connected to Warwick, eyed his power
with the jealous scorn which the man of book-lore often feels for one
whose talent lies in action),--"so held our masters in all state-
craft, the Greek and Roman."

"Certes," said Sir Anthony Woodville, "it grieveth the pride of an
English knight that we should be beholden for courtesies to the born
foe of England, which I take the Frenchman naturally to be."

"Ah," said Edward, smiling sternly, "I would rather be myself, with
banner and trump, before the walls of Paris, than sending my cousin
the earl to beg the French king's brother to accept my sister as a
bride.  And what is to become of my good merchant-ships if Burgundy
take umbrage and close its ports?"

"Beau sire," said Hastings," thou knowest how little cause I have to
love the Earl of Warwick.  We all here, save your gracious self, bear
the memory of some affront rendered to us by his pride and heat of
mood! but in this council I must cease to be William de Hastings, and
be all and wholly the king's servant.  I say first, then, with
reference to these noble peers, that Warwick's faith to the House of
York is too well proven to become suspected because of the courtesies
of King Louis,--an artful craft, as it clearly seems to me, of the
wily Frenchman, to weaken your throne, by provoking your distrust of
its great supporter.  Fall we not into such a snare!  Moreover, we may
be sure that Warwick cannot be false, if he achieve the object of his
embassy,--namely, detach Louis from the side of Margaret and Lancaster
by close alliance with Edward and York.  Secondly, sire, with regard
to that alliance, which it seems you would repent,--I hold now, as I
have held ever, that it is a master-stroke in policy, and the earl in
this proves his sharp brain worthy his strong arm; for as his highness
the Duke of Gloucester hath now clearly discovered that Margaret of
Anjou has been of late in London, and that treasonable designs were
meditated, though now frustrated, so we may ask why the friends of
Lancaster really stood aloof; why all conspiracy was, and is, in
vain?--Because, sire, of this very alliance with France; because the
gold and subsidies of Louis are not forthcoming; because the
Lancastrians see that if once Lord Warwick win France from the Red
Rose, nothing short of such a miracle as their gaining Warwick instead
can give a hope to their treason.  Your Highness fears the anger of
Burgundy, and the suspension of your trade with the Flemings; but--
forgive me--this is not reasonable.  Burgundy dare not offend England,
matched, as its arms are, with France; the Flemings gain more by you
than you gain by the Flemings, and those interested burghers will not
suffer any prince's quarrel to damage their commerce.  Charolois may
bluster and threat, but the storm will pass, and Burgundy will be
contented, if England remain neutral in the feud with France.  All
these reasons, sire, urge me to support my private foe, the Lord
Warwick, and to pray you to give no ear to the discrediting his Honour
and his embassy."

The profound sagacity of these remarks, the repute of the speaker, and
the well-known grudge between him and Warwick, for reasons hereafter
to be explained, produced a strong effect upon the intellect of
Edward, always vigorous, save when clouded with passion.  But Rivers,
whose malice to the earl was indomitable, coldly recommenced,--

"With submission to the Lord Hastings, sire, whom we know that love
sometimes blinds, and whose allegiance to the earl's fair sister, the
Lady of Bonville, perchance somewhat moves him to forget the day when
Lord Warwick--"

"Cease, my lord," said Hastings, white with suppressed anger; "these
references beseem not the councils of grave men."

"Tut, Hastings," said Edward, laughing merrily, "women mix themselves
up in all things: board or council, bed or battle,--wherever there is
mischief astir, there, be sure, peeps a woman's sly face from her
wimple.  Go on, Rivers."

"Your pardon, my Lord Hastings," said Rivers, "I knew not my thrust
went so home; there is another letter I have not yet laid before the
king."  He drew forth a scroll from his bosom, and read as follows:--

"Yesterday the earl feasted the king, and as, in discharge of mine
office, I carved for my lord, I heard King Louis say, 'Pasque Dieu, my
Lord Warwick, our couriers bring us word that Count Charolois declares
he shall yet wed the Lady Margaret, and that he laughs at your
ambassage.  What if our brother, King Edward, fall back from the
treaty?'  'He durst not!' said the earl."

"Durst not I" exclaimed Edward, starting to his feet, and striking the
table with his clenched hand, "durst not!  Hastings, hear you that?"

Hastings bowed his head in assent.  "Is that all, Lord Rivers?"

"All! and methinks enough."

"Enough, by my halidame!" said Edward, laughing bitterly; "he shall
see what a king dares, when a subject threatens.  Admit the worshipful
the deputies from our city of London,--lord chamberlain, it is thine
office,--they await in the anteroom."

Hastings gravely obeyed, and in crimson gowns, with purple hoods and
gold chains, marshalled into the king's presence a goodly deputation
from the various corporate companies of London.

These personages advanced within a few paces of the dais, and there
halted and knelt, while their spokesman read, on his knees, a long
petition, praying the king to take into his gracious consideration the
state of the trade with the Flemings; and though not absolutely
venturing to name or to deprecate the meditated alliance with France,
beseeching his grace to satisfy them as to certain rumours, already
very prejudicial to their commerce, of the possibility of a breach
with the Duke of Burgundy.  The merchant-king listened with great
attention and affability to this petition; and replied shortly, that
he thanked the deputation for their zeal for the public weal,--that a
king would have enough to do if he contravened every gossip's tale;
but that it was his firm purpose to protect, in all ways, the London
traders, and to maintain the most amicable understanding with the Duke
of Burgundy.

The supplicators then withdrew from the royal presence.

"Note you how gracious the king was to me?" whispered Master Heyford
to one of his brethren; "he looked at me while he answered."

"Coxcomb!" muttered the confidant, "as if I did not catch his eye when
he said, 'Ye are the pillars of the public weal!'  But because Master
Heyford has a handsome wife he thinks he tosseth all London on his own
horns!"

As the citizens were quitting the palace, Lord Rivers joined them.
"You will thank me for suggesting this deputation, worthy sirs," said
he, smiling significantly; "you have timed it well!"--and passing by
them, without further comment, he took the way to the queen's chamber.

Elizabeth was playing with her infant daughter, tossing the child in
the air, and laughing at its riotous laughter.  The stern old Duchess
of Bedford, leaning over the back of the state-chair, looked on with
all a grandmother's pride, and half chanted a nursery rhyme.  It was a
sight fair to see!  Elizabeth never seemed more lovely: her
artificial, dissimulating smile changed into hearty, maternal glee,
her smooth cheek flushed with exercise, a stray ringlet escaping from
the stiff coif!--And, alas, the moment the two ladies caught sight of
Rivers, all the charm was dissolved; the child was hastily put on the
floor; the queen, half ashamed of being natural, even before her
father, smoothed back the rebel lock, and the duchess, breaking off in
the midst of her grandam song, exclaimed,--

"Well, well! how thrives our policy?"

"The king," answered Rivers, "is in the very mood we could desire.  At
the words, 'He durst not!' the Plantagenet sprung up in his breast;
and now, lest he ask to see the rest of the letter, thus I destroy it;
"and flinging the scroll in the blazing hearth, he watched it consume.

"Why this, sir?" said the queen.

"Because, my Elizabeth, the bold words glided off into a decent
gloss,--'He durst not,' said Warwick, 'because what a noble heart
dares least is to belie the plighted word, and what the kind heart
shuns most is to wrong the confiding friend."

"It was fortunate," said the duchess, "that Edward took heat at the
first words, nor stopped, it seems, for the rest!"

"I was prepared, Jacquetta; had he asked to see the rest, I should
have dropped the scroll into the brazier, as containing what I would
not presume to read.  Courage!  Edward has seen the merchants; he has
flouted Hastings,--who would gainsay us.  For the rest, Elizabeth, be
it yours to speak of affronts paid by the earl to your highness; be it
yours, Jacquetta, to rouse Edward's pride by dwelling on Warwick's
overweening power; be it mine to enlist his interest on behalf of his
merchandise; be it Margaret's to move his heart by soft tears for the
bold Charolois; and ere a month be told, Warwick shall find his
embassy a thriftless laughing-stock, and no shade pass between the
House of Woodville and the sun of England."

"I am scarce queen while Warwick is minister," said Elizabeth,
vindictively.  "How he taunted me in the garden, when we met last!"

"But hark you, daughter and lady liege, hark you!  Edward is not
prepared for the decisive stroke.  I have arranged with Anthony, whose
chivalrous follies fit him not for full comprehension of our objects,
how upon fair excuse the heir of Burgundy's brother--the Count de la
Roche--shall visit London; and the count once here, all is ours!
Hush! take up the little one,--Edward comes!"




CHAPTER III.

WHEREIN MASTER NICHOLAS ALWYN VISITS THE COURT, AND THERE LEARNS
MATTER OF WHICH THE ACUTE READER WILL JUDGE FOR HIMSELF.

It was a morning towards the end of May (some little time after
Edward's gracious reception of the London deputies), when Nicholas
Alwyn, accompanied by two servitors armed to the teeth,--for they
carried with them goods of much value, and even in the broad daylight
and amidst the most frequented parts of the city, men still confided
little in the security of the law,--arrived at the Tower, and was
conducted to the presence of the queen.

Elizabeth and her mother were engaged in animated but whispered
conversation when the goldsmith entered; and there was an unusual
gayety in the queen's countenance as she turned to Alwyn and bade him
show her his newest gauds.

While with a curiosity and eagerness that seemed almost childlike
Elizabeth turned over rings, chains, and brooches, scarcely listening
to Alwyn's comments on the lustre of the gems or the quaintness of the
fashion, the duchess disappeared for a moment, and returned with the
Princess Margaret.

This young princess had much of the majestic beauty of her royal
brother; but, instead of the frank, careless expression so fascinating
in Edward, there was, in her full and curved lip and bright large eye,
something at once of haughtiness and passion, which spoke a decision
and vivacity of character beyond her years.

"Choose for thyself, sweetheart and daughter mine," said the duchess,
affectionately placing her hand on Margaret's luxuriant hair, "and let
the noble visitor we await confess that our rose of England outblooms
the world."

The princess coloured with complaisant vanity at these words, and,
drawing near the queen, looked silently at a collar of pearls, which
Elizabeth held.

"If I may adventure so to say," observed Alwyn, "pearls will mightily
beseem her highness's youthful bloom; and lo! here be some adornments
for the bodice or partelet, to sort with the collar; not," added the
goldsmith, bowing low, and looking down,--"not perchance displeasing
to her highness, in that they are wrought in the guise of the fleur de
lis--"

An impatient gesture in the queen, and a sudden cloud over the fair
brow of Margaret, instantly betokened to the shrewd trader that he had
committed some most unwelcome error in this last allusion to the
alliance with King Louis of France, which, according to rumour, the
Earl of Warwick had well-nigh brought to a successful negotiation; and
to convince him yet more of his mistake, the duchess said haughtily,
"Good fellow, be contented to display thy goods, and spare us thy
comments.  As for thy hideous fleur de lis, an' thy master had no
better device, he would not long rest the king's jeweller."

"I have no heart for the pearls," said Margaret, abruptly; "they are
at best pale and sicklied.  What hast thou of bolder ornament and more
dazzling lustrousness?"

"These emeralds, it is said, were once among the jewels of the great
House of Burgundy," observed Nicholas, slowly, and fixing his keen,
sagacious look on the royal purchasers.

"Of Burgundy!" exclaimed the queen.

"It is true," said the Duchess of Bedford, looking at the ornament
with care, and slightly colouring,--for in fact the jewels had been a
present from Philip the Good to the Duke of Bedford, and the
exigencies of the civil wars had led, some time since, first to their
mortgage, or rather pawn, and then to their sale.

The princess passed her arm affectionately round Jacquetta's neck, and
said, "If you leave me my choice, I will have none but these
emeralds."

The two elder ladies exchanged looks and smiles.  "Hast thou
travelled, young man?" asked the duchess.

"Not in foreign parts, gracious lady, but I have lived much with those
who have been great wanderers."

"Ah, and what say they of the ancient friends of mine House, the
princes of Burgundy?"

"Lady, all men agree that a nobler prince and a juster than Duke
Philip never reigned over brave men; and those who have seen the
wisdom of his rule, grieve sorely to think so excellent and mighty a
lord should have trouble brought to his old age by the turbulence of
his son, the Count of Charolois."

Again Margaret's fair brow lowered, and the duchess hastened to
answer, "The disputes between princes, young man, can never be rightly
understood by such as thou and thy friends.  The Count of Charolois is
a noble gentleman; and fire in youth will break out.  Richard the Lion
Hearted of England was not less puissant a king for the troubles he
occasioned to his sire when prince."

Alwyn bit his lip, to restrain a reply that might not have been well
received; and the queen, putting aside the emeralds and a few other
trinkets, said, smilingly, to the duchess, "Shall the king pay for
these, or have thy learned men yet discovered the great secret?"

"Nay, wicked child," said the duchess, "thou lovest to banter me; and
truth to say, more gold has been melted in the crucible than as yet
promises ever to come out of it; but my new alchemist, Master Warner,
seems to have gone nearer to the result than any I have yet known.
Meanwhile, the king's treasurer must, perforce, supply the gear to the
king's sister."

The queen wrote an order on the officer thus referred to, who was no
other than her own father, Lord Rivers; and Alwyn, putting up his
goods, was about to withdraw, when the duchess said carelessly, "Good
youth, the dealings of our merchants are more with Flanders than with
France, is it not so?"

"Surely," said Alwyn; "the Flemings are good traders and honest folk."

"It is well known, I trust, in the city of London, that this new
alliance with France is the work of their favourite, the Lord
Warwick," said the duchess, scornfully; "but whatever the earl does is
right with ye of the hood and cap, even though he were to leave yon
river without one merchant-mast."

"Whatever be our thoughts, puissant lady," said Alwyn, cautiously, "we
give them not vent to the meddling with state affairs."

"Ay," persisted Jacquetta, "thine answer is loyal and discreet.  But
an' the Lord Warwick had sought alliance with the Count of Charolois,
would there have been brighter bonfires than ye will see in
Smithfield, when ye hear that business with the Flemings is
surrendered for fine words from King Louis the Cunning?"

"We trust too much to our king's love for the citizens of London to
fear that surrender, please your Highness," answered Alwyn; "our king
himself is the first of our merchants, and he hath given a gracious
answer to the deputation from our city."

"You speak wisely, sir," said the queen; "and your king will yet
defend you from the plots of your enemies.  You may retire."

Alwyn, glad to be released from questionings but little to his taste,
hastened to depart.  At the gate of the royal lodge, he gave his
caskets to the servitors who attended him, and passing slowly along
the courtyard, thus soliloquized:

"Our neighbours the Scotch say, 'It is good fishing in muddy waters;'
but he who fishes into the secrets of courts must bait with his head.
What mischief doth that crafty queen, the proud duchess, devise?  Um!
They are thinking still to match the young princess with the hot Count
of Charolois.  Better for trade, it is true, to be hand in hand with
the Flemings; but there are two sides to a loaf.  If they play such a
trick on the stout earl, he is not a man to sit down and do nothing.
More food for the ravens, I fear,--more brown bills and bright lances
in the green fields of poor England!--and King Louis is an awful carle
to sow flax in his neighbour's house, when the torches are burning.
Um!  Where is fair Marmaduke.  He looks brave in his gay super-tunic.
Well, sir and foster-brother, how fare you at court?"

"My dear Nicholas, a merry welcome and hearty to your sharp,
thoughtful face.  Ah, man! we shall have a gay time for you venders of
gewgaws.  There are to be revels and jousts, revels in the Tower and
jousts in Smithfield.  We gentles are already hard at practice in the
tilt-yard."

"Sham battles are better than real ones, Master Nevile!  But what is
in the wind?"

"A sail, Nicholas! a sail bound to England!  Know that the Count of
Charolois has permitted Sir Anthony Count de la Roche, his bastard
brother, to come over to London, to cross lances with our own Sir
Anthony Lord Scales.  It is an old challenge, and right royally will
the encounter be held."

"Um!" muttered Alwyn, "this bastard, then, is the carrier pigeon.--
And," said he, aloud, "is it only to exchange hard blows that Sir
Anthony of Burgundy comes over to confer with Sir Anthony of England?
Is there no court rumour of other matters between them?"

"Nay.  What else?  Plague on you craftsmen!  You cannot even
comprehend the pleasure and pastime two knights take in the storm of
the lists!"

"I humbly avow it, Master Nevile.  But it seemeth, indeed, strange to
me that the Count of Charolois should take this very moment to send
envoys of courtesy when so sharp a slight has been put on his pride,
and so dangerous a blow struck at his interests, as the alliance
between the French prince and the Lady Margaret.  Bold Charles has
some cunning, I trow, which your kinsman of Warwick is not here to
detect."

"Tush, man!  Trade, I see, teaches ye all so to cheat and overreach,
that ye suppose a knight's burgonet is as full of tricks and traps as
a citizen's flat-cap.  Would, though, that my kinsman of Warwick were
here," added Marmaduke, in a low whisper, "for the women and the
courtiers are doing their best to belie him."

"Keep thyself clear of them all, Marmaduke," said Alwyn; "for, by the
Lord, I see that the evil days are coming once more, fast and dark,
and men like thee will again have to choose between friend and friend,
kinsman and king.  For my part, I say nothing; for I love not
fighting, unless compelled to it.  But if ever I do fight, it will not
be by thy side, under Warwick's broad flag."

"Eh, man?" interrupted Nevile.

"Nay, nay," continued Nicholas, shaking his head, "I admire the great
earl, and were I lord or gentle, the great earl should be my chief.
But each to his order; and the trader's tree grows not out of a
baron's walking-staff.  King Edward may be a stern ruler, but he is a
friend to the goldsmiths, and has just confirmed our charter.  'Let
every man praise the bridge he goes over,' as the saw saith.  Truce to
this talk, Master Nevile.  I hear that your young hostess--ehem!--
Mistress Sibyll, is greatly marvelled at among the court gallants, is
it so?"

Marmaduke's frank face grew gloomy.  "Alas! dear foster-brother," he
said, dropping the somewhat affected tone in which he had before
spoken, "I must confess to my shame, that I cannot yet get the damsel
out of my thoughts, which is what I consider it a point of manhood and
spirit to achieve."

"How so?"

"Because, when a maiden chooseth steadily to say nay to your wooing,
to follow her heels, and whine and beg, is a dog's duty, not a man's."

"What!" exclaimed Alwyn, in a voice of great eagerness, "mean you to
say that you have wooed Sibyll Warner as your wife?"

"Verily, yes!"

"And failed?"

"And failed."

"Poor Marmaduke!"

"There is no 'poor' in the matter, Nick Alwyn," returned Marmaduke,
sturdily; "if a girl likes me, well; if not, there are too many others
in the wide world for a young fellow to break his heart about one.
Yet," he added, after a short pause, and with a sigh,--"yet, if thou
hast not seen her since she came to the court, thou wilt find her
wondrously changed."

"More's the pity!" said Alwyn, reciprocating his friend's sigh.

"I mean that she seems all the comelier for the court air.  And
beshrew me, I think the Lord Hastings, with his dulcet flatteries,
hath made it a sort of frenzy for all the gallants to flock round
her."

"I should like to see Master Warner again," said Alwyn; "where lodges
he?"

"Yonder, by the little postern, on the third flight of the turret that
flanks the corridor, [This description refers to that part of the
Tower called the King's or Queen's Lodge, and long since destroyed.]
next to Friar Bungey, the magician; but it is broad daylight, and
therefore not so dangerous,--not but thou mayest as well patter an ave
in going up stairs."

"Farewell, Master Nevile," said Alwyn, smiling; "I will seek the
mechanician, and if I find there Mistress Sibyll, what shall I say
from thee?"

"That young bachelors in the reign of Edward IV. will never want fair
feres," answered the Nevile, debonairly smoothing his lawn partelet.




CHAPTER IV.

EXHIBITING THE BENEFITS WHICH ROYAL PATRONAGE CONFERS ON GENIUS,--ALSO
THE EARLY LOVES OF THE LORD HASTINGS; WITH OTHER MATTERS EDIFYING AND
DELECTABLE.

The furnace was still at work, the flame glowed, the bellows heaved;
but these were no longer ministering to the service of a mighty and
practical invention.  The mathematician, the philosopher, had
descended to the alchemist. The nature of the TIME had conquered the
nature of a GENIUS meant to subdue time.  Those studies that had gone
so far to forestall the master-triumph of far later ages were
exchanged for occupations that played with the toys of infant wisdom.
O true Tartarus of Genius, when its energies are misapplied, when the
labour but rolls the stone up the mountain, but pours water upon water
through the sieve!

There is a sanguineness in men of great intellect which often leads
them into follies avoided by the dull.  When Adam Warner saw the ruin
of his contrivance; when be felt that time and toil and money were
necessary to its restoration; and when the gold he lacked was placed
before him as a reward for alchemical labours, he at first turned to
alchemy as he would have turned to the plough,--as he had turned to
conspiracy,--simply as a means to his darling end.  But by rapid
degrees the fascination which all the elder sages experienced in the
grand secret exercised its witchery over his mind.  If Roger Bacon,
though catching the notion of the steam-engine, devoted himself to the
philosopher's stone; if even in so much more enlightened an age Newton
had wasted some precious hours in the transmutation of metals, it was
natural that the solitary sage of the reign of Edward IV. should grow,
for a while at least, wedded to a pursuit which promised results so
august. And the worst of alchemy is, that it always allures on its
victims: one gets so near and so near the object,--it seems that so
small an addition will complete the sum!  So there he was--this great
practical genius--hard at work on turning copper into gold!

"Well, Master Warner," said the young goldsmith, entering the
student's chamber, "methinks you scarcely remember your friend and
visitor, Nicholas Alwyn?"

"Remember, oh, certes! doubtless one of the gentlemen present when
they proposed to put me to the brake.  [the old word for rack]  Please
to stand a little on this side--what is your will?"

"I am not a gentleman, and I should have been loth to stand idly by
when the torture was talked of for a free-born Englishman, let alone a
scholar.  And where is your fair daughter, Master Warner?  I suppose
you see but little of her now she is the great dame's waiting-damsel?"

"And why so, Master Alwyn?" asked a charming voice; and Alwyn for the
first time perceived the young form of Sibyll, by the embrasure of a
window, from which might be seen in the court below a gay group of
lords and courtiers, with the plain, dark dress of Hastings,
contrasting their gaudy surcoats, glittering with cloth-of-gold.
Alwyn's tongue clove to his mouth; all he had to say was forgotten in
a certain bashful and indescribable emotion.

The alchemist had returned to his furnace, and the young man and the
girl were as much alone as if Adam Warner had been in heaven.

"And why should the daughter forsake the sire more in a court, where
love is rare, than in the humbler home, where they may need each other
less?"

"I thank thee for the rebuke, mistress," said Alwyn, delighted with
her speech; "for I should have been sorry to see thy heart spoiled by
the vanities that kill most natures."  Scarcely had he uttered these
words, than they seemed to him overbold and presuming; for his eye now
took in the great change of which Marmaduke had spoken.  Sibyll's
dress beseemed the new rank which she held: the corset, fringed with
gold, and made of the finest thread, showed the exquisite contour of
the throat and neck, whose ivory it concealed.  The kirtle of rich
blue became the fair complexion and dark chestnut hair; and over all
she wore that most graceful robe, called the sasquenice, of which the
old French poet sang,--

    "Car nulie robe n'est si belle
     A dame ne a demoiselle."

This garment, worn over the rest of the dress, had perhaps a classical
origin, and with slight variations may be seen on the Etruscan vases;
it was long and loose, of the whitest and finest linen, with hanging
sleeves, and open at the sides.  But it was not the mere dress that
had embellished the young maiden's form and aspect,--it was rather an
indefinable alteration in the expression and the bearing.  She looked
as if born to the airs of courts; still modest indeed, and simple, but
with a consciousness of dignity, and almost of power; and in fact the
woman had been taught the power that womanhood possesses.  She had
been admired, followed, flattered; she had learned the authority of
beauty.  Her accomplishments, uncommon in that age among her sex, had
aided her charm of person; her natural pride, which, though hitherto
latent, was high and ardent, fed her heart with sweet hopes; a bright
career seemed to extend before her; and, at peace as to her father's
safety, relieved from the drudging cares of poverty, her fancy was
free to follow the phantasms of sanguine youth through the airy land
of dreams.  And therefore it was that the maid was changed!

At the sight of the delicate beauty, the self-possessed expression,
the courtly dress, the noble air of Sibyll, Nicholas Alwyn recoiled
and turned pale; he no longer marvelled at her rejection of Marmaduke,
and he started at the remembrance of the bold thoughts which he had
dared himself to indulge.

The girl smiled at the young man's confusion.

"It is not prosperity that spoils the heart," she said touchingly,
"unless it be mean indeed.  Thou rememberest, Master Alwyn, that when
God tried His saint, it was by adversity and affliction."

"May thy trial in these last be over," answered Alwyn; "but the humble
must console their state by thinking that the great have their trials
too; and, as our homely adage hath it, 'That is not always good in the
maw which is sweet in the mouth.' Thou seest much of my gentle foster-
brother, Mistress Sibyll?"

"But in the court dances, Master Alwyn; for most of the hours in which
my lady duchess needs me not are spent here.  Oh, my father hopes
great things! and now at last fame dawns upon him."

"I rejoice to hear it, mistress; and so, having paid ye both my
homage, I take my leave, praying that I may visit you from time to
time, if it be only to consult this worshipful master touching certain
improvements in the horologe, in which his mathematics can doubtless
instruct me.  Farewell.  I have some jewels to show to the Lady of
Bonville."

"The Lady of Bonville!" repeated Sibyll, changing colour; "she is a
dame of notable loveliness."

"So men say,--and mated to a foolish lord; but scandal, which spares
few, breathes not on her,--rare praise for a court dame.  Few Houses
can have the boast of Lord Warwick's,--'that all the men are without
fear, and all the women without stain.'"

"It is said," observed Sibyll, looking down, "that my Lord Hastings
once much affectioned the Lady Bonville.  Hast thou heard such
gossip?"

"Surely, yes; in the city we hear all the tales of the court; for many
a courtier, following King Edward's exemplar, dines with the citizen
to-day, that he may borrow gold from the citizen to-morrow.  Surely,
yes; and hence, they say, the small love the wise Hastings bears to
the stout earl."

"How runs the tale?  Be seated, Master Alwyn."

"Marry, thus: when William Hastings was but a squire, and much
favoured by Richard, Duke of York, he lifted his eyes to the Lady
Katherine Nevile, sister to the Earl of Warwick, and in beauty and in
dower, as in birth, a mate for a king's son."

"And, doubtless, the Lady Katherine returned his love?"

"So it is said, maiden; and the Earl of Salisbury her father and Lord
Warwick her brother discovered the secret, and swore that no new man
(the stout earl's favourite word of contempt), though he were made a
duke, should give to an upstart posterity the quarterings of Montagu
and Nevile.  Marry, Mistress Sibyll, there is a north country and
pithy proverb, 'Happy is the man whose father went to the devil.' Had
some old Hastings been a robber and extortioner, and left to brave
William the heirship of his wickedness in lordships and lands, Lord
Warwick had not called him 'a new man.' Master Hastings was dragged,
like a serf's son, before the earl on his dais; and be sure he was
rated soundly, for his bold blood was up, and he defied the earl, as a
gentleman born, to single battle.  Then the earl's followers would
have fallen on him; and in those days, under King Henry, he who
bearded a baron in his hall must have a troop at his back, or was like
to have a rope round his neck; but the earl (for the lion is not as
fierce as they paint him) came down from his dais, and said, 'Man, I
like thy spirit, and I myself will dub thee knight that I may pick up
thy glove and give thee battle.'"

"And they fought?  Brave Hastings!"

"No.  For whether the Duke of York forbade it, or whether the Lady
Katherine would not hear of such strife between fere and frere, I know
not; but Duke Richard sent Hastings to Ireland, and, a month after,
the Lady Katherine married Lord Bonville's son and heir,--so, at
least, tell the gossips and sing the ballad-mongers.  Men add that
Lord Hastings still loves the dame, though, certes, he knows how to
console himself."

"Loves her!  Nay, nay,--I trove not," answered Sibyll, in a low voice,
and with a curl of her dewy lip.

At this moment the door opened gently and Lord Hastings himself
entered.  He came in with the familiarity of one accustomed to the
place.

"And how fares the grand secret, Master Warner?  Sweet mistress! thou
seemest lovelier to me in this dark chamber than outshining all in the
galliard.  Ha!  Master Alwyn, I owe thee many thanks for making me
know first the rare arts of this fair emblazoner.  Move me yon stool,
good Alwyn."

As the goldsmith obeyed, he glanced from Hastings to the blushing face
and heaving bosom of Sibyll, and a deep and exquisite pang shot
through his heart.  It was not jealousy alone; it was anxiety,
compassion, terror.  The powerful Hastings, the ambitious lord, the
accomplished libertine--what a fate for poor Sibyll, if for such a man
the cheek blushed and the bosom heaved!

"Well, Master Warner," resumed Hastings, "thou art still silent as to
thy progress."

The philosopher uttered an impatient groan.  "Ah, I comprehend.  The
goldmaker must not speak of his craft before the goldsmith.  Good
Alwyn, thou mayest retire.  All arts have their mysteries."

Alwyn, with a sombre brow, moved to the door.

"In sooth," he said, "I have overtarried, good my lord.  The Lady
Bonville will chide me; for she is of no patient temper."

"Bridle thy tongue, artisan, and begone!" said Hastings, with unusual
haughtiness and petulance.

"I stung him there," muttered Alwyn, as he withdrew.  "Oh, fool that I
was to--nay, I thought it never, I did but dream it.  What wonder we
traders hate these silken lords!  They reap, we sow; they trifle, we
toil; they steal with soft words into the hearts which--Oh, Marmaduke,
thou art right-right!--Stout men sit not down to weep beneath the
willow.  But she--the poor maiden--she looked so haughty and so happy.
This is early May; will she wear that look when the autumn leaves are
strewn?"




CHAPTER V.

THE WOODVILLE INTRIGUE PROSPERS.--MONTAGU CONFERS WITH HASTINGS,
VISITS THE ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, AND IS MET ON THE ROAD BY A STRANGE
PERSONAGE.

And now the one topic at the court of King Edward IV. was the expected
arrival of Anthony of Burgundy, Count de la Roche, bastard brother of
Charolois, afterwards, as Duke of Burgundy, so famous as Charles the
Bold.  Few, indeed, out of the immediate circle of the Duchess of
Bedford's confidants regarded the visit of this illustrious foreigner
as connected with any object beyond the avowed one of chivalrous
encounter with Anthony Woodville, the fulfilment of a challenge given
by the latter two years before, at the time of the queen's coronation.
The origin of this challenge, Anthony Woodville Lord Scales has
himself explained in a letter to the bastard, still extant, and of
which an extract may be seen in the popular and delightful biographies
of Miss Strickland.  [Queens of England, vol. iii. p. 380]  It seems
that, on the Wednesday before Easter Day, 1465, as Sir Anthony was
speaking to his royal sister, "on his knees," all the ladies of the
court gathered round him, and bound to his left knee a band of gold
adorned with stones fashioned into the letters S. S. (souvenance or
remembrance), and to this band was suspended an enamelled "Forget-me-
not."  "And one of the ladies said that 'he ought to take a step
fitting for the times.'"  This step was denoted by a letter on vellum,
bound with a gold thread, placed in his cap; and having obtained the
king's permission to bring the adventure of the flower of souvenance
to a conclusion, the gallant Anthony forwarded the articles and the
enamelled flower to the Bastard of Burgundy, beseeching him to touch
the latter with his knightly hand, in token of his accepting the
challenge.  The Count de la Roche did so, but was not sent by his
brother amongst the knights whom Charolois despatched to England, and
the combat had been suspended to the present time.

But now the intriguing Rivers and his duchess gladly availed
themselves of so fair a pretext for introducing to Edward the able
brother of Warwick's enemy and the French prince's rival, Charles of
Burgundy; and Anthony Woodville, too gentle and knightly a person to
have abetted their cunning projects in any mode less chivalrous,
willingly consented to revive a challenge in honour of the ladies of
England.

The only one amongst the courtiers who seemed dissatisfied with the
meditated visit of the doughty Burgundian champion was the Lord
Montagu.  This penetrating and experienced personage was not to be
duped by an affectation of that chivalry which, however natural at the
court of Edward III., was no longer in unison with the more intriguing
and ambitious times over which presided the luxurious husband of
Elizabeth Woodville.  He had noticed of late, with suspicion, that
Edward had held several councils with the anti-Nevile faction, from
which he himself was excluded.  The king, who heretofore had delighted
in his companionship, had shown him marks of coldness and
estrangement; and there was an exulting malice in the looks of the
Duchess of Bedford, which augured some approaching triumph over the
great family which the Woodvilles so openly laboured to supplant.  One
day, as Marmaduke was loitering in the courtyard of the Tower,
laughing and jesting with his friends, Lord Montagu, issuing from the
king's closet, passed him with a hurried step and a thoughtful brow.
This haughty brother of the Earl of Warwick had so far attended to the
recommendation of the latter, that he had with some courtesy excused
himself to Marmaduke for his language in the archery-ground, and had
subsequently, when seeing him in attendance on the king, honoured him
with a stately nod, or a brief "Good morrow, young kinsman."  But as
his eye now rested on Marmaduke, while the group vailed their bonnets
to the powerful courtier, he called him forth, with a familiar smile
he had never before assumed, and drawing him apart, and leaning on his
shoulder, much to the envy of the standers by, he said caressingly,--

"Dear kinsman Guy--"

"Marmaduke, please you, my lord."

"Dear kinsman Marmaduke, my brother esteems you for your father's
sake.  And, sooth to say, the Neviles are not so numerous in court as
they were.  Business and state matters have made me see too seldom
those whom I would most affect.  Wilt thou ride with me to the More
Park?  I would present thee to my brother the archbishop."

"If the king would graciously hold me excused."

"The king, sir! when I--I forgot," said Montagu, checking himself--
"oh, as to that, the king stirs not out to-day!  He hath with him a
score of tailors and armourers in high council on the coming
festivities.  I will warrant thy release; and here comes Hastings, who
shall confirm it."

"Fair my lord!"--as at that moment Hastings emerged from the little
postern that gave egress from the apartments occupied by the alchemist
of the Duchess of Bedford--"wilt thou be pleased, in thy capacity of
chamberlain, to sanction my cousin in a day's absence?  I would confer
with him on family matters."

"Certes, a small favour to so deserving a youth.  I will see to his
deputy."

"A word with you, Hastings," said Montagu, thoughtfully, and he drew
aside his fellow courtier: "what thinkest thou of this Burgundy
bastard's visit?"

"That it has given a peacock's strut to the popinjay Anthony
Woodville."

"Would that were all!" returned Montagu.  "But the very moment that
Warwick is negotiating with Louis of France, this interchange of
courtesies with Louis's deadly foe, the Count of Charolois, is out of
season."

"Nay, take it not so gravely,--a mere pastime."

"Hastings, thou knowest better.  But thou art no friend of my great
brother."

"Small cause have I to be so," answered Hastings, with a quivering
lip.  "To him and your father I owe as deep a curse as ever fell on
the heart of man.  I have lived to be above even Lord Warwick's
insult.  Yet young, I stand amongst the warriors and peers of England
with a crest as haught and a scutcheon as stainless as the best. I
have drunk deep of the world's pleasures.  I command, as I list, the
world's gaudy pomps, and I tell thee, that all my success in life
countervails not the agony of the hour when all the bloom and
loveliness of the earth faded into winter, and the only woman I ever
loved was sacrificed to her brother's pride."

The large drops stood on the pale brow of the fortunate noble as he
thus spoke, and his hollow voice affected even the worldly Montagu.

"Tush, Hastings!" said Montagu, kindly; "these are but a young man's
idle memories.  Are we not all fated, in our early years, to love in
vain?--even I married not the maiden I thought the fairest, and held
the dearest.  For the rest, bethink thee,--thou wert then but a simple
squire."

"But of as ancient and pure a blood as ever rolled its fiery essence
through a Norman's veins."

"It may be so; but old Houses, when impoverished, are cheaply held.
And thou must confess thou wert then no mate for Katherine.  Now,
indeed, it were different; now a Nevile might be proud to call
Hastings brother."

"I know it," said Hastings, proudly,--"I know it, lord; and why?
Because I have gold, and land, and the king's love, and can say, as
the Centurion, to my fellow-man, 'Do this, and he doeth it;' and yet I
tell thee, Lord Montagu, that I am less worthy now the love of beauty,
the right hand of fellowship from a noble spirit, than I was then,
when--the simple squire--my heart full of truth and loyalty, with lips
that had never lied, with a soul never polluted by unworthy pleasures
or mean intrigues, I felt that Katherine Nevile should never blush to
own her fere and plighted lord in William de Hastings.  Let this pass,
let it pass!  You call me no friend to Warwick.  True! but I am a
friend to the king he has served, and the land of my birth to which he
has given peace; and therefore, not till Warwick desert Edward, not
till he wake the land again to broil and strife, will I mingle in the
plots of those who seek his downfall.  If in my office and stated rank
I am compelled to countenance the pageant of this mock tournament, and
seem to honour the coming of the Count de la Roche, I will at least
stand aloof and free from all attempt to apply a gaudy pageant to a
dangerous policy; and on this pledge, Montagu, I give you my knightly
hand."

"It suffices," answered Montagu, pressing the hand extended to him.
"But the other day I heard the king's dissour tell him a tale of some
tyrant, who silently showed a curious questioner how to govern a land,
by cutting down, with his staff, the heads of the tallest poppies; and
the Duchess of Bedford turned to me, and asked, 'What says a Nevile to
the application?'  'Faith, lady,' said I, 'the Nevile poppies have oak
stems.'  Believe me, Hastings, these Woodvilles may grieve and wrong
and affront Lord Warwick, but woe to all the pigmy goaders when the
lion turns at bay!"

With this solemn menace, Montagu quitted Hastings, and passed on,
leaning upon Marmaduke, and with a gloomy brow.

At the gate of the palace waited the Lord Montagu's palfrey and his
retinue of twenty squires and thirty grooms.  "Mount, Master
Marmaduke, and take thy choice among these steeds, for we shall ride
alone.  There is no Nevile amongst these gentlemen."  Marmaduke
obeyed.  The earl dismissed his retinue, and in little more than ten
minutes,--so different, then, was the extent of the metropolis,--the
noble and the squire were amidst the open fields.

They had gone several miles at a brisk trot before the earl opened his
lips, and then, slackening his pace, he said abruptly, "How dost thou
like the king?  Speak out, youth; there are no eavesdroppers here."

"He is a most gracious master and a most winning gentleman."

"He is both," said Montagu, with a touch of emotion that surprised
Marmaduke; "and no man can come near without loving him.  And yet,
Marmaduke (is that thy name?)--yet whether it be weakness or
falseness, no man can be sure of his king's favour from day to day.
We Neviles must hold fast to each other.  Not a stick should be lost
if the fagot is to remain unbroken.  What say you?" and the earl's
keen eye turned sharply on the young man.

"I say, my lord, that the Earl of Warwick was to me patron, lord, and
father, when I entered yon city a friendless orphan; and that, though
I covet honours, and love pleasure, and would be loth to lift finger
or speak word against King Edward, yet were that princely lord--the
head of mine House--an outcast and a beggar, by his side I would
wander, for his bread I would beg."

"Young man," exclaimed Montagu, "from this hour I admit thee to my
heart!  Give me thy hand.  Beggar and outcast?--No!  If the storm
come, the meaner birds take to shelter, the eagle remains solitary in
heaven!"  So saying, he relapsed into silence, and put spurs to his
steed.  Towards the decline of day they drew near to the favourite
palace of the Archbishop of York.  There the features of the country
presented a more cultivated aspect than it had hitherto worn.  For at
that period the lands of the churchmen were infinitely in advance of
those of the laity in the elementary arts of husbandry, partly because
the ecclesiastic proprietors had greater capital at their command,
partly because their superior learning had taught them to avail
themselves, in some measure, of the instructions of the Latin writers.
Still the prevailing characteristic of the scenery was pasture land,--
immense tracts of common supported flocks of sheep; the fragrance of
new-mown hay breathed sweet from many a sunny field.  In the rear
stretched woods of Druid growth; and in the narrow lanes, that led to
unfrequent farms and homesteads, built almost entirely either of wood
or (more primitive still) of mud and clay, profuse weeds, brambles,
and wild-flowers almost concealed the narrow pathway, never intended
for cart or wagon, and arrested the slow path of the ragged horse
bearing the scanty produce of acres to yard or mill.  But though to
the eye of an economist or philanthropist broad England now, with its
variegated agriculture, its wide roads, its white-walled villas, and
numerous towns, may present a more smiling countenance, to the early
lover of Nature, fresh from the child-like age of poetry and romance,
the rich and lovely verdure which gave to our mother-country the name
of "Green England;" its wild woods and covert alleys, proffering
adventure to fancy; its tranquil heaths, studded with peaceful flocks,
and vocal, from time to time, with the rude scrannel of the shepherd,
--had a charm which we can understand alone by the luxurious reading of
our elder writers.  For the country itself ministered to that mingled
fancy and contemplation which the stirring and ambitious life of towns
and civilization has in much banished from our later literature.

Even the thoughtful Montagu relaxed his brow as he gazed around, and
he said to Marmaduke, in a gentle and subdued voice,--

"Methinks, young cousin, that in such scenes, those silly rhymes
taught us in our childhood of the green woods and the summer cuckoos,
of bold Robin and Maid Marian, ring back in our ears.  Alas that this
fair land should be so often dyed in the blood of her own children!
Here, how the thought shrinks from broils and war,--civil war, war
between brother and brother, son and father!  In the city and the
court, we forget others overmuch, from the too keen memory of
ourselves."

Scarcely had Montagu said these words, before there suddenly emerged
from a bosky lane to the right a man mounted upon a powerful roan
horse.  His dress was that of a substantial franklin; a green surtout
of broadcloth, over a tight vest of the same colour, left, to the
admiration of a soldierly eye, an expanse of chest that might have
vied with the mighty strength of Warwick himself.  A cap, somewhat
like a turban, fell in two ends over the left cheek, till they touched
the shoulder, and the upper part of the visage was concealed by a
half-vizard, not unfrequently worn out of doors with such head-gear,
as a shade from the sun.  Behind this person rode, on a horse equally
powerful, a man of shorter stature, but scarcely less muscular a
frame, clad in a leathern jerkin, curiously fastened with thongs, and
wearing a steel bonnet, projecting far over the face.

The foremost of these strangers, coming thus unawares upon the
courtiers, reined in his steed, and said in a clear, full voice, "Good
evening to you, my masters.  It is not often that these roads witness
riders in silk and pile."

"Friend," quoth the Montagu, "may the peace we enjoy under the White
Rose increase the number of all travellers through our land, whether
in pile or russet!"

"Peace, sir!" returned the horseman, roughly,--"peace is no blessing
to poor men, unless it bring something more than life,--the means to
live in security and ease.  Peace hath done nothing for the poor of
England.  Why, look you towards yon gray tower,--the owner is,
forsooth, gentleman and knight; but yesterday he and his men broke
open a yeoman's house, carried off his wife and daughters to his
tower, and refuseth to surrender them till ransomed by half the year's
produce on the yeoman's farm."

"A caitiff and illegal act," said Montagu.

"Illegal!  But the law will notice it not,--why should it?  Unjust, if
it punish the knight and dare not touch the king's brother!"

"How, sir?"

"I say the king's brother!  Scarcely a month since, twenty-four
persons under George Duke of Clarence entered by force a lady's house,
and seized her jewels and her money, upon some charge, God wot, of
contriving mischief to the boy-duke.  [See for this and other
instances of the prevalent contempt of law in the reign of Edward IV.,
and, indeed, during the fifteenth century, the extracts from the
Parliamentary Rolls, quoted by Sharon Turner, "History of England,"
vol. iii. p. 399.]  Are not the Commons ground by imposts for the
queen's kindred?  Are not the king's officers and purveyors licensed
spoilers and rapiners?  Are not the old chivalry banished for new
upstarts?  And in all this, is peace better than war?"

"Knowest thou not that these words are death, man?"

"Ay, in the city! but in the fields and waste thought is free.  Frown
not, my lord.  Ah, I know you, and the time may come when the baron
will act what the franklin speaks.  What! think you I see not the
signs of the storm?  Are Warwick and Montagu more safe with Edward
than they were with Henry?  Look to thyself!  Charolois will outwit
King Louis, and ere the year be out, the young Margaret of England
will be lady of your brave brother's sternest foe!"

"And who art thou, knave?" cried Montagu, aghast, and laying his
gloved hand on the bold prophet's bridle.

"One who has sworn the fall of the House of York, and may live to
fight, side by side, in that cause with Warwick; for Warwick, whatever
be his faults, has an English heart, and loves the Commons."

Montagu, uttering an exclamation of astonishment, relaxed hold of the
franklin's bridle; and the latter waved his hand, and spurring his
steed across the wild chain of commons, disappeared with his follower.

"A sturdy traitor!" muttered the earl, following him with his eye.
"One of the exiled Lancastrian lords, perchance.  Strange how they
pierce into our secrets!  Heardst thou that fellow, Marmaduke?"

"Only in a few sentences, and those brought my hand to my dagger.  But
as thou madest no sign, I thought his grace the king could not be much
injured by empty words."

"True! and misfortune has ever a shrewish tongue."

"An' it please you, my lord," quoth Marmaduke, "I have seen the man
before, and it seemeth to me that he holds much power over the rascal
rabble."  And here Marmaduke narrated the attack upon Warner's house,
and how it was frustrated by the intercession of Robin of Redesdale.

"Art thou sure it is the same man, for his face was masked?"

"My lord, in the North, as thou knowest, we recognize men by their
forms, not faces,--as in truth we ought, seeing that it is the sinews
and bulk, not the lips and nose, that make a man a useful friend or
dangerous foe."

Montagu smiled at this soldierly simplicity.  "And heard you the name
the raptrils shouted?"

"Robin, my lord.  They cried out 'Robin,' as if it had been a 'Montagu
I or a 'Warwick.'"

"Robin! ah, then I guess the man,--a most perilous and stanch
Lancastrian.  He has more weight with the poor than had Cade the
rebel, and they say Margaret trusts him as much as she does an Exeter
or Somerset.  I marvel that he should show himself so near the gates
of London.  It must be looked to.  But come, cousin.  Our steeds are
breathed,--let us on!"

On arriving at the More, its stately architecture, embellished by the
prelate with a facade of double arches, painted and blazoned somewhat
in the fashion of certain old Italian houses, much dazzled Marmaduke.
And the splendour of the archbishop's retinue--less martial indeed
than Warwick's--was yet more imposing to the common eye.  Every office
that pomp could devise for a king's court was to be found in the
household of this magnificent prelate,--master of the horse and the
hounds, chamberlain, treasurer, pursuivant, herald, seneschal, captain
of the body-guard, etc.,--and all emulously sought for and proudly
held by gentlemen of the first blood and birth.  His mansion was at
once a court for middle life, a school for youth, an asylum for age;
and thither, as to a Medici, fled the letters and the arts.

Through corridor and hall, lined with pages and squires, passed
Montagu and Marmaduke, till they gained a quaint garden, the wonder
and envy of the time, planned by an Italian of Mantua, and perhaps the
stateliest one of the kind existent in England.  Straight walks,
terraces, and fountains, clipped trees, green alleys, and smooth
bowling-greens abounded; but the flowers were few and common: and if
here and there a statue might be found, it possessed none of the art
so admirable in our earliest ecclesiastical architecture, but its
clumsy proportions were made more uncouth by a profusion of barbaric
painting and gilding.  The fountains, however, were especially
curious, diversified, and elaborate: some shot up as pyramids, others
coiled in undulating streams, each jet chasing the other as serpents;
some, again, branched off in the form of trees, while mimic birds,
perched upon leaden boughs, poured water from their bills.  Marmaduke,
much astonished and bewildered, muttered a paternoster in great haste;
and even the clerical rank of the prelate did not preserve him from
the suspicion of magical practices in the youth's mind.

Remote from all his train, in a little arbour overgrown with the
honeysuckle and white rose, a small table before him bearing fruits,
confectionery, and spiced wines (for the prelate was a celebrated
epicure, though still in the glow of youth), they found George Nevile,
reading lazily a Latin manuscript.

"Well, my dear lord and brother," said Montagu, laying his arm on the
prelate's shoulder, "first let me present to thy favour a gallant
youth, Marmaduke Nevile, worthy his name and thy love."

"He is welcome, Montagu, to our poor house," said the archbishop,
rising, and complacently glancing at his palace, splendidly gleaming
through the trellis-work. 'Puer ingenui vultus.'  Thou art acquainted,
doubtless, young sir, with the Humaner Letters?"

"Well-a-day, my lord, my nurturing was somewhat neglected in the
province," said Marmaduke, disconcerted, and deeply blushing, "and
only of late have I deemed the languages fit study for those not
reared for our Mother Church."

"Fie, sir, fie!  Correct that error, I pray thee.  Latin teaches the
courtier how to thrive, the soldier how to manoeuvre, the husbandman
how to sow; and if we churchmen are more cunning, as the profane call
us (and the prelate smiled) than ye of the laity, the Latin must
answer for the sins of our learning."

With this, the archbishop passed his arm affectionately through his
brother's, and said, "Beshrew me, Montagu, thou lookest worn and
weary.  Surely thou lackest food, and supper shall be hastened.  Even
I, who have but slender appetite, grow hungered in these cool gloaming
hours."

"Dismiss my comrade, George,--I would speak to thee," whispered
Montagu.

"Thou knowest not Latin?" said the archbishop, turning with a
compassionate eye to Nevile, whose own eye was amorously fixed on the
delicate confectioneries,--"never too late to learn.  Hold, here is a
grammar of the verbs, that, with mine own hand, I have drawn up for
youth.  Study thine amo and thy moneo, while I confer on Church
matters with giddy Montagu.  I shall expect, ere we sup, that thou
wilt have mastered the first tenses."

"But--"

"Oh, nay, nay; but me no buts.  Thou art too tough, I fear me, for
flagellation, a wondrous improver of tender youth,"--and the prelate
forced his grammar into the reluctant hands of Marmaduke, and
sauntered down one of the solitary alleys with his brother.

Long and earnest was their conference, and at one time keen were their
dispute's.

The archbishop had very little of the energy of Montagu or the
impetuosity of Warwick, but he had far more of what we now call mind,
as distinct from talent, than either; that is, he had not their
capacities for action, but he had a judgment and sagacity that made
him considered a wise and sound adviser: this he owed principally to
the churchman's love of ease, and to his freedom from the wear and
tear of the passions which gnawed the great minister and the aspiring
courtier; his natural intellect was also fostered by much learning.
George Nevile had been reared, by an Italian ecclesiastic, in all the
subtle diplomacy of the Church; and his ambition, despising lay
objects (though he consented to hold the office of chancellor), was
concentrated in that kingdom over kings which had animated the august
dominators of religious Rome.  Though, as we have said, still in that
age when the affections are usually vivid, [He was consecrated Bishop
of Exeter at the age of twenty; at twenty-six he became Archbishop of
York, and was under thirty at the time referred to in the text.]
George Nevile loved no human creature,--not even his brothers; not
even King Edward, who, with all his vices, possessed so eminently the
secret that wins men's hearts.  His early and entire absorption in the
great religious community, which stood apart from the laymen in order
to control them, alienated him from his kind; and his superior
instruction only served to feed him with a calm and icy contempt for
all that prejudice, as he termed it, held dear and precious.  He
despised the knight's wayward honour, the burgher's crafty honesty.
For him no such thing as principle existed; and conscience itself lay
dead in the folds of a fancied exemption from all responsibility to
the dull herd, that were but as wool and meat to the churchman
shepherd.  But withal, if somewhat pedantic, he had in his manner a
suavity and elegance and polish which suited well his high station,
and gave persuasion to his counsels.  In all externals he was as
little like a priest as the high-born prelates of that day usually
were.  In dress he rivalled the fopperies of the Plantagenet brothers;
in the chase he was more ardent than Warwick had been in his earlier
youth; and a dry sarcastic humour, sometimes elevated into wit, gave
liveliness to his sagacious converse.

Montagu desired that the archbishop and himself should demand solemn
audience of Edward, and gravely remonstrate with the king on the
impropriety of receiving the brother of a rival suitor, while Warwick
was negotiating the marriage of Margaret with a prince of France.

"Nay," said the archbishop, with a bland smile, that fretted Montagu
to the quick, "surely even a baron, a knight, a franklin, a poor
priest like myself, would rise against the man who dictated to his
hospitality.  Is a king less irritable than baron, knight, franklin,
and priest,--or rather, being, as it were, per legem, lord of all,
hath he not irritability eno' for all four?  Ay, tut and tush as thou
wilt, John, but thy sense must do justice to my counsel at the last. I
know Edward well; he hath something of mine own idlesse and ease of
temper, but with more of the dozing lion than priests, who have only,
look you, the mildness of the dove.  Prick up his higher spirit, not
by sharp remonstrance, but by seeming trust. Observe to him, with thy
gay, careless laugh--which, methinks, thou hast somewhat lost of late
--that with any other prince Warwick might suspect some snare, some
humiliating overthrow of his embassage, but that all men know how
steadfast in faith and honour is Edward IV."

"Truly," said Montagu, with a forced smile, "you understand mankind;
but yet, bethink you--suppose this fail, and Warwick return to England
to hear that he hath been cajoled and fooled; that the Margaret he had
crossed the seas to affiance to the brother of Louis is betrothed to
Charolois--bethink you, I say, what manner of heart beats under our
brother's mail."

"Impiger, iracundus!" said the archbishop; "a very Achilles, to whom
our English Agamemnon, if he cross him, is a baby.  All this is sad
truth; our parents spoilt him in his childhood, and glory in his
youth, and wealth, power, success, in his manhood.  Ay! if Warwick be
chafed, it will be as the stir of the sea-serpent, which, according to
the Icelanders, moves a world.  Still, the best way to prevent the
danger is to enlist the honour of the king in his behalf,--to show
that our eyes are open, but that we disdain to doubt, and are frank to
confide.  Meanwhile send messages and warnings privately to Warwick."

These reasonings finally prevailed with Montagu, and the brothers
returned with one mind to the house.  Here, as after their ablutions
they sat down to the evening meal, the archbishop remembered poor
Marmaduke, and despatched to him one of his thirty household
chaplains.  Marmaduke was found fast asleep over the second tense of
the verb amo.




CHAPTER VI.

THE ARRIVAL OF THE COUNT DE LA ROCHE, AND THE VARIOUS EXCITEMENT
PRODUCED ON MANY PERSONAGES BY THAT EVENT.

The prudence of the archbishop's counsel was so far made manifest,
that on the next day Montagu found all remonstrance would have been
too late.  The Count de la Roche had already landed, and was on his
way to London.  The citizens, led by Rivers partially to suspect the
object of the visit, were delighted not only by the prospect of a
brilliant pageant, but by the promise such a visit conveyed of a
continued peace with their commercial ally; and the preparations made
by the wealthy merchants increased the bitterness and discontent of
Montagu.  At length, at the head of a gallant and princely retinue,
the Count de la Roche entered London.  Though Hastings made no secret
of his distaste to the Count de la Roche's visit, it became his office
as lord chamberlain to meet the count at Blackwall, and escort him and
his train, in gilded barges, to the palace.

In the great hall of the Tower, in which the story of Antiochus was
painted by the great artists employed under Henry III., and on the
elevation of the dais, behind which, across Gothic columns, stretched
draperies of cloth-of-gold, was placed Edward's chair of state.
Around him were grouped the Dukes of Clarence and Gloucester, the
Lords Worcester, Montagu, Rivers, D'Eyncourt, St. John, Raoul de
Fulke, and others.  But at the threshold of the chamber stood Anthony
Woodville, the knightly challenger, his knee bound by the ladye-badge
of the S. S., and his fine person clad in white-flowered velvet of
Genoa, adorned with pearls.  Stepping forward, as the count appeared,
the gallant Englishman bent his knee half-way to the ground, and
raising the count's hand to his lips, said in French, "Deign, noble
sir, to accept the gratitude of one who were not worthy of encounter
from so peerless a hand, save by the favour of the ladies of England,
and your own courtesy, which ennobles him whom it stoops to."  So
saying, he led the count towards the king.

De la Roche, an experienced and profound courtier, and justly
deserving Hall's praise as a man of "great witte, courage,
valiantness, and liberalitie," did not affect to conceal the
admiration which the remarkable presence of Edward never failed to
excite; lifting his hand to his eyes, as if to shade them from a
sudden blaze of light, he would have fallen on both knees, but Edward
with quick condescension raised him, and, rising himself, said gayly,--

"Nay, Count de la Roche, brave and puissant chevalier, who hath
crossed the seas in honour of knighthood and the ladies, we would,
indeed, that our roiaulme boasted a lord like thee, from whom we might
ask such homage.  But since thou art not our subject, it consoles us
at least that thou art our guest.  By our halidame, Lord Scales, thou
must look well to thy lance and thy steed's girths, for never, I trow,
hast thou met a champion of goodlier strength and knightlier mettle."

"My lord king," answered the count, "I fear me, indeed, that a knight
like the Sieur Anthony, who fights under the eyes of such a king, will
prove invincible.  Did kings enter the lists with kings, where,
through broad Christendom, find a compeer for your Highness?"

"Your brother, Sir Count, if fame lies not," returned Edward, slightly
laughing, and lightly touching the Bastard's shoulder, "were a fearful
lance to encounter, even though Charlemagne himself were to revive
with his twelve paladins at his back.  Tell us, Sir Count," added the
king, drawing himself up,--"tell us, for we soldiers are curious in
such matters, hath not the Count of Charolois the advantage of all
here in sinews and stature?"

"Sire," returned De la Roche, "my princely brother is indeed mighty
with the brand and battle-axe, but your Grace is taller by half the
head,--and, peradventure, of even a more stalwart build; but that mere
strength in your Highness is not that gift of God which strikes the
beholder most."

Edward smiled good-humouredly at a compliment the truth of which was
too obvious to move much vanity, and said with a royal and knightly
grace, "Our House of York hath been taught, Sir Count, to estimate
men's beauty by men's deeds, and therefore the Count of Charolois hath
long been known to us--who, alas, have seen him not!--as the fairest
gentleman of Europe.  My Lord Scales, we must here publicly crave your
pardon.  Our brother-in-law, Sir Count, would fain have claimed his
right to hold you his guest, and have graced himself by exclusive
service to your person.  We have taken from him his lawful office, for
we kings are jealous, and would not have our subjects more honoured
than ourselves."  Edward turned round to his courtiers as he spoke,
and saw that his last words had called a haughty and angry look to the
watchful countenance of Montagu.  "Lord Hastings," he continued, "to
your keeping, as our representative, we intrust this gentleman.  He
must need refreshment ere we present him to our queen."

The count bowed to the ground, and reverently withdrew from the royal
presence, accompanied by Hastings.  Edward then, singling Anthony
Woodville and Lord Rivers from the group, broke up the audience, and,
followed by those two noblemen, quitted the hall.

Montagu, whose countenance had recovered the dignified and high-born
calm habitual to it, turned to the Duke of Clarence, and observed
indifferently, "The Count de la Roche hath a goodly mien, and a fair
tongue."

"Pest on these Burgundians!" answered Clarence, in an undertone, and
drawing Montagu aside.  "I would wager my best greyhound to a
scullion's cur that our English knights will lower their burgonets."

"Nay, sir, an idle holiday show.  What matters whose lance breaks, or
whose destrier stumbles?"

"Will you not, yourself, cousin Montagu--you who are so peerless in
the joust--take part in the fray?"

"I, your Highness,--I, the brother of the Earl of Warwick, whom this
pageant hath been devised by the Woodvilles to mortify and disparage
in his solemn embassy to Burgundy's mightiest foe!--I!"

"Sooth to say," said the young prince, much embarrassed, "it grieves
me sorely to hear thee speak as if Warwick would be angered at this
pastime.  For, look you, Montagu, I, thinking only of my hate to
Burgundy and my zeal for our English honour, have consented, as high
constable, and despite my grudge to the Woodvilles, to bear the
bassinet of our own champion, and--"

"Saints in heaven!" exclaimed Montagu, with a burst of his fierce
brother's temper, which he immediately checked, and changed into a
tone that concealed, beneath outward respect, the keenest irony, "I
crave your pardon humbly for my vehemence, Prince of Clarence.  I
suddenly remember me that humility is the proper virtue of knighthood.
Your Grace does indeed set a notable example of that virtue to the
peers of England; and my poor brother's infirmity of pride will stand
rebuked for aye, when he hears that George Plantagenet bore the
bassinet of Anthony Woodville."

"But it is for the honour of the ladies," said Clarence, falteringly;
"in honour of the fairest maid of all--the flower of English beauty--
the Lady Isabel--that I--"

"Your Highness will pardon me," interrupted Montagu; "but I do trust
to your esteem for our poor and insulted House of Nevile so far as to
be assured that the name of my niece Isabel will not be submitted to
the ribald comments of a base-born Burgundian."

"Then I will break no lance in the lists!"

"As it likes you, prince," replied Montagu, shortly; and, with a low
bow, he quitted the chamber, and was striding to the outer gate of the
Tower, when a sweet, clear voice behind him called him by his name.
He turned abruptly, to meet the dark eye and all-subduing smile of the
boy-Duke of Gloucester.

"A word with you, Montagu, noblest and most prized, with your princely
brothers, of the champions of our House,--I read your generous
indignation with our poor Clarence.  Ay, sir! ay!--it was a weakness
in him that moved even me.  But you have not now to learn that his
nature, how excellent soever, is somewhat unsteady.  His judgment
alone lacks weight and substance,--ever persuaded against his better
reason by those who approach his infirmer side; but if it be true that
our cousin Warwick intends for him the hand of the peerless Isabel,
wiser heads will guide his course."

"My brother," said Montagu, greatly softened, "is much beholden to
your Highness for a steady countenance and friendship, for which I
also, believe me--and the families of Beauchamp, Montagu, and Nevile--
are duly grateful.  But to speak plainly (which your Grace's youthful
candour, so all-acknowledged, will permit), the kinsmen of the queen
do now so aspire to rule this land, to marry or forbid to marry, not
only our own children, but your illustrious father's, that I foresee
in this visit of the bastard Anthony the most signal disgrace to
Warwick that ever king passed upon ambassador or gentleman.  And this
moves me more!--yea, I vow to Saint George, my patron, it moves me
more--by the thought of danger to your royal House than by the grief
of slight to mine; for Warwick--but you know him."

"Montagu, you must soothe and calm your brother if chafed.  I impose
that task on your love for us.  Alack, would that Edward listened more
to me and less to the queen's kith!  These Woodvilles!--and yet they
may live to move not wrath but pity.  If aught snapped the thread of
Edward's life (Holy Paul forbid!), what would chance to Elizabeth, her
brothers, her children?"

"Her children would mount the throne that our right hands built," said
Montagu, sullenly.

"Ah, think you so?--you rejoice me!  I had feared that the barons
might, that the commons would, that the Church must, pronounce the
unhappy truth, that--but you look amazed, my lord!  Alas, my boyish
years are too garrulous!"

"I catch not your Highness's meaning."

"Pooh, pooh!  By Saint Paul, your seeming dulness proves your loyalty;
but with me, the king's brother, frankness were safe.  Thou knowest
well that the king was betrothed before to the Lady Eleanor Talbot;
that such betrothal, not set aside by the Pope, renders his marriage
with Elizabeth against law; that his children may (would to Heaven it
were not so!) be set aside as bastards, when Edward's life no longer
shields them from the sharp eyes of men."

"Ah," said Montagu, thoughtfully; "and in that case, George of
Clarence would wear the crown, and his children reign in England."

"Our Lord forefend," said Richard, "that I should say that Warwick
thought of this when he deemed George worthy of the hand of Isabel.
Nay, it could not be so; for, however clear the claim, strong and
powerful would be those who would resist it, and Clarence is not, as
you will see, the man who can wrestle boldly,--even for a throne.
Moreover, he is too addicted to wine and pleasure to bid fair to
outlive the king."

Montagu fixed his penetrating eyes on Richard, but dropped them,
abashed, before that steady, deep, unrevealing gaze, which seemed to
pierce into other hearts, and show nothing of the heart within.

"Happy Clarence!" resumed the prince, with a heavy sigh, and after a
brief pause,--"a Nevile's husband and a Warwick's son--what can the
saints do more for men?  You must excuse his errors--all our errors--
to your brother.  You may not know, peradventure, sweet Montagu, how
deep an interest I have in maintaining all amity between Lord Warwick
and the king.  For methinks there is one face fairer than fair
Isabel's, and one man more to be envied than even Clarence.  Fairest
face to me in the wide world is the Lady Anne's! happiest man between
the cradle and the grave is he whom the Lady Anne shall call her lord!
and if I--oh, look you, Montagu, let there be no breach between
Warwick and the king!  Fare you well, dear lord and cousin,--I go to
Baynard's Castle till these feasts are over."

"Does not your Grace," said Montagu, recovering from the surprise into
which one part of Gloucester's address had thrown him--"does not your
Grace--so skilled in lance and horsemanship--preside at the lists?"

"Montagu, I love your brother well enough to displease my king.  The
great earl shall not say, at least, that Richard Plantagenet in his
absence forgot the reverence due to loyalty and merit.  Tell him that;
and if I seem (unlike Clarence) to forbear to confront the queen and
her kindred, it is because you should make no enemies,--not the less
for that should princes forget no friends."

Richard said this with a tone of deep feeling, and, folding his arms
within his furred surcoat, walked slowly on to a small postern
admitting to the river; but there, pausing by a buttress which
concealed him till Montagu had left the yard, instead of descending to
his barge, he turned back into the royal garden.  Here several of the
court of both sexes were assembled, conferring on the event of the
day.  Richard halted at a distance, and contemplated their gay dresses
and animated countenances with something between melancholy and scorn
upon his young brow.  One of the most remarkable social
characteristics of the middle ages is the prematurity at which the
great arrived at manhood, shared in its passions, and indulged its
ambitions.  Among the numerous instances in our own and other
countries that might be selected from history, few are more striking
than that of this Duke of Gloucester, great in camp and in council at
an age when nowadays a youth is scarcely trusted to the discipline of
a college.  The whole of his portentous career was closed, indeed,
before the public life of modern ambition usually commences.  Little
could those accustomed to see on our stage "the elderly ruffian"
[Sharon Turner] our actors represent, imagine that at the opening of
Shakspeare's play of "Richard the Third" the hero was but in his
nineteenth year; but at the still more juvenile age in which he
appears in this our record, Richard of Gloucester was older in
intellect, and almost in experience, than many a wise man at the date
of thirty-three,--the fatal age when his sun set forever on the field
of Bosworth!

The young prince, then, eyed the gaudy, fluttering, babbling
assemblage before him with mingled melancholy and scorn.  Not that he
felt, with the acuteness which belongs to modern sentiment, his bodily
defects amidst that circle of the stately and the fair, for they were
not of a nature to weaken his arm in war or lessen his persuasive
influences in peace.  But it was rather that sadness which so often
comes over an active and ambitious intellect in early youth, when it
pauses to ask, in sorrow and disdain, what its plots and counterplots,
its restlessness and strife, are really worth.  The scene before him
was of pleasure,--but in pleasure neither the youth nor the manhood of
Richard III. was ever pleased; though not absolutely of the rigid
austerity of Amadis or our Saxon Edward, he was comparatively free
from the licentiousness of his times.  His passions were too large for
frivolous excitements.  Already the Italian, or, as it is falsely
called, the Machiavelian policy, was pervading the intellect of
Europe, and the effects of its ruthless, grand, and deliberate
statecraft are visible from the accession of Edward IV. till the close
of Elizabeth's reign.  With this policy, which reconciled itself to
crime as a necessity of wisdom, was often blended a refinement of
character which disdained vulgar vices.  Not skilled alone in those
knightly accomplishments which induced Caxton, with propriety, to
dedicate to Richard "The Book of the Order of Chivalry," the Duke of
Gloucester's more peaceful amusements were borrowed from severer
Graces than those which presided over the tastes of his royal
brothers.  He loved, even to passion, the Arts, Music,--especially of
the more Doric and warlike kind,--Painting and Architecture; he was a
reader of books, as of men,--the books that become princes,--and hence
that superior knowledge of the principles of law and of commerce which
his brief reign evinced.  More like an Italian in all things than the
careless Norman or the simple Saxon, Machiavel might have made of his
character a companion, though a contrast to that of Castruccio
Castrucani.

The crowd murmured and rustled at the distance, and still with folded
arms Richard gazed aloof, when a lady, entering the garden from the
palace, passed by him so hastily that she brushed his surcoat, and,
turning round in surprise, made a low reverence, as she exclaimed,
"Prince Richard! and alone amidst so many!"

"Lady," said the duke, "it was a sudden hope that brought me into this
garden,--and that was the hope to see your fair face shining above the
rest."

"Your Highness jests," returned the lady, though her superb
countenance and haughty carriage evinced no opinion of herself so
humble as her words would imply.

"My Lady of Bonville," said the young duke, laying his hand on her
arm, "mirth is not in my thoughts at this hour."

"I believe your Highness; for the Lord Richard Plantagenet is not one
of the Woodvilles.  The mirth is theirs to-day."

"Let who will have mirth,--it is the breath of a moment.  Mirth cannot
tarnish glory,--the mirror in which the gods are glassed."

"I understand you, my lord," said the proud lady; and her face, before
stern and high, brightened into so lovely a change, so soft and
winning a smile, that Gloucester no longer marvelled that that smile
had rained so large an influence on the fate and heart of his
favourite Hastings.  The beauty of this noble woman was indeed
remarkable in its degree, and peculiar in its character.  She bore a
stronger likeness in feature to the archbishop than to either of her
other brothers; for the prelate had the straight and smooth outline of
the Greeks,--not like Montagu and Warwick, the lordlier and manlier
aquiline of the Norman race,--and his complexion was feminine in its
pale clearness.  But though in this resembling the subtlest of the
brethren, the fair sister shared with Warwick an expression, if
haughty, singularly frank and candid in its imperious majesty; she had
the same splendid and steady brilliancy of eye, the same quick quiver
of the lip, speaking of nervous susceptibility and haste of mood.  The
hateful fashion of that day which pervaded all ranks, from the highest
to the lowest, was the prodigal use of paints and cosmetics, and all
imaginable artificial adjuncts of a spurious beauty.  This extended
often even to the men, and the sturdiest warrior deemed it no shame to
recur to such arts of the toilet as the vainest wanton in our day
would never venture to acknowledge.  But the Lady Bonville, proudly
confident of her beauty, and possessing a purity of mind that revolted
from the littleness of courting admiration, contrasted forcibly in
this the ladies of the court.  Her cheek was of a marble whiteness,
though occasionally a rising flush through the clear, rich,
transparent skin showed that in earlier youth the virgin bloom had not
been absent from the surface.  There was in her features, when they
reposed, somewhat of the trace of suffering,--of a struggle, past it
may be, but still remembered.  But when she spoke, those features
lighted up and undulated in such various and kindling life as to
dazzle, to bewitch, or to awe the beholder, according as the impulse
moulded the expression.  Her dress suited her lofty and spotless
character.  Henry VI. might have contemplated with holy pleasure its
matronly decorum; the jewelled gorget ascended to the rounded and
dimpled chin; the arms were bare only at the wrists, where the blue
veins were seen through a skin of snow; the dark glossy locks, which
her tirewoman boasted, when released, swept the ground, were gathered
into a modest and simple braid, surmounted by the beseeming coronet
that proclaimed her rank.  The Lady Bonville might have stood by the
side of Cornelia, the model of a young and high-born matron, in whose
virtue the honour of man might securely dwell.

"I understand you, my lord," she said, with her bright, thankful
smile; "and as Lord Warwick's sister, I am grateful."

"Your love for the great earl proves you are noble enough to forgive,"
said Richard, meaningly.  "Nay, chide me not with that lofty look; you
know that there are no secrets between Hastings and Gloucester."

"My lord duke, the head of a noble House hath the right to dispose of
the hands of the daughters; I know nothing in Lord Warwick to
forgive."

But she turned her head as she spoke, and a tear for a moment trembled
in that haughty eye.

"Lady," said Richard, moved to admiration, "to you let me confide my
secret.  I would be your nephew.  Boy though I be in years, my heart
beats as loudly as a man's; and that heart beats for Anne."

"The love of Richard Plantagenet honours even Warwick's daughter!"

"Think you so?  Then stand my friend; and, being thus my friend,
intercede with Warwick, if he angers at the silly holiday of this
Woodville pageant."

"Alas, sir! you know that Warwick listens to no interceders between
himself and his passions.  But what then?  Grant him wronged,
aggrieved, trifled with,--what then?  Can he injure the House of
York?"

Richard looked in some surprise at the fair speaker.

"Can he injure the House of York?--Marry, yes," he replied bluntly.

"But for what end?  Whom else should he put upon the throne?"

"What if he forgive the Lancastrians?  What if--"

"Utter not the thought, prince, breathe it not," exclaimed the Lady
Bonville, almost fiercely.  "I love and honour my brave brother,
despite--despite--"  She paused a moment, blushed, and proceeded
rapidly, without concluding the sentence.  "I love him as a woman of
his House must love the hero who forms its proudest boast. But if, for
any personal grudge, any low ambition, any rash humour, the son of my
father Salisbury could forget that Margaret of Anjou placed the gory
head of that old man upon the gates of York, could by word or deed
abet the cause of usurping and bloody Lancaster,--I would--I would--
Out upon my sex!  I could do nought but weep the glory of Nevile and
Monthermer gone forever."

Before Richard could reply, the sound of musical instruments, and a
procession of heralds and pages proceeding from the palace, announced
the approach of Edward.  He caught the hand of the dame of Bonville,
lifted it to his lips, and saying, "May fortune one day permit me to
face as the earl's son the earl's foes," made his graceful reverence,
glided from the garden, gained his barge, and was rowed to the huge
pile of Baynard's Castle, lately reconstructed, but in a gloomy and
barbaric taste, and in which, at that time, he principally resided
with his mother, the once peerless Rose of Raby.

The Lady of Bonville paused a moment, and in that pause her
countenance recovered its composure.  She then passed on, with a
stately step, towards a group of the ladies of the court, and her eye
noted with proud pleasure that the highest names of the English
knighthood and nobility, comprising the numerous connections of her
family, formed a sullen circle apart from the rest, betokening, by
their grave countenances and moody whispers, how sensitively they felt
the slight to Lord Warwick's embassy in the visit of the Count de la
Roche, and how little they were disposed to cringe to the rising sun
of the Woodvilles.  There, collected into a puissance whose discontent
hard sufficed to shake a firmer throne (the young Raoul de Fulke, the
idolater of Warwick, the impersonation in himself of the old Norman
seignorie, in their centre), with folded arms and lowering brows,
stood the earl's kinsmen, the Lords Fitzhugh and Fauconberg: with
them, Thomas Lord Stanley, a prudent noble, who rarely sided with a
malcontent, and the Lord St. John, and the heir of the ancient
Bergavennies, and many another chief, under whose banner marched an
army.  Richard of Gloucester had shown his wit in refusing to mingle
in intrigues which provoked the ire of that martial phalanx.  As the
Lady of Bonville swept by these gentlemen, their murmur of respectful
homage, their profound salutation, and unbonneted heads, contrasted
forcibly with the slight and grave, if not scornful, obeisance they
had just rendered to one of the queen's sisters, who had passed a
moment before in the same direction.  The lady still moved on, and
came suddenly across the path of Hastings, as, in his robes of state,
he issued from the palace.  Their eyes met, and both changed colour.

"So, my lord chamberlain," said the dame, sarcastically, "the Count de
la Roche is, I hear, consigned to your especial charge."

"A charge the chamberlain cannot refuse, and which William Hastings
does not covet."

"A king had never asked Montagu and Warwick to consider amongst their
duties any charge they had deemed dishonouring."

"Dishonouring, Lady Bonville!" exclaimed Hastings, with a bent brow
and a flushed cheek,--"neither Montagu nor Warwick had, with safety,
applied to me the word that has just passed your lips."

"I crave your pardon," answered Katherine, bitterly.  "Mine articles
of faith in men's honour are obsolete or heretical.  I had deemed it
dishonouring in a noble nature to countenance insult to a noble enemy
in his absence.  I had deemed it dishonouring in a brave soldier, a
well-born gentleman (now from his valiantness, merit, and wisdom
become a puissant and dreaded lord), to sink into that lackeydom and
varletaille which falsehood and cringing have stablished in these
walls, and baptized under the name of 'courtiers.'  Better had
Katherine de Bonville esteemed Lord Hastings had he rather fallen
under a king's displeasure than debased his better self to a
Woodville's dastard schemings."

"Lady, you are cruel and unjust, like all your haughty race; and idle
were reply to one who, of all persons, should have judged me better.
For the rest, if this mummery humbles Lord Warwick, gramercy! there is
nothing in my memory that should make my share in it a gall to my
conscience; nor do I owe the Neviles so large a gratitude, that rather
than fret the pile of their pride, I should throw down the scaffolding
on which my fearless step hath clomb to as fair a height, and one
perhaps that may overlook as long a posterity, as the best baron that
ever quartered the Raven Eagle and the Dun Bull.  But," resumed
Hastings, with a withering sarcasm, "doubtless the Lady de Bonville
more admires the happy lord who holds himself, by right of pedigree,
superior to all things that make the statesman wise, the scholar
learned, and the soldier famous.  Way there--back, gentles,"--and
Hastings turned to the crowd behind,--"way there, for my lord of
Harrington and Bonville!"

The bystanders smiled at each other as they obeyed; and a heavy,
shambling, graceless man, dressed in the most exaggerated fopperies of
the day, but with a face which even sickliness, that refines most
faces, could not divest of the most vacant dulness, and a mien and
gait to which no attire could give dignity, passed through the group,
bowing awkwardly to the right and left, and saying, in a thick, husky
voice, "You are too good, sirs,--too good: I must not presume so
overmuch on my seignorie.  The king would keep me,--he would indeed,
sirs; um--um--why, Katherine--dame--thy stiff gorget makes me ashamed
of thee.  Thou wouldst not think, Lord Hastings, that Katherine had a
white skin,--a parlous white skin.  La, you now, fie on these
mufflers!"  The courtiers sneered; Hastings, with a look of malignant
and pitiless triumph, eyed the Lady of Bonville.  For a moment the
colour went and came across her transparent cheek; but the confusion
passed, and returning the insulting gaze of her ancient lover with an
eye of unspeakable majesty, she placed her arm upon her lord's, and
saying calmly, "An English matron cares but to be fair in her
husband's eyes," drew him away; and the words and the manner of the
lady were so dignified and simple, that the courtiers hushed their
laughter, and for the moment the lord of such a woman was not only
envied but respected.

While this scene had passed, the procession preceding Edward had filed
into the garden in long and stately order.  From another entrance
Elizabeth, the Princess Margaret, and the Duchess of Bedford, with
their trains, had already issued, and were now ranged upon a flight of
marble steps, backed by a columned alcove, hung with velvet striped
into the royal baudekin, while the stairs themselves were covered with
leathern carpets, powdered with the white rose and the fleur de lis;
either side lined by the bearers of the many banners of Edward,
displaying the white lion of March, the black bull of Clare, the cross
of Jerusalem, the dragon of Arragon, and the rising sun, which he had
assumed as his peculiar war-badge since the battle of Mortimer's
Cross.  Again, and louder, came the flourish of music; and a murmur
through the crowd, succeeded by deep silence, announced the entrance
of the king.  He appeared, leading by the hand the Count de la Roche,
and followed by the Lords Scales, Rivers, Dorset, and the Duke of
Clarence.  All eyes were bent upon the count, and though seen to
disadvantage by the side of the comeliest and stateliest and most
gorgeously-attired prince in Christendom, his high forehead, bright
sagacious eye, and powerful frame did not disappoint the expectations
founded upon the fame of one equally subtle in council and redoubted
in war.

The royal host and the princely guest made their way where Elizabeth,
blazing in jewels and cloth-of-gold, shone royally, begirt by the
ladies of her brilliant court.  At her right hand stood her mother, at
her left, the Princess Margaret.

"I present to you, my Elizabeth," said Edward, "a princely gentleman,
to whom we nevertheless wish all ill-fortune,--for we cannot desire
that he may subdue our knights, and we would fain hope that he may be
conquered by our ladies."

"The last hope is already fulfilled," said the count, gallantly, as on
his knee he kissed the fair hand extended to him.  Then rising, and
gazing full and even boldly upon the young Princess Margaret, he
added, "I have seen too often the picture of the Lady Margaret not to
be aware that I stand in that illustrious presence."

"Her picture!  Sir Count," said the queen; "we knew not that it had
been ever limned."

"Pardon me, it was done by stealth."

"And where have you seen it?"

"Worn at the heart of my brother the Count of Charolois!" answered De
la Roche, in a whispered tone.

Margaret blushed with evident pride and delight; and the wily envoy,
leaving the impression his words had made to take their due effect,
addressed himself, with all the gay vivacity he possessed, to the fair
queen and her haughty mother.

After a brief time spent in this complimentary converse, the count
then adjourned to inspect the menagerie, of which the king was very
proud.  Edward, offering his hand to his queen, led the way, and the
Duchess of Bedford, directing the count to Margaret by a shrewd and
silent glance of her eye, so far smothered her dislike to Clarence as
to ask his highness to attend herself.

"Ah, lady," whispered the count, as the procession moved along, "what
thrones would not Charolois resign for the hand that his unworthy
envoy is allowed to touch!"

"Sir," said Margaret, demurely looking down, "the Count of Charolois
is a lord who, if report be true, makes war his only mistress."

"Because the only loving mistress his great heart could serve is
denied to his love!  Ah, poor lord and brother, what new reasons for
eternal war to Burgundy, when France, not only his foe, becomes his
rival!"

Margaret sighed, and the count continued till by degrees he warmed the
royal maiden from her reserve; and his eye grew brighter, and a
triumphant smile played about his lips, when, after the visit to the
menagerie, the procession re-entered the palace, and the Lord Hastings
conducted the count to the bath prepared for him, previous to the
crowning banquet of the night.  And far more luxurious and more
splendid than might be deemed by those who read but the general
histories of that sanguinary time, or the inventories of furniture in
the houses even of the great barons, was the accommodation which
Edward afforded to his guest. His apartments and chambers were hung
with white silk and linen, the floors covered with richly-woven
carpets; the counterpane of his bed was cloth-of-gold, trimmed with
ermine; the cupboard shone with vessels of silver and gold; and over
two baths were pitched tents of white cloth of Rennes fringed with
silver.  [See Madden's Narrative of the Lord Grauthuse; Archaelogia,
1830.]

Agreeably to the manners of the time, Lord Hastings assisted to
disrobe the count; and, the more to bear him company, afterwards
undressed himself and bathed in the one bath, while the count
refreshed his limbs in the other.

"Pri'thee," said De la Roche, drawing aside the curtain of his tent,
and putting forth his head--"pri'thee, my Lord Hastings, deign to
instruct my ignorance of a court which I would fain know well, and let
me weet whether the splendour of your king, far exceeding what I was
taught to look for, is derived from his revenue as sovereign of
England, or chief of the House of York?"

"Sir," returned Hastings, gravely, putting out his own head, "it is
Edward's happy fortune to be the wealthiest proprietor in England,
except the Earl of Warwick, and thus he is enabled to indulge a state
which yet oppresses not his people."

"Except the Earl of Warwick!" repeated the count, musingly, as the
fumes of the odours with which the bath was filled rose in a cloud
over his long hair,--"ill would fare that subject, in most lands, who
was as wealthy as his king!  You have heard that Warwick has met King
Louis at Rouen, and that they are inseparable?"

"It becomes an ambassador to win grace of him he is sent to please."

"But none win the grace of Louis whom Louis does not dupe."

"You know not Lord Warwick, Sir Count.  His mind is so strong and so
frank, that it is as hard to deceive him as it is for him to be
deceived."

"Time will show," said the count, pettishly, and he withdrew his head
into the tent.

And now there appeared the attendants, with hippocras, syrups, and
comfits, by way of giving appetite for the supper, so that no further
opportunity for private conversation was left to the two lords.  While
the count was dressing, the Lord Scales entered with a superb gown,
clasped with jewels, and lined with minever, with which Edward had
commissioned him to present the Bastard.  In this robe the Lord Scales
insisted upon enduing his antagonist with his own hands, and the three
knights then repaired to the banquet.  At the king's table no male
personage out of the royal family sat, except Lord Rivers--as
Elizabeth's father--and the Count de la Roche, placed between Margaret
and the Duchess of Bedford.

At another table, the great peers of the realm feasted under the
presidence of Anthony Woodville, while, entirely filling one side of
the hall, the ladies of the court held their "mess" (so-called) apart,
and "great and mighty was the eating thereof!"

The banquet ended, the dance began.  The admirable "featliness" of the
Count de la Roche, in the pavon, with the Lady Margaret, was rivalled
only by the more majestic grace of Edward and the dainty steps of
Anthony Woodville.  But the lightest and happiest heart which beat in
that revel was one in which no scheme and no ambition but those of
love nursed the hope and dreamed the triumph.

Stung by the coldness even more than by the disdain of the Lady
Bonville, and enraged to find that no taunt of his own, however
galling, could ruffle a dignity which was an insult both to memory and
to self-love, Hastings had exerted more than usual, both at the
banquet and in the revel, those general powers of pleasing, which,
even in an age when personal qualifications ranked so high, had yet
made him no less renowned for successes in gallantry than the
beautiful and youthful king.  All about this man witnessed to the
triumph of mind over the obstacles that beset it,--his rise without
envy, his safety amidst foes, the happy ease with which he moved
through the snares and pits of everlasting stratagem and universal
wile!  Him alone the arts of the Woodvilles could not supplant in
Edward's confidence and love; to him alone dark Gloucester bent his
haughty soul; him alone, Warwick, who had rejected his alliance, and
knew the private grudge the rejection bequeathed,--him alone, among
the "new men," Warwick always treated with generous respect, as a wise
patriot and a fearless soldier; and in the more frivolous scenes of
courtly life, the same mind raised one no longer in the bloom of
youth, with no striking advantages of person, and studiously
disdainful of all the fopperies of the time, to an equality with the
youngest, the fairest, the gaudiest courtier, in that rivalship which
has pleasure for its object and love for its reward.  Many a heart
beat quicker as the graceful courtier, with that careless wit which
veiled his profound mournfulness of character, or with that delicate
flattery which his very contempt for human nature had taught him,
moved from dame to donzell; till at length, in the sight and hearing
of the Lady Bonville, as she sat, seemingly heedless of his revenge,
amidst a group of matrons elder than herself, a murmur of admiration
made him turn quickly, and his eye, following the gaze of the
bystanders, rested upon the sweet, animated face of Sibyll, flushed
into rich bloom at the notice it excited.  Then as he approached the
maiden, his quick glance darting to the woman he had first loved told
him that he had at last discovered the secret how to wound.  An
involuntary compression of Katherine's proud lips, a hasty rise and
fall of the stately neck, a restless, indescribable flutter, as it
were, of the whole frame, told the experienced woman-reader of the
signs of jealousy and fear.  And he passed at once to the young
maiden's side.  Alas! what wonder that Sibyll that night surrendered
her heart to the happiest dreams; and finding herself on the floors of
a court, intoxicated by its perfumed air, hearing on all sides the
murmured eulogies which approved and justified the seeming preference
of the powerful noble, what wonder that she thought the humble maiden,
with her dower of radiant youth and exquisite beauty, and the fresh
and countless treasures of virgin love, might be no unworthy mate of
the "new lord"?

It was morning [The hours of our ancestors, on great occasions, were
not always more seasonable than our own.  Froissart speaks of court
balls, in the reign of Richard II., kept up till day.] before the
revel ended;  and when dismissed by the Duchess of Bedford, Sibyll was
left to herself, not even amidst her happy visions did the daughter
forget her office.  She stole into her father's chamber.  He, too, was
astir and up,--at work at the untiring furnace, the damps on his brow,
but all Hope's vigour at his heart.  So while Pleasure feasts, and
Youth revels, and Love deludes itself, and Ambition chases its shadows
(chased itself by Death),--so works the world-changing and world-
despised SCIENCE, the life within life, for all living,--and to all
dead!




CHAPTER VII.

THE RENOWNED COMBAT BETWEEN SIR ANTHONY WOODVILLE AND THE BASTARD OF
BURGUNDY.

And now the day came for the memorable joust between the queen's
brother and the Count de la Roche.  By a chapter solemnly convoked at
St. Paul's, the preliminaries were settled; upon the very timber used
in decking the lists King Edward expended half the yearly revenue
derived from all the forests of his duchy of York.  In the wide space
of Smithfield, destined at a later day to blaze with the fires of
intolerant bigotry, crowded London's holiday population: and yet,
though all the form and parade of chivalry were there; though in the
open balconies never presided a braver king or a comelier queen;
though never a more accomplished chevalier than Sir Anthony Lord of
Scales, nor a more redoubted knight than the brother of Charles the
Bold, met lance to lance,--it was obvious to the elder and more
observant spectators, that the true spirit of the lists was already
fast wearing out from the influences of the age; that the gentleman
was succeeding to the knight, that a more silken and scheming race had
become the heirs of the iron men, who, under Edward III., had realized
the fabled Paladins of Charlemagne and Arthur.  But the actors were
less changed than the spectators,--the Well-born than the People.
Instead of that hearty sympathy in the contest, that awful respect for
the champions, that eager anxiety for the honour of the national
lance, which, a century or more ago, would have moved the throng as
one breast, the comments of the bystanders evinced rather the cynicism
of ridicule, the feeling that the contest was unreal, and that
chivalry was out of place in the practical temper of the times.  On
the great chessboard the pawns were now so marshalled, that the
knight's moves were no longer able to scour the board and hold in
check both castle and king.

"Gramercy," said Master Stokton, who sat in high state as sheriff,
[Fabyan] "this is a sad waste of moneys; and where, after all, is the
glory in two tall fellows, walled a yard thick in armor, poking at
each other with poles of painted wood?"

"Give me a good bull-bait!" said a sturdy butcher, in the crowd below;
"that's more English, I take it, than these fooleries."

Amongst the ring, the bold 'prentices of London, up and away betimes,
had pushed their path into a foremost place, much to the discontent of
the gentry, and with their flat caps, long hair, thick bludgeons, loud
exclamations, and turbulent demeanour, greatly scandalized the formal
heralds.  That, too, was a sign of the times.  Nor less did it show
the growth of commerce, that, on seats very little below the regal
balconies, and far more conspicuous than the places of earls and
barons, sat in state the mayor (that mayor a grocer!) [Sir John
Yonge.--Fabyan] and aldermen of the city.

A murmur, rising gradually into a general shout, evinced the
admiration into which the spectators were surprised, when Anthony
Woodville Lord Scales--his head bare--appeared at the entrance of the
lists,--so bold and so fair was his countenance, so radiant his
armour, and so richly caparisoned his gray steed, in the gorgeous
housings that almost swept the ground; and around him grouped such an
attendance of knights and peers as seldom graced the train of any
subject, with the Duke of Clarence at his right hand, bearing his
bassinet.

But Anthony's pages, supporting his banner, shared at least the
popular admiration with their gallant lord:  they were, according to
the old custom, which probably fell into disuse under the Tudors,
disguised in imitation of the heraldic beasts that typified his
armourial cognizance; [Hence the origin of Supporters] and horrible
and laidly looked they in the guise of griffins, with artful scales of
thin steel painted green, red forked tongues, and griping the banner
in one huge claw, while, much to the marvel of the bystanders, they
contrived to walk very statelily on the other.  "Oh, the brave
monsters!" exclaimed the butcher.  "Cogs bones, this beats all the
rest!"

But when the trumpets of the heralds had ceased, when the words
"Laissez aller!" were pronounced, when the lances were set and the
charge began, this momentary admiration was converted into a cry of
derision, by the sudden restiveness of the Burgundian's horse.  This
animal, of the pure race of Flanders, of a bulk approaching to
clumsiness, of a rich bay, where, indeed, amidst the barding and the
housings, its colour could be discerned, had borne the valiant Bastard
through many a sanguine field, and in the last had received a wound
which had greatly impaired its sight.  And now, whether scared by the
shouting, or terrified by its obscure vision, and the recollection of
its wound when last bestrode by its lord, it halted midway, reared on
end, and, fairly turning round, despite spur and bit, carried back the
Bastard, swearing strange oaths, that grumbled hoarsely through his
vizor, to the very place whence he had started.

The uncourteous mob yelled and shouted and laughed, and wholly
disregarding the lifted wands and drowning the solemn rebukes of the
heralds, they heaped upon the furious Burgundian all the expressions
of ridicule in which the wit of Cockaigne is so immemorially rich.
But the courteous Anthony of England, seeing the strange and
involuntary flight of his redoubted foe, incontinently reined in,
lowered his lance, and made his horse, without turning round, back to
the end of the lists in a series of graceful gambadas and caracoles.
Again the signal was given, and this time the gallant bay did not fail
his rider; ashamed, doubtless, of its late misdemeanour, arching its
head till it almost touched the breast, laying its ears level on the
neck, and with a snort of anger and disdain, the steed of Flanders
rushed to the encounter.  The Bastard's lance shivered fairly against
the small shield of the Englishman; but the Woodville's weapon, more
deftly aimed, struck full on the count's bassinet, and at the same
time the pike projecting from the gray charger's chaffron pierced the
nostrils of the unhappy bay, which rage and shame had blinded more
than ever.  The noble animal, stung by the unexpected pain, and bitted
sharply by the rider, whose seat was sorely shaken by the stroke on
his helmet, reared again, stood an instant perfectly erect, and then
fell backwards, rolling over and over the illustrious burden it had
borne.  Then the debonair Sir Anthony of England, casting down his
lance, drew his sword, and dexterously caused his destrier to curvet
in a close circle round the fallen Bastard, courteously shaking at him
the brandished weapon, but without attempt to strike.

"Ho, marshal!" cried King Edward, "assist to his legs the brave
count."

The marshal hastened to obey.  "Ventrebleu!" quoth the Bastard, when
extricated from the weight of his steed, "I cannot hold by the clouds,
but though my horse failed me, surely I will not fail my companions;"
and as he spoke, he placed himself in so gallant and superb a posture,
that he silenced the inhospitable yell which had rejoiced in the
foreigner's discomfiture.  Then, observing that the gentle Anthony had
dismounted, and was leaning gracefully against his destrier, the
Burgundian called forth,--

"Sir Knight, thou hast conquered the steed, not the rider.  We are now
foot to foot.  The pole-axe, or the sword,--which?  Speak!"

"I pray thee, noble sieur," quoth the Woodville, mildly, "to let the
strife close for this day, and when rest bath--"

"Talk of rest to striplings,--I demand my rights!"

"Heaven forefend," said Anthony Woodville, lifting his hand on high,
"that I, favoured so highly by the fair dames of England, should
demand repose on their behalf.  But bear witness," he said (with the
generosity of the last true chevalier of his age, and lifting his
vizor, so as to be heard by the king, and even through the foremost
ranks of the crowd)--"bear witness, that in this encounter, my cause
hath befriended me, not mine arm.  The Count de la Roche speaketh
truly; and his steed alone be blamed for his mischance."

"It is but a blind beast!" muttered the Burgundian.

"And," added Anthony, bowing towards the tiers rich with the beauty of
the court--"and the count himself assureth me that the blaze of yonder
eyes blinded his goodly steed."  Having delivered himself of this
gallant conceit, so much in accordance with the taste of the day, the
Englishman, approaching the king's balcony, craved permission to
finish the encounter with the axe or brand.

"The former, rather please you, my liege; for the warriors of Burgundy
have ever been deemed unconquered in that martial weapon."

Edward, whose brave blood was up and warm at the clash of steel, bowed
his gracious assent, and two pole-axes were brought into the ring.

The crowd now evinced a more earnest and respectful attention than
they had hitherto shown, for the pole-axe, in such stalwart hands, was
no child's toy.  "Hum," quoth Master Stokton, "there may be some
merriment now,--not like those silly poles!  Your axe lops off a limb
mighty cleanly."  The knights themselves seemed aware of the greater
gravity of the present encounter.  Each looked well to the bracing of
his vizor; and poising their weapons with method and care, they stood
apart some moments, eying each other steadfastly,--as adroit fencers
with the small sword do in our schools at this day.

At length the Burgundian, darting forward, launched a mighty stroke at
the Lord Scales, which, though rapidly parried, broke down the guard,
and descended with such weight on the shoulder that but for the
thrice-proven steel of Milan, the benevolent expectation of Master
Stokton had been happily fulfilled.  Even as it was, the Lord Scales
uttered a slight cry,--which might be either of anger or of pain,--and
lifting his axe with both hands, levelled a blow on the Burgundian's
helmet that well nigh brought him to his knee.  And now for the space
of some ten minutes, the crowd with charmed suspense beheld the almost
breathless rapidity with which stroke on stroke was given and parried;
the axe shifted to and fro, wielded now with both hands, now the left,
now the right, and the combat reeling, as it were, to and fro,--so
that one moment it raged at one extreme of the lists, the next at the
other; and so well inured, from their very infancy, to the weight of
mail were these redoubted champions, that the very wrestlers on the
village green, nay, the naked gladiators of old, might have envied
their lithe agility and supple quickness.

At last, by a most dexterous stroke, Anthony Woodville forced the
point of his axe into the vizor of the Burgundian, and there so firmly
did it stick, that he was enabled to pull his antagonist to and fro at
his will, while the Bastard, rendered as blind as his horse by the
stoppage of the eye-hole, dealt his own blows about at random, and was
placed completely at the mercy of the Englishman.  And gracious as the
gentle Sir Anthony was, he was still so smarting under many a bruise
felt through his dinted mail, that small mercy, perchance, would the
Bastard have found, for the gripe of the Woodville's left hand was on
his foe's throat, and the right seemed about to force the point
deliberately forward into the brain, when Edward, roused from his
delight at that pleasing spectacle by a loud shriek from his sister
Margaret, echoed by the Duchess of Bedford, who was by no means
anxious that her son's axe should be laid at the root of all her
schemes, rose, and crying, "Hold!" with that loud voice which had so
often thrilled a mightier field, cast down his warderer.

Instantly the lists opened; the marshals advanced, severed the
champions, and unbraced the count's helmet.  But the Bastard's martial
spirit, exceedingly dissatisfied at the unfriendly interruption,
rewarded the attention of the marshals by an oath worthy his
relationship to Charles the Bold; and hurrying straight to the king,
his face flushed with wrath and his eyes sparkling with fire,--

"Noble sire and king," he cried, "do me not this wrong!  I am not
overthrown nor scathed nor subdued,--I yield not.  By every knightly
law till one champion yields he can call upon the other to lay on and
do his worst."

Edward paused, much perplexed and surprised at finding his
intercession so displeasing.  He glanced first at the Lord Rivers, who
sat a little below him, and whose cheek grew pale at the prospect of
his son's renewed encounter with one so determined, then at the
immovable aspect of the gentle and apathetic Elizabeth, then at the
agitated countenance of the duchess, then at the imploring eyes of
Margaret, who, with an effort, preserved herself from swooning; and
finally beckoning to him the Duke of Clarence, as high constable, and
the Duke of Norfolk, as earl marshal, he said, "Tarry a moment, Sir
Count, till we take counsel in this grave affair."  The count bowed
sullenly; the spectators maintained an anxious silence; the curtain
before the king's gallery was closed while the council conferred.  At
the end of some three minutes, however, the drapery was drawn aside by
the Duke of Norfolk; and Edward, fixing his bright blue eye upon the
fiery Burgundian, said gravely, "Count de la Roche, your demand is
just. According to the laws of the list, you may fairly claim that the
encounter go on."

"Oh, knightly prince, well said!  My thanks.  We lose time.--Squires,
my bassinet!"

"Yea," renewed Edward, "bring hither the count's bassinet.  By the
laws, the combat may go on at thine asking,--I retract my warderer.
But, Count de la Roche, by those laws you appeal to, the said combat
must go on precisely at the point at which it was broken off.
Wherefore brace on thy bassinet, Count de la Roche; and thou, Anthony
Lord Scales, fix the pike of thine axe, which I now perceive was
inserted exactly where the right eye giveth easy access to the brain,
precisely in the same place.  So renew the contest, and the Lord have
mercy on thy soul, Count de la Roche!"

At this startling sentence, wholly unexpected, and yet wholly
according to those laws of which Edward was so learned a judge, the
Bastard's visage fell.  With open mouth and astounded eyes, he stood
gazing at the king, who, majestically reseating himself, motioned to
the heralds.

"Is that the law, sire?" at length faltered forth the Bastard.

"Can you dispute it?  Can any knight or gentleman gainsay it?"

"Then," quoth the Bastard, gruffly, and throwing his axe to the
ground, "by all the saints in the calendar, I have had enough!  I came
hither to dare all that beseems a chevalier, but to stand still while
Sir Anthony Woodville deliberately pokes out my right eye were a feat
to show that very few brains would follow.  And so, my Lord Scales, I
give thee my right hand, and wish thee joy of thy triumph, and the
golden collar."  [The prize was a collar of gold, enamelled with the
flower of the souvenance.]

"No triumph," replied the Woodville, modestly, "for thou art only, as
brave knights should be, subdued by the charms of the ladies, which no
breast, however valiant, can with impunity dispute."

So saying, the Lord Scales led the count to a seat of honour near the
Lord Rivers; and the actor was contented, perforce, to become a
spectator of the ensuing contests.  These were carried on till late at
noon between the Burgundians and the English, the last maintaining the
superiority of their principal champion; and among those in the melee,
to which squires were admitted, not the least distinguished and
conspicuous was our youthful friend, Master Marmaduke Nevile.




CHAPTER VIII.

HOW THE BASTARD OF BURGUNDY PROSPERED MORE IN HIS POLICY THAN WITH THE
POLE-AXE.-AND HOW KING EDWARD HOLDS HIS SUMMER CHASE IN THE FAIR
GROVES OF SHENE.

It was some days after the celebrated encounter between the Bastard
and Lord Scales, and the court had removed to the Palace of Shene.
The Count de la Roche's favour with the Duchess of Bedford and the
young princess had not rested upon his reputation for skill with the
pole-axe, and it had now increased to a height that might well
recompense the diplomatist for his discomfiture in the lists.

In the mean while, the arts of Warwick's enemies had been attended
with signal success.  The final preparations for the alliance now
virtually concluded with Louis's brother still detained the earl at
Rouen, and fresh accounts of the French king's intimacy with the
ambassador were carefully forwarded to Rivers, and transmitted to
Edward.  Now, we have Edward's own authority for stating that his
first grudge against Warwick originated in this displeasing intimacy,
but the English king was too clear-sighted to interpret such
courtesies into the gloss given them by Rivers.  He did not for a
moment conceive that Lord Warwick was led into any absolute connection
with Louis which could link him to the Lancastrians, for this was
against common-sense; but Edward, with all his good humour, was
implacable and vindictive, and he could not endure the thought that
Warwick should gain the friendship of the man he deemed his foe.
Putting aside his causes of hatred to Louis in the encouragement which
that king had formerly given to the Lancastrian exiles, Edward's pride
as sovereign felt acutely the slighting disdain with which the French
king had hitherto treated his royalty and his birth.  The customary
nickname with which he was maligned in Paris was "the Son of the
Archer," a taunt upon the fair fame of his mother, whom scandal
accused of no rigid fidelity to the Duke of York.  Besides this,
Edward felt somewhat of the jealousy natural to a king, himself so
spirited and able, of the reputation for profound policy and
statecraft which Louis XI. was rapidly widening and increasing
throughout the courts of Europe.  And, what with the resentment and
what with the jealousy, there had sprung up in his warlike heart a
secret desire to advance the claims of England to the throne of
France, and retrieve the conquests won by the Fifth Henry to be lost
under the Sixth.  Possessing these feelings and these views, Edward
necessarily saw in the alliance with Burgundy all that could gratify
both his hate and his ambition.  The Count of Charolois had sworn to
Louis the most deadly enmity, and would have every motive, whether of
vengeance or of interest, to associate himself heart in hand with the
arms of England in any invasion of France; and to these warlike
objects Edward added, as we have so often had cause to remark, the
more peaceful aims and interests of commerce.  And, therefore,
although he could not so far emancipate himself from that influence,
which both awe and gratitude invested in the Earl of Warwick, as to
resist his great minister's embassy to Louis; and though, despite all
these reasons in favour of connection with Burgundy, he could not but
reluctantly allow that Warwick urged those of a still larger and wiser
policy, when showing that the infant dynasty of York could only be
made secure by effectually depriving Margaret of the sole ally that
could venture to assist her cause,--yet no sooner had Warwick fairly
departed than he inly chafed at the concession he had made, and his
mind was open to all the impressions which the earl's enemies sought
to stamp upon it.  As the wisdom of every man, however able, can but
run through those channels which are formed by the soil of the
character, so Edward with all his talents never possessed the prudence
which fear of consequences inspires.  He was so eminently fearless, so
scornful of danger, that he absolutely forgot the arguments on which
the affectionate zeal of Warwick had based the alliance with Louis,--
arguments as to the unceasing peril, whether to his person or his
throne, so long as the unprincipled and plotting genius of the French
king had an interest against both; and thus he became only alive to
the representations of his passions, his pride, and his mercantile
interests.  The Duchess of Bedford, the queen, and all the family of
Woodville, who had but one object at heart,--the downfall of Warwick
and his House,--knew enough of the earl's haughty nature to be aware
that he would throw up the reins of government the moment he knew that
Edward had discredited and dishonoured his embassy; and, despite the
suspicions they sought to instil into their king's mind, they
calculated upon the earl's love and near relationship to Edward, upon
his utter and seemingly irreconcilable breach with the House of
Lancaster, to render his wrath impotent, and to leave him only the
fallen minister, not the mighty rebel.

Edward had been thus easily induced to permit the visit of the Count
de la Roche, although he had by no means then resolved upon the course
he should pursue.  At all events, even if the alliance with Louis was
to take place, the friendship of Burgundy was worth much to maintain.
But De la Roche soon made aware by the Duchess of Bedford of the
ground on which he stood, and instructed by his brother to spare no
pains and to scruple no promise that might serve to alienate Edward
from Louis and win the hand and dower of Margaret, found it a more
facile matter than his most sanguine hopes had deemed to work upon the
passions and the motives which inclined the king to the pretensions of
the heir of Burgundy.  And what more than all else favoured the
envoy's mission was the very circumstance that should most have
defeated it,--namely, the recollection of the Earl of Warwick; for in
the absence of that powerful baron and master-minister, the king had
seemed to breathe more freely.  In his absence, he forgot his power.
The machine of government, to his own surprise, seemed to go on as
well; the Commons were as submissive, the mobs as noisy in their
shouts, as if the earl were by.  There was no longer any one to share
with Edward the joys of popularity, the sweets of power.

Though Edward was not Diogenes, he loved the popular sunshine, and no
Alexander now stood between him and its beams.  Deceived by the
representations of his courtiers, hearing nothing but abuse of Warwick
and sneers at his greatness, he began to think the hour had come when
he might reign alone, and he entered, though tacitly, and not
acknowledging it even to himself, into the very object of the
womankind about him,--namely, the dismissal of his minister.

The natural carelessness and luxurious indolence of Edward's temper
did not however permit him to see all the ingratitude of the course he
was about to adopt.  The egotism a king too often acquires, and no
king so easily as one like Edward IV., not born to a throne, made him
consider that he alone was entitled to the prerogatives of pride.  As
sovereign and as brother, might he not give the hand of Margaret as he
listed?  If Warwick was offended, pest on his disloyalty and
presumption!  And so saying to himself, he dismissed the very thought
of the absent earl, and glided unconsciously down the current of the
hour.  And yet, notwithstanding all these prepossessions and
dispositions, Edward might no doubt have deferred at least the
meditated breach with his great minister until the return of the
latter, and then have acted with the delicacy and precaution that
became a king bound by ties of gratitude and blood to the statesman he
desired to discard, but for a habit,--which, while history mentions,
it seems to forget, in the consequences it ever engenders,--the habit
of intemperance.  Unquestionably to that habit many of the imprudences
and levities of a king possessed of so much ability are to be
ascribed; and over his cups with the wary and watchful De la Roche
Edward had contrived to entangle himself far more than in his cooler
moments he would have been disposed to do.

Having thus admitted our readers into those recesses of that cor
inscrutabile,--the heart of kings,--we summon them to a scene peculiar
to the pastimes of the magnificent Edward.  Amidst the shades of the
vast park, or chase, which then appertained to the Palace of Shene,
the noonday sun shone upon such a spot as Armida might have dressed
for the subdued Rinaldo.  A space had been cleared of trees and
underwood, and made level as a bowling-green.  Around this space the
huge oak and the broad beech were hung with trellis-work, wreathed
with jasmine, honeysuckle, and the white rose, trained in arches.
Ever and anon through these arches extended long alleys, or vistas,
gradually lost in the cool depth of foliage; amidst these alleys and
around this space numberless arbours, quaint with all the flowers then
known in England, were constructed.  In the centre of the sward was a
small artificial lake, long since dried up, and adorned then with a
profusion of fountains, that seemed to scatter coolness around the
glowing air.  Pitched in various and appropriate sites were tents of
silk and the white cloth of Rennes, each tent so placed as to command
one of the alleys; and at the opening of each stood cavalier or dame,
with the bow or crossbow, as it pleased the fancy or suited best the
skill, looking for the quarry, which horn and hound drove fast and
frequent across the alleys.  Such was the luxurious "summer-chase" of
the Sardanapalus of the North.  Nor could any spectacle more
thoroughly represent that poetical yet effeminate taste, which,
borrowed from the Italians, made a short interval between the
chivalric and the modern age.  The exceeding beauty of the day, the
richness of the foliage in the first suns of bright July, the bay of
the dogs, the sound of the mellow horn, the fragrance of the air,
heavy with noontide flowers, the gay tents, the rich dresses and fair
faces and merry laughter of dame and donzell,--combined to take
captive every sense, and to reconcile ambition itself, that eternal
traveller through the future, to the enjoyment of the voluptuous hour.
But there were illustrious exceptions to the contentment of the
general company.

A courier had arrived that morning to apprise Edward of the unexpected
debarkation of the Earl of Warwick, with the Archbishop of Narbonne
and the Bastard of Bourbon,--the ambassadors commissioned by Louis to
settle the preliminaries of the marriage between Margaret and his
brother.  This unwelcome intelligence reached Edward at the very
moment he was sallying from his palace gates to his pleasant pastime.
He took aside Lord Hastings, and communicated the news to his able
favourite.  "Put spurs to thy horse, Hastings, and hie thee fast to
Baynard's Castle.  Bring back Gloucester.  In these difficult matters
that boy's head is better than a council."

"Your Highness," said Hastings, tightening his girdle with one hand,
while with the other he shortened his stirrups, "shall be obeyed.  I
foresaw, sire, that this coming would occasion much that my Lords
Rivers and Worcester have overlooked.  I rejoice that you summon the
Prince Richard, who hath wisely forborne all countenance to the
Burgundian envoy.  But is this all, sire?  Is it not well to assemble
also your trustiest lords and most learned prelates, if not to overawe
Lord Warwick's anger, at least to confer on the fitting excuses to be
made to King Louis's ambassadors?"

"And so lose the fairest day this summer hath bestowed upon us?
Tush!--the more need for pleasaunce to-day since business must come
to-morrow.  Away with you, dear Will!"

Hastings looked grave; but he saw all further remonstrance would be in
vain, and hoping much from the intercession of Gloucester, put spurs
to his steed and vanished.  Edward mused a moment; and Elizabeth, who
knew every expression and change of his countenance, rode from the
circle of her ladies, and approached him timidly.  Casting down her
eyes, which she always affected in speaking to her lord, the queen
said softly,--

"Something hath disturbed my liege and my life's life."

"Marry, yes, sweet Bessee.  Last night, to pleasure thee and thy kin
(and sooth to say, small gratitude ye owe me, for it also pleased
myself), I promised Margaret's hand, through De la Roche, to the heir
of Burgundy."

"O princely heart!" exclaimed Elizabeth, her whole face lighted up
with triumph, "ever seeking to make happy those it cherishes.  But is
it that which disturbs thee, that which thou repentest?"

"No, sweetheart,--no.  Yet had it not been for the strength of the
clary, I should have kept the Bastard longer in suspense.  But what is
done is done.  Let not thy roses wither when thou hearest Warwick is
in England,--nay, nay, child, look not so appalled; thine Edward is no
infant, whom ogre and goblin scare; and"--glancing his eye proudly
round as he spoke, and saw the goodly cavalcade of his peers and
knights, with his body-guard, tall and chosen veterans, filling up the
palace-yard, with the show of casque and pike--"and if the struggle is
to come between Edward of England and his subject, never an hour more
ripe than this; my throne assured, the new nobility I have raised
around it, London true, marrow and heart true, the provinces at peace,
the ships and the steel of Burgundy mine allies!  Let the white Bear
growl as he list, the Lion of March is lord of the forest. And now, my
Bessee," added the king, changing his haughty tone into a gay,
careless laugh, "now let the lion enjoy his chase."

He kissed the gloved hand of his queen, gallantly bending over his
saddle-bow, and the next moment he was by the side of a younger if not
a fairer lady, to whom he was devoting the momentary worship of his
inconstant heart.  Elizabeth's eyes shot an angry gleam as she beheld
her faithless lord thus engaged; but so accustomed to conceal and
control the natural jealousy that it never betrayed itself to the
court or to her husband, she soon composed her countenance to its
ordinary smooth and artificial smile, and rejoining her mother she
revealed what had passed.  The proud and masculine spirit of the
duchess felt only joy at the intelligence.  In the anticipated
humiliation of Warwick, she forgot all cause for fear.  Not so her
husband and son, the Lords Rivers and Scales, to whom the news soon
travelled.

"Anthony," whispered the father, "in this game we have staked our
heads."

"But our right hands can guard them well, sir," answered Anthony; "and
so God and the ladies for our rights!"

Yet this bold reply did not satisfy the more thoughtful judgment of
the lord treasurer, and even the brave Anthony's arrows that day
wandered wide of their quarry.

Amidst this gay scene, then, there were anxious and thoughtful bosoms.
Lord Rivers was silent and abstracted; his son's laugh was hollow and
constrained; the queen, from her pavilion, cast, ever and anon, down
the green alleys more restless and prying looks than the hare or the
deer could call forth; her mother's brow was knit and flushed.  And
keenly were those illustrious persons watched by one deeply interested
in the coming events.  Affecting to discharge the pleasant duty
assigned him by the king, the Lord Montagu glided from tent to tent,
inquiring courteously into the accommodation of each group, lingering,
smiling, complimenting, watching, heeding, studying, those whom he
addressed.  For the first time since the Bastard's visit he had joined
in the diversions in its honour; and yet so well had Montagu played
his part at the court that he did not excite amongst the queen's
relatives any of the hostile feelings entertained towards his brother.
No man, except Hastings, was so "entirely loved" by Edward; and
Montagu, worldly as he was, and indignant against the king as he could
not fail to be, so far repaid the affection, that his chief fear at
that moment sincerely was not for Warwick but Edward.  He alone of
those present was aware of the cause of Warwick's hasty return, for he
had privately despatched to him the news of the Bastard's visit, its
real object, and the inevitable success of the intrigues afloat,
unless the earl could return at once, his mission accomplished, and
the ambassadors of France in his train; and even before the courier
despatched to the king had arrived at Shene, a private hand had
conveyed to Montagu the information that Warwick, justly roused and
alarmed, had left the state procession behind at Dover, and was
hurrying, fast as relays of steeds and his own fiery spirit could bear
him, to the presence of the ungrateful king.

Meanwhile the noon had now declined, the sport relaxed, and the sound
of the trumpet from the king's pavilion proclaimed that the lazy
pastime was to give place to the luxurious banquet.

At this moment, Montagu approached a tent remote from the royal
pavilions, and, as his noiseless footstep crushed the grass, he heard
the sound of voices in which there was little in unison with the
worldly thoughts that filled his breast.

"Nay, sweet mistress, nay," said a young man's voice, earnest with
emotion, "do not misthink me, do not deem me bold and overweening.  I
have sought to smother my love, and to rate it, and bring pride to my
aid, but in vain; and, now, whether you will scorn my suit or not, I
remember, Sibyll--O Sibyll!  I remember the days when we conversed
together; and as a brother, if nothing else--nothing dearer--I pray
you to pause well, and consider what manner of man this Lord Hastings
is said to be!"

"Master Nevile, is this generous?  Why afflict me thus; why couple my
name with so great a lord's?"

"Because--beware--the young gallants already so couple it, and their
prophecies are not to thine honour, Sibyll.  Nay, do not frown on me.
I know thou art fair and winsome, and deftly gifted, and thy father
may, for aught I know, be able to coin thee a queen's dower out of his
awsome engines.  But Hastings will not wed thee, and his wooing,
therefore, but stains thy fair repute; while I--"

"You!" said Montagu, entering suddenly--"you, kinsman, may look to
higher fortunes than the Duchess of Bedford's waiting-damsel can bring
to thy honest love.  How now, mistress, say, wilt thou take this young
gentleman for loving fere and plighted spouse?  If so, he shall give
thee a manor for jointure, and thou shalt wear velvet robe and gold
chain, as a knight's wife."

This unexpected interference, which was perfectly in character with
the great lords, who frequently wooed in very peremptory tones for
their clients and kinsmen, [See, in Miss Strickland's "Life of
Elizabeth Woodville," the curious letters which the Duke of York and
the Earl of Warwick addressed to her, then a simple maiden, in favour
of their protege, Sir R. Johnes.] completed the displeasure which the
blunt Marmaduke had already called forth in Sibyll's gentle but proud
nature.  "Speak, maiden,--ay or no?" continued Montagu, surprised and
angered at the haughty silence of one whom he just knew by sight and
name, though he had never before addressed her.

"No, my lord," answered Sibyll, keeping down her indignation at this
tone, though it burned in her cheek, flashed in her eye, and swelled
in the heave of her breast. "No! and your kinsman might have spared
this affront to one whom--but it matters not."  She swept from the
tent as she said this, and passed up the alley into that of the
queen's mother.

"Best so; thou art too young for marriage, Marmaduke," said Montagu,
coldly.  "We will find thee a richer bride ere long.  There is Mary of
Winstown, the archbishop's ward, with two castles and seven knight's
fees."

"But so marvellously ill-featured, my lord," said poor Marmaduke,
sighing.

Montagu looked at him in surprise.  "Wives, sir," he said, "are not
made to look at,--unless, indeed, they be the wives of other men.  But
dismiss these follies for the nonce.  Back to thy post by the king's
pavilion; and by the way ask Lord Fauconberg and Aymer Nevile, whom
thou wilt pass by yonder arbour, ask them, in my name, to be near the
pavilion while the king banquets.  A word in thine ear,--ere yon sun
gilds the top of those green oaks, the Earl of Warwick will be with
Edward IV.; and come what may, some brave hearts should be by to
welcome him.  Go!"

Without tarrying for an answer, Montagu turned into one of the tents,
wherein Raoul de Fulke and the Lord St. John, heedless of hind and
hart, conferred; and Marmaduke, much bewildered, and bitterly wroth
with Sibyll, went his way.




CHAPTER IX.

THE GREAT ACTOR RETURNS TO FILL THE STAGE.

And now in various groups these summer foresters were at rest in their
afternoon banquet,--some lying on the smooth sward around the lake,
some in the tents, some again in the arbours; here and there the forms
of dame and cavalier might be seen, stealing apart from the rest, and
gliding down the alleys till lost in the shade, for under that reign
gallantry was universal.  Before the king's pavilion a band of those
merry jongleurs, into whom the ancient and honoured minstrels were
fast degenerating, stood waiting for the signal to commence their
sports, and listening to the laughter that came in frequent peals from
the royal tent.  Within feasted Edward, the Count de la Roche, the
Lord Rivers; while in a larger and more splendid pavilion at some
little distance, the queen, her mother, and the great dames of the
court held their own slighter and less noisy repast.

"And here, then," said Edward, as he put his lips to a gold goblet,
wrought with gems, and passed it to Anthony the Bastard,--"here,
count, we take the first wassail to the loves of Charolois and
Margaret!"

The count drained the goblet, and the wine gave him new fire.

"And with those loves, king," said he, "we bind forever Burgundy and
England.  Woe to France!"

"Ay, woe to France!" exclaimed Edward, his face lighting up with that
martial joy which it ever took at the thoughts of war,--"for we will
wrench her lands from this huckster Louis.  By Heaven!  I shall not
rest in peace till York hath regained what Lancaster hath lost! and
out of the parings of the realm which I will add to England thy
brother of Burgundy shall have eno' to change his duke's diadem for a
king's.  How now, Rivers?  Thou gloomest, father mine."

"My liege," said Rivers, wakening himself, "I did but think that if
the Earl of Warwick--"

"Ah, I had forgotten," interrupted Edward; "and, sooth to say, Count
Anthony, I think if the earl were by, he would not much mend our boon-
fellowship!"

"Yet a good subject," said De la Roche, sneeringly, "usually dresses
his face by that of his king."

"A subject!  Ay, but Warwick is much such a subject to England as
William of Normandy or Duke Rollo was to France.  Howbeit, let him
come,--our realm is at peace, we want no more his battle-axe; and in
our new designs on France, thy brother, bold count, is an ally that
might compensate for a greater loss than a sullen minister.  Let him
come!"

As the king spoke, there was heard gently upon the smooth turf the
sound of the hoofs of steeds.  A moment more, and from the outskirts
of the scene of revel, where the king's guards were stationed, there
arose a long, loud shout.  Nearer and nearer came the hoofs of the
steeds; they paused.  Doubtless Richard of Gloucester by that shout!
"The soldiers love that brave boy," said the king.

Marmaduke Nevile, as gentleman in waiting, drew aside the curtain of
the pavilion; and as he uttered a name that paled the cheeks of all
who heard, the Earl of Warwick entered the royal presence.

The earl's dress was disordered and soiled by travel; the black plume
on his cap was broken, and hung darkly over his face; his horseman's
boots, coming half way up the thigh, were sullied with the dust of the
journey; and yet as he entered, before the majesty of his mien, the
grandeur of his stature, suddenly De Roche, Rivers, even the gorgeous
Edward himself, seemed dwarfed into common men!  About the man--his
air, his eye, his form, his attitude--there was THAT which, in the
earlier times, made kings by the acclamation of the crowd,--an
unmistakable sovereignty, as of one whom Nature herself had shaped and
stamped for power and for rule.  All three had risen as he entered;
and to a deep silence succeeded an exclamation from Edward, and then
again all was still.

The earl stood a second or two calmly gazing on the effect he had
produced; and turning his dark eye from one to the other, till it
rested full upon De la Roche, who, after vainly striving not to quail
beneath the gaze, finally smiled with affected disdain, and, resting
his hand on his dagger, sank back into his seat.

"My liege," then said Warwick, doffing his cap, and approaching the
king with slow and grave respect, "I crave pardon for presenting
myself to your Highness thus travel-worn and disordered; but I
announce that news which insures my welcome.  The solemn embassy of
trust committed to me by your Grace has prospered with God's blessing;
and the Fils de Bourbon and the Archbishop of Narbonne are on their
way to your metropolis.  Alliance between the two great monarchies of
Europe is concluded on terms that insure the weal of England and
augment the lustre of your crown.  Your claims on Normandy and Guienne
King Louis consents to submit to the arbitrement of the Roman Pontiff,
[The Pope, moreover, was to be engaged to decide the question within
four years.  A more brilliant treaty for England, Edward's ambassador
could not have effected.] and to pay to your treasury annual tribute;
these advantages, greater than your Highness even empowered me to
demand, thus obtained, the royal brother of your new ally joyfully
awaits the hand of the Lady Margaret."

"Cousin," said Edward, who had thoroughly recovered himself, motioning
the earl to a seat, "you are ever welcome, no matter what your news;
but I marvel much that so deft a statesman should broach these matters
of council in the unseasonable hour and before the gay comrades of a
revel."

"I speak, sire," said Warwick, calmly, though the veins in his
forehead swelled, and his dark countenance was much flushed--"I speak
openly of that which hath been done nobly; and this truth has ceased
to be matter of council, since the meanest citizen who has ears and
eyes ere this must know for what purpose the ambassadors of King Louis
arrive in England with your Highness's representative."

Edward, more embarrassed at this tone than he could have foreseen,
remained silent; but De la Roche, impatient to humble his brother's
foe, and judging it also discreet to arouse the king, said
carelessly,--

"It were a pity, Sir Earl, that the citizens, whom you thus deem privy
to the thoughts of kings, had not prevised the Archbishop of Narbonne
that if he desire to see a fairer show than even the palaces of
Westminster and the Tower, he will hasten back to behold the banners
of Burgundy and England waving from the spires of Notre Dame."

Ere the Bastard had concluded, Rivers, leaning back, whispered the
king, "For Christ's sake, sire, select some fitter scene for what must
follow!  Silence your guest!"

But Edward, on the contrary, pleased to think that De la Roche was
breaking the ice, and hopeful that some burst from Warwick would give
him more excuse than he felt at present for a rupture, said sternly,
"Hush, my lord, and meddle not!"

"Unless I mistake," said Warwick, coldly, "he who now accosts me is
the Count de la Roche,--a foreigner."

"And the brother of the heir of Burgundy," interrupted De la Roche,--
"brother to the betrothed and princely spouse of Margaret of England."

"Doth this man lie, sire?" said Warwick, who had seated himself a
moment, and who now rose again.

The Bastard sprung also to his feet; but Edward, waving him back, and
reassuming the external dignity which rarely forsook him, replied,
"Cousin, thy question lacketh courtesy to our noble guest: since thy
departure, reasons of state, which we will impart to thee at a meeter
season, have changed our purpose, and we will now that our sister
Margaret shall wed with the Count of Charolois."

"And this to me, king!" exclaimed the earl; all his passions at once
released--"this to me!  Nay, frown not, Edward,--I am of the race of
those who, greater than kings, have built thrones and toppled them!  I
tell thee, thou hast misused mine honour, and belied thine own; thou
hast debased thyself in juggling me, delegated as the representative
of thy royalty!--Lord Rivers, stand back,--there are barriers eno'
between truth and a king!"

"By Saint George and my father's head!" cried Edward, with a rage no
less fierce than Warwick's,--"thou abusest, false lord, my mercy and
our kindred blood.  Another word, and thou leavest this pavilion for
the Tower!"

"King," replied Warwick, scornfully, and folding his arms on his broad
breast, "there is not a hair on this head which thy whole house, thy
guards, and thine armies could dare to touch.  ME to the Tower!  Send
me,--and when the third sun reddens the roof of prison-house and
palace, look round broad England, and miss a throne!"

"What, ho there!" exclaimed Edward, stamping his foot; and at that
instant the curtain of the pavilion was hastily torn aside, and
Richard of Gloucester entered, followed by Lord Hastings, the Duke of
Clarence, and Anthony Woodville.

"Ah," continued the king, "ye come in time.  George of Clarence, Lord
High Constable of England, arrest yon haughty man, who dares to menace
his liege and suzerain!"

Gliding between Clarence, who stood dumb and thunder-stricken, and the
Earl of Warwick, Prince Richard said, in a voice which, though even
softer than usual, had in it more command over those who heard than
when it rolled in thunder along the ranks of Barnet or of Bosworth,
"Edward, my brother, remember Towton, and forbear!  Warwick, my
cousin, forget not thy king nor his dead father!"

At these last words the earl's face fell, for to that father he had
sworn to succour and defend the sons; his sense, recovering from his
pride, showed him how much his intemperate anger had thrown away his
advantages in the foul wrong he had sustained from Edward.  Meanwhile
the king himself, with flashing eyes and a crest as high as Warwick's,
was about perhaps to overthrow his throne by the attempt to enforce
his threat, when Anthony Woodville, who followed Clarence, whispered
to him, "Beware, sire! a countless crowd that seem to have followed
the earl's steps have already pierced the chase, and can scarcely be
kept from the spot, so great is their desire to behold him.  Beware!"--
and Richard's quick ear catching these whispered words, the duke
suddenly backed them by again drawing aside the curtain of the tent.
Along the sward, the guard of the king, summoned from their unseen but
neighbouring post within the wood, were drawn up as if to keep back an
immense multitude,--men, women, children, who swayed and rustled and
murmured in the rear.  But no sooner was the curtain drawn aside, and
the guards themselves caught sight of the royal princes and the great
earl towering amidst them, than supposing in their ignorance the scene
thus given to them was intended for their gratification, from that old
soldiery or Towton rose a loud and long "Hurrah!  Warwick and the
king!"--"The king and the stout earl!"  The multitude behind caught
the cry; they rushed forward, mingling with the soldiery, who no
longer sought to keep them back.

"A Warwick! a Warwick!" they shouted.  "God bless the people's
friend!"

Edward, startled and aghast, drew sullenly into the rear of the tent.

De la Roche grew pale; but with the promptness of a practised
statesman, he hastily advanced, and drew the curtain.  "Shall
varlets," he said to Richard, in French, "gloat over the quarrels of
their lords?"

"You are right, Sir Count," murmured Richard, meekly; his purpose was
effected, and leaning on his riding staff, he awaited what was to
ensue.

A softer shade had fallen over the earl's face, at the proof of the
love in which his name was held; it almost seemed to his noble though
haughty and impatient nature, as if the affection of the people had
reconciled him to the ingratitude of the king.  A tear started to his
proud eye; but he twinkled it away, and approaching Edward (who
remained erect, and with all a sovereign's wrath, though silent on his
lip, lowering on his brow), he said, in a tone of suppressed emotion,--

"Sire, it is not for me to crave pardon of living man, but the
grievous affront put upon my state and mine honour hath led my words
to an excess which my heart repents.  I grieve that your Grace's
highness hath chosen this alliance; hereafter you may find at need
what faith is to be placed in Burgundy."

"Darest thou gainsay it?" exclaimed De la Roche.

"Interrupt me not, sir!" continued Warwick, with a disdainful gesture.
"My liege, I lay down mine offices, and I leave it to your Grace to
account as it lists you to the ambassadors of France,--I shall
vindicate myself to their king.  And now, ere I depart for my hall of
Middleham, I alone here, unarmed and unattended, save at least by a
single squire, I, Richard Nevile, say, that if any man, peer or
knight, can be found to execute your Grace's threat, and arrest me, I
will obey your royal pleasure, and attend him to the Tower."
Haughtily he bowed his head as he spoke, and raising it again, gazed
around--"I await  your  Grace's pleasure."

"Begone where thou wilt, earl.  From this day Edward IV. reigns
alone," said the king.  Warwick turned.

"My Lord Scales," said he.  "lift the curtain; nay, sir, it misdemeans
you not.  You are still the son of the Woodville, I still the
descendant of John of Gaunt."

"Not for the dead ancestor, but for the living warrior," said the Lord
Scales, lifting the curtain, and bowing with knightly grace as the
earl passed.  And scarcely was Warwick in the open space than the
crowd fairly broke through all restraint, and the clamour of their joy
filled with its hateful thunders the royal tent.

"Edward," said Richard, whisperingly, and laying his finger on his
brother's arm, "forgive me if I offended; but had you at such a time
resolved on violence--"

"I see it all,--you were right.  But is this to be endured forever?"

"Sire," returned Richard, with his dark smile, "rest calm; for the age
is your best ally, and the age is outgrowing the steel and hauberk.  A
little while, and--"

"And what--"

"And--ah, sire, I will answer that question when our brother George
(mark him!) either refrains from listening, or is married to Isabel
Nevile, and hath quarrel with her father about the dowry.  What, he,
there!--let the jongleurs perform."

"The jongleurs!" exclaimed the king;  "why, Richard, thou hast more
levity than myself!"

"Pardon me!  Let the jongleurs perform, and bid the crowd stay.  It is
by laughing at the mountebanks that your Grace can best lead the
people to forget their Warwick!"




CHAPTER X.

HOW THE GREAT LORDS COME TO THE KING-MAKER, AND WITH WHAT PROFFERS.

Mastering the emotions that swelled within him, Lord Warwick returned
with his wonted cheerful courtesy the welcome of the crowd and the
enthusiastic salutation of the king's guard; but as, at length, he
mounted his steed, and attended but by the squire who had followed him
from Dover, penetrated into the solitudes of the chase, the
recollection of the indignity he had suffered smote his proud heart so
sorely that he groaned aloud.  His squire, fearing the fatigue he had
undergone might have affected even that iron health, rode up at the
sound of the groan, and Warwick's face was hueless as he said, with a
forced smile, "It is nothing, Walter.  But these heats are oppressive,
and we have forgotten our morning draught, friend.  Hark!  I hear the
brawl of a rivulet, and a drink of fresh water were more grateful now
than the daintiest hippocras."  So saying, he flung himself from his
steed; following the sound of the rivulet, he gained its banks, and
after quenching his thirst in the hollow of his hand, laid himself
down upon the long grass, waving coolly over the margin, and fell into
profound thought.  From this revery he was aroused by a quick
footstep, and as he lifted his gloomy gaze, he beheld Marmaduke Nevile
by his side.

"Well, young man," said he, sternly, "with what messages art thou
charged?"

"With none, my lord earl.  I await now no commands but thine."

"Thou knowest not, poor youth, that I can serve thee no more.  Go back
to the court."

"Oh, Warwick," said Marmaduke, with simple eloquence, "send me not
from thy side!  This day I have been rejected by the maid I loved.  I
loved her well, and my heart chafed sorely, and bled within! but now,
methinks, it consoles me to have been so cast off,--to have no faith,
no love, but that which is best of all, to a brave man,--love and
faith for a hero-chief!  Where thy fortunes, there be my humble fate,
--to rise or fall with thee!"

Warwick looked intently upon his young kinsman's face, and said, as to
himself, "Why, this is strange!  I gave no throne to this man, and he
deserts me not!  My friend," he added aloud, "have they told thee
already that I am disgraced?"

"I heard the Lord Scales say to the young Lovell that thou wert
dismissed from all thine offices; and I came hither; for I will serve
no more the king who forgets the arm and heart to which he owes a
kingdom."

"Man, I accept thy loyalty!" exclaimed Warwick, starting to his feet;
"and know that thou hast done more to melt and yet to nerve my spirit
than--But complaints in one are idle, and praise were no reward to
thee."

"But see, my lord, if the first to join thee, I am not the sole one.
See, brave Raoul de Fulke, the Lords of St. John, Bergavenny, and
Fitzhugh, ay, and fifty others of the best blood of England, are on
thy track."

And as he spoke, plumes and tunics were seen gleaming up the forest
path, and in another moment a troop of knights and gentlemen,
comprising the flower of such of the ancient nobility as yet lingered
round the court, came up to Warwick, bareheaded.

"Is it possible," cried Raoul de Fulke, "that we have heard aright,
noble earl?  And has Edward IV. suffered the base Woodvilles to
triumph over the bulwark of his realm?"

"Knights and gentles!" said Warwick, with a bitter smile, "is it so
uncommon a thing that men in peace should leave the battle-axe and
brand to rust?  I am but a useless weapon, to be suspended at rest
amongst the trophies of Towton in my hall of Middleham."

"Return with us," said the Lord of St. John, "and we will make Edward
do thee justice, or, one and all, we will abandon a court where knaves
and varlets have become mightier than English valour and nobler than
Norman birth."

"My friends," said the earl, laying his hand on St. John's shoulder,
"not even in my just wrath will I wrong my king.  He is punished eno'
in the choice he hath made.  Poor Edward and poor England!  What woes
and wars await ye both, from the gold and the craft and the unsparing
hate of Louis XI!  No; if I leave Edward, he hath more need of you.
Of mine own free will I have resigned mine offices."

"Warwick," interrupted Raoul de Fulke, "this deceives us not; and in
disgrace to you the ancient barons of England behold the first blow at
their own state.  We have wrongs we endured in silence while thou wert
the shield and sword of yon merchant-king.  We have seen the ancient
peers of England set aside for men of yesterday; we have seen our
daughters, sisters,--nay, our very mothers, if widowed and dowered,--
forced into disreputable and base wedlock with creatures dressed in
titles, and gilded with wealth stolen from ourselves.  Merchants and
artificers tread upon our knightly heels, and the avarice of trade
eats up our chivalry as a rust. We nobles, in our greater day, have
had the crown at our disposal, and William the Norman dared not think
what Edward Earl of March hath been permitted with impunity to do.
We, Sir Earl--we knights and barons--would a king simple in his
manhood and princely in his truth.  Richard Earl of Warwick, thou art
of royal blood, the descendant of old John of Gaunt.  In thee we
behold the true, the living likeness of the Third Edward, and the
Hero-Prince of Cressy.  Speak but the word, and we make thee king!"

The descendant of the Norman, the representative of the mighty faction
that no English monarch had ever braved in vain, looked round as he
said these last words, and a choral murmur was heard through the whole
of that august nobility, "We make thee king!"

"Richard, descendant of the Plantagenet, [By the female side, through
Joan Beaufort, or Plantagenet, Warwick was third in descent from John
of Gaunt, as Henry VII., through the male line, was fourth in
descent.] speak the word," repeated Raoul de Fulke.

"I speak it not," interrupted Warwick; "nor shalt thou continue, brave
Raoul de Fulke.  What, my lords and gentlemen," he added, drawing
himself up, and with his countenance animated with feelings it is
scarcely possible in our times to sympathize with or make clear--
"what! think you that Ambition limits itself to the narrow circlet of
a crown Greater, and more in the spirit of our mighty fathers, is the
condition of men like us, THE BARONS who make and unmake kings.  What!
who of us would not rather descend from the chiefs of Runnymede than
from the royal craven whom they controlled and chid?  By Heaven, my
lords, Richard Nevile has too proud a soul to be a king!  A king--a
puppet of state and form; a king--a holiday show for the crowd, to
hiss or hurrah, as the humour seizes; a king--a beggar to the nation,
wrangling with his parliament for gold!  A king!--Richard II. was a
king, and Lancaster dethroned him.  Ye would debase me to a Henry of
Lancaster.  Mort Dieu!  I thank ye.  The Commons and the Lords raised
him, forsooth,--for what?  To hold him as the creature they had made,
to rate him, to chafe him, to pry into his very household, and quarrel
with his wife's chamberlains and lavourers.  [Laundresses.  The
parliamentary rolls, in the reign of Henry IV., abound in curious
specimens of the interference of the Commons with the household of
Henry's wife, Queen Joan.]  What! dear Raoul de Fulke, is thy friend
fallen now so low, that he--Earl of Salisbury and of Warwick, chief of
the threefold race of Montagu, Monthermer, and Nevile, lord of a
hundred baronies, leader of sixty thousand followers--is not greater
than Edward of March, to whom we will deign still, with your
permission, to vouchsafe the name and pageant of a king?"

This extraordinary address, strange to say, so thoroughly expressed
the peculiar pride of the old barons, that when it ceased a sound of
admiration and applause circled through that haughty audience, and
Raoul de Fulke, kneeling suddenly, kissed the earl's hand.  "Oh, noble
earl," he said, "ever live as one of us, to maintain our order, and
teach kings and nations what WE are."

"Fear it not, Raoul! fear it not,--we will have our rights yet.
Return, I beseech ye.  Let me feel I have such friends about the king.
Even at Middleham my eye shall watch over our common cause; and till
seven feet of earth suffice him, your brother baron, Richard Nevile,
is not a man whom kings and courts can forget, much less dishonour.
Sirs, our honour is in our bosoms,--and there is the only throne
armies cannot shake, nor cozeners undermine."

With these words he gently waved his hand, motioned to his squire, who
stood out of hearing with the steeds, to approach, and mounting,
gravely rode on.  Ere he had got many paces, he called to Marmaduke,
who was on foot, and bade him follow him to London that night.  "I
have strange tidings to tell the French envoys, and for England's sake
I must soothe their anger, if I can,--then to Middleham."

The nobles returned slowly to the pavilions.  And as they gained the
open space, where the gaudy tents still shone against the setting sun,
they beheld the mob of that day, whom Shakspeare hath painted with
such contempt, gathering, laughing and loud, around the mountebank and
the conjurer, who had already replaced in their thoughts (as
Gloucester had foreseen) the hero-idol of their worship.





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