Richard IV. 
 
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EICHARD IV, PLANTAGENET. 
 
KICHARD III RIDES THROUGH TEE CAMF. 
 
RICHARD IV. 
 
 PLANTAGENEl 
 
 BY 
 
 J. FREDERICK HODGETTS, 
 
 AL'THOk OK " OLDER ENGLAND"; "hAROT.D, THE BOY EARl"'; *' IlIH CHAMPION 
 
 OF odin"; etc., etc., etc. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY GORDON BROWNE. 
 
 LONDON: 
 WHITING & CO., 30 & 32, SARDINIA STREET, W.C. 
 
 1888. 
 

 ERRATA. 
 
 Page 14, line 6 from top : for " de Mowbray," read " de 
 
 Montfort." 
 Page 56, lines 16 and 17 from top : for " same breath with find 
 
 so much indignation," read " same breath which breathed 
 
 such indignation." 
 Page 80, bottom line : for " waite," read " waited." 
 Page 111, 4th line from top : for " were," read " was." 
 Page 308, 5th line from bottom: for "Tom Harding," read 
 
 " Tom." 
 Page 352, 9th line from top : for "thy," read -'your." 
 
 366 
 

 TO THE 
 
 MOST HOK THE MARQUIS OF LOENE, 
 
 THIS HUMBLE ATTEMPT TO DO SOME JUSTICE TO 
 
 THE MEMORY OF A GREAT WARRIOR IS 
 
 DEDICATED 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR. 
 
 366 
 
PEEFACE 
 
 Although the taste for Historical Romance may 
 be said to belong, itself, to bygone times, there 
 are certain portions of our history which never lose 
 their charm, while the exciting scenes they record 
 are fully as " sensationaV as any of those which the 
 itiorbid fancy of the devourer of the " shilling dread- 
 ful" delights to revel in, and I fail to see why those 
 stirring times should not be made to yield as much 
 amusement to the readers of the present day as can 
 be extracted from more commonplace and, to my 
 mind, less attractive subjects. 
 
 Impelled by this thought, I have been led to dress 
 up an old, weird legend in such a manner as to 
 render it acceptable, even though four hundred 
 years have passed away since the events referred to 
 were fresh in the minds of men. 
 
 I am mainly indebted to the memory of an old 
 book which I was wont to pore over in my father's 
 library some fifty odd years ago. It had ho author's 
 name, and professed to be the autobiography of a 
 legitimate son of Richard III, born long before his 
 parent's rise. 
 
 This book had a strange fascination for me, and 
 the events it related were so impressed upon my 
 
viii Prejace, 
 
 mind that they have formed, as it were, the skeleton 
 of my story. Other portions have been filled up 
 partly from imagination and partly from vague 
 whispers here and there of a real existing manu- 
 script in which the birth of such a person as my 
 hero was duly chronicled. 
 
 In the old volume I allude to, Richard tells his 
 story in the first person singular. I have abandoned 
 this for many reasons, among these was the difficulty 
 of describing scenery and other things in the 
 archaic language of the unknown author, which 
 became often tedious. The language, in conversa- 
 tion, has been, to some extent at least, modelled 
 upon that of Sir Thomas More, to whose life of 
 Richard the Third I owe many useful hints, and 
 whose style, being coeval with that of my hero*, 
 seemed to me a fairly safe guide. 
 
 The fancy of making a scion of the House of the 
 warlike Plantagenets — the last of a fighting line of 
 kings — one of the first of the line of peace in the 
 empire of the press, might, in abler hands, have been 
 elaborated in a more emphatic way ; but whether 
 this would have appealed to our youths and maidens 
 sufficiently to justify recasting the story, I doubt. 
 
 We have always received our pictures of Richard 
 the Third from partisans of the opposite faction. 
 Shakespeare wrote to please a Tudor, as did More, 
 and both of them have done their best to leave us 
 an almost impossible picture of one of the bravest 
 of England's monarchs, one of the wisest of her 
 generals, and one of the most far-sighted of her 
 statesmen. I must confess to a feeling of admira- 
 tion for the warrior king who held his own so 
 gallantly against the grimmest foes a man may 
 
Preface. ix 
 
 combat — unpopularity and slander. That a son 
 should love his father is but natural ; I have there- 
 fore invested my hero with a strong amount of 
 filial feeling, leading him to raise the hero to the 
 demi-god with natural exaggeration of the glorious 
 attributes which his exalted birth would lead him 
 to admire, and to deny his warrior father any taint 
 of ordinary mortal weakness. 
 
 '^ Audi alterem partem'^ is supposed to be a 
 favourite dictum amongst us. Strange that it has 
 never been applied to the last of the Plantagenets ! 
 Yet, of the charges brought against him, many have 
 been proved gratuitous inventions, and many others 
 have been shown to be impossible. 
 
 Thus, the evidence of the murder of his nephews 
 has been proved to be unworthy of credit. I 
 remember as a boy being shown by one of the 
 store-keepers of the Tower the spot in the staircase 
 where their remains were said to have been buried. 
 He (the store-keeper) was a very learned antiquary, 
 and knew more about the Tower than any person 
 then living, and he demonstrated to me the im- 
 possibility of such an interment having taken place. 
 This gentleman* was always of opinion that Perkin 
 Warbeck was the^real heir to the throne, whose 
 death has been so readily attributed to his uncle. 
 Lambert Simnel was allowed to live as a com- 
 paratively harmless pretender, .but Perkin Warbeck 
 ivas executed by Henry VII — a strong piece of 
 circumstantial evidence in favour of the genuine 
 nature of his claims. 
 
 I am not holding up Richard III as a pattern in 
 
 * The late Robert Porrett, Esq., F.R.S., F.S.A., etc. 
 
X Preface, 
 
 any way, but I do think that he was nothing like so 
 black as he was painted. It was an age of violence, 
 and men were more ready to appeal to the sword 
 than now ; but it does not follow that because 
 Richard could control the most fiery spirits of his 
 time that he was therefore worse than any of his 
 contemporaries. 
 
 J. FREDERICK HODGETTS. 
 
 39, Redcliffe Square, S.W. 
 Christmas, 1888. 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE MONASTERY. 
 
 'fAY," said the Sacristan, the pious brother 
 Cyril, " I marvel often at the brave lad's 
 bearing. There is a something in him 
 that is rarely seen ; yet what it is, I 
 know not. I gaze on him at times in wonder, for 
 he seemeth to mine eyes a being, sooth to say, of 
 higher strain than ours — a very prince at least ; and 
 when he lifts his eyes to heaven, and sings the 
 Gloria in Ecccelsis, I am lost in awe, part through 
 the chant itself, and part through him." 
 
 " In very sooth," replied the other monk, " I have 
 neglected nothing to impart what little skill I have 
 to Richard Trevor. But lo ! he passeth me in all — 
 not only in the art of choral song, for now my voice 
 is ... " 
 
 B 
 
2 Richard IV. 
 
 " Still excellent, good Father Clement. It beareth 
 tokens of the vigours of fifty years agone !" 
 
 " Nay, thou wouldst flatter, which is naught, ay, 
 very naught. But, to return : not only doth the boy 
 surpass me with his voice, but as a limner ; for his 
 skill is far beyond the little I possess. Such lovely 
 scroll-work in illumining I never saw before, and 
 the good Abbot, who has caused the ancient records 
 of this house to be fresh copied, declareth the 
 new writings, fresh from Richard's hands, as far 
 exceed the old as doth the sun the pale and fickle 
 moon. Such manuscripts are nowhere else in Eng- 
 land." 
 
 " Truly, the proverb saith, * the master liveth in 
 the pupil's skill !' " 
 
 " Nay ; *tis in him, not in my teachings, good 
 friend Cyril. He will be great, whatever he may 
 touch. My teachings were the acorn, he the oak. 
 Stripling though he is, the oak is there. I wonder 
 me, full often, of his birth. I fain would know 
 from whom that glance descends. The grace of 
 lofty birth shines there, as well as in his deeds. 
 I would that I could sing and paint like him — my 
 little pupil." 
 
 " Nay ; this is almost envy ! And we, who have 
 renounced the vanities of wcrdly things, should shun 
 that vice, good Father. But we are losing time .... 
 Dost thou not see the Abbot crossing to the chapel ? 
 Hasten ! I would not that he saw us enter late." 
 And the two monks now hurried to the chapel. 
 
The Monastery, 3 
 
 as the Lord Abbot took his seat and the grand chants 
 began. 
 
 This service owed most of its strong attrac- 
 tion and touching charm to the sweet voices of the 
 boys who formed the choir, and whose young 
 minds seemed specially in harmony with the 
 grand story of God's love, which for generations 
 has, amidst all changes in the Church itself, come 
 down unharmed to us. 
 
 These boys were English. Some were sons of 
 gentlemen, and had been placed there for a time to 
 gain a little clerkly knowledge before they joined 
 the trains of certain lords, who would receive them 
 as their pages, and let them serve until they " won 
 their spurs." Others were sons of merchants of 
 vast wealth, who wished to have their children 
 taught such learning as the good monks could teach 
 before they entered on the life of commerce. Then 
 again were boys whose parents, having seen the 
 vanity of earthly things, had wished their sons to 
 be brought up as monks, hoping to make them thus 
 more fit for heaven. 
 
 Among the motley crowd forming the school at 
 Faversham was one whose face, once seen, was not 
 to be forgotten. The eagle nose ; the well-arched, 
 rather heavy eyebrows ; the kindling eye ; the well- 
 cut mouth, the curves of which, descending, marked 
 an ambitious mind ; the massive chin showed 
 resolution, while the proud steps and head erect 
 
 gave tokens of a lordly soul within. As far superior 
 
 B 2 
 
4 Richard IV. 
 
 to those around as the ger-falcon to the sparrow. 
 And yet, the eyes had such a winning softness 
 in them, that none who saw them ever could 
 forget. There was a sweetness in the voice 
 of this strange boy that had a special charm. At 
 times it was quite feminine in gentleness, then, 
 rising as it were with the inspiration of the holy 
 song, it assumed a richness of tone that made the 
 hearer turn and gaze ; and then it changed to a shrill 
 boyish treble, the effect of which was almost comic 
 by the contrast. 
 
 When the " Te Deum laudamus " rose from the 
 youthful choir, this boy's soul seemed as if borne far 
 aloft ; his voice assumed the solemn depth to which 
 we have referred. He must have been more than 
 usually affected on this occasion, for even the very 
 boys gazed at him in wonder. 
 
 At the conclusion of the service these boys dis- 
 persed to their accustomed " plays " (or games, as we 
 should say at the present day), for it was Wednes- 
 day, when they were allowed some extra time for 
 recreation. 
 
 The courtyard of the monastery was large and 
 wide. Room was there, and to spare, for all the 
 lads, who had at once divided, as a thing of course, 
 without a word being spoken, into two parties, each 
 of which took up its station behind a line drawn 
 upon the ground, perpendicular to which, and divid- 
 ing it into two equal parts, another line was drawn. 
 The first line was just in front of and parallel to the 
 
The Monastery, 5 
 
 wall of the refectory, and about ten feet from it ; 
 the second line was drawn from the wall to the 
 first line. At the two ends of the longer line 
 were the cloisters, so that the lines formed, as it 
 were, the ground-plan of two fortresses. These 
 were called the "bases," and the game has come 
 down to our times as " Prisoner's Base,*' though, I 
 believe, on modern play-grounds it bears the name 
 of " Chevy Chase." 
 
 At the opposite end of the court a similar plan 
 was formed in the same way, and the game con- 
 sisted in one boy starting from his base, to be 
 pursued by another from the enemy's ranks ; and if 
 this second boy succeeded in touching him who had 
 first started, he could lead him off in triumph to 
 the prison, represented by the divided line at the 
 other end of the long wide court. But if this 
 second boy should be touched by a third before he 
 himself could reach the boy he was chasing, he was 
 made prisoner by this third boy, and so on. 
 
 A prisoner could be delivered by one of his own 
 party running out and giving him his hand. To 
 facilitate this, it was allowed the prisoners to join 
 their hands so as to form a line of boys, which 
 might extend beyond the prisons, providing that 
 the last boy still remained within. The game is as old 
 as the middle of the fourteenth century. 
 
 As soon as the parties were arranged, which was 
 very rapidly done, the boy whom we have noticed 
 as being so remarkable a member of the choir 
 
6 Richard IV. 
 
 (and concerning whom we have heard two of the 
 brethren converse), seemed at once to take the lead. 
 He started forward, shouting, " Quarry !" a word 
 meaning that which is hunted or pursued, as a heron 
 or other bird of the chase. 
 
 Immediately on his raising this shout a bigger 
 boy on the other side sprang forward in pursuit, 
 crying, " Havoc !" implying the destructive hawk. 
 
 Then began a scene of wild activity such as is 
 seen in no country but our own on a play -ground. 
 Boys, eager to distinguish themselves, shot forward 
 and endeavoured either to rescue their friends from 
 imprisonment or to secure some of the enemy. The 
 whole ground was covered with boys in violent 
 activity, shouting, screaming, yelling, as only boys 
 can yell. 
 
 In the midst of all this hubbub one of the bigger 
 boys was pursued by a little fellow, not more than 
 seven or eight years old, but a keen runner withal, 
 and a bold. He had just reached his adversary, a 
 lad of fifteen summers, who turned round upon the 
 little fellow, and with a felon-blow struck him, that 
 he fell. 
 
 But the avenger was at hand, for he of whom we 
 have spoken, albeit not more than eleven years him- 
 self, sprang like a lion at the bully, who soon 
 lay stretched upon the sand. The next moment, 
 however, he was on his feet again, demanding 
 " Staves, staves, my masters !" On which the cry 
 resounded from the little troop, " A ring ! a ring !'* 
 
The Monastery. 7 
 
 Two of the elder boys ran off and soon returned, 
 bringing two stout " quarter-staves," as they were 
 called, with which our ancestors, when not bearing 
 actual arms, would settle their disputes. 
 
 The staves these boys produced were far less 
 dangerous than those employed by men. They 
 were not shod with iron at the ends, nor were they 
 six feet long. Still they were ugly weapons when in 
 skilful hands, as Richard deftly showed. 
 
 A ring was formed around the combatants, and 
 cries arose from the partisans of each, according to 
 the feeling suggested by the situation of the respec- 
 tive favourite. 
 
 " To him, Richard ! Shift thy guard, man ! By 
 St. Mary, a foul stroke well warded !" 
 
 " Ware the stroke, Cuthbert ! He has thee, man ; 
 by all the saints in the calendar, the game chicken 
 pecks as he crows, right shrewdly !" 
 
 " Cuthbert is down. Richard for ever !" was now 
 the cry, as the big bully again measured his length 
 in the play-ground sand, and the boys present, with 
 that wondrous admiration of success which is in- 
 stinct in youth as well as manhood, began to press 
 round the conqueror, who, in sober truth, seemed 
 more ashamed than proud of victory. 
 
 The smaller boy, whose wrongs by Cuthbert's 
 hand had called forth Richard's ire, was an excep- 
 tion to the general rule. He expressed no satisfac- 
 tion ; on the contrary, looked at the fallen bully 
 with an expression of dismay that his countenance 
 
8 Richard IV, 
 
 had not betrayed before. At last he turned to him 
 who was called Richard, saying : 
 
 "Thou hast punished him too sorely, Richard. 
 He did not hurt me much, and this fierce trouncing 
 will bring his vengeance down on me, as sure as 
 my name is Harry.'* 
 
 "While I am in the school," quoth Richard, 
 "harm shall not reach thee. I am sorry to have 
 given him the broken cock's-comb, but if he lay a 
 finger on a smaller boy than I again, I'll break him 
 all his bones." 
 
 Here the ardour of the boys was checked by the 
 appearance of Brother Clement, who had the charge 
 of school as, what we should call nowadays, " head- 
 master." 
 
 " How now, my children ! what is this ? Brawl- 
 ing, I trow ! Nay, this is naught. ! very naught. 
 What is the reason of this broil ? Who hath 
 commenced the fray ? Who brought on any cause 
 of quarrel — quijiirgi causam intulit f' 
 
 "Marry that was I," exclaimed the little one 
 who had roused the bully's wrath. "It irked 
 Cuthbert that I should follow him, and so he struck 
 me. But that was nothing. Dickon took it far too 
 much to heart, I fear me he hath finished Cuthbert's 
 life." 
 
 "Richard, come hither. Art thou a quarrel- 
 seeker ? Wouldst thou convert the dwelling-house 
 of men of peace into a tilt-yard ?" 
 
 " I am not prone to quarrel, as thou knowest ; but 
 
The Monastery, 9 
 
 seeing this little boy much beaten by a greater, I 
 could not keep from interfering in his cause. Give 
 me such punishment as thou dost deem most fitting." 
 
 " Thou shouldst, certes, suffer a sound whipping, 
 but as thou hast fought not from a proneness to 
 the fray, but rather to succour the innocent, thy 
 punishment shall be lighter. Thou shalt learn by 
 heart the first chapter of the blessed Evangalium 
 secundum Joannem^ from ' In principio erat sermo^ 
 down to * acdescendetes super Filium hominis.^ Go 
 to the school-room and learn there thy task." 
 
 Richard bowed and went his way to the school- 
 room, where the book from which he was to learn 
 was chained to the master's desk at the extreme end 
 of the room, or hall, in which lessons were given. 
 There he found one of the servitors, or poor scholars, 
 who, being taught gratis, were expected to act as 
 servants or assistants to the masters and to the other 
 pupils. This poor fellow was dusting the desk to 
 which Richard was advancing. 
 
 " How now ?" said Richard. " Always at work, 
 and never on the play-ground ; why is that ?" 
 
 " Good brother Richard, I have work to do, and 
 fain would do it well. The desk is fairly polished 
 now. Wherefore art thou sad ?" 
 
 " I can be nothing else than sad when I am pun- 
 ished, albeit I cannot see that I'm in fault, and then 
 the punishment I have is such a pleasure and 
 delight, it seems to me I ought to tell good Father 
 Clement how much I love to do it ; perchance he 
 
lo Richard IV, 
 
 would have given me another penance. 'Tis, in a 
 sort, unjust to him !" 
 
 " Nay, brother Richard ; that were over-righteous." 
 
 " Say not so, brother. I'll to work, and so pre- 
 pare to meet good Father Clement." 
 
 The servitor now left the room, and Richard soon 
 was plunged deep in his welcome task ; nor was he 
 long about it ; his memory was good, his industry 
 unflagging. 
 
 While he was thus engaged Clement had sought 
 the private chamber of the Abbot, who sent for him 
 on hearing of the fray. 
 
 " Brother," the Abbot said, " this is not well ; I 
 would not that the youthful brethren should fall 
 out. This savours more of worldly selfhood than of 
 ghostly discipline. I am much grieved. Thy rule 
 must surely be most terribly relaxed." 
 
 " I crave thy pardon, good lord Abbot ! My rule 
 is of the strictest ; but 'tis hard to deal with boys 
 like yonder Cuthbert." Then he related how the 
 quarrel grew, and how the student Richard had 
 broken Cuthbert's head, and how, to punish him, he 
 (Clement) had ordered him to learn the whole 
 first chapter of St. John. 
 
 " Sad that to learn such treasure of good words 
 should ever be a punishment !" observed the Abbot ; 
 " it should be a reward, — the best the Church could 
 offer !" 
 
 "Richard Trevor is an uncommon youth, lord 
 Abbot ; he takes the lead in all things, though so 
 
The Monastery. i r 
 
 young, so modest and retiring. He never presses 
 forward, yet is always first. I ask the eldest boys 
 their lesson : they forget, or have not learnt. With 
 him this never happens ; whatever it may be, he 
 knows his lessons ever best of all, and never says 
 he knows them. T would ask thee, good my lord, 
 not out of idle curiosity, but as a guide to dealing 
 with a temper so gentle, yet so fierce — so patient in 
 all matters turning on himself, and yet so fiery to 
 resent a wrong to weaker lads than he — some few 
 particulars of Richard's birth and strain." 
 
 " Good brother, I can tell thee little ; all I know 
 of Richard may be briefly told. Sit down, good 
 Clement ; thou shalt hear the tale of how he came to 
 us ; it is full short." 
 
 The monkish schoolmaster sat down and listened 
 to the following narration : " 'Tis now ten years 
 agone. I had not long been Abbot ; and it was full 
 soon after the fight at Barnet, that a right noble 
 warrior was ushered in to me, just after sexts. 
 He was followed by a stalwart yeoman, bearing in 
 his arms an infant of some eighteen months, or so. 
 
 " The knight made due and very courteous obei- 
 sance, and bade his stout attendant show the infant's 
 face. The child awoke, and lo>oked at me and 
 smiled, then held his tiny arms to me as though he 
 sought protection. I could no more resist than if 
 I had been drawn to him with cords. I took the 
 helpless creature in my arms, and then it laughed.. 
 I never shall forget it ! 
 
12 Richard IV. 
 
 " Then the knight declared the child himself had 
 chosen me as his protector, and that to refuse to 
 succour him would be a most unworthy deed. He 
 said the infant was the son of an important man — 
 one of the greatest warriors of the age, to whom, in 
 fact, for skill and noble daring, the victory at 
 Barnet field was due. 
 
 " Now there were many noble knights at Barnet, 
 as thou knowest, who all did valiant deeds of arms ; 
 so that I could not gather whom the knight might 
 mean, and gazed at him amazed. I then bethought me 
 that Drang, the smith, who sometimes works for us, 
 had a young, healthy wife, whose little son was then 
 but six months old. I begged the knight to pardon 
 me my absence, and to refresh himself with what 
 our larder and our cellar could afford, while I ran 
 off to Drang. 
 
 "To this the knight consented. I went myself 
 to see good Mistress Drang and ask her whether she 
 would charge herself with the care of this young 
 orphan, until such time as we could take him as a 
 pupil or a novice in our house. 
 
 " Drang was at home, and cheerfully consented ; 
 while she was wild with pleasure at the charge thus 
 offered her. 
 
 " ' He will be like a brother to our John, lord 
 Abbot ! He's a wond'rous lovely babe. Be sure 
 that I will tend him well. He shall ne'er want for 
 aught.' 
 
 " I thanked the woman, and the man as well, and 
 
The Monastery, 15 
 
 promised them a fair reward, thinking that even if 
 no money came from those to whom the child of 
 right belonged, it was the duty of the monastery to 
 succour such as he ; and so I left him and returned 
 to tell the knight what I had done. 
 
 " I found him much as I had left him. He had 
 taken sparingly of bread, and venison and wine ; 
 his follower, however, seemed to wish to test our 
 powers of provision. He ate and drank to the 
 surprise of good Hilarius, and that is saying much. 
 
 " * Well, good lord Abbot,' said the knight, * hast 
 thou found female care and tendance for the babe ?' 
 
 " * Be under no alarm ; he is as safe as though 
 with his own mother !' 
 
 " * I hope, much safer, good my lord. She died 
 some days ago.' 
 
 *' ' Poor little wretch ! He is of noble sort, I trow, 
 seeing his clothes are of the finest, and the outer 
 wrapper is of cloth of gold embroidered sump- 
 tuously.' 
 
 " ' His mother was the daughter of a noble house, 
 his sire was — or rather is — of more exalted lineage. 
 More I cannot now impart. Thy monastery will 
 not be the loser, that I can assure thee ; I undertake 
 to send or bring thee every year a sum like this.' 
 
 " Here he produced a heavy bag of golden coins 
 — nobles, full weight, and bright and new. 
 
 " ' His safety I shall watch, from time to time,' 
 the knight continued, * for he is dear to me. I was 
 a witness at the solemn marriage of his parents, and 
 
14 Richard IV, 
 
 as Ms sire is sure to wed again, it will be useful 
 that the world should know hereafter whose son 
 this really is, though now I may not say.' 
 
 " 'And may I ask,' I said, 'the *name of him who 
 leaves this orphan here ?' 
 
 " ' I am Sir Guy de Mowbray ; known as the 
 Constable of York, because I hold that office ; 
 though I am rarely there/ 
 
 " Some other words of courtesy then passed 
 between us, when, being rested from the ride, both 
 squire and knight departed. 
 
 "The fight at Barnet had been fought before 
 Warwick was dead. Since Richard came to us great 
 changes have occurred. Edward IV became our 
 king. The death of Edward, and the short-lived 
 reign of the young boy, his son ; the rise of brave 
 King Richard, — all these events have happened 
 since, and I have watched young Trevor all along, 
 and found him taking such an interest in the news 
 that reached us from without, as to 'give rather 
 promise of a stalwart knight than of a monkish 
 book- worm. Time will shew ! Good night !'* 
 
 " Good night, lord Abbot ; many thanks for this 
 account of Richard." 
 
 Then Clement went to see his pupil, and the lord 
 Abbot hurried to his prayers. 
 
CHAPTER 11. 
 
 CEOSBIE HOUSE, 
 
 T the period of our story there stood, and 
 indeed is standing now, in the street 
 leading to the Bishop's Gate, a house 
 formerly the dwelling of Sir John Crosbie, 
 a worthy knight and a wealthy. This house King 
 Edward had assigned to his more skilful brother, 
 Richard Duke of Gloucester, for a residence ; and 
 in the council-chamber here the Duke had often- 
 times conversed with Edward, who, when he wore 
 the crown of England, contrived that all the cares and 
 anxieties of State should fall upon the Duke of 
 Gloucester, while he himself enjoyed the pleasures 
 of the court and times — " a very merry king !" 
 
 Two men are seated in the council-room in 
 earnest conversation. Both are tall, handsome 
 
1 6 Richard IV, 
 
 men ; but one of them, the younger too, seems 
 more imperious in his bearing, though courteous 
 in his tone. His face is most remarkable, and 
 though not handsome, it is still attractive. 
 
 " Your Highness may be sure that all is well with 
 him. He is well cared for, and is the leading spirit 
 of the school." 
 
 " 'Tis good, De Montf ort. For the care thou hast, 
 in this and other matters, shewn our state, thou art 
 most dear to us. The warrant naming thee Con- 
 stable of Leicester this day receives our seal. The 
 revenue attached to this high office is twice the sum 
 arising from thy charge at York. Further advance- 
 ment will be thine. Now, tell me more of Alice." 
 
 *' The Lady Alice Trevor, good my lord, who, had 
 she lived, had well become the highest dignity the 
 state could offer, departed peacefully, only unhappy 
 at not seeing thee, to whom she bade me take 
 assurance of the truest love. She was a noble wife 
 indeed. It saddened me to think how stern neces- 
 sity and these most troublous times forced her to 
 wear her maiden name instead of that to which she 
 was entitled, and the rank she would have well 
 adorned. But it is past ! Regrets are vain." 
 
 The other inmate of the chamber rose and walked 
 about with agitated strides. He was, as we have 
 said, a tall and striking man, but he looked less 
 majestic standing up than he did sitting at the 
 table ; for then it was apparent that one shoulder 
 was a trifle higher than the other, yet not so much 
 
Crosbie House, ij 
 
 so as to cause deformity. He stood a moment oppo- 
 site Sir Guy, who had risen when he rose, and, 
 reaching out his hand, clasped Montfort's in a warm 
 and friendly grip. 
 
 " Enough, Sir Guy ; talk we no more of this. 
 Rebellion claims our thoughts at present ; more of 
 this anon. Hie thee to Faversham, see the boy 
 soon, and let me know how he progresses. How 
 much I yearn to see him, my first-born, darling 
 Richard ! How much I owe the boy ! Now, my 
 dear knight, farewell." 
 
 "Farewell, your Highness, till we meet again. 
 May all success attend your arms and skill. Rebel- 
 lion shall not rear its hated head unpunished." 
 
 Saying these words. Sir Guy withdrew. Left by 
 himself, the other, after some anxious turns, sat 
 down again, and plunged at once into the study of 
 certain papers, plans, maps, and documents that lay 
 spread out upon the table. 
 
 Presently the arras was raised, and a man, partially 
 armed, having in his hand the new kind of weapon 
 called the halbert, recently adopted from the Ger- 
 mans, entered the room, exclaiming : " The Duke 
 of Buckingham craves audience of your Highness ; 
 is it your pleasure that he be admitted V 
 
 " At once, admit him !" 
 
 A moment more elapsed, and then the powerful 
 
 noble who had borne so great a share in bringing 
 
 Richard to the throne entered, with a frank and 
 
 open greeting, that was, however, by no means 
 
 C 
 
1 8 Richard IV. 
 
 wanting in the respect due from subject to his 
 king. 
 
 " Welcome, my lord," qnoth Richard, joyously. 
 " I am right glad to see thee once again. What 
 news, my lord ?" 
 
 " Marry, your Grace, right evil tidings. It seems 
 that though the citizens of London, Westminster, and 
 York are loyal to your Highness, much relishing, I 
 take it, those fair shows and noble promises which 
 graced your coronation, there yet are many others 
 in the land who are not quite so faithful. The Welsh 
 are all for Harry Tudor, Earl of Richmond ; whilst 
 in the Midland counties there are those who style 
 King Richard a usurper !...." 
 
 " 'Sdeath, my lord, forbear !" 
 
 "As your Grace wishes. You bade me tell the 
 news." 
 
 Richard III made no reply, but, with his- arms 
 across his breast, stalked silently across the chamber. 
 At last he made a sudden halt, and fixing his eyes 
 on Buckingham, exclaimed : " Tudor, unaided, bodes 
 me little harm ; for, I am strong enough alone to cope 
 with him and all his rabble rout of Welsh ; but 
 treason in the heart of England is more than I can 
 crush, if I must war with Burgundy as well. Art 
 sure the towns are staunch ?" 
 
 " Ay, my good lord and King ; on them yon may 
 rely, and on what aid I bring you with this arm — 
 my followers and my friends." 
 
 " Of course," said Richard. " Yet I do not know. 
 
Crosbie House. 19 
 
 There is a something in thy look, Lord Duke, which 
 seems to me unusual. What is the matter ? Speak, 
 man, speak. What dost thou fear ? What canst 
 thou want ?" 
 
 *' To both these questions I could answer : ^Much; 
 but as we twain are friends and comrades, albeit 
 you are king of England — I, a simple subject " 
 
 " How, — a simple subject, good my lord ? I 
 know not how I could advance thee higher ; but it 
 there be a wish that I can grant, 'tis thine without 
 the asking. Richard is stern, but not ungrateful." 
 
 *' Most valiant prince, flower of all England's 
 kings, I will be plain, since you command it. Know 
 then, that in these wars, which gained for thee the 
 throne, my coffers have been drained so dry, I have 
 not wherewithal to pay my soldiers." 
 
 Richard looked much amazed. " What !" he ex- 
 claimed. "Are all the pickings won by yonder 
 Wydvilles not enough to pay thy train, my lord ?" 
 
 " Your Grace remembers that in Henry's time my 
 state was pinched to help the royal Edward, your 
 most illustrious brother. Since then the fights — 
 especially at Barnet — have brought me down to 
 almost poverty. True, thou didst grant me Lan- 
 castrian gold, but it was insufficient. I am a duke 
 in name, but not in power." 
 
 " How much is thy demand V 
 
 " I want, in money, some ten thousand pounds." 
 
 " Good ; it shall be forthcoming. Now what more .?" 
 
 " Your Grace must see that all the lands I have 
 
 c2 
 
20 Richard IV, 
 
 bear no proportion to my ducal rank. To keep that 
 up in dignity and force. . . ." 
 
 " More lands ! More money ! Whose ?" 
 
 " Your Grace is most straightforward. The lands 
 possessed of late by Wydville, called Earl Rivers. . ." 
 
 " I thought them thine already ! The other 
 Wydville's lands have been transferred to thee ?" 
 
 " They have, your Grace, but these have been left 
 out." 
 
 " Good ; I will cause them to be passed to thee. 
 No thanks. We must to business. Tell me : is this 
 new gathering near Nottingham of such importance 
 as to want stronger means to meet and crush it ?" 
 
 " It is most dangerous, my lord !" 
 
 " Say, rather, that it is most costly, if thou wilt 
 stir me. Remember, I am a Plantagenet, and in my 
 veins there flows the blood of him who, in an age of 
 daring, was called the lion-hearted. Good my lord, 
 my thanks are due to thee. To-morrow thou shalt 
 have the patent conferring on the Duke of Bucking- 
 ham the forfeit lands and coffers of the late Earl 
 Rivers. When art thou bound for Nottingham ?" 
 
 "In three days' time, your Grace." 
 
 The great duke left King Richard's presence to 
 join the celebrated Merton, Bishop of Ely, who had 
 urged on him to make those claims on Richard, 
 which we have heard him urge. 
 
 Alone, the king strode up and down within that 
 chamber, looking as fierce as any lion in the toils. 
 At last he halted and exclaimed : 
 
Crosbie House, 2i 
 
 " What ho ! Without there !" 
 
 Instantly an officer entered his presence. 
 
 " Did your Grace call ? What may be your com- 
 mands ?" 
 
 " Fetch me Sir Richard Catesby." 
 
 The man was gone, and after half an hour's delay 
 Sir Richard Catesby was announced. Soon as he 
 entered, Richard sprang forward with the words, 
 "What news?" 
 
 " Much as I thought, your Grace. Rebellion stalks 
 abroad through the broad land of England !" 
 
 "Who are the traitors ?" 
 
 " Marry, your Grace, the question is not easy right 
 in a heat to solve. I think the people are content 
 enough to own the sway of Richard. But there 
 are those who set them on to other thoughts, to bar 
 your Grace the crown, because the trifler Edward, 
 called the Fourth, left sons behind, to one of whom 
 you were elected guardian, wearing now his crown. 
 This in the Midland counties brings you many foes, 
 who scruple not to say that Edward V, together 
 with his brother, have met their death through you." 
 
 Richard III sat down when Catesby first began 
 his tale ; but as these words were uttered, he sprang 
 like a lion from his lair, and seizing Catesby by the 
 throat with his right hand, he raised him from the 
 floor and dashed him down upon it. 
 
 Catesby lay stunned, but Richard roused him 
 with a furious kick. He rose and staggered to his 
 feet, looking at Richard with a strange expression, 
 
22 . Richard IV. 
 
 resembling much a faithful dog which has been 
 punished with undue severity. His glance said 
 plainly as a look could speak : " What is this for ? 
 I am frightened, yet I dare not leave you. I would 
 fain serve you, but dread yon far too much to love 
 you ;" and waited further bests or punishment. 
 
 " Forgive me," said the impetuous king ; "but what 
 thou sayest stirs the very marrow in my bones! 
 What, /, a murderer ? If thou shouldst hear the like 
 of me again, cut thou the speaker down, cut out his 
 tongue and bring it me, that I may see the colour of 
 a liar's tongue. They say that it is white ! Can then 
 rebellion make no lesser charge against me than 
 the murder of my nephews ? If my own darling 
 son, the young Prince Edward, could be restored by 
 murder of another, I would not have him live at 
 such a price. No, by my soul I would not. Slay 
 my nephews ! Nay, that were foul indeed ! I tell 
 thee, Catesby, IVe not looked on them since they 
 were in the Tower. I think not they are dead. In 
 very sooth, if they have left the Tower, I ween they 
 seek some other hand to help them take from me 
 my crown !" 
 
 " Good my lord ! be not so very wroth. I never 
 said or dreamt you had despatched them, or even 
 caused their exit from the world to be a little 
 hastened. But there are men abroad who think so." 
 
 " Forgive me, Catesby, for my over-heat ; but I 
 am Plantagenet, and though men call me cruel, I 
 was never base. I would not murder even thee ! 
 
Crosbie House, 23 
 
 No, the fair field of battle is the place for me, then 
 he who meets my sword may say his prayers for 
 the last time on earth. But murder ! Meanly to 
 take the life that threatened me when it cannot 
 defend itself, — that is not Richard's plan. My sires 
 were brave and noble warriors far back to him 
 surnamed the Lion's Heart. What have / done that 
 men should deem me Heart of Hare ? Plantagenet 
 a coward ?" 
 
 Catesby, who was not renowned for much personal 
 valour, was frightened at this storm of passion in 
 the warrior king, though he himself had raised it. 
 But Richard, in his wrath and indignation, had never 
 marked the terror in his follower's face, and so 
 continued : 
 
 " Tell me, I say : who are the men who spread 
 such slanders of us ? Find out but one, I care not 
 who he is. I will reward thee far beyond thy hopes 
 if thou wilt name him." 
 
 " My lord. King Richard ! There lives such a 
 man who seeks to raise rebellion's head against 
 your Grace when he has quite exhausted your bene- 
 volence." 
 
 " Ha ! who is he ? Tell me his name, or by the 
 saints — " 
 
 " Your Grace will pardon me ?" 
 
 " Certes, I pardon, — nay, I will reward thee." 
 
 " It is the Duke of Buckingham !" 
 
 Again the king walked up and down, as in a 
 prison cage. The old Crusader who had borne 
 
24 Richard IV. 
 
 his name was not more of a caged lion in the old 
 Austrian prison than Richard was in Crosbie House 
 surrounded by his men. 
 
 "Leave me," he said at length, and Catesby 
 seemed full glad to leave the awful presence. Left 
 alone, the king continued his impatient walk. 
 
 " Yes, I have been Ambition's fool. Why did I 
 tempt my fate by marriage with the Lady Anne ? 
 Our son was no Plantagenet at heart. Dear little 
 weakling ! Yet I loved him strangely. ... It would 
 have been too hard on him to call up Richard then, 
 my first-born son, from yonder cloister-tomb to 
 wear his father's crown ! And yet poor Edward 
 would never have found nerve to wear the crown I 
 leave ! *' Ho, there, without ! Come hither, Walter 
 Gray. Hist, man, I have a fancy for a frolic. What ?" 
 
 Sir Walter Gray commanded the fresh troop 
 which had relieved the former guard at Crosbie 
 House, near Bishop's Gate. He knew and loved King 
 Richard as a soldier ; but a frolic I King Richard 
 on a frolic ! ! And so he answered gravely : " May 
 it please your Grace, I am your loyal servant, and 
 whether it be peace or war, stern duty or a * frolic ' 
 as you say, I am at all times ready to do your will !" 
 
 " A fair and loving answer, by my soul ! Get me 
 a jerkin like thine own, a honet of the mode, and a 
 well-ordered mantle. I will be point devise^ for 
 even in disguise I am Plantagenet. Swords we 
 have here. Harness* we shall not want." 
 
 * Armour. 
 
Crosbie House, 25 
 
 " So please you, ride we far ?" 
 " I know not. Wherefore dost thou ask ?" 
 "Because I am the officer on guard, and there 
 should be another in my place before I join your 
 Highness in this 'frolic.^ What will the men do, 
 else ?" 
 
 "Well thought, Sir Walter. I will see to that. 
 What ho, without there ! Enter !" 
 
 In came the soldier with his halbert, whom 
 Richard forthwith sent to call Sir Arthur Day, to 
 whom the charge of Captain of the Guard was 
 solemnly transferred. The king's disguise was soon 
 assumed. He was arrayed in the long hose or 
 stockings of the period (the chausses of the Nor- 
 mans), fitting as closely to the limbs as those of any 
 opera dancer. These were fastened to the doublet 
 by laces called the points. The doublet was left 
 open, to display the placate or stomacher worn on 
 the breast, and over the placate the doublet was 
 laced like the bodices of peasant girls upon the 
 stage. The tunic, or " jerkin," was the short one, 
 which descended only to the upper portion of the 
 thigh, and it was puckered at the back in pleats, so 
 as to make the wearer look as though he wished to 
 emulate a lady's fan. This garment was slashed so 
 as to show the fine white sleeve below. On his 
 head he placed the honet, or little cap, just intro- 
 duced from France. It fitted closely, and the lining 
 was turned up to form an ornament. Here at the 
 side a feather was affixed by means of a jewel. 
 
26 Richard IV, 
 
 Lastly, long boots, that reached above the knee, 
 were drawn upon the leg, and then turned down ; 
 a la stage bandit. They both wore long loose 
 crimson velvet gowns over their closely fitting 
 pleated doublets of blue silk. Each wore a sword 
 and dagger, as " gentlemen at court." 
 
 The streets of London were at that time wretched, 
 narrow, badly paved, and still worse lighted. Being 
 so narrow, they of course were dark, because the 
 lofty houses were so built that every storey reached 
 beyond the storey just below. Thus, neighbours 
 living opposite, and separated at the lower part by 
 all the breadth there was below, could, from the 
 windows of the upper rooms, shake hands with 
 perfect ease. 
 
 To those who walked below, as in a forest path, 
 the sky was hardly seen. 
 
 The world at large had dined, for it was two 
 o'clock, and the more wealthy burghers, risen from 
 their nap, were busy in their duties of the afternoon. 
 
 The shops were nothing but mere caverns in the 
 walls. Glass windows were unknown, and the rich 
 wares, displayed in tempting show, were guarded 
 from the spoiler's hands by the apprentices and 
 servants, who, beneath the merchant's eye, formed 
 such a crowd as made it quite a toil to thread a 
 London street. Their chatter was incessant : 
 
 " Gentles, now, gentles ! what d'ye lack ? Walk 
 in. We have the richest stock of satins ever seen. 
 Here you may choose your velvets, silks, or cloths. 
 
Crosbie House. 27 
 
 Here is a choice ! The best in London, gentles ! 
 Gentles ! what d'ye lack ? Walk in, gentles ; walk 
 in ; what d'ye lack ?'* 
 
 *' Trade seems to flourish," said the king ; " and 
 hearken J Call me for the future, ' Dickon,' simply 
 * Dickon !' '* 
 
 '* Just as your Highness — Dickon, — I should say — 
 but it is strange at first ! Just as your will inclines ; 
 yon jewelled sword and scabbard would look well 
 either in field or hall !" 
 
 "Gentles, beware !" exclaimed a cautious fat old 
 man, lolling at ease before the open door of hia 
 well-furnished shop. " If ye have enemies — as 
 doubtless ye must have — beware, for ye are watched. 
 Do not forget this warning, and forget not him who 
 gives it. Master Giles Nay lor, mercer, when ye want 
 new jewelled honets fresh from France." 
 
 "Thanks, friend!" said Richard. "Those who 
 serve me are better borne in memory than my foes ; 
 so I shall not forget your sign — * The Sun and Rose.' 
 Farewell 1" 
 
 But as King Richard and his officer passed on, 
 they were aware of being followed by a tall, stout 
 man, wearing a long straight sword with a small, 
 simple dagger. Having observed him, Richard 
 turned into Westcheape, saying : 
 
 "We must pass on as far as Goldsmith's Row. 
 There is a cunning workman there, with whom I 
 would have speech. Follow me close, I have much 
 need of thee, for if the goldsmith " 
 
28 Richard IV, 
 
 Here the king stopped short, wheeled round, his 
 drawn sword in his hand, which clashed against the 
 blade of him whom he had marked dogging his heels. 
 But in the moment the assassin uttered a piercing 
 whistle, and three or four stout rascals issued forth 
 from various hiding-places, and flew with flashing 
 swords upon the King and Gray. 
 
 But they were overmatched in skill ; for Richard 
 was one of the most famous swordsmen of the age, 
 a true son of the lion-hearted race ; and Gray was 
 no mean performer ; yet they had fared but ill if 
 good Giles Naylor had not raised a cry of " Bills 
 and Bows!" an appeal to the city archers, which 
 was not long in being answered — though not imme- 
 diately, by the armed city bands for whom the cry 
 was meant — but by the 'prentices, mere boys and 
 striplings, who heard the note, and, full of boyish 
 glee to join a fray, sprang forth from every shop and 
 counting-room, well armed with cudgels, which they 
 plied so dexterously that, though the number of the 
 assassins had been augmented, they were in the 
 minority now. The 'prentices were victorious, and 
 by the time the Lord Mayor's guard arrived they 
 had no more to do than just to bind the villains. 
 
 During the hubbub, Richard and De Gray with- 
 drew, calmly continuing their walk, the object and 
 the issue of which must be related in another 
 chapter. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 PLOTS. 
 
 N the "good old times" of which we 
 write, there was no newspaper, no 
 regular post, and no telegraphic wire 
 to " put a girdle round the earth in forty 
 minutes." News came but slowly in uncertain 
 ways to London from the provinces. The art of 
 printing had been brought to England only a few 
 short years before our tale begins, and strange to 
 say, the birth of this art seemed at first to check 
 rather than to encourage writing. The writers who 
 had lived by penmanship saw that their bread was 
 going, and flung aside their pens to grasp the 
 hammer, sword, or trowel, as their tastes might 
 lead. 
 
 It was the gloomy hour before the dawn of history's 
 brightest morning, which has since glowed into the 
 beaming day of light, the eve of which we hope may 
 be long distant. The end of the fifteenth and begin- 
 ning of the sixteenth centuries formed a sort of frontier 
 
30 Richard IV, 
 
 ground between the old-world superstition and the 
 new world's truth. So, while some knowledge faintly 
 trembled, as it were, on the horizon, the greater 
 portion of the sky was hid in darkest clouds. Thus, 
 too, the king himself, though bright and, for that 
 age, not ill-informed, was still the victim of much 
 superstitious fear and some irrational belief. Brave 
 as his illustrious namesake of the Lion's Heart, he 
 trembled at the thought of certain deeds and threats 
 of so-called " cunning women," to whom the world 
 attributed a power beyond the gifts of any other 
 mortals. 
 
 Half an hour after having been assailed by su- 
 perior numbers in the street. King Richard was 
 upon the road to a certain old acquaintance, from 
 whom he wished to obtain the address of one sup- 
 posed to be unrivalled in her knowledge of the 
 occult arts. Accordingly, he led the way to Gold- 
 smith's Row, opposite the end of Wood Street, 
 which street was named from Thomas Wood, 
 goldsmith and sheriff, who caused it to be built and 
 bear his name. He it was, indeed, who, some time 
 after the occurrences which we are now relating, 
 endowed the Guild of. Goldsmiths with funds to 
 help the rising and deserving members of the craft. 
 
 The fronts of all these houses were adorned with 
 their respective signs, and several elaborate wood- 
 carvings. The centre house, which seemed as if it 
 were the chief support and stay of all the rest, bore 
 a large ornamental tablet cast in lead, gilded and 
 
Plots, 31 
 
 richly painted, intended to commemorate at the 
 same time the title of the row itself and of its 
 generous founder ; representing the goldsmith's 
 arms, and also figures of two woodmen riding on 
 monstrous beasts, denoting the name, Wood. 
 
 This series of buildings was regarded as the pride 
 of London, nay, of all England, for beauty, style, and 
 splendour. The central building was the glory of 
 the whole: At the time we write of, the wealthy 
 Master Wood himself resided there. This centre 
 building was the house before which Hichard and 
 Sir Walter Gray now stopped. 
 
 The shop was nothing but an open stall, like 
 those of fishmongers at the present day. The store 
 of merchandise within being costly, there were 
 many of the servants and assistants of the good mer- 
 chant standing all about. He himself was, at the 
 moment, sitting within, engaged in the then difii- 
 cult process of adding up columns of figures, the 
 difficulty being presented by the use of Roman 
 numerals, which (like all things else from Rome) 
 were ill-adapted to our English wants. So the good 
 man was toiling hard at what would have been 
 child's-play to a modern school-boy with at least a 
 brain. 
 
 When Richard and De Gray approached this shop 
 they were surrounded eagerly by brisk attendants, 
 screaming, " Gentles, gentles, what d'ye lack ?" 
 
 " Good friends," said Richard, " I would fain have 
 speech with Master Wood, the goldsmith, an I may." 
 
32 Richard IV, 
 
 " This way, then, gentles ; this way ! Enter an 
 ye will. We have some brand-new chalices of 
 German work just brought from that most holy city, 
 Cologne on the Rhine, in Germany. Ask Master 
 Wood to show them to you. They be not for all 
 comers, gentles ; but would suit the likes of you." 
 
 For the long toes of Richard's boots, as well as 
 those of Gray, were only worn by nobles ; no men 
 beneath the dignity of knights were then allowed 
 to wear them. These long-toed follies (known as 
 Crackowes), the guilded spurs proclaiming knightly 
 rank, the jewelled holders of the plumes that decked 
 their honets^ and more than all, the padded doublets 
 with the pleated backs, proclaimed these strangers 
 men of rank and wealth, and courtiers of a noble 
 strain. 
 
 Richard was a dandy in his way, and had invented 
 this queer padded doublet to hide or counterbalance 
 his deformity. And all the court was padded and 
 high-shouldered ; but if a man of less than knightly 
 rank dared to adopt the crackowe, or toed boot, his 
 punishment was sure. 
 
 Our strangers, therefore, were not long debarred 
 free access to the goldsmith's sanctum. But when 
 they were conveyed within the little den — the 
 back-shop of our day — the merchant rose with signs 
 of deep respect. He doffed his cap, and just began 
 — " Your Grace. . ." when Richard cut him short : 
 "Not so, good Master Wood. Hast thou not half- 
 an-hour to bestow upon thy gossip, Dickon, the man 
 
Plots, 
 
 Zl 
 
 of York ? If so, shut to the door, and let us speak 
 together." 
 
 With puzzled looks, as if not relishing this con- 
 descension in a royal personage, but yet with so 
 much native dignity as quite prevented his em- 
 barrassment from being aught ridiculous, the rich 
 man gazed upon the man of power. He closed the 
 door, saying, however : " We are not very safe from 
 prying interlopers : will you please come up to my 
 more private dwelling ?" 
 
 " Certes, thou art right, friend Wood. Lead on, and 
 we will follow." Here, seeing a little hesitation on 
 the merchant's part, the king said, in a lower tone, 
 " Prythee let it be so ; go thou first ; " upon which 
 Master Wood, bowing respectfully, led up a steep 
 wide staircase to the first-floor rooms, leaving the 
 chief of his assistants at the little desk which he 
 vacated. 
 
 Arriving at the first-floor landing. Wood paused, 
 then flung the chamber-door wide open, standing 
 mutely by to let his guests pass in before him, 
 which they did without more ceremony. When 
 they had entered, he followed them and shut the 
 door. 
 
 The room was long and low ; the walls were 
 covered with oak panels to about four feet from the 
 floor ; the upper portion was concealed by hangings, 
 embroidered to represent a hunt. One end of this 
 long room was occupied by a bay window project- 
 ing over the shop. The floor was strewn with 
 
 D 
 
34 Richard IV. 
 
 rushes ; some heavy chairs, a table, an oaken press, 
 and what was called the " hutch," or money coffer, 
 which usually was found in sleeping-rooms — made 
 up the stock of furniture. 
 
 Wood fell upon his knees before the king, and 
 with his hands upon his breast, exclaimed : 
 
 " Pardon ! your Grace ! The times are now so 
 bad, I fear me I shall much offend you in having 
 but a little — ^very little gold to offer. The war with 
 France, and all the foul mischances through the 
 witch of Arc, had drained my coffers ere King 
 Edward's time ; and lie did nought to fill them !" 
 
 " Ha ha !" laaghed Richard, with a keen enjoy- 
 ment of Wood's intense dismay. "So is it ever. 
 Ye who trust in gold think other men for aye are 
 money-hunting. Rise up, my friend ; I have not 
 come a-begging, nor do I want the witch of Arc, — 
 though, strange that thou shouldst mention her. I 
 seek thy aid to find another sorceress." 
 
 The merchant stared. He did not speak ; but, 
 freed from former fears of loss of gold, his coun- 
 tenance so brightened, and he looked so glad, that 
 Richard laughed again. 
 
 "Well, Master Wood, thy mind is now at ease 
 touching thy golden coin ; so thou canst help me 
 find that sorceress — that witch. Dame Eleanor — of 
 whom we lately spoke : I would consult with her." 
 
 " Most willingly, your Grace ; I will myself 
 go with you and leave you at her door," replied 
 the goldsmith, putting on his hood — a covering 
 
Plots, 35 
 
 seldom seen, save on the heads of quaint, old- 
 fashioned men, like Wood. He prayed the king 
 would of his courtesy drain one poor cup of wine 
 from Burgundy, to give him strength and vigour. 
 
 "By our Lady, 'tis well thought on, Master 
 Wood ; and while we are about it, though time be 
 getting short, and ways are not the safest, yet it 
 would not be bad to add some venison pasty, of 
 which, 1 trow, thy larder holds good store." 
 
 Let us not wait to hear the apologies for the 
 " poor fare " prefacing the appearance of the vast 
 cold collation which in a trice was set before the 
 king and Gray, to which they did full justice ; and 
 Richard bound his host to him and to his cause by 
 his blunt, soldierlike, straightforward, hearty talk. 
 Albeit somewhat stern in manner, he showed such 
 lively interest in the affairs of London as won 
 the heart of the good citizen his host. He promised 
 to confirm the privileges granted by Edward IV, 
 and more especially to grant a charter in which the 
 ancient rights should be more firmly settled. 
 
 When these great things had all been promised, 
 and old Wood's heart quite won, the soldier king,, 
 with his attendant, issued forth under the gold- 
 smith's guidance to seek the residence of one Dame 
 Eleanor Manning, dwelling near the monastery of 
 Carthusian Friars, not far from Smithfield, just 
 without the walls. 
 
 There was, beyond the land and gardens of this 
 
 monastery, a place then justly termed the Wilder- 
 
 d2 
 
36 Richard IV, 
 
 ness, which name is still preserved in the queer 
 street now known as Wilderness Row. It was a 
 cut-throat place, at no time very safe — a spot to 
 shun at night without incurring blame for want of 
 courage. The day was waning when King Richard 
 reached a house which stood almost alone in this 
 weird spot. 
 
 It was a wooden structure of considerable size, 
 surrounded by four smaller ones, not one of them 
 inviting to a stranger. But the good merchant 
 seemed to know his way, and guided his distin- 
 guished guest to a low door, which yielded to his 
 touch, and gave admittance to the larger house. 
 
 " Enter !" he said, " I have performed my part. 
 My presence is no longer needful. Farewell both. 
 Ye will be sure to find your way back home with- 
 out my aid. Pray give me leave to quit you, but 
 doubt not of my faith, if I can ever serve you." 
 
 So saying, and with a profound obeisance. Master 
 Wood withdrew, leaving De Gray and Richard at 
 the open door of the weird house, built in the 
 "Wilderness." According to old Wood's instruc- 
 tions they mounted up the wide and creaking stair- 
 case till they reached the first-floor landing, which 
 was lighted by a window destitute of glass, the 
 weather being kept at bay by means of sheets of 
 linen cloth well soaked in oil and stretched across 
 the opening. There were two doors upon the 
 spacious landing, one on the right, the other on the 
 left. 
 
Plots. 37 
 
 Richard now drew his dagger from his belt and 
 with the pommel smote upon the right hand door. It 
 opened, and a female servant stood before him 
 demanding his good pleasure. But before he could 
 reply, a voice, sweet, soft, and musical, exclaimed : 
 "Admit them, Madge, and do not let them wait." 
 
 The waiting-woman opened wide the door, and 
 Richard and De Gray now found themselves within 
 a large and strangely furnished room. 
 
 There was a fire blazing on the hearth, and near it 
 was a pile of cakes of fine white wax. Upon a table 
 near the window was a small mirror with a handle ; 
 a retort, and other curious instruments, used then 
 by fortune-tellers and the like, were strewn about 
 the table. The ceiling was much lower than might 
 have been expected. From thence there hung a 
 cross of wood, made to support four candles, one 
 at the end of each arm of the cross, which, hanging 
 horizontally, formed as it were a chandelier. The 
 candles were not lighted now, and the room was 
 lighted only by the ruddy glow shed by the 
 blazing faggots. From the ceiling also hung some 
 rare and curious things, dried fish of uncouth shape, 
 a crocodile, a dried-up monkey, two or three large 
 bats, and various other objects which in that uncer- 
 tain light could not be well discerned. 
 
 In one corner stood a human skeleton ; another 
 held a corner cupboard, which, standing opeji, showed 
 a heap of curious things : a dried-up snake, a wolf's 
 head, half a dozen bottles of quaint shape ; and, 
 
38 Richard IV, 
 
 what was more astonishing than all, there was a store 
 of figures of various men and women clad in gar- 
 ments of the time ; these effigies all were wrought 
 in wax with perfect skill. The walls all round were 
 hung with tapestry displaying various scenes from 
 history. There was King Lud, giving directions for 
 the building of the town ; there was King Arthur 
 with the champions of the Kound Table, and many 
 other such. These figures were now very indistinct 
 by reason of their age, but in the flickering light cast 
 by the dancing flames they seemed to move and 
 dance ; so did the skeleton, and all the reptiles 
 hanging from the roof. 
 
 Upon a dais, or platform, opposite the fire there sat 
 upon a cushioned seat, forming a sort of throne, a 
 woman of surpassing beauty. She wore the steeple 
 head dress, from which there hung a long and flowing 
 veil of purest white. Her dress was purple silk 
 bordered with rich white fur. Before her was a 
 massive table on which were various moulds for 
 casting wax. 
 
 " Enter ! but speak not till I bid you speak !" was 
 the strange greeting which the visitors received. 
 The woman then unrolled a scroll of parchment, and 
 after looking at it rose up from her seat in some 
 confusion, saying to her guests : — 
 
 " T find ye are, or one of you, at least, must be, of 
 very lofty strain ; I beg you both to step upon the 
 dais and take your seats with me." 
 
 Richard and the knight (who felt not quite so 
 
Plots. 39 
 
 bold as usual) obeyed. They both sat down one on 
 each side this uncanny lady of the house, who, after 
 gazing at the king a moment, rose, and then knelt 
 down before him, saying as she did so : 
 
 " Why does the lion seek the mouse ? It is a 
 fearful guest for her to harbour. Tell me what will 
 your Grace ? What lacks Plantagenet ? " 
 
 "Beshrew me," said the king, "I would have 
 nothing here of state or title. I come plain Dickon 
 to consult your skill, my good friend Walter with 
 me." 
 
 " Be it so. What will the warrior Richard of his 
 poor handmaiden Eleanor ? " 
 
 ** I would fain ask three most important questions." 
 
 " Ask them. I shall do my best to satisfy you." 
 
 "It is a kind and pleasant answer, by my fay. 
 Firstly, I seek to know what Brackenbury did with 
 my two nephews in the Tower ? " 
 
 " They have escaped ! " 
 
 " What ! They have not been murdered .^ " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "The saints be praised for that. If this be true, 
 thy guerdon shall be great. The second question 
 is : What rebels have I most to fear in England .? " 
 
 " There is great danger in the whole of Britain ; 
 thy life on all sides is beset ; thy fame is tarnished 
 by calumnious speech ; thy life is sought in every 
 kind of way ; and the most foul and direful murder 
 ever done is murder of thy reputation as a knight. 
 The foe to dread most constantly is of a rival house.'* 
 
40 Richard IV. 
 
 " Ha ! — Dame, I thank thee ; I have slighted this, 
 but now shall mark thy words. Thirdly, and lastly, 
 shall I crush my foes ?" * 
 
 Then she approached the table near the window and 
 commenced a certain process known as " casting the 
 horoscope." She drew some figures of mysterious 
 kind upon a piece of parchment ; she next consulted 
 what was called an astrolabe, curiously made of 
 rings of polished brass set in a brazen circle graven 
 full of signs of mystic meaning. The king could ill 
 abide this tedious loss of time, but still forbore to 
 give impatience vent, until his eye caught sight of 
 those wax figures standing in the corner cupboard. 
 Without a word he strode towards them, and quickly 
 snatched up one. 
 
 It was a likeness of himself, right featly wrought 
 and much resembling him, save that one side was 
 nearly wasted as by exposure to a fire, while on the 
 other side the effigy was stuck with pins ! 
 
 In those days it was currently believed that witches 
 had the power of wasting human life by means of 
 waxen puppets, made with curious incantations. 
 When these images were placed before a blaze the 
 men or women whom they represented were thought 
 to languish, droop, and die, even as the models 
 melted. And more than this, when under certain 
 influences — (as. of the moon, a planet, or a star) — 
 the sorceress stuck pins into the wax, for every inser- 
 tion of each pin some dire mischance would without 
 fail befall the person represented. 
 
Plots, 41 
 
 Now when King Richard saw the likeness of 
 himself, half melted and half full of pins, he gave 
 it carefully to Walter Gray, exclaiming : " Take 
 thou this doll, and wrap it in thy cloak ; but first 
 remove the pins." Then stalking up to where the 
 sorceress stood (who all the time had marked his 
 action with such terror as guilt alone can know) he 
 seized her by the arm and cried : 
 
 " So ho ! my faithful prophetess ! These are thy 
 tricks, forsooth ! We shall deal briskly with the 
 like of thee. The question that shall now be put to 
 thee will be within the torture chamber of the 
 Tower. This is rebellion with a wannion, by my 
 fay!" 
 
 " Help !" cried the witch. *' Lay not thy hands 
 on me. With all thy valour, all thy skill, thou art 
 no match for one weak woman ! Help ho ! Help 
 I say !" 
 
 There was a noise, a clatter on the stairs, and, 
 soon some eight or ten well-armed and sturdy 
 ruflSans burst upon the king. 
 
 The good knight Walter flew to aid his lord, and 
 soon began a fray such as was seldom seen even in 
 those fighting days. 
 
 The window was behind Sir Walter and the king, 
 who thus had the advantage of having all the light 
 left in the sky shining upon their foes. Four to 
 one is yet too much to give great hope of victory ; 
 but the high spirit of Plantagenet gave him untold 
 advantage. Two of the band had fallen by his 
 
42 Richard IV, 
 
 sword, but he was getting weary, when a fresh 
 event occurred, which turned the adverse tide of 
 fortune in his favour. 
 
 The trampling of horses, the ring of armour, the 
 rattle and the clash of armed and mounted men 
 were heard, and the next moment the gruff voice of 
 one commanding rose above the clatter ; another 
 moment, and the room was filled with men wearing 
 the badge of Richard. 
 
 " Ha, ha !" laughed Richard (it was not a mirth- 
 ful sound) — " Ha, ha ! ye sought to trap a fox, but by 
 the mass the vixen is a welcome find. These 
 traitors must ye carry to the Tower ; and hark ye, 
 sirs, I look for them in safety at your hands. Be it 
 upon your heads to have them in safe keeping. 
 Have ye led horses ?" 
 
 " Ay, your Grace." 
 
 " First mount these traitors back to back and bound. 
 The woman have in special charge. See there is no 
 escape, no rescue, and no loss." 
 
 " I warrant that, your Grace !" 
 
 " 'Tis well ; now give me and Sir Walter steeds. 
 Who is your leader .^" 
 
 " I, your Grace, Sir John De Beddington, have led 
 the troop." 
 
 "Then are the prisoners in right good keeping. 
 Leave half-a-dozen archers in the house, — men to be 
 trusted, dost thou understand ? This room must be 
 closed up. Of treachery this is the very worst. 
 Find me a band of silken ribbon : there must needs 
 
Plots. 43 
 
 be such where women lurk. Thanks, good Sir 
 Walter ; this is just the thing, Now for a piece of 
 wax. Here there is plenty, so !" 
 
 The king then ordered all to leave the room, and 
 when the last had gone he closed the door himself, 
 and passing the silk ribbon through two iron ring& 
 securely fastened, one to the door, the other to the 
 post, himself affixed the wax, and drawing off his 
 signet ring, pressed it upon the lump, then mounting 
 on the horse led for him, gave the commands 
 himself. " Close up there. Forward. Trot !" 
 
 Thus they rode back to London, King Richard 
 lighting down at Crosbie House — the rest proceeding 
 to the Tower. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE FLEMING. 
 
 HE accounts which hitherto have reached 
 us of the reign of Richard III have not 
 been flattering to him ; but we must 
 bear in mind that they have for the 
 most part been prepared by enemies, whose object 
 was to justify the usurpation of the Tudors by vili- 
 fying Richard. Sir Thomas More has overdrawn 
 the picture, and Shakespeare, founding his immortal 
 work upon More's life of Richard, conceived, with 
 all his wealth of fancy, all his mighty art, a monster 
 quite impossible out of the realms of fiction. 
 
 The tale we tell is drawn from other sources. An 
 old forgotten book, without an author's name, has 
 been discovered, speaking of the king in very 
 different terms ; though even his enemies who have 
 been his biographers have not denied him valour 
 worthy of a Plantagenet, skill as a general far 
 
The Fleming, 45 
 
 beyond his age, and reading Buch as very few pos- 
 sessed. He was a soldier ; he looked not on the 
 world as modern politicians do, but merely as a 
 soldier, and in the book to which we have alluded 
 he is described as being a brave, chivalric, but am- 
 bitious prince. 
 
 Richard possessed in very great degree the power 
 of centralising. When his career began he placed 
 unlimited reliance on his friend, the Duke of Buck- 
 ingham, who also was well skilled in this im- 
 portant art. To him he owed suggestions which, 
 if carried out, would have raised England to the 
 highest rank among the nations of the world, but 
 Buckingham's own treachery led to his ruin and to 
 the rejection of his plans. The king's faith in his 
 two advisers, Catesby and Ratcliffe, was not 
 founded on the talents they possessed, but upon 
 their use to him in centralising. For these two 
 men had learnt the art from him of bringing all the 
 matter in their different spheres to such a focus, as 
 it were, that he could grasp the whole affairs of 
 state, condensed and simplified by them, in very 
 little time. Lovel was honest, and a thorough sol- 
 dier. He condensed the military work and brought 
 it to the king, while Catesby and the cunning 
 Ratcliffe each had his work in policy and in finance 
 respectively. 
 
 The English people hated system, as it seems ; 
 at least, with them this centralising was not liked, and 
 their opinion of this ministry under Plantagenet was 
 
46 Richard IV, 
 
 tersely if not elegantly put in the well-known two 
 lines — 
 
 "The Cat, the Rat, and Lovel that dog, 
 Rule al England under the hog." 
 
 The latter animal referring to the badge or cogniz- 
 ance of Richard, which, as we said already, was the 
 well-known wild boar. 
 
 Believing in his system, Richard fell into the error 
 the gravest man can make, of treating such as were 
 his enemies with ill-concealed contempt. He was 
 on every side beset by snares. Deceived by those 
 he trusted, he knew not of the dangers in his path, 
 and thought to quell his foes by sheer severity, and 
 cow their minds by fear. By his imperious will 
 one execution followed on another with grim ra- 
 pidity, and England was a camp governed by martial 
 law. 
 
 Against him rose a nobleman of Wales, a certain 
 Henry Tudor, Earl of Richmond. He claimed to be 
 the representative of the House of Lancaster — a 
 claim that was but shadowy at best, and most unjust 
 in him. But Buckingham had joined the Tudor 
 ranks, which made the plot more serious for Richard. 
 
 The Duke of Buckingham, had played his master 
 false all through, and only played to gain his 
 own advantage. Among the many gifts bestowed 
 on him by Richard was a palatial mansion at East 
 Shene, to which he loved to fly to seek distraction 
 from the enormous mass of cares he bore upon his 
 shoulders. 
 
The Fleming, 47 
 
 It is summer time again. Richard had treated the 
 conspiracies against him with contempt. He spent 
 much time in grieving for the death of his son 
 Edward, but secretly he was annoyed about the 
 rumours which his spies brought him that he had 
 caused the princes to be murdered. He seemed to 
 have forgotten Buckingham ! 
 
 But we must not do so. He is, when our true 
 story meets with him again, walking in the palace 
 grounds at Shene, toying with a favourite dog, just 
 running to his master with a small truncheon in his 
 mouth, which he had been sent to fetch. 
 
 " Good dog, good fellow ! Ten times a better dog 
 than Lovel, and, certes, much more faithful ! " 
 
 The dog fawned on his master in delight at being 
 noticed. He whirled around and round absurdly, 
 like a very puppy, though in truth his puppyhood 
 was past. Suddenly he stopped, stood still, gazed 
 fixedly upon the gate leading from the courtyard to 
 the garden. It opened, and a man in the duke's 
 livery entered. Knowing this man, the dog gave 
 forth a few short "?/ajos," as if protesting against 
 the interruption, and then ran forward barking 
 comically but not angrily, while the man spoke these 
 words : 
 
 " The man you wot of, good my lord, who says you 
 bade him come to Shene to-day." 
 
 " Had he the password ? " 
 
 "Ay, my lord, albeit spoken not quite like an 
 Englishman." 
 
48 Richard IV, 
 
 " 'Tis well. Admit him. See no person comes ta 
 mar our private conference." 
 
 The man withdrew, but soon returned, leading a 
 stranger in a garb of foreign cut. He was about the 
 middle height, perhaps indeed above it ; but he 
 looked not tall by the side of Buckingham. 
 
 " Down, Ranger ! Down, I say ! This dog must 
 be taught manners. Peter ! What, Peter, I say ! 
 Come back, sirrah, come hither. Take the hound and 
 let him feel the riding yerd (switch). By the 
 mackins, what a to-do ! Down, I say ! " 
 
 But it cost Peter no small toil to lug the yelping 
 dog away, whose anger at the sight of this new comer 
 was something strange, especially in so quiet and 
 well bred a dog as he. He had furiously flown at 
 the stranger, and it was well for him his legs were 
 cased in the tight-fitting untanned riding boots, then 
 worn, else he had suffered grievously from the fangs 
 of the excited brute. 
 
 "Clever dog, though! " said the duke, adding, as 
 if to explain these words — though really to give 
 them another and very different meaning — 
 " Although he loves not strangers, you will be friends 
 in time. Now for thy news." 
 
 " Henry Tudor is gathering head, and if my lord 
 of Buckingham could raise a power, we could do 
 much to break the hopes of this Plantagenet." 
 
 *' Hast thou discovered Richard's thoughts on this, 
 by any of the spies ? Knows he of Henry's gather- 
 ing ?" 
 
The Fleming. 49 
 
 " I only hear from one of Ratcliffe's men, who is 
 my truest friend. He tells me that his master 
 (Ratcliffe) told his wife that Richard deems ' Welsh 
 Harry,' as he calls him, to be in France trying to 
 raise a force, instead of being now in Wales with a 
 small army. What is wanted is an attack to draw 
 him off from Harry Tudor, who could assail him 
 when half beaten by your men." 
 
 " Is this thy own imagining, or comes it from the 
 English camp of Harry Tudor ?" 
 
 " I was to give this token to the Duke of Bucking- 
 ham," exclaimed the other, bringing from a secret 
 pocket in his jerkin a signet-ring, which Buckingham 
 examined with attention. He then observed : 
 
 *' This sign commands obedience. I am thine, in 
 this adventure, 'to the hilt.' I have a right fair 
 power at my back, raised with King Richard's gifts." 
 
 The stranger chuckled, as if Buckingham had 
 jested, who, frowning, said : " This is no laughing 
 matter, good Hans Dousterfeldt. The wary warrior 
 Richard has a mighty army, and well knows how to 
 lead them. 'Tis no easy task that we have set before 
 us !" 
 
 " No," said the Fleming, " that is very true. I 
 laugh not at the undertaking, but at the passing jest 
 of beating Richard with his own broad coins ! It is 
 a goodly jape, and one well worth the playing." 
 
 " Enough, my friend ; now to more serious 
 matters. Canst thou repeat to me the tale of Eleanor 
 Manning ? Thou wast, I think, at that time in the 
 
 E 
 
50 Richard IV. 
 
 Tower about the business of the two young princes. 
 Tell me if thou knowest aught about her under 
 question." 
 
 " Yes, I was at the Tower then ; and, as good luck 
 would have it, a countryman of mine was 'ques- 
 tioner.' He told me he had never known so sad a 
 sight, for this Dame Eleanor was passing fair and 
 very constant." 
 
 "What, then, she died and made no more con- 
 fession ?" 
 
 " Nay, my good lord, not so ; but she was racked 
 and tortured very terribly. Her limbs were torn 
 from out their bleeding sockets before she would 
 confess." 
 
 " Well," said the duke impatiently, '* I can believe 
 all that. The horrors of the torture-chamber are 
 things to shudder at, but this is not the time. What 
 did the woman say ?" 
 
 " She said that she had made the waxen image of 
 the king at Lady Salisbury's behest. 'The image, 
 melting at the fire, shortened his days (she said) by 
 many years. The pins produced a malady which 
 would alone be fatal. Then there were other names, 
 which my friend could not catch — and then — she 
 died !" 
 
 " This is but trifling. Though, if Richard feared 
 the waxen dolls and their effect on him, that was a 
 gain already. What hast thou done ?" 
 
 " I have procured two crime-besotten knaves to 
 swear that when the king ordered that prime fool 
 
The Fleming. 51 
 
 Brackenbury to yield the keys of London's prison 
 palace, their orders were to smother both the boys ! 
 This is believed all through the country, though the 
 mere sight of those two rascals' faces is quite enough 
 to stamp them liars, even if the fact of their confess- 
 ing murder made not their testimony most unsure. 
 But yet they are believed !" 
 
 " Men are full prone to think the worst of those 
 in power, and they receive with joy all evil tales of 
 princes !" 
 
 " True, my good lord. Besides this tale, men now 
 incline to think that Richard's hand it was that slew 
 King Henry in the Tower." 
 
 Buckingham started. " By my fay !" he said, 
 " that is the merriest jest of all, for I was with the 
 Duke of Gloucester then, at Brecknock, whither I am 
 bound this time to war against him. Then, as the 
 duke, he was intent to know how the wild Welsh 
 would act when formed in warlike masses. Three 
 weeks we tarried there, within which time King 
 Henry died." 
 
 "I know all that," the Fleming said. "But I 
 have more important news to tell." 
 
 They had been walking in the pleasant garden all 
 this time, when Buckingham approached a kind of 
 rustic seat and bade the stranger sit. He not caring, 
 as it seemed, to sit too close to him, had seized a 
 common tripod stool, on which he sat before him. 
 *'Now, say thy say, friend Dousterfeldt : thy tidings 
 must be rare, for thou hast wrought me to a pitch of 
 
 B 2 
 
52 Richard IV, 
 
 interest I never felt before. I prythee now proceed." 
 
 " Richard, when dead, if we succeed in slaying him, 
 
 will triumph notwithstanding — HIS lawful SON, 
 
 IF I AM NOT MISTAKEN, IS LIVING SOMEWHERE, but 
 
 I know not where. We work for him^ and not for 
 Harry Tudor." 
 
 The leap with which the duke sprang up again, 
 and overturned the settle he had taken, was almost 
 comic in its fierceness. It was grotesque surprise. 
 
 "Unseemly jester! Trifle not with me. I saw 
 the youthful Edward, poor, pale child, lie dead upon 
 his bier. There was no juggling then. I saw the 
 whole." 
 
 " I do not speak of Edward ; I mean another son, 
 born of a former marriage." 
 
 " What do I hear ? Then Richard's spousal with 
 the Lady Anne was all a farce, and she was not his 
 
 lawful wife ! Great heavens ! Can this be ? " 
 
 * 
 
 " Gently, my lord. I never said the Lady Anne 
 was other than his wife — his true and lawful queen !" 
 
 " Then prythee talk, my friend, so that a simple 
 man, such as thy humble listener, may understand. 
 If Anne were really Richard's lawful wife, what 
 matters it if he had twenty others, as the Sowdan 
 has, they say ? His son. Prince Edward, would 
 have worn the crown ! " 
 
 " Assuredly, but only after the decease of Richard's 
 first-born — Richard's heir ! " 
 
 " Man, thou surprisest me, and more than I can 
 say!" 
 
The Fleming, 53 
 
 "Well, but I tell the truth, whatever you may 
 think. Richard was wedded to a certain Lady Trevor, 
 long ago. She died, but left a son, now living some- 
 where down in Kent, I think." 
 
 " He must be hunted down." 
 
 "Ay, that I know; but who will do it? That 
 means time, and men, and money !" 
 
 "All shall be thine," said Buckingham. "How 
 strange that Richard's gold should be the very means 
 to ruin Richard's child ! Yet so it is. I am enriched 
 by him, and — " 
 
 " I came not here for puling talk like that. If 
 thou art troubled with a conscience, we are not likely 
 to agree. I care not, I, from whom the red gold 
 comes, so that / get it ! As for the ruin of the boy — 
 pah ! This is sickening !" 
 
 " A thorough rascal, this," thought Buckingham, 
 and then he said aloud : " Thou hast decision, and 
 untiring love of hunting down thy kind, I see. A 
 valuable friend. Now tell me, good sir knave, hast 
 thou a mind to do as much good to others, as harm 
 to Richard ?" 
 
 " That depends upon the pay, my lord. If I am 
 well rewarded, I care full little where my steel must 
 bite." 
 
 "Well, thou art resolute, and I will trust thee. 
 What sayest thou ? Wilt lead a troop of horse 
 against King Richard as readily as forge these lies 
 about him ?" 
 
 The Fleming yawned. "As I have told you, 
 
54 
 
 Richard IV. 
 
 duke, what I am paid to do I will do ; but think 
 not that I care what happens to this lump of fog and 
 mud that ye call England — I work for pay." 
 
 The duke was really much enraged at this man's 
 insolence, but still was conscious that the Fleming 
 knew too much to be defied or made a foe of. He 
 therefore spoke to him in a conciliatory manner* 
 striving to win him to his side. The offer of a troop 
 of horse was really meant, for Buckingham, incited 
 thereto by the Bishop of Ely, who had been entrusted 
 to his keeping by the king, was ripe for open war on 
 Richard. He thought this offer very tempting, and 
 thus continued : 
 
 " The pay shall be as good as any fees for secret 
 service. . . ." 
 
 "Ay, my lord duke ! hut not so sure. I think not 
 ye are ripe yet for rebellion, nor do I think that 
 you will conquer Richard by an act of open war. 
 I know he is the best of modern leaders. There is 
 no prince in Christendom to match him. Attack 
 him with the sword, and you will seat him firmer 
 on the throne. Sow discord in his camp, and wonders 
 may be done." 
 
 The duke again rose from his little stool and then 
 paced up and down on the broad walk in angry 
 silence. At last he stopped abruptly, saying : 
 
 "Yes, thou art right. Any bold man who has 
 seen service may lead a troop of horse. Thou hast 
 another function, Dousterfeldt, and I will never seek 
 to balk thee. Now listen ! Take thou my signet 
 
The Fleming. 55 
 
 ring, and hie thee to Lord Stanley, who is now at 
 Dover. Tell him thy tale about this heir of Richard's, 
 and cause him to take arms against the tyrant. 
 Richard, forsooth, would make us all the puppets of 
 his will ! Why, he declared to me, not six months 
 back, he would reduce our followers ! He said we 
 were too powerful ! We^ WE, the nobles of the 
 realm ! Ay, by my life, 'tis true. He said a 
 nation with an Earl as Warwick was would bring a 
 land to naught. The king, he said, should be the 
 sole commander of a host, and any battles fought on 
 English ground were treason to the king and murder 
 of his subjects." 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Dousterfeldt. "Much 
 cares King Richard for the blood he spills ! Look at 
 Lord Hastings ! Look at other lords, beheaded at 
 pleasure. Not that I care who falls 1" 
 
 " Seest thou, friend ?" said Buckingham, warming 
 with his subject to the point of using terms of in- 
 timacy with this despised though very useful tool. 
 " Seest thou ? The men who fall are nohles. The 
 burghers and their greasy 'prentices — these are King 
 Richard's friends ; he loves no nobles. He fears to 
 find another Warwick, who may lay his splendour in 
 the dust at any moment ; hence his dislike of us and 
 flattery of the commons. But he shall rue the day 
 he sought to check my onward course by cutting off 
 my means. Now, hark, my friend ! Hasten to 
 Stanley with my signet ! Tell him thy news ; then 
 hie thee to the Earl Northumberland ; show him the 
 
56 Richar^d IV. 
 
 ring, and he will hear thee gladly. To gain ad- 
 mission to Northumberland, tell his retainers who 
 may bar thy path that thou hast come from 
 Burgundy, and hast the watchword * Vermin and 
 Hogs /' Say this, and thou wilt be admitted." 
 
 " When shall 1 ride ?" 
 
 " At once.'* 
 
 *' What is the pay ? And where is it ?'* 
 
 " Come to my chamber — I will satisfy thee." 
 
 " About this heir ?" 
 
 "Certes, a weighty question. Thou must seek 
 him out, and he must he disposed of. Come with 
 me." 
 
 The bravo followed in this strange duke's steps, 
 chuckling to himself over the readiness thus shown 
 to shed the prince's blood in the same breath with 
 find so much indignation at the blood shed by King 
 Richard ; but he said nothing. 
 
 Then entering the house, they sought an upper 
 chamber, in the centre of which stood a mighty bed- 
 stead, and at the foot of this was a huge coffer made 
 to form a seat.* 
 
 The duke produced a key from a casket, which 
 was concealed in a huge oak en press or wardrobe, 
 with which he then unlocked the coffer. It was full 
 of bright gold coins! Most of these were French ,• 
 but that did not prevent friend Dousterfeldt from 
 uttering a cry of genuine surprise and pleasure. 
 
 Buckingham regarded him a moment with un- 
 
 * This receptacle for money in the Middle Ages was called the hutch. 
 
The Fleming. 57 
 
 feigned contempt, and then assumed an indifferent 
 air, exclaiming : 
 
 " Thou seest that I have the means to pay. Fear 
 nothing, for I deem thy only fear is loss of money ! 
 Thy full reward is sure, if thou canst bring the 
 proofs that Richard's lawful son exists, and that re- 
 ward shall be increased tenfold if thou canst bring 
 hereafter a certain proof that he has ceased to 
 breathe." 
 
 " 'Tis well, my lord," said Dousterfeldt. " I see 
 thou hast the power to reward me. Now let me see 
 the will. I ask not much in hand, — a hundred English 
 angels, or their equivalent in good French crowns — 
 it is all one to me. I would but have some funds to 
 pay expenses on my journey down to Dover, and 
 thence to find the other earl." 
 
 Without a word the duke removed a number of the 
 coins and came at last to where there lay a vast amount 
 of English coins in gold. With these he satisfied his 
 worthy friend, who now withdrew to seek his 
 horse. 
 
 As we may have occasion to meet Dousterfeldt 
 again, we follow him to London, which he entered 
 on the afternoon of the next day, having slept the 
 night at Putney, and dined most sumptuously at 
 Westminster. 
 
 He passed through Lud Gate, then rode on past 
 Powles, and so on into Cheape, and there he slack- 
 ened rein. At last, as if attracted by the splendour 
 of the shops in Goldsmiths' Row, he alighted down. 
 
58 Richard IV, 
 
 He took the bridle on his arm and lounged along, 
 regarding the various wares exposed for sale with 
 great delight — the crowd of goldsmiths' men — 
 apprentices and servitors — deafening him with the 
 cry of " Gentles, gentles, what do ye lack ?" 
 
 He reached the central house in Goldsmiths' Row, 
 and there his glances fell upon a dagger, the hilt of 
 which was gold ; the pommel, gold beset with precious 
 gems. The sheath was purple velvet, mounted in 
 jewelled gold. This weapon struck the Fleming's 
 fancy, for he stopped his horse and gazed upon the 
 dagger with looks of keenest interest. 
 
 " Good sir and valiant soldier, enter and view our 
 stock of jewelled arms. There is none like it in the 
 world. Walk in, walk in, good master." 
 
 "A goodly weapon, and a keen " said Dousterfeldt. 
 " What dost thou ask for such a knife ? " 
 
 " The price should be a thousand crowns, but as 
 thou art a stranger, the master may take less. Ho, 
 Giles there ! Take the stranger's horse and walk him 
 up and down — so, that's right." 
 
 " What is thy master's name ? " inquired the 
 Fleming, who knew right well to whom the house 
 belonged. 
 
 " Why, all the world knows Master Thomas Wood, 
 now goldsmith to the king, chief of the guild, and 
 when Sir Thomas Shaw retires, he will be chosen 
 Mayor." 
 
 "Could I have speech with him, touching some 
 purchases." 
 
The Fleming. 59 
 
 "Certes ; he sits there, yonder, at his desk. Tell 
 me your name, and I will ask him." 
 
 Five minutes later, and the Flemish rogue was sit- 
 ting close with Master Thomas Wood, the friend and 
 firm ally of Richard. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 RICHARD THE THIRD. 
 
 I ME rolled on, and Buckingham's re- 
 bellion had been full promptly met and 
 crushed by Richard's skill. The force 
 which Buckingham had brought to fight 
 had been completely routed, he himself imprisoned 
 and beheaded ; and Richard thought rebellion 
 throughout England had fallen when the duke was 
 executed. But this was not the case. The friends of 
 Buckingham were sore indignant that one of their 
 condition should suffer like a clown ; and many 
 joined the ranks of Harry Tudor, who else had stayed 
 at home indifferent. 
 
 Richard, forgetting Eleanor and her grim warning, 
 c'espised the Earl of Richmond. "What.?" he 
 exclaimed, " that hoy to rise against me ?" (Henry 
 was thirty years of age, and Richard not quite forty.) 
 — " That boy to rise against me ? — Holy Mary ! I 
 
Richard the Third. 6i 
 
 will drown him in Welsh ale, or he may be swept 
 away, for aught I care, by such a flood as soused the 
 force of our late rebel Buckingham. "Henry's 
 Flood" will sound as well as Buckingham's, and 
 better. Ha ! 'Ware Plantagenet !" 
 
 Thus spake he to his nobles, when assembled in 
 the council-room at Crosbie House on the afternoon 
 of the 9th of August, in the year of our most blessed 
 Lord one thousand four hundred four score and 
 five. 
 
 Said Lovell : " Good my lord ! It is not wise' to 
 laugh at danger, and this seems very pressing. I 
 hear the Earl of Richmond gathers men unto his 
 host, even as a river gathers up the smaller streams 
 to swell the ocean with its waters. The race of high 
 Plantagenet is in the greatest peril." 
 
 The king strode up and down in bitter wrath, but 
 never said a word till Catesby spoke, who echoed 
 Lovell's thought. "Your Grace!" — he said — "the 
 force which now is said to be collected in the Tudor 
 cause is in itself not mean, and many of the lords 
 are disaffected to your Grace because of all these 
 recent executions, but more especially because of 
 Buckingham's." 
 
 "Ha!" said the king. "These lords shall 
 tremble too ! It is not safe to cross the lion in his 
 rage ; still less to check Plantagenet in wrath ! 
 ' Ware the wild boar ! His bristles are set up, his 
 tusks mean mischief to his foes, and Richard's foes 
 are yonder nobles ? — We shall see whether I alone be 
 
62 Richard IV. 
 
 not a match for all these squabbling lords ! — Warwick 
 is down. He was the fiercest of the brood. Hast- 
 ings is dead. So are the rest who fostered treason 
 against Richard." 
 
 " Pardon, your Grace," said Ratcliff, " if I dare 
 misdoubt it, there are some mighty nobles left who 
 are no friends of yours, and wait but just the 
 turning of a straw to join the Tudor ranks." 
 
 Then Richard looked at Ratcliff fiercely as the boar 
 at bay, and after sundry turns within the council 
 chamber he said, in boiling wrath : 
 
 '* Who dares oppose me ? Harry Tudor is a fool — 
 a very boy, without a trace of soldiership. Nor has 
 he any claim upon the crown, — descendant of a 
 scullery maid ! Ignoble and unwarlike ! Mark me, 
 friends ! At the first flash of Richard's sword he 
 throws himself upon his knees and begs for mercy ! 
 Already in my mind I see the field and Tudor's 
 Frenchmen howling out for quarter. But this I say : 
 No quarter shall be given, nor shall my troops de- 
 mand it. That word is dead— banished by Richard!" 
 
 " Your Grace," said Ratcliff, " is a well-proved 
 soldier. The fields of Towton and of Barnet showed 
 the world a new, a mighty Hannibal — the greatest 
 general of the age — the old crusader come to life 
 again. And they are right who say so. Still your 
 great ancestor was caged — 
 
 " ' His>brow grew pale in a dungeon's gloom ; 
 He sunk too soon in a warrior's tomb ; 
 And England saw the star decline 
 Of high Plantagenet's princely line.' " 
 
Richard the Third. 63 
 
 " Decline ! Ay, marry, and set as Avell," exclaimed 
 the king ; and then he added, in a low deep, distinct 
 voice, that without being raised gave the impression 
 of a lion's roar for its intense power : " But that star 
 has risen as a sun, in me^ for as the deeds of the 
 Lion-Hearted entitled him to be named the star of 
 our house, so shall my deeds give me the title of the 
 Sun of York. Ha ! who demands admission to the 
 council ?" 
 
 This question was provoked by the entrance of an 
 officer, the same who once bore Richard company 
 beyond the city gates into the " wilderness." 
 
 " Your Grace will pardon me : a messenger has 
 come from Leicester, who would fain have audience. 
 He is splashed all over. He comes post haste, and 
 fain would see your Grace on very pressing business." 
 
 " Admit the knave." 
 
 " Richard ! my gracious master," cried a man, 
 rushing into the presence with very little ceremony, 
 and throwing himself impetuously upon his knees be- 
 fore the king. " How glad I am to reach thee yet in 
 time before thou hast begun the war with too much 
 confidence and far too little strength. I come in 
 time to tell thee thou art bought and sold." 
 
 " Rise, my good friend ; for friend thou art, if thou 
 canst show King Richard where a danger lies. 
 Danger is what I seek, man ! Deemest thou thy 
 king to be a carpet knight ? A thing to wear his 
 armour for a show — a point-devise fool-gentle, a 
 pageant-king of tinsel, lace, and padding ? No, by 
 
64 Richard IV, 
 
 my soul, I am a soldier, and will reward him well 
 who brings me face to face with danger ! Who art 
 thou ?" 
 
 " I am Sir Guy de Montfort." 
 
 " Thou ! The Constable of Leicester, come himself, 
 dnd in this plight, to Richard ?'* 
 
 " Pardon, your Grace, for my unseemly weed. I 
 had no time to choose another dress ; nor could I 
 trust my news to any other ears ; I therefore left a 
 trusty friend to fill mine office whilst I was away, 
 and rode alone to thee. Six horses have dropped 
 under me, and here, at last, I am." 
 
 *' Good Montfort, sit ye down. Ho there, without ! 
 Bring hither, quick, a flagon of good Malmsey. 
 Gentles, excuse us. Montfort has news to tell which 
 in his zeal he thinks must be most private — for our 
 ear alone. Pardon me, friends, and leave us to our- 
 selves." 
 
 The members of the council now withdrew in 
 great amazement, and plainly with reluctance, 
 leaving Richard with our old acquaintance. 
 
 "Your Grace " 
 
 " Halt, man ! I will not hear a word until thy 
 needs are somewhat lessened by a draught of wine, 
 and something thou must eat. Why, man, thou art 
 no more like Montfort than a parched pea is like a 
 juicy plum. Ha ! here is wine. Now bring some 
 pasty of the doe, a manchet, too, of wheaten bread, 
 — see to it, friends, and quick !" 
 
 The words were spoken to these servitors, who 
 
Richard the Third, 65 
 
 had been sent for by the officer on guard, and who 
 now came back wath massive silver flagons, horns, 
 and cups. They poured out brimmers for the king 
 and knight, which they presented on their knees. 
 Others came in as they went out, and the good 
 knight w^as served with the best food the times could 
 furnish. 
 
 Seeing how anxious Montfort was to speak, the 
 king retained full half a dozen servants in the room 
 to keep him quiet ; for he was sure he would not 
 speak before them. When he had ended his repast, 
 De Montfort wiped his dagger, which he had used 
 to carve with, and placed it in its sheath. At once 
 a steward entered bearing a silver basin ; a man of 
 lower rank brought in an ewer of silver full of per- 
 fumed water. De Montfort held his hands over the 
 silver basin, while he who bore the ewer poured 
 water over them. A third presented him a towel, 
 the rest removed the dishes and other vessels, save 
 the cups and flagons. 
 
 All this time king Richard had been gay and 
 lively, not showing any of the careworn look which 
 had of late distinguished him. 
 
 "Now, Montfort, I am all attention. Show me 
 real danger, friend, and I am happy. I only dread 
 suspense, uncertainty, and ignorance. Whispers, and 
 plots, and counterplots are wearing out my life. 
 Give me an open foe, and I am Richard !" 
 
 "It irks me much, your Grace, to have such 
 
 tale to tell as that which I unfold. This is the 
 
 F 
 
66 Richard IV. 
 
 matter briefly. You know Lord Stanley ?" 
 
 " Of course I do ; none better. What of him ?" 
 " So please you he has joined the rebels." 
 " Ha ! This is bad — a fatal loss to me and a great 
 gain to Harry. By St. Anne, 'tis very bad. Why 
 knew I nothing of this treason earlier ?" 
 
 " As soon as I discovered it, your Grace, I never 
 Avaited to take bite or sup, but rode off helter-skelter 
 night and day, to warn your Highness." 
 
 King Richard stamped three times upon the floor, 
 and instantly the captain of the guard appeared. 
 
 " Knowest thou where young Lord Stanley lodges, 
 good De Gray ? If so, produce him without loss of 
 time. Put some one else on guard, and go for him 
 thyself, if thou dost know his dwelling." 
 
 " Ay, my good lord, I know his Inn at Westminster. 
 I will ride thither post, and bring him back with 
 me ; my head shall be the forfeit if I fail." 
 
 Take twenty archers of the guard — or more, if he 
 be here in strength ; take fifty, if thou wilt. I leave 
 the means to thee, only one thing must be most 
 certain, that he be brought to-night to London as a 
 prisoner. Bring him up hither ; myself will write 
 the warrant on which he must be taken to the Tower. 
 Now farewell." 
 
 The trusty servant then withdrew, leaving De 
 Montfort and the king alone together. Said De 
 Montfort : 
 
 "Dear my lord, I see the object of this well- 
 thought act. You think to keep the son a hostage 
 
Richard the Third, 67 
 
 for the father ; then, should the elder prove a traitor, 
 the son goes to the block ! 'Tis well, but will not 
 please the nobles." 
 
 " The nobles ! How I hate that word ! What are 
 they all, but quarrelling, drunken knaves ; for ever 
 plunged in feudal wars, and faction-fights against 
 each other, drenching the land in blood ? I am 
 called bloody, tyrant, murderer, forsooth, because I cut 
 those down whose squabbles caused the blood of the 
 best men in England to flood the land like water ! By 
 the honour of my house, I shall not deem the country 
 safe whilst one of them remains. I did not slay 
 Earl Warwick, whose death was such relief to 
 England that all the churches in the realm should 
 sing ' Te Beum^ for that butcher's fall ! Hastings, 
 too, cared no more for human life than I for that of 
 vermin. They say that I was privy to the death of 
 my two nephews in the Tower ! By St. George, I 
 know not even now that they are dead. I think the 
 Duke of York has gone to Burgundy, while poor 
 half-witted little Edward wanders about at large." 
 
 " My lord and king, I ask you of your Grace to 
 grant me two requests." 
 
 " Speak, they are granted, good De Montfort." 
 
 "First, I would claim the privilege of telling 
 Royal Richard in his cloister . . ." 
 
 " Ha ! " cried the the king, " I trust his safety has 
 been cared for. Foul fall the Abbot else !" 
 
 " My lord, I have watched over him and paid the 
 holy father year by year, the sum you bade me give." 
 
 f2 
 
68 Richard IV. 
 
 " And never asked me for it ? What a debt this 
 must have grown ! I will discharge it straight." 
 Here again he stamped ; again the guard appeared, 
 This time the keeper of the purse was sent for, to 
 whom king Richard gave an order to pay the sum to 
 Montfort which he had so disbursed. This done the 
 king demanded Montfort's second wish. 
 
 "It is no less, my lord, than to be named the 
 keeper of old Lord Stanley's son — George Stanley. 
 I fain would have him in my castle there at 
 Leicester, he will be safer than within the Tower." 
 
 Have this thy second wish as well. Thou art a 
 noble friend, and seeing that I have so few amongst 
 the so-called nobles, I am the more indebted to thee.*' 
 
 " My tale is not yet done. When I was sure that 
 Stanley had deserted I rode to bring you this im- 
 portant news and on the way I passed a troop of men 
 led by a knight, a former friend of mine, who told 
 me that this Harry Tudor, with a force of Welsh, 
 Bretons and others raked up in haste but some three 
 thousand strong, had landed two days since at Milford 
 Haven." 
 
 "And does the rebel dare with such a pack of 
 mongrel curs to bay the Lion ? — Oh, I could laugh at 
 such a piece of news, if I were not so sad, at thought 
 of what must happen. The gravest of thy news is 
 Stanley's treason, Norfolk is sure, so are my other 
 friends — Friends do I call them ? — Well it costs no 
 more to call them friends than enemies. So 
 then at Milford Haven. Hm ! . . . They will then 
 
Richard the Third. 69 
 
 inarch on Leicester, good de Montfort, and therefore 
 I much fear me thou must hurry back with very 
 little of thy needed rest. To-night thou sleepest 
 here at Crosbie House. To-morrow, with an archer 
 guard, thou shalt convey this son of Stanley's to thy 
 tower. Then, after proper rest, ride thou to meet me 
 with such force as thou canst gather. The towns are 
 for me, as I know, so thou in Leicester wilt have 
 little toil to bring men to my standard. Good-night, 
 and many thanks." 
 
 De Montfort left King Richard, who commanded 
 a flagon of pure water to be brought him, of which 
 he drank full copiously, as he worked hard at maps 
 — (most roughly drawn they were) — and several 
 sheets of paper, whereon, referring to the maps, he 
 drew up his positions according to the art of war. 
 Then he made lists of names of nobles and of such 
 gentlemen as he believed were true. 
 
 The morning dawned and found him still at work. 
 It was a lovely morning that broke in splendour 
 over England on that 9th day of August in the year 
 of man's redemption one thousand four hundred 
 fourscore and five. The guards had been relieved 
 repeatedly, but he sat still engaged in the most 
 arduous task of generalship, apparently, needing 
 no' more refreshment than that supplied him by the 
 crystal stream. 
 
 The sun was rising in his glory when Richard 
 sought his couch. He loved to have things very stately 
 around him : he called a servitor to lead him to a 
 
JO Richard IV. 
 
 noble bedroom, the bedstead in the centre being- 
 very massive in its curious size and mighty 
 strength. So much was he attached to this un- 
 wieldy piece of lumber, with all its carvings, 
 gildings, nodding plumes and silken hangings, that 
 he was wont to have it moved whenever he gave 
 orders for a change of place for holding the court. 
 'Twas with a sigh of great relief that he lay down, 
 dismissing his attendants, who one and all withdrew. 
 
 Orders had been given that everything in Crosbie 
 House and its immediate neighbourhood should be 
 kept in greatest quiet, so that the slumbers of the 
 king might not be broken. But Richard could not 
 sleep. He lay still, thinking, thinking, ever restless 
 in his mind, although his body lay as still as though 
 he slept. 
 
 At last he started, and exclaimed aloud: "Richard, 
 my son, my boy, my heir ! I had almost forgotten 
 thee ! I must again see Montf ort. He sprang so sud- 
 denly from bed that he observed a person skulking in 
 the room and seeking to conceal himself behind the 
 curtains. The king rushed forwards, seized the cur- 
 tain in his grasp, stamping with all his force upon 
 the floor. The door was thrown wide open and the 
 guards and servitors streamed in. A servant flung 
 a purple gown, a sort of rohe de cliamhre^ over 
 Richard, who still held grimly to the massive silken 
 folds where he had seen the bold intruder vanish. 
 
 " I have him !" cried the king. " Beshrew these 
 massive hangings ! They are like wood almost in 
 
Richard the Thii'd. 71 
 
 their tough thickness ! Now open carefully, — I 
 thought I felt him." 
 
 The guards with weapons drawn waited all round 
 the curtain while Richard and the officers examined 
 it in wonder and surprise at finding no one there. 
 The king was sore dismayed. The guards looked 
 scared. At last one ventured to suggest that, " Be- 
 like his Grace had slept and dreamed a dream." 
 
 " How ! Fellow," cried the king, " have I not told 
 thee that I never closed an eye ? Did I not say I 
 felt him in these hands, and saw him with these, 
 eyes ? A little more, and I had struck thee down, 
 base hind, for hinting such a thing ! Thou canst, I 
 doubt not, sleep upon thy post, but / — my sleep 
 must come at other times. Give me a sword." 
 
 His body-servants now were busy with his clothes, 
 and one of these sprang forward with the sword the 
 king most loved ; Richard then drew the shining 
 blade and made a furious thrust that pierced the 
 silken arras of the chamber, and then he cried, 
 " Now who is wakeful ? — Who asleep, my masters ? 
 The lurking thief or murderer is here ! " 
 
 The arras was quickly moved asunder, and the 
 figure of our old acquaintance, Dousterfeldt, appeared. 
 How they flew at him ! Had not Richard called 
 them off they would have shed his blood upon the 
 chamber-floor ; but Richard's orders could not be 
 resisted ; the crowd bore back till the king stood alone, 
 the Fleming opposite, regarding him with bold, un- 
 daunted gaze. 
 
72 Richard IV, 
 
 " And who art thou ? What seekest thou of 
 Richard ?" 
 
 " I seek to give a warning to Plantagenet." 
 
 " Warn me ?— Of what ? " 
 
 " Of great and pressing danger." 
 
 " Lead him away, guarded, to the council-chamber ; 
 but ere he leaves my presence, let him say how he 
 gained entrance here." 
 
 " I passed a soldier sleeping at his post." 
 
 " Ho ! ho ! " quoth Richard. " They who charge 
 the king with too much drowiness, must have a care 
 themselves. On whom can kings depend ?" 
 
 " On none," replied the Fleming. 
 
 " Ye see, ye naughty varlets," said the king, " how 
 hear a chance it was I had of being slain." 
 
 *' I am no murderer," said the Fleming. " Had I 
 been, what would have hindered me from slaying 
 thee .? True, thou wert wakeful, and I might 
 have spoken, but still I ever thought that thou 
 wouldst not listen, and cared not so to cross thy 
 humour." 
 
 " But I will hear thee in the council-room. Thou 
 wert not very wrong in shunning to obtrude thy 
 news on me when in the very early morn I was so 
 tossed by cares. Bear him away, but use him gently. 
 Foul fall the man who injures him !" 
 
 Some of the guard removed the prisoner, and 
 Richard, turning to the servitors, still busy with his 
 array — for, as was said before, he was particular about 
 his dress, like most distinguished soldiers (who are 
 
Richard the Third, 73 
 
 never slovens). To one of these obsequious serving- 
 men King Richard turned and said : 
 
 " Was my late guest of yesterday well cared for 
 and well lodged ? " 
 
 " Sir Guy de Montfort has the chamber over this, 
 your Grace." 
 
 *' Good. Go to him, and say that when he rises the 
 king would fain have speech with him. We shall 
 have breakfast in the banquet-hall together, if he 
 will : tell him I wish it." 
 
 Pass we the hour that intervened between the 
 dressing of the king and his appearance in the 
 hall, where he met Montfort up and ready for his 
 journey. Pass we their greetings and the meal, 
 after which the king observed to Montfort : 
 
 " I have need of speech with thee before thou 
 partest. There was so much to think of yesterday, 
 that what I fain had said escaped >ny mind, the 
 more so as it touches me as simply Richard. The 
 other matters all had bearing upon England, so that 
 I well might have forgotten the cares attendant on 
 a single Englishman ! " 
 
 So the two friends ascended to the council-room, 
 where, having seen the doors secure and all things 
 safe for conference, the king commenced : 
 
 " Good friend and brave de Montfort I have need 
 of thee touching my son, my dear boy Richard, and 
 as thou hast, thus far, defrayed his charges, and 
 been a father to him, so I beseech thee, should it so 
 fall out that I fight Richmond and his rabble host. 
 
74 Richa7'd IV. 
 
 that thou wouldst bring the boy to my pavilion, just 
 before the battle, so that when I appear in triumph 
 once again I may present my son as Prince of Wales 
 and heir-apparent, but tell him not before-hand 
 what his lineage is." 
 
 " My lord and king, it shall be done. Have you 
 no other charge ere I depart from London ?" 
 
 " Yes ; not long ago we seized a traitor in my 
 chamber. I fain would have him questioned in thy 
 presence. He claims to have some knowledge of 
 the treason of which we lately spoke. I care not 
 that the world at large should know how many 
 traitors lurk about my throne. . . .Wilt wait and 
 hearken .?" 
 
 It is needless to report the conversation more at 
 large. Suffice it here to say that Montfort was, as 
 usual, glad to do his lord's behest, and stayed to help 
 him with the prisoner, who forthwith was brought 
 in, well guarded. 
 
 Richard dismissed the guards, and bidding them 
 remain at hand, proceeded with the examination 
 
 It was elicited that Henry Tudor, Earl of Rich- 
 mond, was now upon his march to Leicester ; that 
 certain nobles had already promised him support, 
 men who had taken great offence at Richard's fond- 
 ness for the merchant-class. The prisoner said that 
 Richard had been watched, his visits to the gold- 
 smith. Wood, had been remarked, and it was thought 
 that he was getting treasure to pay a foreign force 
 in England. 
 
Richard the Third. 75 
 
 Richard was very wroth. He strode about the 
 chambers more like than ever the caged lion, and at 
 the end he said to Dousterfeldt : 
 
 " Thou shouldst have told me openly of this." 
 
 " Your Grace was always so surrounded with the 
 guards and courtiers, that a plain man like me could 
 never gain your ear. Last night, I took advantage 
 of my knowledge of this house to hide within the 
 chamber. The rest you know." 
 
 " Well, thou art free. The service thou hast done 
 shall be right well requited if thy tale be true, which 
 I in part believe. In earnest of my good intentions — 
 thou art free ! Ho, guard without there !" Here he 
 stamped his foot, and in a twinkling armed men filled 
 up the council-room. 
 
 " Sir Hugh de Bryant, let me ask thee to remove 
 this man, no longer as a prisoner but a guest. And 
 bid the Seneschal receive him well and see his wants 
 supplied ; when he has dined he may depart. Now 
 lead him off." 
 
 Then turning to an archer of the guard, he said : 
 
 " Tell good Sir Walter Gray to come to me." 
 
 When the man flew to do his bidding, Richard 
 turned round to Montfort, saying : 
 
 " This news confirms thy statement to the letter, 
 good Sir Guy. Depart at once for Leicester." 
 
 *' I go at once, my lord." 
 
 *' Good, then depart with speed. From Leicester 
 I shall ask thee to return to Faversham for the prince^ 
 I deem a battle imminent, and on the day of victory 
 
76 Richard IV. 
 
 I shall show my rebel nobles the upshot of the war, 
 — defeat and death to Tudor and a sure throne to 
 Richard." 
 
 They parted with mutual expressions of goodwill, 
 and soon the good old city rang with all the bustle 
 of a passing court, and all the noise and clangour of 
 a marching host. 
 
 However strange it sounds, it is no less a fact, that 
 of the baggage for the royal train one of the most 
 important bits of lumber was the huge bedstead we 
 have noticed in the room at Crosbie House. Of 
 those to leave that palace Dousterfeldt was perhaps 
 the first. The last was Richard, who rode off in 
 pride, never to return ! 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A JOURNEY. 
 
 ICHARD first marched to Nottingham 
 and there he held great state about a 
 week, calling his faithful subjects to 
 appear in arms, and when an army had 
 been got together, he sent Lord Stanley word that he 
 required him on his allegiance, at once to join the 
 host, saying that enemies had spread a bad report of 
 him but as he (Richard) held his (Stanley's) eldest 
 son as hostage he threatened the brave lord with loss 
 of his son's life if he delayed in joining. 
 
 The king then marched to Leicester where he was 
 received with loud acclaim, for stout Sir Guy de 
 Montfort had wrought upon the town's-folk till they 
 were all for Richard. 
 
 The weather being fine the army was encamped 
 not far from Leicester, and from the country round 
 fresh numbers joined the king. But somehow after 
 
78 Richard IV. 
 
 they had joined, their minds appeared to waver. It 
 seemed as though foul treason worked within the 
 host and ripened to a head. The merry looks, the 
 buoyant tread of warriors arming in a righteous cause 
 were wanting in the camp. In vain rich wine and 
 beef, and other things were served out to the troops 
 with very liberal hand, the youngest captain in that 
 host could see that disaffection was afoot. 
 
 Then Richard was right furious. "These rascal 
 knaves," he said, " want some sharp treatment, good 
 Sir Guy : we must not be too tame, or they will 
 think we fear them — or the enemy. I will inspect 
 the troops. In the meantime the foe is gathering 
 head, and very soon the battle must be fought that 
 sets me firmly on the throne and sees my Richard 
 righted. Dear Sir Guy, it is a long and weary way 
 for thee, but I must claim thy promise now to ride 
 to Faversham for my son." 
 
 " My lord, I ride this instant." 
 
 " That's my true friend. I feel to-day how rare a 
 thing is friendship, how few friends I have. Thou 
 must have gold. I'll give thee for thy journey 
 enough to make the entrance of the prince into the 
 life of state one fitting his high station. Take men 
 at arms and archers of the guard, but leave them in 
 some town. Let not the boy surmise, till he sees me 
 what fate is his. Farewell. 
 
 " Farewell your Grace ; I ride at topmost speed." 
 
 And the good knight was gone. 
 
 Then Richard strode as was his wont, in quick un- 
 
A Journey. 79 
 
 even strides along the grand room of the keep of 
 Leicester. Now and again he stopped, and uttered 
 broken sentences, as — '*Yes, he shall hang ! — Behead- 
 ing is too good for such a wretch as Tudor ! To spread 
 reports about me such as these. Say I am a mur- 
 derer! Ay, and worse than that, that I have killed my 
 nephews ! Holy St. George ! That I have shed much 
 blood, is quite a thing of course, surrounded as I am 
 by traitors, but 'twas the heads-man's axe that reft 
 those lords of life and it was done in daylight all 
 as the laws decree — but murder ! — a foul and secret 
 stabber ! — I cannot bear the thought. Oh, Harry 
 Tudor ! when we meet in arms my sword shall seek 
 thee out, and if it fail to reach thee, and thou art 
 captive to our arms, then thou shalt hang, for this 
 foul slander rends thy manhood from thee and thou 
 art vermin ! Ho ! what ho ! without there.'' 
 
 " Did your Grace call ? " exclaimed an officer ap- 
 pearing as he spoke. 
 
 "Ay, sir, I called j let some, one of your fellows be 
 sent to summon Gray — I mean Sir Walter — " 
 
 " My lord, he is not far. If your Grace will, I send 
 the sentinel now standing at your door, to call Sir 
 Walter, while I keep watch here in his stead." 
 
 " Pray do so." Said the king, rejoiced to see the 
 ready willingness with which the officer proposed 
 to act. In full short space Sir Walter entered and 
 learnt that Richard, wishing to be armed, had 
 chosen him to act as his esquire, which he could do, 
 although but of knightly rank, because the king was 
 
8o Fichard IV. 
 
 served by knights and nobles. The arming of 
 King Richard took up time, for in his day the 
 armour for the body had reached its full perfection. 
 It was complete of plate. That is to say there was 
 no chain mail used. Rich fan-like ornaments 
 adorned the elbow pieces as well as the steel knee- 
 caps called the genouilUrs. All portions of the suit 
 admitting of such treatment were scolloped in the 
 most fantastic shapes, and gave the knight a fiercely 
 warlike air. 
 
 Richard when armed looked like a tower of steel, 
 surmounted by a head that might have served a 
 sculptor as model for a war-god in the pagan days 
 of old. For he did not wear the " Salade " that 
 strange helmet that seems to us more like a 
 basin than a warrior's helm ! He rode bareheaded 
 through ^ the camp and followed by Sir Walter, 
 addressed the troops in words of fire that thrilled 
 them through and through. The fire of all his 
 warlike race was kindled in the glance with which 
 he gazed down to the soldiers' hearts. They greeted 
 him with shouts. *' Long live King Richard !" 
 rent the air. 
 
 Meanwhile Sir Guy had ridden with his train 
 until he came to Faversham. Here in the town he 
 placed his men while he rode to the monastery. 
 
 When he arrived the choir was singing sweetly 
 and the strange contrast to the camp struck the good 
 knight full oddly. He crossed himself devoutly 
 a nd waite patientlyuntil the Abbot left th^ chapel 
 
Richard the Third. 8i 
 
 to attend him. But ever and anon, as the sweet 
 strains arose, the good knight crossed himself again. 
 
 At last the Abbot came, and learning Montfort's 
 wish to take the boy away, became right sad and 
 heavy. 
 
 " Alas !" he said, " our Richard has become the pet 
 lamb of the fold. An over-hasty, fiery temper has 
 been so well subdued, that he is more like one of 
 heaven's inhabitants than one of earthly mould. But 
 he is coming, hush ! I say no more in praise." 
 
 The good knight started as the boy approached. He 
 had not grown much taller since we saw him last, 
 but in De Montf ort's eyes the change was wonderful. 
 
 " How like ! " he cried — " how very like ! " 
 
 " Like whom ? " exclaimed the Abbot. 
 
 " Oh ! yes, of course, I mean Ms mother^'^ said the 
 knight ; but though the good old Abbot was as simple 
 as a child, he could not help perceiving, from the 
 manner of the knight, that it was not the mother he 
 had meant at first whom Richard so resembled. 
 
 " I have to hand you this year's gold, lord Abbot — 
 it is within this bag. I have a led horse for the boy, 
 who I suppose can ride ? Is it not so, good Richard ? " 
 
 " An please you," said the boy, " I ride a little, but 
 as you well may guess, our time for exercise like that, 
 is scant." 
 
 " That is bad news, for we have far to ride and 
 
 little time for rest. We must be moving. Has the 
 
 lad any clothes, less like the habit of a monk ? '* 
 
 "Fair sir, his habit is not monkish," said the 
 
 G 
 
82 Richard IV. 
 
 Abbot. " Of course, he wears not such bright garb as 
 you and other nobles of the court assume, because 
 we do not know whether he may not join our 
 brotherhood ; but still we have forborne to dress him 
 as a monk." 
 
 " Well, monk or no monk, he must mount and ride,, 
 nor have we time for change of dress. Adieu, lord 
 Abbot ; may be you will never see the boy again, or 
 he may join you in a few weeks' time, never to leave 
 you more." 
 
 Tender farewells were now exchanged between the 
 boy and the Abbot, and such of his companions as Sir 
 Guy permitted him to see. Full scanty was the small 
 supply of linen and some necessaries made into a 
 roll and strapped upon the horse. 
 
 At first the boy was sore dejected, and De Montfort 
 thought it was a pity that the monks had ever had 
 him in their claws. " Spoilt a tall fellow, by my 
 fay ! A lad that had some mettle in him, to make a 
 howling monk ! St. George, I feared it ! Cheer up, 
 good master Trevor ! Grieve not for those you leave. 
 Look forward to the future. Let the past be what it 
 must be — gone*'' 
 
 " Travel we far. Sir Knight ?" 
 
 " Yes ; we have three days' journey at the least, pro- 
 vided we find horses all the way. Who taught thee 
 riding ? Thy seat on horseback is far better than I 
 had ever dreamt of in one half a monk !" 
 
 " There is a certain brother called Hilarius, who, as 
 men say, rode in the train of Bdlingbroke full many 
 
Richard the Third, 83 
 
 a year agone. Of that he spake not, but his seat was 
 good, and well he taught me what he could of horses." 
 
 " And canst thou wield a quarter-staff or lance ?" 
 
 " I could some time ago, but since I broke stout 
 Cuthbert's head, the Abbot bade me leave such 
 weapons, betaking me to rosary and book." 
 
 " Thy father will not relish that !" 
 
 " My father ! Didst thou say my father f sweet 
 Sir Guy, tell me about my father ! Thou canst not 
 think how I have yearned to know my father. They 
 say he was a gentleman, pray tell me more of him. 
 Thou canst not dream how dear that name is to me ! 
 Father. It sounds of heaven and not of earth ! — Is 
 he no more ? — Has he left Richard all alone to die ? 
 For surely he is most alone who has no father — 
 FATHER ! — How sweet it sounds, how gentle ! 
 Sweet sir, pray tell me does he live, and wilt thou 
 take me to him ?" 
 
 " Gently, good Richard ! What a torrent of de- 
 mands ! Thy tongue is like a woman's, gentle 
 youth. Alas ! I cannot answer all I would. This I 
 can tell thee, if he lives, thy father is a noble gentle- 
 man, brave, wise, and better than men say of him. 
 But all the same, I know not whether he is living. 
 I take thee to a valiant soldier who will tell thee 
 more than I, because his tongue is free and mine 
 is tied. He knows much more about thee than I 
 do, fair boy. Now ask me no more questions. 
 'Fore George, I like thy bearing, it is quite Plan — 
 
 gently, good tongue. — ^Well, as I said — or rather 
 
 G 2 
 
84 Richard IV, 
 
 would have said, — a Plant of martial growth. But 
 now no questions ; here, we meet our band, a train 
 of men-at-arms and archers. They must not hear 
 such questions as those thou askest me." 
 
 They rode into a little town, and here they found 
 the armed train awaiting them. Small time was 
 for refreshment. Off and away. how the armour 
 rattled ! how the weapons rang ! Albeit none were 
 armed in heavy sort, but chiefly very lightly, what 
 struck our young recluse as curious was that all these 
 men wore badges on their arms, on which was 
 painted very dexterously the picture of a boar. 
 
 On went the little band until the walls of London 
 were approached. They passed the gate and rode 
 up to a hostelry or inn, consisting of a court round 
 which were built what were in fact three houses, 
 enclosing it on three sides, while the fourth was 
 formed of wall and gates, large, high, and very 
 massive. 
 
 The horsemen entered, jingling, rattling, laughing, 
 talking, as soldiers love to do, yet was the discipline 
 severe and very accurate. " Dismount ! " — a rattle 
 and a flash : each man was standing at his horse's 
 head. Then came the host, rubbing his hands and 
 smiling doubtfully, until he saw the badge on the 
 men's arms. King Richard's archer guard. 
 
 " Welcome, fair warriors, to the ' Royal Boar.' Sir 
 Knight, pray rest you here. You want relays of 
 horses. Very hard to get for such a train. Horses 
 are scarce and money still more rare ! What is the 
 
Richard the Third. 85 
 
 pay, Sir Knight ? — an order on the Treasury ? Ha, 
 ha, ha !" 
 
 " Mine host, the time is short. I pay you with 
 broad pieces on the nail. See to my msn and 
 horses; they want refreshment, and we ride full 
 thirty miles this night if the moon serve." 
 
 *' Nay, that were pity such a gallant train should 
 travel through the night — broad pieces, too, paid 
 down. Nay, you must rest. Is this a scion of a 
 knightly house just going to the camp ?" 
 
 The horses being taken care of, Sir Guy, with 
 Richard and some of the men, had passed through 
 a wide and yawning door into a spacious room, in 
 which was a huge fireplace, wherein a fearful fire 
 was blazing as though to roast an ox. 
 
 There were many tables in the room, and round 
 the walls were plain deal forms or benches, while on 
 the side towards the centre of the room were many 
 settles or three-legged stools. The rafters in the 
 roof were decorated with countless hams, long ropes 
 of onions, and other housekeeping resom^ces, which 
 here could always be beneath mine host's sharp eye. 
 
 The fine old fireplace was large enough to hold 
 some half-a-dozen men, and as it evidently seemed 
 intended to please the favoured guests, mine host 
 invited Montfort and the boy to seats within this 
 sanctum. 
 
 " Welcome, Sir Knight. Pray ask the gentlemen 
 of charge {i.e.^ officers) who ride with you to share 
 our poor refection. The Constable (captain) will find 
 
86 Richard IV, 
 
 it very pleasant. Throw off your jazerants* and 
 other portions of your armour, gentlemen. Fresh 
 boars' hams, strong ale — or would ye like canary 1 " 
 
 " Ale for the men, canary for the Constable and 
 his lieutenant and ourselves. — Give you good den, 
 sir. Do you know this youth ? " 
 
 Sir Guy addressed this question to a stranger who 
 had risen when the train entered the kitchen, and 
 who was eying Richard in astonishment too genuine 
 to be passed off. 
 
 " No ; I do not know him^ but I know his face, — 
 once seen not soon forgotten." 
 
 " Where hast thou seen my face before ? " asked 
 Richard, somewhat vexed at the unceasing stare with 
 which this man regarded him. " I have not left 
 the cloister walls for many a long day. And thou 
 wert never of the brethren." 
 
 " Who ? — I ? St. Martin be our aid ! 7 in a cloister ! 
 That were a merry jest. No, my fair sir, thee I have 
 never seen before. I only know the face." 
 
 Sir Guy looked angry, but the officers came up 
 and took their seats where the stout host had shown. 
 These men were not of such a rank as officers in 
 later days, for troops were then commanded by the 
 owners of estates, their tenants being the soldiers. 
 The Constable was more like what we call a sergeant- 
 major, and his lieutenant like the sergeant or a 
 corporal. They were retained to drill and lead the 
 
 * Armour made of two layers of cloth, between which innumerable bits of 
 steel were sown and quilted over. 
 
Richard the Third, 87 
 
 men on all occasions where the feudal leader could 
 not be with them, or wished to have some aid. They 
 had grown up amongst the vast arrays that thronged 
 the courts of nobles such as Warwick and some 
 more. 
 
 The Constable regarded the strange guest, still 
 staring hard at Richard, and said at last ; " Methinks 
 thy face is better known to me than this young 
 stripling's features to thyself. Have we not met in 
 Burgundy ? " 
 
 " It may be so,'* replied the stranger. " I have 
 l)een much abroad ; in very sooth, I cannot claim the 
 privilege of being English." 
 
 "A Flanderkin, I trow — just as I thought ! It is 
 "but some days back we met at Crosbie House, where 
 thou didst seek to play the king a knavish turn." 
 
 " I sought to save his life," the Fleming answered. 
 "An he had not been headstrong^ this war would 
 not have happened — at least, he might have quelled 
 it." 
 
 Seeing that there were chances of a broil, mine 
 host now begged Sir Guy to order strife to cease, 
 which he right quickly did. Then came the grand 
 repast of broiled boars' hams, fresh eggs, strong beer, 
 and potent wine. The troopers sang, laughed, talked, 
 and boasted as soldiers ever do and ever did. Richard 
 was greatly struck to see these warlike men so easily 
 amused, pleased with a silly song, delighted with a 
 jest so poor, so tame, that it might hardly move a 
 «liild to laughter. 
 
88 Richard IV, 
 
 At last the meal was done. The men were well 
 refreshed, relays of horses were found, and mine 
 host was satisfied beyond his expectations. 
 
 The stranger had not spoken since his late rebuff, 
 nor had he once removed his eyes from Richard, 
 who had felt uneasy and indignant at his gaze ; and 
 it was not with pleasure that he heard, when the 
 man rose to wish Sir Guy farewell, how that good 
 knight replied : " We part not so, fair sir. Words 
 have been said to-night which have decided me to 
 say that you must come with me." 
 
 " Cry you mercy, sir, but the brave king himself 
 gave me my liberty, and will not relish that a 
 knight of his should do me force and take that 
 liberty again." 
 
 "That be my care. I will be answerable to 
 Richard ; in the meantime, sir, you will ride with 
 us." 
 
 " I have no horse, sir !" 
 
 " Mine host will see to that." 
 
 " I fear me we have nothing for the nonce," cried 
 Doubleshot, the host, " but I will do my best." 
 
 " Do so. I ask it in King Richard's name, so be as 
 brisk as may be." 
 
 Doubleshot left the room, and having been absent 
 for a time, returned to say a worthy merchant living 
 in that ward had offered him a horse for love of 
 good King Richard. The knight did not seem 
 much impressed by this great piece of loyalty, say- 
 ing, when Doubleshot had left the room : " That is 
 
Richard the Third, 89 
 
 as false a lie as ever man could tell. The horse is 
 Doubleshot's. It is a scurvy trick to get more 
 money." 
 
 At last the train was mounted, and despite his 
 protestations, the Fleming mounted too, and off they 
 rode. Right through the town they sped, to Richard's 
 vast delight, who thought himself in fairy-land, 
 seeing the goldsmiths' shops, the mercers' and the 
 other trades so gorgeously displaying wares of such 
 unheard-of value in their windows. 
 
 Ludgate was passed. Then the bridge over Fleet, 
 then all along the Strand, with its fair palaces and 
 pleasant gardens, down to the water's edge they 
 rode. Then came the well-known village of Charing. 
 Then rose the spires of Westminster. Then farther, 
 farther through the open fields, far beyond Putney, 
 till they reached a ford just passable for horses ; 
 this they waded through. 
 
 All this time the boy's delight was boundless. 
 The moon had shown her light, which, glancing on 
 the gleaming arms, was then flashed back again in 
 wondrous splendour. Then a cloud arose. The 
 moon was hidden. Other and thicker clouds came 
 up; a chill wind blew. Down came the rain. Mantles 
 were now unstrapped and thrown across the armour. 
 How it rained ! — No place in sight, and the whole 
 sky pitch dark ! " What matter ? Forward ! Trot ! 
 Forwards I Close up there. . . . Halt ! Where are 
 we ?" 
 
 The rain had been incessant. Now it ceased. 
 
'90 Richard IV, 
 
 The troop stood motionless. Montfort watched the 
 clouds. He saw them growing lighter. Then the 
 moon shone out again. " Are the men here ? All 
 Bafe and well ?" He rode along the ranks. The 
 soldiers all were there, but Dousterfeldt had van- 
 ished. None knew how or when. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 EICHAED THE FOURTH. 
 
 HE evening of the third day closed upon 
 the march as Montfort's little band 
 approached the town of Leicester. But 
 Richard could distinguish the ancient 
 spires of the Abbey and of St. Mary's Church, 
 which stood out boldly against the deep blue sky ; 
 and although he had seen somewhat of the bustle 
 of this world during his ride through London, the 
 tumult even of the great metropolis was nothing 
 to what now absorbed his every sense. Such 
 bustle, such confusion as the good old town of 
 Leicester now presented, he never could have dreamt 
 of. For though they had not even entered yet, such 
 a stream of warlike life flowed from the gates to 
 where in farthest distance the tents of a large army 
 were just discernible, that he was sore amazed. 
 Soldiers of every arm. Archers, crossbow-meh, 
 with their little windlasses for bending their steel 
 
92 Richard IV. 
 
 bows, men at arms, billmen, with here and there a 
 knight, but still more frequently esquires leading 
 horses, stout yeomen carrying the helmets and the 
 shields of knights already in the camp. Even at 
 that distance from the town the clangour of ar- 
 mourers at work made unaccustomed music in our 
 Richard's ears ; but he was very weary from his 
 ride, and noticed very little, save that wherever 
 they passed, the guards or squires, or men-at-arms 
 or yoemen saluted most respectfully. And when 
 at last the town was reached the sentries brought 
 their spears, halberts, and bills at once to the salute, 
 so that De Montfort entered with signs of great 
 respect from all who saw him. 
 
 Giving orders for the disposal of the troop to one 
 of those whom we have noticed as bearing the 
 title of constable, De Montfort rode with Richard to a 
 noble house with carved and gilded ornaments all 
 over it. Before it stood, in fair white cap and apron, 
 a jolly individual in whose red visage "host" stood 
 broadly charactered as though it had been written 
 with a pen. 
 
 At sight of Montfort reining in his horse, the 
 host came forward, cap in hand, demanding whether 
 it were his pleasure to alight. 
 
 " Truly, good John, I fain would leave with thee 
 this stripling here, a very weary lad. Give him the 
 best thou hast to eat and drink, then let him 
 rest till midnight in the old oak chamber. At mid- 
 night I return to fetch him. Till then farewell." 
 
Richard the Fourth, 93 
 
 " A moment, good Sir Guy," said Richard. " One 
 ^ord, I do entreat you." 
 
 " Say on, but say not much." 
 
 " I would but ask thee shall I see my father ? Is 
 he in Leicester ? " 
 
 " Two questions, and I cannot answer thee directly 
 to the first : I will, God willing, lead thee to a knight 
 who can, if so it please him, tell thee all thou 
 wouldst demand. As to the second question, I 
 might answer no, which would be quite direct enough, 
 I trow ; but he to whom I take thee will know all, 
 and he will answer thee. No more, good-night — but 
 be alert at midnight ; time is short, farewell." And 
 then the knight was gone. 
 
 "Gramercy," said mine host, "thou art a bold 
 young springald to ask such questions of the Con- 
 stable of Leicester ! " 
 
 Now Richard having seen that the constables of 
 the troop, though well-respected men, were not the 
 greatest in the soldiers' eyes, seemed no way struck 
 at what the tavern-keeper said, so he made no reply. 
 The host then led him to a stately room, where there 
 was such a bedstead, carved and gilt, and grandly 
 hung with silken hangings, as Richard never could 
 have thought of in his dreams. A servitor approached 
 bearing a silver bason and a tall ewer of the same 
 fair metal. He laved the wearied stripling's hands 
 and face, then led him to an inner chamber where a 
 sumptuous meal had been provided. Here mine 
 host of the " Silver Boar" carved for the boy as 
 
94 Richard IV, 
 
 though he were a guest of great distinction. When 
 he had eaten, another servant bought another silver 
 bason with its ewer to wash the hands with after 
 meat, for then the use of forks at table was almost 
 unknown. The dagger was the knife, and nature's 
 implement, the left-hand fingers, were used instead 
 of forks. 
 
 They led him back to the large gorgeous bedroom, 
 
 nd there undressing him, put him at once to bed. 
 
 how he slept ! The sweet and dreamless sleep of 
 
 boyhood was upon him, and there he lay as still and 
 
 calm as any sculptured statue. 
 
 When the Abbey bells boomed forth the hour of 
 midnight the boy was wakened by a heavy hand 
 shaking his shoulder. 
 
 " Rise up ! — How the boy sleeps ! — No wonder ; 
 such a ride to one all unaccustomed to such exercise 
 may well fatigue him. Arise, I say. Arise !" 
 
 These loud appeals, accompanied with such a 
 shaking as would have roused Hilarius himself (who 
 was the soundest sleeper in the monastery), at last 
 awoke the boy, who started and exclaimed : "Is it 
 then time for sextes T* 
 
 " 'Tis time to dress and ride. Put on these clothes. 
 They are of better sort and not so monkish-looking 
 as the ones thou hast. Rise and dress quickly." 
 
 The boy arose in silence, and was soon arrayed in 
 garments similar to those described when speaking 
 of King Richard on his journey to the wilderness. 
 
 3«,>^L' (2.N00/ * Midnight prayers. > MitOw^ 
 
Richard the Fourth, 95 
 
 When he had finished dressing, a crimson cloak was 
 thrown about him, a saddled horse was waiting at the 
 door, and he was almost flung upon its back. Away 
 they dashed, the knight and Richard, followed by 
 two stout men well armed and, like Sir Guy, 
 superbly mounted. The moon was sinking, but her 
 light was bright, and soon the tents of Richard's 
 army could be seen, gorgeous in blue and crimson 
 stripes. 
 
 Beyond in the far distance were the tents of 
 Tudor's army, striped with green and white, and 
 from the centre floated Richmond's flag, also of green 
 and white, bearing a fiery dragon red as blood, to 
 show his boasted heirship to the ancient British 
 kings. 
 
 All this was in the distance. Near at hand, the 
 blue g»nd crimson stripes of Richard's tents, and the 
 long mounds and trenches of defence, were most 
 distinctly visible. Over the centre of the king's 
 pavilion rose his banner of blue and crimson, 
 *' quarterly," bearing the lions of the English and the 
 lilies of the French. These were of gold, stitched 
 on the floating silk, itself as stiff and stubborn 
 as the metal. The tent was square in form, with 
 a high, sloping roof, and all of blue and crimson 
 canvas. Round the tent were many flagstaffs bearing 
 pennons, with the various devices of the king. His 
 silver boar with golden tusks, the golden lion of 
 England, the fleurs-de-lys of France, the golden 
 hound of Wales, the harp of Ireland on a field of 
 
96 Richard IV, 
 
 green, the oak-branch for his Gascon dukedom, 
 and on each side of the door of the pavilion stood 
 two large flagstaffs, with his silver boar in gold- 
 smith's work upon the silk. 
 
 The soldiers of both camps were dressed in white, 
 but most of those on Richard's side wore the red 
 cross upon their breasts, though many wore the 
 colours of the chiefs with whom they served. 
 
 As Montfort and his charge approached the royal 
 tent, the sentries all presented arms and stood aside 
 to let them pass, for such had been the king's com- 
 mand. They entered, and found him sitting at a 
 table with many parchments strewn about, and 
 many letters with their silken cords uncut. Among 
 these was a missal, splendidly illuminated, open at 
 the " Office of St. George," which the king had been 
 reciting. A wooden cross with candles hanging from 
 the roof illumined the pavilion and glanced upon a 
 suit of splendid armour and a surcoat with King 
 Richard's arms embroidered on the blue and crimson 
 silk. The sword belonging to this goodly harness 
 lay naked on the table. 
 
 The king looked up at Montfort and the boy, 
 then started to his feet : " Ha ! good Sir Guy," he 
 said, *' right at the time appointed. If all my friends 
 were half as true as thou, there had been no rebellion. 
 .... Is that he ? , . . But I need scarcely ask. How 
 like ! — how very like I Go, dear Sir Guy, into the 
 outer tent ; there thou wilt find wine, food, and means 
 of rest. . . . ' Faithful and True' should be thy motto. 
 
Richard the Fourth. 97 
 
 Montfort. Whatever be the issue of this strife, my 
 friend, I am thine own till death !" 
 
 " Talk not so sadly of to-morrow, good my lord," 
 said Montfort, sinking on one knee. " There is no 
 doubt at all about the issue if Richard leads us on." 
 But the king shook his head. "Nay, good Sir 
 Guy, be not so certain of to-morrow. Richmond 
 has fifteen thousand men, whereas ten days ago he 
 had but three ; and more than that, he has contrived 
 by lawless cunning to spread reports all through the 
 kingdom so much in my disfavour, that — by St. 
 George —were I a knight serving with such a leader, 
 I would desert him — though it seems so base to leave 
 one in the lurch. Henry has really no more of the 
 royal blood than any fish-fag howling in our streets. 
 He is no soldier. Fears to meet my arm, and in a 
 letter, intercepted by my men, begs Stanley help him 
 to draw up his men ! Ha, ha ! . . . Wouldst thou 
 not say the game is Richard's ? It had been, but for 
 these foul calumnies, which take so many of the 
 nobles from my side. — Now leave us, dear Sir Guy. 
 
 — As to to-morrow Why, we'll talk of it 
 
 to-morrow. — Now good-night, and thanks !" 
 
 Deeply affected, Montfort now withdrew. The 
 king then turned to Richard, who stared at him in 
 wonder and amaze. What could it mean ? why had 
 he been brought hither ? The boy had never seen a 
 more important warrior than Guy de Montfort, 
 hitherto. His life had passed within the cloister. 
 
 His interest had been directed to the tittle-tattle of 
 
 H 
 
98 Richard IV, 
 
 the monks, and noiv 1 as by a sudden leap brought 
 face to face with him who had the blood of England's 
 kings coursing within his veins — a true Plantagenet ! 
 Awe-struck, the boy regarded him, a demi-god in war, 
 a lion in the field who now looked at him — Mm^ the 
 novice Richard — with a strange show of kindness. 
 
 Thought the boy, " Is this grand warrior Richard 
 ' Crook-hack ' f — Is that a felon visage ? — Is one of 
 those broad shoulders higher than the other ? He is 
 not very tall, not above the middle height. But ah ! 
 the soul within is taller by a thousand miles than 
 that of other men ! " So thought our Richard, gazing 
 at his namesake, who looked full sharply at the boy 
 again. The king had on a crimson velvet doublet, 
 such as he used beneath his armour ; his limbs were 
 clad in the long hose or leggings of the day. A 
 simple warrior in the camp might have worji such 
 attire — hut — would not have been Richard ! Every 
 motion of his body seemed replete with grace ; and 
 though his face looked careworn and too pale, he who 
 regarded it with fair and just attention would have 
 said : " This is no felon — this is something grand — 
 something right royal." 
 
 But our poor monkish student could not analyse 
 the various expressions in that noble face, he could 
 do nothing else but look. 
 
 Then the king rose, and taking Richard's hand, said: 
 " Fear me not ; come hither." He led him gently to 
 the light and carefully examined him. The boy, 
 in great dismay at being subject to such scrutiny 
 
Richard the Fourth. 99 
 
 by such a person, looked half dead with awe, and 
 
 yet not fear^ for there was such sweetness in that 
 
 warrior face that made him very happy. But the 
 
 king, perceiving that he shrank, exclaimed : 
 
 " What ! hoy, and dost thou fear me ? Has it come 
 
 to this ?" 
 
 The boy replied : " It is not fear. I know not what 
 
 it is. I pray your Highness be not angry. My life 
 
 has been till now spent amongst simple monks, and 
 
 now I stand alone before my Sovereign." 
 
 " That is a clever speech and pretty," said the king, 
 
 -• one that thy cloister-breeding did not teach thee ; 
 
 no — they say an ' ounce of mother wit is worth ten 
 
 pound of clergy,' and that is it. Thine eyes are blue, 
 
 thy brow is clear, and from those eyes it is thy 
 
 mother's spirit that looks forth." 
 
 The boy fell on his knees before Plantagenet. 
 
 "Great king," he cried. "Thou knowest of my 
 
 mother. Here on my knees I fervently beseech 
 
 thee, as thou art king in very deed, to tell me of 
 
 my mother. ! I have never known a mother, 
 
 and yearn so bitterly to know that dear, loved 
 
 parent, that awe and fear give way, and I implore 
 
 thee, king although thou art, to lead me to my 
 
 mother !" 
 
 Richard the Third seemed strangely moved. He 
 
 looked upon the boy before him kneeling on the 
 
 ground, and for a moment could make no reply ; at 
 
 last he answered : " As I am King of England, I 
 
 would gladly yield my crown and lands this instant 
 
 H 2 
 
lOO Richard IV. 
 
 but to have the power to give thy mother back. 
 The King of kings alone could grant thy prayer. . . 
 
 Richard, Richard, she was very fair, and thou 
 art like her when thou gazest — so like her— 'tis 
 almost she. . . . The marriage was a private one. . . . 
 
 1 meant .... But no ! Stand up there, sirrah ! Tell 
 me why this fear comes over thee at sight of 
 Richard V Then he continued, in extraordinary 
 excitement and with excessive savageness of tone : 
 " Tell me, am I not branded as a murderer ? Do not 
 men say most evil things of me ? Is not Plan- 
 tagenet a name of horror worse than the foul fiend's 
 own ? Now tell the truth. Confess the reason of 
 thy fear !" 
 
 " Gracious lord king, dispose thou of my life. I 
 have no fear of thee," replied the boy ; " but as to 
 what the world speaks of the great, that seldom 
 reaches to the monastery, good my lord, and never 
 to the novices and still more humble scholars." 
 
 " Another clever answer, by my fay ! Witty and 
 shrewd, but yet not fully honest, because thine eyes 
 tell me another tale. They are more truthful than 
 thy lips." 
 
 The cheeks of Richard tingled at these words, 
 they burned like fire as the king went on : 
 
 "Now tell me hast thou not heard me called a 
 murderer, a foul usurper, an extortioner, a tyrant ?" 
 
 Then the boy rose up from the ground, and said : 
 
 " I cannot but confess, my lord, there are some men 
 who doubt thy merits, men who accuse thee of the 
 
Richard the Fotcrth. loi 
 
 foulest crimes, and even of the murder of thy 
 nephews, smothered by order in the Tower and then 
 flung into the Thames." 
 
 " No, by St. George !" exclaimed the king. " I 
 would that every drop of water in that river could be 
 examined so minutely as to reveal of what it was 
 composed. Then, if an atom of their princely blood 
 
 were found within it Tush, 'tis nonsense thus to 
 
 speak. I only swear to thee, in all solemnity, as this 
 may be my last night on the earth— I swear to thee 
 I never dreamt of such a thing. The time will come 
 when all in England shall confess that I am guiltless 
 of these murders. But slanders ever dog the foot- 
 steps of the great. And every cur can bark at royalty, 
 every unpractised archer shoot a bolt against the 
 king above him, unless he bask within the sunshine 
 of the royal favour. And shouldst tliou ever rise to 
 greatness thou wilt find the' truth of what I say to 
 thee." 
 
 *' I rise to greatness ! Good my lord, I would not 
 be a king for all the world My sole ambition is to 
 clasp my parents living to my heart. Then I can 
 die contented. Could I but see my mother, or grasp 
 my father's hand, my task in life were well achieved. 
 how I long to know my father !" 
 
 " By heavens !" exclaimed the king, in fierce 
 excitement. " My own neglected wife, my loved and 
 lost Matilda speaks to me in thy voice, looks at me 
 through thine eyes, which are her own. No ! I can 
 hold no longer. Boy ! Richard ! Plantagenet ! I 
 
I02 Richard IV, 
 
 must tell thee all, — thou art my son. In me behold 
 
 We love not to be too mysterious. There are 
 some writers who would claim the art of keeping 
 from their readers that which they wish to know. 
 We love to walk on with our readers hand in hand, 
 therefore they have foreseen and known already 
 the fact which so surprised poor Richard when the- 
 king informed him of his dear relationship. But 
 lie seemed crushed; he could not understand it. 
 Then the king, marking his amazement, said : 
 
 " I can believe that in thy wildest dreams thou 
 never hast imagined thee a crowned king. But 
 whether thou art ever crowned or no, thou art my 
 lawful son, RICHARD THE Fourth, Plantagenet. 
 Thy mother was my wife. We married young, and 
 why the marriage and thy birth havd been con- 
 cealed I will explain hereafter. To-morrow sees 
 me striving with rebellion, striving more fiercely 
 than I strove before ; because of thee, my son, my 
 first-born Richard. To-morrow victory shall see 
 me firmer seated on the throne, and thou shalt be 
 proclaimed my heir, successor to my throne, before 
 the world. The very heralds that announce my 
 triumph shall also tell the world that thou art he to 
 whom the crown must fall." 
 
 The boy, recovering from his amazement, answered 
 with winning gentleness and modesty : 
 
 " Dear lord and king and father all in one, I am 
 
Richard the Fo2i7'th j 03 
 
 your humble servant, loyal subject, loving son» 
 And if it had not pleased your grace to tell me this 
 most holy secret, believe me, I should still have 
 been your own, — your own in all submission as a 
 loving subject of King Richard." 
 
 " By the Mass ! a clever answer," said the king. 
 " Boy, thou art very dear to me ! Thou hast not 
 yearned so much to know thy father as I to see my 
 son ! But the troubles of these fearful times ! I 
 would not own thee till thou couldst declare that 
 thy descent from me brought thee no tinge of 
 shame ! No ! the son of a Plantagenet should never 
 be ashamed of being such. And yet these foreign 
 wolves have spread such slanders of thy father that 
 more than half the land believes me guilty of just 
 the kind of treason Harry Tudor loves ! Should he 
 succeed, his victory will crush him with remorse ; 
 his conscience will upbraid him all his life ; he will 
 spend all he gains in griping cares to win the 
 
 Church to him in vain But this is ranting folly ! 
 
 How like her thou art, Richard ! " 
 
 " Good my lord, there can be now no question of 
 success. How can the earl oppose you without 
 complete defeat and total overthrow ?" 
 
 " There spoke Plantagenet !" exclaimed the king, 
 glowing with martial ardour. " Yes, I will stake my 
 all upon this field, and if I fall, why, then, my son, 
 thou f allest too ! Hadst thou but been a little older, — 
 say five years older, — why, then I would have led thee 
 to the fight, taught thee to win the day, shown thee 
 
I04 Richard IV, 
 
 the use of arms, the knowledge of the glorious art of 
 war, of which yon earl knows nothing. Ha ! I can 
 see thy soul glow in thine eyes as well with warlike 
 lustre as with filial love ! Plantagenet ! 
 
 " Now rest thee on my couch : I have still much to 
 do. Rest, thou art weary !" 
 
 The clang of arms without proclaimed the arrival 
 of messengers from various leaders, for whom the 
 king had written answers ready, dismissing every 
 one with courteous speech and presents. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF BOSWOETH 
 FIELD. 
 
 HE messengers had all retired. Father 
 and son again were left together. The 
 boy remained, still sitting as King 
 Richard placed him, upon the warrior's 
 couch. He seemed as in a dream, for the whole 
 scene before him was more like a vision than reality. 
 And the king thought he slept. But he had in the 
 monastery already been accustomed to much vigilance, 
 and although sore fatigued, slept not for sheer excite- 
 ment. 
 
 The king arose, still thinking him asleep, advanced 
 and touched his arm. He started up and fell upon 
 his knees before him. 
 
 " Rise, Richard. Doubtless thy tender age demands 
 more rest, but as the time is scant, thou must forbear 
 it now and listen." 
 
io6 Richard IV. 
 
 " I slept not, good my lord. I am too much amazed 
 at what has happened to me, to feel the need of sleep. 
 Be pleased to give me your august commands." 
 
 Then they sat side by side together on the couch, 
 in very sweet communion. The king drew forth a 
 weighty purse and gave it to his son, exclaiming : 
 
 " Gold rules the world, and yet my stock is small ; 
 this is the last I have ; take it, my son, it may be that 
 to-morrow's sun — or rather this day's sun — may see 
 me stretched a lifeless corpse upon the field. For I 
 am sworn by H-eaven and St. George either to leave 
 it as a victor, or to remain the victim of rebellion, 
 pierced by the rebels' swords." 
 
 "That may not be, that shall not be !" cried Richard. 
 " Such foul rebellion never was before, and surely 
 cannot thrive ! To slay the ' Lord's Anointed ' is a 
 deeper crime than ordinary murder, and still more 
 horrible a crime is that to slay a monarch's fame. 
 Half of this double murder has been done ; now 
 Richard's sword shall wipe out Richard's wrong, and 
 crush the rebels with its mighty stroke ! " 
 
 " The thought is good ; 'tis worthy of a prince and 
 spoken like a warrior ; but, Richard, there are other 
 thoughts claiming thy attention. And first : — if I 
 should fall, and Richmond gain my crown, seek 
 not to rise to greatness. Thou, a child, couldst 
 make no head against thy cruel foes ; they would 
 but slay thee and so end thy claim, which, un- 
 supported by the proofs I have to find, would 
 (even were thy foes dispersed) be quite impossible 
 
The Battle of Bosworth Field. 107 
 
 for thee to make. Therefore I bid thee, should this 
 day become my last, to quit that claim for ever. The 
 gold I give thee hide about thy person, that no man 
 take it from thee." 
 
 " Pray talk not so, your Highness ! " 
 
 " Peace, Richard. Speak not ; listen. Should the 
 worst befall, hie thee to Leicester, to the * Silver 
 Boar.' Show to the host this ring, and say thou fain 
 wouldst sleep in the oak chamber where thou didst 
 sleep already. Then in the night raise up the lower 
 mattress, and thou wilt find the woodwork very 
 large and massive — at least to all appearance. Then 
 measure with thy outstretched hand a span's length 
 from the head, and on the inside of the beam 
 there is a place which looks like some quaint pattern 
 m the carving, but it will yield on pressure. Press 
 this firmly, and thou wilt find the bedstead really 
 hollow and filled with broad gold pieces. Six hundred 
 pounds in gold. Take these, by any means thou 
 canst devise, to London. Show this ring to Master 
 Wood, the goldsmith dwelling in the centre house of 
 Goldsmith's Row, in West-Cheape. He knows thy 
 story ; he is as true as steel ; he will preserve thy gold 
 and help thee with advice, and give thee aid in all 
 things. Seek safety in obscurity. 
 
 " Now, my loved son, the time has come for us to 
 part ! — My boy. My own. My noble boy. Fare- 
 well, and aid me with thy prayers. If we meet 
 again I shall be ten times more a king than ever, 
 being superbly crowned with victory. Then I'll pro- 
 
io8 Richard IV. 
 
 claim thee to the world, above the haughty heads of 
 England's proudest barons, as Richard Plantagenet." 
 
 Here there was a clash of arms without, as of the 
 sentinels saluting. 
 
 " Ha !" said the king, " my squires have come to 
 arm me. Fare thee well." 
 
 He rose, and led the boy gently and tenderly to 
 where the curtain of the tent forq^ed as it were a 
 door. Here he embraced his son, and calling in a 
 captain to the tent, he bade him lead the youth to 
 where Sir Guy de Montfort waited. 
 
 The dawn was tinging redly Harry Tudor's tents 
 as Richard joined De Montfort, who took him by 
 the hand to lead him to a place of safety in the rear. 
 But Richard begged so hard to be allowed to see the 
 jBght, that the good knight had not the heart further 
 to say him nay, than by observing that after his 
 monkish training Richard would find the fight 
 a " fearsome thing " to witness, and a dangerous 
 witha! ! 
 
 This but inflamed his boyish ardour all the 
 more, and yielding to his entreaties, the good knight 
 led him to a mound which overlooked the plain of 
 Redmoor, lying between the hosts. 
 
 .Who can describe the feelings of that boy, now 
 for the first time brought in sight of armies 
 ranked for battle ? He marked the different bands 
 advanced with military skill, the front line formed 
 of archers, crossbow-men, men with hagbuts or 
 muskets laid on staves provided with a hook or 
 
The Battle of Bosworth Field. 109 
 
 rest to bear the weight while the man took his 
 aim. The name is a corruption of the German 
 '-'' Hahen-hiXchse^'' meaning a hook-gun, and occurs as 
 arquebuss, harkebus, etc., all forms of the same 
 corruption. 
 
 The first line, formed of archers and crossbow- 
 men, supported by the German fire-darting guns, 
 was backed by a line of spearmen, billmen, and 
 some armed with heavy battle-axes, guisarms, and 
 crushing maces. The archers were protected by 
 their " jazerants," or quilted jackets, stuffed with bits 
 of iron ; and all of Richard's special force wore the 
 red cross on the white tabard over their armour. 
 
 Then came a gallant train of knights and lords in 
 steel, with their crests of arms fixed to the cap of 
 maintenance surmounting the steel salade. 
 
 The early morning, after the first ruddy dawn, 
 was overcast and misty, so that the soldiers of the 
 rival factions could hardly see each other. At last, 
 and just as Richard left his tent, the mist drew up 
 and the grand sun shot forth Ms arrows at the arms 
 and armour, which flashed them gaily back. 
 
 Richard rode forth encased in splendid steel, with 
 golden ornaments and every accessory to make a 
 gorgeous warrior. Over his breast and back-plates 
 hung the tabard of blue and crimson silk, em- 
 broidered with the fleurs-de-lys and lions. On his 
 head he wore the salade, with the crimson velvet 
 cap of maintenance, surrounded by the golden crown 
 that marked the royal leader. 
 
no Richard IV, 
 
 " Tarry awhile, fair prince," said Sir Guy de 
 Montfort. "I needs must hear the noble Richard 
 speak to his loyal troops and promise them the vic- 
 tory over yon rout of rebels, but see thou dost not 
 move from this same hillock until I return." He 
 mounted and rode off. 
 
 Then Richard, turning to a billman near, de- 
 manded why such a silence reigned as suddenly 
 seemed to fall upon the royal host. 
 
 "The soldiers listen to King Richard's words," 
 replied the man. " He has called all his leaders to 
 his side, and those about the leaders will have the 
 lucky chance to hear King Richard's words.^' 
 
 The " pomp and pageantry of glorious war" had 
 worked so strongly on young Richard's heart, he 
 seemed to feel the blood of all his warlike ancestry 
 tingling within his veins. The "lion" of Plan- 
 tagenet was roused within him. Disregarding De 
 Montfort's injuncti-ons, and rushing down the slope, 
 he came up to that splendid group in time to hear 
 the king say : — " Forwards ! then, lords and gentle- 
 men. St. George is on our side, right is on our side, 
 the might of a clean cause is with us. So I conjure 
 you by your oaths to me, your love of right and honour, 
 to strike one blow for England. A blow from each 
 right hand so nerved for good and truth will rout 
 yon rebels even as the sun now chases forth the mist 
 and shines untarnished in his glory !" 
 
 Loud shouts resounded as these words were said, for 
 sure enough the sun,being now risen, did dispel the fog. 
 
The Battle of Bosworth Field, 1 1 1 
 
 Then, seeing that his words had done their work, 
 ihe king told off the leaders to their several posts. 
 The front rank of archers, gunners, and crossbow- 
 men were under the command of the brave Duke of 
 Norfolk, who had already warned the king that there 
 was treason in his camp and he was bought and sold. 
 He was assisted by his son, the Earl of Surrey. 
 
 The second power was led by Richard. This was 
 the body we have mentioned, composed of knights 
 and their retainers in one grand block of cavalry, a 
 perfect square in form on each side, which were 
 " wings" of mounted horsemen clad in steel. 
 
 The rear-guard was composed of billmen, soldiers 
 armed with battle-axe or mallet, under Sir Thomas 
 Brackenbury. It was a thousand strong. 
 
 The king then led them into Sutton fields, and the 
 poor youth, his unacknowledged son, contrived to 
 mix among the soldiers to watch his father's deeds. 
 How his heart bounded as the king exclaimed, in a 
 voice like thunder rolling through the storm, " Ad- 
 vance your standards ! On them, gentlemen ! " 
 
 How the soldiers tightened the straps of their 
 salades ! — How the archers bent their bows and sent 
 forth such a cloud of cloth-yard shafts as quite ob- 
 scured the sun ! Ever in between, the hand-guns, 
 harquebusses, and the other guns were fired with 
 furious note at frequent intervals, then were the 
 archers and the gunners quick withdrawn, and the 
 stern battle closed. What blows were struck, what 
 knights went down, it skills not us to tell, but our 
 
112 Richard IV. 
 
 poor Richard never marked the dangers round him. 
 All his thoughts were fixed upon his sire, his ter- 
 rible and lion-hearted sire. 
 
 But he could not continue with the knights, who, 
 mounted on their horses, soon had passed beyond 
 the spot where the first rank had stood : and where 
 the boy was forced to make a halt because there 
 were so many killed and wounded lying on the 
 ground. Of these, one begged him to loosen his 
 helmet-strap, for both his hands were wounded so he 
 could not help himself. The boy at once consented, 
 and when the " salade" was removed, he asked the 
 man to tell him what the sudden motion of the 
 right-hand troops might mean, and why they had not 
 joined the fight before. 
 
 "Look, gentle youth, and thou wilt see that 
 yonder mighty following is formed of Stanley's 
 men, who come to turn the issue of the day, and give 
 our king the victory — see the white banners with 
 three gold stags' heads borne on a bend of blue. 
 That is Lord Stanley's flag, — now we are safe. The 
 saints be praised for this !" 
 
 But as young Richard looked upon this band, he 
 saw the banners borne beyond the lines over to 
 Richmond's force, whence a huge shout went up. 
 The soldier who had spoken flung himself to earth, 
 exclaiming : " All is lost ! Foul fall the cursed 
 traitors !" 
 
 The hopes which the poor boy had formed 
 now seemed extinguished, for as the shouts of joy 
 
The Battle of Bosworth Field. 1 1 3 
 
 aroGe from Richmond's side, King Richard's party 
 flagged. But, still more wildly excited, he left the 
 spot where the poor archer lay, and rushed towards 
 the place where the fiercest battle raged. 
 
 He wandered just a little from his track, and came 
 upon a glittering troop of horse, the meaner soldiers 
 clad in white, the others all in splendid suits of 
 steel. The leader seemed a fair young fellow, in 
 very splendid armour, attended by a knight bearing 
 a banner formed of white and green, with a red 
 dragon, now assumed by Henry, embroidered on 
 the silk. 
 
 Scarcely had this troop appeared in sight when 
 Richard saw another, and a smaller body, furiously 
 ride to meet it. 
 
 The warrior at the head of this new party was 
 Richard the Third himself. He had a lance the end 
 of which was fixed upon a sort of catch screwed on 
 the breast-plate; this was the rest^ by means of which 
 a knight could easily control the weight of such a 
 spear and guide it in the battle. With lance thus 
 fixed upon the rest, Richard rushed like a whirlwind 
 on his foe, — for it was Henry Tudor who led the troop 
 of horse. 
 
 It was just noon, and Richard had been fighting 
 like the meanest soldier, only with most ungovern- 
 able fury. He seemed to be in every part of that 
 sad field at once, and maddened quite with fury. 
 Storming he came on, shouting, " Treason ! Hah ! 
 Treason I down with the traitors ! — down !" then, 
 
114 Rickard IV, 
 
 like a breaker of the sea storming a rocky coast, he 
 charged upon the foe. 
 
 Down went Sir William Brandon in the shock, and 
 rolled upon the plain. But the brave king lent such 
 a fury to the crash that his good lance was shattered 
 in his hand. 
 
 Then, quick as thought, he drew his weighty 
 sword, and with a blow cut down Sir John de Chenny,^ 
 through his helm, or rather salade, so that his head 
 was fairly cleft in twain. Another and another fell 
 beneath that gleaming blade, and still he shouted 
 "Treason !" He had seen the rebel Tudor, and he 
 called on him to stand forth " like a man" and meet 
 his rival. 
 
 But no ; the cunning Richmond, hedged all round 
 with knights, was far too cautious to assault the 
 king, and he remained behind ; and truly the brave 
 knights who fought for him began to yield the 
 ground. Could Richard but reach Henry Tudor's 
 heart, the victory might still be his. However, it 
 was destined otherwise. 
 
 For as King Richard pressed upon him thus, a 
 body of three thousand men, led by Sir William 
 Stanley, came up, and soon the tide of victory was 
 turned. 
 
 Sir William Catesby brought the king another 
 horse, and begged him to retire. He might as well 
 have asked the raging storm to cease, when the 
 fierce lightning rends the solid oak. " No !" cried 
 the king ; " I conquer on this field or die upon it, 
 
The Battle of Bosworth Field. 1 1 5 
 
 but I in either case am King of England!" Then 
 rushing with renewed vigour and with devouring 
 rage into the thickest fight, he shouted, " Treason !'* 
 hewing down ♦before him all that would bar his 
 path. how he fought ! His friends were falling 
 around him. Fallen was Ratcliffe ; Sir William 
 Conyers was no more. Sir Robert Brackenbury, 
 Sir Gervase Clinton, all lay dead beside the good 
 Earl Ferrars, and full many more who had been 
 faithful to the last. 
 
 The boy, perceiving how the battle went and how 
 these knights were sped, could bear the sight no 
 more. One thought now filled his brain, that he 
 must save his father ! 
 
 Unarmoured and unarmed, he rushed into the 
 fight. The weapons flashed around him. Blows 
 were given that reft the life from doughty men of 
 war. Blood flowed in torrents ; warriors fell in 
 death ; but nothing harmed the boy. He forced his 
 way, he knew not how, until he reached the spot 
 where Richard, almost alone, fought like a lion at 
 bay. The blood was flowing from his numerous 
 wounds. The awkward salade, beaten from his 
 head, fell with the battered crown into a hawthorn- 
 bush which stood upon the field. At last a felon 
 blow, striking him from behind, felled him to the 
 earth. His horse sprang forward riderless. 
 
 The boy, thus seeing how his father fell, took up 
 a helmet lying near, and running to a little spring, 
 filled it with sparkling water, and bore it to the king 
 
 I2 
 
Ii6 Richard IV. 
 
 to lave his wounds and quench his burning thirst. 
 Richard the Third drank hastily, then looked to 
 heaven, making the holy sign. Then he fell back- 
 wards, quite exhausted, his dying ga^e turning upon 
 his son. 
 
 He tried to speak, but he had lost the power, and 
 with a look in which were strangely mingled love, 
 pride, alarm, and pity, fell back among the dying 
 and the dead, never to speak again. 
 
 The tide of battle swept towards him now. A 
 soldier saw the crown around the salade, and shouted 
 to his mates to come. Some arrows were discharged, 
 one of which pierced the boy and stretched him 
 near his father. Then came a rush of furious 
 soldiery that trod him under foot, and he lay sense- 
 less as the dead. 
 
 Since the invasion of the Normans, Richard was 
 the only English sovereign who fell upon the field, 
 and the second who had worn a crown upon his 
 head in battle ; for the fifth Henry did the same at 
 Agincourt. He wore it that the men might take 
 example by his valour, and quite despising any 
 coward thought that he was thereby more exposed 
 to danger, led them as few would care to do. 
 
 Now, in the rush that bore poor Richard down, the 
 bush on which the crown had fallen guarded him, 
 possibly, from further harm. Sir Reginald Bray 
 came up and saw the crown, but never noticed 
 Richard, or his father. He bore the crown to Stanley, 
 who placed it, battered as it was, on Henry Tudor's 
 
The Battle of Bosworth Field. 117 
 
 head. The soldiers shouted for the new-made king, 
 and Richard was forgotten. 
 
 Those who inspect the tomb of Henry Tudor may 
 see the figure of a crown resting upon a thorn, to 
 show from whence his glory sprang. 
 
 Some time after, the body of the king was found 
 upon the field, stripped of the armour and the gor- 
 geous trappings, so that the monarch who in life 
 had loved such gay attire and sumptuous ornament, 
 lay naked on the battle-field without a pall to cover 
 him in death. 
 
 With all the spite that marks a low, mean mind, 
 the victor ordered that the royal corse should be 
 thrown over a soldier's steed and borne to Leicester, 
 where for two days' space it was exposed to every 
 groom and hind that cared to come and make his 
 low-born jest of the once mighty king ! 
 
 Some time later, Henry the Seventh, as Richmond 
 now was called, caused the body of the king to be 
 interred within the Grey-Friars Church at Leicester, 
 and there a tomb of various-coloured , marble was 
 erected, and on it lay the figure of King Richard 
 carved in alabaster. But when the tyrant son of 
 Henry Tudor caused the destruction of that church, 
 with many others, the tomb of Richard was de- 
 stroyed. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 SIR GUY DE MONTFORT. 
 
 HEN Richard had recovered from the 
 swoon into which loss of blood, the pain, 
 excitement, and the grief of the few 
 hours spent on Bosworth Field had 
 thrown him, he found himself beneath a wretched 
 roof. An old man and an older woman were bending 
 over him ; the man was placing a fresh bandage 
 round the wounded head, the woman had a 
 cup of soothing drink which she now reached 
 towards Richard. But strange as these old people 
 seemed to him, he was most struck at seeing a 
 man in the full prime of life dressed in the motley- 
 costume of a jester. The long, high stocking of one 
 leg was red, that of the other blue. So of the arms. 
 His jerkin, fitting tightly to his form, was also of two 
 colours, blue and crimson ; but it was fantastically 
 divided into four, so that the skirt of the jerkin had 
 
Sir Guy de Montfort, 119 
 
 l^lue upon the left side and red upon the right, 
 while on the breast the order was reversed. Fan- 
 tastic as the dress of all classes was at that time, 
 the garment of this jester was remarkable even 
 then. His head was covered with a cap similar 
 to that of our friend "Punch," and was adorned 
 with bells, the jingling of which seemed to afford 
 him much delight ; and he carried in his hand 
 a stick of some three feet in length surmounted 
 by a carved portrait of himself, which he hugged 
 with peculiar fondness. In his belt was stuck 
 a wooden sword, the prototype of Harlequin's 
 ivand ; and his face wore a queer, surprised, and 
 puzzled look, that matched the oddity of his dress 
 completely. 
 
 The jester was surveying Richard with his head 
 first on one side, then on another, as if he said, 
 " What a queer thing is here T but he spoke not a 
 word till Richard, noAV fully opening his eyes and 
 gazing round the chamber, demanded where the good 
 father Cyril stayed so long. 
 
 *' I' fackins !" quoth the jester, "there are no 
 monks about here, Nuncle, though 'tis a harmless 
 question, considering." 
 
 Poor Richard was not well enough to ask why 
 this was so harmless, or whether he had formerly 
 asked a harmful one or not ; — he took the cup 
 proffered by the woman and drank it off. He 
 then fell back on the hard mattress, and sank into 
 a sound sleep. 
 
120 Richai'd IV, 
 
 "That is one of the ^vise ones, eh, neighbour? 
 Commend me to the cap and bells ! The wise child, 
 knowing that his wise father was knocked o' the 
 pate, must needs thrust his own numskull of a head 
 in the way of a billman's weapon to have it cracked. 
 / am not so cracked as that, anyhow. Commend 
 me to the motley !" 
 
 "Thou hadst best hold thy fool's prate and let 
 him sleep. Poor lad ! it is a wondrous tale thou 
 tellest me, and but for certain speeches in his 
 fevered, raving mood, I should have deemed it 
 nothing but the working of thy foolish brain." 
 
 " Ha, ha !" laughed the fool or jester, " my brain, 
 quotha ! It never held such mad conceit as this 
 boy's story. An' but I served his father, and knew 
 the trick of his face, I would have sworn the whole 
 had been a merry jest to gain our pity." 
 
 " Is he so like the king ?" 
 
 " Look, mother Galprey. My bauble, lovely as it 
 is, is not more like to me than he is to the king. 
 It is his very image lying there so lowly as it does, 
 carved, like my bauble, to the very life, or rather to 
 the very deaths in this case, mother !" 
 
 " What shall we do with him ? He is a dangerous 
 guest. If Harry Tudor smell him out we are in 
 parlous fear !" 
 
 " Marry ! that is not likely, goodman Galprey. 
 No man knows this story. Why, even I, that was 
 King Richard's fool while he was Duke of Glouces- 
 ter, / never knew of this ; and I am certain as a fool 
 
Sii^ Guy de Montfort. 121 
 
 may be that no one save the Constable of Leicester 
 is like to know of it." 
 
 Then said the woman : " Hark ye, Jankin Panns, 
 I think it sinful thus to weigh onr danger. The 
 boy, be he who he may, has run into this mortal 
 peril to save his father's life or die with him. 
 His fevered ravings told the wondrous story bit by 
 bit as far as I can make it out, and then it fits 
 together with the place and manner of his finding 
 T)y Dan Galprey, and with thy tale of his great 
 likeness to the king. Strange thou shouldst come 
 to-day !" 
 
 "I marvel most of all that ye should find the 
 money on him. Rare fools must they have been 
 who stripped the slain !" 
 
 " Perchance they deemed that such a boy, a very 
 child, would have but little to repay them ; and then 
 the gold was hid within the doublet-lining. But 
 more than that," continued the old woman : " I 
 found this ring upon him, bound about his neck 
 with this small silken cord." 
 
 The jester took the ring and eyed it for a moment 
 curiously, then fell upon his knees beside the pallet, 
 and exclaimed, " It is my master's son ! Alas, poor 
 fool, what can I do to help him ?" 
 
 " Thou art an arrant knave, to call King Richard's 
 son a fool !" 
 
 " Nay, that I never did. Beshrew thy tongue, 
 good mother Galprey ; learn that I meant to speak 
 my sorrow that I, so poor a fool as I, can do no turn 
 
122 Richard IV. 
 
 to help my master's son. A very fool, a silly fool, 
 an ass in motley, how can I aid Plantagenet ?" 
 
 " Hush, Jankin ! I shall bring him up as mine 
 until the danger's over. The tale shall be he is 
 my grandson, come from the north to see his grand- 
 dame, and he must fain go see the fight. There he 
 was hurt, and came out hardly with his life. He 
 will remain with us, his mother being dead, who was 
 my daughter ; his father wants to take a second wife, 
 and sends the boy to us. Such is the legend we must 
 spread, and may the saints above forgive us for the 
 lie !" 
 
 " Amen to that good wish !" exclaimed a stalwart, 
 soldier-like, but foreign-looking man, who came upon 
 the party by surprise, and so much so as to alarm 
 them hugely. 
 
 " Pardon, good friends," cried the intruder, with a 
 foreign accent. *'I meant not to alarm you, by my 
 fay. I would but ask you how to reach the dwell- 
 ing of one Sir Guy de Montfort in this town .?" 
 
 " That I can tell you, sir," said old Dan Galprey. 
 " He is the castellan of Leicester Castle and Constable 
 of the town. Who lives in Leicester, and knows not 
 Sir Guy ?" 
 
 " Then thou wilt lead me to him .?" 
 
 " Marry, I will, sir, gladly." 
 
 " How ill yon sufferer upon the couch appears ! I 
 have some skill in leech-craft, and if you will allow 
 I will examine him more closely. Doubtless he was 
 wounded yonder on Redmoor Plain .?" 
 
Sir Guy de Montfort. 123 
 
 "Aye, sir, although he fell in the adjoining field 
 of Bosworth, very near the bush that caught King 
 Eichard's crown." 
 
 "Oh, indeed! Then he will be some high-born 
 stripling at the least. And now I look at him, he 
 much resembles one whose office in the State was 
 most exalted." 
 
 " 'Tis likely that he is of noble strain, but that is 
 nought to us, nor, in my thinking, sir, to thee." 
 
 " Nay, be not angry. Let me see his wounds." 
 
 After a moment's hesitation this was done, and 
 then the stranger gave a few directions which 
 showed he understood the work, then left to 
 search for Montfort. The old man led him to the 
 castle-gate, and then returned to watch his patient. 
 
 The stranger entered to the outer bailey, or court 
 between the walls, then suddenly addressed an 
 officer clad in the white and green of Harry Tudor. 
 " Sir," he exclaimed in very courteous tones, " may 
 I request you of your kindness to bring me to the 
 presence of Sir Guy de Montfort ?" 
 
 " Sir Guy is very busy at this hour, so if thy 
 errand to him be not pressing I would advise thee 
 to postpone it." 
 
 " Certes, I must wait his pleasure ; but I am from 
 the court of Burgundy, and fain would have some 
 speech with the good Constable of Leicester." 
 
 "Things have so changed of late in England, 
 that what was but a month ago a fair and loving 
 message, might now be construed into treason." 
 
124 Richard IV. 
 
 " Precisely so, fair sir ; and therefore I would 
 gladly see Sir Guy himself, who, as a loyal gentleman, 
 would know at once how my report from Burgundy 
 should be received." 
 
 " Well, if there be treason in it against Henry the 
 Seventh, all I can say is that thy neck is much in 
 danger." 
 
 " Nay, gentle sir, I warrant you there's none." 
 
 The captain of the guard that day on duty reflected 
 for a moment, then he said : *' I'll even risk it, 
 stranger ; come with me. This way." 
 
 Thus saying, they passed through the gate of the 
 inner bailey into the courtyard, where the keep of 
 Leicester Castle stood. The sentry at the gate 
 lowered his spear in salutation as the captain and 
 the stranger passed. The keep was entered by a 
 wooden ladder leading to a little gate, which ladder 
 could be raised by chains so as to bar all entrance 
 from the court, supposing that the foe had passed 
 the inner and the outer bailey and reached the 
 central court. 
 
 Up this ladder they passed, and gained a narrow 
 staircase leading to an upper chamber, where the 
 officer now bade the Fleming wait, and left him 
 there alone. 
 
 After the lapse of half an hour the officer returned, 
 saying the Constable would see the stranger. 
 
 It is well known that in most ancient castles the 
 better rooms were high up in the building, so as to 
 be in safety when the whole fortress was attacked. 
 
Sir Guy de Montfort, 125 
 
 The lower portion of the walls were very thick, so 
 thick as w^ell to bid defiance to the engines that 
 might be brought against them with a view to breach- 
 ing holes by which a foe could enter. 
 
 The council-chamber of the tower of Leicester 
 was in the highest story, the banquet-hall was just 
 below it, and to this room the captain led the 
 Fleming. 
 
 It was a spacious hall, lined with dark polished 
 oak. The ceiling was adorned with oaken rafters, 
 carved and richly gilt. There was a window, 
 very square and deep, cut in the thick stone wall, 
 but light was given by a crescet-lamp that hung 
 from a cross-beam. There were six crescets of the 
 kind, but only one was lighted. By the light of 
 this our Fleming could observe the stalwart form 
 of good Sir Guy de Montfort. 
 
 "Thanks," said Sir Guy in courteous tones, 
 addressing the gay captain who had brought the 
 stranger in. Then turning to the latter he observed : 
 " I think it is thy wish that we confer in private." 
 
 " It is. Sir Guy. I have a matter to disclose fit for 
 thy ear alone." 
 
 " In that case," said De Montfort, turning to the 
 officer, *' I ask you to withdraw to yonder ante-room, 
 and should there be occasion I will call ; but I 
 scarce think there will be any need." 
 
 The officer withdrew, and then De Montfort, advan- 
 cing to the wall so that the light coming through the 
 window should, fall upon the stranger, beckoned 
 
126 Richard IV. 
 
 him to approach. He did so, and so soon as he was 
 well within the light, Sir Guy requested him to take 
 a seat upon a massive chair placed in a spot on 
 which the daylight fully streamed. He took an- 
 other chair, so as to be able to observe his visitor, 
 which he did full keenly. 
 
 " Now, sir, we are alone. I think we have met 
 before. What is thy will with me ?" 
 
 " I bring a message from the Duchess . . . ." 
 
 " Of Burgundy, I think V 
 
 " Of Burgundy, Sir Guy. She bids me tell thee, 
 as a friend of York, that gay King Edward's son, 
 said to be slain by the then Duke of Gloucester, 
 afterwards Richard the Third . . . ." 
 
 " Ha ! That's good news, so far in that it shows 
 how true my prophecy when I declared he would 
 appear to claim the throne. But is this certain ?" 
 
 " It seems he was in hiding all the time among- 
 the Flemings, and bore himself as one of us. He 
 took the name of Peter ; little Peter — Peterkin of 
 Warwick, and that became corrupted into Perkin 
 Warbeck. But it is the prince." 
 
 " These are strange tidings, Fleming. I loved King 
 Richard well, but he is gone — alas ! — and I am Con- 
 stable of Leicester, serving King Henry, whom the 
 saints defend. He is now King of England." 
 
 " A questionable title, good Sir Guy ! Hark in 
 thine ear. If Richard really were the king — of the 
 grace of God, his death by traitors on the plain of 
 Redmoor could yet not bar his sorCs succession! 
 
Sir Guy de Mont fort. 127 
 
 Ha ! thou startest, changest colour ! Brave De 
 Montfort, there are two lives and more between this 
 Harry Tudor and the crown !" 
 
 Sir Guy de Montfort, as the stranger spoke, had 
 sprung in sheer amazement fram the chair. 
 
 " How !" he exclaimed. " Two claimants for the 
 crown ! Richard, my royal master's son, alive, and 
 one of his fair nephews living too ! Tell me which 
 of them is it, — Edward the Fifth or Richard Duke of 
 York ?" 
 
 " Richard, Sir Guy ; so, as thou seest, thou hast twa 
 Dickons to pick and choose from." 
 
 *' Where is my master's son ?" 
 
 " Look here. Sir Guy. I have the boy in keeping. 
 I am no Englishman ; I care not for thine isle of 
 fogs. All I adore is money. That boy is money to 
 me. I yield him up to those who pay me best !" 
 
 " How !— This is rascally !" 
 
 " Calmly, Sir Guy ! I have certain wares to sell — 
 be it a prince or bale of cotton. To us it is all one. 
 We Flemings care but little what the wares are that 
 we deal in, so that the profit is secure." 
 
 " Rascally cur ! Ho ! guards, within there !" 
 
 " Stay, Sir Guy. If thou imprison me, the princes 
 hoth are lost. I possess proofs of Perkin Warbeck's 
 birth which our good Duchess wants. I alone 
 know where young Prince Richard lies, and I know 
 that he rests in humble keeping with such friends as 
 will betray him to his enemies just for the love of 
 gain which thou dost so much condemn. They must 
 
128 Richard IV. 
 
 have money. Whence it comes can matter very 
 •little." 
 
 " It irks me to hold parley with so base a thing !" 
 said Montfort^ high in wrath; " but that I see thou 
 art so base as only to be bought— albeit little worth — 
 I would take other measures. What is thy price ?" 
 
 " A hundred thousand crowns !" 
 
 " There we may see how near the knave is to 
 the fool ! Thy knavery has opened far too wide a 
 mouth. Thy wit must cool and thy demands grow 
 less, before I can have aught to say to thee. Ho ! 
 guards, within there ! ho !" 
 
 This was uttered in a louder key, and brought 
 "the Captain," as we called him, with half a dozen 
 billmen to the room. 
 
 " Take this most impudent of ruffians and put him 
 in safe keeping, until I am resolved upon the way 
 to treat him. It was quite right to bring him here ; 
 the rascal is most dangerous. See to his safety, 
 gentlemen." 
 
 " Where shall he be imprisoned, good Sir Guy ?'' 
 the officer demanded. "Shall he be taken to the 
 lower dungeons, or shall I put him in an upper 
 chamber ? In either he is safe, only the lower 
 prisons, dungeons of the keep, are far more grue- 
 some than the upper chambers." 
 
 "Sir Guy," exclaimed the Fleming, "trusting 
 to thy faith, I gave thee certain information that 
 no -one else possesses but myself. I offered other 
 information, relying on thy honour, and what do I 
 
Sir Guy de Mont fort. 129 
 
 receive ? — foul words and false imprisonment. My 
 death can never help those whom I named to thee, 
 my life may bring to thee and them much honour- 
 I am a poor man, thou art rich and proud. Because 
 my views of business are not thine, thou deemest it 
 a meritorious act to fling me into prison. Thou canst 
 not move without me ! If I perish both of those we 
 wot of will be lost — ay, lost for ever !" 
 
 " Bear him to the lower dungeon, but see he wants 
 for nought." 
 
 Then the officer and soldiers took the Fleming to 
 bear him to the dungeon, but he turned as they were 
 taking him away and gazing at Sir Guy, exclaimed : 
 
 " You call me " rascal " — " traitor " and the like. 
 You are called good Sir Guy. Look into your heart, 
 De Montfort. Are you a loyal subject ? Love you 
 King Richard or King Henry ? . . . I tell you whether 
 you serve this seventh Henry, or the fourth Richard 
 — you are the traitor." 
 
 Sir Guy was calm and never lost his dignity, though 
 the shaft told and rankled in his heart. He only 
 said, more firmly, in his cool collected way : " Bear 
 him away." 
 
 The order was obeyed. Sir Guy de Montfort 
 was alone. He paced the chamber, up and down, in 
 silence for a time, and then he said, as though he 
 thought aloud :—" Traitor ! and in my teeth to fling 
 the horrid accusation ! — Yet it is partly true. I feel 
 almost a traitor when I think that I enjoy this post 
 and all the honours under Harry Tudor that Richard 
 
130 Richard IV, 
 
 heaped on me for loyalty to him ! And yet, what 
 could I do ? I fought not for King Henry. As long 
 as Richard lived I remained true to him, and I would 
 certainly have spumed King Henry's offers had I but 
 known young Richard was alive !" 
 
 Thus lost in thought he paced the room until he 
 recollected that he was wanted in the council 
 chamber. Thither he repaired to find his absence 
 commented upon by sundry of the martial captains 
 and leading burghers of the loyal town that armed 
 itself for Richard to welcome Henry home. 
 
 " Your pardon, gentles ! I have had some sudden 
 calls on my attention which must plead with you in 
 my excuse if I have seemed remiss in that attention 
 which my duty to the town and our united loyalty 
 would doubtless seem to call for. Pray you bear 
 with me, friends, and pardon my neglect." 
 
 He sat down in the high backed chair from the 
 highest part of which the boar had been removed 
 and Henry's dragon substituted. He had to guide 
 the business of the meeting, and did so without 
 flinching, though his mind was often absent. The 
 m.embers of the council wondered what had hap- 
 pened so to distress Sir Guy. At last the meeting 
 was dissolved and he was free again. 
 
 It was no pleasant evening for De Montfort. He 
 felt alone and sad even in the privacy of his own 
 chamber, which to most men means cheer and com- 
 fort; he thought of all those fearful deeds that 
 drenched the land in gore and sullied Richard's fame. 
 
Sir Guy de Montfort, 131 
 
 " And yet," he said, " what could I well have 
 done ? I fought for Richard. Honestly I saw the 
 noble prince well cared for, albeit in a monastery ! 
 I never did betray my trust either to sire or son ! I 
 served them — very faithfully even to the death ! I 
 thought the boy was sped when I returned and 
 found the hillock where I left him covered with 
 dead and dying ! Holy saints ! Am I a traitor to 
 continue in mine office because base Harry Tudor 
 wears the crown ? Sometimes I think I am, at 
 others it seems right that one true man should keep 
 one city loyal ! Poor burghers ! I may guard them 
 from this king's oppression. I will not quit mine 
 office. 
 
 " And Richard lives ! Well, I have served the 
 father, and I will serve the son. I will about and 
 see such men as may perchance know more of 
 him !" 
 
 Again he paced the chamber lost in thought. At 
 
 last he struck his foot upon the floor and said aloud 
 
 again, as having formed his fixed determination : 
 
 " Yes, it is settled ! RICHARD THE FOURTH shall 
 
 reign. I'll hold this office still, to guard his rights, 
 
 for if I should resign he who succeeds me may be 
 
 Richard's foe, as all who love the Tudors must be. 
 
 I will find out Richard, if that lying varlet really 
 
 spoke the truth and the true prince still lives ! But 
 
 I believe it. He was in earnest; for he spoke of 
 
 money, the only road to such a heart as his." 
 
 He then retired to bed, and early in the morning 
 
 K 2 
 
132 Richara IV, 
 
 hastened to the inn where the broad visage of John. 
 Fillpot beamed on him anew as though bathed in 
 sunshine. No grief had ever dwelling in that jocund 
 face ! 
 
 " Good morrow, John. How goes it ?" 
 
 " Why, thanks be to your honour, passing well as 
 yet." 
 
 " Hast thou the oaken chamber still untouched in 
 which the king slept some days before the battle ?" 
 
 " Hush ! for the love of heaven call not Mm the 
 king ! Who knows what ears are by ? Even the 
 late king's fool might hear us. He is in the house 
 But touching yonder chamber not a soul has entered 
 it since that young stripling whom you brought to 
 me, slept till the midnight hour." 
 
 " Knowest thou who that was ?" 
 
 "Who, I .? No, I know nothing." 
 
 " Hark I in thine ear, it was " 
 
 " No, no, no ! The saints forbid !" 
 
 Here he whispered something. 
 
 " No, no ! I like it not," was the reply. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 AT LEICESTEE. 
 
 HE lowly dwelling of the poor old man 
 where we have seen the son of a 
 Plantagenet received and duly cared 
 for, became a happier home for 
 Richard's presence. The good old couple told 
 him of the wealth which they had found upon 
 him, and when he was so far recovered as to be able 
 to walk forth abroad they placed a rough, unshapely 
 packet in his hand containing all the coins, his royal 
 father's gift. 
 
 " Dear friends," said Richard, " I am poor in 
 thanks and know not how to show my gratitude. 
 Still, without wishing to diminish aught of the great 
 debt of kindness that I owe you, I trust you will not 
 let me feel that you are losers by me. You have 
 been at charges for my medicines, for wine and 
 special food, and I beseech you take this gold to make 
 amends for these expenses." 
 
134 Richard IV. 
 
 The old man bowed with singular respect, as 
 Richard thought, for which he could by no means 
 then account, being unused to think himself a prince. 
 He thought therefore the old man's reverential mien 
 was due to this reward thus offered. Then Galprey 
 answered him as follows : 
 
 " Assuredly, fair sir, yon were in dismal plight 
 when I discovered you on Bosworth Field, but foul 
 befall me if I take the gold which I have rescued for 
 you ! Then were I as bad as those base ruffians who 
 haunt the battlefield to strip the dead and rob the 
 dying. The purse contains two hundred angels, 
 about a hundred pounds ; so, as you will not stoop to 
 be a burden to us, I will consent to take four angels, 
 which will fairly pay my charges." 
 
 " Good friend," said Richard, " take ten angels, and 
 when thou hast expended them, inform me, and I will 
 give thee more. Then I must have some clothes. Be 
 pleased, when next thou goest to the market, to tell a 
 mercer to come hither. I am not willing to be seen about 
 in my old garments, and soon I must walk abroad." 
 
 " It is very wise and just. I will at once send on 
 the mercer, but I shall tell him nothing of your 
 means to pay. You are our grandchild, and shall 
 abide with us until you see the means of safety." 
 
 To this the boy agreed, although it irked him much 
 that falsehoods should be told about him ; but seeing 
 that the truth might bring his benefactors to suffer 
 still more rudely, he deemed it safest to submit to 
 their suggestions. 
 
At Leicester. 135 
 
 In time, then, he was dressed in garments such as 
 those nsed by the middle-class, not quite like the 
 mechanics, yet still not like the gayer merchants. 
 King Richard's ring he wore about his neck both day 
 and night, but kept it close concealed. 
 
 And by degrees he was restored to strength. 
 Secure beneath his humble habit, he walked forth to 
 view the town of Leicester, and chiefly towards the 
 monastery of the Grey Friars, near to St. Mary's 
 Gate. There was a pleasant garden there, tended 
 by the monks, where he was glad to wander. 
 
 One day, as he was leaving this sequestered spot, he 
 came upon the jester who had visited the Galpreys 
 the morning after Richard had been found. This 
 hair-brained fellow, when he saw the youth, cut a 
 strange antic in the air, and greeted him with : 
 
 " Gramercy, Nuncle ! art thou still alive ? I had 
 almost forgotten thee, as other men have quite^ as 
 well as him whose lowly grave thou visitest." 
 
 " I visit no man's grave, good motley ! I walk each 
 day to gain some strength from over- close confine- 
 ment." 
 
 " It is a jest indeed f exclaimed the fool, " though 
 somewhat of the grimmest, that the dead father 
 should attract to him his half -dead son without his 
 knowing. 'Tis a mad world, my masters, where death 
 and life can play ' bo-peep ' like this I a bitter jest, a 
 horrid jest, i' faith !" 
 
 " I told thee I sought no man's grave, and yet, I 
 might have added, I would fain seek mine own I'* 
 
136 Richard IV. 
 
 "A mad world with its merry jests, and a madder 
 with its grave jests, by my faith. What seek ye 
 really in this place, fair sir ?" 
 
 "Fresh air, fresh strength, repose of mind — no 
 more." 
 
 " No more ! V fackins ! thou shouldst have my 
 bauble. Fresh air is what the wealthiest often seek 
 in vain, and lose despite their wealth. Strength is 
 the noblest gift we have, for the strong body is the 
 chosen seat of a strong, active mind. Repose of 
 mind I Ha, ha, Nuncle ! an thou lovest that, thou 
 never wilt be king, like him whose grave is barely 
 closed in yonder church I" 
 
 " How ? Who ? Tell me, I beseech thee, whose 
 grave is that thou speakest of ? What king reposes 
 here ? " 
 
 " Come in with me and see." 
 He led the boy, whose beating heart had 
 guessed what this half idiot would reveal ; but he 
 could hardly realise the fact when, standing with 
 the jester in the church, the man in motley pointed 
 to a stone fresh fitted in the pavement. 
 
 " Whose is it ?" asked the boy, in agony. 
 
 The jester, bending down to Richard's ear, whis- 
 pered, in low and strangely sounding tones : 
 
 " Richard the Third's— thy father's ! " 
 
 At these words Richard flung himself upon the 
 stone, sobbing as though his heart would break. 
 A monk approached, who rebuked the jester for 
 entering a church at all, and then with ill-timed 
 
At Leicester. 137 
 
 jesting to break a youthful heart. "We oft have 
 noticed him. He is not strong, and doubtless, 
 though so young, has known some bitter sorrow, 
 which thy unhallowed jibes have cause to bleed 
 afresh. Out of the church ! Avoid our precincts, 
 or I will call the porters and lay -brothers to beat 
 thee from the gate !" 
 
 " Gramercy for thy kindness, father ! I would 
 not give the brethren so much trouble. It would 
 be sinful so to ruffle the even surface of their holy 
 lives as to belabour me ! By the mass ! I understand 
 what churchmen call the weight of office — when it 
 means a stick !" 
 
 Thus jesting, and, from the habit of his class, in- 
 different to the subject if he could but jest, the wily 
 Jankin Panns departed, leaving our hero and the 
 monk alone within the building. 
 
 The monk advanced and touched the stripling's 
 shoulder, who sprang upon his feet erect, with flash- 
 ing eyes, darting their wrathful glances at the half- 
 frightened monk, who now exclaimed : 
 
 " Poor youth ! I pity thee, for thou hast been 
 misled by yonder mad-brain fool, who certes has be- 
 trayed thee into the thought that one of thine own 
 kin, a father or a brother, lies here interred. Cease, 
 then, thy grief, when I inform thee that underneath 
 this stone lie the remains of one who, not three 
 months ago, was King of England — Richard the Third 
 — Plantagenet." 
 
 During these words Richard had found time to 
 
138 Richard IV, 
 
 calm himself, control his grief, and to regain his 
 speech^ of which he had appearecj bereft. 
 
 " I thank thee, father, for thy kindly care. The 
 tale the jester told was passing strange. But surely 
 it is stranger still that such a king as Richard should 
 be doomed to this mean, lowly tomb !" 
 
 " Richard is now no more ; his race has passed 
 away. The proud Plantagenets were men of war, 
 and Tudor loves it not. Henry the Seventh is a 
 man of peace, and, mark my words, young stranger, 
 with her proud warrior kings the woes of England 
 will depart. The smiling fields of England shall 
 no more run red with human blood, shed in the 
 faction-fights of king and baron !" 
 
 Amazed at this address, which in some sort 
 seemed quite in keeping with Richard's mental 
 training in the monastery, he looked upon the 
 monk with kinder eyes, and sinking on one knee, 
 exclaimed : 
 
 *' Pardon me, father, if I failed in my respect to 
 thee and to this holy place. I will come to pray 
 beneath this blessed roof, but now I crave thy 
 blessing." 
 
 The father made the sign of the cross over the 
 brows of Richard, and exclaimed : 
 
 *' Benedicite, filius mens. Pax vohiscum I " 
 
 The monk withdrew, and Richard walked away. 
 
 Now, in the great disturbance of his mind, the boy 
 forgot the road he should have taken to regain his 
 home. He wandered through the streets of Leices- 
 
At Leicester. i39 
 
 ter until he came to that in which the hostel stood 
 where he had rested with Sir Guy the night before 
 the battle. Before the door John Fillpot stood, as 
 usual, soliciting the custom of the passers-by, ex- 
 tolling his rare wines and tempting viands. 
 
 His father's last injunction flashed across Richard's 
 brain — to seek the bedstead whereupon he slept 
 when he was last in Leicester, and thence abstract 
 the gold. 
 
 " Give you good den, mine host !" quoth Richard ; 
 "it is some time since I enjoyed the hearty welcome 
 of your roof. How well I slept that day !" 
 
 " St. Mary be our aid !" said Fillpot, " I did not 
 know you, sir. Sir Guy de Montfort said you were 
 his friend ; or that your father was his friend. That 
 is all one. What ! will you try my larder ? Pray 
 come in. There is a boar's head roasted, there are 
 dainty capons, a side of beef, a young pig boiled in 
 milk, no end of pheasants, woodcocks, partridges 
 and teal. And so you seek Sir Guy .? All's one ; 
 come in and taste my fare. A supper such as mine 
 will hardly be in waiting at the castle." 
 
 Richard entered, and informed his host that he had 
 b3en ill some time, and had only recently been able 
 to get about : that having missed his way he would 
 gladly avail himself of his (Fillpot's) invitation, and 
 even, should the room be disengaged, sleep a night 
 in the " old bed." 
 
 Fillpot changed colour. "Ay, indeed," he said, 
 " the room is at your service, gentle sir, for since — 
 
140 Richard IV, 
 
 you know who — slept there, no person save yourself 
 has had the nerve to seek to pass the night there !" 
 
 So Richard begged the host to show him to the 
 chamber, and when he had withdrawn he threw 
 himself upon his knees beside the bed which had so 
 often been his father's resting-place. 
 
 " Oh my dear father !" he exclaimed, "what mock- 
 ery of fate to give thee to me for so brief a time — just 
 seen, then lost for ever ! But what a father ! In 
 that brief, hurried interview I saw more in King 
 Richard than other sons who live their mortal lives 
 beside their parents' elbow see of their fathers. I 
 should not complain, but I am weary of my life. 
 Plantagenet ! Oh could I see thee once again, if only 
 for a moment, I would gladly yield up every other 
 good that life can give, and be a gainer in the bargain. 
 Thou hast commanded me to seek obscurity. I will 
 obey — yet there is something in me ever crying, 
 ' Onward, Plantagenet !' that makes me feel as though 
 it were impossible to be obscure." 
 
 After this impassioned speech, which breathed 
 much of the spirit of the time, he, remembering his 
 monkish education, repeated the Latin prayers of the 
 Church for that hour of the day, and then arose from 
 his knees refreshed. He then made some slight 
 change in his dress, and went down to supper. 
 
 Hardly had he left the room when from behind 
 the arras stepped the jester. No idiot look was there, 
 no half-crazed leer was on his countenance. Nothing 
 but cunning was expressed. Carefully he sought 
 
At Leicester. 141 
 
 the door, assured himself that nobody was near, then 
 from the arras he drew forth a robe of white with 
 crimson streaks all down the front, and then what 
 seemed a human head, severed from a corpse. This 
 he took lightly in his hand ; it was a hollow mask of 
 pasteboard constructed to cover the whole head. He 
 made this into a small bundle with the mantle and 
 then exclaimed aloud : " Nay, I ghost it no longer. 
 If the lawful son knows not the trick of the bedstead, 
 and, when alone, falls on his knees and raves about 
 King Richard, what chance have I, who am no son 
 of Plantagenet (for which the saints be praised !), to 
 find out such a secret as doubtless never did exist ? 
 what a fool I am !— But such a fool as this I'll be 
 no more; my ghostly garments I will throw away, 
 and let men sleep in comfort in the room." 
 
 So saying he undid the lattice-window, and 
 watching his opportunity, flung his bundle out into 
 a little garden where it was entirely concealed by 
 plants. Then he opened the room door and, descend- 
 ing by the ordinary staircase, sauntered with his usual 
 dancing gait out of the front door into the garden, 
 where he picked up his bundle and disappeared. 
 
 Richard meanwhile attacked the viands. Boy 
 nature is the same in every century, and there comes 
 a time when the most romantic, sentimental, penny- 
 dreadful reading bd^, forgetting all the horrors of 
 his book, attacks his beef or mutton with as much 
 goodwill as any country bumpkin, who knows not 
 how to spell. 
 
142 Richard IV. 
 
 Mine host contrived to make the evening pleasant. 
 He knew the art to make tis guests feel quite 
 at home and happy. By very dexterous side- 
 allusions he contrived to let the stripling learn that 
 he (mine host) knew all about him, knew of his 
 royal sire, knew of his sudden hopes and sudden 
 disappointment. And this in such a way — so 
 natural, so pleasant — as not to give our hero any 
 cause to feel offended or annoyed. 
 
 After a sumptuous meal, such as the boy had only 
 once partaken of, he drew his purse and asked 
 how much he had to pay, and was surprised to 
 find how small a charge was made. Retiring for 
 the night, he said : " I must advise good Galprey 
 and his wife to come up here. Methinks mine host 
 would board them cheaper than they live, and 
 give them wine and venison instead of bread and 
 water !" 
 
 John Fillpot left him at the chamber-door and, 
 wishing him a fair good-night and gentle dreams, 
 withdrew. 
 
 It was a spacious room, all hung with arras. On 
 the broad hearth a mighty blaze went roaring up 
 the chimney, singing its song of power to the skies. 
 A small lamp hanging from the roof made the 
 strange figures on the tapestry look rather more 
 distinct and lifelike than they did by day, the sun- 
 light quite destroying the illusion. 
 
 Up to this moment Richard had forgotten his sire's 
 direction about the treasure hidden within the bed- 
 
At Leicester, 143 
 
 stead, so he had taken no more steps towards finding 
 it than securing this room to sleep in. But by 
 accident he let his pouch or gipsire fall, in which 
 his purse was placed. The clinking of the coins 
 brought back his father's statement to his mind. 
 
 He drew his dagger, and thrust it in the door-post 
 to serve as bolt and bar. He then removed the 
 mattress, then looked carefully along the beams on 
 which the mattress rested, and found at last the 
 flower, correctly carved the distance of a span from 
 the extremity. He pressed the flower, out flew 
 the side of what had seemed a solid beam, and 
 showed a hollow full of golden coins. Six hundred 
 angels were concealed within that wondrous bed! 
 He took them, and by means of strips of linen torn 
 from the upper sheet he tied them in a bundle. 
 The coins which had been left of those King 
 Richard gave him remained within the gipsire, 
 which he placed beneath his pillow, and threw him- 
 self without undressing, on the bed. 
 
 Soon Richard fell asleep, and we must leave him 
 to look after Dousterfeldt. 
 
 Sir Guy had given orders to convey this worthy 
 down to the lowest dungeons of the keep, and 
 here he lay some time inactive, half stunned or 
 stupefied to see the dismal trick that fate had 
 seemed to play him. How he cursed Sir Guy ! 
 Down in that dismal vault the rays of light were 
 few, his food the coarsest. At last his eye grew 
 so accustomed to the gloom, that he found he 
 
144 Richard IV, 
 
 could employ his sight, and then, one day, in 
 making explorations round his den, he struck 
 against a stone set looser in the wall than any in 
 the dungeon. 
 
 By dint of many trials (for he had no tools) he 
 at last succeeded in forcing this stone out. He 
 found the next give way, so did the next, until at 
 last, with very little labour, he loosened such a space 
 as nearly corresponded to the thickness of the wall. 
 It was quite evident a former prisoner had made 
 escape that way into some place beyond the dungeon- 
 walls. 
 
 No jailer ever visited the den where Dousterfeldt 
 was placed. Above him was a hole within the roof 
 through which his food was passed, and this was 
 lowered down but once a day. 
 
 So when he found that working day by day he 
 was removing quite a heap of stones, he made a 
 mound of them against the dungeon-door, which 
 never had been opened since he entered. The pile 
 rose very high, enough to bar the door ; and patient 
 Master Dousterfeldt had comparatively soon found 
 out a secret passage leading to the courtyard of the 
 keep by which he might be freed from prison. 
 
 By dint of superhuman perseverance the exit was 
 accomplished. But the trouble now arose how to 
 leave the castle ; dressed as he was, it seemed 
 impossible. At last he hit upon a daring plan. 
 Returning to his wretched den, and picking out the 
 largest stone of those upon the heap, he softly crept 
 
At Leicester, 145 
 
 with this huge fragment first up into the court and 
 then along outside the castle-wall until he ^reached 
 the steps which we have mentioned as leading to 
 the keep. These he ascended, and on them he 
 remained until he heard a soldier come strolling 
 towards the spot. As soon as this unlucky wight 
 came near enough, the Fleming raised the stone and 
 dashed it on his head. The man fell dead beneath 
 the stroke, without a cry or sound. 
 
 It was as dark as pitch. But Dousterfeldt had 
 grown accustomed to a gloom far greater in his den. 
 He seized the soldier by the feet, and dragged him 
 to the aperture through which he had emerged. 
 He dragged him down, till quite inside the dungeon, 
 removed the clothes from the dead body, and then 
 undressed himself. He next arrayed the murdered 
 guard in his soiled prison-worn dress, and rapidly 
 assumed the dead man's habit, then once more 
 passed out, and, mingling with a troop of Montf ort's 
 men, disappeared through the gates unchallenged. 
 
 "When outside the tower, he walked on calmly up 
 to Fillpot's inn. Here he found entrance barred, but, 
 being well acquainted with the place, he scaled an 
 ivy-covered wall behind, and entered a window 
 lighting the next room to that where Richard was 
 asleep. 
 
 " I wonder," said the Fleming, " whether there be 
 truth about the bedstead story ? I will try again." 
 
 He tried his door, but found it locked. Still, 
 nothing daunted, he lifted up the arras, and behind it 
 
146 Richard IV, 
 
 found a little door which yielded to his touch. A 
 moment more, he stood within the room with 
 Richard, sleeping softly in his father's bed. The 
 fading firelight fell upon a bundle tied up in fresh- 
 torn linen. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 IN THE ^^RED DRAGON." 
 
 HE jester having now regained his bundle 
 
 containing the garments, and the hollow 
 
 head (wherewith he had enacted the odd 
 
 part which had at last succeeded in 
 
 driving from King Richard's room all guests in 
 
 search of slumber), was very much embarrassed how 
 
 to dispose of it. He finally resolved to throw it 
 
 into the river beyond the castle, which he had to 
 
 pass before he could gain the banks. 
 
 Here, however, he met some soldiers, who called 
 
 to him to come and drink and make them merry^ 
 
 and pressed him so hard that to avoid them he was 
 
 fain to turn back in affected rage. To go round 
 
 the castle seemed the only course open to him, but, 
 
 as he was endeavouring to do this, a tremendous 
 
 uproar arose within the keep; lights flashed from 
 
 a hundred torches on the walls and in the various 
 
 towers. 
 
 L 2 
 
148 Richard IV, 
 
 " Let no one pass the castle-walls !" cried the clear, 
 loud, commanding voice of good Sir Guy. "Stop 
 every pass and way. Whomsoever tries to escape, 
 slay without mercy ! " 
 
 Then guards came streaming out of various postern- 
 gates with torches, and Jankin found his retreat cut 
 off. The officer commanding one of these small 
 bodies discovered him, and bade him stand, but 
 finding who it was, discharged him, saying : 
 
 *' A prisoner hath fled, slaying a man-at-arms on 
 duty, and we have orders to arrest all loiterers near 
 the walls and to permit of no man passing them, 
 therefore, friend motley, I advise thee to return within 
 the town till morning. Who ever saw a jester with 
 a bundle ? — But that I know thee well, I had secured 
 thee prisoner !" 
 
 " Thanks, my good friend," said Jankin ; " when 
 I'm in power again I will promote thee. Adieu !" 
 
 This grandiloquent speech raised a laugh, which 
 was its object, and under cover of this laugh he fled 
 — fled like the wind back to the town again. 
 
 Confused and worried, he knew not what to do 
 with his queer burden. Soldiers were everywhere. 
 He could not bury it, he could not throw it over 
 some high wall into the garden of a house, for if he 
 were to do so, it would be discovered and betray 
 the secret of the " Ghost of Leicester," as men now 
 called the phantom which he represented. 
 
 Thus undecided, he rushed first to one place then 
 another, baffled at every turn. At last he came to 
 
In the ''Red Dragon!' 149 
 
 the resolve to hurry back to Fillpot's, to gain ad- 
 mittance by the window which opened on the yard, 
 and which, being half -concealed by ivy, was but 
 little marked. 
 
 He climbed the ivy, fixing the bundle to his belt 
 before he made the ascent. He gained the room 
 which, as we know, adjoined the chamber where 
 King Richard's bedstead stood, and here he was 
 astonished and alarmed to hear a noise as of a 
 struggle ; a faint cry met his ears, and all was still. 
 
 Instantly suspecting some foul play, the jester 
 quick as thought assumed the strange disguise by 
 means of which he had succeeded in gaining for 
 the room an evil reputation. The head, much 
 battered in its late adventures, looked ghastlier than 
 ever ; the horrid dress of white besmeared with red 
 lent a most dismal and appalling aspect to the head. 
 The jester raised the arras unobserved, and entered 
 Richard's chamber. There he observed the boy 
 lying upon the floor, stunned, as it seemed — or dead, 
 and kneeling near him was a stalwart man clad 
 in the garments used by Montfort's men, just busy 
 with a heavy bundle, which, by the failing faggot- 
 flames, he seemed untying. 
 
 Then Jankin Panns advanced on tiptoe, and raising 
 high his hand, gave the marauder so shrewd a blow 
 as stretched him on the floor. The dying flame 
 soared up with flickering light and showed him in- 
 distinctly as he fell the ghastly form of the apparent 
 spectre ! 
 
150 Richard IV. 
 
 The Fleming, who, delighted with his unexpected 
 wealth, was thinking how to dispose it in portions 
 of the habit that he wore, was unprepared for such a 
 vision as that which met his gaze. The superstition 
 of the age inclined men to believe in tales of ghosts 
 and spectres, and such false imaginings as spring up 
 lightly in all classes when the minds of men are 
 not made healthy by the wonder-working power 
 of education. Dousterfeldt w^as not timid, nor 
 was he half so superstitious as most men of his 
 time ; but this unearthly figure, made ten times more 
 unearthly by the uncertain light, and coming as it 
 did without a sound, upset the Fleming's strength of 
 mind at once — he swooned away as though he had 
 been killed in very deed. 
 
 Observing this, the jester quickly removed his 
 quaint disguise and put it in its former hiding-place ; 
 he then returned, to find young Richard fast recover- 
 ing. As we have said, the fire was almost out, but 
 near the hearth were several faggots to replenish it. 
 These Jankin flung upon the dying embers, and soon 
 a roaring blaze went rushing up the chimney, as 
 though to tell the world that a foul deed had been 
 prevented. 
 
 By this stronger light the jester found that Richard's 
 lamp had been throAvn down in the grim struggle 
 between man and boy. The gold lay all exposed, 
 the Fleming having untied the knots in which the 
 linen had been bound. The jester, with the strange 
 acuteness often shown by such half-witted people, 
 
In the ''Red Dragon'' 151 
 
 commenced a careful search in Dousterfeldt's attire 
 to see if any coins were hidden there, but he found 
 none. 
 
 He hardly had had time to be assured of this, 
 when a loud sigh, or almost sob, from Richard pro- 
 claimed him coming to himself. The jester then 
 began to chafe his hands, and pour water on his brows 
 from the tall silver ewer, when a loud knocking at 
 the hostel-door and hubbub in the street proclaimed 
 the advent of De Montfort's men. 
 
 Absorbed in care of Richard, who was recovering 
 fast, the jester took no heed of any other object 
 than his late master's son, whom he now placed upon 
 the bed, which, from the search for gold just made by 
 Richard and his struggle with the Fleming, looked 
 more disorderly than any bed in England. Richard 
 was dressed, for after supper he had flung him- 
 self uj)on his knees in prayer, then sought the 
 secret hollow in the frame of dead King Rich- 
 ard's bedstead. We know he packed the gold it 
 yielded in the torn fragment of the sheet. He then, 
 without undressing, had lain down to ponder further 
 action, and then he fell asleep, to be awakened by 
 the noise the Fleming made in letting fall some 
 gold. He started up and flew at the intruder as 
 Richard the First, the Lion Hearted, might have 
 done. And it had caused the foreign scoundrel no 
 slight labour to overcome the lad. 
 
 When Richard's eyes fell on the jester's face, he 
 cried, " Open the door, good Jankin PannS; mine 
 
152 Richard IV, 
 
 host ! What men are they there knocking ? Admit 
 them ; there has been foul play, as base as base can 
 be ! Let not the hound escape !" 
 
 Acting on Richard's suggestion, the jester ap- 
 proached the door of the chamber leading to the 
 corridor, and seeing the dagger thrust into the door- 
 post as a fastening, withdrew it. 
 
 Instantly a strong hand seized him from behind, 
 for Dousterfeldt, recovering from his swoon, had 
 lain and watched the jester's actions. He saw the 
 dagger, and in it a means of self-defence, so, rushing 
 forwards, had sought to gain possession of the 
 weapon ; but Jankin was a tall and powerful 
 fellow, as we have said already, and it was not an 
 easy task to overcome him. A second struggle now 
 commenced. They wrestled, tugged, and fought 
 like two grim bears at play upon the ice ! Then, on 
 a sudden, the now unfastened door was opened and 
 a band of armed men burst in. 
 
 Despite his protestations they seized the jester, 
 but on Richard's declaring that the other man must 
 be escaping, they searched behind the arras, every- 
 where — in vain. 
 
 During the struggle Richard had contrived to 
 gather up the gold and hide it in the bedclothes, and 
 had succeeded in concealing all th^ sum before John 
 Fillpot came. 
 
 When the stout host appeared upon the scene, he 
 cried: "How now, my masters! What a coil is 
 here ! How dare ye trouble my respected guests ? 
 By all the prime canary in my cellar (and that's a 
 
In the ''Red Dragon^ 153 
 
 mighty oath), if ye but harm a hair of that boy '8 
 head, ye never more touch stoup or flagon here ! I 
 tell thee he is son to my best benefactor. I will not 
 see him harmed ! And harkye, soldiers, I can tell 
 you this : small thanks will violence to him. bring 
 you from Sir Guy ! And so I warn you." 
 
 As these words were spoken there was a clatter 
 in the court before the good old inn. A knight 
 rode up accompanied by two esquires, a page or 
 two, and twenty men-at-arms with bills, gisarms,. 
 axes, maces, spears, but not in armour, for there was 
 no fighting going on, therefore they had no occasion 
 for their harness, as armour then was called. 
 
 Sir Guy rode up and, rapidly dismounting, entered 
 the inn and sprang up the stairs to the chamber 
 where those things had taken place which we have 
 just recorded. 
 
 *' What ho, there, Fillpot ! — Host, where art thou ? 
 What a house is this ! Do murderers and cut-throats 
 haunt thine inn ? This must be seen to !" 
 
 " Sir Guy de Montfort ! — as I am a sinner I know 
 no more of this than you. His son of whom you 
 wot, the" — he added something in a whisper that 
 made the good knight start as though he had been 
 shot. 
 
 " What ?" he exclaimed — " young . . ." 
 
 " Yes, Sir Guy, young Trevor." 
 
 The knight strode forward to where Eichard sat 
 full sadly on his bed, in which he had concealed his 
 father's gold ; and we must mention that it was no 
 love of gold that caused him thus to guard it with 
 
154 Richard IV. 
 
 8uch care, but it had teen his father's^ and therefore 
 was he ready to shed his life if need be to protect 
 that treasure which had been bequeathed by Richard. 
 
 De Montfort came into the room accompanied by 
 one who held a waxen taper. He came to Richard 
 with excited stride. " How now, young sir !" he 
 cried ; " what means all this disturbance bred by 
 thee P" 
 
 " Disturbance bred by me. Sir Knight ! I see not 
 how that well may be. I was asleep, when one clad 
 in such livery as those about you wear appeared be- 
 fore me, and would fain have robbed me of the few 
 coins I own, left by mine honoured father. So, if 
 the talk be touching the cause of this disturbance, I 
 should say rather that a member of your band had been 
 to blame than a poor orphan who was fast asleep !" 
 
 " Whither has this soldier fled who seems to wear 
 my colours ?" 
 
 " I know not. I was sore maltreated by him, and 
 might have now been murdered but for the timely 
 aid of a poor jester whom I had known long since." 
 
 " Where is the jester ?" 
 
 " He left the chamber just before you entered." 
 
 "Well, we must find him, and the would-be 
 m.urderer too. I marvel much that such a youth as 
 thou shouldst have a foe so willing to despatch thee ! 
 — This must be looked to further. Thy rest has been 
 disturbed, thyself affrighted, and other wrong been 
 done. I am inclined to think the hand that sought 
 thy life has murdered one of my retainers. To- 
 
In the ''Red Dragon!' 155 
 
 morrow I shall ask thee to the Castle ; to-night we 
 must look everywhere to find the rogue. But thou 
 art weary. Undress and go to bed. I will plant 
 sentries in the corridor, in the adjoining room, and 
 round the hostelrie in every part, so sleep in peace. 
 To-morrow we speak further." 
 
 " Sir Knight, undress I will not. I am a soldier's 
 son, and care not for such delicacy. But I would 
 gladly stay in this fair chamber." 
 
 " That shall be at thy will." 
 
 "Full many thanks. Now will you grant me 
 something .... ?'' 
 
 " What is it I can do ?" 
 
 " Give me a sword, for I am weaponless." 
 
 Sir Guy undid his belt, which bore his " walking 
 sword," a weapon lighter than the battle blade, and 
 gave it to our hero. Then he said : " A fair good- 
 night. Sleep soundly — thou wilt be in safety." 
 
 "Good-night, Sir Guy. To-morrow I am with 
 you." 
 
 Montfort closed the door and instituted a rigorous 
 search all through the house, but without result, 
 until his men, examining the wall behind the 
 hangings of the room adjoining Richard's, found a 
 second door. They opened this, and by the aid of 
 one of Fillpot's tapers discovered there, between the 
 arras and the wall in Richard's room (to which the 
 small door led), a curious heap of things. A dress 
 or robe of white with strips of red sewn in to look 
 like streams of blood. A hollow head of pasteboard, 
 
156 Richard IV. 
 
 strangely painted to resemble a very hideous face, 
 and this had been much battered. 
 
 " So please your honour," said the officer in 
 charge of the first party, and who now was guiding 
 these researches with De Montfort, " so please you, 
 the people tell me that the foreign stranger who 
 killed Ned Thorn and fled, was seen to be provided 
 with a bundle. Of course no man can judge from 
 whence he took it ! Belike he was the man who 
 played such antics in this chamber as frightened 
 half the country round !" 
 
 " Most strange !" De Montfort said. " But what 
 could be his motive ? He is no man to play such 
 tricks for sport : of that we may be certain. But 
 if he was observed, of course we must accept it as a 
 new fact for our examination. One thing is safe, I 
 give a prize of twenty angels to him who finds this 
 man." 
 
 The whole night through the soldiers searched and 
 watched, but all in vain ; the Fleming seemed as hope- 
 lessly lost sight of as though he had but been a 
 wreath of mist assuming human shape, then vanish- 
 ing as if it never had existed. 
 
 And Richard did not sleep. He packed the coins 
 with care, and made a solid bundle of them wrapped 
 round with strips of linen, which he again enveloped 
 in a small piece of stouter canvas torn from the 
 under portion of the lining of the bedstead. 
 
 When morning came, our hero was all ready to 
 depart with Montf ort's men, but begged to be allowed 
 
In the '' Red Dragon!' 157 
 
 to pay a visit to certain friends he had just near the 
 Eastern or St. Mary's Gate. 
 
 The officer, however, would not give consent. 
 V " Fair youth," he said, *« Sir Guy de Montfort laid 
 commands on us by no means to lose sight of you, 
 and further, that we should meet him in the Castle 
 by seven of the clock. I ask you, therefore, to beg 
 him let you go whither you please when we have 
 done our duty and ceased our charge of you." 
 " Am I a prisoner ?" 
 
 " Not that I know of, but this I know, my head is 
 pledged for your fair safety. I am not, therefore, 
 likely to lose sight of you !" 
 
 When Richard had discharged his reckoning, he 
 drew his host aside, and thus addressed him : 
 
 " Good Fillpot, I had reason to believe there was 
 some secret in that sleeping room ; I pulled the bed 
 about and tore the sheets, doing much damage ; I 
 pray thee, therefore, to accept four angels in payment 
 for the mischief, and I beseech thee, do not give 
 that room to any chance and unknown guests. I 
 cannot tell thee all I would, but I would fain be 
 certain that yonder bed was never used at all !" 
 
 " Fair sir, it shall be seen to, and at least I promise 
 thee that room shall be the very last I give away." 
 
 " Thanks, good John Fillpot ; but there is another 
 favour. Canst thou not lend me such a cloak as 
 that the horsemen wear ? I have a bundle which 
 I want to carry unseen of any of my guards. The 
 cloak I will return to-morrow." 
 
158 Richard IV. 
 
 " Aye, marry, I have such a cloak with the wide 
 sleeves King Richard loved, and cut with dags all 
 round. A very handsome garment, at your service." 
 The cloak was then produced, tried on, and found 
 to be everything that heart could wish, and Richard 
 ascended to the chamber and there bound round 
 him the well-filled bundle he had made, keeping 
 some pieces in his gipsire or hanging pouch that 
 answered as a pocket. Over this he flung the 
 garment lent him by Fillpot, so it was quite con- 
 cealed. 
 
 He had just completed his arrangements when 
 his door was opened, and Jankin Panns danced 
 in with his cap and bells, looking as spick 
 and span as though they had been purchased 
 yesterday. The dancing, mincing gait of this queer 
 specimen of poor humanity was singularly out of 
 keeping with his stalwart frame and muscular 
 appearance. Trifling and jesting in a little fellow 
 never are becoming, but in a big one they are 
 still more out of place. He simpered daintily as 
 he said ; 
 
 '* Nuncle ! Thou will never be a wise man." 
 
 " Why not, Jankin Panns .?" 
 
 *' Because thou art too proud to take a fool's advice." 
 
 " What counsel of thine have I slighted ?" 
 
 " Marry, hast thou not taken garments from mine 
 host instead of asking mine ? — I tell thee thou 
 shouldst wear motley." 
 
 " I thank thee, Jankin, but am not a fool." 
 
In the '' Red Dr agony 159 
 
 *' Ha, ha, ha ! The fool is known by his folly, as a 
 "Wise man by his wisdom ! And what wise man, to 
 save the sheep he loves, would take it to the wolf for 
 safer custodj^ ?" 
 
 *' Poor friend, I fear thy brain is wandering !" 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! Brains, quotha ! If I had brains I 
 should be a wise man, taking my last pet lamb to the 
 wolf ! — or my father's last gift in money to the head 
 of a pack of cut-throats ! — a man who, as soon as 
 his lord is dead, goes over to the enemy ! 'Tis a mad 
 world, my masters. Farewell, Nuncle ! I will carve 
 thee a bauble — such as this — but more like some- 
 body's father who was somebody Farewell, 
 
 Nuncks. Commend me to the motley !" 
 
 The mixture of shrewdness and almost idiotcy of 
 this speech was not lost on Richard, who resolved, 
 however, to entrust Sir Guy with the secret of his 
 possessions. 
 
 A brilliant morning shone upon the arms of the 
 men as the cavalcade rode away from the "Red 
 Dragon" Inn (formerly the " Silver Boar"), now re- 
 named in honour of the badge foolishly assumed by 
 Henry Tudor. They trotted pleasantly along, chatting 
 carelessly as they went. Yet were they in won- 
 derful good discipline and marvellously trained to 
 do what their commander bade. Richard remarked 
 this witli extreme delight as they approached the 
 castle, performing certain evolutions which aston- 
 ished him beyond all measure by their accuracy. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE CASTELLAN. 
 
 ASS we over all the forms observed in 
 introducing Richard to the hold ; suf&ce 
 it to say that he was treated with respect, 
 but somewhat coldly, as if the squires 
 and soldiers rather resented his appearance, but 
 dared not show an unkind feeling openly. 
 
 He was taken by the staircase up which we have 
 seen the Fleming go, into another room than that we 
 saw before ; this was not so large as that where 
 Dousterfeldt had been, but it was comfortably 
 furnished (for that period). The floor was strewn 
 with rushes, a fire blazed brightly on the hearth ; 
 the arras, which was thick and very gaily worked, 
 looked warm and cosy. There were some heavy, 
 high-backed oaken chairs about the room, and in the 
 centre stood a square and massive oaken table, black 
 as a coal from age. On this were many papers, 
 
The Castellan, i6i 
 
 an ink-horn, and a bunch of pens cut ready to the 
 hand. 
 
 Sitting near the fire was Sir Guy de Montf ort, and 
 in his hand he held a volume which not many years 
 ago had issued from the press of Caxton. It was a 
 treatise on the game of chess : not showing how to 
 play the noble game, but moralising on the moves 
 and pieces used. 
 
 The good knight seemed more puzzled than amused. 
 Reading was not his forte, and the " new " volume 
 caused him bitter toil to understand at all. He was 
 a warrior and, in his little way, a statesman, but 
 the book was clearly more than a match for him. 
 
 When Richard was shown in, De Montf ort did not 
 raise his eyes from his unwonted task, but kept on 
 reading until the lad had been some minutes in his 
 presence. Then he laid down his book, and looking 
 at our hero, said to the officer or constable who 
 brought him : " So this is he, I see. Thanks, 
 Umphreville, thou canst withdraw." 
 
 So the officer commanding the party retired with 
 the guards, and when the door was closed upon them, 
 Sir Guy arose. First of all he opened the door again, 
 to be assured that none were near, reclosed it, drew 
 the huge iron bolts, then let fall the heavy arras 
 over it. This done, he returned to where Richard 
 was standing near the blazing fire. 
 
 " My dear young friend," said Montfort, " do not 
 take my roughness in bad part. It is a dangerous 
 thing for thee to be acknowledged as the son of 
 
 M 
 
1 62 Richard IV, 
 
 Richard. For myself I care but little ; tliou art 
 most in danger. If thou remain unknown I still 
 may aid thee, which I will do with my heart's 
 blood for love of thy dead father. But not a soul, 
 beyond the Lady Alice, must know what kin thou 
 art. My men are unsuspicious, and seeing I was 
 somewhat rough to thee, they are, as I think, 
 safe. But now thou must inform me of thy plans. 
 I thought thee dead on Bosworth Field, and in very 
 sooth thy safety lies therein that men should think 
 thee dead. What are thy plans ?" 
 
 " What plans can I have formed. Sir Guy ? My 
 royal father charged me that sad night to enter, 
 should fate decide against his arms, an humble 
 sphere of life, and never seek the greatness he had 
 won. First, I return the sword which you so kindly 
 lent me, with my thanks. Next, I would ask you 
 where to place this gold. He gave it me, and I was 
 bound therefore to take it ; but now I have it, I 
 know not what to do with it." 
 
 So saying, Richard threw off Fillpot*s cloak and 
 showed the bundle with the store of gold bound 
 round his waist. He then unclasped the sword and 
 laid it on the table. 
 
 " Now," he said, " I have only to return the 
 tapster's cloak and then I shall feel freer — I love 
 not borrowed plumes. As to my plans, I think the 
 best would be, either to hie me back to Faversham, 
 or enter the Grey-Friars' Monastery here at Leices- 
 ter, where I might ever be as near as possible 
 
¥ 
 
 The Castellan, 163 
 
 to those poor dead remains of my late royal 
 
 kfather.'' 
 , " Nay, Richard, talk not thus. Though thou art dead 
 Id all the world as yet, it does not follow that thy 
 lather's son shall not ere long be seated on a throne. 
 There is much discontent with Harry Tudor, and 
 who knows what may happen ? In the meantime, 
 however, should but a breath be heard as to thy 
 lineage and hopes, there would be rapid work and 
 sharp to move thee from the path of him who wears 
 thy crown." 
 
 " But, good Sir Guy ! I never wished . . . ." 
 
 " Nay, hear me out, Plantagenet ; I have still more 
 to say. My wife, the Lady Alice, has been absent 
 visiting her father, who was a friend to Richard. 
 Thou shalt at once to her : she will advise us. Come 
 to the bower with me." 
 
 In the old time, when first the English came to 
 Britain, the ancient name for those apartments where 
 the women lived was " Bur," or bower. This name 
 was still retained when Norman hate caused castles 
 to spring up all over England, but it was disappear- 
 ing — had become quite an old-fashioned word when 
 Edward the Fourth was king, so rarely was it used. 
 
 Then the knight led Richard to another door, 
 
 through which they passed into a corridor ; and at 
 
 the end of this an open door was seen, disclosing a 
 
 fair, bright chamber lighted by four small windows. 
 
 The walls were hung with arras, the floor was strewn 
 
 with rushes. At one end was a dais or platform on 
 
 m2 
 
164 . Richard IV, 
 
 which a table stood, at which was seated a very 
 lovely lady. Round her, grouped in pleasing bands, 
 were many damsels ; others were busy in the 
 room itself, engaged in making tapestry, the usual 
 occupation of high-born ladies of the time. The 
 Lady Alice was herself engaged in pointing out to 
 one of these fair maidens some error in her work ; 
 for in those days it was the custom, after some 
 little (often very little) learning had been gained 
 in a convent-school, for girls of noble families to 
 complete their education by being placed with 
 ladies famed for knowledge of the arts required. 
 The sons of noble families were in the same way 
 educated. First, they were taught some reading in a 
 monastery ; then they were placed with knights, re- 
 nowned in war, to learn the usages of good society, 
 and to become in their turn squires and knights and 
 doughty soldiers. 
 
 " Ah, Guy ! my husband ! whom hast thou brought 
 ns hither ? — a boy in Bower ! Nay, that is some- 
 what strange. There must be news abroad. What 
 is it. Knight ?" 
 
 *' Dear lady, 1 have brought to thee the son of an 
 old friend, and in my eagerness to bring him hither 
 I quite forgot the maidens ! — 1 would fain have 
 speech with thee." 
 
 The lady made a sign, there was a rustle and a 
 little tittering among the girls, but in an instant 
 they were gone. 
 
 "Ha!" said the knight, "thy discipline is sharp, 
 
The Castellan, 165 
 
 fair lady. My men are not in such good training ! 
 Nay, I must learn of thee how to command in 
 future." 
 
 " Well, Guy, now tell me, what's the matter ? Who 
 is this springald at whose near approach my doves 
 must all take wing ? Son of a friend of thine ? 
 Then he is welcome. Come to the dais, fair sir, and 
 be at home." 
 
 " Well, that is kindly said. Now counsel me what 
 shall I do with him ?" 
 
 " That all depends. Sir Guy, on who he is. Son of 
 a friend of thine would point to gentle blood ; but 
 what especial rank his birth may give, whether 
 below or higher than thine own, I have no clue to 
 knowing. Lives his father? Do I know his 
 mother V 
 
 " His birth is better even than thine own, sweet 
 wife. His father's strain was of the highest. He 
 fell on Bosworth Field." 
 
 The lady started with a look of awe. "No," 
 she exclaimed, "dear Guy, not — surely not the 
 king !" 
 
 " The king himself, — Richard, the third so named." 
 
 "Oh, now I understand. This was the great, 
 mysterious charge that called thee oft to Faversham. 
 Now I see it all. Yes, he is very like his father." 
 
 " And like his mother too, dear Alice. I saw them 
 wed, and knew her well, — a very saintly woman. 
 Now, what are we to do with him ? If it takes wind 
 that he is living still, he will not be so long ! The 
 
1 66 Richard IV. 
 
 Tudor king would gladly have him in his clutches, 
 and then — good-night to Richard." 
 
 " It would be best to make a page of him. Purvey 
 him fitting dress and take him in thy train. He is 
 a stalwart youth. What do you say, young sir ? — I 
 may not say young 'prince^ though that is seen 
 through all disguisements. Will you be page to 
 stout Sir Guy de Montfort ?" 
 
 " You are too good to me. It would be the very 
 thing for me, and I would serve you faithfully." 
 
 " Then I accept thee, Richard, of my train," said 
 Montfort. "The question now is thy equipment. 
 Thy present garments scarce beseem thy standing 
 as a page, still less as son of ... . well, that of course 
 is secret, so thou shalt enter rather as my lady's page 
 than mine, the better to avert suspicion. Eh, Alice ?" 
 
 " Yea, Sir Guy. He shall be my page first and then 
 thy squire, then a knight, and then — who knows the 
 future ?" 
 
 The knight here clapped his hands, when a sedate 
 and somewhat surly matron entered from a little 
 door beside the dais, and bowing low, remained 
 before the knight and lady, as waiting their com- 
 mands. 
 
 " Good Martha," said the knight, " I prythee send 
 a messenger at once to bid the seneschal attend me 
 in the Eastern chamber : I would have speech with 
 him. And hark ye, this gentle youth, son of thy lady's 
 friend, enters the train at once. See him well served ; 
 bestow him well as one of high condition." 
 
The Castellan. 167 
 
 The matron then withdrew. When she had gone^ 
 the knight arose and thanked his lady for her 
 ready aid. He then withdrew with Richard, return- 
 ing to the chamber where he at first received the 
 lad. The bundle of gold angels lay upon the table. 
 Then said the knight : 
 
 " Ho ! we are not like merchants ! we forget the 
 gold ; but we must hide it, lest rapacious minds 
 should seek to ease us of it e'en before the time, 
 and blacken their own souls by theft. Come thou 
 with me." 
 
 The knight now led our hero to the sleeping- 
 room, the "chamber," as it then was called, and 
 at the foot of such a massive bed as that of late 
 possessed by Richard, opened the " hutch,'^ or coffer 
 where the money of the household was generally 
 kept. We have described this curious piece of furni- 
 ture when speaking of the Duke of Buckingham, 
 some chapters back. 
 
 Sir Guy placed Richard's gold within this " hutch," 
 then took some ten or twelve broad pieces from his 
 store and gave them to the boy. 
 
 " Now, Richard, thou must be careful, but yet not 
 niggardly. There are many cases where a little gold 
 may do a youth much service. I would not have 
 thee gamble or use thy money foolishly, but keep 
 it in thy gipsire for thy need." 
 
 He then closed up the hutch, locked all the pon- 
 derous locks, and placing the huge key within his 
 pouch, returned with Richard to the Eastern room. 
 
1 68 Richard IV. 
 
 Here there was knocking at the outer door, which 
 Montfort straightway opened to admit his seneschcil, 
 or steward of the household. 
 
 " Ho ! Master Grimes ! this is a goodly coil. An my 
 stout door were not of solid oak, there had been none 
 left, by my fay ! Come in and sit you down.'* 
 
 " What is your pleasure, good Sir Guy ? One of 
 the people told me I was wanted, and behold me 
 here ! " 
 
 '* Behold this youth. Sir Seneschal ; he is the son 
 of one I loved and honoured greatly. Enter his 
 name upon the roll of pages in my train. Provide 
 him first with fitting dress, and see that he is well 
 received below. Array him in the choicest weed 
 that thou canst suit him with. He is of old nobility, 
 but at my wish assumes the humble style of Master 
 Richard Trevor. It would be better thou shouldst 
 introduce him than I. For this I have my reasons : 
 he must learn to know his equals on an equal 
 footing. Now see my wishes carried out ; see him 
 instructed in the use of arms ; see that he rides a 
 full-blood battle-steed, and wields a sword and axe 
 as well as any man-at-arms among us." 
 
 "Is it your pleasure that he joins the train to- 
 day r 
 
 "Nay, he must rest from certain great fatigues 
 which he has undergone, and that will give thee 
 time to find a fitting dress." 
 
 The serjeschal bowed and departed. 
 
 Much pleasant conversation followed between the 
 
The Castellan, 1 69 
 
 knight and Richard, who was not introduced to his 
 companions until his page's suit was ready. 
 
 But this occurred in time, and Richard was 
 arrayed as fairly as the wealthiest of the train ; 
 so, when he joined the other lads, there was no room 
 for them to jeer and jape and flout at his attire, as 
 was in those days rather much the fashion with the 
 young. There was that in Richard's bearing which 
 endeared him to the train almost at once. He was 
 at home immediately. 
 
 A new life opened to the lad. The spirit of all 
 the Plantagenets seemed to revive in him. It had 
 been suppressed at Faversham, but it had not been 
 quelled, and now, in this congenial sphere of action, 
 he was *' himself again." He mastered all the art of 
 self-defence, practised the attack with sword and 
 lance, with mace and battle-axe ; nor was the bow 
 forgotten, although not deemed a knightly weapon ; 
 but Richard liked it, and soon became almost as 
 skilled an archer as he was a swordsman. He learnt 
 the way to hunt with falcons, and how to launch 
 them on their prey. But, like his royal father, he 
 loved his sword the best of his possessions. 
 
 Then Sir Guy would teach him the names of all 
 the various portions of the castle, together with their 
 uses, such as the loopholes in the walls made for the 
 archers to discharge their shafts, themselves remain- 
 ing hidden, and so forth. He learnt how to arrange 
 the cumbrous machines wherewith the ponderous 
 porcullis was raised on high, or dropped sliding in 
 
170 Richard IV, 
 
 its grooves. He saw them raise the drawbridge over 
 the castle-moat which circled round the outer bailey. 
 Beyond the drawbridge was the barbican, a gate of 
 strong protection to the bridge, on either side of which 
 a sturdy turret frowned. He learnt the use of those 
 uncanny holes made in the high, projecting portions 
 of the towers, through which the boiling oil, the 
 molten lead, and other dreadful things were poured 
 down on the heads of such assailants as came too near 
 the walls. Above these holes, called the machicola- 
 tions, arose the merlons : these, he learnt, were to pro- 
 tect the men who, through the embrasures between 
 them, sent shafts or hurled their missiles on the foe. 
 He marked the inner bailey surrounding the fair gar- 
 den and giving strong protection to the keep or chief 
 strong tower, with its bastions and turrets pierced 
 with loopholes ; and higher up, the windows lighting 
 up the state apartments and rooms belonging to the 
 castellan. 
 
 The knight explained these things and more to 
 Richard, who lent a willing ear to all his teachings. 
 Who can describe his joy when, running at the ring,. 
 he gained the prize from the fair hands of gentle 
 Lady Alice ? She was the queen of that small court, 
 and well she acted as a mother to our boy. 
 
 But though the body was thus cared for, the mind 
 was not forgotten. The good old chaplain of the 
 castle. Father Randulphus (Randolph was his name 
 ere he became a monk), received the charge to see 
 that Richard had his due proportion of book learning. 
 
The Castella7i, 171 
 
 " He hath been much neglected," said the knight^ 
 who took no little pride in his own learning, " but 
 he is very good. Comes of a fighting stock, good 
 Father, and therefore not disposed to too much 
 erudition. But still I make no doubt that under thy 
 good training he will do credit to thy care. I fain, 
 would know that he could read and write as well — 
 or nearly so — as I. Then, my good friend and Father, 
 he should know the holy ofSces in the pure tongue 
 of Rome. He should be able to repeat his Psalter, 
 to read the sacred 'vangils in the Latin, and thus be^ 
 trained in heart and head as fits a gentleman." 
 
 The lessons were commenced, and, much to the 
 surprise of the good Father Randolph, the pupil made 
 such progress as made the teacher think him half- 
 inspired. There was no trouble with the " Mc^ hcec^ 
 hoc.''' He learnt his five declensions and the verbs as 
 though it were but sport to study them. And so in 
 sooth it was — knowing them well already. But 
 Randolph was a scholar of the deepest kind, and 
 finding Richard willing, led him judiciously through 
 the fair garden of the ancient writers. 
 
 There was a good library in Leicester Castle, of 
 manuscripts in good condition ; and much it pleased 
 the young and ardent Richard to copy out these 
 writings. There were superb illuminations, as they 
 were called, of all the capital letters, and these he 
 copied very accurately, so that indeed no man could 
 tell his work from the original. 
 
 How the Father Randolph stared at this pro- 
 
172 Richard IV, 
 
 ficiency ! for the good knight had warned the boy 
 to be discreet, and not to say a word about the 
 monastery. 
 
 Thus Richard learnt the pleasant art of painting 
 quaint and curious figures in the manuscripts he 
 copied : an art which, later on, stood him in right 
 good stead, as we shall see anon. 
 
 And all this time did he forget the Galpreys, who 
 had nursed him in his need ? By no means. He 
 would visit them whenever time allowed, and they 
 were bettered by his visits ; for Montfort had them 
 cared for fittingly, and caused a handsome house 
 outside the castle walls to be prepared for them and 
 given them rent free. He also gave them such an 
 annual sum as raised them above want. 
 
 And here our hero loved to retire from the din 
 and bustle of the tilt-yard, and hold sweet converse 
 with the good old souls who loved his father's 
 memory. Thither, too, came Jankin Panns at odd 
 and unexpected times, and always with fresh news. 
 On one of these occasions Richard found him there, 
 looking more strange than ever. When he espied 
 iihe lad approaching, he threw his fool's cap high into 
 the air, and, in the fashion of the modern clown, 
 caught it again upon his head, which he then wagged 
 in pleasure. 
 
 " A mad, mad world, my masters ! A world turned 
 upside down ! Seest thou, Nuncle Dickon, thy late 
 father had a shrewish end from this same Harry 
 Tudor, who spread besides such lies about him living 
 
The Castellan. 173 
 
 that men should loathe his memory when dead ! 
 ^Yell, behold this Harry when upon the throne to 
 which his sword had raised him — or the swords of 
 others, rather : for he is something squeamish, as men 
 siiy, about the use of weapons — well, this same con- 
 queror finds out he has a conscience, and shows the 
 malady by ordering a tomb for Richard, of various- 
 coloured marble ! Now what cares Richard for a 
 marble tomb when he is once beneath it ? I trow 
 it is all one, tomb or no tomb, to Richard's bones ! 
 But it will show the people of the land that there is 
 more within that tomb than bones and poor dry 
 dust !" 
 
 " What is within ?" asked Richard, eagerly. 
 
 " The conscience of the Tudor, Nuncle — that lies 
 buried here ; and trust me, I will bet my bauble on 
 it, that the dead Richard from his lowly tomb at 
 Leicester does Henry far more harm than Richard's 
 sword had wrought had he been living yet ! 'Tis a 
 mad world, my masters, when dead men's bones are 
 more revered than the live men Avho owned them ! " 
 
 Richard was much affected by the jester's news, 
 which, although conveyed in so grotesque a form, 
 had much of wisdom and reflection. 
 
 " Thou art a trusty friend, good Jankin Panns, to 
 love thy master dead as well as living !" 
 
 " Hush, Nuncle ! Tliou a clever fellow ! Nay, by 
 my bauble, thou shouldst wear the cap and bells. To 
 talk like that is almost treason to thy salt and 
 porridge I" 
 
174 Richard IV, 
 
 " How so, Jankin Panns ?" 
 
 " Why, there be some whose porridge is well 
 stirred, who fought for Richard living and serve the 
 Tudor now he's dead. But that's all one if the 
 porridge only fattens, — eh, Nuncle ?" 
 
 This turn to the conversation grievously hurt our 
 hero in the most tender spot — jealousy of his 
 father's memory. Of course he understood the 
 jester to allude to Montfort, but so deeply sank the 
 shaft that he could not answer. He turned upon 
 his heel and left the house. 
 
 " 'Tis a good lad, I trow. Master Galprey, but he 
 should wear the cap and bells, not I. Yet he is not 
 so bitter foolish, since he can make a servant of the 
 House of Tudor show favour to the *son' of York. 
 By-bye, good neighbours ! 'Tis a mad world, my 
 masters I" 
 
 And the jester was gone. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 HEN Richard the Third was king, al- 
 though he much affected the fine old 
 house in Bishopsgate as a residence, he 
 held his court in the Old Palace of 
 Westminster, on the site of which the Houses of 
 Parliament now stand. 
 
 Henry the Seventh, too, held court at Westminster, 
 and there gave orders to efface the memory of his 
 adversary. All the escutcheons with the silver boar 
 were taken down and broken. All the sculptured 
 badges of King Richard were carefully destroyed. 
 The friends and near relations of the House of York 
 were rigorously treated. Edward Plantagenet he shut 
 up in the Tower, and his sister Margaret was also im- 
 prisoned and consigned to oblivion. He had found 
 it well, however, to ally himself with that house 
 by a marriage with the Princess Elizabeth. But 
 
176 Richard IV, 
 
 even her mother, the Queen Dowager, was as good as 
 imprisoned ; for, by an Act of the Privy Council, she 
 was shut up in Bermondsey Abbey. 
 
 King Henry was crowned on the field of battle by 
 Sir William Stanley, after the battle of Bos worth 
 Field, as we have already shown in this brief 
 chronicle, but his ofBcial and state coronation took 
 place at Westminster on the thirtieth of October 
 1485 ; but in vain the House of York looked for the 
 coronation of the Queen, which seemed indeed post- 
 poned for ever. 
 
 The narrative we have in hand now leads us to 
 the dwelling of the goldsmith, Master Wood, whose 
 wealth, instead of failing with the Yorkist cause, 
 seemed to augment with Harry Tudor's rise. A 
 clever man was Master Wood, and a successful. 
 
 He was sitting in his little shop or office one sunny 
 day in June, when a tall stranger passing by his 
 shop, stopped suddenly to look at certain cups dis- 
 played within. Instantly the servitors and 'prentices 
 flocked round, changing their wonted cry of " Gentles, 
 what do ye lack ? " into " Walk in, fair sir ; this is the 
 shop for such as you ! " 
 
 "Yea, marry !"* quoth the stranger, " I have tra- 
 velled many lands, and such a cup as yonder have 
 I seen in two fair places only." 
 
 " Walk in, fair sir, and view it at your ease. I trow 
 the master will be glad enough to find his wares well 
 
 • This common expletive, so much in use in the middle ages, was a corruption 
 of the name of "St. Mary," i.e., the Virgin Mary. 
 
Henry the Seventh, 177 
 
 understood and duly rated I Walk in, fair sir, walk 
 in !" 
 
 So the stranger walked in and examined the vessel 
 which had attracted him, and after some few minutes 
 said : " It is most curious, nay, more than curious, 
 incredible, that I should find this here ! Prythee, 
 where is the master ?'* 
 
 " The master is in yonder chamber or back shop," 
 replied a ready 'prentice. " Please you that I run and 
 tell him that a worshipful and learned gentleman 
 demandeth speech with him ?" 
 
 " Tell him I want him," said the stranger curtly ; 
 " and if thou jibest, makest jest, or play the fool, I'll 
 crack thy skull or slit thy weasand — or perchance do 
 both kind actions for thee !" 
 
 " You are too kind, fair sir, and as the preacher 
 saith when he gives sermons at the cross of Pawles : 
 * It is right well to render good for evil,' therefore 
 you are in very deed a Christian, seeing thou pay est 
 worthless jibing jest with serious matter !" 
 
 " Lead on. Sir 'Prentice, flat-cap ! Thou art right in 
 this, that I am in grim earnest. Lead the way. Or if 
 thou waitest for the usual fee, here is a silver crown 
 for thee, a piece of eight ; but marry, lead the way !" 
 
 This argument of a piece of eight, worth about 
 
 four shillings and sixpence of our modern coin. 
 
 showed that the stranger understood his man. The 
 
 'prentice bowed, and walking cap in hand, led the 
 
 unknown to Master Wood at once. 
 
 "A worshipful and noble gentleman desires speech 
 
 N 
 
ly^ Richard IV. 
 
 with thee, my reverend master, touching the foreign 
 cup which yesterday was placed among the wares 
 for sale." 
 
 " Welcome, fair sir," quoth Master Wood, signing 
 meanwhile to the attendant to withdraw, which he 
 did rapidly, but, on the closing of the door, returned, 
 and placing his ear to the keyhole, endeavoured to 
 gather for himself some scraps of conversation. In 
 vain he strained his ear to listen : he could hear 
 nothing ; for the two had scaled the staircase to the 
 chamber where we have already seen the merchant 
 goldsmith entertain the king. 
 
 When they were in this chamber the goldsmith 
 said : " Here we are safe ; below, the walls have 
 ears. What is your will with me ?" 
 
 " I fain would ask a question touching the centre 
 cup of those three gorgeous goblets upon the middle 
 shelf of thy good shop below." 
 
 " Ask what you will ; 1 will reply to you with the 
 best answer I can give. Say on." 
 
 " I fancy I have seen that cup before." 
 
 " 'Tis not unlikely ; it has not been long in my safe- 
 keeping. But ask your question, sir." 
 
 " I saw that cup in Burgundy." 
 
 " That is no question." 
 
 *' And after that at Crosbie House." 
 
 " That I may not gainsay. What is thy question ?" 
 
 " Why, marry, this : how in the black fiend's name 
 art thou possessed of Lady Margaret's cup ?" 
 
 " All in the way of trade, fair sir. When the late 
 
Henry the Seventh. 179 
 
 king was killed at Redmoor Plain, and Harry Tudor 
 gained his crown, the greater number of the golden 
 vessels then found at Crosbie House were sold to 
 me." 
 
 " Ay, truly, that must be a comfort to thy heart to- 
 know that Richard's goods are safe at least. Me- 
 thinks that yonder salade with fiercely dented side 
 looks like the one he wore !" 
 
 " It is the same. I bought it very cheap." 
 
 " Then if it please thee to collect these relics, dead 
 and all tongueless though they be, how much wilt 
 thou rejoice when I inform thee that Richard, his 
 son, still lives ?" 
 
 "I know it," said the goldsmith calmly, and 
 gazing at the stranger with a quiet gaze that quite 
 abashed him. 
 
 '' I thought to startle thee with unexpected news, 
 but find it old and stale. Dost know where he is 
 hiding ?" 
 
 " 'Tis a second question, and I bargained but for 
 one, yet I will answer you : I know not where his 
 hiding-place may be, but it will soon be known to 
 Harry Tudor if he will find out." 
 
 " Thou art a friend, like me, to this same House of 
 York ?" 
 
 "I am a friend to those who rule ; be it King 
 Richard or King Henry, 'tis all one. I served King 
 Richard — now I serve the Tudor I" 
 
 " Nay, art thou willing to assist Plantagenet ?" 
 
 " Certes, if that may be without high treason.'* 
 
 N 2 
 
i8o Richard IV. 
 
 "Good," said the stranger; "thou art as true as 
 steel. I. will inform a friend of mine at court how 
 very true thou art. Now, what's the price of yonder 
 goblet ?" 
 
 *' Another question ! Well, I will answer thee. A 
 hundred nobles is the price, and very cheap at 
 that." 
 
 " Here are just twenty angels. Put the cup aside, 
 and I will send for it to-morrow or the following 
 day. Or, better still, send one of thy assistants, 
 well armed and mounted, with me into Westminster, 
 where I will pay the difference." 
 
 " Good I I will send one with you. When do you 
 ride ?" 
 
 " To-morrow morning." 
 
 So it was arranged that a sure messenger should 
 take the cup, and that with him a stout servitor, 
 well armed, should ride. 
 
 The morning came, and the three men set off and 
 rode together over the bridge that spanned the river 
 Fleet, then up the road called from that river Fleet 
 Street, then through the pleasant Strand, and so to 
 Westminster by noon. 
 
 The stranger rode up to the palace gates and gave 
 the sentinels the countersign, and he and those who 
 followed him were straight admitted. They rode 
 into an inner court, and here were servitors in white 
 and green who took their horses. Then passing to 
 a central gate the stranger led the men ; here they 
 were stopped by two of Henry's guard crossing their 
 
Henry the Seventh, i8i 
 
 halberts at the door, demanding who they were who 
 thus sought entrance. 
 
 " Friends to the House of Lancaster." 
 
 " The countersign ?" 
 
 " Rouge Dragon." 
 
 " Pass !" exclaimed the soldier who had spoken, 
 and the two halberts clashed in parting company, 
 then stood erect to let the strangers pass. 
 
 Preparations for dinner were evidently going 
 forward, by the perfume that filled the passages. 
 The stranger hurried up a flight of stairs at the end 
 of one of these, and here a servitor in white and 
 green asked him his business. "Rouge Dragon's 
 claws and Burgundy," was the reply. The servant 
 bowed, entered a little door, bidding them wait a 
 few minutes there. 
 
 Shortly he returned, and ushered them into a 
 small, low-vaulted room. The floor was strewn with 
 rushes ; the furniture was much like that we saw at 
 Leicester, in the castle. On a chair near a fire of 
 blazing logs was seated a tall, gaunt man, some six- 
 and-thirty years of age, but looking older through 
 much care. He wore a long loose robe of crimson silk, 
 much worn and frayed with age. A black silk cap 
 was on his head, not unlike those now worn by 
 Romish priests. In fact, he looked as though he 
 were a priest of some unknown religion. 
 
 He eyed the servitor who brought the cup, and 
 then the stout attendant with him, then he demanded, 
 in a harsh, unpleasant, grating voice : 
 
1 82 Richard IV. 
 
 " Who are these fellows, Donsterfeldt ?" 
 
 " They are the goldsmith's men, your Grace. And 
 much ado I had to get them. The old curmudgeon 
 would not send the cup until I paid him twenty 
 angels, — just the score your Grace had given me." 
 
 " Thou wert a fool to pay it, and he a rogue to take 
 it. How, sirrah ! where's the cup ?" 
 
 " Here, an it please you, SirV exclaimed the mes- 
 senger,^ not thinking it was Henry. 
 
 " How I callest thou the King's Grace, Sir ? thou 
 naughty varlet — thou very naughty varlet !" ex- 
 claimed the Fleming, in a well-acted rage. "Your 
 knees, you fellows, for it is the king !" 
 
 The men performed the kind of reverence then 
 used, resembling the curtsey made by girls at pre- 
 sent, but still half-heartedly, as though they did not 
 quite believe that this could be the king. 
 
 " Show me the cup," said Henry. 
 
 The servitor undid a leathern bag in which the 
 cup was placed, and taking thence the goblet, put it 
 upon the table. 
 
 It was a large and very handsome cup of solid 
 gold, and very richly chased. There were so many 
 figures featly wrought, that one was puzzled to 
 distinguish which was the most attractive. 
 
 *' What did the rascal say the price would be ?" 
 said Henry, in a dry and croaking voice. 
 
 " He said one hundred angels. Sir. " 
 
 " Ha ! Sir again. Thou dost not think it true that I 
 am king indeed. He clapped his hands, and the aiTas 
 
Henry the Seventh, 183 
 
 at one end of the chamber being drawn aside, dis- 
 closed another room of vast dimensions, full of tall, 
 handsome men dressed in extreme of fashion, while 
 here and there a knight in armour stood as if 
 awaiting orders. Their armour was of polished steel, 
 and fluted in such quaint and curious guise as to ap- 
 pear almost like quilted stuff pleated and gathered, as 
 the fashion was in cloth. Instead of salades, helmets 
 clothed their heads, on which the visors and the 
 beavers, or parts made to defend the eyes, and then 
 the lower face, were also ribbed, or rather fluted, in a 
 most fantastic way. 
 
 The men who wore their civil dress were very 
 splendid fops, but none looked pleased or happy. 
 " My lord of Lincoln," cried the king, " so please 
 you, come to me." The stately earl approached, and 
 passing through the arch from which the arras had 
 been raised, entered the smaller chamber. 
 
 '* Knowest thou me, my lord ?" asked Henry. 
 
 " How, your Grace.? I think there be but few 
 indeed in England who do not know King Henry ! " 
 
 " Well, that's well said. Knowest thou these men, 
 my lord V The earl looi^ed carelessly at Douster- 
 feldt's companions, as if he were in doubt. Then he 
 replied . 
 
 " I cannot tell, your Grace. Yon sturdy varlet 
 seems to me not strange, — some fellow at a gold- 
 smith's, or I err. My memory is not very wonderful.'* 
 
 " But that is all I want, my lord. Have my best 
 thanks, and retire." 
 
1 84 Richard IV. 
 
 Lord Lincoln, with a look of scorn which he did 
 not try to repress, turned on his heel and left the 
 smaller chamber to join the other courtiers in the 
 larger hall ; for this, where Dousterfieldt was now 
 received, was the king's robing-room, where he 
 prepared himself for state receptions held in the 
 hall beyond. 
 
 " Put down that cup, and tell thy master I marvel 
 much he should be so impolitic as to doubt the 'Lord's 
 anointed.' My messenger is flouted; I insulted. 
 Nay, 'tis very naughty. Go your ways ! " 
 
 " Your Grace, our master bade us either bring the 
 cup or else the price in angels." 
 
 The royal Henry opened a small side-door and 
 called for " Ambrose Gell." Almost immediately a 
 tremendous fellow, more than six feet high and stout 
 in proportion, appeared. 
 
 *' Bring a few other of thy fellows ; take these two 
 rascals to the court below and scourge them well 
 with rods ; and if they make resistance, then cut their 
 ears off. So ! " 
 
 Ambrose Gell disappeared, and soon returned with 
 a strong party of stout yeomen, who marched off the 
 merchant's messengers, to their great bewilderment. 
 
 Then said the king to Dousterfeldt : 
 
 "It was a pity that we lost the twenty angels. 
 Still, it is done and can't be helped. I have to meet 
 yon gilded fools eftsoon ; thou shalt have bread and 
 ale meanwhile ; for when the conference is over I 
 want to find thee here. Thou art a clever fellow I 
 
Henry the Seventh. 185 
 
 By'r Lady, a most finished knave ! Thou mnst have 
 talk with our beloved chaplain. He shall convert 
 thee. On\}\ not just yet; I want to use thee first. 
 There will be time enough." 
 
 The king now called his body servants, and a 
 great lord-in-waiting to superintend his court array. 
 When full clad in all the insignia of his rank, he 
 caused the curtain to be drawn aside, the trumpets, 
 brayed a welcome, and then he took his seat. 
 
 "What a mean wretch it is !" the Fleming said, 
 half aloud. " It were a goodly deed to . . . ." What, 
 he would have proposed we cannot guess, for at the 
 moment a servitor appeared bringing a tray, on 
 which there were a loaf of bread, a piece of cheese, 
 and a large jug of beer. 
 
 "A royal treat this, by my halidome !" saidDouster- 
 f eldt again. " What other king in Europe had offered 
 bread and beer, with just a dab of cheese ? — Welch 
 cheese, of course. A mean, low-minded loon like 
 that to wear .a crown ! Nay, it is maddening !" 
 
 But, notwithstanding, he attacked the viands as if 
 they had been venison and Burgundy, and this with 
 such goodwill that he soon fell asleep. 
 
 His slumbers were rudely awakened, after a good 
 nap of some two hours' duration, by the king himself, 
 who in that space of time had held a " court" and 
 dined. He had now come into the robing-closet for 
 a private chat with the Fleming. Seeing the gold 
 cup on the table, he removed it, opened the door of a- 
 Btout oaken press strengthened with iron clamps, and. 
 
1 86 Richard IV. . 
 
 putting the valuable piece of plate away, locked the 
 door safely, and then soon assumed the common 
 dress he wore when first we saw him. 
 
 " Wake up, my friend ! What ho ! This is a drunken 
 dog. And all that good ale wasted ! Rouse thee, 
 Dousterfeldt!" 
 
 At last the Fleming came to himself, and starting 
 Tip, exclaimed : " Pardon, your Grace. I fell asleep. 
 I am at your disposal. What is your will ?" 
 
 " Art sober ? Canst thou answer sensibly ?" 
 
 " Try me, your Grace ; that is the only way " 
 
 " Well, tell me what of Wood, the goldsmith ? Is 
 lie true ?" 
 
 " He true ! your Grace. He is the greatest traitor yet 
 alive ! I know no deeper among those who . . . ." 
 
 " Yes, yes — exactly — never mind. So he is false ?" 
 
 *' False as a leaden shilling." 
 
 " Touching the other matter : lives the boy we wot 
 of r 
 
 " Certes he lives, but I cannot tell where " 
 
 " Thou couldst tell fast enough were I fool enough 
 to pay thee down thy price." 
 
 " It may be so ; but if I knew where Richard was, 
 I could make money of him any way." 
 
 " How dost thou mean, — make money any way V 
 
 " Your Grace must see, I have the dice-box in my 
 hand: I need but throw, and all is done. His 
 aunt would give me wealth untold to take him over. 
 The Duchess is not quite so mean as to drive bar- 
 gains with me !" 
 
Henry the Seventh, 187 
 
 King Henry frowned, a very ugly frown, but he 
 •said nothing. 
 
 " Your Grace would give me something — perhaps, 
 who knows ? I like my money down, that's flat. 
 Tour Grace must see how simple is the case : I sell 
 young Richard to the highest bidder." 
 
 The king walked a few paces up and down, and 
 then he seemed to calculate. 
 
 " You say the goldsmith Wood is false ?" 
 
 " I do, your Grace, in that he seeks to set young 
 Hichard on the throne. The English love the name 
 Plantagenet 1" 
 
 "Well," said the king, " what is thy price ?" 
 
 " A hundred thousand crowns !" 
 
 " The saints be gracious to us ! such a sum I meant 
 to spend in masses for my soul, to wipe out .... 
 Never mind. Sixpence a mass I offered, and the 
 fat monks declared that even at that reduction it 
 would cost a hundred thousand crowns, so I am 
 undecided. Well, if I cannot spend a hundred 
 thousand crowns to save my soul, how can I spare 
 them for King Richard's brat ? Be reasonable !" 
 
 "The Duchess Margaret of Burgundy will give 
 more to have the boy in her safe-keeping." 
 
 " Take fifty thousand," said the king. " I'll knight 
 thee into the bargain ! " 
 
 The Fleming laughed. 
 
 " I am not such a fool," he said. " What care I for 
 your knighthood ? Give me gold." 
 
 The cold, hard face of Henry looked positively 
 
i88 Richard IV. 
 
 diabolical as he made a calculation, with, his head on 
 one side, somewhat after the manner of a supremely 
 wicked raven. At last he broke silence. " Yes," he 
 said ; " I'll do it ! The other little things can be 
 bought off. A fair sum to the Church, and all is 
 done — of course. I'll do it. Where is Richard ? " 
 
 " Softly, your Grace. Before I tell you where he 
 is, I want the money ! " 
 
 "Dost doubt a king?" 
 
 " Certainly not ; I do not doubt the King of Eng- 
 land ; but beshrew me if I have much confidence in 
 Harry Tudor." 
 
 The king did not seem to resent this, for he said 
 calmly : " I give thee herewith an order on the 
 Treasury. Now, where's the boy r " 
 
 " Gently, your Grace. I'll go and see the Treasurer, 
 and then return to you, — adieu !" and he left the room. 
 
 The king, when left alone, looked very savage. 
 " Outdone again ! I meant, when I had got the in- 
 formation, to stop that order on Sir John de Lisle, 
 and then this Fleming would have had no money \ 
 However, it is done." 
 
 Two hours after, Dousterfeldt sought audience ; he 
 was at once admitted. With little courtesy he said ; 
 
 *' 'Tis quite correct, your Grace. I have the money 
 safe, and you shall have the boy. He is now in 
 charge of good Sir Guy de Montfort, now at Lei- 
 cester ; but, when once in London, he is yours. I 
 will secure him and deliver him to you." 
 
 Henry looked at him without speaking, but it was 
 with such a look as few would care to bear ! 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 A SUMMONS. 
 
 WO years had passed away since Richard 
 entered the train of Sir Guy de Mont- 
 fort, when the interview between the 
 Fleming and King Henry the Seventh 
 recorded in our last chapter took place. During that 
 period our hero had profited more than we should 
 have imagined possible by the careful training to 
 which he was subject, and still more by the winning 
 influence of his more than mother, the Lady Alice de 
 Montfort. His mother had been a " Lady Alice" too, 
 and this, among such simple-hearted people as these, 
 seemed a rare coincidence : a sort of kinship thus 
 sprang up between them, and Lady Alice filled her 
 namesake's place as mother to the boy. 
 
 It was a time of great rejoicing in the castle. The 
 gentle Eleanor, the daughter of Sir Guy, was just ten 
 years of age. In honour of her birthday all the town 
 
190 Richard IV, 
 
 was decked with flags and pennons. Games were 
 proclaimed within the castle. During the day there 
 had been tilting-matches among the knights and 
 men-at-arms, who donned the heavier pieces added 
 to their armom' in the tournament, some of which 
 were of new invention. 
 
 The gentle Eleanor had begged her father to let 
 the pages ride a tilt, seeing that they were boys and 
 she a little girl. This was a thing unheard of in 
 these solemn games, and so De Montf ort had refused 
 at first; but, yielding to her wishes in the end, he had 
 " boy-suits" of armour made, the first yet known in 
 history. 
 
 These boys were mounted on the daintiest ponies 
 that England ever saw, and the proposed Boy- 
 Tournament proved a great attraction; for, from 
 the neighbouring castles and estates, the gentry of 
 the county brought their sons to take a turn with 
 " good De Montf ort's" boys. 
 
 The' lists were all arranged as if for grown-up 
 men, orly in miniature. The little lady of the day 
 sat as the " Queen of Beauty," surrounded by a troop 
 of children of her own age and younger. 
 
 The lances for the tournament were lighter far 
 than those employed in war, although the armour 
 was much heavier; and the lances made for the 
 children were still lighter, even in proportion, than 
 those employed by men. 
 
 Richard was armed completely. The heralds of 
 the train had given him the arms of Trevor on 
 
A Summons. 191 
 
 the housings of his horse, and on the little shield, 
 which was hung up before the tent where he might 
 sit and rest awaiting any challenge. 
 
 And he had many challenges, for not a few were 
 jealous of his fame. But as in running at the ring or 
 at the droller quintain, so in the tilting matches that 
 ensued, our Richard carried off most prizes. 
 
 At last a burly lad of sixteen summers rode up to 
 Richard's tent, and struck his shield full with his 
 tilting lance. Such was the form of challenge. Richard 
 was up and armed in full brief space and promptly 
 on the ground. He wheeled his little charger round,, 
 to take his place of vantage ; the other did the like, 
 and the youngsters rushed at one another as furiously 
 as any grown-up knights. 
 
 The enemy was taller, stouter, older than Richard, 
 and had as good a seat. Our hero's lance was 
 shivered on the plate called the ^^ grande garde'^ 
 screwed on the breastplate, while the other's lance 
 struck Richard's helmet with so stern a dint as nearly 
 stunned him. Quickly recovering, he drew his sword 
 and smote so fiercely at his new assailant, that he 
 was fain to yield. Then the whole tilt-yard echoed 
 with the praise of valiant Richard Trevor, and the 
 fairy hand of little Eleanor reached him the victor's 
 wreath. 
 
 His helmet was removed, and then De Montfort 
 said : " 1 joy to see thee, Richard, bear thee like a 
 knight ! " 
 
 Proud of his victory and, boy-like, much excited, 
 
192 Richard IV. 
 
 Richard replied : " I owe it all to you, Sir Guy ; 
 your training and your skill must have some value, 
 surely. What I admire most of this array is this 
 new kind of helmet, with gorget, beaver, all in one 
 compact and lovely helm. Oh, if my father had bu \ 
 worn such helm, how different had all things bee/i 
 to-day !" 
 
 "How!" said the lad whom Richard had de- 
 feated, and who was standing near. "How, could 
 not thy father buy a helmet .? — was his head broken 
 therefore, good Sir Dickon ?" 
 
 "What my dead father could afford is not the 
 question. He wore the salade on that hateful day 
 that left me as an orphan in the world." 
 
 " Oh I was he then killed in battle or in drunken 
 brawl ? " observed the other, with a rude boy's grin, 
 
 " He fell on Bosworth Field," said Richard. 
 
 Sir Guy de Montfort advanced on hearing this 
 dispute, wishing to suppress it, but he came too 
 late. The vile, ill-mannered lout had said, with 
 an impish grin : 
 
 " Ah ! yes, on Bosworth Field there fell another 
 Dickon, as mad a wag as thou, only not quite so 
 shapely ! The crooked-back tyrant wore a salade, as 
 men say — Richard the Third, I mean !" 
 
 Our hero was excited, and as we know how he 
 adored his father's memory, it is no wonder that 
 the Lion Heart resistless raved within him. Ho 
 could not speak. He stood there motionless, glaring 
 at him who spoke. Just at this moment Montfort 
 
A Su7nmons, 193 
 
 seized his arm. The touch thrilled through him 
 like electric fire. He threw it off. His dagger 
 flashed in air, and in a moment found its sheath 
 in the broad chest of his unarmed antagonist; for 
 he had been unarmed while Richard took the 
 prize. 
 
 The father of the boy rushed forward in amaze 
 — enraged, astonished. De Montfort seized poor 
 Richard, when such a storm of words and signs, of 
 threats and talk of vengeance rose, that Montfort 
 scarce knew how to stem the tide. 
 
 Just as he raised his hand to beg his guests have 
 patience till the wounds of their young friend were 
 dressed, there was a terrible surprise awaiting him ; 
 for, in a minute later, an angry blast was blown at 
 the castle's southern gate — the one most distant from 
 the River Soar. Three times the blast was blown, 
 the garrison was summoned to admit a pursuivant- 
 at-arms, come from King Henry to summon Sir 
 Guy de Montfort to appear before " His Grace the 
 King in his High Court at Westminster !" 
 
 The pursuivant, of course, was straight admitted, 
 and rode up, with all his train, clad ^n white and 
 green, and bearing Henry's badge, a fairly wrought 
 portcullis, on breast and back, to where the knight 
 was standing. 
 
 This sudden summons seemed the more awful, 
 coming as it did as the poor lad fell down, struck by 
 the dagger of Plantagenet ! Richard was changed 
 instanter, the moment that his tall opponent fell. 
 
194 Richard IV, 
 
 He knelt beside him, tried his best to staunch the 
 blood, and seemed quite mad with grief. 
 
 During this time the pursuivant, alighting from 
 his horse, drew from his pouch a letter, which he 
 handed to the knight, who straightway cut the silken 
 threads that bound it, and read as follows : — 
 
 "By the King. 
 *'Henricus Rex. 
 
 " These to Our trusty and well- 
 beloved knight, Sir Guy de Montfort, Constable of 
 Leicester, Greeting. Whereas It hath been lately 
 told to Us that Lady Margaret Duchess of Burgundy 
 and sister to the late King Edward, hath given en- 
 couragement to certain of Our subjects to rise in 
 most rebellious arms against our state, feigning to 
 claim Our crown and rights as sovereign, for and in 
 name of some pretended son of George, late Duke of 
 Clarence, which base pretence is furthermore up- 
 held by Edward, Earl of Lincoln, Lord Lovel and 
 some more. We praie you make all diligence to 
 come to Us at Our Palace of Westminster, imme- 
 diately on sight of this Our letter. Further, We hear 
 that you among your train do entertain a certain Page 
 called Trevor. We praie you out of love to Us to 
 bring him with you when you come. Fail not to 
 show a loving diligence. 
 
 " Given at Westminster this second dale of June, 
 the yeere of Man's Redemption one thousand 
 four hundred four score and seven. 
 " These with speede." 
 
A Summons, 195 
 
 Sir Guy was thunderstruck. Half an hour ago no 
 happier being breathed than he — and now! By- 
 Richard's unlucky show of temper, danger seemed 
 threatening all round, while at the self-same time 
 he was peremptorily ordered to the king. The 
 father of the injured boy demanded justice, declar- 
 ing that the blow, not given in the " justing game," 
 but in bad blood — was murder. 
 
 He called on Montfort to commit him straight to 
 Leicester Castle, to await his trial. 
 
 " Fair sir," said Montfort, " I have not the power. 
 You see, the king demands him. I have not a choice. 
 I must obey the royal mandate. . I think the wound 
 is trifling, and Richard is in some sort not to blame, 
 in that thy son spoke slighting words of one he loves 
 to honour. Nothing enrages him so much as hearing 
 the late king called ' Crookback.' Now pardon me ; 
 I must go entertain the pursuivant." 
 
 Thus, for the moment, this good father's rage was 
 turned aside from Richard ; and when the leech 
 assured him that the wour. d was nothing, and that 
 Tiis son would walk abroad ere long as well as any 
 lad in England, his joy was such he quite forgot his 
 rage. 
 
 The pursuivant-at-arms and all the royal train 
 were carefully bestowed. They found their welcome 
 so much to their taste that they were loath to leave 
 when their time came to part. 
 
 Sir Guy de Montfort was full sad and wretched. 
 He sought the Eastern chamber, and paced it like a 
 
 2 
 
196 Richard IV, 
 
 lion in the toils. At last he sent for Richard, and 
 when he came he spoke to him right sternly. 
 
 " Loving thy father's memory as I do," he said, 
 " I am prepared to bear much trouble for his sake. 
 I stand already far from Henry's favour, and thy 
 absurd behaviour brings my neck in jeopardy ! What 
 canst thou gain by blurting out thy birth? What 
 did thy father tell thee.? — * to seek obscurity,' should 
 he.>be slain or lose his cause at Bosworth. He bade 
 thee do as I should bid thee — and now, thou needst 
 must fight with every brawler that rails on dead 
 King Richard ! All men do so now. They must, to 
 thrive with Henry. By giving thyself airs and all 
 this hoity-toity carriage, no purpose can be served, 
 only thy father's dying mandate spurned and brought 
 to nought." 
 
 Richard expressed his sorrow for the past, but 
 said it was too hard to hear his father's name 
 maligned ; — to hear him called foul names and not 
 avenge the dead, was very, very hard ! 
 
 " Now, Richard, this must cease. We go to Lon- 
 don, and to that other town of Westminster, where 
 every man we meet will call thy father murderer, 
 tyrant, upstart, base usurper, crookback, and so 
 forth, till-" 
 
 As the knight used each separate epithet, the boy 
 grew more and more excited. At last, when he 
 reached " crookback," he cried : " Enough, Sir Guy ; 
 I cannot bear it. They may kill me, but they 
 shall not malign my father I Send me to prison for 
 
A Stmwions, 197 
 
 that dagger's blow, and let me suffer for it, but give 
 me not the agony to hear that name abused which 
 is to me like that of patron saint worshipped by 
 holy monk." 
 
 " 'Tis useless, Richard ; thou must conquer it ! 
 We cannot help this trip to London, but I misdoubt 
 me shrewdly it must end in woe ! Richard, I 
 have been most faithful to my trust, and thou, by 
 thy absurd and wilful folly, wilt destroy the work 
 thy father bade me do !" 
 
 Richard was touched. He went gently forward, 
 and " making the leg," or performing the curtsey, he 
 said : 
 
 " Depend on me to do my best to keep this demon 
 down. I will endeavour not to slay the men who 
 speak such lying words of him who was my father 
 and my king." 
 
 " Thou 7)iust suppress thine anger on such occa- 
 sions. Go now to Lady Alice and hear what she 
 will say. Now leave me ; I have much to do." 
 
 So Richard left and went to see the lady, whom he 
 tound full of grief for what had happened, and of ap- 
 prehensions of what soon must come to pass. She 
 tried her best with Richard, and gained his promise 
 to subdue his rage. 
 
 At last the preparations were complete. De Mont- 
 fort with a single page joined Henry's pursuivant, 
 and came in four days' time to London. They passed 
 the distant town of Iseldon (now Islington), with its 
 rich swards and leafy woods ; through the broad 
 
198 Richard IV. 
 
 fields until they reached Old Bourne, upon the river 
 Fleet, which was indeed a less important stream 
 than it had been of yore ; for there were legends cur- 
 rent that great ships could formerly sail gaily down 
 to Thames upon its bosom, whereas, when Richard 
 saw it, though a proper river very rapid (hence its 
 name, the Fleet), yet it had already shrunk into so 
 small a bed as more to have the name of ditch than 
 river. 
 
 Crossing the fields they reached the Strand, a 
 country road with fair palatial dwellings, the fronts 
 of which looked out upon the water, while the backs, 
 which gave upon the Strand, were skirted with the 
 usual offices, stables, and other buildings. Then 
 there was Durham House, a very strong and ancient 
 castle, and other palaces of rich and mighty bishops. 
 
 At Charing was a halt for some refreshment, and 
 then to Westminster, where they arrived at seven 
 o'clock on a fair summer's evening, the twenty-first 
 of June. 
 
 It was of course too late to try to gain an audience,, 
 and so it was arranged that on the following day Sir 
 Guy should wait on Harry Tudor ; the pursuivant 
 would fetch him from the hostelrie and take him to- 
 the king. 
 
 When the king's pursuivant had left, Sir Guy 
 took Richard with him to a former friend, one who 
 had served King Richard. He started when he saw 
 our youth, and never took his eyes from him. 
 
 *' Who is it, good Sir Guy ? I have a shrewd con- 
 
A Summons. 199 
 
 jectnre. That eye is all Plant . . . exactly . . . and 
 the nose !" 
 
 " Gently, my friend," said Montf ort. " 'Tis a good 
 lad. I took him from a monastery and tried to 
 make a man-at-arms of him, bat he is bookish ! 
 Look ye there ! he settles down by that old tome as 
 if he loved it. And yet, beshrew me, he can handle 
 lance and sword better than any of his age, I 
 trow !" 
 
 Richard had been attracted by one of Caxton's 
 books, with hand-painted illuminated capitals, and 
 had been so engaged with it that he marked nothing 
 of the conversation. 
 
 " Who is he ?" said the friend, again withdrawing 
 to a deep bay window that overlooked the green. 
 " How like he is to Richard !" 
 
 " Thou art right, and Henry writes to me to come 
 to London and bring that boy too with me ! Looks 
 that well ?" 
 
 " Nay, passing ill. Sir Guy ! Nay, it were shame to 
 let him in where Henry may catch him. Good- 
 night to Dickon if he sees him !" 
 
 " How to avoid it ?" 
 
 " Go to the king alone to-morrow. The boy is ill, 
 fatigued with such a journey ; he rests from his 
 fatigue. The king will know at once from yonder 
 pursuivant that thou hast brought him with thee, so 
 Henry has no cause to doubt thee. The next day 
 other news may come, and Dickon is forgotten." 
 
 " The chance is faint, but 'tis the only one, and I 
 
200 Richard IV, 
 
 must take it. Should there be trouble, he may bide 
 with thee ?" 
 
 " Who ? Richard's son ? At any cost, at any danger. 
 Hark, friend, it would be well, should Henry really 
 want him, for him to get lost. What can he do ?" 
 
 "Anything, everything. Throw off the hawks, 
 carve well at table, play the lute, ride, fence, row, 
 sail; is splendid with the battle-axe, sword, boar- 
 spear, lance, and bow ! Then he can dance." 
 
 " Out of my line just now. Sir Guy. These are all 
 knightly things. What else can he perform ?" 
 
 " Everything ! He can read Latin ; English, too, of 
 course ; can sing, and writes the fairest hand I ever 
 saw." 
 
 " Can he illumine ?" 
 
 " Of course he can, better than anyone I know." 
 
 "Then go thy way. I will conduct him to the 
 printer, master Caxton, who told me yesterday he 
 sought a clever limner to paint some rare initials. 
 If he can do it he would feel at home." 
 
 " The very thing. I'll leave him here. They shall 
 not see him at the hostelrie. But thou wilt be a 
 friend to him through all that may betide V 
 
 " To Richard's son ? Ay, good Sir Guy, he is as 
 safe, or safer, here with me than with your men at 
 Leicester." 
 
 Richard was well pleased with the idea of going 
 to see the wonder-working press of Caxton, and could 
 hardly wait the hour when he should be presented 
 to that chief of printers, with whom the glory of this 
 land may well be said to have commenced. 
 
"THE PAINTING IS A MASTERPIECE.* 
 
A Su77i7nons. 201 
 
 His new friend, Master Andrews, had held office 
 in King Richard's household, and was enthusiastic 
 in his love of him and for his memory. But he was 
 cautious, and a better friend for Richard would have 
 been hard to find. 
 
 A fair night's rest in comfortable quarters, a hearty 
 breakfast with a loving host, all tended to make 
 Richard feel at home. A walking-cloak was found 
 for him, money he had enough, danger he neither saw 
 nor cared for had he seen it. So he stepped forth 
 with his entertainer, and in some thirty minutes found 
 himself in a house quite on the skirts of Westmin- 
 ster, where strange black men were flitting too and 
 fro, and strange noises smote upon the ear as the huge 
 press creaked, groaned, and roared and rattled. 
 
 It was a weird, odd monster, was that press with 
 its gigantic fists, as the two iron globes which gave 
 momentum to the screws appeared to be. How such 
 clean, neat, and tidy pages as the fair "Golden 
 Legend," " The Book of Troye," and others, came 
 from that grimy mass, puzzled our hero's brains. 
 
 But soon his wish to serve as painter of initials 
 was signified to Caxton. The grave and dignified 
 old man, albeit of the colour of his press, which then 
 was in full labour, received him courteously, and 
 with a show of kindness that pleased the boy to 
 see. He set him down to paint a letter for a book, 
 a letter made of eagles, dragons, flowers, and curious 
 scrolls. 
 
 Richard began his work, while Caxton and his 
 
202 Richard IV. 
 
 new-found friend conversed together. In half aii 
 hour's time the master came to see how he progressed. 
 " Andrews," he cried, " I never can requite thee ! 
 This boy is born a master. See, though it is far 
 from finished, the painting is a master-piece. His 
 terms are mine. I cannot let him go." 
 
CHAPTER XY. 
 THE COUNCIL. 
 
 
 HE pursuivant, who had accompanied De 
 Montfort back to Westminster, lost no 
 time in seeingHenry, who, though much 
 occupied in other things, rejoiced to hear 
 how readily the knight obeyed his summons. 
 
 ■* And the boy ? " said Henry. " Is he like the 
 pr:*nce we wot of ? " 
 
 " Not in the least, your Grace." 
 " Was there a show at Leicester of great attention 
 to him.?" 
 
 " Only that, on the day when we arrived, a boyish 
 tournament had been arranged, and this young 
 springald, having more skill, or strength, or luck, or 
 perhaps all three together, beat all competitors. For 
 this cause he was feted ; but there was some dispute 
 about a helmet, just as we arrived, for which De 
 Montfort chid him like a very 'prentice lad." 
 
204 Richard IV, 
 
 The king seemed lost in thought. He leant nishead 
 upon his hand a moment, then raised it suddenly 
 and asked the pursuivant whether he felt assured 
 that the boy coming with him were really Richard 
 Trevor, or some other assuming Trevor's name. 
 
 '* He corresponds in age and general appearance 
 with the description given, save that I fail to trace 
 the likeness to the late Duke of Gloucester. " 
 
 " 'Tis very like the Flemish spy has lied, and just 
 has cheated me of a large sum of money ! That is a 
 very horrid thought ! I'll make the burghers pay it, 
 by my soul, if it be really such a cheat ! '* 
 
 " It must be as your Grace desires." 
 
 " Of course it must. Only, the loss is still immense." 
 
 " To them, not to your Highness." 
 
 " No, sirrah ! loss to me ,• for if that scoundrel had 
 not had the money, 1 should have had two hundred 
 thousand crowns ! — Well, then, to-morrow we shall 
 see thee here with Montfort. I will speak to him 
 before I see the boy. Ail 1 would have from thee is 
 the assurance that he travelled willingly, and now is 
 safely here." 
 
 " On both points rest assured, your Highness. 1 
 have not left him night or day, and 1 will undertake 
 to bring him to this chamber at any hour you 
 please." 
 
 " 'Tis well. Where is the spy — the Fleming, Dou- 
 fiterfeldt ?" 
 
 *' Your Grace, 1 know not. He has disappeared.'' 
 
 *' And tooled me thus i 1 see the villainy I This 
 
The Council. 205 
 
 story of a fitting heir to this dead house was but 
 trumped up to frighten me and make me lose the 
 gold. But I will find the villain! I will give a hun- 
 dred crowns — no, fifty — to any man who brings him a 
 prisoner to me. Were such an heir now living, they 
 dared not call him Richard! — eh? Now hark ye, 
 friend ! find me the Fleming, thou shalt have the 
 hundred. Farewell until to-morrow. Send me the 
 constable on duty." 
 
 The pursuivant now left the presence, and anon 
 the captain then on duty stood there before the king. 
 
 *' Ha ! Joynson, tell thy fellows to give fitting heed 
 to find that Flemish spy. Thou knowest Douster- 
 feldt. I give the man who brings him fifty crowns. 
 Then let the pursuivant-at-arms who just now left 
 be closely watched. Tell me to whom he goes and 
 how he spends his time ; and more than all, if he be 
 seen out, walking with a lad of fifteen summers, let 
 me know at once. Yet more: go tell the Bishop 
 of Exeter that we have need of him in press- 
 ing haste. Bid him leave any other business for 
 this need." 
 
 The officer withdrew, and Henry, left alone, mused 
 thoughtfully, his head still resting on his thin white 
 hands. 
 
 Avarice, hard-dealing, carking cares had made 
 him an old man in two years' time. The know- 
 ledge that he had no right whatever to the crown 
 made him suspicious. He felt that he was hated, 
 and punished men all round for hating him. A 
 
2o6 Richard IV, 
 
 iine expedient to obtain their love ! He punished 
 them by fines, and his two " Barons of Exchequer," 
 Empson and Dudley, counselled him in this. Eng- 
 land was full of spies, upon whose testimony men 
 were charged with curious crimes and practices of 
 which they had not dreamt. If the court found them 
 guilty, they were fined ; but very frequently men 
 found it cheaper at once to pay a sum to be absolved 
 from legal process. Thus Henry's coffers filled, and 
 he became more and more unpopular each day he 
 reigned. 
 
 When Bishop Fox appeared, which was about an 
 hour after Henry sent for him, he found the king 
 restless and annoyed 
 
 " Ha !" he exclaimed. " Thou takest time, my 
 friend, to wait upon our needs !" 
 
 " Your Highness must forgive me. I was on the 
 way to see Prince Edward in the Tower, but as 
 your messenger was told I had gone thither he rode 
 apace, and, overtaking me, brought me back with 
 him without drawing rein I had already entered 
 London, so that your Grace may judge how we have 
 ridden." 
 
 "Enough, good Fox! Know, I am miserable 
 about this other *boy* just brought by Guy de 
 Montfort. The pursuivant is quite convinced there 
 is no truth in Dousterfeldt's assertions — and he is 
 fled, taldng the money with him! No, I cannot 
 bear it !" 
 
 " Perchance he will return. He has not long been 
 
The CotmciL 207 
 
 missing, and he has much to do. I love him not, 
 but surely he is not fool enough to leave your Grace's 
 service in that way." 
 
 " What, with a hundred thousand crowns ! It is a 
 royal fortune, by my fay ! But I have issued warrants 
 for his apprehension, and issued to the goldsmiths, 
 milliners, and such, my strict command to watch for 
 him and aid in his arrest." 
 
 " Has your Grace secured this scoundrel's dwell- 
 ing ?" 
 
 " Ay, my lord bishop. Now, I want your counsel. 
 What think you of the boy ? To me it seems a plan 
 of Dousterfeldt's to rid me of my angels. The 
 willingness of Montfort and the lad to come shows 
 no suspicion, and therefore points to innocence." 
 
 " Your Grace is right. Besides, the other hoy is far 
 more dangerous ! Bethink you, he is now in Ireland, 
 and may come over any day. Lord Lovel, with a 
 numerous train, has joined him ; so has the Earl of 
 Lincoln. They swear the boy is Edward, Earl of 
 Warwick, whom you have in the Tower. I fain had 
 given orders to show him to the people, so as to prove 
 the trick to be a clumsy falsehood. Parade him 
 through the streets of London, and all the citizens 
 will flock to us, joined by their customers !" 
 
 "'Tis very well, nay, excellent. I do repent me 
 that I called you back ; but Dousterfeldt is such a 
 thorn within my side, I know not how to bear it. 
 Think of it ! full one hundred thousand crowns, all 
 paid away for nothing, just as we want it most." 
 
2o8 Richard IV, 
 
 " But is your Grace full certain that he took the 
 money of the treasurer ?" 
 
 " Ay, my lord bishop ; he came back himself to 
 tell me he had got it, and that he never would have 
 done if he had not received it." 
 
 *' Have you demanded of the treasurer whether he 
 paid or no ?'* 
 
 " Nay, that I have not done. Why should I do 
 so?" 
 
 *' Is it not possible, seeing how false this fellow is, 
 that, finding difficulty in drawing such a sum, he 
 came to thee to say he had it, well deeming that your 
 Grace, on more mature reflection, would surely stop 
 the money ?" 
 
 " Fox by name and fox by nature ! Thou art in- 
 deed more cunning than I deemed. It is worth the 
 trial, which at most costs nothing. Ho ! there, with- 
 out!" 
 
 Another officer appeared. 
 
 " Go to Sir John de Lisle with speed, and bid him 
 quickly hither. Say that we need his counsel. Bid 
 him speed." 
 
 The officer departed. 
 
 " Now, most cunning Fox, about this Irish matter 
 and the false Prince Edward. What must we do ?" 
 " There must be great exertions on your Grace's 
 side, if the reports say true. For we can never hide 
 the fact that all the people are for York. There is 
 great discontent about the coronation of the Queen." 
 " Speak not of her, my friend. It is a hardship 
 
The Council. 209 
 
 to have wed the daughter of a hostile house. Still 
 more to see the fools that flattered Henry on his 
 victory sigh for Plantagenet. . . But, yes, she must 
 be crowned. We'll see to it." 
 
 Here the entrance of De Lisle caused them to 
 change the subject. 
 
 Said Henry : " We sent for you, Sir John, to know 
 whether, some days ago, a man named Dousterfeldt 
 received upon our order some fifty thousand crowns ; 
 we were told he had obtained them, but still are in 
 some doubt. Tell us what you may know." 
 
 " The man did certainly apply to me, but as he 
 seemed so eager, hurried, anxious, and distressed, I 
 sought to gain some time so as to ask your Grace 
 further particulars, before I paid him. I therefore 
 said, I could not pay a sum like that without the 
 presence of at least one Baron of the Exchequer. I 
 sent at once to Baron Empson, who, as I knew, was 
 then from home. The man who claimed the money 
 prayed me send to him again, and telling me he 
 would return anon, went from the treasury. Scarcely 
 had be left, than I received a letter from your 
 Grace bidding me not to pay. He did not come 
 again^ and so the money's safe !" 
 
 " The saints in heaven be praised for this !" cried 
 Henry, falling on his knees before an image of the 
 Virgin, where he remained some time in deep de- 
 votion. He fondly worshipped money, and was 
 truly grateful for recovering this. 
 
 ** Sir John," he said, when he arose again, " there 
 
2IO Richard IV. 
 
 is rebellion brewing, and certain nobles are engaged 
 in it. We have to crush this rising, and in doing sc 
 must crush these lords. The first who falls, leaving 
 a title vacant, has you for heir and next successor. 
 No thanks; we have a council in the afternoon 
 concerning measures for the coming strife. Till 
 then, farewell.*' 
 
 Now turn we to Sir Guy de Montfort, who waited at 
 his inn full patiently the following day to be con- 
 ducted to King Henry's presence. At last the 
 pursuivant arrived and begged the knight to follow 
 him. " But, said this functionary, " I would not 
 bring the boy." 
 
 Sir Guy de Montfort bowed, and said, " Lead on^ 
 an't please you. There is much to say and do." 
 
 The pursuivant conducted him to the palace and up 
 a winding stair to Henry's council-chamber, a large 
 and lofty room, not unlike the great hall at Crosby 
 House, but larger. 
 
 There was a fair attendance of the nobles who had 
 backed King Henry. His Barons of Exchequer 
 both were there, so was the treasurer. 
 
 When Montfort was announced and led to where 
 the crowned miser sat, it would have been a study 
 for a painter to watch the bearing of king and knight ; 
 the latter would have been declared ten times as 
 royal a person as King Henry by any looker-on. 
 
 " Sir Guy de Montfort ! Welcome to our court. 
 We sent for you on two distinct accounts : the first is 
 that we wish to see you ; the second, that we wish to 
 
The Coicncil. 211 
 
 ask you sundry questions touching a boy whom you 
 have kindly tended. Be seated. We will ask our 
 questions simply ; and first, What could induce you 
 to adopt that boy ?" 
 
 " After the battle which conferred the title * King 
 of England ' on your Grace, I tried my best, as Con- 
 stable of Leicester, to smooth the pillows of the 
 sufferers who were found wounded on the field. 
 Among the rest I heard of this young Trevor. He 
 had been cared for by some humble folk who had 
 themselves but little. In time he came to me when 
 quite recovered from his wounds, and Lady Alice 
 found he was the son of friends or kinsmen to her 
 house. She begged him as a page, and we have 
 found him very gentle, true, and loving." 
 
 " A full and proper answer," said the king. " We 
 now would beg you bring the boy to us, for we 
 should gladly see one whom Sir Guy de Montfort 
 seems to honour. Bring him to-morrow." 
 
 *' Pardon, your Grace ! I fain would do your bid- 
 ding ; I brought the youngster with me to the end 
 that you might see and hear him. The pursuivant 
 will bear me out in this. He knows I brought him. 
 Well, your Grace, we walked together yesterday, and 
 somehow in the street I missed him ; I have not seen 
 him since, and I am sure he is in right firm hands, 
 for none can bring me tidings of my boy." 
 
 To describe the amazement of the Council at this 
 
 announcement would be impossible. They stared 
 
 first at each other, then at the knight, then at King 
 
 P 2 
 
212 Richard IV, 
 
 Henry. At last a member of the Council spoke, and 
 uttered the word " Stolen ! " 
 
 "What!" cried the king. "Stolen in dayli;^ht, 
 near our very court, almost in sanctuary ? This is 
 very bad. But who can be the robber ? " 
 
 Then the Lord Baron of Exchequer, Dudley, said : 
 " Your Grace has had some evidence of how a foreign 
 spy sought to defraud your Highness of a sum of 
 money, for bringing you this boy. If anyone has 
 stolen him, I say it must be Dousterfeldt." 
 
 " Your wisdom, good my lord," said Henry, " is 
 really marvellous. It shows how right and just it 
 was in us to place you in the office which you hold. 
 There is no doubt about it. It is Dousterfeldt who 
 holds your page, Sir Guy, as means of gaining money 
 either from ourselves or from the Dowager of Bur- 
 gundy. Steps shall be taken, good Sir Guy, to find 
 your boy. When do you part for home ? " 
 
 " My time can only be your Grace's." 
 
 " Then, with the permission of our Council, we 
 give you leave to depart." 
 
 Sir Guy de Montfort bowed and left the presence, 
 thin ing in his heart that Henry, though unking-like, 
 was not so bad a fellow after all. 
 
 When he had left, the king looked sad, and sitting 
 on the throne or chair of state, rested his head upon 
 his hand so thoughtfully and mournfully that all the 
 Council paused. No voice was raised, as though each 
 felt it wrong to speak in sight of so much grief. 
 Each wondered in his heart what new distress 
 
The Council. 213 
 
 had come upon the king. At last he spoke as 
 follows : 
 
 " My lords, I find we have been very foolish. We 
 think ourselves wise people, doubtless, but we are 
 passing foolish ; mere children had been wiser." 
 
 Another pause, a glance around the table, and then 
 his meaning was expressed in words : 
 
 " Montfort is rich, nay, very rich. We should have 
 held this absence of his page as rank and very 
 flagrant disobedience to our will, and thereupon have 
 fined him, fined him heavily. But having in a sort 
 forgiven him, we have no plea to call him back and 
 fine him. Saints and angels ! this is very sad, a 
 grievous loss to us, when money is so scarce." 
 
 Then uprose Empson, one of those Exchequer 
 lords of whom King Henry was very proud, as show- 
 ing how a clever king must rule with clever minis- 
 ters. This man was cunning as the king himself, 
 and even Less scrupulous than he. He rose and 
 asked : " Have I your gracious leave to speak ?" 
 
 "Say on, but much I fear 'tis useless." 
 
 " Your Grace is not aware that there exists a law 
 forbidding knights to have more in their train than 
 fifty armed men at most. Barons may have a hun- 
 dred, earls two hundred men, and dukes five hun- 
 dred, and no more. The punishment is either prison 
 in the Tower, or fines from ten to fifty pounds in gold 
 lor every armed man beyond the limit. From what 
 your Grace's pursuivant hath said, 1 gather Sir Guy 
 de Montfort keeps more armed men than dukes are 
 
214 Richard IV. 
 
 privileged to entertain. Now, if your Highness will 
 but fine Sir Guy for this excess of force, at fifty 
 pounds per man, and, say he has a hundred more 
 armed warriors than the law allows, you have at once 
 five thousand pounds, or nearly twenty thousand 
 crowns. That he has more than these I do not doubt, 
 and therefore there may be a higher fine." 
 
 During this speech King Henry's face had lighted 
 up with such a gleam of pleasure as changed him 
 thoroughly. Yet it was not a pleasant change to 
 notice. The lustre in his eye was rather wolfish, 
 no mirth was in it. 
 
 " Is there such a law ?" he asked. 
 
 "There is, your Grace, but it hath never been 
 enforced." 
 
 "Then by the blessed saints we will enforce it 
 now ! Our treasury hath need of much replenish- 
 ment. Call back Sir Guy." 
 
 Sir Guy had left the palace, but was soon dis- 
 covered. He had been to his inn, and now was just 
 emerging, with a view to seeking Richard. He was 
 in high good humour with the king, and quite at 
 peace with all the world. Most readily he now 
 returned to Henry together with his messenger. 
 
 We will forbear to give the scene that followed. 
 He was required to state the number of his re- 
 tainers, which at a guess was over seven hundred. 
 
 His indignation was immense when he was told 
 about the law, which had for full a century been 
 inactive. But he was far too wise to say such 
 
The CounciL 215 
 
 ^opds as might ensure his ruin ; he only asked how 
 long the king would grant him to raise the fearful 
 sum required. A month was given him ; he bowed, 
 but never promised them to pay within the time, 
 and left the council-chamber with such a haughty 
 bearing as made the king look very mean by 
 contrast. 
 
 When he regained the hostelrie or inn, Sir Guy 
 was furious. He sought his chamber, and with 
 mighty strides paced up and down in anger. 
 
 There came a tap just audible, it was so very gentle 
 that it was twice repeated before Sir Guy could hear 
 it. He opened the room-door, and saw a little man 
 in quaint attire standing without, uncertain whether 
 he should knock again or leave the house. 
 
 " How now ! who art thou ? What's thy will with 
 me ? " 
 
 The queer, fantastic little fellow wore one of those 
 peaked hats projecting forward like a water-spout. 
 His jerkin was of dark blue cloth with hardly any 
 skirt, but with such wide and over-hanging sleeves as 
 would have been sufficient to clothe him altogether. 
 His spindle shanks were cased in crimson hose, 
 made of coarse cloth and very tightly litting. The 
 shoes were pointed, and the whole attire was that of 
 ten years back when Henry the Sixth was king. He 
 bore a missive in his hand, and bowed ridiculously 
 low before the knight, replying to his questions 
 thus : 
 
 ^* Who I am is of no consequence. I hardly know 
 
2i6 Richard IV, 
 
 myself. Nor can I say my will with you would 
 gain me audience, if thou be Sir Guy de Montfort. 
 It is the will of others that I come to seek." 
 
 " Come in, and speak less darkly. I am Sir Guy 
 de Montfort, and in no mood for jesting. Is that 
 letter meant for me ? " 
 
 " 'Tis meant for a letter, but addressed to you." 
 
 The knight had shut the door ; he drew his dagger, 
 cut the silk, and read. 
 
 When he had finished reading he asked the mes- 
 senger, " Where is the Earl of Lincoln ? " 
 
 " He stops at Durham House, and if you will I'll 
 guide you to him." 
 
 Then said Sir Guy, " Lead on. If I were sure this 
 were Prince Edward, my sword should not be bared 
 against him." 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 THE DURHAM HOUSE CONSPIRACY. 
 
 ii 11 
 
 HE dwarfish page now led Sir Guy past 
 the king's palace to the Abbey stairs, and 
 here, to the good knight's surprise, he 
 found a barge awaiting him : such a 
 barge as that which formerly was used in the Lord 
 Mayor's procession. Ten oarsmen sat expectant, 
 when Sir Guy approached, and soon they sped along 
 the broad and silent highway called the Thames. 
 For then, as coaches were not used, and horses often 
 floundered on the rough, uneven paving of the streets, 
 boats were the means of transport into London of 
 passengers and goods. 
 
 The bargemen rowed apace, and in due time 
 arrived opposite Durham House, where the Adelphi 
 stands at present. An ancient, castellated mansion, 
 built in the thirteenth century, was Durham House, 
 with high, round towers and strong walls. The 
 
2 1 8 Richard 1 V, 
 
 only entrance from the river-side was a small postern 
 gate, approached by a flight of narrow, steep, stone 
 steps, and guarded by two high cylindrical towers, 
 one on each side, rising higher than any of the 
 buildings, making entrance by a hostile force into the 
 hold impossible. 
 
 Here the barge stopped, and by degrees approached, 
 «o as to lie close alongside the stairs. The barge- 
 man who had command of the party blew a horn, a 
 grating in the low and narrow gate was opened, and 
 a jolly, red face looked out. As soon as the owner 
 of this countenance perceived the liveries of the 
 bargemen, and Lord Lincoln's elfish page, he crie.l 
 out in lusty voice : 
 
 " Welcome to Durham House, my masters ! Walk 
 Tip, gentles ! enter the hold !" 
 
 Two of the bargemen now stood up with wonder- 
 ful agility, and leaping to the lower step, stood ready 
 to assist Sir Guy in landing. He, however, was as 
 brisk as they, and needed marvellous little aid. 
 
 The jovial gateward, opening the gate, admitted 
 Montfort to a narrow winding stair, up which the 
 dwarfish page preceded him. This staircase wound 
 its spiral length up one of the tall flanking towers 
 that served to guard the entrance. Here and there 
 were loopholes cut for archers, and oylette holes for 
 harquebuss, cross-bow, or hand-gun to protrude upon 
 the foe who might be bold enough to scale the 
 narrow stairs, or even to approach them in a boat. 
 
 When about halfway up the winding stair, the 
 
The Durham House Conspiracy, 219 
 
 ^elfish messenger stopped short before a low, arched 
 door, which he held open for Sir Guy to enter. 
 
 Passing a low-roofed ante-room, the knight and 
 page entered the banquet-hall, a large and lofty 
 chamber strewed with rushes ; the walls were hung 
 with costly arras, the roof was well adorned with 
 fair carved rafters richly gilt, but the whole room 
 was lighted by a single window, wherefore even 
 in the day time a crescet hanging from the roof kept 
 burning. 
 
 On the dais was a long black table of ancient oak, 
 with about twenty high-backed chairs behind it. The 
 central one of these was covered over by a crimson 
 canopy of state worked with large golden mitres. 
 Upon the throne thus formed a venerable figure sat, 
 clad in a long black robe of silk ; a small black cap 
 of silk was on his head, and round his neck he wore 
 a golden chain to which a massive crucifix was hung. 
 
 Next to the bishop sat a stalwart form clad in a 
 velvet jerkin of deep blue ; his hose were red, 
 his jerkin sleeves fantastically long, and at the 
 back of the high chair on which he sat a large 
 round hat was hung, from which a plume of feathers 
 drooped in gay profusion. His sword was standing 
 near him leaning against the chair. He also wore a 
 collar, but of another pattern to that the bishop wore. 
 The other chairs, save one, were occupied ; this vacant 
 seat was on the bishop's left. 
 
 Now as Sir Guy de Montfort entered the banquet- 
 room, the conversation, which had been brisk and 
 
220 Richard IV, 
 
 lively, was on the instant hushed. The men as- 
 sembled at the bishop's table were all of haughty 
 aspect, and as Sir Guy approached they eyed him 
 with evident mistrust. The bishop was the first to 
 break the ominous silence. 
 
 "Welcome, Sir Guy de Montfort, " he exclaimed. 
 *' Doubtless you bring us news, or if no news, 
 certes, words encouraging our cause, else you had 
 not accepted my noble friend. Lord Lincoln's invita- 
 tion." 
 
 " My lord bishop," answered Sir Guy, " I come in 
 all humility to learn from you and brave Lord 
 Lincoln what things are to be done and who shall do 
 them. I have but little to suggest and everything 
 to learn. " 
 
 " Pray you be seated, " said the bishop, waving 
 with his hand and pointing to the vacant seat. Sir 
 Guy sat down, and then the bishop said, addressing 
 the strange figure of the elfish page, " Fantome, thou 
 hast done well ; I shall reward thee ! Now, thou 
 canst withdraw. " 
 
 " Gramercy, good lord bishop ! Now I live in hope. 
 1 keep a chequer, down below, of all your promises, 
 be it of punishment or of reward, and as I never yet 
 got either, the account is fairly balanced. " 
 
 "Thou Shalt soon find thy score made quit, thou 
 prate-apace, with such a punishment as fools and 
 knaves endure. " 
 
 " They endure many punishments, especially the 
 fools, but surely, good my lord, you would not 
 
The Durham House Conspiracy. 221 
 
 waste the punishment of such as they on such a one 
 as J, who, by my faith, am neither !" 
 
 Herewith the favourite page bowed low, and then 
 withdrew. 
 
 " Sir Guy de Montfort," said the Earl of Lincoln, 
 " I have requested you to join our meeting for the 
 nonce, because I feel that if you go not with us, at 
 least you'll not betray us to the king !" 
 
 Sir Guy de Montfort started to his feet, the red 
 blood rushing to his face the while. 
 
 " Who dares to call me traitor ?" he exclaimed. 
 
 "Be calm, sir," said the bishop. "This is no 
 place for brawling, and in my presence it were out 
 of place wherever it might be. My Lord of Lincoln 
 is, I doubt not, anxious that anything transpiring 
 here to-day should be held secret from the world, 
 and more than all, from Harry Tudor." 
 
 " If he misdoubt me, wherefore send for me ? 
 This courtesy is scant indeed, my lord ! I thought 
 to come and find one friend at least, and in the out- 
 set meet with insult I Indeed, my lords, I like it 
 not." 
 
 Then said a stern old warrior, more than six feet 
 high, but stout and strong as he had been full forty 
 years ago : 
 
 " No insult is intended, Montfort : of that you 
 may be sure. I would not quietly sit here and 
 witness insult done to a brave knight, moreover a 
 good friend. But in this undertaking, touching 
 the young Prince Edward, we run no common risk, 
 
222 Richard IV, 
 
 for should our scheme be known to Harry Tudor 
 our heads would pay the price. It is not asking 
 thee too much, when we demand that you should 
 swear to us, upon your knightly honour, never in any 
 way to cause our plans for serving the house of York 
 to be discovered to the house of Lancaster." 
 
 " I think. Lord Lovel, you have known me long 
 enough to feel assured that treachery and De 
 Montfort were words that never should be used 
 together !" 
 
 " Yes," said Lord Lovel, " I will not gainsay it ; 
 but you remember, just two years ago you were 
 King Richard's trusty friend and champion. You 
 now hold office under Henry as under Richard then. 
 Nay, be not out with me. Sir Guy ! The under- 
 taking that we have in hand is far too serious for 
 jesting ; we must see every step before us. You 
 were, I can avouch, a faithful servant to King 
 Richard. If you are faithful to King Henry . . . ." 
 
 " Pardon, my lord," said Montfort. " I serve the 
 king. As long as Richard lived, he was my king, 
 and by your own avouchment I served him truly. 
 When he was dead, I had no king till Harry Tudor, 
 being crowned, became my king instead. If now 
 you tell me that Richard's nephew lives, whom he 
 was charged with murdering in the Tower, my 
 faith flies back to him, for it is not the man I 
 serve but the high office vested in him. If, as I 
 hear. Prince Edward is alive, my oath to serve the 
 king refers to Uim, rather than to Richard's children, 
 
The Durham House Conspiracy, 223 
 
 because the proof that Edward lives clears Richard 
 from the Tudors' slander* Such is my faith, my 
 lord, but he who calls me traitor lies in his throat, 
 and I will prove it on his body with sword and 
 axe and lance." 
 
 " 'Tis well. Sir Guy," the bishop said. " There is 
 no person in this house of mine shall offer insult to 
 so dear a friend. Lord Lincoln never meant to call 
 thee traitor." 
 
 Lincoln arose, and looking round the table, 
 observed : 
 
 " I did not, certes, call Sir Guy a traitor. If I had 
 thought him one, why, as he justly asks, should I 
 have sent for him to join our meeting ? His word 
 that he is with us will suffice ; but we want that 
 assurance ere he be admitted to the cause." 
 
 Sir Guy looked fiercely round on all the warriors 
 present, twelve or fifteen men, most of them known 
 to him, all valiant captains much renowned in arms, 
 but he could see no sneering look or scornful glance 
 among them. 
 
 Half disappointed at finding none on whom to vent 
 his rage, Sir Guy sat wrathfully at the left hand of 
 the good bishop, and glowered round upon the 
 assembled nobles like some fierce animal at bay 
 watching the hunters round him before deciding on 
 a final spring. 
 
 At last Lord Lincoln, who still remained stand- 
 ing, said : " My lords and gentlemen, we all know 
 Guy de Montfort, and you all know me. If I have 
 
224 Richard IV, 
 
 hurt liim by the way in which I spoke, I am sincerely 
 sorry. We must be united, or our project fails. He 
 has explained his grounds for service with the Tudor, 
 and we are satisfied. I ask him to be satisfied with 
 me, who meant him no offence. I offer him my 
 hand ; if he refuse to take it, I will at any time he 
 may demand it, award him satisfaction on foot or 
 horseback, with sword or axe or lance, wherever he 
 thinks fit." 
 
 Then Montfort rose, stretching his hand before 
 the bishop's throne, and clasped Lord Lincoln's in a 
 friendly grasp. A murmur passed among the guests, 
 Montfort and Lincoln took their seats, and old Lord 
 Level rose, and thus addressed the party : 
 
 "My lords and gentlemen, not one of you has 
 ever had such chance of seeing deep into King 
 Richard's heart as I, unless it be Sir Guy de Mont- 
 fort, who knew him passing well. Indeed, I think 
 there were some secrets hidden there which Montfort 
 knew of, though they were hid from me. His 
 thought about this business of Prince Edward is 
 most important to the cause. I therefore ask our 
 host and friend to put that question from his throne, 
 as bishop and president, whether De Montfort thinks 
 it justifiable to set up Edward York, King Richard's 
 nephew, heir to the crown of England, as true and 
 lawful king, or does he know of some one else whose 
 claim lies nearer, and whose title could as well be 
 proved ?'* 
 
 Lord Level took his seat again amidst a storm of 
 
The Durham House Conspiracy. 225 
 
 plaudits, that rendered certain loud, impatient knock- 
 ings at the chamber-door inaudible. The bishop 
 raised his hand, and the plaudits ceased ; but as the 
 reverend man began to speak, the knocking grew 
 so loud that he stopped, and begged Sir Hugh de 
 Brass kindly to act as porter for the nonce. 
 
 Sir Hugh rose hastily, and opened wide the door, 
 when in rushed, almost breathless, two men-at-arms. 
 One of them, speaking thickly in his fear, ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 " My lords, you are betrayed ! Escape in time ! 
 The entrance to the Strand is barred by a strong party 
 of "King Henry's men, who clamour for admittance." 
 
 " Then who are they now at the Water-Gate ? " 
 asked the lord bishop, with a show of calmness he 
 was far from feeling. 
 
 " They are the king's men too, but Fantome has 
 them well in play, with quaint and studied answers ; 
 but they must soon be here. Be warned, my lord, in 
 time. Fly from the royal wrath. We are faithful 
 servants, and will never say a word touching these 
 nobles. Fly with them. We will keep the stairs 
 till you are out of danger." 
 
 " Thou art a good and faithful servant, but Henry 
 dares not injure me who serve a higher Prince. I 
 have no fear of him. Is anyone sought here by 
 name ?" 
 
 " Yea, my lord bishop," said the second soldier. 
 " They seek Sir Guy de Montfort, charged with— 1 
 think — high treason I" 
 
 Q 
 
226 Richard IV. 
 
 " In that case," quoth De Montf ort," I yield myself, 
 not as a guilty man, but to prevent the breach of all 
 good custom, should the bishop here be injured or in 
 any way mixed up in charges which the king may 
 bring against me. Friends, I depart to Henry — " 
 
 " Not from this roof a prisoner," said the bishop. 
 " You are my guest, Sir Guy. I charge you all here 
 present to resist his rendering himself to Henry." 
 
 Then said Lord Lincoln : " I invited him, and not 
 through me shall Montf ort come to danger. Can we 
 escape from hence by any means, my lord ? If so, I 
 would that those who came prepared to act in favour 
 of Prince Edward, should come with me to mine own 
 house yonder, amidst the fields." 
 
 Here, the noise below increased ; then the bishop, 
 rising from his throne, solemnly gave his blessing to 
 all present, and stepping from the lofty dais, went to 
 a portion of the room opposite the little door by 
 which Sir Guy had entered ; there he withdrew the 
 arras, and disclosed behind it what seemed to be a 
 portion of the thick stone wall. He touched a 
 board beneath him with his foot, and stooping down,, 
 by dint of sheer hard work, assisted by Sir Hugh de 
 Brass, he raised it up at length. It showed a little 
 cavity under the planking of the room, in which 
 there lay a rusty iron handle. This Sir Hugh, by 
 his direction, turned a little to the right. "When this 
 was done a most unwonted scene became enacted. 
 The massive masonry of the stone wall began to 
 sink, at least a part of it, some twenty inches or 
 
The Durham House Conspiracy. 227 
 
 two feet in width, until a niche appeared, through 
 w^hich the bishop motioned all his guests to pass. 
 As each man entered, he perceived a stair leading 
 below. While they were passing down, the bishop 
 sent his men-at-arms to lead King Henry's soldiers to 
 the private oratory, reached from a higher floor, saying 
 that he would meet them there. The men departed. 
 
 " Quick, Sir Hugh, the lamp !" he cried, as old Lord 
 Lovel passed the niche the last, except the bishop 
 and Sir Hugh. 
 
 Sir Hugh sprang to the table, seized the crescet, 
 and with a bound and rush gained the strange open- 
 ing in the wall. He and the bishop, first putting 
 straight the arras, passed through the aperture. The 
 bishop touched a handle on the other side, and the 
 huge stone that formed the door sprang to its place 
 again as if by magic. 
 
 It took them far less time to do these things than 
 it takes us to tell ; for though the bishop moved 
 with dignity, his motions were not slow. The nobles 
 were all warriors, well accustomed to prompt deed, 
 and so, although there was no hurry, they were all 
 safe away before the hurrying soldiers of the king 
 could reach the banquet-room. 
 
 These stormed, and raged, and threatened, while 
 the dwarfish page, Fantome, goaded them into mad- 
 ness by his cool and biting answers. 
 
 At last, the men-at-arms, descending, declared the 
 bishop to be absent from the banquet-hall and that 
 side of the mansion. 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 Richard IV, 
 
 " Belike," the elder of the twain observed, " my 
 lord is in the oratory, offering his prayers to Heaven 
 for the king !" 
 
 " Of that there is no doubt, my masters," cried 
 Fantome. 
 
 *'Why, then, thou foolish knave," exclaimed a 
 pursuivant in green and white, wearing the Tudor 
 badge upon his breast, " why didst thou not conduct 
 us thither ? Thou art a knave, a very naughty varlet, 
 by the bones!" 
 
 " Nay, gentle sir, you never asked me. You told me 
 that you wanted Master Montfort — " 
 
 " Sir Guy de Montfort, varlet ! — Hast thou no 
 respect ?" 
 
 "Airs one, he is not here; I told you so. As 
 to respect ! Marry come up ! — respect, quotha !^ 
 where is the great respect due to my lord the 
 bishop ?" 
 
 This bandying of words went on long enough to 
 give the conspirators due time to fly. So, when King 
 Henry's soldiers gained the banquet-hall, lo ! it was 
 dark and empty. 
 
 " Now, by St. Becket's bones ! " exclaimed the 
 pursuivant, " I could have sworn I had him in a trap. 
 Lead to the oratory. March ! " 
 
 After due time they gained the oratory, a sort of 
 chapel, far removed from what was called the 
 banquet-room. Here was a splendid crucifix adorned 
 with gold and precious gems, a hundred golden 
 candlesticks held huge wax-tapers, round which 
 
The Durham House Consph^acy. 229 
 
 were curiously twined garlands of thin gold plate, 
 set with rich pearls and rubies to represent red and 
 white roses, in allusion to the marriage of the king 
 with thfe fair daughter of the house of York. Around 
 npon the walls were paintings fairly limned of 
 male and female saints, and these were gay in richly 
 coloured vesture. Besides these pictures, there 
 were painted statues in costly garments set with 
 precious stones. The floor was all of marble, black 
 and white in squares. The roof was formed of 
 arches of dark oak, with gilding on those portions 
 that were most prominent. The altar-cloth was 
 made of silver tissue, on which a golden cross was 
 worked. The vessels on the altar were of gold 
 The steps which led up to the holy spot were 
 covered with white velvet, with deep red crosses 
 worked thereon. 
 
 Lowly, before the grand high altar, the wealthy 
 bishop knelt, while grouped in solemn order near 
 him were his private chaplains, a numerous train of 
 choir boys (dressed in white), and many servitors of 
 that gorgeous service which, in the days we write 
 of, was deemed sufficient to absolve from sin the 
 most depraved of mortals. 
 
 The sight was unexpected, dazzling, nay, awful, to 
 those rugged soldiers. Down went the halberts, 
 spears, gisarmes, and glaives. Off went the helmets, 
 down knelt the pursuivant and all his train, in meek 
 devotion. And if we may believe the written works 
 of Skelton, who was living then, there was more 
 
230 Richard IV, 
 
 good among the brawling men-at-arms than among 
 priests and monks. The soldiers knew no better ; 
 bluff, simple-hearted, brave, they did as they were 
 bid, and, happy in their ignorance, were much more 
 innocent than intriguing monks who had the means 
 of learning to do well and used them but for evil. 
 
 Another door flew open, and another armed train 
 rushed in upon the scene we have just noticed. 
 They stared at seeing armed men in Henry's livery, 
 kneeling in meek devotion. But in a moment they 
 had recognised their comrades, and joined them in 
 their prayers. 
 
 Then rose the splendid anthem, far more glorious to 
 the ear than all the gold and jewels to the eye. It 
 swelled aloft in all its mighty power, and bore those 
 rough, untutored minds far above earthly things, 
 though not a single word of what was being sung did 
 the poor warriors understand. Strange as it seems, 
 it is still true that the enormous power of these 
 sacred chants, though uttered in a foreign tongue, 
 reached the men's hearts, as if in very spite of 
 monkish wile and Romish art, that sought to put a 
 barrier between God and man ! 
 
 When this surprising strain was hushed, the bishop 
 rose, and after many genuflexions to the altar, and 
 after many rites, prolonged to gain more time, he 
 turned and blessed the soldiers. The pursuivant and 
 many of the men were bathed in tears, and at the 
 words " VOBISCUM DOMINUS," all further thoughts of 
 searching Durham House had vanished from their 
 minds. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 THE CROSS-KEYS INTERLUDE. 
 
 GRAVE and learned man was Willi am 
 Caxton, to whose care Richard had been 
 consigned. The wonder which onr hero 
 felt at sight of Caxton's press, was what 
 we might have looked for in a bookworm and a 
 scholar. But it is a curious fact, that this first 
 English printer seemed totally unaware of the mighty 
 power he was letting loose, a power that has far 
 eclipsed that of the sword ! To him it was, as it had 
 been to Faust, simply a means of saving labour and 
 growing rich, although, unlike the German, he was 
 ever willing to show and explain the process. 
 
 Only a copyist, however, Caxton's learning never 
 led him to the higher flights of literary fancy. He 
 loved translations, and he translated from French and 
 Latin authors for the English public without much 
 care in the selection. The first English book he 
 
232 Richard IV, 
 
 ever printed was issued from his press before he 
 came to England. It was a translation of a French 
 book, and was called the Recuyell of the Histories of 
 Troye. It was printed at Ghent ; the first book 
 actually printed in England being The Game of the 
 Chesse. Between 1474 and 1491 — sixteen years — he 
 produced over sixty different works. 
 
 On the afternoon of the same day as that on which 
 Sir Guy de Montfort had passed from Durham House 
 to the grand Hall, or Inn, belonging to the Earls of 
 Lincoln (in the fields which bore their name and 
 bear it still, though they are fields no more), Richard 
 was busy painting a lovely capital letter in a new 
 book called the " Golden Legend, " with diligence 
 and love : the master entered unperceived, and laying 
 his hand upon his shoulder, said: 
 
 " Thou hast been too hard at it, my young friend. 
 This is not well. The eyes are red, the cheeks are 
 white, and the whole man seems faint. Nay, this 
 will never do." 
 
 " I am not much fatigued, good master." 
 
 " Such is the speech of all who work with love ; 
 but it is useless, Richard, with old Caxton, who 
 penetrates thy kindly soul with his experienced , 
 eyes. Now listen ! When Sir Guy left thee in my 
 poor hands to make a man of thee, he placed a 
 goodly store of gold in fair sealed purses in my 
 charge. He said it was thy fortune, that he gave it 
 me as price of thy * apprenticeship.' God save the 
 mark ! Thou hast more skill than ever I can teach 
 
The Cross- Keys Interlude. 235 
 
 thee ; so, as I said, thou art so pale and wan, i ween 
 it were a fair good deed to take thee into London 
 with the money and place it in the hands of Master 
 Wood, who will take better care of it than we." 
 
 •So the next morning, early, at breakfast. Master 
 William Caxton, reminding his pupil of their con- 
 versation, added to his plan this pleasant thought : 
 
 " Beshrew me, Richard ! I had very near forgotten 
 that on this very day the Interlude, or played 
 Morality, will be performed in Gracious Street. Now 
 if we reach good Master Wood's in time, we may be 
 able to attend this new and choice ' Morality.' " 
 
 " Pray, Master Caxton, what is a * Morality' ?" 
 
 *' It is a kind of play upon a stage, like those called 
 Mysteries, only, whereas the mystery hath, ever had 
 scenes from the Scriptures to set forth, your Morality 
 is taken from some other source and gives the con- 
 duct of some virtue or some vice, either on earth or irt 
 the minds of men." 
 
 " Nay, that is passing strange ! How can a vice or 
 virtue walk upon the stage like to the persons in the 
 Holy Book .? I well remember me at Faversham, 
 where I was sent to school, that we did oft enact the 
 mighty deeds of prophets and apostles, in cunning 
 garments very f eatly wrought, and so contrived as to 
 present those prophets with all due care and awe. 
 But vice and virtue are not persons I" 
 
 " Thou reasonest well, son Richard, but it is not 
 very difficult to image to oneself a virtue very fair 
 and most resplendent in its beauty. Thus a fair boy 
 
234 Richard IV, 
 
 disguised in female robes, might well present 
 such persons as the ' Truth,' * Faith,' ' Hope,' or 
 * Charity,' while some blufE fellow in a pasteboard 
 mask could personate 'Revenge,' * Despair,' or 
 ' Hate'." 
 
 "I see the drift. It must be marvellous. T 
 prythee, let us see such plays, good master." 
 
 " Finish thy porridge, then look to thy paclf, with 
 which we'll load old Snorter for the nonce. I will 
 ride with thee on my old blind piebald Ball, and so 
 we'll ride to London." 
 
 The porridge required small time to consume, and 
 the high-born Richard, fresh from the pleasures 
 of a noble castle-yard, found himself fixing on the 
 saddle of Master Caxton's horse. 
 
 While thus engaged, a tall and sober man, clad in a 
 ^* sad"-coloured cloak, came to the stable-yard ; this 
 man was greeted with marked distinction by the old 
 printer Caxton. 
 
 "Welcome, dear Wynkin ! Richard, this is my friend, 
 Wynkin de Worde, of Ghent. We have been friends 
 for many years, though he is younger than I am. A 
 better printer wilt thou never find, a better friend 
 need no man have. So deft and clever is he in his 
 art, that it is highest praise to any printer to hear he 
 does his work * like Wynkin.' " 
 
 " Right glad am I to meet so good a craftsman. I 
 trust to profit by his skill, " said Richard. 
 
 Then answered Wynkin de Worde : " I am 
 much honoured in thy praise, and glad to see this 
 
The Cross- Keys Interlude, 235 
 
 stripling thus employed. But worthy Master Caxton, 
 we must remember ' When the bow is always bent, 
 its strength is soonest spent.' The mind wants 
 relaxation, especially in youth." 
 
 "Nay, on that very subject were we even now - 
 conversing, and as thou seemest to feel it strongly 
 thou wilt be more inclined to aid me. Take thou the 
 charge of all the work to-day ; we will go forth, 
 Richard and I, upon a point of commerce, and then 
 I will convey him to see the new ' Morality,' now 
 playing, as men say, in Gracious Street." 
 
 So it was arranged, and soon the youthful scion of 
 the house of York was riding past the cross of 
 Charing, with the grave old father of the English 
 Press, the last of the old stern race of warriors — a 
 young and ardent boy with the first of the new 
 regime. It was a strange companionship, the Past and 
 Puture — Plantagenet and Caxton. 
 
 The fields near Charing were not always safe in 
 ihese same "good old times." So men who rode 
 from Westminster to London went armed and 
 frequently in companies. The ordinary traffic being 
 by water, the passage into town by Fleet Street was 
 badly kept and still worse guarded. 
 
 Our friends were riding on together, when they 
 became aware that they were being followed. A 
 man of stalwart bulk, in somewhat warlike guise, - 
 attracted their attention. At times he darted up by- 
 lanes, and ways obscured with hedges, and was lost to 
 view. Anon he reappeared riding not far behind. 
 
236 Richard IV. 
 
 Then Richard, as boys will, grew wrathful, and 
 exclaimed, stopping his horse to meet the stranger 
 and drawing his sword, that flashed the sun's rays 
 back as if in anger too : — " How now. Sir Spy I 
 What dost thou seek of us ? If it be gold, I tell thee 
 thou hast erred ; but if a shower of blows may serve 
 thy turn, why, thou art fairly welcome, seeing thou 
 canst have plenty and to spare. Draw and defend 
 thyself, thou skulking hound ! " 
 
 " Fair sir," replied the stranger, riding up some- 
 what familiarly toward Richard, "you do most 
 grievously mistake me. I am a stranger to this land 
 and fain would learn more of these paths and roads 
 than dwellers in the town can tell me. If I have 
 caused alarm, I crave your pardon if you . . . . " 
 
 "I prythee come no nearer, or I strike," said 
 Richard, forcing back his horse, so as to keep a 
 distance between the stranger and himself. " Draw 
 and defend thyself. Thou art no friend of ours by 
 thy showing." 
 
 What might have now ensued we cannot tell, of 
 course, but at the moment when good Master Caxton 
 with much deliberation had drawn a sword that had 
 probably seen service in the times of Cressy or 
 Poictiers, and both our travellers were awaiting the 
 onset of their opponent, a back portal of one of the 
 large palaces (whose front faces, like that of Durham 
 House, looked upon the water) opened, and the figure 
 of a tall man mounted on an ass issued forth. 
 
 The little animal, with the peculiar jogging run of 
 
The Cross- Keys Interlude, 237 
 
 his kind, carried his rider towards the three before a 
 blow could be exchanged, indeed, before the sword 
 of him who had followed our hero could be bared. 
 But no sooner did he catch sight of this new 
 ally than he turned his horse's head and galloped 
 over hedge and field, and was entirely lost sight of 
 before th«ir unexpected friend had advanced near 
 enough to Richard and the printer for them to see 
 clearly to whom they owed their safety. 
 
 " How now, Nuncle ! Is not motley the only wear? 
 Said I not sooth, wilt change thy garb for mine ? 
 See how the rascal flies I He has a dread of ridicule, 
 my masters ! And who loves to be laughed at ? 
 Seest thou, Nuncle, laughter is a sharper weapon than 
 the warrior's sword ! " 
 
 '* Jankin Panns, as I live !" cried Richard. " Ex- 
 cellent, empty-headed, but full-hearted friend, how 
 dost thou ?" 
 
 " Even as best I may, Nuncle ! If thou shouldst 
 grow great, as thou growest big, I might have a 
 chance of elevation other than the gallows. But 
 what makest thou in London, Nunks ? Thou wilt 
 to London, eh ?" 
 
 "Yes, we are bound to London to visit one 
 Master Wood, who was a friend of . . ." 
 
 " I know of whom. The fool is known by his 
 folly, and the wise man by his friends. A mad 
 world, my masters. But, Nuncle, take a fool's advice, 
 go not to London this year; it may be there are 
 changes, it may be there are none j in any case * ware 
 
238 Richard IV, 
 
 hawk,' for the Red Rose king with the White Rose 
 queen may soon be going hunting. Ride on, Nuncle, 
 if go thou wilt, but beware the foreign spy ; he 
 knows thee, and indeed thon knowest him. Give 
 you good den, Sir Printer ; guard well the 'prentice ! 
 Printer's 'prentice, ho ! ho ! ho !" 
 
 And the jester was gone, leaving our travellers 
 much amazed at his grotesque words and actions. 
 
 Disregarding the admonition to avoid London, 
 Richard and Caxton, sheathing their swords, rode 
 on to Lud-gate, and ere long had drawn rein before 
 the house of Master Wood, the goldsmith. 
 
 Passing through the crowd of apprentices and work- 
 men, they made their way to where the old merchant 
 sat, one of whose servitors was despatched to hold 
 the horses. 
 
 When Master Wood beheld our hero, he turned 
 pale, and rising from his seat, exclaimed : " Holy St. 
 Mary, shield us I Can it be possible I see thee, even 
 as thou wert some four-and -twenty years agone ? 
 But no ... I must be dreaming ! What is your 
 will ?" 
 
 Richard well understood the good man's terror, 
 but he wisely took no further notice of it, replying 
 thus: 
 
 " I am accredited to you by one you wot of, and 
 in token that I really come from him I show this 
 jewel." 
 
 Hereupon he produced his father's ring, which he 
 had constantly worn round his neck. 
 
The Cross- Keys Interlude. 239 
 
 " Now I know all," said Wood. " How like ! how 
 marvellously like ! Thou wilt do well to keep with- 
 in thy house when the coronation shall take place. 
 Poor lad !" he added in an undertone, "where will 
 it end ?" 
 
 " Now, Master Wood, I have a boon to crave." 
 
 "Say on, 'tis granted to the half my worldly 
 goods." 
 
 " I fain would place a sum of gold in safer keep- 
 ing than it is with us. This friend, good Master 
 Caxton, is now revealing to me the noble art of 
 printing, but as it seems he likes my trick of draw- 
 ing in brilliant colours bright headings for his page^ 
 so he will take no money for the advantage I have 
 in being with him. My father left some gold, which 
 I have offered Master Caxton, but he refuses it» 
 I offer it to thee to keep till better days." 
 
 " Where is the gold ?" 
 
 " Part in my saddle-bags, part in my pouch, and 
 part in Master Caxton's saddle-bags." 
 
 Wood now gave orders to unstrap the saddle- 
 bags, and take them to the upper chamber, which 
 accordingly was done. He then led Richard and the 
 printer thither. 
 
 When they were alone again. Wood turned to Cax- 
 ton, saying, " As thou art privy to the history of thy 
 'prentice, I will admit thee to another secret, now only 
 known to me." 
 
 He rose and barred the heavy door, then turning 
 to the mighty mantle over the fireplace, removed a 
 
240 Richard IV. 
 
 piece of woodwork, thus revealing a cavity within 
 quite capable of holding all the gold. The inner 
 portion of this cavity was stone, the inner lining of 
 the wooden cover, iron. 
 
 He counted out the gold, replaced it in the bags, 
 then adjusted the wooden cover of the hole, and all 
 was as it had been. 
 
 After some pleasant chat. Wood taught both 
 Eichard and the printer to open this strange hid- 
 ing-place, and then they left him to pursue their 
 pleasure. 
 
 Richard had secured some coins to bear their 
 charges in the shows they visited, and rode away 
 from Master Wood's with a light heart and many 
 buoyant hopes. They rode along through Chepe, 
 past London Stone, then down the street where 
 foreign merchants dwelt, chiefly from Lombardy 
 (whence its present name), and many of the houses 
 were adorned with signs showing the names or 
 nationalities of those within. But chiefly here the 
 ancient badge of Lombardy, three balls of gold, was 
 seen. This sign still flourishes in many parts of 
 London. Then our friends rode on until they came 
 to Gracious Street, where Caxton purposed first to 
 dine, and then to see the Interlude. 
 
 But the Cross-Keys was full, and it was only as a 
 special favour that the bluff host would resign a 
 tiny room, which he had thought of keeping for 
 another guest, to our two wanderers. 
 
 We have described the courtvard of an inn when 
 
The Cross-Keys Interlude. 241 
 
 Richard III was king, and this inn-yard was like 
 the rest in almost everything. There were three 
 sides, built round with two large galleries of wood, 
 serving as corridors to the respective bedrooms. 
 The fourth side to the street contained the gates 
 and various sheds for waggons, and was parted by 
 the main hostel itself from Gracious Street. The 
 preparations had commenced the day before, and 
 certain carts had been placed together in the centre 
 of that part of the main hostelry where the entrance 
 cut through the house, and led from the street to 
 the yard. Across these carts a number of planks 
 were placed to form a stage. The galleries to 
 which we have alluded were decorated by having 
 old tapestry, cloaks, flags, and such things flung 
 over them, and they then resembled, in use and 
 position, the tiers of boxes of the modern theatre, 
 which, indeed, were suggested by these old galleries 
 of the inn. The courtyard itself was the pit, and, 
 like the galleries, was strewn with fresh green 
 rushes. 
 
 The wheels of the carts over which the planks 
 were stretched were concealed by thick, coarse sack- 
 cloth, painted green and white. There was a 
 structure at the back, raised a few feet higher than 
 the stage, on which the actors stood when city walls 
 or hills, or any elevated posts, were shown. 
 
 At last the hour arrived when, all the places being 
 taken, the play began. The piece represented was 
 entitled Magnificence^ and a very tedious, long- 
 
 R 
 
242 Richard IV, 
 
 winded affair it was, all the characters represent- 
 ing, not human beings, but the personifications of 
 Felicity, Liberty, Folly, Fame, and many others. 
 
 Still, to Richard it was a grand sight, and the being 
 present at it was like new life to him. He stood 
 with Master Caxton in the yard, having been too 
 late to secure places in the galleries, and listened 
 with interest to the speeches, which would have 
 driven a modern boy to distraction by their dul- 
 ness, and was greatly interested in an altercation 
 between " Counterfeit Countenance" and " Crafty 
 Conveyance," when one of the unlucky inter- 
 locutors expressed himself as follows : — 
 
 "All Crafty Convej'ance must soon end. 
 From such the Saints our land defend ! 
 The crooked-backed traitor dead and gone, 
 Richard the Third— the foulest one, 
 That every Crafty Conveyance used ..." 
 
 *' Thou art a lying villain !" roared Richard, with 
 the full Plantagenet ring in his voice, a flash in his 
 eye that would have cowed many at once, and with 
 a wave of his drawn sword that was quite worthy of 
 the century passing away. With a bound he was on 
 the stage, and in another moment his sword would 
 have been drinking the life's blood of the innocent 
 actor, but, fortunately for all parties, the actor made 
 a very precipitous exit ; others surrounded Richard, 
 who was disarmed and brought to the ground on the 
 other side of the cart from that on which Master 
 Caxton stood. 
 
 Here he would have been given over to the city 
 
The Cross-Keys Interlude. 243 
 
 guard, but at the moment a tall, ungainly figure in 
 the livery of the Royal Household advanced, and 
 claimed him. 
 
 " Hands off, you churls !" he cried. " Have a care, 
 my masters ! Henry the Seventh brooks no inter- 
 ference with his kingly pleasure, I can tell you. 
 Ye had better have touched the foul fiend with a 
 priest^s crucifix than meddle with what Harry Tudor 
 sets apart for himself." 
 
 " How now ! " cried one of the players, " is it 
 thou, Jankin Panns ? Thou shalt speak the King's 
 grace fair for us. We would fain play the Interlude 
 at Sheen." 
 
 " That ye shall do, my masters ; only ye must let 
 this springald go ; he will reward you, / will reward 
 you, God will reward you, your own conscience . . ." 
 
 " Enough, enough, Jankin Panns ! If thou stand 
 surety for the boy, 'tis well. Take him with thee, if 
 thou wilt. What ails the boy .^ He is a fair youth, 
 and a proper !" 
 
 " Ay marry, is he ; but he is cracked, my masters; 
 and as nature has made a fool of him by her act and 
 deed, Henry the King will follow up nature's hint 
 and further make a fool of the boy. In short, I am 
 educating him for my own noble calling, the most 
 ancient art ever known, and yet the newest !" 
 
 *' How so, Jankin Panns ?" 
 
 " Why, thus. What a fool Adam was, to begin with ! 
 
 That is ancient folly, I trow. Then what a fool art 
 
 thou, as a modern instance !" 
 
 R 2 
 
244 Richard IV. 
 
 So Jankin Panns danced off with Richard, whom 
 he held firmly in his hand, as he contrived to slip 
 between the carts, and so out into Gracious Street. 
 
 " Now, hasten, Nuncle. I shall take thee home by 
 a boat ; it is safer than the dry land." 
 
 " But, Master Caxton T' said Richard, who, now 
 that the sudden excitement had passed away, felt 
 very much ashamed of himself, — "where is Master 
 Caxton ? Shall we not seek him ?" 
 
 " Prythee, peace ! Thy tongue has done enough 
 for one day ! Let Master Caxton find his way. He 
 will not miss it. Depend upon it, when we get to 
 Westminster we shall find him there." 
 
 A hired boat brought our hero and Jankin Panns 
 to Westminster, but Caxton had not yet returned. 
 When he came home, however, he looked very 
 stern. 
 
 " Nay," he exclaimed, " this passes my conception ; 
 thou wilt be tracked to me. This is not safe for any 
 of thy house ! What have I done to be mixed up 
 in this ?" 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A NEW USE FOR TYPE. 
 
 HE untoward results of the day's outing 
 recorded in our last chapter seemed to 
 render the grave Master Caxton still 
 more grave than usual. Rumours of 
 great risings, shortly to be expected, were heard in 
 out-of-the-way places, at odd, uncanny times ; but 
 there was no post in those days, no newspaper, and 
 no organised means of intercourse between the dis- 
 trict towns and the capital. Nottingham was farther 
 off from the London of 1487 than Berlin is from the 
 London of 1887. 
 
 Still, there was something in the air. The 
 burghers of the ancient city trembled for their 
 gains, and no man knew whence the storm would 
 come and where it would break out. 
 
 "Good Richard Trevor," said Master Caxton to 
 our hero, a week after their memorable expedition, 
 " there will be grand doings in London, for the King, 
 
246 Richard IV. 
 
 desiring at last to have the 'White Rose' crowned 
 (or being forced thereto by what the people say), has 
 ordered a grand pageant at her coronation on this 
 day week. There will be great rejoicings both here 
 at "Westminster, and also in the town of London. 
 Thou hast put me in a sorry plight, good Richard, 
 for, if I go not to the show, the King may very 
 likely call me lukewarm in his cause, and bate a 
 little of his countenance. But if I go and take thee 
 with me, thy choler and thy boiling blood will 
 surely bring us ruin." 
 
 " I am right grieved to think I cause you trouble," 
 said Richard, deferentially, " but when I think on 
 this usurper and the foul, mean tricks by which he 
 robs the merchant, I am, I must confess it, most 
 indignant." 
 
 " 'Tis a good lad, and there are other thoughts, I 
 know, which make thy indignation greater. Sir Guy 
 has told me all thy history, but had he told me 
 nothing, thy speech, thy thought, thine eye flashing 
 as now in scorn of meanness, would tell the story 
 of thy birth to all who knew thy sire." 
 
 *' And you did know my father ? Say I not sooth, 
 he was no crook-backed tyrant, no usurper, but as 
 good and proper a man withal ^ as ever wore a 
 crown ?" 
 
 " Thou speakest truth, friend, as well in w^ords 
 as looks, for surely now thy heightened colour, thy 
 flashing eye, and sudden haughty bearing at mention 
 of thy father, are all strong witnesses to what I say 
 
A New Use fo7' Type, 247 
 
 of thee, and tell me that to go abroad with thee on 
 such a day as this grand holiday, were worse than 
 madness." 
 
 " Then let me stop at home. Here I have work 
 in plenty. This new relation of King Arthur's deeds, 
 and the great feats of Launcelot du Lac and others 
 of the Round Table, will keep me many months. 
 And it is well, knowing, as I do, the use and 
 value of a soldier's harness, that I have this work 
 before me, for I shall draw the knights most faith- 
 fully, just in the armour that I often saw when with 
 Sir Guy de Montfort." 
 
 And so it was arranged. The printer on the corona- 
 tion day went to the house of Wood the goldsmith, 
 the front of which was hung with arras. The con- 
 duit, or water-course of Cheap, was made to run with 
 wine. The city watch, and other bodies, guilds, and 
 companies took a fair share in rendering the show 
 as grand as show could be. Burghers and knights, 
 workmen and nobles vied with each other to aug- 
 ment the show, which was indeed most splendid. 
 
 Richard, meanwhile, remained at work quietly 
 drawing, colouring, measuring, and sometimes read- 
 ing so as to catch the tenor of the tale to which the 
 pictured heading formed an ornament. And it is 
 singular that, clever though he was, it never struck 
 him that the dress and arms worn just a thousand 
 years before his birth might differ somewhat from 
 the things he saw each day around him. 
 
 He was just painting figures round the letter M 
 
248 Richard IV, 
 
 itself, contrived of two stout lions in a desperate 
 strife. The colour of the letter being red, the group 
 about it of warriors in nmour showed silver for 
 their harness, blue and green and grey for other 
 parts of dress. 
 
 "A villainous look I've given to the thief whom 
 Launcelot is chiding ! He looks like Harry Tudor, 
 by the bones ! Nay, I must touch him up a little ; 
 the likeness is too strong, and far too vicious." 
 
 " Thou art in the right of it, Nuncle," said the 
 voice of the jester behind him. How, or when, this 
 queer specimen of humanity had gained admission 
 to the printing house we cannot tell, nor could our 
 hero, who started with astonishment at finding him 
 so near. 
 
 " How, Jankin Panns ! what makest thou here ? 
 Is it indeed my ancient friend before me in the 
 flesh, or do I see a spirit ?" 
 
 *" Of a verity, Nuncle, as the chaplain saith, or used 
 to say, the spirit being willing and the flesh so very 
 weak, the willing spirit has forced the weak flesh 
 to appear before thee by the ordinary course of 
 journeying. . Have thou no fear of me, for, spirit or 
 flesh or both, Jankin is but a fool — a motley fool, 
 good Nuncle. Motley's the only wear !" 
 
 " What news, thou madcap ?" 
 
 " Marry, I think thy portrait of the King a passing 
 likeness. ' Henry the Thief.' Ha ! ha ! 'tis a good 
 reading for King Henry the Seventh, lad ! . . . Nay, 
 do not frown and look so like — another who shall 
 
A New Use for Type. 249 
 
 be nameless ! The news is good or bad, as it may 
 chance. Thy madcap master, Guy de Montf ort, the 
 Earl of Lincoln, some bishops, and a host of Irishers 
 have found a boy whom they declare to be a cousin 
 of a certain worthy youth not very far away. They 
 say this boy is Edward, called the Fifth, by no mean» 
 murdered in the Tower (nay, do not look so fierce), 
 but very much alive. I have my own opinion of this, 
 boy. But all the same, 'tis a mad world to live in.'* 
 
 Richard had risen during this speech. At last he 
 flung himself into a chair, and fairly wept for rage. 
 It was a bitter paroxysm ; he sobbed as if his heart 
 would break, and it was all the more tremendous 
 for being so unusual with him, who never wept 
 before. 
 
 The jester stood and gazed in wonder till the fit 
 was past, and then he said : 
 
 *Now, Nuncle, do not cry ! No good was ever 
 done by weeping. Things will happen as they will, 
 whatever we may say. The world wags on whether 
 we laugh or cry." 
 
 Richard's tears were rather those of rage than grief, 
 and they were dried instantly. 
 
 " I shame me to have been so childish " he ex- 
 claimed ; " but it is over now. Good Jankin, bear 
 with me. But I cannot endure to hear his memory 
 blackened so ! That princely soul a murderer ! It 
 is too much to bear !" 
 
 *' His memory is cleared if this same boy be Ed- 
 ward, but then thy future chance of wearing 
 
250 Richard IV. 
 
 Kichard's crown grows smaller than at present, 
 Nuncle, eh?" 
 
 " I have no thought to wear my father's crown. 
 Did he not tell me, on the only day I ever saw him, 
 to quit such thought for ever ! Did he not charge 
 me, should he fall in fight, or should the battle go 
 against him, to seek some humble calling, forgetting 
 who I am and, certes, whom I might be ? With his 
 command still ringing in mine ears, how can I seek 
 a crown ? Nay, Jankin Panns, it is as far from me 
 as from the east unto the west." 
 
 " Well, Nuncle, thou must go thy way as it is 
 marked for thee ; but I am not so sure. If this same 
 boy turn out some beggar's brat hoisted upon men's 
 shoulders for a cry, and yet should serve the turn of 
 thy supporters, marry ! they would throw him over 
 when they found thee the true heir, and seat thee on 
 the throne." 
 
 " Talk not so, Jankin Panns. It savours of small 
 honesty to utter such a thought ; and though it may 
 be pardonable in thee, in me it were rank treachery 
 to harbour it. Nay, if my friends have found my 
 cousin, I am most thankful, as it clears my father's 
 fame; if they place a vile impostor on the throne 
 that I may sit there after, I say then. Nay, I would 
 not link the name Plantagenet with such a wretched 
 cheat." 
 
 Richard had grown excited with his theme. He 
 marked not that the time was flying until he saw the 
 work he had to do lying, still unfinished, on his table. 
 
A New Use for Type. 251 
 
 "Now, Jankin Panns, go to the larder and ask the 
 cook for bread and ale. Thou wilt be welcome. 
 Say thou nothing of this news ; speak only of the 
 pageant in London. I must hurry on my work. 
 Adieu." 
 
 But, before Jankin could bring himself to leave 
 his master's son, he went to where a window opened 
 to a street leading to the Abbey. Here he became 
 aware of some one crouching down below the win- 
 dow, as striving to be hidden. The storeys all 
 projected one above the other, to shield the wood- 
 work let into the walls from damage by the rain. 
 This made it difiicult to see distinctly what was 
 going on below, without protruding half the body 
 and craning out the neck at those to be observ-ed. 
 The jester was too wily to take such a course. So 
 he began to whisper, very indistinctly pronouncing 
 now and then the words, " the King," or " Harry 
 Tudor," so loud as to be heard distinctly. 
 
 This had the effect he hoped for. The person 
 crouching straightened himself up, and perching on 
 a stone hard by, used for convenience in dismount- 
 ing, strained up his neck to listen. Jankin concealed 
 himself behind the open window, but still kept up 
 his chattering, until our hero, losing patience, cried : 
 " Nay, Jankin, prythee get thee to the kitchen ; there 
 they will give thee plenty for thy need. Thou must 
 be hungry." 
 
 Hereupon the jester, who was, as we have said, a 
 strong and sinewy man, caught up a frame of wood 
 
252 Richard IV. 
 
 in which a quantity of type had been arranged for 
 printing from. This enormous mass of metal he 
 seized, and in a moment hurled at the would-be 
 listener's head. The type flew round in all direc- 
 tions as the frame containing it came into contact 
 with the intruder's skull. 
 
 Richard ran to the window, exclaiming, *' Jankin, 
 Jankin ! what wretched pranks are these ? Thou 
 hast destroyed the work that took good Master Cax- 
 ton a weary while to do. The letters are the best — 
 of Master Faust's own make; such metal is not 
 known in England. Oh, Jankin Panns ! Oh, Jankin 
 Panns, what shall we do ?" 
 
 Without waiting for a reply to this perplexing 
 but very natural question, Richard rushed into the 
 street, where he had hardly appeared, when four 
 stout, burly men rushed out from various hiding- 
 places and seized him by the arms. But now his 
 lessons in the tilt-yard stood him in stead at once. 
 With a quick motion he contrived to shake his 
 assailants off. One sprawled upon the ground, flung 
 down by Richard's blow ; another rolled beside 
 him, floored by Jankin Panns ; and he was just 
 commencing an attack upon a third, while Richard 
 strove manfully with the fourth, when the clatter of 
 horses' hoofs was heard, and soon the figures of the 
 printer and his trusty German servant, Hans, were 
 seen advancing at a gallop. 
 
 " How now !" exclaimed the printer, " what is 
 this ? Who dares assail my house and beat my 
 
I 
 
 A New Use for Type. 253 
 
 'prentice ? Whose villainy is this ? By the bones 
 of my fathers, when King Henry comes to see my 
 press next week, I will entreat his Grace to have 
 this seen to ! And what is this, — a man here slain ! 
 What mean these types about ? Richard, explain, I 
 charge thee !" 
 
 But Richard knew as little as his master. He 
 could say nothing of the matter except that Jankin 
 Panns had flung the type, set up and ready as it was, 
 out of the open casement. 
 
 "What ! not the 'galley' " (the form in which the 
 type is set up is so called in printer's English) — 
 " not the galley that was brought this morning from 
 the ' Office' to my room, I trust it was not that r 
 
 " It was indeed, good master." 
 
 " The saints above be gracious ! That was a portion 
 of the ' Golden Targe,' set up in German type, the gift 
 of Master Faust. They were the best that could be 
 made by men ; England will never see such type 
 again, and many must be lost. Oh, Jankin Panns ! 
 Oh, Jankin Panns ! thou art a naughty varlet, a very 
 naughty varlet ! " 
 
 The printer's interest was all directed to his art. 
 The loss of time in setting up the matter, the scattering 
 of the type, the heinousness of touching these, his 
 precious tools, were elements of interest far beyond 
 the wounded man bleeding upon the road. He 
 never thought of him, in fact, till Hans, his German 
 servant, cried : " Was machen wir mit dem ? " (what 
 shall we do with him), pointing to the fallen man, 
 
254 Richard IV. 
 
 whose first experience of Caxton's art had tried his 
 head so shrewdly. 
 
 " Do ? — Ah ! the robber, prowling near the house 
 to learn some secret of the craft, belike. Carry him 
 up, some four of you" (for now the place was full of 
 printer's men and Caxton's servants). " I marvel who 
 the rascal is ? " 
 
 Now, Jankin Panns had walked up to the body, and 
 after smoothing back the matted hair, bade the attend- 
 ants hurry up the stairs and see the man well cared 
 for. The foolish jesting look was gone from Jankin's 
 face, and so alarmed he seemed that Caxton forbore 
 to ask him what he thought and who the stranger 
 was. 
 
 But when the party under Hans had borne the 
 senseless form upstairs, and others were engaged in 
 picking up the type, he whispered, "Who is it?" 
 
 " Hush ! on thy life be silent ! Let thy fellows 
 pick yon trumpery up ; come thou with me into thy 
 chamber ; there we must speak on matters of grave 
 import." 
 
 Then, with a rapidity of transition that was mar- 
 vellous to see, he resumed his silly, jesting way, 
 which, in common with that of people of his class, 
 was certainly not witty ^ but was relished at that time 
 for its quaintness and oddity. " 'Tis a mad world, my 
 masters ! Why does the fool wear motley, and men 
 of sense ' sad'-coloured gowns ? Who are the fools, 
 I trow ? Masters, 'tis hard to say, but, by my bauble, 
 motley is better wear than either cloth of gold or 
 
A Neiv Use for Type. 255 
 
 merchant's gown, the soldier's harness or the bishop's 
 cap. 'Tis a mad world, my masters ! " 
 
 " Is the moon full, that he is worse to-night ? '* 
 whispered the printer to his high-born 'prentice. 
 
 *' Follow him in silence," Richard said, as he and 
 Caxton entered the chamber where Richard's work 
 still lay, and where the jester found the type that 
 wrought such evil on one sufferer's head. 
 
 When the three were in this upper room, the 
 jester barred the door, fastened the window, and 
 raised a board hanging below it (which could be 
 used at pleasure as a shutter or a table) so as to close 
 the casement most effectually, then once again as- 
 suming his more serious tone, he said: 
 
 "Richard must leave to-morrow. Hast thou any 
 letters ?" 
 
 The printer stared in great astonishment, but 
 Jankin thus continued : " I know by accident that 
 certain lords are gathering head at Stoke, and if 
 some letters sent to so and so were sent at all, now 
 is the proper time." 
 
 The printer answered : " I will write one letter 
 straight ; another I have with me to Lord Lovel." 
 
 ^' Hush ! On thy life, no names ! That man up- 
 stairs is Dousterfeldt, a Flemish spy, who served 
 King Richard, and betrayed him. He serves his 
 Bister, Margaret of Burgundy, whom he betrays, and 
 also serves King Henry, whom he betrays of course. 
 There is a price on this young cockerel's head. 
 Henry bids high, the Duchess bids still higher, and 
 
256 Richard IV. 
 
 this most finished rascal will never give him up to 
 Henry ; but he wants to have some money from the 
 King as earnest, then sail away to Burgundy and 
 sell the youngster to the Duchess. A clever rogue. 
 ' Tis a mad world, my masters ! " 
 
 Here he looked so idiotic, that both Caxton and 
 Richard stared at him in wonder, hardly believing 
 that this very man could have been speaking as they 
 had just heard. 
 
 Dousterfeldt had been conveyed upstairs into a 
 sleeping-room, whither the printer now followed him, 
 leaving the jester with the boy. Here he found the 
 spy just coming to himself, under the charge of old 
 Dame Ford, the ancient housekeeper. He stood and 
 watched the fellow as he lay. 
 
 It was some time before the Fleming woke, but 
 when he fully came to consciousness, Caxton was 
 standing over him, eyeing him severely. 
 
 " There is no danger," said the careful dame, who, 
 with a female servant, had been just replacing certain 
 bandages. " A good thick skull has saved his brains." 
 
 " To plan still further mischief," said the printer. 
 
 *'Nay, Master Wood," said Dousterfeldt, "thou 
 wouldst not help me some two years agone, and 
 flouted me as traitor, but there was no mischief done 
 "with or without thine aid. Belike, thou didst not 
 know where Richard's son was hid." 
 
 " Thou art mistaken, fellow. I am not Master 
 Wood, nor do I much resemble him, save that I wear 
 a merchant's habit and a hood. I am that * William,' 
 
A New Use for Type, 257 
 
 ■whom thou knewest when serving under Faust and 
 Gutenberg, the first of whom thou didst betray for 
 gold, swearing he was a sorcerer." 
 
 The miserable man turned round in bed and 
 groaned. Quickly fresh medicines were ready to his 
 hand, his wound fresh-washed and bound, his pil- 
 lows changed, and all the care displayed that could 
 have been bestowed on the most honoured patient 
 
 The printer watched him through the night. 
 When morning came, he took an hour's sleep, then 
 set himself to work to place the type again in order 
 which had been rudely scattered. The jester lin- 
 gered, still urging a rapid flight for Richard, and he 
 was very helpful in gathering what clothes and other 
 things might be required for his journey. 
 
 By four o'clock that afternoon the type had all 
 been found, and much had been set up, when Cax- 
 ton's friend, De Worde, appeared, and, drawing him 
 aside, addressed him thus : — 
 
 " My worthy friend, what do these rumours mean ? 
 Men say there is rebellion in the land, and somehow 
 thou art in it." 
 
 " I in rebellion ? May the saints forbode ! I, who 
 sit here and work or study all day long, and often 
 all night too ! I, who have thoughts for nothing but 
 mine art ! / in rebellion ! Nay, it is absurd I" 
 
 ** Well, there are whispers, and still more than this, 
 I marked at either end this narrow street strange and 
 suspicious-looking men, who watched me as I came ; 
 I think thy house is watched." 
 
 S 
 
258 Richard IV, 
 
 Here Jankin Panns came knocking at the door, 
 exclaiming : " Let me in, I pray." 
 
 " Enter," quoth Caxton. 
 
 " Is yon man a friend ? " demanded Jankin. 
 
 " As true as steel," said Caxton. 
 
 "Then," said the jester, "listen! Thou must 
 despatch the youth at once. Give him the letters. 
 Send this friend— if really trusty — to fetch a friar 
 to shrive the dying man upstairs. Let him be 
 quick. Meanwhile I have mij work cut out for 
 me." 
 
 Jankin had thrown aside, as among friends, the 
 assumed half-crazy manner of his usual style. But 
 there was so much earnestness of fear in the whole 
 place that neither noticed it. 
 
 " Pray hie thee, Wynkin, and obtain a friar," said 
 Caxton to De Worde. " The case is urgent." 
 
 De Worde then left the house to do this service, 
 and scarcely had he quitted, when Jankin ran a 
 moment from the room, quickly returning with a 
 bundle. 
 
 " Now call me Dickon, friend." 
 
 Caxton went out and soon returned with Richard. 
 
 " Now, Dickon, " said the jester, " sharp's the word. 
 Thou knowest all the tricks and japes of monkish 
 life. Put on this garb and act the friar. A friar will 
 come anon, and, shortly after he has entered thou 
 must go out thus clad, as though thou wert the man, 
 but thou must leave at yonder end of this uncanny 
 street, not by the one at which the friar enters— the 
 
A New Use for Type. 259 
 
 fitreet is closely watched. Are the two letters and 
 the money ready ? " 
 
 Quoth Caxton : " All is ready ; here they are. 
 This to Lord Lincoln; this to old Lord Lovel. Here 
 are two hundred angels in a bag, which bind about 
 thy person, Richard." 
 
 The change in dress was soon effected, and not 
 long after Wynkin de Worde returned, bringing the 
 friar with him. Caxton said just a hurried word of 
 kind farewell to Richard, wishing the boy " God- 
 speed," and mounted to the chamber where the 
 Fleming had been nursed. So great was Richard's 
 wish to leave the town, he quitted almost instantly, 
 dressed in his friar's habit. 
 
 s 2 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE FLIGHT. 
 
 SSUMING the grave yet rapid gliding 
 walk peculiar to the friars, Richard 
 turned rapidly to the right on leaving 
 Caxton's house, because the friar just 
 fetched by Wynkin had entered from the left ; but 
 as he reached a bend in the long street a burly 
 fellow stopped him, saying : 
 
 *' Good even, holy father. Is all well, yonder, at 
 Caxton's press ?" 
 
 " Nay, there lies one sore sick, I fear to death. 
 Keep me not, friend ! I hasten for the leach. Pax 
 vohiscum.''^ 
 
 The Latin had the desired effect, for the fellow 
 instantly uncovered his head, and Richard, making 
 the sign of the cross, said, ^^ Be^iedicite,'^ so com- 
 pletely in the manner of the monks, that the man 
 knelt reverently to receive the benediction. 
 
 " I shame me," said our hero, half aloud, when he 
 
The Flight. 261 
 
 had left the streets behind him, and issued out into 
 the fields of Chelsea — " I shame me that I should 
 use a stratagem like this. But it is not of mine own 
 seeking ! Besides, I must think of yonder printer, 
 who runs, in sooth, the greatest danger. He shall 
 not suffer for his kindness. So I must take such 
 means as may be best for his security." 
 
 Thus speaking, the heir of York passed on until he 
 came close to the water's side, and there he found a 
 little tavern, where the bargemen used to stop when 
 on the way to Oxford. The night was far advanced, 
 and Richard had some trouble to make the host 
 admit him, who, when he saw a Benedictine friar, 
 was loath to open to him. 
 
 " A curse upon the friars," said the host. " They 
 swarm about like bees, and yet not so like bees, seeing 
 their idle lives ! A pest on all their houses, Bene- 
 dict or Austin, Black, or Grey, or White ! " 
 
 *' Nay, good sir host, pray be not angry. I j;ravel 
 on a special mission for our house, and am prepared 
 to pay my shot like other wayfarers." 
 
 " Then, by St. Boniface, my patron saint, enter and 
 welcome ! Thou shalt have the best, as though thou 
 wert a bargeman, by my fay !" 
 
 The door was opened by the burly host, who 
 checked the growling of a dog, which seemed to have 
 as little love for friars as his master. As Richard 
 entered, the manner of this hound seemed changed 
 by magic. He sniffed the air awhile, then frisked 
 about the room like mad, finally, .crouching up to 
 
262 Richard IV, 
 
 Richard's side, he seemed as though he knew him as 
 a friend. 
 
 " Beshrew thee, Grumps, what ails thee ? Knowest 
 thou the friar ?" The huge tail thumped an answer 
 on the floor, saying, as plain as any words, " Right 
 well I ki;iow him." 
 
 The favourable impression on the dog produced a 
 similar result upon the man, who stared at Richard 
 in amaze. 
 
 "I am an hungered, good mine host; have you 
 some pasty or some solid food that might well serve 
 my turn ? I care not much what food it be, so that 
 I get it,, and as for drink, although we mostly use the 
 crystal stream . . . ." 
 
 " Ha, ha I " laughed out the host. " The crystal 
 stream, i' faith ! Oh yes, we know the stream you 
 monks prefer ; it is more of the regal purple than the 
 crystal, and for the honour of my good dog Grumps, 
 who seems to welcome thee as though thou wert his 
 master, I will disclose to thee the gem of all my 
 cellar." 
 
 In short space such a meal was placed upon the 
 table as never yet was set before a friar, and Richard 
 did full justice to it. When the supper was over the 
 host proposed to lead our hero to his bed, to which 
 he, nothing loath, consented. The chamber, in a 
 higher story of the house, was low-roofed and almost 
 unfurnished, the bed was of the simplest kind, but it 
 looked clean and tempting. 
 
 Richard now wished his host good-night, who in 
 
The Flight. 263 
 
 ■withdrawing tried to get the dog away; in vain, 
 he would not leave the friar's room, and growled 
 and showed his teeth right dangerously when they 
 attempted force. At last the master yielded, but 
 with evident ill-will, to the dog's sturdy resolution 
 to remain. 
 
 Richard sat down, undressed, and counted out his 
 gold. He took five angels from the bag which he 
 had fastened underneath his clothes, and put them 
 in the little pouch or scrip he wore outside his gown- 
 He secured the bag about his person, and then lay 
 down to sleep. 
 
 The night was just half spent, when Richard was 
 awakened by a fierce, angry growl. He started up, 
 and found the dog had laid himself to rest across the 
 threshold of the door, which opening inwards, had 
 disturbed the dog. 
 
 Richard sprang up, and throwing round him the 
 coverlet or quilt, rushed quickly to the door. No 
 one was there, but he distinctly heard some steps, as 
 though in quick retreat, descend the creaking stairs. 
 The dog did not pursue, but seemed determined to 
 remain with Richard, whose hand he licked with 
 great affection. 
 
 " Strange ! " exclaimed Richard, " I never saw the 
 dog before. 'Tis a most noble hound ; I owe my life 
 to him — not that my life is much to owe to anyone, 
 or anything. I marvel what has moved him to my 
 side ! " 
 
 The dog knew very well that Richard was talking 
 
264 Richard IV. 
 
 about him, and the huge tail beat applausively upon 
 the floor. Then Richard said, " Good dog ! A 
 splendid fellow !" and the extraordinary creature 
 leaped up, and, with a strange, excited whine, went 
 through some evolutions in that chamber that would 
 have made his reputation in any modern circus. 
 
 Richard lay down to sleep, the dog curled up before 
 the door, but nothing more occurred to mar the even 
 tenor of the peaceful night. When morning came, 
 he rose and dressed, keeping his larger bag of money 
 underneath his clothes, and having the five angels in 
 the pouch or scrip worn over the brown garment of 
 the order, as he had meant to have it over-night. 
 There was a roaring breakfast, — fish, flesh, fowl, 
 wine, and pasty of the best. Our hero, nothing 
 daunted, set to work, and ever and anon picked out a 
 right choice morsel for his four-footed friend, who 
 sat as close to him as he could squeeze himself. 
 
 When the meal was over, Richard called the host, 
 who, after seeing all the needful things upon the 
 table, had left him to the drawer, or waiter, a rough, 
 untutored churl, who yet seemed anxious to serve 
 Richard well. The host appeared. 
 
 "My friend," said Richard, "thanks for thy good 
 cheer. As I have told thee, I am no beggar, and 
 wish that no man should be at a loss through me. 
 What is my score ? Thou hast been liberal, and so 
 will I. " 
 
 " Sir Friar, I should shame me if a dog like that 
 should prove a better Christian than his naaster ! He 
 
The Flight, 265 
 
 knows thee^ as it seems ; I know thee not, but I am 
 sure that such a welcome as he gave to thee proves 
 thou art more than common. But let that pass. 
 Gentle or simple, Grumps shall bear thee free as 
 warranted by him. I take no groat of thine !" 
 
 " Thou art a passing honest fellow, by the bones ! 
 I wonder who it was assayed my door last night, and 
 would have entered but for doughty Grumps, who 
 scared the midnight visitant away !" 
 
 The host had started at the words, *' assayed my 
 door," and looked amazed and angry. " By the 
 Mass !" he cried, " it was a felon trick, whoever it 
 might be. I will look into it. But for your score 
 to me — God bless you, sir, I touch no penny of it. If 
 things be as I now suspect, it may be very well for 
 me that I have harboured you. If not, I have but 
 done a charity, which never harms the doer ! " 
 
 " Give me thy hand ! If ever I . . ." What Richard 
 would have said of course we cannot tell ; he checked 
 himself, however, and began again : " If ever I forget 
 thy kindness, friend, may I forget my father !" 
 
 The host again looked startled, but said not a word 
 till Richard asked him what would be the best and 
 surest way to Oxford ; for in the silence of his chamber 
 he had read a scroll which Caxton gave him when 
 he left the house. On this he found the words 
 "Oxford; thence to the smaller town of Brayton, 
 before attempting Leicester, where friends will meet 
 thee. Ask for the ' Old White Rose,' and tell the host 
 to whom thy letters are. God keep thee ! " 
 
266 Richard IV. 
 
 With these directions burning in his brain, the boy 
 now asked the way to Oxford. 
 
 " Well," said the host, " the way to Oxford lies 
 before you, — a silver road that leads to golden ends. 
 The river, sir, will bring you safely there. This 
 very day a barge from London passes at about one 
 o'clock. I think, unless you are sore pressed for time, 
 that this would be the better way for you." 
 
 "Assuredly, mine host. But I cannot consent to 
 stay here as a pauper, eating at thy cost. If I remain 
 thou must accept my pay." 
 
 "Not I, Sir Friar. Beseech you, let that pass. 
 Remember me in prayer, and should times alter 
 with thy House, remember me in act. I am content to 
 wait, and Grumps would not deceive his master ! " 
 
 Three or four thumps on the floor with the heavy 
 tail were given as corroborative evidence, whereat 
 both host and Richard laughed. 
 
 "Well then," said Richard, "wilt thou kindly 
 change this golden angel into smaller coins ? I fain 
 would give the tapster, chamberlain, and drawer 
 some memory of me ; and if I give the gold piece 
 whole they might not fairly share it, so I beg thee of 
 thy courtesy to change this money for me." 
 
 This was soon done, and the three servants were 
 hugely pleased with the strange friar's liberality. 
 
 Then many were the speculations as to the mid- 
 night robber, but none seemed near the mark ; and 
 what seemed certain proof to Richard, that neither 
 host nor any of the servants were to blame, was 
 
The Flight, 267 
 
 given in the fact that the good dog seemed not the 
 least disturbed when one of these came in. 
 
 At last the time approached when the slow Oxford 
 barge arrived at Chelsea. The man who governed it 
 was a fair specimen of English peasant growth, tall,, 
 ruddy, stout, and strong, not given to much speech, 
 given still less to thought, but very much to beer. 
 He was not quite a'sailor, and not quite a landsman, 
 partaking of the properties of both and being neither. 
 His crew consisted of three others like himself. 
 This "captain" took our hero willingly on board, 
 and was contented to receive as payment for the- 
 *' voyage to Oxford" one gold angel from mine host's 
 good friend, the Benedictine monk, Ricardus. But 
 there was some delay before they got on board, 
 which seemed, however, not to vex the crew or 
 captain either. 
 
 Great was the trouble that the host now had to 
 keep the dog on shore. They chained him up at 
 last, and then he tugged, and tore, and howled, and 
 whined as the huge barge departed, that in the end 
 they thought he had gone mad. By dint of threats 
 and coaxings, promises and pettings, he was, how- 
 ever, quieted. The whole day passed, and then the 
 night came down ; they did not leave him even 
 then unchained, but brought him in to what was 
 called " the room," the common room for those who 
 sought the inn, and chained him to a staple driven 
 firmly in the wall close to the window. But the 
 next morning, when the drawer came to clear away 
 
268 Richard IV, 
 
 the tankards and the other relics of the nightly 
 meeting, the chain was broken and the dog was gone. 
 
 Our story lies with Richard, so we afford no time 
 to tell of how the people of the inn wondered at 
 Grumps' flight. But one thing we will mention, 
 when the dog was gone, the host exclaimed : 
 " Wonderful, truly ! He did not know his father's 
 dog, but the dog knew his master's son ! " 
 
 On board the barge, the youthful friar found 
 touching evidence of loving care. There were two 
 baskets in the humble cabin, each of tremendous 
 size, and marked "Brother Ricardus." He opened 
 them. The first contained hams, fowls, beef, venison 
 pasties, and the like, enough to last a month ! The 
 other held some jars of wine, and, to his great sur- 
 prise, a suit of clothes, which well might fit a lad 
 of Richard's size. 
 
 Within the lid was fixed a piece of parchment, on 
 which was written : " I was the under-cook at 
 Crosbie House, and was aforetime in the service of 
 the great D. of G. before he was a K. I knew Sir G. 
 de M., and guess the secret, wherefore I wish God- 
 speed to all thy undertakings. The missive in the 
 pouch attached to the poor garments lying within 
 this basket may serve thy turn at Oxford with the 
 host of the ' Rising Sun.' Commending thee to the 
 Saints, thine, Timothy Turncakb, at the sign of 
 the ' Rose and Crown,' on Chelsea." 
 
 This epistle we have modernised in orthography 
 and style, so as to make it intelligible to the reader of 
 
The Flight. 269 
 
 the present day, but with all its original quaintness 
 and oddity it went straight to the heart of Richard, 
 and for a moment awakened dreams of greatness 
 which he often thought were dead within him, but 
 which were only lulled to sleep. 
 
 Alone, an orphan, born in a sphere carrying him 
 above the usual circles of society, yet thrown, un- 
 friended, desolate, and helpless upon the mercies of 
 the lower sort ; innocent of crime, yet knowing the 
 chances were that a single breath concerning who 
 he was or what his birth had made him would bring 
 him to the scaffold, — can any boy living in these 
 safe times imagine Richard's feelings ? 
 
 He wisely cut this parchment into shreds with the 
 keen dagger furnished with his suit, and then at 
 intervals cast small fragments to the Thames, thus 
 quite destroying all the sense that might have been 
 discovered had the whole piece been thrown away. 
 
 Wearily sped the hours and the days before the 
 boat reached Oxford, and yet that peaceful passage had 
 its charm. Richard was no "day-dreamer," but 
 here he was thrown on his own resources. 
 
 He recalled with pleasure the lovely chants which 
 he had learnt to sing at Faversham. He seemed to 
 hear the Magnificat with its swelling melody filling 
 the soft June air, although in truth there was no 
 sound beyond the murmur of the silver Thames, with 
 now and then the carol of the blithe June birds, 
 chiming in sweetly with his dreams. 
 
 Thus the time wore away, till Oxford's spires were 
 
270 ' Richa7'd IV. 
 
 seen, and then he gained still more the love of his 
 rough fellow-voyagers, who, be it known, had been 
 most gentle with our Richard. He gave them yet 
 another angel, and what remained of wine and food 
 within the baskets. Then, making up a bundle of the 
 suit of clothes, he left the bargemen, who with right 
 goodwill wished him a lucky journey. 
 
 " For," said the captain, ending a little speech, " if 
 all our monks and fathers were like thee, England 
 would be a happy land indeed." 
 
 So Richard now commenced his entrance into 
 Oxford, where soon he found the " Rising Sun," kept 
 by a short, fat, punchy little man with a red face, 
 that answered for his sign far better than the 
 painter's art succeeded on the actual sign borne by 
 the post before the door. 
 
 He took the missive, read it carefully, and looking 
 well at Richard, sagely said : *' Fair sir, or priest, or 
 monk, whatever be thy calling, each man with 
 money in his pouch is welcome here. Pray you 
 walk in ; but seeing thou art very much befriended 
 with Timothy, my ancient comrade, thou shalt have 
 bed and lodging of the best, whether the pay be 
 there or not. Walk in, and take a seat yonder in the 
 chimney-corner. Now, a toast and ale, or, if thou 
 w^ilt, a cup of sherris sack — say but the word. I'm 
 thine !" 
 
 Richard's progress had hitherto^been very pleasant ; 
 the strange attachment which the dog seemed to 
 have formed for him, the jovial kindness of the 
 
The Flight, 271 
 
 innkeeper at Chelsea, the unexpected quiet on the 
 barge, and the strange awe with which the men had 
 treated him, began to turn his head. There were 
 strange stories current in those days of how a lion 
 would spare the " royal blood," — of a strange holiness 
 around a royal brow that made itself perceived. 
 These tales had often made him smile, but 7iow he 
 had begun to think " there must be something in 
 them." 
 
 The fact was simply this : he was a handsome boy, 
 untainted by the world, brave, honest, noble in his 
 heart, and very pure in thought. This shed a holi- 
 ness about him which no one could resist. 
 
 The queer old country inn, the *' Rising Sun," at 
 Oxford^ was much frequented by a class of people 
 now extinct, and then just merging into life, the 
 Packmen. The horses these men rode were always 
 laden with goods and merchandise, despatched to 
 London and the seaport towns, and which were 
 thence sent on by carrier to every part of England. 
 
 One of these men was sitting in the chimney- 
 corner when Richard entered. He rose respectfully 
 to greet the friar, whose ^^ Pax vohiscum'" was a 
 pleasant sound. They sat together, and the carrier 
 asked whence the good father came. 
 " From Faversham, in Kent." 
 
 " I know it well," the packman said. " Full often 
 has the good and merry monk Hilarius sent us some 
 sherris sack to cure the ague. And often have I 
 heard the choir sing their lovely hymns and an- 
 
272 Richard IV. 
 
 thems, till I felt so happy and so much elated, I 
 have found courage to ask for more sherris sack." 
 
 Richard smiled a winning, pleasant smile, and 
 asked, " Dost thou remember Cyrillus ?" 
 
 *' Right well I mind him ! He was passing stern, 
 not like Hilarius ; he never gave us sherris." 
 
 " He was not stern to me, good friend, and for the 
 kindly memory thou hast of that dear house at 
 Faversham, I will bestow on thee a pottle of the 
 best, the very best of sherris sack our host can 
 furnish." 
 
 They chatted on of brother Clement, brother Wal 
 ter, brother this, and brother that, until mine host 
 was weary, but it convinced him Richard was a 
 monk. 
 
 It was then easily arranged with this monk-loving 
 Kentish packman to take the fugitive to Leicester 
 for an angel. Richard enjoyed the sight of Oxford, 
 with its ancient buildings, rich in memories dear to 
 students' minds ; he wandered round this hallowed 
 ground for nearly a whole day, for it was evening 
 when he reached the " Rising Sun," and his new 
 friend the carrier proposed to leave that hostel at four 
 o'clock, wherefore our hero rose up very early to see 
 the ancient town. So much was he delighted with 
 this place, that he was late in getting to his inn. 
 
 When he arrived the host looked very sour. *' I 
 thought thou hadst escaped me, by my fay ! And 
 though I joy to see thee back, I grieve to think thy 
 dinner is all spoilt !" 
 
The Flight, 273 
 
 " Be not too angry, good mine host ; thon couldst 
 provide another dinner, but beshrew me, friend, who 
 would provide another Oxford ?" 
 
 " Marry ! and that's well said. So sit ye down, my 
 masters. Ho, what a coil is that ? What is that noise 
 about, John Swimbrain ?" 
 
 ** I know not what to do ; a huge and half -starved 
 dog will force his way ; I tried to keep him out, and 
 so did Ned and Will, but all in vain, he will not 
 budge; and yet he seems so weak, I pity him — 
 almost I" he added, as a reservation. 
 
 Richard sprang up from the table, ran into the 
 porch, and there stretched on the ground was Grumps. 
 Yes, strange as it may seem, the dog had in some way 
 connected Richard with the bargemen, and probably 
 had followed all along the windings of the Thames, 
 until, not far from Oxford, he had left the river and 
 run along the road. This is, of course, conjecture ; 
 there he was. At Richard's bidding, food was given 
 him, and although much exhausted, by the time the 
 horse was ready the dog was well enough to sit by 
 Richard's side on the pack-horse's back along the 
 road to Leicester. 
 
CHAPTER XX, 
 
 PURSUED. 
 
 AILWAYS have defaced the beauty of 
 the country of England, which seems to 
 threaten to be one big town, but at the 
 time to which our chronicle refers there 
 were such rural spots and pretty places to be seen as 
 all the world over would be hard to find. 
 
 The scenery about the little town of Brayton was 
 somewhat flat, but, barring this defect, was very 
 pleasant, and in the cheei^y month of leafy June a 
 more agreeable landscape might have been sought in 
 vain. 
 
 The road to Brayton wound through pasture- 
 land and cornfields, the sprouts in the latter giving 
 promise of a splendid harvest in due time. The 
 hedges then were formed as they are now, of 
 bushes interspersed with elms. The road itself was 
 not much to boast of, and a poor overladen pack- 
 horse, toiling in painful slowness through the dust, 
 
Ptcrsitcd. 
 
 275 
 
 would take a weary while in accomplishing a distance 
 which to a modern carter would be an affair of 
 hours rather than of days. 
 
 The chief difficulty in travelling in the middle 
 ages consisted less in the non-construction of the 
 roads than in their insecurity. The civil wars had 
 thrown a number of cut-throat robbers all over 
 the land, and there was no safety except either in 
 meeting them in overwhelming numbers, in taking 
 short cuts between the more populous villages, or 
 in staying at home altogether ! And, indeed, this 
 was the most general resource. The barons, when 
 they sent a cart of armour or other valuables from a 
 castle to a town, of course sent with it armed men, 
 but pack-men such as he with whom our hero rode 
 were \Qvy rarely met with. 
 
 By great good fortune, and by skilful journeying, 
 they reached the town of Brayton on the night of 
 the thirtieth of June, and Richard noticed by the 
 sight of sundry lanthorns a signboard, standing out 
 before a fine old inn, made still more inn-like by a 
 huge birch-broom above the door, a remnant of the 
 still more ancient sign of innkeepers — a bush*; 
 and on this signboard the delicate White Rose, 
 badge of the House of York, How his heart 
 throbbed with pleasure ! The Lancastrians had been 
 defeated. His House was now the reigning power 
 in England, and in a sense he was the head of it. 
 
 * Hence the proverb, "Good wine neads no bush," meaning that real excel- 
 lence will be discovered without puffing or boasting. 
 
 T 2 
 
276 Richard IV, 
 
 Such were the thoughts that filled poor Richard's 
 mind. As he dismissed his friend the pack-man, well 
 rewarded for his pains (who ever after swore that 
 monks were the best of paymasters), he entered the 
 hostel door, closely followed by the dog, whose 
 wonderful attachment seemed to grow more each 
 day he spent with Richard. 
 
 The rustic porch, surrounded with a creeping 
 plant, looked cosy in itself. The room on which it 
 opened most abruptly had in the bygone time been 
 used as a sort of hall. It formed the kitchen of the 
 inn at present, and there, before a roaring fire, a 
 mighty piece of beef was roasting. At divers tables 
 various guests were seated, who did full justice to 
 the ale and wine. 
 
 As Richard entered he looked well around upon the 
 smiling faces. Remembering his friar's garb, he 
 stood and uttered the accustomed *' Benedidte^'' and 
 walking to the host, exclaimed : " Good mine host, 
 I am right glad to see thee, although a stranger, yet 
 thy sign outside shows that the tidings from the 
 West are good! I bear some letters to the brave 
 Lord Lovel." 
 
 The host turned very red. Men would have thought 
 at first that to assume a deeper crimson would be 
 impossible, until they saw him do it 
 
 " What means that beggarly priest .?" exclaimed 
 the host. " Because the rebels in my house retained 
 that sign long after their defeat, even whilst hiding 
 here, compelling me to keep it up a time, that does 
 
Purstted, 
 
 / / 
 
 not make me a traitor. Thou art some hedge-iDriest 
 of the faction, I'll be sworn, or maybe not a priest 
 at all." 
 
 Here the guests rose. Some left the house without 
 a word, whilst others, bent on mischief, advanced 
 on Richard, and who knows but he had fared right 
 ill had not the faithful Grumps rushed forward' 
 with such ire, and showing such mighty fangs, that 
 they refrained from touching him. One man, indeed, 
 a tall, ungainly fellow in a peasant's frock, fell, as it 
 were, against our hero and wrenched away the pouch 
 in which the letters and loose money were, and in 
 another moment he had left the house. 
 
 " Help ! I am robbed 1" cried Richard. 
 
 A tall and burly fellow with a bandaged head, 
 that made him look most villainous, now stepped 
 before the crowd, exclaiming : " Gentles, I adjure 
 you in King Henry's name to help me seize this 
 traitor. He is, you know, a raging, furious rebel, 
 but he is one of those for whom rebellion raves. A 
 price is on his head. Help, in King Henry's 
 name !" 
 
 As he stepped forward to secure his prey, Richard 
 remembered having seen his face before, yet where 
 he did not recollect ; but as his hand was darting 
 forward, the dog, at one brave bound, had seized 
 him by the throat and pinned him to the floor. All 
 eyes were turned upon the prostrate man, when 
 Richard felt his garment seized behind, in not the 
 gentlest manner. But at the self -same time he 
 
27S Richard IV, 
 
 lieard a Toice, which, seemed familiar to his ear, 
 saying", " Quick, on thy life ! No words — but follow 
 me! — follow me, Nuncle !" 
 
 Too glad to hear the friendly voice, and grown 
 too cautious to ask the reason of the presence there 
 of this most unexpected aid, Richard obeyed ; in 
 fact, the hold upon his arm was like a vice, and he 
 could scarcely have resisted it even had he striven 
 to do so. He was far rather borne away than led. 
 
 The threshold of the door once passed, the flight 
 was rapid to the stables, where two fine horses stood 
 already saddled. 
 
 " Mount I" cried the jester, "mount, and follow 
 me, but not a word, or they will hear thee 1" 
 
 " But Grumps ?" 
 
 "There are at present higher things than dogs 
 that claim thy duty, Nuncle. Now, not a word. 
 Away !" 
 
 It had become cloudy, the moon was hid, and 
 there seemed little chance of safe escape should 
 quick pursuit be made ; but Jankin's horse appeared 
 to know the way his rider wished to travel, and forth 
 he galloped like the spectre steed that German 
 legends tell of. 
 
 Away, away he flew. As fast flew Richard's horse 
 upon his very haunches. That was a ride for life ! 
 
 At last the jester drew the reins. " Hush !" he 
 said ; " they are out !" And Richard could detect 
 the tramp of hoofs borne on the wind towards 
 them. 
 
Ptcrsiied. 279 
 
 " It matters little now," said Jankin Panns. " We 
 can alight and walk ; the way is safe.'* 
 
 In shorter time than we require to write it, they 
 had dismounted, turned the horses loose, and found 
 a sort of common skirting a thick-grown wood. 
 
 " Let us but reach the wood," said Jankin, " and 
 we are as safe as a trout in a stream when the cat 
 lacks fish ! But follow me, Nuncle, and let me only 
 charge thee not to fall !" Then, after a moment's 
 pause, he cried ; " By the three kings of Cologne ! 
 the horses are trotting back to the 'White Rose 
 again, although mine host would chide me if he 
 heard me call his hostel so. The truth is never 
 welcome ! 'Tis a mad world, my Nuncle !" 
 
 Jankin Panns, having steered his late master's son 
 through a great difficulty with uncommon shrewd- 
 ness, seemed now inclined to lapse into his witless 
 folly once more, and threading the misty mazes of 
 the tangled wood with as much ease through the 
 dreary darkness as though it had been broad day- 
 light, beguiled the time in observations in his usual 
 strain : 
 
 " Strange, by the Mass, how different a fool is 
 from wise men ! A wise man seeks the light because 
 his deeds are good, and I — a fool — a motley fool — 
 now praise the saints for darkness, as hiding my 
 good deed ! Oh, here we are !" 
 
 Suddenly, and most unexpectedly to Richard, 
 they seemed to have stumbled against a little hut, 
 built of felled trees and mud. It stood within a 
 
28o Richard IV, 
 
 small clearing in the forest, but so deserted did it 
 look, that no one would have dreamt of finding 
 people in it. But Jankin rattled slightly with the 
 latch, and soon the door was opened by our old 
 friend Galprey, who had rescued Richard from the 
 dead at Bosworth Field. 
 
 With most unfeigned delight Richard embraced 
 his friend, who hardly knew him, he had altered 
 so. The old man was no less delighted, but he was 
 in deep sorrow for loss of his dear wife, who for so 
 many years had cheered his path below. 
 
 " Thanks to thee, noble Richard, our wants were 
 so well cared for we seemed to be in clover, but the 
 news of fresh disturbance so wrought on her she 
 drooped at last, and fell. When *good Sir Guy' 
 left Leicestershire, we too were told to fly. The 
 Lady Alice gave us much of this world's gear, and ^ 
 certain land, her property, to live on till we died. 
 My poor wife never saw this cottage ; she died in 
 Leicester, when the war broke out." 
 
 "And of the Lady Alice ?" 
 
 " They say she held the gates of Leicester when 
 her lord was slain." 
 
 " How ! Is Sir Guy no more ?" 
 
 " He and Earl Clinton, Martin Schwartz, and many 
 more, were killed a month ago, at Stoke. Many 
 were behea'ded, but they met death in battle. And 
 when King Henry summoned Leicester to submit 
 on promise of free pardon, the Lady Alice came 
 upon tho wall, carrying her daughter in her arms. 
 
Ptirszied, 281 
 
 She bade the king defiance, who then proclaimed her 
 to his army, traitress, defier of the law, and so forth. 
 But she replied in scorn : 
 
 " * My Lord of Richmond ! you are not my king ; 
 you are not England's king, although you murdered 
 Richard. Know, traitor as thou art, though Lambert 
 Simnel be a sham, RICHARD THE FOURTH STILL 
 LIVES ! And mark me, traitor, until thou yield the 
 throne to him, thy soul will have no peace. Do him 
 no justice, and thy blackened conscience will goad 
 thee on to madness. Thou hast never lived a kingly 
 life, but thou shalt die a coward's death I' 
 
 ** This was but raving ; still there was excuse. Her 
 husband killed, her father's friend Lord Lovel lost, 
 as she thought slain, and she herself a lone and 
 threatened widow. They should have made allow- 
 ances ; but no, the rascal Henry shot her on the walls. 
 He made his archers shoot with deadly aim ; she and 
 her lovely daughter fell I" 
 
 "Nuncle!" said Jankin Panns, perceiving that 
 Richard was deeply afflicted by these sad tidings, and 
 wishing to divert his thoughts — " Nuncle ! Art bound 
 to remain a friar ? or .hast thou other garments with 
 thee .? And if so, where are they .?" 
 
 " Well thought of, Jankin ! I brought a suit of 
 burgher clothes, well made, and passing shapely, 
 but they were on the pack-horse when we entered 
 yonder fatal inn. Besides, some rascal stole my gyp- 
 sire with my gold, and what was more important, 
 some letters to divers gentlemen of rank." 
 
282 Richard IV, 
 
 " Was he a rascal, Nuncle ? So shall a fool be 
 thanked when he assists the wise ! Gramercy for 
 thy gratitude I Is this thy pouch ? Are these the 
 letters and the gold ? " 
 
 " Thou art my guardian angel, Jankin Panns ! " 
 
 " Ho ! ho ! ho I A fool — a motley-wearing fool, an 
 angel ! By the Mass, the world grows madder ! 
 Thy angels are all safe though : would thy nobles 
 were.* But now about thy hose, Nuncle, thy jerkin, 
 and thy hat ? — I have it ! I'll trudge back to Bray ton, 
 and if they still be on the pack-horse, I'll filch them 
 for thee." 
 
 And before he could say another word he was 
 gone. 
 
 For hours did Richard sit and " chat with Galprey, 
 who seemed to forget his woes in those of this 
 Plantagenet. His sympathy was large, his know- 
 ledge of the state of politics exact, and he was able 
 to relate to Richard all the unhappy details of the 
 fight at Stoke, where Martin Schwartz, the leader 
 of the foreign mercenaries. Earl Lincoln, Sir Guy de 
 Montfort, and a host of others, were killed upon the 
 field. 
 
 "The causie of York is lost, my friend," said 
 Richard. " I would that men would tend to their 
 own souls, instead of wasting blood, and hope, and 
 happiness in these distressing feuds ! Thou knowest 
 
 * The angel "was the same class of coin, in size and value, as that formerly 
 called a noble. They were called angels from having the device of the Arch- 
 angel Michael on the front. 
 
Pttrsiied, 283 
 
 that I am the son of him who may be justly termed 
 '^The last Plantagenet,' but I was warned by him 
 who died on Bosworth Field against this splendid 
 folly. Oh ! how much greater is the splendour of the 
 wisdom that seeks a crown eternal ! " 
 
 The old man looked at Richard in astonishment. 
 Standing in his monkish garb, by that uncertain 
 glimmer, it was as though an inner light shone 
 through from him. 
 
 Then Richard sat him down, and burnt the letters 
 in the fire, deeming it would be dangerous to 
 possess them. Then he once more laid him down 
 to sleep, under the care of Him who saved him from 
 the battle-field which made him such an orphan. 
 
 How he slept ! The noon sun of a hot July day 
 was pouring perpendicularly down amid the branches 
 of the trees, and playing royally with the shifting 
 shadows of the little clearing, when Richard woke, to 
 find a stranger guest sitting beside him as he lay. 
 This stranger was attired in the green country frock 
 then worn by the peasants, and was engaged in putting 
 a suit of clothes in order, which Richard at once re- 
 cognised as those of his bundle. 
 
 " Why !" he cried, starting up from the old man's 
 couch, on which he had thrown him down — " why ! 
 who art thou, that dares to ? — What I Jankin Panns. 
 Is it possible .? What o, point-device knave it is !" 
 
 *' Call me no ugly names, Nuncle I Knave me no 
 knaves, I pray 1 I am a fool, and ever at thy service, 
 — but knave I I cry you mercy I" 
 
284 Richard IV. 
 
 " Chide me not, Jankin ; I have so few friends— 
 none, faith, save thee and Galprey — I may not lose a 
 friend. Forgive me, Jankin !'* 
 
 " Forgive ! Nay, that is even madder ! Look here 
 now, Nuncle. There is another question we must 
 soon consider. The people of the town have some 
 suspicion, chiefly from that rascal Dousterf eldt, who 
 nearly seized thee yesterday, that thou art worth the 
 catching. This much I gathered from the ostler. 
 They have determined, therefore, just to hunt thee 
 down, and use the dog to track thee. It was a wise 
 man's trick to travel so attended I But let that pass. 
 We must be up and going." 
 
 " Whither must I fly, good Jankin ? My heart is 
 very sick, almost to death, and what to do I know 
 not. I am very weary, and fain would be at rest. 
 What path is open to me ?" 
 
 " Truly, a very long one and a narrow. We 
 are not safe here, being so near to Leicester. For 
 me, it matters little whom I serve ; but I will still 
 continue, for the love I bore thy father, to help his 
 orphan son. But then I am a fool !" 
 
 " I know of none so wise, my friend; without thy 
 care I had been lost. But how am I to fly ?— The dog 
 will surely track me, poor animal ! — How it should 
 happen that he loves me so I cannot tell. Poor 
 brute !" 
 
 " Thou must discard thy friar's frock, and don 
 these gayer garments. The dog will track thee by 
 the scent on land, and by the sight along the water, 
 
Ptirsiied, 285 
 
 if he sees thee in a boat. We must do something 
 with him." 
 
 " Not kill my self-elected friend ! Oh no, I never 
 could consent to ttat. The House of York has fallen 
 very low when all its friends are seized as traitors 
 or cut down as felons. Even my dog is doomed !" 
 
 "Be not so void of cheer, Nuncle. We must get back 
 to Oxford. It is a dreary way, but there is nothing 
 else for it. Now change thy garments. I must do 
 the same. My clothes are yonder." 
 
 Thus saying, Jankin Panns left Richard to him- 
 self, and went to hold a council with Dan Galprey. 
 
 "See here, my friend,'' he cried. "We must do 
 something with the hound. It is a luckless chance 
 that led him to our Dickon. There is no way for 
 it but by his death." 
 
 " Whose death ? Why, Jankin, man, what wouldst 
 thou do ? Is this thy faith to him who . . . ." 
 
 " Get a fool's cap and bells, Dan Galprey ! I slay 
 my master's son 1 Why, art thou cracked ' I mean 
 the dog." 
 
 " Of course ! Yes, yes ; but how to slay him ?" 
 
 " That must be left to thee. They will be here ere 
 long, and thou must bury Richard's friar's coat close by 
 the river-side. We shall wade down as far as possible 
 before we take the land. Well, Grumps will like as 
 not tear up the earth where Richard's frock lies hid. 
 Now, hearken. In thy house outside the walls of 
 Leicester thou wast full sore annoyed by ratsi What 
 didst thou do to ease thyself of them ?" 
 
286 Richard IV. 
 
 " I gave them rat's-bane.'* 
 
 " Hast thou any left ?" 
 
 *' Ay ! to be sure I have/' , 
 
 " Then poison me a piece of meat, and put it with 
 the clothes ; then when the trackers come, lead them, 
 together with the dog, until they find the dress. 
 The dog discovers the meat with Richard's clothes, 
 will eat it — for the human scent of one he loves will 
 overpower every other. The dog got rid of, I fear 
 not for the rest. He is the pressing danger. Hark 
 in thine ear, friend Galprey : that dog was . . . Well, 
 I know him^ and he knows the lad ! As for the rest, 
 have thou no fear, but openly avow a friar slept here, 
 who departed whither thou knowest not." 
 
 " Thou art the wisest man in all the Yorkist faction, 
 Jankin Panns !" 
 
 " 'Tis a mad world, when the wisest man is 
 but a motley fool ! Now help me shift. Richard is 
 nearly ready.'* 
 
 The jester now assumed a dress of white and 
 green, as though he were a servant of King Henry's 
 household, and then repaired to Richard, who in 
 his simple, merchant's 'prentice suit looked such a dif- 
 ferent person, that no man living would have known 
 him as the friar. His bearing was too lofty for the 
 station he assumed, but that was owing to De Mont- 
 fort's training ; and it was sometimes found in those 
 old days that young folks were a little overbearing. 
 But that was long ago. 
 
 ** The tale is, thou art 'prentice bound to one at 
 
Pttrsiied, 287 
 
 • 
 Oxford. Thy father being dead, thou hadst per- 
 mission to travel to thy relatives in London, and I, 
 Jhy uncle, had thee back again to York, for thou hast 
 overstaid thy time." 
 
 " Who is my master, Jankin ?" 
 
 " The brother of Dan Galprey, armourer, at York." 
 
 " I love not lying, but the truth would ruin all, so 
 I must do thy bidding in this matter. Be it so.'* 
 
 After a hasty breakfast, Jankin and Richard left 
 the hut with Galprey, all three proceeding to the 
 river's bank, which was about a mile beyond the 
 forest. Here, in an open spot, Jankin with his 
 dagger cut a hollow in the ground, in which he 
 placed the clothes, and cleverly enclosed the piece of 
 poisoned meat, while Galprey helped the feigned 
 apprentice to take off shoes and hose to wade along 
 the river. 
 
 It was a hot day of a fierce July, and the cool 
 waters of the silver stream, were pleasant to our 
 wayfarers, who, taking advantage of a rapid turn, 
 together with an elevation in the bank, found them- 
 selves fairly hidden from pursuit. They then re- 
 gained the bank, resumed their shoes and hose, and 
 started, quite refreshed, upon their weary walk. 
 
 For many reasons, Jankin Panns, who seemed to 
 know the country " like a book," chose such paths 
 as led through forest shades (for forests still were 
 standing in the land), which saved them from the 
 dust and danger of the roads. 
 
 The fourth day after leaving Galprey's hut, as 
 
288 Richard IV, 
 
 they were hastening through a woodland glade, they 
 were aware of three stout fellows dressed in queer 
 array. Each wore some piece of armour, but none a 
 perfect suit ; one wore a jazerant, or jacket lined wit*li 
 bits of steel ; another wore a breast-plate ; a third 
 had on his head the ^'salade,^^ and in his hand a 
 bow. The other two were armed with swords and 
 pikes. 
 
 " How now ? Two strangers ! " quoth he with the 
 bow. "What means this trespassing upon our 
 land?" 
 
 " We knew not we were trespassing, fair sir, and 
 shall be glad to leave the land where welcome is so 
 rude. Be pleased to show us how to leave the wood," 
 said Richard. 
 
 " Why art thou here at all ? " exclaimed another, 
 raising his pike with such dexterity as to discharge 
 a blow at Richard with the shaft, in such a way that 
 had it reached him he would have spoken no more ; 
 but with a wily turn he sprang within the guard, and 
 with his dagger lent him such blow as stretched him 
 on the ground. The pike was quickly mastered, and 
 Richard made a thrust against the second ruffian's 
 throat that sent him sprawling. The bowman would 
 have fled, but Jankin Panns, who hitherto had 
 wrestled with him, contrived to trip him up, so that 
 all three were down. 
 
 The varlets were now abject in their prayers to be 
 allowed their lives, but these were only granted on 
 condition that they should yield their arms, and that 
 
Pursued, 289 
 
 one should guide our travellers in safety on to Stoke. 
 This being arranged, the jester and our hero found 
 themselves furnished with two splendid swords, 
 which doubtless had belonged to some brave knights 
 whose lives were lost at Stoke. The lances they 
 destroyed ; Richard took the bow and arrows, which 
 would be useful in providing food, and thus ac- 
 coutred, they walked on towards Stoke, and four 
 days later gained the river Trent. 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 STRANGE QUARTERS. 
 
 HEY reached the Trent under the faith- 
 ful guidance of the robber, whose service 
 had been won by actual battle. He 
 seemed to be a rather jovial fellow, 
 driven to the road by hardship of the times. He 
 was ready to assist in cooking, and having a good 
 voice, would sing merrily such ditties as "The 
 London Lack-penny," and certain ballads then in 
 vogue. He had so gained uj)on the jester and our 
 hero, that in parting Richard was fain to bestow, 
 out of his slender stock, an angel in reward of his 
 faith. 
 
 When the robber saw the money he looked at it 
 with a merry twinkle in his eye, and observed : 
 " This is a goodly temptation to be honest ! I am 
 thankful, my masters, and would fain serve you, 
 and in a sort I do misthink me but I may." 
 
Strange Quarters. 291 
 
 *' How ?" demanded Jankin Panns. 
 
 " I ween yon stripling is no flat-cap 'prentice," 
 said the fellow, "and I have thought, from little 
 things I marked, thou art no more a friend of 
 Harry Tudor — for all thy green and white — 
 than I." 
 
 "Men must be cautious whom they trust," said 
 Jankin. 
 
 "Ay, that is true, and my acquaintance — made in 
 a manner showing me to be a lover of the green- 
 wood tree, a knight of the merry moon, one of the 
 roving band of foresters — is not of such a kind as 
 one would choose to trust his secrets or his gold 
 withal ! Nay, sirs, I pry not into what ye would 
 conceal; I have borne arms against this Harry 
 Tudor, and had the people in the northern counties 
 been but true, there would have been another chance 
 for York's White Rose !" 
 
 " Thou art an honest fellow," Richard cried. 
 
 " Nay, there thou liest ; I am but a thief." 
 
 The blood sprang to Richard's face at this rude 
 speech, his hand was on the sword — and then he 
 checked the impulse. " Poor fool," he said, " thou 
 knowest not to whom thou speakest. I shame me 
 for my anger with a man like thee." 
 
 " I may not know thee, but a man can guess thy 
 
 friendship to another House, and I would wager a 
 
 stout new lance to an old cracked bow that thou 
 
 wouldst rather see Lord Level than one of Henry's 
 
 peers !" 
 
 U 2 
 
292 Richard IV, 
 
 " Thy wit is shrewd and biting. Knowest thou 
 Lord Lovel ?" 
 
 " Ay, very well indeed." 
 
 "And is he living still ?" 
 
 " We three have been five days together. Thou 
 knowest in that time I have not seen him. How 
 can I say that he is living still ?" 
 
 " But he was living not long since, I trust. When 
 didst thou see him last V 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! Thy face will answer questions 
 quicker than my word, young sir. It tells me thou 
 wouldst gladly find him living. I trust thou wilt, 
 for he was living seven days ago." 
 
 " Thou lovest the White Rose ?" asked Richard. 
 
 " Ay, I have fought for it and bled for it, enough 
 to turn it Lancastrian red, and I am true to Rich- 
 ard's house and line." 
 
 Seeing that Richard was about to say something 
 which might compromise his safety, the jester 
 interrupted him, saying : 
 
 " Wilt thou lead us to Lord Lovel, friend "i If so, 
 we will reward thee." 
 
 " T would have naught against it if thy friend 
 or leader there will pledge his word of honour that 
 nothing is intended to the injury of one I love so 
 well. If he assures me all is well, I will conduct 
 you to him. As to reward, I do not sell my former 
 master for a price ! I am no traitor, but a simple* 
 thief. Is it a bargain ?" 
 
 *' It is," said Richard. " I pledge my word to do 
 
Strange Quarters. 293 
 
 my best for good Lord Lovel. No harm shall come 
 to him through me. And this I promise on my 
 word of honour." 
 
 " It is enough !" the robber cried. " I know that 
 I am safe ; be sure, too, thou art safe with me." 
 
 Thus saying, he strode on before the twain, and 
 never swerved from one straight course along the 
 river's bank until he came to what appeared to be a 
 ford ; here he took his clouted cumbrous shoes from 
 off his feet, and then commenced to wade. When 
 Richard sought to ask a question, the robber raised 
 his hand in sign of silence, and waded noiselessly on. 
 When in the middle of the stream he stopped, and 
 peered about as if in search of something. He then 
 made signs to Richard and the jester to follow him. 
 They bared their feet, and wading after him, soon 
 gained the other side. They found him Avaiting on 
 the bank, near which were rocks and scrubby under- 
 wood ; no large and handsome trees. It was a weird 
 and desolate place, uncomfortable, dreary, wretched. 
 The boulders of huge stones that lay about looked 
 like the remnant of some giant struggle, where 
 monsters had of old flung rocks at one another, as 
 boys fling stones to-day. The vegetation seemed to 
 be arrested as in fear, or as if crushed and broken 
 down by giant feet in times before the Flood. The 
 shore was slimy, and the footing insecure. 
 
 Their guide approached them. " Wait for me," 
 he said. " The man ye wot of lives down here, but 
 he is much in peril, for the price upon his head 
 
294 Richard IV, 
 
 might easily betray him to the king. And, sirs, if he 
 ■will see you, I beseech you say no "vvord to make 
 him guess my present trade, for I have brought him 
 store of such provisions as I could lay my hands on, 
 and if he knew I stole them, he would die before he'd 
 touch them, and kill me first for offering him a theft !" 
 The robber vanished, leaving Richard and Jankin 
 Panns perhaps far more astonished than they had 
 been for many a long year. " 'Tis a mad world, my 
 masters ! Motley's the only wear !" was all the jester 
 said ; and this was uttered in a weak, dazed manner, 
 which under other circumstances would have made 
 Richard laugh. 
 
 At present mirth was very far from him, for that 
 strange, awful place seemed so unearthly, that it must 
 be owned he felt a kind of fear. 
 
 The robber disappeared behind a rock, and then it 
 seemed so long before he came again, that Jankin 
 Panns began to doubt of his return. 
 
 "No, friend," said Richard, " I have not a doubt. 
 This thief is a most honest fellow. Have no distrust 
 of him; I will go bail for him with all my heart." 
 
 "Then," said the jester, "is the true prince the 
 friend and sworn abettor of a thief. 'Tis a mad — 
 There is the robber ! " 
 
 And there he was, standing upon another boulder, 
 waving his hands excitedly to them to come. They 
 started running, but the ground was so uneven, that 
 they were forced to slack their pace and pick their 
 way among the slime and rocks, like any urchins 
 
Strange Quarters. 295 
 
 on a pebbly beach afraid of falling. Thus it was 
 some time before they reached the robber. 
 
 " Hasten !" cried that worthy. " He is almost 
 sped ; he has the fever, and is nearly starved." 
 
 They made what haste they could to reach him, 
 but still their speed was slow ; at last they came to 
 where he stood, and then he led them to a narrow 
 space between two rocks in which there was a bush, 
 concealing the descent leading to the cave — Lord 
 Lovel's hiding-place. This bush being pulled aside, 
 revealed the passage in the earth, dark, slimy, damp, 
 and full of creeping things, frogs, toads, lizards, and 
 water-rats, which scurried off as the three men 
 advanced. The passage turned and led to the cave 
 wherein Lord Lovel lay. 
 
 Upon a couch of furze and broom-plant lay the 
 figure of a tall, gaunt man of sixty years and more. 
 The cold, damp place had chilled him, and though 
 well covered in his martial cloak, his hand was like 
 a corpse's. He knew the robber, and as he neared 
 him, smiled, and feebly pointed at the other two. 
 Then said the robber : "These two seek Lord Lovel. 
 The lad is son to one who knew thee well ; he fell on 
 Bosworth Field." 
 
 The old lord's eye grew brighter at the words ; he 
 beckoned Richard to him, looked at him, took his 
 hand and pressed it to his lips, and fainted with ex- 
 haustion. 
 
 " I knew it," said the robber, kneeling. " I knew 
 whose son thou wert. xlll will go well, I know." 
 
296 Richard IV. 
 
 " Hush, friend !" said Richard. " This is arrant 
 folly. I am a 'prentice Bound to York. Look that 
 thy zeal do not betray thee. Say nothing of me to 
 the world. Or, if in after days men ask thee who I 
 am, my name is Richard Trevor. Now tell me, is 
 there any inn or hostelry about, where thou canst 
 purchase wine ? He must not die, and wine alone 
 can save him. Take thou this angel ; bring what 
 wine and food thou canst, and buy a tinder-box, a 
 flint and steel, and beg some tinder of the hostess. 
 Say a forester lies ill under the greenwood tree, and 
 thou wouldst tend him in the merry fields rather 
 than under roof. Fly quickly, and return anon." 
 
 The man was off in no time, while Jankin and our 
 hero Richard did all that in them lay to clear the 
 wretched hole of vermin ; but it was so near the river, 
 that when the tide was high the water trickled in 
 through many a chink and cranny, making the floor 
 (if floor it could be called) nearly knee-deep in slimy 
 water. At present, as the sun was high, the water 
 was but shallow in the river, and thus the cave was 
 much more dry than usual. 
 
 Jankin and Richard with their daggers cut bunches 
 from the heather, and made thence brooms, where- 
 withthey swept this dreadful cavern somewhat clean. 
 Then they cut furze and broom-plant, with which 
 they strewed the floor ; while Jankin, full of quaint 
 expedients, contrived a sort of table, made of boughs 
 of trees woven together in a kind of mat or tray. 
 This was supported on four legs of wood, made 
 
Strange Quarters. 297 
 
 roughly from thicker boughs of trees. The whole 
 he covered with his mantle for a cloth, and when 
 the robber brought them back a horse laden with 
 wine and wholesome food, he was surprised to see 
 a table near the couch on which Lord Lovel lay. 
 
 But when the cavern's floor was being covered 
 with the furze and underwood, a space was left some 
 ten feet square or more, quite bare of all such cover. 
 On this they piled the drier wood to make a fire, 
 which soon blazed high, and frightened many of the 
 gruesome habitants from many a nook and corner of 
 the cave. 
 
 Giles (as they found the robber's name to be) had 
 brought horn tankards, leathern jacks of wine, 
 coarse bread and manchet (bread of finest wheat), 
 a dozen capons roasted fit to eat, cold venison, 
 beef and pasties, with a firkin of strong ale. His 
 " angel" must have been a potent spirit ; but to buy 
 these things he used his own as well, and the good 
 people of the distant village had lent the horse, con- 
 vinced he would require other things, and bring it 
 eaf ely back. 
 
 Some wine was warmed and given to the patient, 
 who, whether the treatment were correct or not, 
 recovered under it. The constant fire soon warmed 
 the cave ; the wine was really pure and did its work ; 
 the three attendants took the watch in turn, and in 
 three weeks the good old lord was better, could walk 
 out with Jankin, and began to talk of home and 
 Minster TiOvel. 
 
298 Richard IV. 
 
 But August was half through before he was so far 
 recovered as to take horse and ride. He seemed 
 more anxious about Richard than about himself, 
 and even in that cavern wrote a letter (for he had 
 paper, parchment, ink and pens together in a mail, 
 which he had carried with him in his flight from 
 Stoke) to Queen Elizabeth at Bermondsey. This 
 he delivered to the jester, and begged him hasten 
 with the missive back to London, and find a fit occa- 
 sion to give it to the Queen. Another letter was to 
 a certain leech dwelling in London. 
 
 Then Giles was sent to Enderby (the village, or 
 rather town where he had bought the viands) to 
 purchase horses for the road ; his story being that 
 sundry of his friends and fellow-foresters had found 
 employment under some great lord, who had com- 
 missioned him to get them horses at the nearest 
 town, wherefore he came to Enderby. 
 
 The townsfolk disbelieved this tale, and thought 
 the jolly foresters had caught some abbot, or a 
 wealthy merchant, whose ransom thus enabled them 
 to purchase horses. But caring little whence the 
 money came, so that at all events it ccmie, they gave 
 them horses, wine and food, just as they were re- 
 quired. 
 
 While waiting for the horses, Richard gave Lord 
 Lovel a brief account of his adventures, which the 
 old warrior heard with interest ; but he was dis- 
 tressed and disappointed when he found that Richard 
 would never seek to gain his father's crown. 
 
Strange Quarters. 299 
 
 *' But surelj^" said the stout old lord, " the wel- 
 fare of the country will have weight with thee. 
 We are just now under the rude sway of this base 
 Harry Tudor, than whom no viler cur has ever 
 filled a throne." 
 
 "1 love not Harry Tudor, dear Lord Lovel, but I 
 love my father's memory, and his command is 
 sacred as that of Holy Writ, — for we are taught in 
 Christian duty to honour both our parents, yet I do 
 not know of any precept of the Church that sanc- 
 tions worldly greatness as an end." 
 
 " Beshrew me, Richard, thou art half a monk, 
 and more than half a priest ! St. George ! but I 
 misdoubt me. Yet no ! I saw thy father's spirit in 
 thine eyes when I talked of war, and how the men 
 of Cumberland had failed us at our need. It was 
 right rascally ! A set of lazy loons and coward 
 churls !" 
 
 " I can believe it angered you, my lord." 
 
 " Angered me ! Zounds ! Anger is not the word! 
 The blood boiled till my veins were well-nigh 
 bursting ! Never shall I forget that time. Why, 
 we were promised thirty thousand men ! Ten thou- 
 sand Scots, the rest from the North Countrie, — Cum- 
 berland, Durham, and York ! And would a man be- 
 lieve it ? — when Harry Tudor's host appeared we 
 had but some eight thousand men upon the field 
 opposed to twenty thousand !" 
 
 *' The battle, my dear lord, is not for ever to the 
 strong." 
 
300 Richard IV, 
 
 " Thou speakest truth, Plantagenet ; but Harry 
 Tudor's men were men-at-arms, and mounted knights 
 of fame. His force was skilfully addressed to war. 
 His host was parted into three, whereof the Earl of 
 Oxford led the centre, — a mass of iron men in num- 
 bers, far superior to our army altogether." 
 
 "Were not the Irish and the Germans with you ?" 
 " In sooth they were, and bravely did they fight. 
 The Irish, unarmed except with javelins and knives, 
 quite without armour, having but their mantles 
 wound round their left arms serving them as bucklers, 
 feared not to rush upon those ranks of steel that 
 might have awed the boldest ! Such a charge I 
 never saw except at Bosworth Field, where thy most 
 valiant father was cut down." 
 
 " And you were with him then, my lord ?" 
 " Indeed I was, Plantagenet, and I served under 
 him at Towton and at Barnet, where he proved him- 
 self an able general as well as valiant knight. But 
 to return to Stoke. The grandest bit of fighting that 
 I ever saw was when the Germans under Martin 
 Schwartz attacked the Lancastrians. By my fay ! 
 it was a sight worth witnessing. How they wheeled 
 up, discharged their guns, then rushed upon the 
 enemy with sword and pike ! The like I never saw 
 before, nor shall I see again. St. George ! but it was 
 splendid. Good Martin Schwartz, he left his body 
 on the plain with nearly all his Germans. Had we 
 received a third of what was promised us, the fair 
 White Rose had been triumphant ; for as it was, I 
 
Strange Quarters, 301 
 
 know right well at one time of the battle the Lan- 
 castrians wavered, Harry Tudor trembled for his 
 crown, and with a few more men, — ay, two or three 
 more thousand — the battle had been ours !" 
 
 *' It skills not to lament it, good my lord. The 
 King of battles willed it otherwise. He is the Lord 
 of hosts, and what is right He orders. Vain is the 
 help of man if He ordains our fall." 
 
 " Thy teaching in the monastery has not been for 
 naught, Plantagenet. Surely, thou art the first of all 
 thy line that ever spoke such words, and none of all 
 that knightly race had ever such mis-luck !" 
 
 "And good Lord Lincoln, was he not a better 
 leader than the false Earl of Oxford .^" 
 
 " Ay, good Plantagenet, a very potent leader and 
 a brave, but he was borne down early in the 
 battle, and I could do but little with the Germans, 
 seeing I know too little of their tongue to rally them 
 when Martin Schwartz was slain ; yet I will still 
 maintain they bore themselves like men, and often- 
 times I fancy that had these leaders lived Harry 
 had lost his crown." 
 
 "But, dear my lord, this Simnel is a mean 
 mechanic, a baker's son of Oxford. How could his 
 rise have aided truth and justice ?" 
 
 " Right so ! my noble friar. Our plan was this : 
 When we had driven Harry Tudor forth and set 
 this puppet up, we should thus have gained the time 
 in which to seek and find the rightful heir to 
 England's crown. Thy aunt, the Duchess Dowager 
 
302 Richard IV, 
 
 of Burgundy, hnoivs of tJiee^ somehow ; but she hates 
 the House of Lancaster so much that she would 
 rather see the Prince of Darkness on the throne than 
 Harry Tudor ! She furnished men and money for 
 this raid which ended so disastrously at Stoke." 
 
 " She is a loyal partisan, but as you see, my lord, 
 no schemes so based on fraud will ever prosper. 
 The Earl of Warwick, whom this Simnel personates, 
 is yet alive, for I have heard men say they saw him 
 riding in the streets of London. Most like that 
 Is the cause why all those men you speak of in 
 the North declined to join the rising." 
 
 " It may be so, Plantagenet. Thou art the noble 
 son of a right noble father. Albeit, I doubt thy 
 father had scrupled . . ." 
 
 Here Richard's face flushed crimson, as it always 
 did when men spoke slightingly of his dead father. 
 Lord Level saw the flash of indignation that darted 
 from his eye, and the pleased warrior smiled upon 
 the boy, delighted. 
 
 " Thy father's spirit lives in thee, Plantagenet. 
 Forgive me, friend, I will not do him wrong. I 
 loved him well, and served him faithfully, and will 
 not soil his memory. No, Richard, he was far too 
 brave to countenance a fraud ; and though thou hasfc 
 some of thy peaceful notions from the monks, the 
 soul of honour which can brook no baseness is pure 
 Plantagenet. When thine eyes flash and lighten, and 
 thy cheeks glow with ardour, I see thy father stand- 
 ing there before me." 
 
Strange Qttarters, 303 
 
 "Praj^ tell me, dear Lord Lovel, how the fight 
 ended." 
 
 " I sought in vain to rally Martin's men ; they 
 were borne down by numbers. In all, the fight be- 
 gan with about eight thousand men upon our side ; 
 of these, four, or as some say, five thousand died 
 upon the field. The better harness, greater force 
 of men and number of their horsemen, gave the 
 generals of Harry Tudor a hard- won victory, which 
 many times was nearly lost by valour of our 
 soldiers." 
 
 " How sad to think so many brave men died for 
 nothing ! Absolutely nothing ! " 
 
 " Nay, it has given them a shrewd, sharp lesson, 
 Richard ; and if, as may be possible, it teaches Harry 
 Tudor to treat his queen in manner more befitting, 
 it will not be in vain. I am a soldier, Richard, and 
 cannot look at things save as a soldier. It was, 
 however, a well-foughten field, and I was loth to 
 leave it. But White Rose seemed to know the day 
 was lost, and galloped from the fray, the last to leave 
 it of our leaders' horses. He bore me in my armour 
 to the Trent, and dashing in was soon concealed from 
 view. Unluckily, he stumbled at the ford by which 
 you cross the river, and threw me from his back ; 
 but I, by some good fortune, fell not in deep water, 
 for if I had my armour would have drowned me. 
 I fell upon the ford, and so escaped, aided by Giles, 
 my henchman, who saved my mails and other things 
 strapped on White Rose's saddle. Then Giles 
 
304 Richard IV, 
 
 discovered this abode, where I have lain in hiding. 
 The little money in the mail was shortly spent ; but 
 Giles, it seems, has friends about the country, and so 
 contrives to get supplies, though this time he was 
 longer absent than his wont." 
 
 Eichard was struck to think how this proud noble, 
 his father's trusted friend, one of the three who had, 
 as the rhymster said, " Ruled all England under the 
 Hog," should come to be a pensioner of one of his 
 own servants, who to obtain his master food was 
 now a common robber, a highway thief and poacher ! 
 
 "aS/c transit gloria niundir'' said Richard. Lord 
 Lovel thought he was alluding to his own unhappy 
 fortunes. 
 
 "Thy jester is, I hope, trustworthy, dear Planta- 
 genet, " said the old lord, to turn the current of poor 
 Richard's thoughts. 
 
 " Who ? — Jankin Panns ! " said Richard, almost 
 fiercely. " Him I would trust with anything on earth, 
 whether of gold or counsel. He may seem a fool 
 — and if to be right true and loyal be a folly, he is an 
 arrant fool, — but I have ever found him staunch." 
 
 "Right so, Plantagenet; but still his flighty wiC 
 may lead him into blurting out things that should 
 not be told. " 
 
 " My father trusted him, my lord ! " 
 
 " That is enough. Now, will he have the skill to 
 take the letter to the doctor first ? I have forborne 
 to say in any letter where I am to be found, so if they 
 should be lost they would not tell the finder much." 
 
Strange Quarters. 305 
 
 " I hope he may find out the leech. It is no easy 
 matter, in a town like London, to find the man we 
 want." 
 
 "He is a well-known man, and if thy fool be 
 clever he will discover him. The Queen will be re- 
 joiced to hear of thee, and who knows what may 
 come of it ? " 
 
 *' Not much, I fear," said Richard. 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^^^ 
 
CHAPTER 5XII. 
 MINSTER LOVEL. 
 
 HE fine bright weather, the fresh air, and 
 the delight at having Richard constantly 
 so near him combined to do Lord Level 
 good. Still he was far from being so 
 well as he appeared. The disease which had attacked 
 him in that foul, damp cavern was kept at bay, but 
 not destroyed or driven from its hold. Indeed, the 
 "recovery " was more the effect of excitement than 
 anything else. 
 
 When Giles returned to the cave, with four good 
 horses for their use, one serving as a pack-horse for 
 certain stores and clothes which he had brought, and 
 armour which Lord Lovel wore at Stoke, he found his 
 master apparently so well that there was no fear of 
 being unable to ride ; and as the heat of pursuit 
 after the Yiscount was well-nigh over, he was enabled, 
 as Giles thought, to travel with great 'security. A 
 
Minster LoveL 307 
 
 council then was held, in which it was resolved to 
 travel as three merchants, Giles having purchased 
 habits at Newark and at Enderby. The armour was 
 distributed in various packages, borne by the pack- 
 horse. 
 
 It was the twenty-fourth of August when they 
 started from the cave to journey into Oxfordshire, to 
 Minster Lovel, a park and mansion that Lord Lovel 
 owned. For further safety they disguised their names, 
 calling themselves " Hugh," " Tom," and " Harry," 
 for Richard, Lord Lovel, and the faithful Giles. 
 
 They travelled by the less frequented ways, the 
 better to escape the observation of such as might 
 desire to touch the gold still offered for the appre- 
 hension of Lord Lovel. 
 
 So they rode on " under the greenwood tree," re- 
 joicing in the pleasant shade by day and the cool 
 airs by night, occasionally halting in the hamlets and 
 smaller villages to bait and rest their cattle, for it 
 was most important to keep them in condition. 
 
 On the fifth day they were alarmed at hearing the 
 noise of men on horseback shouting and singing 
 gleefully. Giles rode out in advance to see what 
 men they were, and soon returned with news that 
 they were robbers, part of a band of men that drew 
 their swords under the banner of Lord Lincoln. 
 Now, being homeless outlaws, they sought the green- 
 wood shade as bandits. 
 
 Quoth Lord Lovel : " This is pleasant news ! How 
 many rascals are there ?" 
 
 X 2 
 
3o8 Richard IV, 
 
 " But five, and you need never draw the sword. T. 
 think that I can manage them, if you will not forget 
 the humble names you bear of " Hugh" and " Tom." 
 
 " Depend on us, good Giles — or Harry ; for the 
 nonce, I shall not shame thy teaching ; do thy best." 
 
 So Giles rode forth again, and soon, to good Lord 
 Level's great surprise, loud shouts of laughter rose 
 upon the air, and half a dozen ill-armed and worse 
 armoured men rode up to greet our travellers, whilst 
 one, who seemed superior to the rest, was chatting 
 merrily with Giles, and laughing at some jest. 
 
 " These are my friends. Jack Harding. We take 
 a longer course than you have done : we trot it into 
 Oxford. There, I am told, there is abundance to be 
 earned by men who dare attempt it." 
 
 " Give you good den, gentles !" quoth the foremost 
 robber. " What ! out of sorts, gentles ? Fortune 
 frowns, does she ? A fickle jade and a silly ; let her 
 go ! Who cares for Fortune ! Look ye, my masters, 
 she is a woman ; treat her with contempt and she 
 will follow you. Seek but to win her smiles and 
 she is scornful ! I know the jade !" 
 
 " Is it a long time since you were so intimate .^" 
 inquired Lord Level. "They say she treats her 
 friends much better than she has treated you." 
 
 " Fairly hit, Tom Harding," cried Giles. " Fairly 
 hit, on my conscience ; but what I would ask thee is, 
 what has become of good Sir Guy de Montfort ?" 
 
 " Marry, he is dead. They say the loss of Lady 
 Alice had somewhat turned his brain. He was 
 
Minster LoveL 309 
 
 made prisoner, not killed, at Stoke, and taken on to 
 London to the Tower, where he reviled the Tudor 
 with such vigour, that he was straight beheaded 
 with short shrift and very little grace." 
 
 The angry flash in Richard's eye gleamed forth 
 again, and even Lord Lovel started. 
 
 " Our news appears unwelcome," quoth the robber, 
 with a laugh ; " but that is natural. Friends of 
 thine (addressing Giles) would not be very apt to 
 love the House of Lancaster, I trow. What, boys !" 
 he said, now turning to Lord Lovel and Plantagenet 
 — " what, will ye join us in our war on Harry 
 Tudor ?" 
 
 " What war is meant ?" asked Lovel, haughtily. 
 
 " I cry you mercy, gentles ! I thought we all 
 were friends." 
 
 " Of course we are," quoth Richard. " Tom and I 
 are with you, or rather would be so, but have a duty 
 that calls us on to Oxford." 
 
 At the word " duty " there was a boisterous laugh, 
 as though the joke were hearty. Then said Jack 
 Harding : 
 
 " If it had not been that our comrade here has 
 said ye were his friends, I had mistaken you for 
 gentlemen. But as it is, I trow ye are like us, help- 
 ing yourselves at Harry Tudor's cost — brave, jolly 
 rovers of greensward, hey ?" 
 
 Lord Lovel was about to give an indignant denial, 
 when Richard, who had swallowed his wrath, laid 
 his hand on Lord Level's arm, saying, " I prythee, 
 
310 Richard IV. 
 
 bear with these good friends ; indeed, they mean us 
 well, and surely our condition is so low we may not 
 make more enemies." 
 
 Then turning to the robbers, he continued : " Fair 
 sirs, we, like yourselves, are foes to Harry Tudor, 
 who, in return, is something hard on us. We fain 
 would pass to Oxford, but the ways are not quite 
 safe." 
 
 " No," said Jack Harding, ** thou, my youthful sir, 
 hast hit the mark exactly. Safe is not the word 
 when speaking of the roads at present. For us, they 
 are unsafe by reason of the soldiers, some bands of 
 whom are met with everywhere. For Harry Tudor's 
 friends, for fat rich abbots, parish priests, and 
 wealthy merchants, we are more dreaded than the 
 pestilence, and make the ways unsafe. But touching 
 your own safety : never fear, our comrade stands 
 for you, and ye are friends of his, therefore of ours. 
 Your safety shall be cared for. Lo ! we will ride 
 with you, and take you safely through this ugly 
 district, where Harry Tudor's men are met with on 
 the road and Harding's foresters upon the glades !" 
 
 *' Fair sir, we take your offer kindly as 'tis meant. 
 The time may come when ye shall not repent this 
 courtesy," said Richard, injudiciously assuming the 
 air of superiority which sat on him so naturally, but 
 which was likely to apprise the robbers that they had 
 men of rank to deal with. 
 
 Either Jack Harding did not notice this, or else 
 pretended not to do so ; and, after some discussion 
 
Minster Love I. 3 1 1 
 
 with the men, he and the rest wheeled back their 
 horses and rode on with our three travellers. 
 
 It proved a very well-timed piece of fortune, for 
 soon they met with other bands unknown to Giles, 
 but all were known to Harding, who seemed to own 
 a curious power over them. 
 
 Lord Level chafed most grievously at being thus 
 beholden to robbers for his safety. And whereas 
 Eichard was before so apt to fire up and stand upon 
 his dignity, he now calmed down Lord Level, who 
 became convinced at last, from the great number of 
 these men they met, that but for Giles's friendship 
 with their leader the journey would have ended 
 very soon indeed. 
 
 For three whole days and nights the outlaws rode 
 with them, and then Jack Harding spoke : 
 
 " Fair sirs, we have kept our promise. Where the 
 woods were thick, and Harding's men abounded, we 
 have conducted you in safety. For this we want no 
 thanks. You owe your rare good fortune to your 
 friend who spoke to me for you, and whom we 
 trust you will use kindly after his deserts. Gentles, 
 farewell. I do not deem the game quite lost to you 
 and us who love the Yorkist side. Farewell, — avoid 
 the roads ; we have conducted you by such a path as 
 to remove you from some roving bands, half spies, 
 half soldiers, sent by Harry Tudor, not against 
 UB, but you. Be cautious, trust no guides but those 
 who have the password like our comrade who is 
 with you." 
 
312 Richard IV, 
 
 Then drawing himself up to his full height, the 
 outlaw doffed his plumed cap, and said, in more 
 respectful tones than he had hitherto used, " Fare- 
 well, my lords ! We know you both, but — honour 
 among thieves ! — we betray no one !" 
 
 The others gave a sort of rattling cheer, and then 
 galloped off, leaving Lord Lovel and Richard per- 
 haps more thoroughly astonished than they had 
 been for a considerable time. 
 
 Lord Lovel's pride was deeply wounded at being 
 compelled by circumstances to accept safety at the 
 hands of what he called " a pack of thieves." The 
 puzzled gaze with which he looked at Giles was quite 
 a study. He advised him gravely to forsake such 
 company and learn to live well, in a tone that was 
 almost comic in its indecision ; for he could not make 
 up his mind whether to be more obliged to or angry 
 with Giles Gudgeon, his robber-servant. 
 
 They reached the park and mansion, Minster 
 Lovel, which they found had been already visited by 
 the soldiers sent to that part by Henry. The name 
 of the estate was due to an ancient abbey or minster 
 with which the mansion was connected. The supersti- 
 tion of the times connected supernatural legends 
 with the old dwelling-house, which had already 
 fallen into decay, and the depredations of the soldiers 
 had not done much to render it more dreary than 
 they had found it, being confined to the destruction 
 of some pieces of old furniture, the tearing down 
 of a few bits of old and tattered arras, and the 
 
Minster LoveL 313 
 
 smashing of the glass in the painted window of 
 the grand banqueting-hall. 
 
 Minster Lovel stood in an old-fashioned English 
 park, with deer bounding over the emerald green- 
 sward. Rich old oaks, that had stood for centuries, 
 were now luxuriant in their fullest foliage. A silver 
 stream wound gracefully through the park, and mur- 
 mured by not more than a hundred yards from the 
 walls of the less ancient dwelling-house. 
 
 It was night when they arrived, and the old viscount 
 was excessively fatigued from his exertions. The 
 illness which had attacked him in the cave seemed 
 to return with greater vigour. The moon shone full 
 upon the ruined abbey, lighting it up with ghostly 
 lustre, and the three horsemen with the led pack- 
 horse looked like supernatural beings in the moon- 
 light. The dreary silence of the place was awful, 
 for, apart from the superstitious terrors with which 
 the rustic population had invested Minster Lovel, 
 there was a gloom about that fell with saddening 
 influence upon the heart. 
 
 Richard was not a superstitious boy, but the weird 
 scene before him filled him with a vague, mysterious 
 horror, which was new and terrible. However, he 
 had no time to give way to the feeling, all his 
 attention being now absorbed in care of the old lord, 
 whose feet would hardly serve him to reach the still 
 unbroken benches near the dais. Supported between 
 Giles and Richard, he gained this spot at last, and 
 there sat down. The hall was vast and chilly, the 
 
314 Richard IV. 
 
 moonlight streaming through the broken window 
 showed the stone floor yet colder in the rays, and a 
 more cheerless home could not be well imagined. 
 
 Giles started off to find some faggots for a fire, but 
 when he brought them and prepared to light them 
 on the hearth, which stood just in the middle of the 
 hall, his master called him to him, and forbade his 
 kindling them. 
 
 " Should there be searchers in the park, my friends, 
 or watchers in the Abbey, our fire will draw them 
 hither. I must beg you carry me beyond what was 
 the fosse of Lovel Castle, and help me find the 
 passage leading to * Lovel's Safety,' underneath the 
 council chamber there, in the western wing." 
 " What of the horses, good my lord ?" 
 " It would be better to secure them here." 
 " What I make the hall of Minster Lovel into a 
 stable ?" 
 
 Lord Lovel started at the words. 
 *' What have I said, my lord, to anger you ?" 
 " Nothing, good Giles. Indeed, I am not angry, 
 but I started at the words thou usedst : they seemed 
 fulfilment of the prophecy. Still let it be. If it 
 be so near, we meet the end." 
 
 Neither Richard nor Giles demanded what this 
 prophecy might be that worked upon Lord Level's 
 fears. Most houses of distinction had their legends, 
 their special superstitions, ghosts, and prophecies ; 
 so it was nothing very startling to them. Giles 
 brought the horses in, and, finding a heap of rushes 
 
Minster Lovel, 315 
 
 in a corner, he made a comfortable litter for them. 
 Then, going to the stables, he returned with hay, 
 which he threw down before them. 
 
 Lord Lovel's reason for this act was this, that 
 people coming to the minster park would very likely 
 seek the stable, where, finding four strange horses, 
 suspicion would be roused and search be made. No 
 one would care to seek the Tiall^ surrounded as it was 
 with such unearthly terrors. 
 
 The horses being cared for, Lovel begged Planta- 
 genet and Giles to lead him to the place he indicated, 
 just beyond the fosse or ditch that once surrounded 
 Castle Lovel, but which of later years, before the 
 civil wars, had partly been converted into a sort of 
 garden, very rich in bushy shrubs, which grew with 
 great luxuriance all around. 
 
 The clear light of the August moon now showed a 
 boulder stone, near which there grew a thornbush, 
 very stout and thick. Lord Lovel bade them bend 
 this bush aside, and then they found that what ap- 
 peared a boulder stone was really a huge piece of 
 cunning masonry, made to resemble such a stone. 
 The lower portion, when the thorn was bent aside, was 
 covered with thick ivy. This was so disposed as to 
 conceal an iron door, which at Lord Level's wish 
 they opened with a key he wore about his neck. It 
 took them long to find the keyhole, and longer still 
 to turn the key. At last the door was opened, and 
 revealed a dark and narrow stairway. 
 
 "Now," cried Lord Lovel, " we must close the 
 door, and I must beg you to convey me down." 
 
3i6 Richard IV. 
 
 This was no easy work, for the stairs were broken 
 and the stones decayed. The growth of moss and weeds 
 had made the passage slippery ; thus it was a work of 
 toil to get Lord Lovel down. But it was done at 
 last. The bottom step was reached, and then he 
 bade them turn so many paces to the left, so many 
 to the right, and after many windings another stair 
 was reached. Here with flint and steel a light was 
 struck, a branch of pine ignited for a torch, and this 
 enabled them to see a second flight ascending to a 
 door. The same key opened it, and by the flickering 
 light of Giles's torch a spacious room was seen, not 
 void of comfort for those times. There were some 
 benches, two high throne-like chairs, a simple table 
 formed of planks laid over tressels, similar to those 
 now used by paper-hangers. There was a crescet 
 lamp, a huge jar full of oil, and sundry presses 
 standing round, and an old suit of armour in a corner, 
 that, as the torch-light rose and fell upon it, appeared 
 in motion with the dancing rays. There were stout 
 swords and battle-axes, spears and bills ; but what 
 struck Richard most of all was, that in one of the 
 huge presses, the door of which was open, there was 
 a store of books — perhaps a dozen ; this in Henry's 
 reign was quite a library. Some of these books 
 were scrolls of parchment merely. Others were put 
 together in a form like that we use at present. They 
 were all manuscripts, for Caxton's press had not yet 
 filled the land with mental food as now the press 
 has done. 
 
Minster Lovel. 317 
 
 Provisions were not lacking ; there was powdered 
 (that is, salted) beef, and there were hams, besides 
 some jars of wine. Tankards were there, and silver 
 platters, wooden bowls, an iron pot for cooking, and 
 in a distant corner lay a bed, while opposite a large 
 and roomy fireplace a sort of seat was placed, the 
 back of which was high enough to form a screen, 
 and the whole seat could be employed to sleep on 
 as a couch. The walls were panelled and the 
 floor was strewn with rushes, so that much more 
 comfort welcomed them in this unknown retreat 
 than they had known for many a long day. 
 
 They got Lord Lovel to the bed, and from a flask 
 of wine produced a warming draught, and soon he 
 seemed much better. Richard and Giles did all they 
 could, and after a week's nursing he resolved to rise, 
 though Richard sought in vain to bring him from 
 the notion. 
 
 Then it seemed clear that good Lord Level's race 
 was run, for they were no skilled surgeons, and much 
 the old lord pined to have the leech about him who 
 " cured him of a fever after Bosworth Field." 
 
 So, after much consideration, it was agreed to 
 send the soldier-servant Giles to Oxford, where this 
 learned doctor dwelt. 
 
 One evening, then, late in September, the faithful 
 Giles set forth, leaving Lord Lovel to our Richard's 
 care. He rode away in high good-humour, and pro- 
 mised he would soon return. But days, then weeks 
 came by, and still no Giles returned. 
 
3i8 Richard IV, 
 
 Meanwhile, the books had been brought into requi- 
 sition. They were translations, mostly into English, 
 of Latin works, on deep religious questions which 
 suited well Lord LotoI's frame of mind. Never in 
 all his life had he felt half so happy as in listening 
 to the tones of Richard as he read these welcome 
 tomes. 
 
mMBSSSS : '»iirl 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 CAUGHT. 
 
 IME passed, yet still no Giles, and in the 
 secret room of Minster Lovel a king's 
 son waited on a dying lord ; nor did he 
 only serve him as a menial might, but 
 the good books he read brought back to Richard's 
 mind the teaching of the monastery. Oh 1 how he 
 seemed to love the mighty thoughts that raised the 
 mind above the sufferings of earth, and made them 
 seem so little ! 
 
 The books which most delighted old Lord Lovel 
 were a translation of a work entitled " The Imitation 
 of Our Lord," and another translation by John de 
 Trevise into English of certain texts of Scripture. 
 These texts afforded the good old warrior extreme 
 satisfaction, and great pleasure did it afford him to 
 hear them read, and to some extent expounded, by 
 his youthful friend, whose memory of his monastic 
 teachings came back still more and more. 
 
320 Richard IV, 
 
 At last they found their food (unwholesome as it 
 was) had grown so scant as to be quite exhausted. 
 Giles had the custom to provide enough fresh bread 
 to last for four and even five days, for he cared not 
 to venture often to the little town for food. And 
 now it seemed as though it must be Richard's turn 
 to go. But the old lord exclaimed : 
 
 *' Dear friend, we shall not meet again. The ill- 
 ness which oppressed me in the cave is even now 
 upon me. I feel that I am going. I fain would 
 beg thee to array me in my grave-clothes, in case I 
 die before thou canst return. Giles is no more. Of 
 that I am assured, or he had brought the leech from 
 Oxford. Now, it would be in vain. It is too late. 
 So, dress me in my grave-clothes, dear Plantagenet." 
 
 " But, my good lord, where are they ?" 
 
 *' The armour that I wore at Stoke, the last brave 
 battle that I ever saw or ever shall see. I know 
 the pieces all are here — the salade, and the very 
 sword itself." 
 
 So Richard armed him in his full war panoply ; 
 he placed him in a high-backed chair, gave him his 
 drawn sword in his hand, and on the table just 
 before him laid open Trevise's translations. 
 
 When this had been done, Lord Lovel said : " I 
 thank thee, more than I can tell, Plantagenet ! Now 
 listen once again. Behind yon arras is another door. 
 Open it. Thou there wilt find a staircase leading to the 
 council-chamber of the house. Enter that room, and 
 thou wilt find a large and curiously carved old fire- 
 
Caught. 321 
 
 place, adorned with coats of arms, not only of the 
 Lovels, but of all the families with which they had 
 intermarried. There is a scutcheon on the left hand 
 side bearing a chevron gules* between three lions 
 rampant gardant or.f The field is azure.J Press the 
 centre lion, and thou wilt find a large recess well 
 filled with treasure. Take it ; it is thine." 
 
 " My lord, I have a store of angels sewn into my 
 jerkin so that they may not be found save by that 
 garment being all ripped up and cut to pieces." 
 
 " Nay, thou wilt want it. Here, too, is the key by 
 which to enter by the iron door through which we 
 passed, in coming. I would thou couldst discover 
 some good priest, or holy friar, who would ease my 
 soul by hearing my confession. To die without the 
 of&ces of Holy Church is very grievous. See to it, 
 my son. But first ascend yon chamber for the 
 money." 
 
 So Richard found the door, ascended quickly the 
 stair, and coming to a door, pressed it, and by mere 
 accident pressed on the spring, which, acting on the 
 lock, gave entrance to the room. 
 
 It was a splendid chamber, richly cased in oak, 
 instead of arras, round the walls. The fireplace was 
 like a room, and all the mantle was richly decorated 
 with coats of arms, coloured and carved and gilt. 
 When Richard saw the scutcheon with the chevrons, 
 he pressed the upper lion, and immediately a pannel 
 slid away, disclosing a cavernous opening, in which 
 
 ♦Red. tGk)ld. : Blue. 
 
322 Richa7'd IV, 
 
 he eould just see the top of what appeared to be an 
 enormous chest. He was about to enter and raise 
 the lid, when he fancied he heard a noise ! 
 
 Much astonished, he turned to listen. Yes, dis- 
 tinctly he heard a human foot approaching. He 
 had hardly time to close the panel in security when 
 a door oi)ened, and a man in the green and white 
 livery of Harry Tudor entered. 
 
 Richard's terror for the moment deprived him of 
 the power to move. Not that he feared for himself, 
 his first dread being that Lord Level's retreat was 
 discovered, and that through his means. His first 
 act was to retreat backwards, still fronting the foe, 
 towards the dais, above which was a large oriel 
 window. Through this he hoped to spring, and, 
 taking advantage of the evening mist, now almost 
 thickened to a fog, escape from all pursuit. 
 
 Unfortunately, the pursuer was too' quickly upon 
 him. He seized him by the throat, exclaiming as 
 he grasped him — "Ho ! my young springald, is it 
 thou again ?" 
 
 " Dousterfeldt !" cried Richard, in surprise and 
 fear ; " but never mind, you take me not alive !" 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! What, art thou dead, good Dickon ? 
 Sweet Plantagenet ! A very lively corpse, i' 
 fackins." 
 
 *' Now, let me go, good Dousterfeldt, and I will 
 give thee such a fair reward as thou hast never 
 dreamt of !" 
 
 '• Ha ! ha ! ha ! Nay, by the bones, 'tis passing 
 
Caught. 323 
 
 merry. Thou wilt reward me ! How ? Just tell 
 me how, I say." 
 
 " My aunt will give thee gold." 
 
 " Ay, that she will, but not so much as Henry. 
 Now, listen, youngster. As thou lovest liberty, I'll 
 set thee free on one condition." 
 
 " Oh, name it, and if I can serve thy turn with 
 honour, I will do all I can for thee. What must I 
 do for thee .? " 
 
 " A trifle. Tell me where Lord Lovel hides, and I 
 will set thee free." 
 
 "I tell thee that! No, never! Torture shall not 
 extort it from me." 
 
 All this time Dousterfeldt was struggling with 
 the boy, who kept constantly backing to the 
 window, and all at once he made a backward spring, 
 crashing the glass behind him, thinking to drag 
 the Fleming with him to the ground below, and 
 little recking that it cost his life so that the Fleming 
 died. 
 
 But Dousterfeldt had too secure a grip to be at once 
 eluded, and Richard felt his plan was foiled. Still, 
 in the struggle he did not forget the key, and feel- 
 ing that if found upon him it might set some busy 
 brains to work to find out where it fitted, he flung it, 
 unperceived by Dousterfeldt, among the bushes down 
 below ; another moment he was struggling with the 
 foe, who by his shouts had summoned soldiers to 
 his aid. Now in a trice the boy was taken to the 
 
 stables, mounted, and told to hold himself in readi- 
 
 Y 2 
 
324 Richard IV, 
 
 ness for speedy excecution, unless he told the secret 
 of Lord Lovel's hiding-place. 
 
 " I told you I would not reveal it, even if I knew it." 
 
 "Even if thou knewest ! Dost thou prevaricate, 
 thou imp ? " 
 
 " I will not tell thee anything," said Richard ; " in 
 that is no prevarication. I tell thee honestly, I will 
 not answer questions unless I think it right." 
 
 " How the young cockrell crows ! A bird of the 
 same grim feather as one we wot of ! Hark ye, 
 stripling, thou sayest thou wilt answer us no questions. 
 There are modes of question in the Tower of 
 London which most men — ay, and women too — are 
 glad enough to answer ! Come, be reasonable. 
 Thus stands the matter. On thy head there is a 
 price, or rather was, for since the coronation of the 
 queen it hath not been proclaimed ; but still the king 
 has promised me the price, and I will get it if I 
 can." 
 
 *' You have it now, if my poor head be of much 
 worth to Harry Tudor. To me 'tis worthless, friend." 
 
 " Pray interrupt me not, but listen," said Douster- 
 feldt, as they now rode together in the gloom, well 
 followed by a troop of twenty horse. Listen to what 
 I tell thee. I have thee safe enough, and I shall 
 ride to Sheen, and give thee up to Henry, and pocket 
 my reward. Thy head will fall on Tower Hill, or 
 thou mayest hang in chains at Tyburn. 'Tis all one 
 to me, but I would rather have Lord Lovel, and get 
 the price for him, and give thee yet a chance to grow 
 
Caught. 325 
 
 a little bigger, and meet me point to point. I cannot 
 now afford to kill thee, which I long to do." 
 
 " Gramercy for thy kindness, goodman, spy, traitor, 
 assassin, hangman, or whatever sweet addition to thy 
 most melodious name may suit thee best ; but thou 
 must know we cannot measure swords together, nor 
 could we, even were I three times older than I am, 
 because I am of noble blood, and thou a low-born 
 rascal !" 
 
 Richard's feet were tied under the horse's girth ; 
 his sword was taken from him when they bound 
 him thus. He was unarmed, defenceless, and alone 
 amongst these men, quite at their mercy ! Then 
 Dousterfeldt rode closer to him, and with his 
 clenched fist struck Richard in the face ! The 
 coward blow covered the face with blood, and the 
 boy would have fallen, but the bonds that held him 
 on the horse prevented it. But the blow bore him 
 backward, and nearly made him swoon. 
 
 And the men murmured, " 'Twas a felon blow, and 
 what they liked not." They were soldiers, rough 
 and rude, but nothing vile like Dousterfeldt. 
 
 Richard, however, soon recovered, and sat his 
 horse as gracefully as ever, taking no notice of the 
 Fleming — ignoring him completely. He turned to 
 one of those who rode next to him on the other side 
 from that where Dousterfeldt was riding, and asked 
 him many questions of the road. 
 
 The man was sorry for the lad, and answered him 
 with kindness, albeit, his tones were none of the 
 
326 Richard IV. 
 
 gentlest. He was angry that an English youth should 
 meet ill-treatment at the Fleming's hand. There 
 was no love between the Fleming and his band ! 
 
 On reaching Leicester, they put up their horses at 
 the same place where Richard's bedstead stood. 
 This inn had changed its name to that of the " Red 
 Dragon," and the sign which once showed Richard's 
 father's Silver Boar now blazed with " Harry Tudor's 
 Dragon." 
 
 Fillpot knew Richard instantly, but recognised the 
 Fleming also, therefore he wisely took no notice, 
 but bowed to Henry's liveries as the sign of power. 
 He knew that Dousterfeldt was well acquainted 
 with the house, and made no effort to obtain for 
 Richard, that which he felt would comfort him — the 
 use of the old room to sleep in. However, he cast 
 a kindly glance at Richard when the Fleming 
 was not looking, which gave the friendless lad some 
 token that a friend was near. 
 
 The soldiers soon were settled in their quarters, 
 the horses stabled, and all things prepared for rest. 
 The Fleming ordered Fillpot to give the lad and 
 him a chamber to themselves, upon the highest 
 floor. Outside the door an archer stood on guard, 
 and underneath the window of the room a mounted 
 guard was placed, where watch was every hour re- 
 lieved. 
 
 With these precautions rescue was impossible, and 
 they were taken for the reason that Leicester was 
 well known to be a Yorkist town. 
 
Caught. 327 
 
 The night was dark and cold. The man-at-arms 
 without upon his post was drowsy, cold, and weary, 
 the mist had thickened to a cold, dense fog, and he 
 dismounted from his horse to warm himself by 
 walking to and fro. He hears a sound breaking the 
 silent night. What is it ? Hush ! He listens 
 anxiously, and prepares his sword for action. Yes, 
 it is ! A little door is opened, and the noise he heard 
 was the withdrawing of the bolts and bars. The 
 door is open, and a maiden issues forth, bearing a 
 steaming tankard of savoury, hot-spiced wine. The 
 half-drawn sword rings back to the iron sheath as 
 the soldier asks : 
 
 " Ho ! who goes there ?" 
 
 " Fear not, good sir, it is a friend." 
 
 " Friend nor foe can pass without the word, so give 
 it." 
 
 " I do not seek to pass. I bring thee comfort in 
 the shape of hot-spiced wine, which by thy leader's 
 orders Master Fillpot sends." 
 
 " I much misdoubt it, maiden ! Dousterfeldt is 
 not the man to take compassion ! However, hot- 
 spiced wine is hot-spiced wine whoever sent it. 
 Have thou my thanks, sweet girl." 
 
 And, without more ado, the man-at-arms drained 
 the full tankard and returned it to the maiden, whom 
 he now sought to hold in conversation ; but she 
 declared her master was within and would be 
 angry if she stayed without, idling away her time 
 with lance-men and the like, and so eluding him. 
 
328 Richard IV, 
 
 she slipped away and he could hear the bolts drawn 
 to again. 
 
 Soon after, the sentry on the stairs had a visit, 
 with similar results ; his visitor had been a maiden 
 also, with a tankard of spiced wine, and the effect 
 on both the soldiers was remarkable : they slept as 
 though the hand of death had closed their eyes for 
 ever. 
 
 The chamber door was opened noiselessly, and 
 Richard felt a gentle hand shaking him by the 
 shoulder, a voice which seemed not strange to him 
 whispered, "Arise, dress, make no noise, and 
 follow me. " The boy, whose slumbers were but 
 light, sprang from his couch, assumed his dress, with 
 care beyond his age, not forgeting the money which 
 he had still about him, besides that stitched within 
 his jerkin, and very soon was ready. 
 
 When at the staircase foot, Fillpot addressed the 
 lad, who, notwithstanding all his sufferings and great 
 fatigue, was very wide awake. 
 
 " Thy father was my honoured patron; I owe this 
 house and all I have to him. In common gratitude 
 I seek to save his son, and then, besides, I love the 
 fair White Rose. Hasten thee beyond the gate, and 
 thou wilt find the cottage where once the Galpreys 
 dwelt, now desolate and ruinous, but thou dost know 
 the house and canst conceal thyself : no man will 
 dream of searching for thee there ; and when the 
 men-at-arms have left the town, then I shall come 
 and tell thee what to do. Take with thee this old 
 
Caught. 329 
 
 cloak, and now God-speed, King Richard ! for that 
 thou art, and shalt be." 
 
 Pressing the good tapster's hand, Richard sought 
 the well-known place beyond the city walls, and 
 after grievous difficulty found the cottage. 
 
 Meanwhile, a grand commotion raged in Fillpot's 
 house. The guard that should relieve the mounted 
 lance-man found him asleep ; so sound asleep, in- 
 deed, that all their efforts were in vain to wake him. 
 He was not dead, because he breathed full heavily, 
 but they could not arouse him. The sentry on the 
 stairs was in the same condition, and so was Douster- 
 feldt. But entering the chamber of the latter, they 
 found his prisoner fled, and were unspeakably 
 astonished. They tried to rouse the host, but he, it 
 seemed, was just as fast asleep as either of their com- 
 rades. 
 
 At last, they took the sleeping men-at-arms out to 
 the court-yard of the inn, and putting them beneath 
 the pump, brought such refreshing streams upon 
 their heads that they at last awoke. 
 
 Then came their curious story of the fair-haired 
 maiden who brought the soothing draught, and this 
 was disbelieved, because the other soldiers, roving 
 about the hostel everywhere, as they had done the 
 previous day, had found no women-folk except a 
 monstrously fat and aged housekeeper, long past 
 her work, and kept for charity. 
 
 And it was noon before the Fleming woke, but 
 when he did awake, and when he heard the news. 
 
330 Richard IV, 
 
 oh ! how he stormed ! The very lance-men quailed 
 before his rage. He swore to flay mine host alive, 
 but Fillpot feigned to be stupified himself, and quite 
 incapable of sensible reply. 
 
 The soldiers were examined who had suffered 
 from the draught ; their evidence seemed incredible, 
 for Fillpot stoutly swore that since Dame Fillpot's 
 death no woman had done duty in his house as 
 servants except the "fat old butter-tub upstairs, 
 who lived a pensioner upon his bounty, but was no 
 earthly use. As to a maiden giving hot-spiced wine 
 to anyone upon those premises, it was impossible, as, 
 first of all, there was no girl or woman who could do 
 it in the house, and, secondly, the wine was under 
 lock and key, the key reposing under Fillpot's 
 pillow." 
 
 "No one shall bring such charge against me," 
 Fillpot cried, in stormy indignation. " I am a Lan- 
 castrian, stout aad. staunch, and he who calls me 
 Yorkist does the foulest wrong that one can do 
 another. Send one of thy mounted lance-men 
 straight off to Leicester Castle, and thou shalt learn 
 whether 'tis true or not. I tell thee that King Henry 
 loves me ; he knows my faith. Send to the castle, 
 or I send myself ; the castellan, Sir Walter Blount, 
 will aid me, that I know." 
 
 Dousterfeldt was in a " quandary." What to do 
 he did not know. Sir Walter Blount, he knew, was 
 no great friend of his, and if he (Dousterfeldt) 
 incurred his anger by acting so severely with mine 
 
Caught, 331 
 
 host, there might be trouble, so he stormed a little 
 more, and then sat down to think. 
 
 It would not do. No thoughts would come ! He 
 knew not how to act. To go to London without the 
 prisoner, of course, was idle ; yet to stop there in 
 Leicester ! Henry the Seventh was too great a miser 
 to care to pay the keep of twenty hungry men at an 
 expensive inn, whereas in London or at Richmond 
 they could be " entertained'* for very little, living 
 with the rest. At last this thought determined him. 
 Sending for Fillpot, he expressed his ultimatum 
 thus : 
 
 " Friend Fillpot, I can never doubt thy loyalty ; 
 a better subject than thyself need no king boast; hut 
 there are two things certain, which are dead against 
 thee. A most important prisoner of mine, a second 
 Lambert Simnel, has escaped my care ; I sleeping in 
 his chamber ; two stout men at arms were drugged ; 
 I have been drugged myself, and though I make no 
 charge against thee, thou art a prisoner until the 
 Castellan of Leicester Castle shall decide what 
 action shall be taken in this matter. Ride thou, 
 George Stubbs, and take with thee Thomas Stokes, 
 and beg the Constable of Leicester, of his courtesy 
 and on his loyalty, to honour the poor inn with his 
 exalted presence in a matter of high treason. Ride, 
 fellows, time is short." 
 
 When Fillpot saw the men depart he began to 
 feel very uncomfortable. Dousterfeldt pretended 
 not to notice him ; but the shrewd Fleming watched 
 
332 Richard IV, 
 
 his every motion all the same. His cunning eye 
 followed the host wherever he might be ; within his 
 sight, and all at once, he thought he found the key to 
 one part of the mystery at least. He noticed that 
 a drawer, or what in modern phrase is called a 
 waiter, was very young and very comely, of very 
 fair complexion and light hair. He noticed, too, he 
 often strove to speak with Fillpot, who always held 
 his finger up and hushed him off. All this the 
 Fleming marked, and when the Constable of 
 Leicester came he greeted him with great politeness, 
 and requested private audience. This was granted, 
 and at the end of half an hour the youthful waiter 
 and the faithful host were both accused before Sir 
 Walter Blount of the foul crime of high treason, 
 to our sovereign lord the King, Henry the Seventh 
 of that name. 
 
 " Pardon I grant you both, if you confess and tell 
 me where that traitor is in hiding. If you persist 
 in obstinate denial, you will be questioned in the 
 torture-chamber of the castle." 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE TOETUEE-CHAMBER 
 
 HE torture-chamber in the keep of 
 Leicester was one of the most hideous 
 " chamber of horrors " ever contrived 
 by mortal man to crush the life out of 
 his fellow-being. The walls were bare of arras, but 
 were painted black. There was a table near the 
 centre of the room covered with jet-black cloth ; a 
 crescet lamp hung from the vaulted roof and showed 
 two racks or frames, by means of which the limbs of 
 of any poor, suspected wretch might be so pulled, 
 and wrenched, and torn as to be fairly dragged 
 from out their sockets. There was the iron collar, 
 fourteen pounds in weight with horrid spikes in- 
 side to hang round persons' necks who were suspected 
 of, but would not yet confess, a crime. There were 
 the cords with iron beads for binding round the 
 temples, and being twisted tighter — just a little - 
 every hour, drove men to madness by the pain. 
 
334 Richard IV. 
 
 There was the "Scavenger's Daughter," something like 
 a pair of tongs with loops of iron to confine the neck, 
 the legs, and arms in one position, bending the man 
 or woman into a living ball I This was a frightful 
 torment. Then there were boiling oil and melted 
 lead. And there were beams for hanging up the 
 person under " question " by the toes. The wheel 
 was there on which the limbs were broken, and 
 other things which modern pen is not allowed to 
 write of. 
 
 At the table sat a friar, of the Black-Friar Order, 
 to hear confession and to shrive the dying penitent ; 
 for all this misery was then inflicted by sanction of 
 the Church. 
 
 Next to the friar sat a learned leech or doctor, 
 whose office was to see how much a sufferer could 
 endure, and yet have strength enough left in him 
 for further tortures. 
 
 Six men in black were standing round, their faces 
 all concealed by masks of iron, also painted black ; a 
 seventh was blowing up the embers of a fire on 
 which a gigantic gridiron was placed, the bars of 
 which were all red-hot already ! 
 
 The door of this fell place of torture was opened, and 
 the castellan (Sir Walter Blount) and the trembling 
 host, supported by two soldiers, entered with diffi- 
 culty ; next came the drawer, walking erect and calm; 
 then came four executioners in black, masked ; 
 then came a scrivener, with pen and ink and paper, 
 and finally the Fleming, Dousterfeldt. 
 
I 
 
 The Torture-Chamber. 335 
 
 Sir Walter took his seat between the doctor and 
 the friar ; then, ordering the scrivener to take his 
 seat, he asked the monk to say a Latin prayer and 
 hless the work that they should now commence ! 
 
 Poor Fillpot trembled so that all control over his 
 limbs was gone. The drawer, on the other hand, 
 looked calm and indignant. 
 
 At last an executioner advanced and laid his 
 hands on Fillpot, who shrieked in agony, and cried : 
 
 "Pray do not torture me. I will confess the 
 whole." 
 
 " Nay, then," the youthful drawer cried, " if thou 
 must needs confess, who knowest but little, I think it 
 better far for me to take the blame (if blame there 
 be) of Richard's fortunate escape !" 
 
 " Fortunate ! quotha," cried the Flemingj rudely. 
 " It is not fortunate for thee, I tell thee ! But tell 
 what tale thou hast to tell before the gridiron cools. 
 Thou wilt produce a dainty carbonado !" 
 
 Taking no notice of this brutality, the young man 
 now continued : " Sir Walter Blount, I know thee 
 for a staunch and loyal soldier, and thou wilt judge 
 me as a brave man would another. Listen ! The 
 soldiers who report the maiden's visit, with drugged 
 spiced wines that lulled them into sleep, have told 
 what they deem truth. A seeming maiden came to 
 them, but it was I, disguised ! I drugged the Flem- 
 ing's wine to set my cousin free, and poor old 
 Fillpot is as blameless as a babe. He was my tool 
 all through." 
 
336 Richard IV, 
 
 " And who art thou ?" cried Blount in dire amaze. 
 
 " Sir Walter, I am Edward, often called the Earl of 
 Warwick, whom Lambert Simnel had been trained 
 to personate. Regard me for a moment ; thou didst 
 know me in the Tower, and hast not yet forgotten 
 me. Dost thou forget one evening, long ago, when 
 thou didst tell me stories of King Arthur, Geraint 
 and Launcelot, and Gwenivere ?" 
 
 " By all the Saints, 'tis true I I know you now," 
 said Blount. " Gentles, it is the Earl of Warwick. He 
 must not be tortured ; our heads would answer 
 such a deed. Let him go free ; and Fillpot is, I know, 
 a faithful subject in the main ; nor is this treachery, 
 for Henry the Seventh is well served by him who 
 proves the Earl of Warwick to be living. Unbind 
 them both, I say !" 
 
 " Sir Castellan, I bear King Henry's orders to take 
 a certain prisoner to Sheen. See here, the royal 
 order with the seal ! He who prevents my doing 
 Henry's bidding is to the state a traitor, and by me, 
 as Henry's officer, denounced must be a prisoner on 
 the same charge as he whose strange escape he 
 planned !" 
 
 All present looked terrified. There was so much 
 in accordance with the spirit of the law of those 
 times in what the Fleming said, that for a moment 
 even Sir Walter looked defeated. At last he said : 
 " Release them both to me. I, as the Constable of 
 Leicester, have the sole right to deal with such a 
 case. That is the Earl of Warwick, by his own con- 
 
The Torture-Chamber, 337 
 
 f ession a prisoner, escaped — from whom ? The Con- 
 stab] 6 of London Tower. Then, as a brother Constable 
 I take the Earl of Warwick in safe keeping. Thy 
 prisoner, Sir Fleming, he is not, but mine. As for 
 the flight of your pretender, whom I think you call 
 Plantagenet, I do not see in what respect his loss 
 gives you the Earl of Warwick, whom /keep — whom 
 I cannot give up. My lord," he added, turning to 
 the earl, "you will be with me as a guest till 
 Richard, whom you call your cousin, shall be found, 
 or till the constable at London shall demand you at 
 my hands." 
 
 " Then," said the Fleming, " give me Fillpot, who 
 has certainly occasioned me the loss of Richard, whom 
 I was sent to seize." 
 
 " By no means," said Sir Walter. *' As I think, the 
 whole aj[f air was but a freak of Edward Earl of War- 
 wick, and I can understand that respect for such 
 a noble guest would cause a hostel-keeper rather to 
 slight his other guests to pleasure such as he ; nor do 
 I blame him in the least. He knew the earl ; how 
 could he tell he had not been set free from the 
 Tower of London at the king's own command ? 
 Break up the conclave. Many thanks to those who 
 showed themselves so willing to attend. No more, 
 good Master Dousterfeldt ; the thing is settled. Let 
 us go upstairs." 
 
 During this time, poor Richard had been in a 
 sad position. Having discovered the old cottage 
 where he had first met Jankin Panns, he tried to 
 
SSS Richard IV, 
 
 make it serve him as a hiding-place. But it had 
 suffered greatly at the hands of Henry's soldiers. 
 However, Richard found a sort of shed or out-house 
 with the roof intact, and here he passed the rest of 
 that strange night. When morning came, he looked 
 to have some sign from Fillpot as to what to do. No 
 message came, no signal was held out from any part 
 of Leicester. 
 
 Then all at once a strong desire seized him to 
 view his father's grave. Among the monks he felt 
 he should be safe ; and who would notice him, he 
 thought, seeking that lowly tomb ? So, as it were im- 
 pelled by drawing fate, he sought the well-known 
 monastery, when lo I instead of such a lowly tomb, 
 a mere flat slab of stone, he found a noble monument 
 in various-coloured marble raised over Richard's 
 grave, and on the slab, supported by the columns 
 standing on either side, there lay the efi&gy, in 
 beautiful white marble, of Richard in his armour, as 
 he died. 
 
 The boy could scarce believe his senses. " Oh !" he 
 cried, " how beautiful, how fair I Surely, this foul 
 usurper has a conscience after all, and doth repent 
 him of the calumnies he heaped upon my father ! 
 And there is good St. George, the soldier's favourite. 
 How well I recollect his missal, open at the ' office' 
 for St. George ! Oh, warrior Saint, Ora pro nobis ! " 
 and here he repeated passionately the whole of the 
 *' office" in Latin, after which he flung himself upon 
 his knees and wept as though his heart woull 
 break. 
 
The Torture-Chamber, 339 
 
 Then a gentle hand touched him lightly on the 
 shoulder. He started up, and became aware of a 
 friar standing by him in black garments. 
 
 " Thou mournest a father, as I gather from thy 
 words, yet is this not, I ween, thy father's place of 
 sepulture. Here lies the last of England's proudest 
 kings, Richard, the third Plantagenet. . ." Richard 
 rose up. *' Or art thou," said the monk, continuing — 
 " or art thou really . . . Richard's son ?" He scanned 
 the profile of the effigy and then regarded Richard. 
 '' Passing strange," he said. " It might be taken for 
 the portrait of this youth ! Who art thou ? " 
 
 " I am the son of one who fell on Bosworth's fatal 
 plain, and this poor marble figure recalls the past to 
 me." 
 
 *' I will not probe thy secret, gentle youth, but I 
 can tell thee it is far from well to rove thus openly. 
 If thou hast escaped from custody, thy warders are 
 in search of thee, although they have as hostages those 
 who have helped thee in thy flight." 
 
 " Whom dost thou mean, good brother ? " 
 
 " The Earl of Warwick and the tapster Fillpot now 
 lie in chains as hostages for thee, in Leicester Castle." 
 
 " Who art thou ? How dost thou know this ? " 
 
 "I am a friar of the Black-friars Order, and I 
 was sent for yesternight to hear them their confession 
 under torture ! " 
 
 "Torture!" cried Richard. "Torture them for 
 me ! God and St. George forbid ! Where are they, 
 father?" 
 
 z2 
 
340 Richard IV, 
 
 " They are in Leicester Castle, friend. . . Stop ! 
 hear me ! " 
 
 But it was too late. Running like a hunted deer, 
 Richard bounded through the town of Leicester right 
 to the other side, where the grand old castle stood. 
 The sentries at the drawbridge barred his way. 
 " Who art thou .? What wilt thou in the castle ? " 
 " Take me at once to him who is the castellan ! " 
 *' Sir Walter Blount ? Hast thou the password ? *' 
 " No ; but oh, delay not ! It is life and death ! Take 
 me at once to him. See, here is gold — make haste." 
 " Who* art thou ? We take no nameless strangers to 
 Sir Walter, even though we should take thee prisoner 
 for seeking to get through without the password. 
 Tell us thy name." 
 
 " Richard Plantagenet !" 
 
 The soldier started, stared, and looked amazed ; 
 but he who shared the watch with him exclaimed, 
 *' A second Lambert Simnel, by the bones ! It may 
 be lucky, Ned. Halves ! I say halves !" 
 
 " Guard thou the gate. I take him to the captain." 
 The officer was quickly found, who was, if pos- 
 sible, more astonished than the soldier had been. He 
 took poor Richard by the hand and bade him wait 
 outside the chamber, where Sir Walter Blount just 
 then was listening to a fresh detail of how the Earl 
 of Warwick and the host had practised on the soldiers 
 and the Fleming, who, bursting with indignation, 
 sat listening to this account, which seemed hugely 
 to divert Sir Walter. 
 
 How they all started when the captain entered 
 
The Torture-Chamber, 341 
 
 with the tidings that a strange youth had voluntarily 
 come to the castle, giving himself into Sir Walter's 
 hands, and calling himself no meaner name than 
 Richard Plantagenet ! 
 
 " My prisoner !" roared the Fleming. " I demand 
 him, sirs, in the high name of Henry, called the 
 Seventh ! Give him to me, sirs — he is mine — I have 
 the warrant. Lo ! here it is on parchment." 
 
 "Gently, Captain Dousterfeldt. This gentleman 
 yields himself up to me. I am not sure that by the 
 law of arms I am not bound to hold him. I must 
 ask the pursuivant at arms. He will decide." 
 
 " This is a trick, a shuffle, just to cheat me of my 
 due ! You have your soldiers at your back, and have 
 the power to flout me ; but by all the saints I 
 swear . . . !" 
 
 What he would have said we know not, for the 
 Constable of Leicester turned coolly to the captain 
 of the guard, and said : " Sir Everard Home, I pray 
 thee send a dozen archers of the guard, and let them 
 take that madman prisoner." 
 
 " Your pardon, dear Sir Walter," said Dousterfeldt, 
 in fear, not so much for his life as for the dread he 
 had of losing the reward that still was set on 
 Richard's head. " Your pardon ; I could never doubt 
 your knowledge of the law at arms, but I have 
 suffered much through yonder malapert, and do not 
 wish to lose my labour. I know you are too good a 
 subject of the king's to wish to hinder me in carry- 
 ing out his mandate." 
 
342 Richard IV, 
 
 Said Blount, " Bring in the boy." 
 
 How noble looked *' the boy," as the young captain 
 of the archer guard now led him to Sir Walter ! 
 How fearlessly he fronted them ! There sat Earl 
 Warwick and poor Fillpot, who was not quite sure 
 his limbs were safe even then. Earl Warwick cried 
 out, as our hero entered, "Good-morrow, Dickon. 
 Thou art pure Plantagenet, come to release us, giving 
 lip thy neck instead ! Give me thy hand. I love 
 thee, coz, for this ! It will not matter, though ; the 
 villains want my head, and they will get it too, despite 
 thy pains. Thou art a proper fellow, Dick !" 
 
 It was the second time that he had been acknow- 
 ledged by a member of the House, and the blood 
 went tingling to his very hair. He felt so happy he 
 could face a host I The cheery sound of Warwick's 
 voice acted like magic. He felt as he had done 
 when rushing into that thick fight in which his 
 father fell. 
 
 Then said Sir Walter Blount : " Gentles, I see I 
 have to deal with noble hearts. I will not treat you 
 basely. This gentleman who calls himself Plan- 
 tagenet. . ." 
 
 " We both do that," the Earl of Warwick said, who 
 seemed some two years younger than our hero. 
 
 " Pardon me, lordlings, let me say my say. This 
 gentleman, this Master Dousterfeldt, it seems, is 
 furnished with a warrant for the apprehension of 
 one of you — of him who claims to be the son of 
 Richard, styled the Third. Of course such claim is 
 
The Torture- Chamber. 343 
 
 very silly nonsense; the crown is settled now by 
 law, and your attempt to seize it would be treason to 
 the state, high treason to King Henry. I beg you 
 both consider e'er you use such names as may pro- 
 duce you harm. That matters very little, though, as 
 one is taken and the other yields himself King 
 Henry's prisoner. This being so, I will myself 
 proceed to Sheen and aid this gentleman, this Master 
 Dousterfeldt, to take his prisoner while we take ours. 
 We join our forces. Fillpot, you are free ; but pray 
 beware how you mix up yourself with such affairs 
 as this." 
 
 Sir Walter Blount in haste selected a deputy to 
 whom he could entrust the care of Leicester Castle, 
 and then set forward with a guard of fifty men-at- 
 arms to join the king at Sheen. 
 
 The palace which King Henry loved at Sheen was 
 simpler than the residence of state at Westminster. 
 He cared not much for state because it cost so much, 
 and yet he loved rich buildings. To him we owe 
 the so-called " Tudor style," which is said to have 
 been founded on Burgundian models ; at all events 
 it was a foreign style, though modified for English 
 tastes. It was the first return to home-life on these 
 shores since the First William wore the English 
 crown, for from that date the larger buildings in 
 the country were castles built against the people, 
 not homes in which to cherish them ! In towns 
 the merchants had their shops and dwellings pro- 
 tected by the city walls against the common foe ; 
 
344 Richard IV. 
 
 but in the country, cottages and castles were almost 
 the only buildings save a few farm-houses, and 
 Henry's house at Sheen was not a castle, though 
 attached to it there was a tower, used as a prison and 
 an armoury. 
 
 It was the last day of a dull November that the 
 bright cavalcade from Leicester came clattering into 
 Sheen. There was excitement at the sight, for Henry 
 cared but little for the proud display of knights and 
 squires in armour leading their steel-clad men to 
 war, and was displeased, because he knew the little 
 hamlet could ill-supply the wants of such a troop, 
 and he must send across the Thames to Richmond, 
 where a little town named after his first title, " Earl 
 of Richmond," was springing up. 
 
 Henry was walking in his park at Sheen, when 
 news was brought him of the approaching troop. 
 
 •* Go quick, my lord," he said to young Earl Ferrars, 
 who told him of the news — '* go quick, and try — per- 
 haps you can persuade them to ride back ! 'Tis very 
 thoughtless in these people. They think of nothing 
 but how quickly to spend money ! I find it very 
 wrong !" 
 
 But the young noble came back soon, looking dis- 
 appointed at the ill-success of his mission. 
 
 " I fear," he said, "your Grace must see them, and 
 welcome them as friends ; for, as it seems, they bring 
 two rebels, two rank pretenders to the crown of 
 England. It is important, an it please your Grace." 
 
 " It does not please me. Ferrars, what d'ye think 
 
The Torture-Chamber. 345 
 
 it means — another fight like Stoke ? I think I'd 
 rather not ! I almost wish I never had the crown. 
 I wonder what these fellows now would offer for it ! 
 But no; I must give those who bring them money, 
 and so it always ends." 
 
 " Sir Walter Blount himself is here, with Douster- 
 feldt the spy." 
 
 " Oh ! Holy Michael ! this is wretched news. I 
 hoped that fellow had been killed out there hunting 
 after Lovel, who was drowned, you know ; but still I 
 thought the country people would have killed him. 
 This is very sad." 
 
 At this moment Sir Walter Blount and Douster- 
 feldt rode up, and were a little nettled, each in his 
 own way, at Henry's reception. 
 
 "But why you brought so many I can't think. 
 Those fellows who went out with you, good Douster- 
 feldt, some twenty men, they were enough — why 
 not r 
 
 " Your Grace, we thought a rescue would have been 
 attempted, and so . . ." 
 
 " Well, well, they must be fed and cared for. Put 
 the prisoners in safety in the little tower. No, no ! 
 I have it ! Get some dinner first, then take your 
 prisoner to London to the Tower, whence he came 
 — ^there's room in London for your fifty men. The 
 other man, with Dousterfeldt, may stay at Sheen. 
 Put him — not Dousterfeldt, his prisoner — in the 
 tower of Sheen ; he will be safe enough. Now go 
 and see about your dinners. Ferrars, pray let the 
 
34^ Richard IV. 
 
 people keep a sharp look-out about those architects 
 
 from Burgundy. No thanks, Sir Walter ; you are 
 
 very welcome. Follow that lord. 
 
 " Come hither, Dousterfeldt. See that thy prisoner 
 
 is safe ; he is important. A hundred angels I 
 
 offered, did I not ?" 
 " A hundred thousand crowns, your Grace." 
 " Impossible ! A monstrous sum ! Well, see 
 
 him only safe, and we will think about itP^ 
 
^^^^^^^^^Wl 
 
 ^i^^^i^MM^^^^Mk^l^}^^'^^^!^^^ 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE FIEE AT SHEEN. 
 
 HE prison-tower at Sheen was an unsightly 
 building connected by a curtain-wall 
 with the more ornamental dwelling. 
 It had no entrance on the outer side, 
 the only door being in a kind of yard, in which the 
 soldiers upon duty were occasionally drilled. Near 
 to the tower, and built against its base, was a long 
 structure of low edifices, constructed for the host of 
 servants, male and female, whose labours made the 
 palace habitable. Their number was enormous, and 
 the rioting and revelry kept up amongst them de- 
 manded that a special lodging should be had for 
 them. 
 
 The lower portion of the prison-tower was not so 
 strongly built as those of Norman times, but there 
 was a staircase from the little door which led to 
 upper rooms where the prisoners were lodged ; some 
 of these rooms were not so very miserable ; others, 
 
34B Richard IV, 
 
 however, were so void of light and air as to be 
 nothing more than cells, compared to v^hich a 
 modem coal-cellar would be a preferable dwelling. 
 
 Richard was lodged in one of those more tolerable 
 rooms higher up in the building, and having light 
 and air ; but still the unglazed loop-hole of a window 
 let in the damp and cold, while egress was effectu- 
 ally stopped by iron bars well morticed in the stone. 
 
 " Here, then," he thought, " a full brief space 
 remains for me to * make my peace with Heaven,' 
 then I shall pass away to join my injured father in 
 a better world." 
 
 A surly-looking, dogged churl came in, bringing a 
 jar of water and a loaf of bread. He set them down 
 upon the floor, exclaiming : 
 
 " Prison-fare for traitors, but if thou seekest other 
 food, it must be paid for." 
 
 " Good fellow, it can matter little what I eat and 
 drink, seeing my life upon this globe is short." 
 
 " Sensible ! " was the man's reply. " Some of you 
 people are not quite so wise." 
 
 " How mean you, not so wise ? I am a poor and 
 very foolish fellow." 
 
 "Well, yes, 'tis true, so are they all in part." 
 
 "All of whom ? I cannot understand thee." 
 
 " No matter. Wilt thou have wine or venison, or 
 any dainty dish ? Up here it is allowed on payment." 
 
 "Here is an angel for thy trouble." 
 
 The man's grim visage brightened. Gold has a 
 wondrous power. He left the room, and Richard, 
 
The Fire at Sheen. 349 
 
 now alone, thought over all his mishaps. He could 
 not see where he had been to blame, and we must 
 notice that in all his trials he never blamed his 
 father for his fate. Of him he ever spake with love 
 and reverence, and any mention of him disrespect- 
 ful to his memory brought Richard's blood straight 
 to his kindling cheeks, which glowed in anger at 
 "the hateful lie," as he deemed every story told 
 against his father. 
 
 So passed the days and months in this retirement. 
 The festival of Easter had approached before the 
 formal hearing of the prisoner took place. The 
 council was assembled, and Richard for a second 
 time saw Henry face to face. But ah ! how changed 
 in those few years that intervened between the inter- 
 views ! The first occasion was at Bosworth Field, 
 where Henry looked a young, fresh-coloured, though 
 not jovial knight. Now, he was prematurely old. 
 His features wore the signs of care and avarice. 
 There was a greedy, restless look about the eye that 
 told of miser thrift, of hoarded gold, of meanness, 
 subterfuge, and wrong. He shot one piercing glance 
 at Richard, and seemed satisfied. The questions all 
 were asked by members of the council. Henry, 
 meanwhile, was busy looking over plans and casting 
 up accounts for buildings ; he seemed to have no 
 thoughts for other things. 
 
 The crime imputed to our hero was that of having 
 stated the splendour of his birth, claiming to be the' 
 son of Richard the Third, surnamed Plantagenet. 
 
350 Richard IV. 
 
 But this could not be called high treason, as Richard 
 never had expressed the faintest wish to grasp the 
 sceptre of England. And at the council, though he 
 scorned to eat his words, or even deny the charges 
 made against him, he was so gentle, modest, and 
 retiring in his speech, that one of those who formed 
 the privy council laughingly observed : " Your Grace 
 and lords, methinks this harmless lad is crazed. 
 Doubtless the son of some poor fellow killed in the 
 fight at Bosworth Field, or Redmoor, as they call it, 
 but the sharp change from cloister gloom to battle- 
 field has turned his brain. 'Tis sad for him, but he 
 is harmless." 
 
 Then said Henry : " My lords, this must be 
 looked at. I do not quite agree, but yet it may be so. 
 Remand him back to prison. We have things of 
 more importance. We will examine him again. 
 Withdraw him, guards." 
 
 Richard was accordingly withdrawn, and Henry 
 went into the details of the new tomb he meant to 
 build himself at Westminster, to be endowed for 
 ever to pay for masses for his soul. Poor fool ! he 
 little guessed that, in the reign of his own son and 
 next successor, all masses in the land, all revenues 
 of monasteries, would, with those monkish bones, 
 be swept away for ever ! 
 
 With these deliberations we have naught to do. 
 Return we now with Richard, back to the prison- 
 tower. 
 
 The jailer was most curiously moved. " Thou 
 
The Fire at Sheen, 351 
 
 must be richer than I thought for !" he said, in surly 
 tones, " for poor men fare not thus. No poor man 
 ever has a second hearing with King Harry. Either 
 thou art a wealthy one, or hast a kind of luck till 
 now unheard of !" 
 
 "What boots it, friend.?" said Richard. "The 
 die is cast and I must grace the scaffold, so, whether 
 it be to-morrow or next year, it is the same to me !" 
 
 " Sensible !" quoth the jailer. 
 
 Next morning a most unexpected and still more 
 unwelcome guest was thrust into the cell. No other 
 than the Fleming Dousterfeldt, whom Richard saw 
 with uncontrolled disgust. 
 
 " Good-morrow to Plantagenet !" exclaimed the 
 Fleming. " I come to bring thee words of cheer 
 and words of hope." 
 
 " The hope that comes through thee must be in- 
 deed a vain one. Better were despair an inmate of 
 my breast than such unreal and delusive cheer as 
 thou couldst give my heart. But thou art powerless 
 for good or ill. The world will close upon me soon, 
 and what I suffer more or less before the end can be 
 of little moment to a spy !" 
 
 *' I bring you better hope," said Dousterfeldt, now 
 using you instead of thou^ as more respectful, less 
 familiar. " I bring you hope of glory." 
 
 " That hope I have without thy influence, which 
 would indeed, if possible, have rent it from me." 
 
 "There is for you, Plantagenet, a royal crown 
 almost within your grasp." 
 
352 Richard IV. 
 
 " There is for me a heavenly crown, and quite 
 within my grasp, as I have read aforetime and now 
 feel." 
 
 The rogue was baJB&ed but not quite dismayed by 
 Richard's stern rejection of his proffered counsel. 
 At last, as by a sudden inspiration, he exclaimed : 
 
 " Richard Plantagenet, I have deserved your scorn, 
 but I will earn your praise. Know, there are people 
 in the midland counties who long to see thy line 
 restored. Your fate excites the anger of the just, 
 and men begin to scorn the sordid miser upon your 
 father's throne. The men of Oxford are for you ; 
 they have been so since poor Giles Gudgeon, Lovel's 
 faithful friend, spoke in the question-chamber certain 
 things of you and Lovel, which have armed them in 
 your favour." 
 
 The name of Giles threw Richard off his guard. 
 " What !" he exclaimed, " did Henry's minions tor- 
 ture Giles ?" 
 
 *' They tore him living limb from limb, and it was 
 through his words I learnt that old Lord Lovel lives 
 in Minster Lovel." 
 
 The mention of the good old lord brought Richard 
 to himself, and put him on his guard, but also gave 
 him a most bitter pang, recalling to his mind the 
 wretched and deserted fate of that proud noble, who 
 once with Richard's father " ruled all England," and 
 who now lay, very likely dead of hunger, without a 
 friend to watch his couch or close his eyes in 
 dying. 
 
The Fire at Sheen, 353 
 
 The trouble caused by this unlucky memory was 
 in so far of use that it drew poor Richard from 
 himself. " Alas !" he cried, " how selfish I have 
 been ! Thinking of nothing but my fancied woes, 
 I have forgotten those whose sufferings were real ! 
 And dear Lord Lovel! could he live once more 
 gladly I*d give to know it what may remain of life 
 to me !" 
 
 " Then the good lord is dead ?" asked Dousterf eldt. 
 
 A moment Richard hesitated, then replied : " Yes, 
 he is now no more, if neither Giles nor Jankin Panns 
 could aid him in his need." 
 
 "Jankin was caught with certain letters in his 
 pouch to be delivered up in London. He said Lord 
 Lovel had been dead some time before he left the 
 Minster. That was a lie, I know ; but if thou tell me 
 that 'tis really so, I will believe it." 
 
 " Thou canst believe it. He is starved to death." 
 
 " Where is the body ?" 
 
 " Where thou wilt never see it." 
 
 The Fleming paced the cell impatiently. At last 
 he stopped, and thus addressed the boy : 
 
 "Richard Plantagenet, your father's sister Mar- 
 garet, Duchess of Burgundy, would give her very 
 life to see you safe before her. She knows the story 
 of the secret marriage, has certain documents which 
 prove you Richard's heir and rightful king of 
 England. If you will fly this dungeon much may 
 yet be done." 
 
 Richard made no remark at all ; it was as if the 
 
 A A 
 
354 Richard IV. 
 
 wind had blown. At last he asked, " Tell me, is 
 Jankin still in bondage?" 
 
 " I think he is." 
 
 " Where is his place of durance ? " 
 
 " The prison-house at Ludgate." 
 
 " Canst t-hou set him free ? " 
 
 " Gold can do much." 
 
 " See, I will give thee fifty angels, if thou wilt 
 bring him hither." 
 
 The Fleming laughed. ** The sum is very small, 
 but he has been so many months in prison that there 
 may be some jailers who would part with him for 
 that. And then, how much should I receive ? " 
 
 " As much again for thee." 
 
 " Give me the money." 
 
 " Hold ! I trust thee not. Here are the fifty angels 
 for poor Jankin; thine I will give thee when 
 thou bringest him." 
 
 The Fleming chafed and fretted inwardly, but 
 as he felt his hopes about Lord Lovel were now 
 vain and fruitless, he thought it best to make his 
 market of Plantagenet. . The fifty angels were as no- 
 thing either way, and he was affronted at the utter 
 want of confidence and cool contempt with which 
 "the youngster" treated him. But he said nothing. 
 He resolved to set the jester free by bribes admin- 
 istered to jailers, and so gain Richard's confidence. 
 After a pause he said : " In three days' time I come 
 again, Plantagenet, and if your jester be not freed 
 from bonds I'll give you all the angels back again 
 
The Fire at Sheen. 355 
 
 Or stay, as still you doubt me, take them now, and 
 give them to me when they have been earned." 
 
 " What I have given I cannot receive again. If thou 
 deceivest me His nothing new. The orphan and the 
 desolate have ever been the prey of —such as thou. 
 Take up thy gold, free Jankin, then we will talk again 
 of further matters ; till that time farewell. " The door 
 was opened by the sulky jailer, who gruffly cried 
 "Time I" — nothing more, and Dousterf eldt walked off 
 without a word. 
 
 Three days passed on, and each seemed longer than 
 the other to Richard, prisoner and powerless, within 
 the very grasp of his most bitter foe, as he considered 
 Henry, which, sooth to say, was wrong, for Henry 
 seldom thought of Richard or any of that line, although 
 the troubles caused by Perkin Warbeck had greatly 
 angered him against the Duchess of fair Burgundy, 
 the sister of King Edward and of King Richard. That 
 Richard was his rival as a claimant to the crown 
 Henry had never thought, after he saw him in the 
 council-room at Sheen. His plan was to let Richard 
 live, but live in prison, like Prince Edward, called 
 the Earl of Warwick, whom he caused, however, to be 
 beheaded for taking part in Perkin Warbeck's cause, 
 some time after these events. Had Warwick kept 
 himself from this man's cause, he might have lived 
 to be an aged man. 
 
 Richard was very shrewd, and half-suspected this, 
 
 wherefore he kept himself from all expression of 
 
 any party feeling. The spies and jailers had reported 
 
 A A 2 
 
356 Richard IV, 
 
 that he was happy, simple, quiet, and resigned, so 
 by-and-by the strictness was relaxed wherewith he 
 had been treated. His food was better, wine was 
 added, and on all days save fast days (to the 
 jailer's great surprise) meat was provided for his 
 table. 
 
 On the third day after the Fleming's visit, just 
 narrated, he came again, and brought the tidings that 
 a certain jester had burst his bonds at Ludgate and 
 was now in hiding. 
 
 " I will believe it," Richard said, " when I see 
 him here before me. But pardon me, thy word is 
 not so good that I should give thee all my slender 
 store because thou sayest thou hast earned the 
 money. Produce him, and I will give thee what I 
 said, but not before. " 
 
 " I cannot bring him hither ; he would be known 
 at once, and seized. I grieve to see your doubts, but 
 at this time to-morrow I will convince you, for you 
 shall be free yourself. Be resolute ; fear nothing." 
 
 *' I fear nothing, man, but treachery. If, as thou 
 sayest, there be hope to-morrow of getting from this 
 place, I shall be glad to leave it, though not by 
 treachery, and I shall beg thee in thy future speech 
 with me to leave out mention of the thing called 
 fear, for though so humbled, poor, and friendless, I 
 bear a name which puts all fear to flight. Adieu, 
 sir. If thou serve me I am grateful, if not I shall 
 not grieve." 
 
 The Fleming bit his lip and bowed. He left the 
 
The Fire at Sheen, 357 
 
 cell, muttering to himself : " A pest upon their pride, 
 what fools they are ! Yet, I can make a harvest here, 
 I trow. Get him to Burgundy, the hundred thousand 
 crowns are safe, while Harry Tudor grudges me a 
 groat. Now is the time — the jailer drunk, the guard 
 relaxed, and no one by. Henry departed on a riding 
 trip with all his train. Now is the time I" 
 
 Saying these words, he rushed downstairs, and, 
 hurrying to that portion of the building where we 
 have said the servants and their helpers lived, he 
 entered by a wretched door leading to the house 
 immediately next the prison-tower. He did not stay 
 there long, but soon re-entered the tower, and, passing 
 Richard's cell, sought the higher story, and thence 
 gained the roof. From this elevated position he 
 looked down upon the houses of the servants and 
 retainers, until volumes of flames burst forth which 
 soon wrapped the prison itself in fire. Some of 
 the windows of the tower looking on to the 
 roofs of these small houses were entered by the 
 flames, and in wonderfully short space that too 
 was all on fire. 
 
 When Richard smelt the burning wood-work 
 and saw the pressing danger, he tried the pon- 
 derous door by which the cell was entered, and to 
 his great amazement found it quite unfastened. He 
 hurried out, and found the flames consuming all the 
 lower portion, as he thought. He rushed upon the 
 roof, whence he could see the origin of the disaster, 
 and also be assured that on the side towards the 
 
35^ Richard IV, 
 
 palace, farthest from the servants' dwellings, the 
 tower was fairly safe from outside fire ; and now re- 
 membering that the staircase was of stone, he turned, 
 intending to descend, and met the Fleming. '* How 
 now I" exclaimed that worthy. " I thought you 
 were locked up, and I meant to come and let you out 
 as soon as it was safe to do so in the panic. How the 
 poor wretches fry down there !" 
 
 A sickening thought crept over Richard. *'Tell 
 me," he cried, " hast thou maliciously set fire to this 
 tower, so that I might get free .^" 
 
 " *Twas a good thought, Plantagenet, and now I tell 
 you, you must hasten. There is a ship in waiting that 
 will land us both at Calais. Then for Burgundy. 
 Your aunt rewards my skill and care, and you as 
 King of England make me Earl of Bath, or any- 
 thing you please with a good revenue ! Come, sir, 
 away !" 
 
 "Never," cried Richard, "I will never rise on bones 
 of murdered subjects to a throne. Go, save thyself. 
 I am King Henry's prisoner ! Here I abide." 
 
 Then quoth the Fleming : " I shall take you, sir. 
 This is no time for ceremony !" 
 
 He then seized Richard by the arm, who, now well 
 roused and thoroughly in anger, wrestled with the 
 man. It was a very different struggle from their 
 former tussle at Minster Lovel, where Richard's 
 mind was rather with Lord Lovel than in the 
 wrestling match ; but noiv his heart and soul were 
 in it. He was well grown and very active, 
 
The Fire at Sheen. 359 
 
 Dousterfeldt strong and bold. They wrestled like 
 two bears contending on a plain ! 
 
 Dousterfeldt, perceiving Richard held his own and 
 that he scarcely would succeed it taking him by 
 force, conceived the horrible idea of flinging him 
 below into the mass of raging flames where the small 
 houses stood, and so he dragged him in their wrest- 
 ling struggle towards the parapet. But here the fire 
 was raging in the tower, the stones and bricks were 
 cracking in the heat, and from the fissures fragments 
 of the masonry went crashing down below. 
 
 Half mad with fury, dazzled with the glare, and 
 blinded by the smoke and dust, the Fleming struggled 
 wildly, until his foot stepped upon a mass of masonry 
 just toppling to its fall. Anger lent Richard nerve, 
 his exercises in the tilt-yard lent him judgment, and 
 feeling his foeman's hand relax a moment, he 
 gathered all his force for one last push, and thrust 
 him from him. The falling mass of brick and stone 
 fell thundering down, and with them fell the Fleming 
 to the awful death which he had meant for Richard, 
 failing his quick compliance with the plan of flight. 
 
 Richard fell on his knees and prayed devoutly for 
 some minutes ; then he arose refreshed, and went 
 downstairs to where his prison-door stood open. 
 
 He went in and waited. 
 
 He had not long to wait before the jailer came, 
 who seemed surprised to see him there. 
 
 " Oh, art thou there, young sir ? Be pleased to 
 come with me." So saying, he conducted him to 
 
360 Richard IV, 
 
 where the court had just arrived, recalled by seeing 
 in the reddened sky the tokens of a fire at the 
 palace. 
 
 The jailer, giving Richard to a soldier, with orders 
 to take care he did not get away, went to the officer 
 commanding Henry's harquebussiers, who asked 
 King Henry what should now be done with the 
 young prisoner, Richard Trevor, saved from the 
 burning tower. 
 
 " Saved, is he ? Well, it can't be helped ! It 
 would have been much cheaper not to save him ! 
 Make out a warrant for committal to the Tower of 
 London ; I'll sign it now, and see him sent at once." 
 
CHAPTER XXYI. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 HE warrant was made out in all due form, 
 and soon the officer delivered it to 
 Richard's jailer. 
 
 " * This instant to the Tower ?' Why, 
 that's quick work, Sir John ! How may we compass 
 that?" 
 
 *' There is the barge in which King Henry thought 
 to take the water. She is now manned and ready ; 
 use her for the prisoner. Meanwhile, a second can be 
 manned in time, if the king wants it." 
 
 "But, Sir John, how can I take a heap of rags 
 like that ! Look at him ! All his clothes disordered, 
 torn, and ragged. What shall I do .? The people 
 seem to be opposed to sending men to prison. And 
 if they see that scarecrow in a royal barge they'll 
 think it's Perkin Warbeck, and they'll rescue him." 
 
 "A cloak or friar's frock would be the thing," 
 replied the officer. 
 
362 Richard IV. 
 
 "Of course," the jailer said, "the very thing. I 
 have a friar's coat there yonder will suit him won- 
 drously. If you. Sir John, will give the bargemen 
 orders, he shall be dressed by what time they are 
 ready. Soldier, regard your prisoner, and let him 
 not escape." 
 
 And the jailer, rendered loquacious by the circum- 
 stances, was gone. He was, however, back again 
 without much loss of time, Richard was dressed 
 again to play the monk, and very soon embarked. 
 The jailer wore a cloak with dags, or leaf-like fringe 
 upon the borders, and a large hat with very mighty 
 plumes. 
 
 It was a windy day, and the broad Thames was 
 agitated more than usual. The rowers pulled, and the 
 barge made way, for they had the tide in favour 
 though the wind was contrary. Chelsea is reached, 
 and evening shadows are falling. When London 
 Bridge is neared it is almost dark. 
 
 At that time London Bridge was the most remark- 
 able structure in the world. It was a street of houses 
 built across the water, with gates at either end, which 
 were not infrequently ornamented with the heads 
 of malefactors and traitors stuck upon lances, a very 
 grizzly and appalling sight ! The arches were 
 few and narrow, the piers as thick and substantial 
 as well could be imagined, consequently each little 
 arch was surrounded with untold horrors for the 
 passengers by water ; for the Thames, rushing against 
 the bridge in fury and bafifled by its stout proportions, 
 
Conclusion. 363 
 
 stormed with more maddened rage through the 
 arches, making a dangerous cataract of each ! 
 
 On sped the barge, the twenty oarsmen pulling 
 steadily, timing their labour to a well-known 
 song. The tide has turned. The steersman finds 
 it difficult to steer in such a frightful, boiling, 
 foaming, raging sea. " Pull away, all ! " he cried. 
 "Pull away, boys! pull ye, my hearties, pull ! Oh, that's 
 brave I" But what is that ? Why does he check the 
 words of cheer that issued from his lips a minute 
 past ? The barge has struck against the stony base 
 on which the piers were raised. What is that crash ? 
 What those despairing cries ? Who shall reply ? 
 The strength with which they pulled forced the boat 
 rapidly into the arch she struck, and the strong cata- 
 ract dashed furiously over her. She goes to pieces ; 
 the men, borne down by that resistless torrent, sink to 
 appear no more I And what of Richard ? The wooden 
 beams whereof the superstructure of that bridge 
 was made were often used to tie up various articles 
 of food sunk in the river to keep fresh, but still pre- 
 vented from escaping altogether by cords attached to 
 hooks driven into the beams. On such a hook the 
 friar's coat had hitched, and this had kept him from 
 a watery grave. Arrested by this hook, our Richard 
 looked about for means of rescue from his peril, 
 and by degrees he found a footing on the slimy, 
 slippery wood. In parts of London Bridge there 
 were large holes through which the dwellers in the 
 houses cast down the refuse of their kitchens, dirty 
 
364 Richard IV, 
 
 water and the like. As Richard gazed intently up- 
 wards he saw a face and heard a voice exclaim : 
 
 " What ho ! Is any man below there ?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Richard. " Canst thou lower a rope ?" 
 
 " Aye, aye ! Hold on there till we send it. Now 
 look out ! Hast seized it ? " 
 
 " Yes, truly," cried our hero. And here it seemed 
 to him the wisest thing would be to cast the friar's 
 coat away, which only would impede him in his up- 
 ward course. So this he did, and when the rope 
 was lowered he adjusted it beneath his arms, then 
 gave the signal for the men to pull, who hauled the 
 rope above. 
 
 Now, in ascending, it occurred to Richard, that if 
 he said he had been in the barge the people on the 
 bridge would know he was a prisoner escaped from 
 custody, and send him to the Tower, for which he 
 had no longing. So he resolved to be most guarded 
 in his answers. 
 
 How strange was that ascent ! How long it seemed ! 
 And yet the people up above pulled willingly and 
 well. 
 
 At last 'tis done. He stands once more, though not 
 exactly upon land, 'tis much more like it than down 
 below, amidst the waters of that tremendous bridge ! 
 
 There are some twenty men to greet him, and 
 when they see his tattered jerkin and torn hose they 
 look astonished. Says one, "'Tis like a beggar." 
 Another says, " He was not in King Henry's barge 
 before it went to pieces." " Didst see the barge, friend .^" 
 
Conclusion. 365 
 
 quoth a third, "Aye, marry, did I," answered 
 Richard. " I marvel that it did not crush me !" " Didst 
 see the friar, friend ? I want to know, because Tom 
 Davis swears that friars never drown. What is 
 become of him ?" 
 
 "They have all perished," answered Richard. 
 " Now there is no barge, no oarsman, and no friar !'* 
 " And who art thou ?" another asked. 
 " That question I can answer," said a voice that 
 seemed well known to Richard. A tall, ungainly man 
 came forward, but Richard knew him not. He spoke 
 again. *' I know him, gossips. It is our 'prentice, 
 Dickon, who, like an idle loosel, went away without 
 good Master Caxton's leave, to have a row, forsooth ! 
 Now he has lost the boat and spoilt his clothes, and 
 he will be well shent, my masters, and have a lesson 
 from his master's book — the book, sirs, of good 
 manners." 
 
 " What book is that, an't please you ?" 
 " Why, that is Master Caxton's pretty name for a 
 stout oaken cudgel, and that same book, my pretty 
 Dickon, will he expound to thee." 
 
 "Jankin " 
 
 " Now, nay, my worthy Dickon, knowest thou 
 not George Fowler, journeyman to Master Caxton ? 
 'Tis a mad world, my masters ! I think his head 
 is smashed as well as Caxton's boat. But, gentles, we 
 must put him in some gear. He cannot walk through 
 London like a human rat ! I would I could perceive 
 a mercer's or a tailor's." 
 
366 Richard IV. 
 
 '* Hei'e, sir," exclaimed the man whose rope had 
 saved our hero. '* I am a master of the noble art, and I 
 will give the 'prentice such a suit as shall delight the 
 excellent old printer. Enter my shop." 
 
 Now Richard still had some gold coins called 
 angels sewn up within his doublet. So he reached 
 out three of these, and soon was dressed as other ap- 
 prentices, but bore his gold-lined doublet on his arm. 
 
 Jankin, as soon as they escaped the crowd, 
 explained how suddenly a man-at-arms from Sheen 
 had come with friendly greeting to the jailer of the 
 prison where he lay, and only three days back had 
 wrought his liberty. 
 
 " Well, that was passing kind !" said Richard. 
 
 " Aye, but yonder man-at-arms had never any touch 
 of kindness in him. A perfect demon. He had no 
 love but for the chink of gold, for which he would 
 have sold his grandmother." Then Jankin told him 
 how he had been stopped, his letters taken, and his 
 own connection with Lord Lovel brought to light. 
 How they had racked and tortured him to learn Lord 
 Lovel's hiding-place, and how he had "shammed 
 silly" to escape their rage. Then how they whipped 
 him, and put him into prison, from which he had 
 recently been freed. 
 
 Thus talking, they returned to Master Caxton's 
 house at Westminster, where they had difficulty to 
 induce him to descend and let them in. 
 
 Pass we the time it took to bring our Richard and 
 poor Jankin Panns to perfect health once more. 
 
Conclusion. 367 
 
 The kind old printer and his friend de Worde did 
 all that men could do to help them. And Richard* 
 when recovered from his trouble, was regularly- 
 bound to Master Caxton. He paid a visit to the 
 goldsmith, Master Wood, who, as he said, had 
 gained by Richard's money a fair per cent, as usury, 
 and now insisted on his taking all, both capital and 
 interest, without deducting from it charges for his 
 pains. 
 
 " No, Richard," he would say, " thy father made 
 me what I am, a wild mad wag he was, and always 
 wanting money, but then he always paid, and paid 
 with interest. He was a noble king." 
 
 One day, when Caxton was in high good-humour 
 about a new edition of " The Book of Troie," Richard 
 expressed a wish to visit Minster Lovel, to know the 
 end of good Lord Lovel, the friend his father loved. 
 Said Caxton : 
 
 " It is a noble wish, and one that shall be gratified. 
 I have a book to send to Oxford ; there must be a 
 pack-horse, for one hundred copies or exemplars of 
 this book are ordered, and thou shalt represent me at 
 the ' Schools.' I know that neighbour Flimsie sends 
 some stuffs to make the scholars' gowns, and Master 
 Wood will send some gold and silver ware — I know 
 not why. But we will ask the Master of the Horse to 
 let some archers of King Henry's train go with you 
 to protect you." 
 
 " Think you that the king will send his men for 
 money on our errand ? " 
 
368 Richard IV, 
 
 " Ha, ha ! my young Plantagenet (I mean young 
 Trevor), know that Henry would go himself for 
 money ! — albeit he dislikes the clang of arms as 
 much as I ; but, then, the clink of gold is such a 
 sound it takes his senses quite." 
 
 " What a vile king !" 
 
 " Nay, Dickon, be not foolish. I will not have the 
 king reviled, especially since he has revoked the 
 strict prescription of the House of York, which 
 gained him many enemies. Thou mayest travel 
 now in peace." 
 
 And in very deed the king lent Master Caxton a 
 troop to guard the merchants on their way to Oxford. 
 The wares were placed on pack-horses. The mer- 
 chants rode in a large company, some forty strong, 
 and fifty men-at-arms were given as guard. 
 
 Richard begged Caxton to let Jankin Panns (to 
 whom the old printer had grown much attached) 
 accompany him upon his journey, and Caxton gave 
 permission, so off they set one lovely day in June 
 upon the road to Oxford. 
 
 Nothing occurred of interest. They reached the 
 seat of learning, their books and other things were 
 well received, and when a day of leisure came, 
 Jankin and Richard rode across the country as far as 
 Minster Lovel, the guard and merchants having still 
 to wait a week at Oxford to rest the horses, mend 
 the armour, obtain provisions, and the like. 
 
 Well mounted, they soon reached the spot, and 
 Richard cautiously looked on the ground amongst 
 
Conclusion. 369 
 
 the shrubs for the old key that opened up the secret 
 door to Lovel's hiding-place. There lay the key, 
 but very rusty from the length of time which it had 
 lain amongst the shrubs. It was so thick with rust 
 that it was long before the efforts of Richard and 
 Jankin Panns to open the door were crowned 
 with success. At last the wicket yielded and they 
 entered. 
 
 Jankin had taken the precaution to bring a flint 
 and steel, with which a light was struck, and kind- 
 ling a pine torch from the heap which stood in 
 the customary corner, they found the body of Lord 
 Lovel, like an old Scandinavian warrior in his 
 tomb, sitting in the armour it had worn in life. 
 He had been dead some time. The "Imitation of 
 Christ" lay open on the table, the sword lay on the 
 open page. The helmet was unclosed, so that the 
 face was seen.* 
 
 Richard reverently threw a cloth over the head 
 to hide the face ; he left the book and sword un- 
 touched ; then he possessed himself of certain books 
 and papers, which he gave to Jankin Panns to hold 
 while he reduced the room to order. When he had 
 finished he bade the jester leave the cell and lock 
 the door behind him, which, after some remonstrance, 
 he did, being told by Richard to await him just on 
 the spot where they had found the key. 
 
 ■' At the close of the sixteenth century Minster Lovel was pulled down 
 and the skeleton of the Lord Lovel of our story was found sitting, clothed 
 in armour, in the secret chamber, as we have described. 
 
 B B 
 
370 Richard IV. 
 
 Richard now sought the secret stair, and gaining 
 entrance to the council-room, opened the panel 
 ■where the chest of treasure was. This he discovered 
 to-be far more weighty than he at first had thought, 
 and he was forced to take a portion only at a time 
 and lower it to Jankin Panns, who forthwith stuffed 
 the saddle-bags and sundry sacks remaining in the 
 stable until the whole was loaded. Nor was this 
 quite sufficient, so they rode back into the village, 
 where they bought two pack-horses. They also 
 bought more sacks, which they first nearly filled with 
 coin, and after covered up with books and manu- 
 script, so that it seemed as though they had a wondrous 
 load of books for Master Caxton's press. 
 
 And they returned to Westminster quite unsus- 
 pected of the guard and their companions, who 
 jeered them somewhat on their load of learning. 
 They met with no adventure, and placed the legacy 
 in perfect safety by the advice of Master Wood. 
 
 Though a rich man comparatively, and very rich 
 for a printer's apprentice, Richard had his indentures 
 properly made out, and bound himself to serve his 
 time with Caxton. 
 
 And here we take our leave of him as Riehard the 
 Fourth Plantagenet, for he had seen, though young, 
 enough of court and camp to have but little wish 
 for royalty, so he applied himself to business like 
 any fiat-cap of them all. . 
 
 The reign of the sword thus passed away, the 
 reign of the press commenced, and the son of the last 
 
Conchtsion, 371 
 
 Plahtagenet king was the humble servitor of the first 
 of England's printers. 
 
 The years rolled on. Richard, though still an ap- 
 prentice, was Caxton's right-hand man next to de 
 Worde, who it was settled should succeed him. As 
 yet the books that issued from the press of Caxton had 
 been such tales as Gower and Chaucer loved. There 
 had been little of a pious kind produced ; the Scrip- 
 tures were not read in English, for Romish priests had 
 given forth their fiat that Bibles in a tongue that other 
 men could read were sinful things, forgetting that the 
 Latin versions were but translations too ! Richard's 
 monastic education had given him the thoughts and 
 feelings of the monks, therefore the idea of print- 
 ing English Bibles could either not occur to him, or 
 else be scouted as a deed of sin. 
 
 One day, before his apprenticeship expired, Caxton 
 came to him in the " office" where the press was 
 worked, and bade him straight prepare to take a 
 journey down to Dartford, whither the Abbess of the 
 Austin Nuns desired that certain books prepared by 
 Caxton should be despatched. 
 
 Richard was glad enough to undertake this journey. 
 He loved his ait, and, being the first apprentice, 
 was not a little proud of that position ; so, taking 
 Jankin with him (who sadly missed the air and 
 freedom of the country), they started on the road, 
 both armed and well^ accompanied by merchants 
 and their armed servants travelling the same 
 road. 
 
372 Richard IV. 
 
 It was in 1495 that Richard made this memorable 
 trip. He found the nunnery under the rule of 
 Lady Bride (or Bridget) Plantagenet, to whom he 
 was accredited to bear the books. 
 
 She was a lady of surpassing beauty and of great 
 tenderness of character, some ten or twelve years 
 older than our Richard. She started at the sight of 
 him, and said, in great surprise : 
 " Art thou the printer's 'prentice ?" 
 " Yes, an so please you," answered Richard, 
 humbly. 
 
 "Richard himself again !" she cried, half aloud, so 
 
 that he only heard the name, to which, replying 
 
 promptly, he demanded whether she called or not. 
 
 " Is thy name Richard, then ? Whose son art thou ?" 
 
 " My name is Richard, as my father's was. He fell 
 
 at Bosworth Field!" 
 
 " It is not possible ! Tell me, young man, who was 
 thy mother ?" 
 
 " The Lady Alice Trevor." 
 
 We pass the terms of mutual grief and pleasure that 
 passed between the cousins. He showed the Lady 
 Bridget Richard's signet-ring, to which she bowed 
 in reverence. She told him how she had been pre- 
 sent as a child at the king's wedding with the Lady 
 Alice, but she had never known that she had left a 
 son. She was delighted with our Richard, whose 
 calm acceptance of his huijibler fate charmed and 
 astonished her. She gave him a rare scroll of parch- 
 ment, which proved to be the marriage contract 
 
Conclusion, 373 
 
 between the Lady Alice Trevor and Richard called 
 Plantagenet. 
 
 The next day Lady Bridget sent for him and told 
 him many things about his father, and how she 
 knew for certain that Perkin Warbeck was the Duke 
 of York, reported to have been destroyed by Richard. 
 She further told him how she had seen Edward called 
 the Fifth alive and well after King Richard's death. 
 
 " My father was no murderer, gentle lady, and 
 though it grieves me sore to hear foul slanders said 
 of. him, I know that he has entered where the 
 wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at 
 rest." 
 
 She looked at him in great amaze, and then resumed : 
 " I wonder, though, \pth all thou tellest me, that thou 
 art never tempted to urge thy claim to greatness. In 
 Burgundy the Duchess would be glad to see thee, 
 and have the bare excuse of seeing thee to wage an 
 open war with Henry." 
 
 " Say not that I am never tempted to these things, 
 dear lady. The tempter ever seeks me in the soli- 
 tude of home, when working at the press, to urge me 
 on to madness ; for sure it would be madness to seek 
 the slaughter of so many friends and countrymen to 
 gain an earthly crown, which is the most unstable of 
 all unstable things. My hope is certainly a crown, 
 but not an earthly one." 
 
 " Thy many troubles, Richard, have done thee good. 
 They seem to have prepared thy mind for peace ; no 
 words of mine shall rupture it. Peace be with thee 
 
374 Richm^d IV. 
 
 for ever. And now, my kinsman, I have something 
 to impart. I have for years been quite convinced 
 that Wycliffe acted well in giving men the Scriptures 
 in the vulgar tongue " 
 
 " What ! Lady Bridget, say not so — it is too dread- 
 ful !" 
 
 *' Nay, hear me, Richard. It must surely be the 
 will of God, in giving men His Avord, that they should 
 understand it. Take thou this copy of the English 
 Word, and thou, who well canst read the Latin, wilt 
 find thy mother-tongue the fitting speech in which 
 the'T'ather of us all should speak to us. Think of it, 
 Richard. For my sake, thy nearest living relative 
 (since Warwick has been executed), keep the good 
 Book, the Work of God Himself, and print it, so that 
 men shall have the power of doing as the Master 
 says — ' Search the Scriptures.' " 
 
 Richard was paralysed. The gentle looks and 
 loving words of Lady Bridget sank in his heart. Yet, 
 a translated Bible! It thrilled him through with 
 horror, but he took the gift, and thanking the fair 
 giver, rode away much troubled in his mind. 
 
 Five years elapsed, and news came of the death 
 of Lady Bridget, and Richard reverently took the 
 book, which he had not opened, and he read. He 
 read the sermon of our Lord upon the Mount, 
 and those sweet words now struck him with a 
 force they never had in Latin. He read and read 
 the whole book through, and for the first time 
 really felt it. 
 
Conchtsion, 375 
 
 Again time rolled along. The troubles came. Tyn- 
 dale produced his Bible. The first New Testament 
 in English was given to the world at Wittenburg. 
 An English printer of great skill and learning went 
 thither to set up the type and print this Holy Book. 
 Historians have been silent hitherto about the name 
 of the bold man who helped in this great work, but 
 he who reads this tale may guess that the first 
 printer of the English Bible was Richard called 
 Plantagenet. 
 
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