THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES GIFT OF Ada Nisbet ENGLISH READING ROOM JUL171986 LAST OF THE BARONS. THE LAST OF THE BARONS BY EDWARD BULWER (LYTTON (LORD LYTTON) NEW YORK THE CASSELL PUBLISHING CO. 31 EAST i7TH ST. (UNION SQUARE) THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS, RAH WAY, N. J. DEDICATORY EPISTLE. I DEDICATE to you, my indulgent Critic and long-tried Friend, the work which owes its origin to your suggestion. Long since, you urged me to attempt a fiction which might borrow its characters from our own records, and serve to illustrate some of those truths which History is too often com- pelled to leave to the tale-teller, the dramatist, and the poet. _Uju.q_uej5tj,on- ably, Fiction, when aspiring to something higher than mere romance, does in;t pervert, lut elucidate Facts. lie who employs it worthily must, like a Mograplier, study the time and the characters he selects, with a minute and earnest diligence which the gen era}, historian, whose range extends over cen- turies, can scarcely be expected to bestow upon the things and the men of a single epoch ; his descriptions should fill up with color and detail the cold outlines of the rapid chronicler ; and, in spite of all that has been argued by pseuHo-critics, the very fancy which urged and animated his theme should necessarily tend to increase the reader's practical and familiar ac- quaintance with the habits, the motives, and the modes of thought, which constitute the true idiosyncrasy of an age. More than all, to Fiction is per- mitted that liberal use of analogical hypothesis which is denied to History, and which, if sobered by research, and enlightened by that knowledge of mankind (without which Fiction can neither harm nor profit, for it becomes unreadable), tends to clear up much that were otherwise obscure, and to ; solve the disputes and difficulties of contradictory evidence by the philosophy ( of the human heart. My own impression of the greatness of the labor to which you invited me, made me the more diffident of success, inasmuch as the field of English his- torical fiction had been so amply cultivated not only by the most brilliant of our many glorious novelists, but by later writers of high and merited reputa- tion. But however the annals of our history have been exhausted by the industry of Romance, the subject you finally pressed on my choice is unques- tionably one which, whether in the delineation of character, the expression of passion, or the suggestion of historical truths, can hardly fail to direct the novelist to paths wholly untrodden by his predecessors in the Land of Fiction. Encouraged by you, I commenced my task encouraged by you, I venture, on concluding it, to believe that, despite the partial adoption of that estab- lished conijiroini-e between the modern and the elder diction, which Sir Walter Scott so artistically improved from the more rugged phraseology employed by Strutt, and which later writers have perhaps somewhat over- hackneyed, I may yet have avoided all material trespass upon ground which others have already redeemed from the waste. Whatever the produce of the soil I have selected, I claim, at least, to have cleared it with my own labor, and ploughed it with my own heifer. The reign of Edward IV. is in itself suggestive of new considerations and fy DEDICATORY EPISTLE. unexhausted interest to those who accurately regard it. Then commenced the policy consummated by Henry VII. ; then were broken up the great ele- ments of the old feudal order ; a new Nobility was called into power, to aid the growing Middle Class in its struggles with the ancient : and in the fate of the hero of the age, Richard Nevile, Earl of Warwick, popularly called (he King-maker, " the greatest as well as the last of those mighty Barons who formerly overawed the Crown,"* was involved the very piinciple of our existing civilization. It adds to the wide scope of ! ktiou, which ever loves lo e\i>loie the twilight, unit, us Iliinic has truly observed "No part of English history since ilie Conqur-t is MI obscure, .so uncertain, so little auihen ic or consistent, as that of the Wars between the two Roses." f It adds also to the importance of that conjectural research in which Fiction in. iy he made so interesting and so useful, Ihut "this piofound d irkness falls upon us just on the eve of the restoration of letters '; J while, amidst the gloom, we perceive the movement of those great and heroic passions in win h Fiction finds delineations everlastwgly- new, and are brought in con- tact v, i:h >h.\r.uters sulheicn ly funiilhr for int< n st, sufficiently u mote for adaptation to romance, and, above all, so fr quently obscured by contra- dictory evid- nee, that we lend ourselves willingly 10 any one who seeks to help our judgment of the individual by tests taken from the general knowl- edge of mankind. Round the great image of the Last of the Barons group Edward the Fourth, at once frank and false ; the brilliant but ominous boyhood of Rich- ard the Third ; the accomplished Hastings, " a good knight and gen.le, but somewhat dissolute of living *' ; the vehement and fiery Margaret of Anjou, the meek image of her " holy Henry," and the pale shadow of their son ; there may we see, also, the gorgeous Prelate, refining in policy and wile, as the enthusiasm and energy which had formerly upheld the Ancient Church pass into the stern and persecuted votaries of the New : we behold, in that social transition, the sober Trader, outgrowing the prejudices of the rude retainer or rustic franklin, from whom he is sprung, recognizing sagaciously, and supporting sturdily, the sectarian interes'S of his order, and preparing the way for the mighty Middle Class in which our modern civi ization, with its faults and its merits, has established its strong hold ; while, in contrast to the measured and thoughtful notions of liberty which prudent Commerce entertains, we are reminded of the political fana'icism of the secret Lollard ; of the jacquerie of the turbulent mobleader ; and perceive, amidst the vari- ous tyrannies of the time, and often partially allied with the warlike seigno- rie | ever jealous against all kingly despotism the restless and ignorant movement of a democratic principle, ultimately suppressed, though not destroyed, under the Tudors, by the strong union of a Middle Class, anxious for security and order, with an Executive Authority determined upon abso- lute sway. Nor should we obtain a complete and comprehensive view of that most interesting Period of Transition, unless we saw som-thmg of the influence which the sombre and sinister wisdom of Italian policy began to exercise over the councils of the great a policy of refined stratagem, of complicated * Hume adds, " and rendered the people incapable of civil government"; a sentence, which, perhaps, judges too hastily the whole question at issue in our earlier history, between the jealousy of the Barons and the authority of the King. t Hume. J Ibid. "Chronicle of Edward V. in Stowe." \ For it is noticeable, that in nearly all the popular risings that of Cade, of Robin of Bedesdale, and afterwards of that which Perkin Warbeck made subservient to his extraor- dinary enterprise, the proclamations of the rebels always announced, among their popular grievances, the depression of the ancient nobles and the elevation of new men. Intrigue, of systematic falsehood, of ruthless, but secret violence a policy which actuated the fell statecraft of Louis XI.; which darkened, whenever he paused to think and to scheme, the gaudy and jovial character of Edward IV. ; which appeared in its fullest combination of profound guile and reso- lute will in Richard III., and, softened down into more plausible and spe- cious purpose by the unimpassionees which led to the breach between Edward IV. and his great kinsman and subject, the Earl of Warwick. The general notion is probably still strong, that it was the marriage of the young king to Elizabeth Gray, during Warwick's negotia- tions in France for the alliance of Bonaof Savoy (sister-in-law to Louis XI.), which exasperated the fiery Earl, and induced his union with the House of Lancaster. All our more recent historians have justly rejected this ground- less fable, which even Hume (his exireme penetration supplying the defects of his superficial research) admits with reserve.* A short summary of the reasons for this rejection is given by Dr. Lingard, and annexed below. f And, indeed, it is a matter of wonder that so many of our chroniclers could have gravely admitted a legend comradicted by all the subsequent conduct of \Vanvick himself. For we find the Earl specially doing honor to the publi- cation of Edward's marriage, standing godfather to his first born (the Princess Elizabeth), employed as ambassador, or acting as minister, and fighting for Edward, and against the Lancastrians during the five years that elapsed between the coronation of Elizabeth and Warwick's rebellion. The real causes of this memorable quarrel, in which Warwick acquired his title of King-maker, appear to have been these. " There may even some doubt arise with regard to the proposal of marriage made to Bona of Savoy," etc. Hume, note to p. 222, vol. iii., edit. 1825. t " Many writers tells us that the enmity of Warwick arose from his disappointment, caused by Edward's clandestine marriage with Elizabeth. If we may believe them, the Earl was at the very time in France negotiating on the part of the King a marriage with Bona of Savoy, sister to the Queen of France ; and having succeeded in his mission, brought back with him the Count of Dampmartin as ambassador from Louis. To me the whole story appears a fiction, i. It is not to be found in the more ancient historians. 2. Warwick was not at the time in France. On the 2oth of April, ten days before the mar- riage, he was employed in negotiating a truce with the French envoys in London (Rym xi. 521), and on the 2601 of May about three weeks after it, was appointed to treat of another truce with the King of Scots (Rym. xi. 424) 3. Nor could he bring Dampmartin with him to England. For that nobleman was committed a prisoner to the Kastile in September, 146?, and remained there till May, 1465. (Monstrel. iii. 07, 109). Three contemporary and well-in formed writers, the two continuators of the histoiy of Croyland, and Wyrcester, attribute his disaontent to the marriages and honors granted to the Wydeviles, and the mar- riage of the Princess Margaret with the Duke of Burgundy." Lingard, vol. iii. c. 24, p. 5 19, 410 edition. DEDICATORY EPISTLE. Vl'l It is probable enough, as Sharon Turner suggests,* that Warwick was disappointed that, since Edward chose a subject for his wife, he neglected the more suitable marriage he might have formed with the Earl's eldest daughter : and it is impossible but that the Earl should have been greatly chafed in common with all his order, by the promotion of the Queen's rela- tions, f new men, and apostate Lancastrians. But is clear that these causes for discontent never weakened his zeal for Edward till the year 1467, when we chance upon the true origin of the romance concerning Bona of Savoy, and the first open dissension between Edward and the Earl. In that year Warwick went to France, to conclude an alliance with Louis XL, and :o secure the hand of one of the French princes ^ for Margaret, sister to Edward IV.; during this period, Edward received the bastard brother of Charles, Count of Charolois, afterwards Duke of Burgundy, and arranged a marriage between Margaret and the Count. Warwick's embassy was thus dishonored, and the dishonor was aggra- vated by personal tnmiiy to the bridegroom Edward had preferred. The Earl retired in disgust to his castle. But Warwick's nature, which Hume has happily described as one of " undesigning frankness and openness, " || does not seem to have long harbored this resentment. By the intercession of the Archbishop of York and others, a reconciliation was effected, and the next year, 1468, we find Warwick again in favor, and even so far forgetting his own former cause of complaint as to accompany the procession in honor of Margaret's nuptials with his private foe.^1" In the following year, however, arose the second dissension between the King and his minis' er ; viz., in the King's refusal to sanction the marriage of his brother Clarence with the Earl's daughter Isabel a refusal which was attended with a resolute opposi- tion -h.it must greatly have galled the pride of the Earl, since Edward even went so far as ** to solicit the Pope to refuse his sanction, on the ground of relaiionship. The Pope, nevertheless, granis the dispensation, and ihe rflar- riage takes place at Calais. A popular rebellion then breaks out in England. Some of Warwick's kinsmen ihose, however, belonging to the branch of the Nevile family that had always been Lancastrians, and at variance with the Earl's party are found at its head. The King, who is in imminent dan- ger, writes a supplicating letter to Warwick to come to his aid.ff The Earl again forgets former causes for resentment, hastens from Ca'ais, rescues the King, and quells the rebellion, by the influence of his popular name. We next find Edward at Warwick's castle of Middleham, where, accord- * Sharon Turner, " Hist. England," vol. iii. p. 269. t W. Wyr. 506, 7. Croyl. 542. { Which of the princes this was, does not appear, and can scarcely be conjectured. The " Pictorial History of England " (Book v. 102), in a tone of easy decision, says " it was one of the sons of Louis XI." But Louis had no living sons at all at the time. The Dauphin was not born till three years afterwards. The most probable person was the Duke of Guienne, Louis's brother. The Croyland Historian, who, as far as his brief and meagre record extends, is the best authority for the time of Edward IV'., very decidedly states the Burgundian alliance to be the original cause of Warwick's displeasure, rather than the King's marriage with Eliza- beth : Upon which (the marriage of Margaret with Charolois), Richard Nevile, Earl of Warwick, who had for so many years taken party with the French against the Burgundians, conceived great indignation : and I hold this to be the truer cause of his resentment, than the King's marriage with Elizabeth, for he had rather have procured a husband for the aforesaid Princess Margaret in the kingdom of France." The Croyland Historian also speaks emphatically of the strong animosity existing between Charolois and Warwick. Cont Croyl. 551. I Hume, " Henry VI.," vol. iii. p, 172, edit. 1825. H Lingard. ** Carte. Wm. Wyre. tt " Paston Letters," cxcviii. vol. ii.. Knight's edition. See Lingard, c. 24, for the true date of Edward's letters to Warwick, Clarence, and the Archbishop of York. Viii DEDICATORY EPISTLE. ing to some historians, he is forcibly detained an assertion treated by others as a contemptible invention ; this question will be examined in the course of this work ;* but, whatever the true construction of the story, we find that \Y .11 wick and the King are still on such friendly terms that the Earl marches in person against a rebellion on the borders obtains a signal victory and that the rebel leader (the Earl's own kinsman) is beheaded by Edward at York. We find that, immediately after this supposed detention, Edward speaks of Warwick and his brothers " as his best friends "; f that he betroths his eldest daughter to Warwick's nephew, the male heir of the family. And then suddenly, only three months afterwards (in Feb., 1470), and without any clear and apparent cause, we find Warwick in open rebellion, animated by a deadly hatred to the King, refusing, from first to last, all overtures of conciliation ; and so determined is his vengeance that he bows a pride, hitherto morbidly susceptible, to the vehement insolence of Margaret of An- jou, and forms the closest alliance with the Lancastrian party, in the destruc- tion of which his whole life had previously been employed 1 Here, then, where History leaves us in the dark where our curiosity is the most excited, Fiction giopes amidst the ancient chronicles, and seeks to detect and to guess the truth. And then. Fiction, accustomed to deal with the human heart, seizes upon the paramount importance of a Fact which the modern historian has been contented to place amongst dubious and collateral causes of dissension. We find it broadly and strongly stated, by Hall and others, that Edward had coarsely attempted the virtue of one of the Earl's female relations. "And farther it erreth not from the truth," says Hall, " that the King did attempt a thing once in the Earl's house, which was much against the Earl's honesty ; but whether it was the daughter or the niece," adds the chronicler, " was not, for both their honors, openly known; but surely such a thing WAS attempted by King Edward," etc. Any one at all familiar with Hall (and, indeed, with all our principal chroniclers, except Fabyan), will not expect any accurate precision as to the date he assigns for the outrage. He awards to it, therefore, the same date he erroneously gives to Warwick's other grudges (viz., a period brought some years lower by all judicious historians), a date at which Warwick was still Edward's fastest friend. Once grant the probability of this insult to the Earl (the probability is con- ceded at once by the more recent historians, and received without scruple as a fact by Rapin, Habington, and Carte), and the whole obscurity which involves this memorable quarrel vanishes at once. Here was, indeed a wrong never to be forgiven, and yet never to be proclaimed. As Hall implies, the honor of the Earl was implicated in hushing the scandal, and the honor of Edward in concealing the offence. That, if ever the insult were attempted, it must have been just previous to the Earl's declared hos- tility, is clear. Offences of that kind hurry men to immediate action at the first, or else, if they stoop to dissimulation, the more effectually to * See Note II. + " Paston Letters," cciv. vol. ii., Knight's edition. The date of this letter, which puz- zled the worthy annptator, is clearly to be referred to Edward's return from York, after his visit to Middleham in 1469. No mention is therein made by the gossiping contemporary of any rumor that Edward had suffered imprisonment. He enters the city in state, as having returned safe and victorious from a formidable rebellion. The letter goes on to say ; '' The King himself hath (that is, holds) good language of the Lords Clarence, of Warwick, etc., saying, ' they be his best friends.'" Would he say this if just escaped from a prison ? Sir John Paston, the writer of the letter, adds, it is true, " But his house- hold men (hold) other language." Very probably, for the household men were the court creatures always at variance with Warwick, and held, no doubt, the sam language they had been in the habit of holding before. DEDICATORY EPISTLE. iX avenge afterwards, the outbreak bides its seasonable time. But the time selected by the Earl for his outbreak was the very worst he could have chosen, and attests the influence of a sudden passion a new and uncalculated cause of resentment. He had no forces collected ; he had not even sounded his own brother-in-law, Lord Stanley (since he was uncertain of his intentions), while, but a few months before, had he felt any desire to dethrone the King, he could either have suffered him to be crushed by the popular rebellion the Earl himself had quelled, or have disposed of his person as he pleased, when a guest at his own castle of Middleham. His evident want of all preparation and forethought a want which drove into rapid and compulsory flight from England the baron to whose banner, a few months afterwards, flocked sixty thousand men proves that the cause of his alienation was fresh and recent. If, then, the cause we have referred to, as mentioned by Hall and others, seems the most probable we can find (no other cause for such abrupt hostility being discernible), the date for it must be placed where it is in this work viz., just prior to the Earl's revolt. The next question is, who could have been the lady thus offended, whether a niece or daughter ; scarcely a niece, for Warwick had one married brother, Lord Montagu, and several sisters, but the sisters were married to lords who remained friendly to Edward,* and Montagu seems to have had no daughter out of childhood, f while that nobleman himself did not share Warwick's rebellion at the first, but con- tinued to enjoy the confidence of Edward. We cannot reasonably, then, conceive the uncle to have been so much more revengeful than the parents the legitimate guardians of the honor of a daughter. It is, therefore, more probable that the insulted maiden should have been one of Lord Warwick's daughters, and this is the general belief. Carte plainly declares it was Isabel. But Isabel it could hardly have been ; she was then married to Edward's brother, the Duke of Clarence, and within a month of her confine- ment. The Earl had only one other daughter, Anne, then in the flower of her youth ; and though Isabel appears to have possessed a more striking character of beauty, Anne must have had no inconsiderable charms to have won the love of the Lancastrian Prince Edward, and to have inspired a ten- der and human affection in Richard Duke of Gloucester.^: It is also notice- able, that when, not as Shakspeare represents, but after long solicitation, and apparently by positive coercion, Anne formed her second marriage, she seems * Except the sisters married to Lord Fitzhugh and Lord Oxford. But though Fitzhugh, or rather his son, broke into rebellion, it was for some cause in which Warwick did not sympathize, for by Warwick himself was that rebellion put down ; nor could the aggrieved lady have been a daughter of Lord Oxford's, for he was a stanch, though not avowed, Lancastrian, and seems to have carefully kept aloof from the court. t Montagu's wife could have been little more than thirty at the time of his death. She married again, and had a family by her second husband. t Not only does Majerus, the Flemish Annalist, speak of Richard's easy affection to Anne, but Richard's pertinacity in marrying her, at a time when her family was crushed and fallen, seems to sanction the assertion. True, that Richard received with her a con- siderable portion of the estates of her parents. But both Anne herself and her parents were attainted, and the whole property at the disposal of the crown. Richard at that time had conferred the most important services on Edward. He had remained faithful to him during the rebellion of Clarence ; he had been the hero of the day both at Barnet and Tewksbury. His reputation was_then exceedingly high, and if he had demanded, as a legitimate reward, the lands of Middleham, without the bride, Edward could not well have refused them. He certainly had a much better claim than the only competitor for the con- fiscated estates, viz., the perjured and despicable Clarence. For Anne's reluctance to marry Richard, and the disguise she assumed, see Miss Strickland's " Life of Anne of War- wick." For the honor of Anne, rather than of Richard, to whose memory one crime more or less matters but little, it may here be observed that so far from there being any ground to suppose that Gloucester was an accomplice in the assassination of the young Prince Edward of Lancaster, there is some ground to believe that that prince was not assassinated at all, but died (as we would fain hope the grandson of Henry V. did die) fighting manfully in the field. Harleian MSS.; Stowe, Chronicle of Tewksbury; Sharon Turner, vol. iii. p. 335. X DEDICATORY EPISTLE. to have been kept carefully by Richard from his gay brother's court, and rarely, if ever, to have appeared in London till Edward was no more. That considerable obscurity should always rest upon ihe facts connected \ with Edward's meditated crime ; that they should never be published amongst the grievances of the haughty rebei, is natural from the very dignity ;l of the parties, and the character of the offence ; thai in such obscuiity, sober History should not venture too far on the hypothesis suggested by the chron- icler, is right and laudable. But probably it will be conceded by all, that here Fiction finds its lawful province, and that it may reasonably help, by no improbable nor groundless conjecture, to lender connected and clear the most broken ai.d the darkest fragments of our annals. I have judged it bttter partially to forestall the interest of the reader in my narrative, by stating thus openly what he may exptct, than to enc mnter the far less favorable improsion (if he had been hitherto a beli. ver in the old romance of Bona of Savoy*), that the author was taking an unwarrant- able liberty with the real facts, when, in truth, it is upon the real faUs, as far as they can be ascertained, that the author has built his tale, and his boldest inventions are but deductions from the amplest evidence he could collect. Nay, he even ventures to believe, that whoever, hereafter, shall write the history of Edward IV., will not disdain to avail himself of some suggestions scattered throughout these volumes, and tending to throw new light upon the events of that intricate but important period. It is probable that this work will prove more popular in its nature than my last fiction of " Zancni," which could only be relished by those interested in the examination of the various problems in human life which it attempts to solve. But both fictions, however different and distinct their treatment, are constructed on those principles of art to which, in all my later works, how- ever imperfect my success, I have sought at least steadily to adhere. To my mind, a writer should sit down to compose a fiction as a painter prepares to compose a picture. His first care should be the conception of a whole as lofty as his intellect can grasp, as harmonious and complete as his art can accomplish ; his second care, the character of the interest which the details are intended to sustain. It is when we compare works of imagination in writing, with works of imagination on the canvas, that we can best form a critical idea of the differ- ent schools which exist in each ; for common both to the author and the painter are those styles which we call the Familiar, the Picturesque, and the Intellectual. By recurring to this comparison we can without much diffi- culty classify works of Fiction in their proper order, and estimate the- rank they should severally hold. The Intellectual will probably never be the most widely popular for the moment. He who prefers to study in this school must be prepared for much depreciation, for its greatest excellences, even if he achieve them, are the most obvious to the many. In discussing, for instance, a modern work, we hear it praised, perhaps, for some striking pas- sage, some prominent character ; but when do we ever hear any comment on its harmony of construction, on its fullness of design, on its ideal character, on its essentials, in short, as a work of art ? What we hear most valued in the picture, we often find the most neglected in the book, viz., t)ie composi- tion; and this, simply, because in England painting is recognized as an art, and estimated according to definite theories. But in literature, we judge I say, the old romance of Bona of Savoy so far as Edward's rejection of her hand for that of Elizabeth Gray is stated to have made the cause of his quarrel with Warwick. But I do not deny the possibility that such a marriage had been contemplated and advised by V/arwick, though he neither sought to negotiate it, nor was wronged by Edward's prefer- ence of his fair subject. DEDICATORY EPISTLE. Xl from a taste never formed from a thousand prejudices and ignorant predic- tions. We do not yet comprehend that the author is an artist, and that the true rules of art by which he should be tested are precise and immutable. Hence the singular and fantastic caprices of the popular opinion its exag- gerations of praise or censure, its passion and re-action. At one while, its solemn contempt for Wordsworth ; at another, its absurd idolatry. At one while we are stunned by the noisy celebrity of Byron ; at another, we are calmly told that he can scarcely be called a poet. Each of these variations in the public is implicitly followed by the vulgar criticism ; and as a few years back our journals vied with each other in ridiculing Wordsworth for the faults which he did not possess, they vie now with each other in eulogiums upon the merits which he has never displayed. These violent fluctuations betray both a public and a criticism utterly unschooled in the elementary principles of literary art, and entitle the hum- blest author to dispute the censure of the hour, while they ought to render the greatest suspicious of its praise. It is, then, in conformity, not with any presumptuous conviction of his own superiority, but with his common experience and common-sense, that every au- thor who addresses an English audience in serious earnest is permitted to feel that his final sentence rests not with the jury before which he is first heard. The literary history of the day consists of a series of judgments set aside. But this uncertainty must more essentially betide every student, however lowly, in the school I have called the Intellectual, which must ever be more or less at variance with the popular canons ; it is its hard necessity to vex and disturb the lazy quietude of vulgar taste, for unless it did so, it could neither elevate nor move. He who resigns the Dutch art for the Italian must continue through the dark to explore the principles upon which he founds his design, to which he adapts his execution ; in hope or in despond- ence, still faithful to the theory which cares less for the amount of interest created, than for the sources from which the interest is to be drawn seek- ing in action the movement of the grander passions, or the subtler springs of conduct seeking in repose the coloring of intellectual beauty. The Low and the High of Art are not very readily comprehended ; they depend not upon the worldly degree or the physical condition of the charac- ters delineated ; theyjdegend^ejilirely jogpn the quality of the emotion which the characters are intended to excite, viz., whether of sympathy for something Imv, or of admiration for something high. There is nothing high in a boor's head by Tenters there is nothing low in a boor's head by Guido. What makes the difference between the two ? The absence or presence of the Ideal ! But every one can judge of the merit of the first for it is of the Familiar school it requires a connoisseur to see the merit of the last, for it is of the Intellectual. I have the less scrupled to leave these remarks to cavil or to sarcasm, because ^ihis fiction is probably the last with which I shall trespass upon the. Public, and I am desirous that it shall contain, at least, my avowal of the principles upon which it and its later predecessors have been composed ; you know well, how- ever others may dispute the fact, the earnestness with which those principles have been meditated and pursued with high desire, if but with poor results. It is a pleasure to feel that the .aim., which I value more than the success, is comprehended by one, whose exquisite taste as a critic is only impaired by that far rarer quality, the disposition to 0zw-estimate the person you prof ess to esteem ! Adieu, my sincere and valued friend ; and accept as a mute token of gratitude and regard, these flowers gathered in the Garden where we have so often roved together. LONDON, January, 1843. E. L. B, PREFACE TO THE LAST OF THE BARONS. THIS was the first attempt of the Author in Historical Romance upon English ground. Nor would he have risked the disadvantage of comparison with the genius of Sir Walter Scott, had he not believed that that great writer and his numerous imitators had left altogether unoccupied the peculiar field in Historical Romance which the Author has here sought to bring into cultivation. In " The Last of the Barons," as in " Harold," the aim has been to illustrate the actual history of the period ; and to bring into fuller display than general History itself has done, the characters of the principal personages of the time ; the motives by which they were probably actuated ; the state of parties : the condition of the people ; and the great social inter- ests which were involved in what, regarded imperfectly, appear but the feuds of rival factions. " The Last of the Barons " has been by many esteemed the best of the Author's romances ; and perhaps in the portraiture of actual character, and the grouping of the various interests and agencies of the time, it may have produced effects which re'nder it more vigorous and lifelike than any of the other attempts in romance by the same hand. It will be observed that the purely imaginary characters introduced are very few ; and, however prominent they may appear still, in order not to interfere with the genuine passions and events of history, they are repre- sented as the passive sufferers, not the active agents, of the real events. Of these imaginary characters, the most successful is Adam Warner, the philoso- pher in advance of his age ; indeed, as an ideal portrait, I look upon it as the mo>t original in conception, and the most finished in execution, of any to be found in my numerous prose works, " Zanoni " alone excepted. For the rest, I venture to think that the general reader will obtain from these pages a better notion of the important age, characterized by the decline of the feudal system, and immediately preceding that great change in society which we usually date from the accession of Henry VII., than he could otherwise gather without wading through a vast mass of neglected chronicles and antiquarian dissertations. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. BOOK I. THE ADVENTURES OF MASTER MARMADUKE NEVILE. CHAPTER I. THE PASTIME GROUND OF OLD COCKAIGNE. WESTWARD, beyond the still pleasant, but, even then, no longer solitary, hamlet of Charing, a broad space broken, here and there, by scattered houses and venerable pollards, in the early spring of 1467, presented the rural scene for the sports and pastimes of the inhabitants of Westminster and London. Scarcely need we say that open spaces for the popular games and diversions were then numerous in the suburbs of the me- tropolis. Grateful to some, the fresh pools of Islington ; to others, the grass-bare fields of Finsbury; to all, the hedgeless plains of vast Mile-end. But the site to which we are now summoned, was a new and maiden holiday ground, lately be- stowed upon the townsfolk of Westminster, by the powerful Earl of Warwick. Raised by a verdant slope above the low marsh-grown soil of Westminster, the ground communicated to the left with the Brook-fields, through which stole the peaceful Ty-bourne, and commanded prospects, on all sides fair, and on each side varied. Behind, rose the twin green hills of Hampstead and Highgate, with the upland park and chase of Marybone its stately manor- house half-hid in woods. In front might be seen the Convent of the Lepers, dedicated to St. James now a palace; then, to the left, York House,* now Whitehall; farther on, the spires of Westminster Abbey" and the gloomy tower of the Sanctuary; next, the Palace, with its bulwark and vawmure, soaring from * The residence of the Archbishops of York. 13 14 ' LAS1 61 i MI HARONS. the river: while, vastward, and nearer to the scene, stretched the long bush-grown passage of the Strand, picturesquely varied with bridges, and flanked to the right by the embattled halls of feudal nobles, or the inns of the no less powerful prel- ates; while sombre and huge, amidst hall and inn, loomed the gigantic ruins of the Savoy, demolished in the insurrection of Wat Tyler. Farther on and farther yet, the eye wandered over tower, and gate, and arch, and spire, with frequent glimpses of the broad sunlit river, and the opposite shore crowned by the palace of Lambeth, and the church of St. Mary Overies, till the indistinct cluster of battlements around the Fortress Palatine bounded the curious gaze. As whatever is new is for a while popular, so to this pastime-ground, on the day we treat of, flocked, not only the idlers of Westminster, but the lordly dwellers of Ludgate and the Flete, and the wealthy citizens of tumultuous Chepe. The ground was well suited to the purpose to which it was devoted. About the outskirts, indeed, there were swamps and fish-pools ; but a considerable plot towards the centre presented a level sward, already worn bare and brown by the feet of the multitude. From this, towards the left, extended alleys, some recently planted, intended to afford, in summer, cool and shady places for the favorite game of bowls; while scattered clumps, chiefly of old pollards, to the right, broke the space agreeably enough into detached portions, each of which afforded its sepa- rate pastime or diversion. Around were ranged many carts, or wagons; horses of all sorts and value were led to and fro, while their owners were at sport. Tents, awnings, hostelries tempo- rary buildings stages for showmen and jugglers abounded, and gave the scene the appearance of a fair. But what particu- larly now demands our attention was a broad plot in the ground, dedicated to the noble diversion of archery. The reigning House of York owed much of its military success to the superior- ity of the bowmen under its banners, and the Londoners them- selves were jealous of their reputation in this martial accomplish- ment. For the last fifty years, notwithstanding the warlike na- ture of the times, the practice of the bow, in the intervals of peace, had been more neglected than seemed wise to the rulers. Both the King and his loyal city had of late taken much pains to enforce the due exercise of "Goddes instrumente, " * upon which an edict had declared that "the liberties and honor of England principally rested!" And numerous now was the attendance, not only of the citi- * So caRcd emphatically by Bishop Latimer, in his celebrated Sixth Sermon. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. IJ zens, the burghers, and the idle populace, but of the gallant nobles who surrounded the court of Edward IV., then in the prime of his youth ; the handsomest, the gayest, and the bravest prince in Christendom. The royal tournaments (which were, however, waning from their ancient lustre to kindle afresh, and to expire in the reigns of the succeeding Tudors), restricted to the amusement of knight and noole, no doubt presented more of pomp and splen- dor than the motley and mixed assembly of all ranks that now grouped around the competitors for the silver arrow, or lis- tened to the itinerant jongleur, dissour, or minstrel ; or, seated under the stunted shade of the old trees, indulged with eager looks, and hands often wandering to their dagger hilts, in the absorbing passion of the dice ; but no later and earlier scenes of revelry ever, perhaps, exhibited that heartiness of enjoyment, that universal holiday, which attended this mixture of every class, and established a rude equality for the hour, between the knight and the retainer, the burgess and the courtier. The Revolution that placed Edward IV. upon the throne had, in fact, been a popular one. Not only had the valor and moderation of his father Richard, Duke of York, -bequeathed a heritage of affection to his brave and accomplished son not only were the most beloved of the great barons, the leaders of his party but the King himself, partly from inclination, partly from policy, spared no pains to win the good graces of that slowly rising, but even then important part of the population the Middle Class. He was the first king who descended, with- out loss of dignity and respect, from the society of his peers and princes, to join familiarly in the feasts and diversions of the merchant and the trader. The lord mayor and council of London were admitted, on more than one solemn occasion, into the deliberations of the Court ; and Edward had not long since, on the coronation of his queen, much to the discontent of cer- tain of his barons, conferred the Knighthood of the Bath upon four of the citizens. On the other hand, though Edward's gallantries the only vice which tended to diminish his popu- larity with the sober burgesses were little worthy of his station, his frank, joyous familiarity with his inferiors was not debased by the buffooneries that had led to the reverses and the awful fate of two of his royal predecessors. There must have been a popular principle, indeed, as well as a popular fancy, involved in the steady and ardent adherence which the population of London, in particular, and most of the great cities, exhibited to the person and the cause of Edward IV. There was a |6 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. feeling that his reign was an advance, in civilization, upon the monastic virtues of Henry VI., and the stern ferocity which accompanied the great qualities of "The Foreign Wom- an," as the people styled and regarded Henry's consort, Margaret of Anjou. While thus the gifts, the courtesy, and the policy of the young sovereign made him popular with the middle classes, he owed the allegiance of the more power- ful barons and the favor of the rural populations to a man who stood colossal amidst the iron images of the Age the greatest and the last of the old Norman Chivalry kinglier in pride, in state, in possessions, and in renown, than the King himself Richard Nevile, Earl of Salisbury and Warwick. This princely personage, in the full vigor of his age, pos- sessed all the attributes that endear the noble to the commons. His valor in the field was accompanied with a generosity rare in the captains of the time. He valued himself on sharing the perils and the hardships of his meanest soldier. His haughti- ness to the great was not incompatible with frank affability to the lowly. His wealth was enormous, but it was equalled by his magnificence, and rendered popular by his lavish hospitality. No less than thirty thousand persons are said to have feasted daily at the open tables with which he allured to his countless castles the strong hands and grateful hearts of a martial and unsettled population. More haughty than ambitious, he was feared because he avenged all affront; and yet not envied, be- cause he seemed above all favor. The holiday on the archery-ground was more than usually gay, for the rumor had spread from the court to the city, that Edward was about to increase his power abroad, and to repair what he had lost in the eyes of Europe, through his marriage with Elizabeth Gray, by allying his sister Margaret with the brother of Louis XI., and that no less a person than the Earl of Warwick had been the day before selected as ambassador on the important occasion. Various opinions were entertained upon the preference given to France in this alliance, over the rival candidate for the hand of the princess, viz., the Count de Charolois, afterwards Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy. "By'r Lady," said a stout citizen, about the age of fifty, "but I am not over pleased with this French marriage-making! I would liefer the stout Earl were going to France with bows and bills, than sarcenets and satins. What will become of our trade with Flanders answer me that, Master Stokton? The House of York is a good house, and the King is a good king, THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 1? but trade is trade. Every man must draw water to his own mill." "Hush, Master Heyford!" said a small lean man in a light- gray surcoat. "The King loves not talk about what the King does. 'Tis ill jesting with lions. Remember William Walker, hanged for saying his son should be heir to the Crown." "Troth," answered Master Heyford, nothing daunted, for he belonged to one of the most powerful corporations of Lon- don, "it was but a scurvy Pepperer * who made that joke. But a joke from a worshipful goldsmith, who has money and in- fluence, and a fair wife of his own, whom the King himself has been pleased to commend, is another guess sort of matter. But here's my grave-visaged headman, who always contrives to pick up the last gossip astir, and has a deep eye into millstones. Why, ho, there! Alwyn I say, Nicholas Alwyn ! who would have thought to see thee with that bow, a good half-ell taller than thyself? Methought thou wert too sober and studious for such man-at-arms sort of devilry." "An" it please you, Master Heyford," answered the person thus addressed a young man, pale and lean though sinewy and large-boned, with a countenance of great intelligence, but a slow and somewhat formal manner of speech, and a strong provincial accent "An" it please you, King Edward's edict ordains every Englishman to have a bow of his own height ; and he who neglects the shaft on a holiday, forfeiteth one halfpenny and some honor. For the rest, methinks that the citizens of London will become of more worth and potency every year ; and it shall not be my fault if I do not, though but a hum- ble headman to your worshipful mastership, help to make them so." "Why, that's well said, lad; but if the Londoners prosper, it is because they have nobles in their gipsires,f not bows in their hands." "Thinkest thou, then, Master Heyford, that any king at a pinch would leave them the gipsire, if they could not protect it with the bow? That Age may have gold, let not Youth de- spise iron." "Body o' me!" cried Master Heyford, "but thou hadst bet- ter curb in thy tongue. Though I have my jest as a rich man and a corpulent a lad who has his way to make good should be silent and but he's gone." "Where hooked you up that young jack-fish?" said Master * Old name for Grocer. t Gipsire, a kind of pouch worn at the girdle. l8 THE LAST OF THF. nARONS. Stokton, the thin mercer, who had reminded the goldsmith of the fate of the grocer. "Why, he was meant for the cowl, but his mother, a widow, at his own wish, let him make choice of the flat cap. He was the best 'prentice ever I had. IJy the blood of St. Thomas, he will push his way in good time ; he has a head, Master Stokton a head and an ear; and a great big pair of eyes always looking out for something to his proper advantage." In the mean while, the goldsmith's headman had walked lei- surely up to the Archery Ground, and even in his gait and walk, as he thus repaired to a pastime, there was something steady, staid, and business-like. The youths of his class and calling were at that day very different from their equals in this. Many of them the sons of provincial retainers, some even of franklins and gentlemen, their childhood had made them familiar with the splendor and the sports of knighthood; they had learned to wrestle, to cud- gel, to pitch the bar or the quoit, to draw the bow, and to prac- tise the sword and buckler, before transplanted from the village green to the city stall. And, even then, the constant broils and wars of the time the example of their betters the holiday spectacle of mimic strife and, above all, the powerful and cor- porate association they formed amongst themselves tended to make them as wild, as jovial, and as dissolute a set of young fellows as their posterity are now sober, careful, and discreet. And as Nicholas Alwyn, with a slight inclination of his head, passed by, two or three loud, swaggering, bold-looking groups of apprentices, their shaggy hair streaming over their shoul- ders, their caps on one side, their short cloaks of blue, torn or patched, though still passably new, their bludgeons under their arms, and their whole appearance and manner not very dis- similar from the German collegians in the last century notably contrasted Alwyn's prim dress, his precise walk, and the feline care with which he stepped aside from any patches of mire that might sully the soles of his square-toed shoes . The idle apprentices winked and whispered, and lolled out their tongues at him as he passed. "Oh! but that must be as good as a May-Fair day sober Nick Alwyn's maiden flight of the shaft. Hollo, puissant archer, take care of the goslings yonder! Look this way when thou pull'st, and then woe to the other side!" Venting these and many similar specimens of the humor of Cockaigne the apprentices, however, followed their quondam colleague, and elbowed their way into the crowd gathered around the competitors at the butts ; and it was at TH LAST OF THE BARONS. 19 this spot, commanding a view of the whole space, that the spec tator might well have formed some notion of the vast following of the House of Nevile. For everywhere along the front lines everywhere in the scattered groups might be seen, glistening in the sunlight, the armorial badges of that mighty family. The Pied Bull, which was the proper cognizance * of the Nev- iles, was principally borne by the numerous kinsmen of Earl Warwick, who rejoiced in the Nevile name. The Lord Mon- tagu, Warwick's brother, to whom the King had granted the forfeit title and estates of the Earls of Northumberland, dis- tinguished his own retainers, however, by the special crest of the ancient Montagus a Gryphon issuant from a ducal crown. But far more numerous than Bull or Gryphon (numerous as either seemed) were the badges borne by those who ranked themselves among the peculiar followers of the great Earl of Warwick: the cognizance of the Bear and Ragged Staff, which he assumed in right of the Beauchamps, whom he represented through his wife, the heiress of the Lords of Warwick, was worn in the hats of the more gentle and well-born clansmen and followers, while the Ragged Staff alone was worked, front and back, on the scarlet jackets of his more humble and personal retainers. It was a matter of popular notice and admiration, that in those who bore these badges, as in the wearerb of the hat and staff of the ancient Spartans, might be traced a grave loftiness of bearing, as if they belonged to another caste another race than the herd of men. Near the place where the rivals for the silver arrow were collected, a lordly party had reined in their palfreys and conversed with each other, as the judges of the field were marshalling the competitors. "Who," said one of these gallants, "who is that comely young fellow just below us, with the Nevile cognizance of the Bull on his hat? . He has the air of one I should know." "I never saw him before, my Lord of Northumberland," an- swered one of the gentlemen thus addressed, "but, pardieu, he who knows all the Neviles by eye, must know half Eng- land." The Lord Montagu, for though at that moment invested with the titles of the Percy, by that name Earl Warwick's brother is known to history, and by that, his rightful name, he shall therefore be designated in these pages the Lord Montagu smiled graciously at this remark, and a murmur through the crowd announced that the competition for the silver arrow was about to commence. The butts, formed of turf, with a small white mark fastened to the centre by a very minute peg, were * The Pied Bull the cognizance the Dun Bull's head the crest. 20 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. placed apart, one at each end, at the distance of eleven score yards. At the extremity, where the shooting commenced, the crowd assembled, taking care to keep clear from the opposite butt, as the warning word of "Fast" was thundered forth: but eager was the general murmur, and many were the wagers given and accepted, as some well-known archer tried his chance. Near the butt, that now formed the target, stood the marker with his white wand; and the rapidity with which archer after archer discharged his shaft, and then, if it missed, hurried across the ground to pick it up (for arrows were dear enough not to be lightly lost), amidst the jeers and laughter of the by- standers, was highly animated and diverting. As yet, however, no marksman had hit the white, though many had gone close to it, when Nicholas Alwyn stepped forward; and there was some- thing so un-warlike in his whole air, so prim in his gait, so care- ful in his deliberate survey of the shaft, and his precise adjust- ment of the leathern gauntlet that protected the arm from the painful twang of the string, that a general burst of laughter from the bystanders attested their anticipation of a signal failure. ' 'Fore heaven!" said Montagu, "he handles his bow an* it were a yard measure. One would think he were about to bar- gain for the bowstring, he eyes it so closely." "And now," said Nicholas, slowly adjusting the arrow, "a shot for the honor of old Westmoreland!" And as he spoke, the arrow sprang gallantly forth, and quivered in the very heart of the white. There was a general movement of sur- prise among the spectators, as the marker thrice shook his wand over his head. But Alywn, as indifferent to their respect as he had been to their ridicule, turned round and said, with a significant glance at the silent nobles: "We springals of London can take care of our own, if need be." "These fellows wax insolent. Our good King spoils them," said Montagu with a curl of his lip. "I wish some young squire of gentle blood would not disdain a shot for the Nevile against the craftsman. How say you, fair sir?" And, with a princely courtesy of mien and smile, Lord Montagu turned to the young man he had noticed, as wearing the cognizance of the First House in England. The bow was not the customary weapon of the well-born ; but still, in youth, its exercise formed one of the accomplishments of the future knight, and even princes did not disdain, on a popular holiday, to match a shaft against the yeoman's cloth-yard.* The young man thus ad- * At a later period, Henry VIII. was a match for the best bowman in his kingdom. His accomplishment wa hereditary, and distinguished alike his wise father and his pious son. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 21 dressed, and whose honest, open, handsome, hardy face augured a frank and fearless nature, bowed his head in silence, and then slowly advancing to the umpires craved permission to essay his skill, and to borrow the loan of a shaft and bow. Leave given and the weapons lent as the young gentleman took his stand, his comely person, his dress, of a better quality than that of the competitors hitherto, and, above all, the Nevile badge worked in silver on his hat, diverted the general attention from Nicho- las Alwyn. A mob is usually inclined to aristocratic predilec- tions, and a murmur of goodwill and expectation greeted him, when he put aside the gauntlet offered to him, and said: "In my youth I was taught so to brace the bow that the string should not touch the arm ; and though eleven score yards be but a boy's distance, a good archer will lay his body into his bow * as much as if he were to hit the blanc four hundred yards away." "A tall fellow this!" said Montagu; "and one, I wot, from the North," as the young gallant fitted the shaft to the bow. And graceful and artistic was the attitude he assumed, the head slightly inclined, the feet firmly planted, the left a little in advance, and the stretched sinews of the bow-hand alone evincing that into that grasp was pressed the whole strength of the easy and careless frame. The public expectation was not disappointed : the youth performed the feat considered of all the most dexterous; his arrow, disdaining the white mark, struck the small peg which fastened it to the butts, and which seemed literally invisible to the bystanders. "Holy St. Dunstan! there's but one man who can beat me in that sort that I know of," muttered Nicholas, "and I little expected to see him take a bite out of his own hip." With that he approached his successful rival. "Well, Master Marmaduke," said he, "it is many a year since you showed me that trick at your father, Sir Guy's God rest him! But I scarce take it kind in you to beat your o\vn countryman ! ' ' "Beshrew me!" cried the youth, and his cheerful features brightened into hearty and cordial pleasure "but if I see in thee, as it seems to me, my old friend and foster-brother, Nick Alwyn, this is the happiest hour I have known for many a day. But stand back and let me look at thee, man ! Thou ! thou a tame London trader! Ha! ha! is it possible?" " My father taught me to lay my body in my bow," etc., said Latimer, in his well- known sermon before Edward VI. IS4Q. The Bishop also herein observes, that "it is best to give the bow so much bending that the string need never touch the arm. This," h7 adds, " is practised by many good archers with whom I am acquainted." 22 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. "Hcut, Master Marmaduke," answered Nicholas, "every crow thinks his own bairn bonniest, as they say in the North. We will talk of this anon, an' thou wilt honor me. I suspect the archery is over now. Few will think to mend that shot." And here, indeed, the umpires advanced and their chief an old mercer, who had once borne arms, and indeed been a volun- teer at the battle of Teuton declared that the contest was over, "Unless," he added, in the spirit of a lingering fellow-feeling with the Londoner, "this young fellow, whom I hope to see an alderman one of these days, will demand another shot, for as yet there hath been but one prick each at the butts." "Nay, master," returned Alwyn, "I have met with my bet- ters and, after all," he added indifferently, "the silver arrow, though a pretty bauble enough, is over light in its weight." "Worshipful sir," said the young Nevile, with equal gener- osity, "I cannot accept the prize for a mere trick of the craft the blanc was already disposed of by Master Alwyn's arrow. Moreover, the contest was intended for the Londoners, and I am but an interloper beholden to their courtesy for a practice of skill, and even the loan of a bow wherefore the silver arrow be given to Nicholas Alwyn." "That may not be, gentle sir," said the umpire, extending the prize. "Sith Alwyn vails of himself, it is thine, by might and by right." The Lord Montagu had not been inattentive to this dialogue, and he now said, in a loud tone that silenced the crowd: "Young Badgeman, thy gallantry pleases me no less than thy skill. Take the arrow, for thou hast won it; but, as thou seemest a newcomer, it is right thou shouldst pay thy tax upon entry this be my task. Come hither, I pray thee, good sir," and the nobleman graciously beckoned to the mercer; "be these five nobles the prize of whatever Londoner shall acquit him- self best in the bold English combat of quarter-staff, and the prize be given in this young archer's name. Thy name, youth?" ''Marmaduke Nevile, good my lord." Montagu smiled, and the umpire withdrew to make the an- nouncement to the bystanders. The proclamation was received with a shout that traversed from group to group, and line to line, more hearty from the love and honor attached to the name of Nevile than even from a sense of the gracious generosity of Earl Warwick's brother. One man alone, a sturdy, well-knit fellow, in a franklin's Lincoln broadcloth, and with a hood half- drawn over his features, did not join the popular applause. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 23 "These Yorkists," he muttered, "know well how to fool the people." Meanwhile, the young Nevile still stood by the gilded stirrup of the great noble who had thus honored him, and contemplated him with that respect and interest which a youth's ambition ever feels for those who have won a name. The Lord Montagu bore a very different character from his puissant brother. Though so skilful a captain, that he had never been known to lose a battle, his fame as a warrior was, strange to say, below that of the great Earl, whose prodigious strength had accomplished those personal feats that dazzled the populace, and revived the legendary renown of the earlier Norman knighthood. The caution and wariness indeed which Montagu displayed in battle probably caused his success as a general, and the injustice done to him (at least by the vulgar), as a soldier. Rarely had Lord Montagu, though his courage was indisputable, been known to mix personally in the affray. Like the captains of modern times, he contented himself with directing the manoeuvres of his men, and hence preserved that inestimable advantage of coldness and calculation which was not always characteristic of the eager hardihood of his brother. The character of Montagu differed yet more from that of the Earl in peace than in war. He was supposed to excel in all those supple arts of the courtier, which Warwick neglected or despised ; and if the last was, on great occasions, the adviser, the other, in ordinary life, was the companion of his sovereign. Warwick owed his popularity to his own large, open, daring, and lavish nature. The subtler Montagu sought to win, by care and pains, what the other obtained without an effort. He attended the various holiday meetings of the citizens, where Warwick was rarely seen. He was smooth-spoken and cour- teous to his equals, and generally affable, though with con- straint, to his inferiors. He was a close observer, and not with- out that genius for intrigue, which in rude ages passes for the talent of a statesman. And yet in that thorough knowledge of the habits and tastes of the great mass, which gives wisdom to a ruler, he was far inferior to the Earl. In common with his brother, he was gifted with the majesty of mien which imposes on the eye, and his port and countenance were such as became the prodigal expense of velvet, minever, gold, and jewels, by which the gorgeous magnates of the day communicated to their appearance the arrogant splendor of their power. "Young gentleman," said the Earl, after eyeing with some attention the comely archer, "I am pleased that you bear the name 24 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. of Nevile. Vouchsafe to inform me to what scion of our house we are this day indebted for the credit with which you have upborne its cognizance?" "I fear," answered the youth with a slight but not un- graceful hesitation, "that my Lord of Montagu and Northum- berland will hardly forgive the presumption with which I have intruded upon this assembly a name borne by nobles so illus- trious, especially if it belong to those less fortunate branches of his family which have taken a different side from himself in the late unhappy commotions. My father was Sir Guy Nevile, of Arsdale, in Westmoreland." Lord Montagu's lip lost its gracious smile; he glanced quickly at the courtiers round him, and said gravely: "I grieve to hear it. Had I known this, certes my gipsire had still been five nobles the richer. It becomes not one, fresh from the favor of King Edward IV., to show countenance to the son of a man, kinsman though he was, who bore arms for the usurpers of Lancaster. I pray thee, sir, to doff, hence- forth, a badge dedicated only to the service of Royal York. No more, young man ; we may not listen to the son of Sir Guy Nevile Sirs, shall we ride to see how the Londoners thrive at quarter-staff?" With that, Montagu, deigning no farther regard at Nevile, wheeled his palfrey towards a distant part of the ground, to which the multitude was already pressing its turbulent and noisy way. "Thou art hard on thy namesake, fair my lord," said a young noble, in whose dark auburn hair, aquiline, haughty feat- ures, spare but powerful frame, and inexpressible air of au- thority and command, were found all the attributes of the purest and eldest Norman race the Patricians of the World. "Dear Raoul de Fulke," returned Montagu coldly, "when thou hast reached my age of thirty and four, thou wilt learn that no man's fortune casts so broad a shadow as to shelter from the storm the victims of a fallen cause." "Not so would say thy bold brother," answered Raoul de Fulke, with a slight curl of his proud lip. "And I hold, with him, that no king is so sacred that we should render to his resentments our own kith and kin. God's wot, whosoever wears the badge, and springs from the stem, of Raoul de Fulke, shall never find me question overmuch whether his father fought for York or Lancaster." "Hush, rash babbler!" said Montagu, laughing gently; "what would King Edward say if this speech reached his ears? THE LAST OF THL BARONS. 2$ Our friend," added the courtier, turning to the rest, "in vain would bar the tide of change; and in this our New England begirt with new men and new fashions, affect the feudal bar- onage of the worn-out Norman. But thou art a gallant knight, De Fulke, though a poor courtier." "The saints keep me so!" returned De Fulke. "From over-gluttony, from over wine-bibbing, from cringing to a king's leman, from quaking at a king's frown, from unbonnet- ting to a greasy mob, from marrying an old crone for vile gold, may the saints ever keep Raoul de Fulke and his sons ! Amen!" This speech, in which every sentence struck its stinging sat- ire into one or other of the listeners, was succeeded by an awk- ward silence, which Montagu was the first to break. "Pardieu!" he said, "when did Lord Hastings leave us? And what fair face can have lured the truant?" "He left us suddenly on the archery ground," answered the young Lovell. "But as well might we track the breeze to the rose, as Lord William's sigh to maid or matron." While thus conversed the cavaliers, and their plumes waved, and their mantles glittered along the broken ground, Marma- duke Nevile's eye pursued the horsemen with all that bitter feeling of wounded pride and impotent resentment with which Youth regards the first insult it receives from Power. CHAPTER II. THE BROKEN CITTERN. ROUSING himself from his indignant reverie, Marmaduke Nevile followed one of the smaller streams into which the crowd divided itself on dispersing from the archery-ground, and soon found himself in a part of the holiday scene appro- priated to diversions less manly, but no less characteristic of the period, than those of the staff and arrow. Beneath an awn- ing, under which an itinerant landlord dispensed cakes and ale, the humorous Bourdour (the most vulgar degree of minstrel, or rather tale-teller), collected his clownish audience, while seated by themselves apart, but within hearing two harpers, in the King's livery, consoled each other for the popularity of their ribald rival, by wise reflections on the base nature of common folk. Farther on, Marmaduke started to behold what seemed to him the heads of .giants at least six yards high; but on a nearer approach these formidable apparitions resolved them- selves to a company of dancers upon stilts. There, one jocu- *6 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. exhibited the antics of his well-tutored ape; there, another eclipsed the attractions of the baboon by a marvellous horse, that beat a tabor with his fore-feet ; there the more sombre Tregetour^ before a table raised upon a lofty stage, promised to cut off and refix the head of a sad-faced little boy, who, in the meantime, was preparing his mortal frame for the operation by apparently larding himself with sharp knives and bodkins. Each of these wonder-dealers found his separate group of ad- mirers, and great was the delight and loud the laughter in the pastime-ground of old Cockaigne. While Marmaduke, bewildered by this various bustle, stared around him, his eye was caught by a young maiden, in evident distress, struggling in vain to extricate herself from a troop of timbrel girls, or tymbesteres (as they were popularly called), who surrounded her with mocking gestures, striking their in- struments to drown her remonstrances, and dancing about her in a ring at every effort towards escape. The girl was mod- estly attired, as one of the humbler ranks, and her wimple in much concealed her countenance, but there was, despite her strange and undignified situation and evident alarm, a sort of quiet, earnest self-possession an effort to hide her terror, and to appeal to the better and more womanly feelings of her per- secutors. In the intervals of silence from their clamor, her voice, though low, clear, well-tuned, and impressive, forcibly arrested the attention of young Nevile ; for at that day, even more than this (sufficiently apparent, as it now is), there was a marked distinction in the intonation, the accent, the modulation of voice between the better bred and better educated, and the inferior classes. But this difference, so ill according with her dress and position, only served to heighten more the bold inso- lence of the musical Bacchantes, who, indeed, in the eyes of the sober, formed the most immoral nuisance attendant on the sports of the time, and whose hardy license and peculiar sister- hood might tempt the antiquarian to search for their origin amongst the relics of ancient Paganism. And now, to increase the girl's distress, some half-score of dissolute apprentices and journeymen suddenly broke into the ring of the Maenads, and were accosting her with yet more alarming insults, when Mar- maduke, pushing them aside, strode to her assistance. "How now, ye lewd varlets! ye make me blush for my countrymen in the face of day ! Are these the sports of merry England these your manly contests to strive which can best affront a poor maid? Out on ye, cullions and bezonians! Cling to me, gentle donzell, and fear not. Whither shall I lead thee?" THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 27 The apprentices were not, however, so easily daunted. Two of them approached to the rescue, flourishing their bludgeons about their heads with formidable gestures: "Ho, ho!" cried one, "what right, hast thou to step between the hunters and the doe? The young quean is too much honored by a kiss from a bold 'prentice of London." Marmaduke stepped back, and drew the small dagger which then formed the only habitual weapon of a gentleman.* This movement, discomposing his mantle, brought the silver arrow he had won (which was placed in his girdle) in full view of the assailants. At the same time they caught sight of the badge on his hat. These intimidated their ardor more than the drawn poniard. "A Nevile!" said one, retreating. "And the jolly marks- man who beat Nick Alwyn," said the other, lowering his bludgeon, and doffing his cap. "Gentle sir, forgive us, we knew not your quality. But as for the girl your ' gallantry misleads you." "The Wizard's daughter! ha! ha! the Imp of Darkness !" screeched the timbrel girls, tossing up their instruments, and catching them again on the points of their fingers. "She has enchanted him with her glamour. Foul is fair ! Foul fair thee, young springal, if thou go to the nets. Shadow and goblin to goblin and shadow! Flesh and blood to blood and flesh!" and dancing round him, with wanton looks and bare arms, and gossamer robes that brushed him as they circled, they chanted : " Come kiss me, my darling, Warm kisses I trade for ; Wine, music, and kisses What else was life made for ! " With some difficulty, and with a disgust which was not alto- gether without a superstitious fear of the strange words and the outlandish appearance of these loathsome Dalilahs, Marma- duke broke from the ring with his new charge; and in a few moments the Nevile and the maiden found themselves, unmo- lested and unpursued, in a deserted quarter of the ground; but still the scream of the timbrel girls, as they hurried, wheel- ing and dancing, into the distance, was borne ominously to the young man's ear: "Ha, ha! the witch and her lover! Foul is fair! foul is fair! Shadow to goblin, goblin to shadow and the Devil will have his own!" "And what mischance, my poor girl," asked the Nevile soothingly, "brought thee into such evil company?" * Swords were not worn, in peace, at that period. 8 THE LAST OF THE &ARONS. "I know not, fair sir," said the girl, slowly recovering her- self, "but my father is poor, and I had heard that on these holiday occasions one who had some slight skill on the gittern might win a few groats from the courtesy of the bystanders. So I stole out with my serving-woman, and had already got more than I dared hope, when those wicked timbrel players came round me, and accused me of taking the money from them. And then they called an officer of the ground, who asked me my name and holding; so when I answered, they called my father a wizard, and the man broke my poor git- tern see!" and she held it up, with innocent sorrow in her eyes, yet a half smile on her lips- "and they soon drove poor old Madge from my side, and I knew no more till you, wor- shipful sir, took pity on me." "But why," asked the Nevile, "did they give to your father so unholy a name?" "Alas, sir! he is a great scholar, who has spent his means in studying what he says will one day be of good to the people." "Humph!" said Marmaduke, who had all the superstitions of his time, who looked upon a scholar, unless in the Church, with mingled awe and abhorrence, and who, therefore, was but ill satisfiedjpvith the girl's artless answer: "Humph.! your father but" checking what he was about, perhaps harshly, to say, as he caught the bright eyes and arch, intelligent face lifted to his own "but it is hard to punish the child for the father's errors." "Errors, sir!" repeated the damsel proudly, and with a slight disdain in her face and voice. "But yes, wisdom is ever, perhaps, the saddest error!" This remark was of an order superior in intellect to those which had preceded it: it contrasted with the sternness of experience the simplicity of the child ; and of such contrast, indeed, was that character made up. For with a sweet, an infantine change of tone and countenance, she added, after a short pause: "They took the money! the gittern see, they left that when they had made it useless." "I cannot mend the gittern, but I can refill the gipsire," said Marmaduke. The girl colored deeply. "Nay, sir, to earn is not to beg." Marmaduke did not heed this answer, for as they were now passing by the stunted trees, under which sate several revellers, who looked up at him from their cups and tankards, some with sneering, some with grave looks, he began, more seriously than in his kindly impulse he had hitherto done, to consider the ap- THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 29 pearance it must have, to be thus seen walking, in public, with a girl of inferior degree, and perhaps doubtful repute. Even in our own day, such an exhibition would be, to say the least, suspicious, and in that day, when ranks and classes were di- vided with iron demarcations, a young gallant, whose dress bespoke him of gentle quality, with one of opposite sex, and belonging to the humbler orders, in -broad day too, was far more open to censure. The blood mounted to his brow, and halting abruptly, he said, in a dry and altered voice: "My good damsel, you are now, I think, out of danger; it would ill beseem you, so young and so comely, to go further with one not old enough to be your protector ; so, in God's name, depart quickly, and remember me when you buy your new gittern poor child!" So saying, he attempted to place a piece of money in her hand. She put it back, and the coin fell on the ground. "Nay, this is foolish," said he. "Alas, sir!" said the girl gravely. "I see well that you are ashamed of your goodness. But my father begs not. And once but that matters not." "Once what?" persisted Marmaduke, interested in her manner, in spite of himself. ^ "Once," said the girl, y drawing herself up, and\vith an ex- pression that altered the whole character of her face "the beg- ger ate at my father's gate. He is a born gentleman and a knight's son." "And what reduced him thus?" "I have said," answered the girl simply, yet with the same half-scorn on her lip that it had before betrayed "he is a scholar, and thought more of others than himself." "I never saw any good come to a gentleman from those ac- cursed books," said the Nevile; "fit only for monks and shave- lings. But still, for your father's sake, though I am ashamed of the poorness of the gift " "No God be with you, sir, and reward you." She stopped short, drew her wimple round her face, and was gone. Nevile felt an uncomfortable sensation of remorse and disapproval at having suffered her to quit him while there was yet any chance of molestation or annoyance, and his eye followed her till a group of trees veiled her from his view. The young maiden slackened her pace as she found herself alone under the leafless bought of the dreary pollards a deso- late spot, made melancholy, by dull swamps, half-overgrown with rank verdure, through which forced its clogged way the 30 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. shallow Brook that now gives its name (though its waves are seen no more) to one of the main streets in the most polished quarter of the metropolis. Upon a mound formed by the gnarled roots of the dwarfed and gnome-like oak, she sat down, and wept. In our earlier years, most of us may remem- ber, that there was one day which made an epoch in life the day that separated Childhood from Youth; for that day seems not to come gradually, but to be a sudden crisis, an abrupt revelation. The buds of the heart open to close no more. Such a day was this in that girl's fate. But the day was not yet gone! That morning, when she dressed for her enter- prise of filial love, perhaps for the first time Sibyll Warner felt that she was fair who shall say, whether some innocent, natural vanity had not blended with the deep, devoted earnest- ness, which saw no shame in the act by which the child could aid the father? Perhaps she might have smiled to listen to old Madge's praises of her winsome face, old Madge's predictions that the face and the gittern would not lack admirers on the gay ground. Perhaps some indistinct, vague forethoughts of the Future to which the sex will deem itself to be born, might have caused the cheek no, not to blush, but to take a rosier hue, and the pulse to beat quicker, she knew not why. At all events, to that ground went the young Sibyll, cheerful, and almost happy, in her inexperience of actual life, and sure, at least, that youth and innocence sufficed to protect from insult. And now, she sat down under the leafless tree, to weep ; and in those bitter tears, childhood itself was laved from her soul forever. "What ailest thou, maiden?" asked a deep voic; and she felt a hand laid lightly on her shoulder She looked up in ter- ror and confusion, but it was no form or face to inspire alarm that met her eye. It was a cavalier, holding by the rein a horse richly caparisoned, and though his dress was plainer and less exaggerated than that usually worn by one of rank, its ma- terials were those which the sumptuary laws (constantly broken, indeed, as such laws ever must be), confined to nobles. Though his surcoat was but of cloth, and the color dark and sober, it was woven in foreign looms an unpatriotic luxury, above the degree of knight and edged deep with the costliest sables. The hilt of the dagger, suspended round his breast, was but of ivory, curiously wrought, but the scabbard was sown with large pearls. For the rest, the stranger was of ordinary stature, well knit, and active rather than powerful, and of that age (about thirty-five) which may be called the second prime of THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 31 man. His face was far less handsome than Marmaduke Nev- ile's, but infinitely more expressive, both of intelligence and command, the features straight and sharp, the complexion clear and pale, and under the bright gray eyes a dark shade spoke either of dissipation or of thought. "What ailest thou, maiden? Weepest thou some faithless lover? Tush! love renews itself in youth, as flower succeeds flower in spring." Sibyll made no reply; she rose, and moved a few paces, then arrested her steps, and looked around her. She had lost all clue to her way homeward, and she saw with horror, in the distance, the hateful timbrel girls, followed by the rabble, and weaving their strange dances towards the spot. "Dost thou fear me, child? There is no cause," said the stranger, following her. "Again, I say, 'What ailest thou'?" This time his voice was that of command, and the poor girl involuntarily obeyed it. She related her mjsfortunes, her per- secution by the tymbesteres, her escape Blanks to the Nev- ile's courtesy her separation from her attendant, and her uncertainty as to the way she should pursue. The nobleman listened with interest : he was a man sated and wearied by pleasure and the world,, and the evident inno- cence of Sibyll was a novelty to his experience, while the con- trast between her language and her dress moved his curiosity. "And," said he, "thy protector left thee, his work half-done fie on his chivalry! But I, donzell, wear the spurs of knight- hood, and to succor the distressed is^a- duty my oath will not let me swerve from. I will guide thee home, for I know well all the purlieus of this evil den of London. Thou hast but to name the suburb in which thy father dwells." Sibyll involuntarily raised her wimple, lifted her beautiful eyes to the stranger, in bewildered gratitude and surprise. Her childhood had passed in a court, her eye, accustomed to rank, at once perceived the high degree of the speaker; the contrast between this unexpected and delicate gallantry, and the condescending tone and abrupt desertion of Marmaduke, affected her again to tears. "Ah, worshipful sir!" she said falteringly, "what can re- ward thee for this unlooked-for goodness?" "One innocent smile, sweet virgin! for such, I'll be sworn, thou art." He did not offer her his hand, but hanging the gold- enamelled rein over his arm, walked by her side ; and a few words sufficing for his guidance, led her across the ground, 32 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. through the very midst of the throng. He felt none of the young shame, the ingenuous scruples of Marmaduke, at the gaze he encountered, thus companioned. But Sibyll noted that ever and anon bonnet and cap were raised as they passed along, and the respectful murmur of the vulgar, who had so lately jeered her anguish, taught her the immeasurable distance in men's esteem, between poverty shielded but by virtue, and poverty protected by power. But suddenly a gaudy tinsel group broke through the crowd, and wheeling round their path, the foremost of them daringly approached the nobleman, and looking lull into his disdainful face, exclaimed: "Tradest thou, too, for kisses? Ha! ha! life is short the witch is out-witched by thee! But witch- craft and death go together, as, peradventure, thou mayest learn at the last, sleek wooer." Then darting off, and head- ing her painted, tawdry throng, the timbrel girl sprung into the crowd, and vanished. This incident produced no effect upon the strong and cyni- cal intellect of the stranger. Without allusion to it, he con- tinued to converse with his young companion, and artfully to draw out her own singular but energetic and gifted mind. He grew more than interested, he was both touched and surprised. His manner became yet more respectful, his voice more sub- dued and soft. On what hazards turn our fate! On that day a little, and Sibyll's pure, but sensitive heart had, perhaps, been given to the young Nevile. He had defended and saved her; he was fairer than the stranger, he was more of her own years, and nearer to her in station ; but in showing himself ashamed to be seen with her, he had galled her heart, and moved the bit- ter tears of her pride. What had the stranger done? Noth- ing, but reconciled the wounded delicacy to itself ; and sud- denly he became to her one ever to be remembered wondered at perhaps more. They reached an obscure suburb, and parted at the threshold of a large, gloomy, ruinous house, which Sibyll indicated as her father's home. The girl lingered before the porch; and the stranger gazed, with the passionless admiration which some fair object of art produces on one who has refined his taste, but who has sur- vived enthusiasm, upon the downcast cheek that blushed be- neath his gaze "Farewell!" he said; and the girl looked up wistfully. He might, without vanity, have supposed that look to imply what the lip did not dare to say "And shall we meet no more?" THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 33 But he turned away, with formal though courteous saluta- tion ; and as he remounted his steed, and rode slowly towards the interior of the city, he muttered to himself, with a melan- choly smile upon his lips: "Now might the grown infant make to himself a new toy ; but an innocent heart is a brittle thing, and one false vow can break it. Pretty maiden, I like thee well eno* not to love thee. So, as my young Scotch minstrel sings and prays, ' Christ keep these birdis bright in bowers, Sic peril lies in paramours ! ' " * We must now return to Marmaduke. On leaving Sibyll, and retracing his steps towards the more crowded quarter of the space, he was agreeably surprised by encountering Nicholas Alwyn, escorted in triumph by a legion of roaring apprentices from the victory he had just obtained over his competitors at the quarter-staff. When the cortege came up to Marmaduke, Nicholas halted, and fronting his attendants, said, with the same cold and for- mal stiffness that had characterized him from the beginning: "I thank you, lads, for your kindness. It is your own tri- umph. All I cared for was to show that you London boys are. able to keep up your credit in these days, when there's little luck in a yard measure, if the same hand cannot bend a bow, or handle cold steel. But the less we think of the strife when we are in the stall, the better for our pouches. And so I hope we shall hear no more about it, until I get a ware of my own. when the more of ye that like to talk of such matters the better ye will be welcome always provided ye be civil customers, who pay on the nail, for, as the saw saith: 'Ell and tell makes the crypt swell.' For the rest, thanks are due to this brave gentleman, Marmaduke Nevile, who, though the son of a knight-banneret, who never furnished less to the battlefield than fifty men-at-arms, has condescended to take part and parcel in the sports of us peaceful London traders ; and if ever you can do him a kind turn for turn and turn is fair play why you will, I answer for it. And so one cheer for old London, and another for Marmaduke Nevile. Here goes! Hurrah, my lads!" And with this pithy address Nicholas Alwyn took off his cap and gave the signal for the shouts, which, being duly * A Scotch poet, in Lord Hailes's Collection, has the following lines in the very pretty poem called " Peril in Paramours ": " Wherefore I pray, in termys short, Christ keep these birdis bright in bowers Fra false lovers and their disport, Sic peril lies in paramours." 34 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. performed, he bowed stiffly to his companions, who departed with a hearty laugh, and coming to the side of Nevile, the two walked on to a neighboring booth, where, under a rude awn- ing, and over a flagon of clary, they were soon immersed in the confidential communications each had to give and receive. CHAPTER III. THE TRADER AND THE GENTLE; OR THE CHANGING GEN- ERATION. "No, my dear foster-brother, " said the Nevile, "I do not yet comprehend the choice you have made. You were reared and brought up with such careful book-lere, not only to read and to write the which, save the mark ! I hold to be labor eno' but chop Latin and logic and theology with St. Aristotle (is not that his hard name?) into the bargain, and all because you had an uncle of high note in Holy Church. I cannot say I would be a shaveling myself; but surely a monk, with the hope of preferment, is a nobler calling to a lad of spirit and ambi- tion than to stand out at a door and cry: 'Buy, buy' 'What d'ye lack' to spend youth as a Flat-cap, and drone out man- hood in measuring cloth, hammering metals, or weighing out spices?" "Fair and softly, Master Marmaduke," said Alwyn, "you will understand me better anon. My uncle, the sub-prior, died some say of austerities, others of ale that matters not ; he was a learned man and a cunning. 'Nephew Nicholas,' said he on his death-bed, 'think twice before you tie yourself up to the cloister; it's ill leaping nowadays in a sackcloth bag. If a pious man be moved to the cowl by holy devotion, there is nothing to be said on the subject ; but if he take to the Church as a calling, and wish to march ahead like his fellows, these times show him a prettier path to distinction. The nobles be- gin to get the best things for themselves: and a learned monk, if he is the son of a yeoman, cannot hope, without a speciality of grace, to become abbot or bishop. The King, whoever he be, must be so drained by his wars, that he has little land or gold to bestow on his favorites ; but his gentry turn an eye to the temporalities of the Church, and the Church and the King wish to strengthen themselves by the gentry. This is not all; there are free opinions afloat. The House of Lancaster has lost ground, by its persecutions and burnings. Men dare not openly resist, but they treasure up recollections of a fried THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 35 grandfather, or a roasted cousin; recollections which have done much damage to the Henries, and will shake Holy Church itself one of these days. The Lollards lie hid, but Lol- lardism will never die. There is a new class rising amain, where a little learning goes a great way, if mixed with spirit and sense. Thou likest broad pieces, and a creditable name go to London, and be a trader. London begins to decide who shall wear the crown, and the traders to decide what king Lon- don shall befriend. Wherefore, cut thy trace from the clois- ter, and take thy road to the shop.' The next day my uncle gave up the ghost. They had better clary than this at the con- vent, I must own. But every stone has its flaw!" "Yet," said Marmaduke, "if you took distaste to the cowl, from reasons that I pretend not to judge of, but which seem to my poor head very bad ones, seeing that the Church is as mighty as ever, and King Edward is no friend to the Lollards, and that your uncle himself was at least a sub-prior " "Had he been son to a baron, he had been a cardinal," in- terrupted Nicholas, ' 'for his head was the longest that ever came out of the North country. But go on ; you would say my father was a sturdy yeoman, and I might have followed his calling?" "You hit the mark, Master Nicholas." "Hout, man. I crave pardon of your rank, Master Nevile. But a yeoman is born a yeoman, and he dies a yeoman ; I think it better to die Lord Mayor of London ; and so I craved my mother's blessing and leave, and a part of the old hyde has been sold to pay for the first step to the red gown, which I need not say must be that of the Flat-cap. I have already taken my degrees, and no longer wear blue. I am headman to my master, and my master will be sheriff of London." "It is a pity," said the Nevile, shaking his head; "you were ever a tall, brave lad, and would have made a very pretty soldier." "Thank you, Master Marmaduke, but I leave cut and thrust to the gentles. I have seen eno" of the life of a retainer. He goes out on foot with his shield and his sword, or his bow and his quiver, while sir knight sits on horseback, armed from the crown to the toe, and the arrow slants off from rider and horse, as a stone from a tree. If the retainer is not sliced and carved into mincemeat, he comes home to a heap of ashes, and a handful of acres, harried and rivelled into a common ; sir knight thanks him for his valor, but he does not build up his house; sir knight gets a grant from the king, or an heiress for 36 THE LAST OF THE RARONS. his son, and Hob Yeoman turns gisarme and bill into plough, shares. Tut, tut, there's no liberty, no safety, no getting on, for a man who has no right to the gold spurs, but in the guild of his fellows; and London is the place for a born Saxon, like Nicholas Ahvyn." As the young aspirant thus uttered the sentiments, which, though others might not so plainly avow and shrewdly enforce them, tended towards that slow revolution, which, under all the stormy events that the superficial record we call HISTORY alone deigns to enumerate, was working that great change in the thoughts and habits of the people that impulsion of the provin- cials citywards that gradual formation of a class between knight and vassal which became first constitutionally visible and distinct in the reign of Henry VII., Marmaduke Nevile, inly half-regretting and half-despising the reasonings of his foster-brother, was playing with his dagger, and glancing at his silver arrow. "Yet you could still have eno' of the tall yeoman and the stout retainer about you to try for this bauble, and to break half a dozen thick heads with your qu arter- staff !" "True," said Nicholas; "you must recollect we are only, as yet, between the skin and the selle half-trader, half- retainer. The old leaven will out: 'Eith to learn the cat to the kirn,' as they say in the north. But that's not all; a man, to get on, must win respect from those who are to jostle him hereafter, and it's good policy to show those roystering young- sters that Nick Alwyn, stiff and steady though he be, has the old English metal in him, if it comes to a pinch; it's a lesson to yon lords too, save your quality, if they ever wish to ride roughshod over our guilds and companies. But eno' of me Drawer, another stoup of the clary. Now, gentle sir, may I make bold to ask news of yourself? I saw, though I spake not before of it, that my Lord Montagu showed a cold face to his kinsman. I know something of these great men, though J be but a small one a dog is no bad guide in the city he trots through." "My dear foster-brother," said the Nevile; "you had ever more brains than myself, as is meet that you should have, since you lay by the steel casque, which, I take it, is meant as a substitute for us gentlemen and soldiers who have not so many brains to spare; and I will willingly profit by your counsels. You must know," he said, drawing nearer to the table, and his frank, hardy face assuming a more earnest expression, "that though my father, Sir Guy, at the instigation of his chief, the THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 7 Earl of Westmoreland, and of the Lord Nevile, bore arms, at the first, for King Henry " "Hush! hush! for Henry of Windsor !" "Henry of Windsor! so be it! yet being connected, like the nobles I have spoken of, with the blood of Warwick and Salisbury, it was ever with doubt and misgiving, and rather in the hope of ultimate compromise between both parties (which the Duke of York's moderation rendered probable), than of the extermination of either. But when, at the battle of York, Margaret of Anjou and her generals stained their victory by cruelties which could not fail to close the door on all concilia- tion; when the infant son of the Duke himself was murdered, though a prisoner, in cold blood; when my father's kinsman, the Earl of Salisbury, was beheaded without trial; when the head of the brave and good Duke, who had fallen in the field, was, against all knightly and kinglike generosity, mockingly exposed, like a dishonored robber, on the gates of York, my father, shocked and revolted, withdrew at once from the army, and slacked not, bit or spur, till he found himself in his hall at Arsdale. His death, caused partly by his travail and vexa- tion of spirit, together with his timely withdrawal from the enemy, preserved his name from the attainder passed on the Lords Westmoreland and Nevile ; and my eldest brother, Sir John, accepted the King's proffer of pardon, took the oaths of allegiance to Edward, and lives safe, if obscure, in his father's halls. Thou knowest, my friend, that a younger brother has but small honor at home. Peradventure, in calmer times, I might have bowed my pride to my calling, hunted my brother's dogs, flown his hawks, rented his keeper's lodge, and gone to my grave contented. But to a young man, who, from his childhood, had heard the stirring talk of knights and captains, who had seen valor and fortune make the way to distinction, and whose ears, of late, had been filled by the tales of wander- ing minstrels and dissours, with all the gay wonders of Ed- ward's court, such a life soon grew distasteful. My father, on his death-bed, (like thy uncle, the sub-prior), encouraged me little to follow his own footsteps. 'I see,' said he, 'that King Henry is too soft to rule his barons, and Margaret too fierce to conciliate the Commons the only hope of peace is in the set- tlement of the House of York. Wherefore let not thy father's errors stand in the way of thy advancement' ; and therewith he made his confessor for he was no penman himself, the worthy old knight! indite a letter to his great kinsman, the Earl of Warwick, commending me to his protection. He 38 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. signed his mark, and set his seal to this missive, which I now have at mine hostelrie, and died the same day. My brother judged me too young then to quit his roof, and condemned me to bear his humors till, at the age of twenty-three, 1 could bear no more! So, having sold him my scant share in the heritage, and turned, like thee, bad land into good nobles, I joined a party of horse in their journey to London, and arrived yester- day at Master Sackbut's hostelry, in Eastchepe. I went this morning to my Lord of Warwick, but he was gone to the King's, and hearing of the merry-makings here, I came hither for kill-time. A chance word of my Lord of Montagu, whom St. Dunstan confound, made me conceit that a feat of skill with the cloth-yard might not ill preface my letter to the great Earl. But, pardie! it seems I reckoned without my host, and in seeking to make my fortunes too rashly, I have helped to mar them." Wherewith he related the particulars of his inter- view with Montagu. Nicholas Alwyn listened to him with friendly and thoughtful interest, and, when he had done, spoke thus: "The Earl of Warwick is a generous man, and, though hot, bears little malice, except against those whom he deems mis- think or insult him; he is proud of being looked up to as -a protector, especially by those of his own kith and name. Your father's letter will touch the right string, and you cannot do better than deliver it with a plain story. A young partisan like thee is not to be despised. Thou must trust to Lord Warwick to set matters right with his brother; and now, before I say further, let me ask thee plainly, and without offence : Dost thou so love the House of York that no chance could ever make thee turn sword against it? Answer as I ask under thy breath; those drawers are parlous spies!" And here, in justice to Marmaduke Nevile and to his betters, it is necessary to preface his reply by some brief remarks, to which we must crave the earnest attention of the reader. What we call PATRIOTISM, in the high and catholic accepta- tion of the word, was little if at all understood in days when passion, pride, and interest were motives little softened by re- flection and education, and softened still less by the fusion of classes that characterized the small states of old, and marks the civilization of a modern age. Though the right by descent of the House of York, if genealogy alone were consulted, was indisputably prior to that of Lancaster, yet the long exercise of power in the latter house, the genius of the Fourth Henry and the victories of the Fifth, would, no doubt, have completely THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 39 superseded the obsolete claims of the Yorkists, had Henry VI. possessed any of the qualities necessary for the time. As it was, men had got puzzled by genealogies and cavils ; the sanc- tity attached to the King's name was weakened by his doubt- ful right to his throne, and the Wars of the rival Roses were at last (with two exceptions, presently to be noted), the mere con- tests of exasperated factions, in which public considerations were scarcely even made the blind to individual interest, preju- dice, or passion. Thus instances of desertion, from the one to the other party, even by the highest nobles, and on the very eve of battle, had grown so common, that little if any disgrace was attached to them: and any knight or captain held an affront to himself an amply sufficient cause for the transfer of his allegiance. It would be obviously absurd to expect in any of the actors of that age the more elevated doctrines of party faith and public honor, which clearer notions of national morality, and the sal- utary exercise of a large general opinion, free from the passions of single individuals, have brought into practice in our more enlightened days. The individual feelings of the individual MAN, strong in himself, became his guide, and he was free in much from the regular and thoughtful virtues, as well as from the mean and plausible vices of those who act only in bodies and corporations. The two exceptions to this idiosyncrasy of motive and conduct were, first, in the general disposition of the rising middle class, especially in London, to connect great political interests with the more popular House of York. The Commons in Parliament had acted in opposition to Henry VI., as the laws they wrung from him tended to show, and it was a popular and trading party that came, as it were, into power under King Edward. It is true that Edward was suf- ficiently arbitrary in himself, but a popular party will stretch as much as its antagonists in favor of despotism exercised on its enemies. And Edward did his best to consult the inter- ests of commerce, though the prejudices of the merchants in- terpreted those interests in a way opposite to that in which political economy now understands them. The second ex- ception to the mere hostilities of individual chiefs and feu- dal factions has, not less than the former, been too much overlooked by historians. But this was a still more powerful element in the success of the House of York. The hostility against the Roman Church, and the tenets of the Lollards, were shared by an immense part of the population. In the previous century an ancient writer computes that one-half the 40 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. population were Lollards; and though the sect were dimin- ished and silenced by fear, they still ceased not to exist, and their doctrines not only shook the Church under Henry VIII., but destroyed the throne by the strong arm of their children, the Puritans, under Charles I. It was impossible that these men should not have felt the deepest resentment at the fierce and steadfast persecution they endured under the House of Lan- caster; and without pausing to consider how far they would ben- efit under the dynasty of York, they had all those motives of revenge which are mistaken so often for the counsels of policy, to rally round any standard raised against their oppressors. Therse two great exceptions to merely selfish policy, which it remains for the historian clearly and at length to enforce, these and these alone will always to a sagacious observer, ele- vate the Wars of the Roses above those bloody contests for badges which we are, at first sight, tempted to regard them. But these deeper motives animated very little the nobles and the knightly gentry,* and with them the governing principles were, as we have just said, interest, ambition, and the zeal for the honor and advancement of houses and chiefs. "Truly," said Marmaduke, after a short and rather embar- rassed pause, "I am little beholden as yet to the House of York. There, where I see a noble benefactor, or a brave and wise leader, shall I think my sword and heart may best proffer allegiance." "Wisely said," returned Alwyn, with a slight, but half-sar- castic smile; "I asked thee the question because (draw closer) there aro wise men in our city who think the ties between War- wick and the King less strong than a ship's cable. And if thou attaches! thyself to Warwick, he will be better pleased, it may be, with talk of devotion to himself than professions of exclusive loyalty to King Edward. He who has little silver in his pouch must have the more silk on his tongue. A word to a Westmoreland or a Yorkshire man is as good as a sermon to men not born so far north. One word more, and I have done. Thou art kind, and affable, and gentle, my dear foster-brother, but it will not do for thee to be seen again with the goldsmith's headman. If thou wantest me, send for me at nightfall ; I shall be found at Master Heyford's, in the Chepe. And if," added Nicholas, with a prudent reminiscence, "thou succeedest at court, and canst recommend my master there is no better * Amongst many instances of the self-seeking of the time, not the least striking is the subservience of John Mowbray, the great Duke of Norfolk, to his old political enemy, the Earl of Oxford, the moment the last comes into power, during the brief restoration of Henry VI. John Paston, -.vhose family had been sufficiently harassed by this great Duke, says, with some glee, " The Duke and Duchess (of Norfolk) sue to him (Lord Oxford) as humbly as ever 1 did to them." " Pasion Letters," cccii. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 41 goldsmith it may serve me when I set up for myself, which 1 look to do shortly." "But, to send for thee, my own foster-brother, at nightfall, as if I were ashamed! " "Hout, Master Marmaduke, if thou wert not ashamed of me I should be ashamed to be seen with a gay springal like thee. Why, they would say in the Chepe that Nick Alwyn was going to ruin. No, no. Birds of a feather must keep shy of those that moult other colors ; and so, my dear young mas- ter, this is my last shake of the hand. But hold. Dost thou know thy way back?" "Oh, yes never fear!" answered Marmaduke; "though I see not why so far, at least, we may not be companions." "No, better as it is; after this day's work, they will gossip about both of us, and we shall meet many who know my long visage on the way back. God keep thee; avise me how thou prosperest." So saying, Nicholas Alwyn walked off, too delicate to pro- pose to pay his share of the reckoning with a superior. But when he had gone a few paces, he turned back, and accosting the Nevile, as the latter was rebuckling his mantle, said : "I have been thinking, Master Nevile, that these gold nobles, which it has been my luck to bear off, would be more useful in thy gipsire than mine. I have sure gains and small expenses, but a gentleman gains nothing, and his hand must be ever in his pouch so " "Foster-brother!" said Marmaduke haughtily, "a gentle- man never borrows except of the Jews, and with due interest. Moreover, I too have my calling; and as thy stall to thee, so to me my good sword. Saints keep thee ! Be sure I will serve thee when I can." "The devil's in these young strips of the herald's tree," muttered Alwyn, as he strode off; "as if it were dishonest to borrow abroad piece without cutting a throat for it! How- beit, money is a prolific mother: and here is eno' to buy me a gold chain against I am alderman of London. Hout, thus goes the world the knight's baubles become the alderman's badges so much the better." CHAPTER IV. ILL FARES THE COUNTRY MOUSE IN THE TRAPS OF TOWN. WE trust we shall not be deemed discourteous, either, on the one hand, to those who value themselves on their powers of 42 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. reflection, cr, on the other, to those who lay claim to what, in modern phrenological jargon, is called the Organ of Locality, when we venture to surmise that the two are rarely found in combination ; nay, that it seems to us a very evident truism, that in proportion to the general activity of the intellect upon subjects of pith and weight, the mind will be indifferent to those minute external objects by which a less contemplative understanding will note, and map out, and impress upon the memory, the chart of the road its owner has once taken. Master Marmaduke Nevile, a hardy and acute forester from childhood, possessed to perfection the useful faculty of looking well and closely before him as he walked the earth, and ordi- narily, therefore, the path he had once taken, however intricate and obscure, he was tolerably sure to retrace with accuracy, even at no inconsiderable distance of time the outward senses of men are usually thus alert and attentive in the savage or the semi-civilized state. He had not therefore, overvalued his general acuteness in the note and memory of localities, when he boasted of his power to re-find his way to his hostelrie with- out the guidance of Alwyn. But it so happened that the events of this day, so memorable to him, withdrew his attention from external objects, to concentrate it within. And in marvelling and musing over the new course upon which his destiny had entered, he forgot to take heed of that which his feet should pursue, so that, after wandering unconsciously onward for some time, he suddenly halted in perplexity and amaze to find himself entangled in a labyrinth of scattered suburbs, present- ing features wholly different from the road that had conducted him to the archery ground in the forenoon. The darkness of the night had set in, but it was relieved by a somewhat faint and mist-clad moon, and some few and scattered stars, over which rolled, fleetly, thick clouds, portending rain. No lamps at that time cheered the steps of the belated wanderer; the houses were shut up, and their inmates, for the most part, already retired to rest, and the suburbs did not rejoice, as the city, in the round of the watchman with his drowsy call to the inhabitants: "Hang out your lights!" The passen- gers, who at first, in various small groups and parties, had en- livened the stranger's way, seemed to him, unconscious as he was of the lapse of time, to have suddenly vanished from the thoroughfares; and he found himself alone in places thoroughly unknown to him, waking to the displeasing recol- lection that the approaches to the city were said to be beset by brawlers and ruffians of desperate characters, whom the cessa- THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 43 tion of the civil wars had flung loose upon the skirts of society, to maintain themselves by deeds of rapine and plunder. As might naturally be expected, most of these had belonged to the defeated party, who had no claim to the good offices or charity of those in power. And although some of the Neviles had sided with the Lancastrians, yet the badge worn by Mar- maduke was considered a pledge of devotion to the reigning House, and added a new danger to those which beset his path. Conscious of this for he now called to mind the admonitions of his host in parting from the hostelrie he deemed it but dis- creet to draw the hood of his mantle over the silver ornament ; and while thus occupied, he heard not a step emerging from a lane at his rear, when suddenly a heavy hand was placed on his shoulder; he started, turned, and before him stood a man, whose aspect and dress betokened little to lessen the alarm of the uncourteous salutation. Marmaduke's dagger was bare on the instant. "And what would'st thou with me?" he asked. "Thy purse and thy dagger!" answered the stranger. "Come and take them," said the Nevile, unconscious that he uttered a reply famous in classic history, as he sprang back- ward a step or so, and threw himself into an attitude of de- fence. The stranger slowly raised a rude kind of mace, or rather club, with a ball of iron at the end, garnished with long spikes, as he replied: "Art thou mad eno' to fight for such trifles?" "Art thou in the habit of meeting one Englishman who yields his goods, without a blow, to another?" retorted Marma- duke. "Goto thy club does not daunt me." The stranger warily drew back a step, and applied a whistle to his mouth. The Nevile sprang at him, but the stranger warded off the thrust of the poniard with a light flourish of his heavy weapon ; and had not the youth drawn back on the instant, it had been good-night and a long day to Marmaduke Nevile. Even as it was his heart beat quick, as the whirl of the huge weapon sent the air like a strong wind against his face. Ere he had time to renew his attack, he was suddenly seized from behind, and found himself struggling in the arms of two men. From these he broke, and his dagger glanced harmless against the tough jerkin of his first assailant. The next moment his right arm fell to his side, useless and deeply gashed. A heavy blow on the head the moon, the stars reeled in his eyes and then dark- ness; he knew no more. His assailants very deliberately pro- ceeded to rifle the inanimate body, when one of them, perceiv- 44 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. ing the silver badge, exclaimed, with an oath: "One of the rampant Neviles! This cock at least shall crow no more!" And laying the young man's head across his lap, while he stretched back the throat with one hand, with the other he drew forth a long, sharp knife, like those used by huntsmen in dis- patching the hart. Suddenly, and in the very moment when the blade was about to inflict the fatal gash, his hand was forci- bly arrested, and a man who had silently and unnoticed joined the ruffians, said, in a stern whisper: "Rise, and depart from thy brotherhood forever. We admit no murderer." The ruffian looked up in bewilderment. "Robin captain thou here!" he said falteringly. "I must needs be everywhere, I see, if I would keep such fellows as thou and these from the gallows. What is this? a silver arrow the young archer. Urn." "A Nevile!" growled the would-be murderer. "And for that very reason his life should be safe. Knowest thou not that Richard of Warwick, the great Nevile, ever spares the Commons. Begone! I say." The captain's low voice grew terrible as he uttered the last words. The savage rose, and without a word stalked away. "Look you, my masters," said Robin, turning to the rest, "sol- diers must plunder a hostile country. While York is on the throne, England is a hostile country to us Lancastrians. Rob, then, rifle, if ye will. But he who takes life shall lose it. Ye know me!" The robbers looked down, silent and abashed. Robin bent a moment over the youth. "He will live," he muttered. "So! he already begins to awaken. One of these houses will give him shelter. Off, fellows, and take care of your necks!" When Marmaduke, a few minutes after this colloquy, began to revive, it was with a sensation of dizziness, pain, and ex- treme cold. He strove to lift himself from the ground, and at length succeeded. He was alone; the place where he had lain was damp and red with stiffening blood. He tottered on for several paces, and perceived from a lattice, at a little dis- tance, a light still burning. Now reeling, now falling, he still dragged on his limbs as the instinct attracted him to that sign of refuge. He gained the doorway of a detached and gloomy house, and sank on the stone before it to cry aloud. But his voice soon sank into deep groans, and once more, as his efforts increased the rapid gush of the blood, became insensible. The man styled Robin, who had so opportunely saved his life, now approached from the shadow of a wall, beneath which he had THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 45 watched Marmaduke's movements. He neared the door of the house, and cried, in a sharp, clear voice: "Open, for the love of Christ!" A head was now thrust from the lattice the light vanished a minute more, the door opened; and, Robin, as if satisfied, drew hastily back, and vanished, saying to himself, as he strode along: "A young man's life must needs be dear to him; yet, had the lad been a lord, methinks I should have cared little to have saved for the people one tyrant more." After a long interval, Marmaduke again recovered, and his eyes turned with pain from the glare of a light held to his face. "He wakes, father! He will live!" cried a sweet voice. "Ay, he will live, child!" answered a deeper tone; and the young man muttered to himself, half-audibly, as in a dream : "Holy Mother be blessed! it is sweet to live!" The room, in which the sufferer lay, rather exhibited the re- mains of better fortunes than testified to the solid means of the present possessor. The ceiling was high and groined, and some tints of faded, but once gaudy painting blazoned its compart- ments and hanging pendants. The walls had been rudely painted (for arras * then was rare, even among the wealthiest), but the colors were half-obliterated by time and damp. The bedstead on which the wounded man reclined was curiously carved, with a figure of the Virgin at the head, and adorned with draperies, in which were wrought huge figures from scrip- tural subjects, but in the dress of the date of Richard II. Solomon in pointed upturned shoes, and Goliath, in the armor of a crusader frowning grimly upon the sufferer. By 'the bed- side stood a personage, who, in reality, was but little past the middle age, but whose pale visage intersected with deep furrows, whose long beard and hair, partially gray, gave him the appear- ance of advanced age : nevertheless there was something pecu- liarly striking in the aspect of the man. His forehead was singularly high and massive, but the back of the head was dis- proportionately small, as if the intellect too much preponderated over all the animal qualities for strength in character and suc- cess in life. The eyes were soft, dark, and brilliant, but dream- * Mr. Hallam ("History of the Middle Ages," chap. ix. , part 2), implies a doubt whether great houses were furnished with hangings so soon as the reign of Edward IV. But there is abundant evidence to satisfy our learned historian upon that head. The Narrative of the " Lord of Grauthuse," edited by Sir F. Madden, specifies the hangings of cloth of gold in the apartments in which that lord was received by Edward IV.; also the hangings of white silk and linen in the chamber appropriated to himself at Windsor. But long before this period (to say nothing of the Bayeux Tapestry) viz., in the reign of Edward III. (in 1344.), a writ was issued to inquire into the mystery of working tapestry ; and in 1308, Mr. Bntton observes that the celebrated arras hangings at Warwick Castle are mentioned. (Se Britton's "Dictionary of Architecture and Archaeology " art. Tapestry.) $6 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. like and vague; the features in youth must have been regular and beautiful, but their contour was now sharpened by the hol- lowness of the cheeks and temples. The form, in the upper part, was nobly shaped, sufficiently muscular, if not powerful, and with the long throat and falling shoulders, which always give something of grace and dignity to the carriage; but it was prematurely bent, and the lower limbs were thin and weak, as is common with men who have sparely used them ; they seem disproportioned to that broad chest, and still more to that magnificent and spacious brow. The dress of this personage corresponded with the aspect of his abode. The materials were those worn by the gentry, but they were old, threadbare, and discolored with innumerable spots and stains. His hands were small and delicate, with large blue veins, that spoke of relaxed fibres, but their natural whiteness was smudged with smoke- stains, and his beard a masculine ornament utterly out of fashion among the younger race in King Edward's reign, but when worn by the elder gentry, carefully trimmed and per- fumed was dishevelled into all the spiral and tangled curls displayed in the sculptured head of some old Grecian sage or poet. On the other side of the bed knelt a young girl of about six- teen, with a face exquisitely lovely in its delicacy and expres- sion. She seemed about the middle stature, and her arms and neck, as displayed by the close-fitting vest, had already the smooth and rounded contour of dawning womanhood, while the face had still the softness, innocence, and inexpressible bloom of the child. There was a strong likeness between her and her father (for such the relationship), despite the difference of sex and years: the same beautiful form of lip and brow; the same rare color of the eyes, dark blue, with black fringing lashes; and perhaps the common expression, at that moment, of gentle pity and benevolent anxiety contributed to render the resemblance stronger. "Father, he sinks again!" said the girl. "Sibyll," answered the man, putting his finger upon a line in a manuscript book that he held, "the authority saith, that a patient so contused should lose blood, and then the arm must be tightly bandaged. Verily, we lack the wherewithal." "Not so, father!" said the girl, and blushing, she turned aside, and took off the partelet of lawn, upon which holiday finery her young eyes perhaps that morning had turned with pleasure, and white as snow was the neck which was thus dis- played "this will suffice to bind his arm." THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 47 "But the book," said the father, in great perplexity "the book telieth us not how the lancet should be applied. It is easy to say: 'Do this and do that,' but to do it once, it should have been done before! This is not among my experiments." Luckily, perhaps, for Marmaduke, at this moment there entered an old woman, the solitary servant of the house, whose life, in those warlike times, had made her pretty well acquainted with the simpler modes of dealing with a wounded arm and a broken head. She treated with great disdain the learned au- thority referred to by her master; she bound the arm, plaistered the head, and taking upon herself the responsibility to promise a rapid cure, insisted upon the retirement of father and child, and took her solitary watch beside the bed. "If it had been any other mechanism than that of the vile human body!" muttered the philosopher, as if apologizing to himself and with that he recovered his self-complacency and looked round him proudly. CHAPTER V. WEAL TO THE IDLER WOE TO THE WORKMAN. As Providence tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, so it possibly might conform the heads of that day to a thickness suitable for the blows and knocks to which they were variously subjected; yet it was not without considerable effort and much struggling, that Marmaduke's senses recovered the shock re- ceived, less by his flesh wound, and the loss of blood, than a blow on the seat of reason, that might have dispatched a passa- ble ox of these degenerate days. Nature, to say nothing of Madge's leechcraft, ultimately triumphed, and Marmaduke woke one morning in full possession of such understanding as Nature had endowed him with. He was then alone, and it was with much simple surprise that he turned his large hazel eyes from corner to corner of the unfamiliar room. He began to retrace and weave together sundry disordered and vague remin- iscences: he commenced with the commencement, and clearly satisfied himself that he had been grievously wounded and sorely bruised; he then recalled the solitary light at the high lattice, and his memory found itself at the porch of the large, lonely, ruinous old house; then all became a bewildered and feverish dream. He caught at the vision of an old man with a long beard, whom he associated, displeasingly, with recollec- tions of pain; he glanced off to a fair young face, with eyes that looked tender pity whenever he writhed or groaned under the ,j THE LAST OF THE BARONS. tortures f .hat, no doubt, that old accursed carle had inflicted upon him. But even this face did not dwell with pleasure in his memory : it woke up confused and laboring associations of something weird and witchlike ; of sorceresses and tymbesteres ; of wild warnings screeched in his ear ; of incantations and devil- ries, and doom. Impatient of these musings, he sought to leap from his bed, and was amazed that the leap subsided into a tot- tering crawl. He found an ewer and basin, and his ablutions re- freshed and invigorated him. Researched for his raiment, and discovered it all except the mantle, dagger, hat, and girdle ; and, while looking for these, his eye fell on an old tarnished steel mirror. He started as if he had seen his ghost; was it possible that his hardy face could have waned into that pale and almost femininely delicate visage. With the pride (call it not cox- combry) that then made the care of person the distinction of gentle birth, he strove to reduce into order the tangled locks of the long hair, of which a considerable portion above a part that seemed peculiarly sensitive to the touch had been mercilessly clipped ; and as he had just completed this task, with little satis- faction and much inward chafing at the lack of all befitting essences and perfumes, the door gently opened, and the fair face he had dreamed of appeared at the aperture. The girl uttered a cry of astonishment and alarm at seeing the patient thus arrayed and convalescent, and would suddenly have retreated, but the Nevile advanced, and courteously tak- ing her hand: "Fair maiden," said he, "if, as I trow, I owe to thy cares my tending and cure nay, it may be a life hitherto of little worth, save to myself do not fly from my thanks. May our Lady of Walsingham bless and reward thee!" "Sir," answered Sibyll, gently withdrawing her hands from his clasp, "our poor cares have been a slight return for thy generous protection to myself." "To thee! Ah, forgive me how could I be so dull? I re- member thy face now; and, perchance, I deserved the disaster I met with in leaving thee so discourteously. My heart smote me for it as thy light footfall passed from my side." A slight blush, succeeded by a thoughtful smile the smile of one who recalls and caresses some not displeasing remem- brance, passed over Sibyll's charming countenance, as the suf- ferer said this with something of the grace of a well-born man, whose boyhood had been taught to serve God and the Ladies. There was a short pause before she answered, looking down: "Nay, sir, I was sufficiently beholden to you; and for the THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 49 rest, all molestation was over. But I will now call your nurse ' for it is to our servant, not us, that your thanks are dire to see to your state, and administer the proper medicaments." "Truly, fair damsel, it is not precisely medicaments that I hunger and thirst for ; and if your hospitality could spare me from the larder a manchet, or a corner of a pasty, and from the cellar a stoup of wine or a cup of ale, methinks it would tend more to restore me than those potions which are so strange to my taste that they rather offend than tempt it ; and, pardie, it seemeth to my poor senses as if I had not broken bread for a week!" "I am glad to hear you of such good cheer," answered Sibyll; "wait but a moment or so, till I consult your physi- cian." And, so saying, she closed the door, slowly descended the steps, and pursued her way into what seemed more like a vault than a habitable room, where she found the single servant of the household. Time, which makes changes so fantastic in the dress of the better classes, has a greater respect for the costume of the humbler ; and, though the garments were of a very coarse sort of serge, there was not so great a difference, in point of comfort and sufficiency, as might be supposed, between the dress of old Madge and that of some primitive servant in the north during the last century. The old woman's face was thin and pinched, but its sharp expression brightened into a smile as she caught sight, through the damps and darkness, of the gra- cious form of her young mistress. "Ah Madge, " said Sibyll, with a sigh, "it is a sad thing to be poor!" "For such as thou, Mistress Sibyll, it is indeed. It does not matter for the like of us. But it goes to my old heart when I see you shut up here, or worse, going out in that old courtpie and wimple you, a knight's grandchild you, who have played round a queen's knees, and who might have been so well-to-do, an' my master had thought a little more of the gear of this world. But patience is a good palfrey, and will .carry us a long day. And when the master has done what he looks for, why the King sith we must so call the new man on the throne will be sure to reward him ; but, sweetheart, tarry not here ; it's an ill air for your young lips to drink in. What brings you to old Madge?" "The stranger is recovered, and " "Ay, I warrant me, I have cured worse than he. He must have a spoonful of broth I have not forgot it. You see I wanted no dinner myself what is dinner to old folks! sol 50 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. e'en put it all in the pot for him. The broth will be brave and strong." "My poor Madge, God requite you for what you suffer for us! But he has asked" here was another sigh and a downcast look that did not dare to face the consternation of Madge, as she repeated, with a half smile ' 'he has asked for meat, and a stoup of wine, Madge!" "Eh, sirs! And where is he to get them? Not that it will be bad for the lad, either. Wine! There's Master Bancroft, of the Oak, will not trust us a penny, the seely hilding, and "' "Oh, Madge, I forgot! we can still sell thegittern for some- thing. Get on your wimple, Madge quick while I go for it." "Why, Mistress Sibyll, that's your only pleasure, when you sit all alone, the long summer days." "It will be more pleasure to remember that it supplied the wants of my father's guest," said Sibyll; and retracing the way up the stair, she returned with the broken instrument, and dis- patched Madge with it, laden with instructions that the wine should be of the best. She then once more mounted the rugged steps, and halting a moment at Marmaduke's door, as she heard his feeble step walking impatiently to and fro, she ascended higher, where the flight, winding up a square dilapidated turret, became rougher, narrower, and darker, and opened the door -of her father's retreat. It was a room so bare of ornament and furniture that it seemed merely wrought out of the mingled rubble and rough stones which composed the walls of the mansion, and was lighted towards the street by a narrow slit, glazed, it is true which all the windows of the house were not but the sun scarcely pierced the dull panes and the deep walls in which they were sunk. The room contained a strong furnace, and a rude laboratory. There were several strange-looking mechan- ical contrivances scattered about, several manuscripts upon some oaken shelves, and a large panier of wood and charcoal in the corner. In that poverty-stricken house, the money spent on fuel alone, in the height of summer, would have comfortably maintained the inmates; but neither Sibyll nor Madge ever thought to murmur at this waste, dedicated to what had be- come the vital want of a man who drew air in a world of his own. This was the first thing to be provided for; and Science was of more imperative necessity than even Hunger. Adam Warner was indeed a creature of remarkable genius; and genius, in an age where it is not appreciated, is the greatest curse the iron Fates can inflict on man. If not wholly without THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 5 1 the fond fancies which led the wisdom of the darker ages to the philosopher's stone and the elixir, he had been deterred from the chase of a chimera by want of means to pursue it; for it required the resources or the patronage of a prince or noble to obtain the costly ingredients consumed in the alchemist's cruci- ble. In early life, therefore, and while yet in possession of a competence, derived from a line of distinguished and knightly ancestors, Adam Warner had devoted himself to the surer, and less costly, study of the mathematics, which then had begun to attract the attention of the learned, but which was still looked upon by the vulgar as a branch of the black art. This pursuit had opened to him the insight into discoveries equally useful and sublime. They necessitated a still more various knowledge ; and in an age when there was no division of labor, and rare and precarious communication among students, it became necessary for each discoverer to acquire sufficient science for his own col- lateral experiments. In applying mathematics to the practical purposes of life, in recognizing its mighty utilities to commerce and civilization, Adam Warner was driven to conjoin with it not only an exten- sive knowledge of languages, but many of the rudest tasks of the mechanist's art ; and chemistry was, in some of his researches, summoned to his aid. By degrees, the tyranny that a man's genius exercises over his life abstracted him from all external objects. He had loved his wife tenderly, but his rapid waste of his fortune in the purchase of instruments and books, then enormously dear, and the neglect of all things not centred in the hope to be the benefactor of the world, had ruined her health and broken her heart. Happily Warner perceived not her decay till just before her death ; happily he never conceived its cause ; for her soul was wrapped in his. She revered, and loved, and never upbraided him. Her heart was the martyr to his mind. Had she foreseen, the future destinies of her daughter it might have been otherwise. She could have re- monstrated with the father, though not with the husband. But, fortunately, as it seemed to her, she (a Frenchwoman by birth) had passed her youth in the service of Margaret of An- jou, and that haughty queen, who was equally warm to friends and inexorable to enemies, had. on her attendant's marriage, promised to ensure the fortunes of her offspring. Sibyll, at the age of nine, between seven and eight years before the date the story enters on, and two years prior to the fatal field of Teuton, which gave to Edward the throne of England, had been admitted among the young girls whom the custom of the 52 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. day ranked amidst the attendants of the Queen; and in the interval that elapsed before Margaret was obliged to dismiss her to her home, her mother died. She died without foresee- ing the reverses that were to ensue, in the hope that her child, at least, was nobly provided for, and not without the belief (for there is so much faith in love!) that her husband's researches, which in his youth had won favor of the Protector-duke of Gloucester, the most enlightened prince of his time, would be crowned at last with the rewards and favors of his king. That precise period was, indeed, the fairest that had yet dawned upon the philosopher. Henry VI., slowly recovering from one of those attacks which passed for imbecility, had condescended to amuse himself with various conversations with Warner, urged to it first by representations of the unholy nature of the student's pursuits ; and, having satisfied his mind of his learned subject's orthodoxy, the poor monarch had taken a sort of interest, not so much, perhaps, in the objects of Warner's oc- cupations, as in that complete absorption from actual life which characterized the subject, and gave him in this a melancholy resemblance to the King. While the House of Lancaster was on the throne, his wife felt that her husband's pursuits would be respected, and his harmless life safe from the fierce preju- dices of the people; and the good Queen would not suffer him to starve, when the last mark was expended in devices how to benefit his country and in these hopes the woman died! A year afterwards, all at court was in disorder armed men supplied the service of young girls, and Sibyll, with a purse of broad pieces, soon converted into manuscripts, was sent back to her father's desolate home. There had she grown a flower amidst ruins, with no companion of her own age, and left to bear, as her sweet and affectionate nature well did, the con- trast between the luxuries of a court and the penury of a hearth which, year after year, hunger and want came more and more sensibly to invade. Sibyll had been taught, even as a child, some accomplish- ments little vouchsafed, then, to either sex she could read and write; and Margaret had not so wholly lost, in the sterner north, all reminiscence of the accomplishments that graced her father's court, as to neglect the education of those brought up in her household. Much attention was given to music, for it soothed the dark hours of King Henry; the blazoning of mis- sals or the lives of saints, with the labors of the loom, were also among the resources of Sibyll's girlhood, and by these last she had, from time to time, served to assist the maintenance of the THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 53 little family of which, child though she was, she became the actual head. But latterly, that is, for the last few weeks, even these sources failed her ; for as more peaceful times allowed her neighbors to interest themselves in the affairs of others, the dark reports against Warner had revived. His name became a byword of horror; the lonely light at the lattice burning till midnight, against all the early usages and habits of the day; the dark smoke of the furnace, constant in summer as in win- ter, scandalized the religion of the place far and near, and find- ing, to their great dissatisfaction, that the King's government and the Church interfered not for their protection, and unable themselves to volunteer any charges against the recluse (for the cows in the neighborhood remained provokingly healthy), they came suddenly, and, as it were, by one of those common sympathies which in all times the huge persecutor we call the PUBLIC manifests, when a victim is to be crushed, to the pious resolution of starving where they could not burn. Why buy the quaint devilries of the wizard's daughter? No luck could come of it. A missal blazoned by such hands, an embroidery worked at such a loom, was like the Lord's Prayer read back- wards. And one morning when poor Sibyll stole out as usual to vend a month's labor, she was driven from door to door with oaths and curses. Though Sibyll's heart was gentle, she was not without a cer- tain strength of mind. She had much of the patient devotion of her mother, much of the quiet fortitude of her father's na- ture. If not comprehending to the full the loftiness of War- ner's pursuits, she still anticipated from them an ultimate suc- cess which reconciled her to all temporary sacrifices. The violent prejudices, the ignorant cruelty, thus brought to bear against existence itself, filled her with sadness, it is true, but not unmixed with that contempt for her persecutors, which, even in the meekest tempers, takes the sting from despair. But hunger pressed. Her father was nearing the goal of his discoveries, and in a moment of that pride which in its very contempt for appearances braves them all, Sibyll had stolen out to the pastime-ground with what result has been seen al- ready. Having thus accounted for the penury of the mansion, we return to its owner. Warner was contemplating with evident complacency and delight the model of a machine which had occupied him for many years, and which he imagined he was now rapidly bring- ing to perfection. His hands and face were grimed with the smoke of his. forge, and his hair and beard, neglected as usual, 54 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. looked parched and dried up, as if with the constant fever that burned within. "Yes yes," he muttered "How they will bless me for this! What Roger Bacon only suggested I shall accomplish! How it will change the face of the globe! What wealth it will bestow on ages yet unborn!" "My father," said the gentle voice of Sibyll "my poor father, thou hast not tasted bread to-day." Warner turned, and his face relaxed into a tender expres- sion as he saw his daughter. "My child," he said, pointing to his model, "the time comes when // will live! Patience patience!" "And who would not have patience with thee, and/i?r thee, father?" said Sibyll, with enthusiasm speaking on every feat- ure. "What is the valor of knight and soldier dull statues of steel to thine? Thou, with thy naked breast, confronting all dangers sharper than the lance and glaive, and all " "All to make England great!" "Alas! what hath England merited from men like thee! The people, more savage than their rulers, clamor for the stake, the gibbet, and the dungeon, for all who strive to make them wiser. Remember the death of Bolingbroke : * a wizard, be- cause, O father! because his pursuits were thine!" Adam, startled by this burst, looked at his daughter with more attention than he usually evinced to any living thing: "Child," he said, at length, shaking his head in grave reproof, "Let me not say to thee, 'O thou of little faith!' There were no heroes were there no martyrs!" "Do not frown on me, father," said Sibyll sadly; "let the world frown not thou ! Yes, thou art right. Thou must tri- umph at last." And suddenly her whole countenance, chang- ing into a soft and caressing endearment, she added: "But now come, father. Thou hast labored well for this morning. We shall have a little feast for thee in a few minutes. And the stranger is recovered, thanks to our leechcraft. He is impa- tient to see and thank thee." "Well well, I come, Sibyll," said the student, with a regret- ful, lingering look at his model, and a sigh to be disturbed from its contemplation; and he slowly quitted the room with Sibyll. "But not, dear sir and father, not thus, not quite thus will you go to the stranger, well-born like yourself. Oh, no! your Sibyll is proud, you know proud of her father." So saying, * A mathematician accused as an accomplice, in sorcery, of Eleanor Cobham, wife of Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, and hanged upon that charge. His contemporary (Wil- liam Wyrcestre) highly extols his learning. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 55 she clung to him fondly, and drew him mechanically, for he had sunk into a revery, and heeded her not, into an adjoining chamber in which he slept. The comforts even of the gentry, of men with the acres that Adam had sold, were then few and scanty. The nobles and the wealthy merchants, indeed, boasted many luxuries that excelled in gaud and pomp those of their equals now. But the class of the gentry who had very little money at command were contented with hardships from which a menial of this day would revolt. What they could spend in luxury was usually consumed in dress and the table they were obliged to keep. These were the essentials of dig- nity. Of furniture there was a woeful stint. In many houses, e-ven of knights, an edifice large enough to occupy a quadran- gle was composed more of offices than chambers inhabited by the owners ; rarely boasting more than three beds, which were bequeathed in wills as articles of great value. The reader must, therefore, not be surprised that Warner's abode con- tained but one bed, properly so called, and that was now de- voted to Nevile. The couch which served the philosopher for bed was a wretched pallet, stretched on the floor, stuffed with straw, with rough say or serge, and an old cloak for the cover- ings. His daughter's, in a room below, was little better. The walls were bare ; the whole house boasted but one chair, which was in Marmaduke's chamber stools, or settles, of rude oak, elsewhere supplied their place. There was no chimney, except in Nevile's room, and in that appropriated to the forge. To this chamber, then, resembling a dungeon in appearance, Sibyll drew the student, and here, from an old worm-eaten chest, she carefully extracted a gown of brown velvet, which his father, Sir Armine, had bequeathed to him by will, faded, it is true, but still such as the low-born wore not,* trimmed with fur, and clasped with a brooch of gold. And then she held the ewer and basin to him, while with the docility of a child he washed the smoke-soil from his hands and face. It was touching to see in this, as in all else, the reverse of their natural position the child tending and heeding, and protect- ing, as it were, the father; and that not from his deficiency, but his greatness ; not because he was below the vulgar intelli- gences of life, but above them. And certainly, when, his pa- triarchal hair and beard smoothed into order, and his velvet gown flowing in majestic folds, around a figure tall and com- manding, Sibyll followed her father into Marmaduke's cham- ber, she might well have been proud of his appearance. And * By the sumptuary laws only a knight was entitled to wear velvet. 56 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. she felt the innocent vanity of her sex and age, in noticing the half-start of surprise with which Marmaduke regarded his host, and the tone of respect in which he proffered him his saluta- tions and thanks. Even his manner altered to Sibyll ; it grew less frank and affable, more courtly and reserved ; and when Madge came to announce that the refection was served, it was with a blush of shame, perhaps, at his treatment of the poor gittern-player on the pastime ground, that the Nevile extended his left hand, for his right was still not at his command, to lead the damsel to the hall. This room, which was divided from the entrance by a screen, and, except a small closet that adjoined it, was the only sitting-room in a day when, as now on the Continent, no shame was attached to receiving visitors in sleeping apart- ments, was long and low; an old, and very narrow table, that might have feasted thirty persons, stretched across a dais raised upon a stone floor; there was no rere-dosse, or fireplace, which does not seem at that day to have been an absolute necessity in the houses of the metropolis, and its suburbs; its place being supplied by a movable brazier; three oak stools were placed in state at the board, and to one of these Marmaduke, in a silence unusual to him, conducted the fair Sibyll. "You will forgive our lack of provisions," said Warner, re- lapsing into the courteous fashion of his elder days, which the unwonted spectacle of a cold capon, a pasty, and a flask of wine, brought to his mind by a train of ideas that actively glided by the intervening circumstances which ought to have filled him with astonishment at the sight, "for my Sibyll is but a young housewife, and I am a simple scholar, of few wants." "Verily," answered Marmaduke, finding his tongue as he attacked the pasty, "I see nothing that the most dainty need complain of; fair mistress Sibyll, your dainty lips will not, I trow, refuse me the waisall. * To you also, worshipful sir! Gramercy! it seems that there is nothing which better stirs a man 's appetite than a sick bed. And, speaking thereof, deign to inform me, kind sir, how long I have been indebted to your hospitality. Of a surety, this pasty hath an excellent flavor, and if not venison, is something better. But to return, it amazes me much to think what time hath passed since my en- counter with the robbers." "They were robbers, then, who so cruelly assailed thee?" observed Sibyll. "Have I not said so surely, who else? And, as I was re- * /,<., Waissail or wassal ; the spelling of the time is adopted in the text, THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 5") marking to your worshipful father, whether this mischance happened hours, days, months, or years ago, beshrew me if I can venture the smallest guess." Master Warner smiled, and observing that some reply was expected from him, said: "Why, indeed, young sir, I fear I am almost as oblivious as yourself. It was not yesterday that you arrived, nor the day before, nor Sibyll, my child, how long is it since this gentleman hath been our guest?" "This is the fifth day," answered Sibyll. "So long! and I like a senseless log by the wayside, when others are pushing on bit and spur, to the great road. I pray you, sir, tell me the news of the morning. The Lord Warwick is still in London the Court still at the Tower?" Poor Adam, whose heart was with his model, and who had now satisfied his temperate wants, looked somewhat bewildered and perplexed by this question: "The King, save 'his honored head," said he, inclining his own, -"is, I fear me, always at the Tower since his unhappy detention, but he minds it not, sir he heeds it not; his soul is not on this side Paradise." Sibyll uttered a faint exclamation of fear at this dangerous indiscretion of her father's absence of mind; and, drawing closer to Nevile, she put her hand with touching confidence on his arm, and whispered: "You will not repeat this, sir! . My father lives only in his studies, and he has never known but one king!" Marmaduke turned his bold face to the maid, and pointed to the salt-cellar, as he answered in the same tone: "Does the brave man betray his host?" There was a moment's silence. Marmaduke rose. "I fear," said he, ' 'that I must now leave you ; and, while it is yet broad noon, I must indeed be blind if I again miss rny way." This speech suddenly recalled Adam from his meditations, for whenever his kindly and simple benevolence was touched, even his mathematics and his model were forgotten. "No, young sir," said he, "you must not quit us yet; your danger is not over. Exercise may bring fever. Celsus recommends quiet. You must consent to tarry with us a day or two more." "Can you tell me," said the Nevile hesitatingly, "what dis- tance it is to the Temple Gate, or the nearest wharf on the river?" "Two miles, at the least," answered Sibyll. "Two miles! and now I mind me, I have not the accoutre- ments that beseem me. Those hildings have stolen my mantle (which I perceive, by the way, is but a rustic garment, now 58 THE LAST OF THE HARQNS. laid aside for the super-tunic), and my hat and dague, nor have they left even a half-groat to supply their place. Verily, there- fore, since ye permit me to burden your hospitality longer, I will not say ye nay, provided you, worshipful sir, will suffer one of your people to step to the house of one Master Heyford, goldsmith, in the Chepe, and crave one Nicholas Ahvyn, his freedman, to visit me. I can commission him, touching my goods left at mine hostelrie., and learn some other things which it behoves me to know." "Assuredly. Sibyll, tell Simon or Jonas to put himself under our guest's order." Simon or Jonas ! The poor Adam absolutely forgot that Simon and Jonas had quitted the house these six years ! How could he look on the capon, the wine, and the velvet gown trimmed with fur, and not fancy himself back in the heyday of his wealth? Sibyll half-smiled and half-sighed, as she withdrew to con- sult with her sole counsellor, Madge, how the guest's orders were to be obeyed, and how, alas, the board was to be replen- ished for the evening meal. But in both these troubles she was more fortunate than she anticipated. Madge had sold the broken gittern, for musical instruments were then, compara- tively speaking, dear (and this had been a queen's gift), for sufficient to provide decently for some days, and elated herself with the prospect of so much good cheer, she readily consented to be the messenger to Nicholas Alwyn. When, with a light step, and a lighter heart, Sibyll tripped back to the hall, she was scarcely surprised to find the guest alone. Her father, after her departure, had begun to evince much restless perturbation. He answered Marmaduke's que- ries but by abstracted and desultory monosyllables, and seeing his guest at length engaged in contemplating some old pieces of armor hung upon the walls, he stole stealthily and furtively away, and halted not till once more before his be- loved model. Unaware of his departure, Marmaduke, whose back was turned to him, was, as he fondly imagined, enlightening his host with much soldier-like learning as to the old helmets and weapons that graced the hall. "Certes, my host," said he musingly, "that sort of casque, which has not, I opine, been worn this century, had its merits; the visor is less open to the arrows. But, as for these chain suits, they suited only I ven- ture, with due deference, to declare the Wars of the Crusades, where the enemy fought chiefly with dart and scymetar. They THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 59 would be but a sorry defence against the mace and battle- axe; nevertheless they were light for man and horse, and, in some service, especially against foot, might be revived with advantage. Think you not so?" He turned, and saw the arch face of Sibyll. "I crave pardon for my blindness, gentle damsel," said he, in some confusion, "but your father was here anon." "His mornings are so devoted to labor," answered Sibyll, "that he entreats you to pardon his discourtesy. Meanwhile, if you would wish to breathe the air, we have a small garden in the rear"; and so saying, she led the way into the small withdrawing-room, or rather closet, which was her own favor- ite chamber, and which communicated, by another door, with a broad, neglected grass-plot, surrounded by high walls, having a raised terrace in front, divided by a low stone gothic palisade from the green sward. On the palisade sate droopingly, and half-asleep, a solitary peacock; but when Sibyll and the stranger appeared at the door, he woke up suddenly, descended from his height, and, with "a vanity not wholly unlike his young mistress's wish to make the best possible display in the eyes of a guest, spread his plumes broadly in the sun. Sibyll threw him some bread, which she had taken from the table for that purpose: but the proud bird, however hungry, disdained to eat, till he had thor- oughly satisfied himself that his glories had been sufficiently observed. "Poor proud one," said Sibyll, half to herself "thy plumage lasts with thee through all changes." "Like the name of a brave knight," said Marmaduke, who overheard her. "Thou thinkest of the career of arms." "Surely I am a Nevile!" "Is there no fame to be won but that of a warrior?" "Not that I weet of, or heed for, Mistress Sibyll." "Thinkest thou it were nothing to be a minstrel, who gave delight? A scholar, who dispelled darkness?" "For the scholar! certes, I respect holy Mother Church, which they tell me alone produces that kind of wonder with full safety to the soul, and that only in the higher prelates and dignitaries. For the minstrel, I love him I would fight for him I would give him at need the last penny in my gipsire. But it is better to do deeds than to sing them." Sibyll smiled, and the smile perplexed, and half-displeased the young adventurer. But the fire of the young man had its charm. 60 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. By degrees, as they walked to and fro the neglected terrace, their talk flowed free and familiar; for Marmailuke, like most young men, full of himself, was joyous with the happy egotism of a frank and careless nature. He told his young confidante of a day his birth, his history, his hopes, and fears; and in return he learned, in answer to the questions he addressed to her, so much, at least, of her past and present life, as the reverses of her father, occasioned by costly studies; her own brief sojourn at the court of Margaret ; and the solitude, if not the struggles, in which her youth was consumed. It would have been a sweet and grateful sight to some kindly bystander to hear these pleas- ant communications between two young persons so unfriended, and to imagine that hearts thus opened to each other might unite in one. But Sibyll, though she listened to him with interest, and found a certain sympathy in his aspirations, was ever and anon secretly comparing him to one, the charm of whose voice still lingered in her ears; and her intellect, culti- vated and acute, detected in Marmaduke deficient education, and that limited experience whu.h is the folly and the happi- ness of the young. On the other hand, whatever admiration Nevile might con- ceive was strangely mixed with surprise, and, it might almost be said, with fear. This girl, with her wise converse and her child's face, was a character so thoroughly new to him. Her language was superior to what he had ever heard, the words more choice, the current more flowing was that to be attrib- uted to her court-training, or her learned parentage? "Your father, fair mistress," said he, rousing himself in one of the pauses of their conversation "your father, then, is a mighty scholar, and I suppose knows Latin like English?" "Why, a hedge priest pretends to know Latin," said Sibyll, smiling; "my father is one of the six men living who have learned the Greek and the Hebrew." "Gramercy!" cried Marmaduke, crossing himself. "That is awsome indeed ! He has taught you his lere in the tongues?' ' "Nay, I know but my own and the French; my mother was a native of France." "The Holy Mother be praised!" said Marmaduke, breathing more freely; "for French I have heard my father and uncle say is a language fit for gentles and knights, specially those who come, like the Neviles, from Norman stock. This Marga- ret of Anjou didst thou love her well, Mistress Sibyll?" "Nay," answered Sibyll, "Margaret commanded awe, but she scarcely permitted love from an inferior; and though g r r THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 6l clous and well-governed when she so pleased, it was but to those whom she wished to win. She cared not for the heart, if the hand or the brain could not assist her. But, poor queen, who could blame her for this? her nature was turned from its milk; and, when, more lately, I have heard how many she trusted most have turned against her, I rebuked myself that " "Thou wert not by her side!" added the Nevile, observing her pause, and with the generous thought of a gentleman and a soldier. "Nay, I meant not that so expressly, Master Nevile, but rather that I had ever murmured at her haste and shrewdness of mood. By her side, said you? Alas! I have a nearer duty at home; my father is all in this world to me! Thou knowest not, Master Nevile, how it flatters the weak to think there is some one they can protect. But eno' of myself. Thou wilt go to the stout Earl, thou wilt pass to the court, thou wilt win the gold spurs, and thou wilt fight with the strong hand, and leave others to cozen with the keen head." "She is telling my fortune!" muttered Marmaduke, cross- ing himself again. "The gold spurs I thank thee, Mistress Sibyll! will it be on the battlefield that I shall be knighted, and by whose hand?" Sibyll glanced her bright eye at the questioner, and seeing his wistful face, laughed outright. "What, thinkest thou, Master Nevile, I can read thee all riddles without my sieve and my shears?" "They are essentials, then, Mistress Sibyll?" said the Nevile, with blunt simplicity. "I thought ye more learned damozels might tell by the palm, or the why dost thou laugh at me?" "Nay," answered Sibyll, composing herself. "It is my right to be angered. Sith thou wouldst take me to be a witch, all that I can tell thee of thy future (she added touchingly) is from that which I have seen of thy past. Thou hast a brave heart, and a gentle ; thou hast a frank tongue, and a courteous ; and these qualities make men honored and loved except they have the gifts which turn all into gall, and bring oppression for honor, and hate for love." "And those gifts, gentle Sibyll?" "Are my father's," answered the girl, with another and a sadder change in her expressive countenance. And the con- versation flagged till Marmaduke, feeling more weakened by his loss of blood than he had conceived it possible, retired to his chamber to repose himself. 62 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. CHAPTER VI. MASTER MARMADUKE NEVILE FEARS FOR THE SPIRITUAL WEAl OF HIS HOST AND HOSTESS. BEFORE the hour of supper, which was served at six o'clock, Nicholas Alwyn arrived at the house indicated to him by Madge. Marmaduke, after a sound sleep, which was little flattering to Sibyll's attractions, had descended to the hall in search of the maiden and his host, and finding no one, had sauntered in ex- treme weariness and impatience into the little withdrawing closet, where, as it was now dusk, burned a single candle in a melancholy and rusted scone; standing by the door that opened on the garden he amused himself with watching the peacock, when his friend, following Madge into the chamber, tapped him on the shoulder. "Well, Master Nevile. Ha! by St. Thomas, what has chanced to thee? Thine arm swathed up, thy locks shorn, thy face blanched! My honored foster-brother, thy Westmoreland blood seems over-hot for Cockaigne!" "If so, there are plenty in this city of cut-throats to let out the surplusage," returned Marmaduke; and he briefly related his adventure to Nicholas. When he had done, the kind trader reproached himself for having suffered Marmaduke to find his way alone. "The sub- urbs abound with these miscreants," said he; "and there is more danger in a night-walk near London, than in the loneliest glens of green Sherwood more shame to the city! An' I be Lord Mayor, one of these days, I will look to it better. But our civil wars make men hold human life very cheap, and there's parlous little care from the great, of the blood and limbs of the wayfarers. But war makes thieves and peace hangs them! Only wait till I manage affairs!" "Many thanks to thee, Nicholas," returned the Nevile; "but foul befall me if ever I seek protection from sheriff or mayor! A man who cannot keep his own life with his own right hand, merits well to hap-loseit; and I, for one, shall think ill of the day when an Englishman looks more to the laws than his good arm for his safety ; but, letting this pass, I be- seech thee to avise me if my Lord Warwick be still in the city?" "Yes, marry, I know that by the hostelries, which swarm with his badges, and the oxen, that go in scores to the sham- bles! It is a shame to the Estate to see one subject so great, THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 63 and it bodes no good to our peace. The Earl is preparing the most magnificent embassage that ever crossed the salt seas I would it were not to the French, for our interests lie contrary; but thou hast some days yet to rest here and grow stout, for I would not have thee present thyself with a visage of chalk to a man who values his kind mainly by their thews and their sinews. Moreover, thou shouldst send for the tailor, and get thee trimmed to the mark. It would be a long step in thy path to promotion, an' the Earl would take thee in his train ; and the gaudier thy plumes, why the better chance for thy flight. Wherefore, since thou sayest they are thus friendly to thee under this roof, bide yet awhile peacefully I will send thee the mercer and the clothier and the tailor to divert thy im- patience. And, as these fellows are greedy, my gentle and dear Master Nevile, may I ask, without offence, how thou art pro- vided?" "Nay, nay, I have money at the hostelrie, an' thou wilt send me my mails. For the rest I like thy advice, and will take it." "Good!" answered Nicholas. "Hem! thou seemest to have got into a poor house a decayed gentleman, I wot, by the slovenly ruin!" "I would that were the worst," replied Marmaduke, solemn- ly, and under his breath, and therewith he repeated to Nicholas the adventure on the pastime ground, the warnings of the tim- brel-girls, and the "awesome" learning and strange pursuits of his host. As for Sibyll, he was evidently inclined to attribute to glamour the reluctant admiration with which she had inspired him. "For," said he, "though I deny not that the maid is passing fair there be many with rosier cheeks, and taller by this hand!" Nicholas listened, at first, with the peculiar expression of shrewd sarcasm which mainly characterized his intelligent face, but his attention grew more earnest before Marmaduke had concluded. "In regard to the maiden," said, he, smiling and shaking his head, "it is not always the handsomest that win us the most while fair Meg went a maying, black Mog got to church and I give thee more reasonable warning than thy timbrel-girls, when, in spite of thy cold language, I bid thee take care of thyself against her attractions ; for, verily, my dear foster- brother, thou must mend, and not mar thy fortune, by thy love matters; and keep thy heart whole for some fair one with marks in her gipsire, whom the Earl may find out for thee. Love and raw pease are two ill things in the porridge-pot, But, 64 THE I,AST OF THE BARONS. tin- father! I mind me now that I have heard of his name, through my friend Master Caxton, the mercer, as one of pro- digious skill in the mathematics. I should like much to see him, and, with thy leave (an 1 he ask me), will tarry to supper. But what are these!" and Nicholas took up one of the illum- inated MSS. which Sibyll had prepared for sale. "By the blood! this is couthly and marvellously blazoned." The book was still in his hand when Sibyll entered. Nicho- las stared at her, as he bowed with a stiff and ungraceful em- barrassment, which often at first did injustice to his bold, clear intellect, and his perfect self-possession in matters of trade or importance. "The first woman face," muttered Nicholas to himself, "I ever saw that had the sense of a man's. And by the rood, what a smile!" "Is this thy friend, Master Nevile?" said Sibyll, with a glance at the goldsmith. "He is welcome. But is it fair and cour- teous, Master Nelwyn " "Alwyn, an' it please you, fair mistress. A humble name, but good Saxon which, I take it, Nelwyn is not," interrupted Nicholas. "Master Alwyn, forgive me; but can I forgive thee so readi- ly for thy espial of my handiwork, without license or leave?" "Yours, comely mistress!" exclaimed Nicholas, opening his eyes, and unheeding the gay rebuke "why, this is a master- hand. My Lord Scales nay, the Earl of Worcester himself, hath scarce a finer in all his amassment." "Well, I forgive thy fault for thy flattery; and I pray thee, in my father's name, to stay and sup with thy friend." Nicholas bowed low, and still riveted his eyes on the book with such open admiration, that Marmaduke thought it right to excuse his abstraction ; but there was something in that admira- tion which raised the spirits of Sibyll, which gave her hope when hope was well-nigh gone, and she became so vivacious, so debonair, so charming, in the flow of a gayety natural to her, and very uncommon with English maidens, but which she took partly, perhaps, from her French blood, and partly from the ex- ample of girls and maidens of French extraction in Margaret's court, that Nicholas Alwyn thought he had never seen any one so irresistible. Madge having now served the evening meal, put in her head to announce it, and Sibyll withdrew to sum- mon her father. "I trust he will not tarry too long, for I am sharp set!" muttered Marmaduke, "What thinkest thou of the damozel?" THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 65 "Marry," answered Alwyn thoughtfully, "I pity and marvel at her. There is eno* in her to furnish forth twenty court beauties. But what good can so much wit and cunning do to an honest maiden?" "That is exactly my own thought," said Marmaduke; and both the young men sunk into silence till Sibyll re-entered with her father. To the surprise of Marmaduke, Nicholas Alwyn, whose less gallant manner he was inclined to ridicule, soon contrived to rouse their host from his lethargy, and to absorb all the notice of Sibyll; and the surprise was increased when he saw that his friend appeared not unfamiliar with those abstruse and mysti- cal sciences in which Adam was engaged. "What!" said Adam. "You know, then, my deft and worthy friend, Master Caxton! He hath seen notable things abroad " "Which he more than hints," said Nicholas, "will lower the value of those manuscripts this fair damozel has so couthly en- riched: and that he hopes, ere long, to show the Englishers how to make fifty, a hundred nay, even five hundred exemplars of the choicest book, in a much shorter time than a scribe would take in writing out two or three score pages in a single copy." "Verily," said Marmaduke, with a smile of compassion, "the poor man must be somewhat demented ; for I opine that the value of such curiosities must be in their rarity and who would care for a book, if five hundred others had precisely the same? allowing always, good Nicholas, for thy friend's vaunt- ing and over-crowing. Five hundred! By'r lady, there would be scarcely five hundred fools in merry England to waste good nobles on spoilt rags, especially while bows and mail are so dear." "Young gentleman," said Adam rebukingly, "meseemeth that thou wrongest our age and country, to the which, if we have but peace and freedom, I trust the birth of great dis- coveries is ordained. Certes, Master Alwyn," he added, turn- ing to the goldsmith, "this achievement may be readily per- formed, and hath existed, I heard an ingenious Fleming say, years ago, for many ages amongst a strange people * known to the Venetians ! But dost thou think there is much appetite among those who govern the state to lend encouragement to such matters?" "My master serves my Lord Hastings, the King's Chamber- lain, and my lord has often been pleased to converse with me, * Query, the Chinese ? 66 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. so that I venture to say from my knowledge of his arfection tc all excellent craft and lere, that whatever will tend to make men wiser will have his countenance and favor with the King." "That is it that is it ! " exclaimed Adam, rubbing his hands. "My invention shall not die!" "And that invention " "Is one that will multiply exemplars of books without hands; works of craft without 'prentice or journeyman; will move wagons and litters without horses; will direct ships without sails; will but, alack! it is not yet complete, and, for want of means, it never may be." Sibyll still kept her animated countenance fixed on Alwyn, whose intelligence she had already detected, and was charmed with the profound attention with which he listened. But her eye glancing from his sharp features to the handsome, honest face of the Nevile, the contrast was so forcible, that she could not restrain her laughter, though, the moment after, a keen pang shot through her heart. The worthy Marmaduke had been in the act of conveying his cup to his lips the cup stood arrested midway, his jaws dropped, his eyes opened to their widest extent, an expression of the most evident consternation and dismay spoke in every feature, and, when he heard the merry laugh of Sibyll, he pushed his stool from her as far as he well could, and sur- veyed her with a look of mingled fear and pity. "Alas! thou art sure my poor father is a wizard now?" "Pardie!" answered the Nevile. "Hath he not said so? Hath he not spoken of wagons without horses, ships without sails? And is not all this what every dissour and jongleur tells us of in his stories of Merlin? Gentle maiden," he added earnestly, drawing nearer to her, and whispering in a voice of much simple pathos, "thou art young, and I owe thee much. Take care of thyself. Such wonders and derring-do are too solemn for laughter." "Ah!" answered Sibyll, rising, "I fear they are. How can I expect the people to be wiser than thou, or their hard natures kinder in their judgment than thy kind heart ?" Her low and melancholy voice went to the heart thus appealed to. Marma- duke also rose, and followed her into the parlor, or withdraw- ing-closet, while Adam and the goldsmith continued to converse (though Alwyn's eye followed the young hostess), the former appearing perfectly unconscious of the secession of his other listeners. But Alwyn's attention occasionally wandered, and he soon contrived to draw his host into the parlor. When Nicholas rose, at last, to depart, he beckoned SibylJ THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 67 aside: "Fair mistress," said he, with some awkward hesitation, "forgive a plain, blunt tongue ; but ye of the better birth are not always above aid, even from such as I am. If you would sell these blazoned manuscripts, I can not only obtain you a noble purchaser, in my Lord Scales, or in my Lord Hastings, an equally ripe scholar, but it may be the means of my procuring a suitable patron for your father ; and, in these times, the scholar must creep under the knight's manteline." "Master Alwyn," said Sibyll, suppressing her tears, "it was for my father's sake that these labors were wrought. We are poor and friendless. Take the manuscripts, and sell them as thou wilt, and God and St. Mary requite thee!" "Your father is a great man," said Alwyn, after a pause. "But, were he to walk the streets, they would stone him," replied Sibyll, with a quiet bitterness. Here the Nevile, carefully shunning the magician, who, in the nervous excitement produced by the conversation of a mind less uncongenial than he had encountered for many years, seemed about to address him here, I say, the Nevile chimed in: "Hast thou no weapon but thy bludgeon? Dear foster- brother, I fear for thy safety." "Nay, robbers rarely attack us mechanical folk; and I know my way better than thou. I shall find a boat near York House, so pleasant night and quick cure to thee, honored foster-brother: I will send the tailor and other craftsmen to-morrow." "And at the same time," whispered Marmaduke, accompa- nying his friend to the door, "send me a breviary, just to patter an ave or so. This gray-haired carle puts my heart in a trem- ble. Moreover, buy me a gittern a brave one for the dam- ozel. She is too proud to take money, and, 'fore heaven, I have small doubts the old wizard could turn my hose into nobles an" he had a mind for such gear. Wagons without horses ships without sails, quotha!" As soon as Alwyn had departed, Madge appeared with the final refreshment called "the Wines," consisting of spiced hip- pocras and confections, of the former of which the Nevile partook in solemn silence. CHAPTER VII. THERE IS A ROD FOR THE BACK OF EVERY FOOL WHO WOULD BE WISER THAN HIS GENERATION. THE next morning, when Marmaduke descended to the hall, Madge, accosting him on the threshold, informed him that 68 Till. 1 \M OK THE UARONS. Mistress Sibyll was unwell, and kept her chamber, and that Master Warner was never visible much before noon. He was, therefore, prayed to take his meal alone. "Alone" was a word peculiarly unwelcome to Marmaduke Nevile, who was an ani- mal thoroughly social and gregarious. He managed, there- fore, to detain the old servant, who, besides the liking a skil- ful leech naturally takes to a thriving patient, had enough of her sex about her to be pleased with a comely face and a t; .iik, good-humored voice. Moreover, Marmaduke, wishing to satisfy his curiosity, turned the conversation upon Warner and Sibyll, a theme upon which the old woman was well dis- posed to be garrulous. He soon learned the poverty of the mansion, and the sacrifice of the gittern ; and his generosity and compassion were busily engaged in devising some means to requite the hospitality he had received without wounding the pride of his host, when the arrival of his mails, together with the visits of the tailor and mercer sent to him by Alvvyn, di- verted his thoughts into a new channel. Between the comparative merits of gowns and surcoats, broad-toed shoes and pointed, some time was disposed of with much cheerfulness and edification ; but when his visitors had retired, the benevolent mind of the young guest again recurred to the penury of his host. Placing his marks before him on the table in the little withdrawing parlor, he began counting them over, and putting aside the sum he meditated devoting to Warner's relief. "But how," he muttered "how to get him to take the gold. I know, by myself, what a gentleman and a knight's son must feel at the proffer of alms pardie! I would as lief Alwyn had struck me as offered me his gipsire the ill-mannered, affectionate fellow! I must think I must think " And while still thinking, the door softly opened, and Warner himself, in a high state of abstraction and revery, stalked noiselessly into the room, on his way to the garden, in which, when musing over some new spring for his invention, he was wont to peripatize. The sight of the gold on the table struck full on the philosopher's eyes, and waked him at once from his revery. That gold oh, what- precious instruments, what learned manuscripts it could purchase! That gold, it was the breath of life to his model ! He walked deliberately up to the table, and laid his hand on one of the little heaps. Marmaduke drew back his stool, and stared at him with open mouth. "Young man, what wantest thou with all this gold?" said THE L>ST OF THE BARONS. 6$ Adam, in a petulant, reproachful tone. ' 'Put it up put it up! Never let the poor see gold ; it tempts them, sir it tempts them." And so saying, the student abruptly turned away his eyes, and moved towards the garden. Marmaduke rose and put himself in Adam's way: "Honored sir," said the young man, "you say justly what want I with all this gold? The only gold a young man should covet is eno' to suffice for the knight's spurs to his heels. If, without offence, you would that is ehem! I mean, Gra- mercy! I shall never say it, but I believe my father owed your father four marks, and he bade me repay them. Here, sir!" He held out the glittering coins; the philosopher's hand closed on them as the fish's maw closes on the bait. Adam burst into a laugh, that sounded strangely weird and unearthly upon Marmaduke's startled ear. "All this forme!" he exclaimed. "For me! No no! Not for ie, for IT I take it I take it, sir! I will pay it back with large usury. Come to me this day year, when this world will be a new world, and Adam Warner will be ha ! hai Kind Heaven, I thank thee!" Suddenly turning away, the philosopher strode through the hall, opened the front door, and escaped into the street. "By'r Lady!" said Marmaduke, slowly recovering his sur- prise, "I need not have been so much at a loss; the old gentle- man takes to my gold as kindly as if it were mother's milk. 'Fore Heaven, mine host's laugh is a ghastly thing!" So soliloquizing, he prudently put up the rest of his money, and locked his mails. As time went on, the young man became exceedingly weary of his own company. Sibyll still withheld her appearance: the gloom of the old hall, the uncultivated sadness of the lonely garden, preyed upon his spirits. At length, impatient to get a view of the world without, he mounted a high stool in the hall, and so contrived to enjoy the prospect which the unglazed wicker lattice, deep set in the wall, afforded. But the scene without was little more animated than that within all was so deserted in the neighborhood ! The shops mean and scattered, the thoroughfare almost desolate. At last, he heard a shout, or rather hoot, at a distance ; and, turning his attention whence it proceeded, he beheld a figure emerge from an alley opposite the casement with a sack under one arm, and several books heaped under the other. At his heels followed a train of ragged boys shouting and hallooing: "The wizard ! the wiz- ard! Ah! Bah! The old devil's-kin!" At this cry the dull 7O THE LAST OF THE BARONS. neighborhood seemed suddenly to burst forth into life. From the casements and thresholds of every house curious faces emerged, and many voices of men and women joined, in deeper li i^s, with the shrill tenor of the choral urchins: "The wiz- ard! the wizard! out at daylight!" The person thus stigma- tized, as he approached the house, turned his face, with an ex- pression of wistful perplexity, from side to side. His lips moved convulsively, and his face was very pale, but he spoke not. And now, the children seeing him near his refuge, became more outrageous. They placed themselves menacingly before him, they pulled his robe; they even struck at him; and one, bolder than the rest, jumped up and plucked his beard. At this last insult Adam Warner, for it was he, broke silence; but such was the sweetness of his disposition that it was rather with pity than reproof in his voice that he said : "Fie little one! I fear me thine own age will have small honor if thou mockest mature years in me." This gentleness only served to increase the audacity of his persecutors who now, momentarily augmenting, presented a for- midable obstacle to his further progress. Perceiving that he could not advance without offensive measures on his own part, the poor scholar halted; and looking at the crowd with mild dignity he asked: "What means this, my children? How have I injured you?" "The wizard the wizard!" was the only answer he received. Adam shrugged his shoulders, and strode on with so sudden a step, that one of the smaller children, a curly-headed, laugh- ing rogue of about eight years old, was thrown down at his feet, and the rest gave way. But the poor man, seeing one of his foes thus fallen, instead of pursuing his victory, again paused, and, forgetful of the precious burdens he carried, let drop trie sack and books, and took up the child in his arms. On seeing their companion in the embrace of the wizard, a simultaneous cry of horror broke from the assemblage: "He is going to curse poor Tim!" "My child! my boy!" shrieked a woman, from one of the casements: "Let go my child!" On his part, the boy kicked and shrieked lustily, as Adam, bending his noble face tenderly over him, said: "Thou art not hurt, child! Poor boy! thinkest thou I would harm thee?" While he spoke, a storm of missiles mud, dirt, sticks, bricks, stones, from the enemy, that had now fallen back in the rear, burst upon him. A stone struck him on the shoulder. Then THE LAST OF THE BARONS. ;t his face changed; an angry gleam shot from his deep, calm eyes; he put down the child, and turning steadily to the grown people at the windows, said: "Ye train your children ill " picked up his sack and books, sighed as he saw the latter stained by the mire, which he wiped with his long sleeve, and too proud to show fear, slowly made for his door. Fortunately Sibyll had heard the clamor, and was ready to admit her father, and close the door upon the rush which instantaneously fol- lowed his escape. The baffled rout set up a yell of wrath, and the boys were now joined by several foes more formidable from the adjacent houses. Assured in their own minds that some terrible execration had been pronounced upon the limbs and body of Master Tim, who still continued bellowing and howling, probably from the excitement of finding himself raised to the dignity of a martyr, the pious neighbors poured forth, with oaths, and curses, and such weapons as they could seize in haste, to storm the wizard's fortress. From his casement Marmaduke Nevile had espied all that had hitherto passed, and though indignant at the brutality of the persecutors, he had thought it by no means unnatural. "If men, gentlemen born, will read uncanny books, and resolve to be wizards, why they must reap what they sow," was the logical reflection that passed through the mind of that ingenuous youth ; but when he now perceived the arrival of more impor- tant allies : when stones began to fly through the wicker lat- tices ; when threats of setting fire to the house and burning the sorcerer, who muttered spells over innocent little boys, were heard, seriously increasing in depth and loudness, Marmaduke felt his chivalry called forth, and, with some difficulty, opening the rusty wicket in the casement, he exclaimed: "Shame on you, my countrymen, for thus disturbing, in broad day, a peaceful habitation ! Ye call mine host a wizard. Thus much say I on his behalf: I was robbed and wounded a few nights since in your neighborhood, and in this house alone I found shelter and healing." The unexpected sight of the fail young face of Marmaduke Nevile, and the healthful sound of his clear ringing voice, produced a momentary effect on the besiegers, when one of them, a sturdy baker, cried out: "Heed him not, he is a gob- lin! Those devil-mongers can bake ye a dozen such every moment, as deftly as I can draw loaves from the oven!" This speech turned the tide, and at that instant a savage- looking man, the father of the aggrieved boy, followed by his wife, gesticulating and weeping, ran from his house, waving a 72 THE LAST OF T1IK BARONS. torch in his right hand, his arm bared to the shoulder, and the cry of "Fire the door! " was universal. In fact, the danger now grew imminent: several of the party were already piling straw and fagots against the threshold, and Marmaduke began to think the only chance of life to his host and Sibyll was in flight by some back way, when he beheld a man, clad somewhat in the fashion of a country yeoman, a formid- able knotted club in his hand, pushing his way, with Herculean shoulders, through the crowd, and stationing himself before the threshold and brandishing aloft his formidable weapon, he exclaimed: "What! In the devil's name, do you mean to get yourselves all hanged for riot? Do you think that King Edward is as soft a man as King Henry was, and that he will suffer any one but himself to set fire to people's houses in this way? I dare say you are all right enough on the main, but by the blood of St. Thomas, I will brain the first man who advances a step, by way of preserving the necks of the rest!" "A Robin! a Robin!" cried several of the mob. "Itisour good friend Robin. Hearken to Robin. He is always right!" "Ay, that I am!" quoth the defender; "you know that well enough. If I had my way, the world should be turned upside down, but what the poor folk should get nearer to the sun ! But what I say is this, never go against law, while the law is too strong. And it were a sad thing to see fifty fine fellows trussed up for burning an old wizard. So, be off with you, and let us, at least all that can afford it, make for Master San- croft's hostelrie, and talk soberly over our ale. For little, I trow, will ye work now your blood's up." This address was received with a shout of approbation. The father of the injured child set his broad foot on his torch, the haker chucked up his white cap, the ragged boys yelled out, "A Robin! a Robin!" and in less than two minutes the place was as empty as it had been before the appearance of the scholar. Marmaduke, who, though so ignorant of books, was acute and penetrating in all matters of action, could not help admiring the address and dexterity of the club-bearer; and the danger being now over, withdrew from the casement in search of the inmates of the house. Ascending the stairs, he found on the landing-place, near his room, and by the embrasure of a huge casement which jutted from the wall, Adam and his daughter. Adam was leaning against the wall, with his arms folded, and Sibyll, hanging upon him, was uttering the softest and most soothing words of comfort her tenderness could suggest. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 73 "My child," said the old man, shaking his head sadly, "I shall never again have heart for these studies never. A king's anger I could brave, a priest's malice I could pity; but to find the very children, the young race, for whose sake I have made thee and myself paupers, to find them thus thus " He stopped, for his voice failed him, and the tears rolled down his cheeks. "Come and speak comfort to my father, Master Nevile!" exclaimed Sibyll, "come and tell him that whoever is above the herd, whether, knight or scholar, must learn to despise the hootings that follow it. Father, father, they threw mud and stones at the king as he passed through the streets of London. Thou art not the only one whom this base world misjudges." "Worthy mine host!" said Marmaduke, thus appealed to: "Algates, it were not speaking the truth to tell thee that I think a gentleman of birth and quality should walk the thor- oughfares with a bundle of books under his arm, yet as for the raptril vulgar, the hildings and cullions who hiss one day what they applaud the next, I hold it the duty of every Christian and well-born man to regard them as the dirt on the crossings. Brave soldiers term it no disgrace to receive a blow from a base hind. An' it had been knights and gentles who had in- sulted thee, thou mightest have cause for shame. But a mob of lewd rascallions and squalling infants bah! verily, it is mere matter for scorn and laughter." These philosophical propositions and distinctions did not seem to have their due effect upon Adam. He smiled, how- ever, gently upon his guest, and with a blush over his pale face, said: "lam rightly chastised, good young man; mean was I, methinks, and sordid, to take from thee thy good gold. But thou knowest not what fever burns in the brain of a man who feels that, had he wealth, his knowledge could do great things such things! I thought to repay thee well. Now the frenzy is gone, and I, who an hour agone esteemed myself a puissant sage, sink in mine own conceit to a miserable blinded fool. Child, I am very weak; I will lay me down and rest." So saying, the poor philosopher went his way to his cham- ber, leaning on his daughter's arm. In a few minutes Sibyll rejoined Marmaduke, who had re- turned to the hall, and informed him that her father had lain down awhile to compose himself. "It is a hard fate, sir," said the girl, with a faint smile; "a hard fate, to be banned and accused by the world, only be- cause one has sought to be wiser than the world is." 74 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. "Douce maiden," returned the Nevile; "it is happy for thee that thy sex forbids thee to follow thy father's footsteps, or I should say his hard fate were thy fair warning." Sibyll smiled faintly, and after a pause, said, with a deep blush: "You have been generous to my father; do not misjudge him. He would give his last groat to a starving beggar. But when his passion of scholar and inventor masters him, thou mightest think him worse than miser. It is an over-noble yearning that ofttimes makes him mean." "Nay," answered Marmaduke, touched by the heavy sigh and swimming eyes with which the last words were spoken ; "I have heard Nick Alwyn's uncle, who was a learned monk, declare that he could not constrain himself to pray to be de- livered from temptation, seeing that he might thereby lose an occasion for filching some notable book! For the rest," he added, "you forget how much I owe to Master Warner's hos- pitality." He took her hand with a frank and brotherly gallantry as he spoke; but the touch of that small, soft hand, freely and inno- cently resigned to him, sent a thrill to his heart and again the face of Sibyll seemed to him wondrous fair. There was a long silence, which Sibyll was the first to break. She turned the conversation once more upon Marmaduke's views in life. It had been easy for a deeper observer than he was to see, that under all that young girl's simplicity and sweetness, there lurked something of dangerous ambition. She loved to recall the court-life her childhood had known, though her youth had resigned it with apparent cheerfulness. Like many who are poor and fallen, Sibyll built herself a sad conso- lation out of her pride ; she never forgot that she was well-born. But Marmaduke, in what was ambition, saw but interest in himself, and his heart beat more quickly as he bent his eyes upon that downcast, thoughtful, earnest countenance. After an hour thus passed, Sibyll left her guest, and re- mounted to her father's chamber. She found Adam pacing the narrow floor, and muttering to himself. He turned abruptly as she entered, and said: "Come hither, child; I took four marks from that young man, for I wanted books and instruments, and there are two left see take them back to him." "My father, he will not receive them. Fear not, thou shall repay him some day." "Take them, I say, and if the young man says thee nay, THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 75 why, buy thyself gauds and gear, or let us eat, and drink, and laugh. What else is life made for? Ha! ha! Laugh, child, laugh ! ' ' There was something strangely pathetic in this outburst, this terrible mirth, born of profound dejection. Alas for this guile- less, simple creature, who had clutched at gold with a huck- ster's eagerness who, forgetting the wants of his own child, had employed it upon the service of an Abstract Thought, and whom the scorn of his kind now pierced through all the folds of his close- webbed philosophy and self-forgetful genius. Aw- ful is the duel between MAN and THE AGE in which he lives! For the gain of posterity Adam Warner had martyrized exis- tence and the children pelted him as he passed the streets ! Sibyll burst into tears. "No, my father, no," she sobbed, pushing back the money into his hands. "Let us both starve, rather than you should despond. God and man will bring you justice yet." "Ah!" said the baffled enthusiast, "my whole mind is one sore now. I feel as if I could love man no more. Go, and leave me. Go, I say!" arid the poor student, usually so mild and gall-less, stamped his foot in impotent rage. Sibyll, weep- ing as if her heart would break, left him. Then Adam Warner again paced to and fro restlessly, and again muttered to himself for several minutes. At last he ap- proached his Model the model of a mighty and stupendous invention ; the fruit of no chimerical and visionary science a great Promethean THING, that, once matured, would divide the Old World from the New, enter into all operations of La- bor, animate all the future affairs, color all the practical doc- trines, of active men. He paused before it, and addressed it as if it heard and understood him: "My hair was dark, and my tread was firm, when one night, A THOUGHT passed into my soul a thought to make Matter the gigantic slave of Mind. Out of this thought, thou, not yet born after five-and-twenty years of travail, wert conceived. My coffers were then full, and my name was honored; and the rich respected, and the poor loved me. Art thou a devil, that has tempted me to ruin; or a god that has lifted me above the earth? I am old before my time, my hair is blanched, my frame is bowed, my wealth is gone, my name is sullied. And all, dumb Idol of Iron and the Element, all for thee! I had a wife whom I adored she died ; I forgot her loss in the hope of thy life. I have a child still God and our Lady forgive me she is less dear to me than thou hast been. And now- -"the old man 76 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. ceased abruptly, and folding his arms, looked at the deaf iron sternly, as on a human foe. By his side was a huge hammer, employed in the toils of his forge; suddenly he seized and swung it aloft. One blow, and the labor of years was shattered into pieces! One blow! But the heart failed him, and the hammer fell heavily to the ground. "Ay!" he muttered, "true true; if thou, who hast de- stroyed all else, wert destroyed too, what were left me? Is it a crime to murder Man? a greater crime to murder Thought, which is the life of all men. Come I forgive thee!" And all that day, and all that night, the Enthusiast labored in his chamber, and the next day the remembrance of the hoot- ings, the pelting, the mob, was gone clean gone from his breast. The Model began to move life hovered over its wheels, and the Martyr of Science had forgotten the very world for which he, groaning and rejoicing, toiled ! CHAPTER VIII. MASTER MARMADUKE NEVILE MAKES LOVE AND IS FRIGHT- ENED. FOR two or three days Marmaduke and Sibyll were neces- sarily brought much together. Such familiarity of intercourse was peculiarly rare in that time, when, except perhaps in the dissolute court of Edward IV., the virgins of gentle birth mixed sparingly, and with great reserve, amongst those of op- posite sex. Marmaduke, rapidly recovering from the effect of his wounds, and, without other resource than Sibyll's society, in the solitude of his confinement, was not proof against the temptation which one so young and so sweetly winning brought to his fancy or his senses The poor Sibyll she was no fault- less paragon she was a rare and singular mixture of many op- posite qualities in heart and in intellect ! She was one moment infantine in simplicity and gay playfulness; the next, a shade passed over her bright face, and she uttered some sentence of that bitter and chilling wisdom which the sense of persecution, the cruelty of the world, had already taught her. She was, indeed, at that age when the Child and the Woman are strug- gling against each other. Her character was not yet formed a little happiness would have ripened it at once into the richest bloom of goodness. But sorrow, that ever sharpens the intel- lect, might only serve to sour the heart. Her mind was so in- nately chaste and pure that she knew not the nature of the admiration she excited. But the admiration pleased her as it fHE LAST OF THE BARONS. ^ pleases some young child ; she was vain then, but it was an infant's vanity, not a woman's. And thus, from innocence itself, there was a fearlessness, a freedom, a something endear- ing and familiar in her manner, which might have turned a wiser head than Marmaduke Nevile's. And this the more, because, while liking her young guest, confiding in him, raised in her own esteem by his gallantry, enjoying that intercourse of youth with youth, so unfamiliar to her, and surrendering her- self the more to its charm from the joy that animated her spir- its, in seeing that her father had forgotten his humiliation, and returned to his wonted labors she yet knew not for the hand- some Nevile one sentiment that approached to love. Her mind was so superior to his own, that she felt almost as if older in years, and in their talk her rosy lips preached to him in grave advice. On the landing, by Marmaduke's chamber, there was a large oriel casement jutting from the wall. It was only glazed at the upper part, and that most imperfectly, the lower part being closed at night, or in inclement weather, with rude shut- ters. The recess formed by this comfortless casement an- swered, therefore, the purpose of a balcony ; it commanded a full view of the vicinity without, and gave to those who might be passing by the power also of indulging their own curiosity by a view of the interior. Whenever he lost sight of Sibyll, and had grown weary of the peacock, this spot was Marmaduke's favorite haunt. It diverted him, poor youth, to look out of the window upon the livelier world beyond. The place, it is true, was ordinarily deserted, but still the spires and turrets of London were al- ways discernible and they were something. Accordingly, in this embrasure stood Marmaduke, when one morning Sibyll, coming from her father's room, joined him. "And what, Master Nevile," said Sibyll, with a malicious yet charming smile, "what claimed thy meditations? Some misgiving as to the trimming of thy tunic, or the length of thy shoon?" "Nay," returned Marmaduke gravely, "such thoughts, though not without their importance in the mind of a gentle- man, who would not that his ignorance of court delicacies should commit him to the japes of hjs equals, were not at that moment uppermost. I was thinking " "Of those mastiffs, quarrelling for a bone. Avow it." "By our Lady, I saw them not, but now I look, they are brave dogs. Ha! seest thou how gallantly each fronts the 7^ TI1K LAST OF THE BARONS. other, the hair bristling, the eyes fixed, the tail on end, the fangs glistening. Now the lesser one moves slowly round and round the bigger, who, mind you, Mistress Sibyll, is no dul- lard, but moves, too, quick as thought, not to be taken un- awares. Ha! that is a brave spring! Heigh, dogs, heigh! a good sight it makes the blood warm! the little one hath him by the throat!" "Alack," said Sibyll, turning away her eyes, "can you find pleasure in seeing two poor brutes mangle each other for a bone?" "By St. Dunstan! doth it matter what may be the cause of quarrel, so long as dog or man bears himself bravely, with a due sense of honor and derring-do. See! the big one is up again ! Ah ! foul fall the butcher, who drives them away. Those seely mechanics know not the joyaunce of fair fighting to gentle and to hound. For a hound, mark you, hath noth- ing mechanical in his nature. He is a gentleman all over brave against equal and stranger, forbearing to the small and defenceless, true in poverty and need where he loveth, stern and ruthless where he hateth, and despising thieves, hildings, and the vulgar, as much as ever a gold spur in King Edward's court! Oh! certes, your best gentleman is the best hound!" "You moralize to-day. And I know not how to gainsay you," returned Sibyll, as the dogs, reluctantly beaten off, re- tired each from each, snarling and reluctant, while a small black cur, that had hitherto sat unobserved at the door of a small hostelrie, now coolly approached and dragged off the bone of contention. "But what say'st thou now? See! see! the patient mongrel carries off the bone from the gentlemen- hounds. Is that the way of the world?" "Pardie! it is a naughty world, if so, and much changed from the time of our fathers, the Normans. But these Saxons are getting uppermost again, and the yard-measure, I fear me, is more potent in these holiday times than the mace or the battle- axe." The Nevile paused, sighed, and changed the subject: "This house of thine must have been a stately pile in its day. I see but one side of the quadrangle is left, though it be easy to trace where the other three have stood." "And you may see their stones and their fittings in the butcher's and baker's stalls over the way," replied Sibyll. "Ay!" said the Nevile, "the parings of the gentry begin to be the wealth of the varlets. ' ' "Little ought we to pine at that," returned Sibyll, "if the varlets were but gentle with our poverty; but they loathe the THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 79 humbled fortunes on which they rise, and while slaves to the rich, are tyrants to the poor.'-' This was said so sadly, that the Nevile felt his eyes overflow; and the humble dress of the girl, the melancholy ridges which evinced the site of a noble house, now shrunk into a dismal ruin, the remembrance of the pastime-ground, the insults of \he crowd, and the broken gittern, all conspired to move his compassion, and to give force to yet more tender emotions. "Ah!" he said suddenly, and with a quick, faint blush over his handsome and manly countenance "ah, fair maid fair Sibyll! -God grant that I may win something of gold and fortune amidst yogider towers, on which the sun shines so cheerily. God grant it, not for my sake not for mine; but that I may have something besidas a true heart and a stainless name to lay at thy feet. Oh, Sibyll! By this hand by my father's soul I love thee, Sibyll! Have I not said it before? Well, hear me now I love thee!" As he spoke, he clasped her hand in his own, and she suffered it for one instant to rest in his. Then withdrawing it, and meeting his enamoured eyes with a strange sadness in her own darker, deeper, and more intelligent orbs, she said: "I thank thee thank thee for the honor of such kind thoughts ; and frankly, I answer as thou hast frankly spoken. It was sweet to me, who have known little in life not hard and bitter sweet to wish I had a brother like thee, and, as a brother, I can love and pray for thee. But ask not more, Marmaduke. I have aims in life which forbid all other love ! ' ' "Art thou too aspiring for one who has his spurs to win?" "Not so; but listen. My mother's lessons and my own heart have made my poor father the first end and object of all things on earth to me. I live to protect him, work for him, honor him, and for the rest I have thoughts thou canst not know, an ambition thou canst not feel. Nay," she added, with that delightful smile which chased away the graver thought which had before saddened her aspect, "what would thy sober friend Master Alwyn say to thee, if he heard thou hadst courted the wizard's daughter?" "By my faith," exclaimed Marmaduke, "thou art a very April smiles and clouds in a breath ! If what thou despisest in me be my want of bookcraft, and such like, by my halidame I will turn scholar for thy sake; and " Here, as he had again taken Sibyll's hand, with the passion- ate ardor of his bold nature, not to be lightly daunted by a maiden's first "No," a sudden shrill, wild burst of laughte*, 80 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. accompanied with a gusty fit of unmelodious music from the street below, made both maiden and youth start, and turn their eyes: there, weaving their immodest dance, tawdry in their tinsel attire, their naked arms glancing above their heads as they waved on high their instruments, went the timbrel-girls. "Ha! ha!" cried their leader, "see the gallant and the witch-leman ! The glamour has done its work! Foul is fair ! foul is fair! and the devil will have his own!" But these creatures, whose bold license the ancient chroni- cler records, were rarely seen alone. They haunted parties of pomp and pleasure ; they linked together the extremes of life the grotesque Chorus that introduced the terrible truth of foul vice and abandoned wretchedness in the midst of the world's holiday and pageant. So now, as they wheeled into the silent, squalid street, they heralded a goodly company of dames and cavaliers, on horseback, who were passing through the neighboring plains into the park of Marybone, to enjoy the sport of falconry. The splendid dresses of this procession, and the grave and measured dignity with which it swept along, contrasted forcibly with the wild movements and disor- derly mirth of the timbrel players. These last darted round and round the riders, holding out their instruments for largess, and retorting, with laugh and gibe, the disdainful look or sharp rebuke with which their salutations were mostly received. Suddenly, as the company, two by two, paced up the street, Sibyll uttered a faint exclamation, and strove to snatch her hand from the Nevile's grasp. Her eye rested upon one of the horsemen who rode last, and who seemed in earnest con- versation with a dame, who, though scarcely in her first youth, excelled all her fair companions in beauty of face and grace of horsemanship, as well as in the costly equipments of the white barb that caracolled beneath her easy hand. At the same moment the horseman looked up and gazed steadily at Sibyll, whose countenance grew pale and flushed in a breath. His eye then glanced rapidly at Marmaduke a half-smile passed his pale, firm lips ; he slightly raised the plumed cap from his brow, inclined gravely to Sibyll, and, turning once more to his companion, appeared to answer some question she addressed to him, as to the object of his salutation, for her look, which was proud, keen, and lofty, was raised to Sibyll, and then dropped somewhat disdainfully, as she listened to the words addressed her by the cavalier. The lynx eyes of the tymbesteres had seen the recognition; and their leader, laying her bold hand on the embossed bridle THE LAST OF THE BARONS. l of the horseman, exclaimed, in a voice shrill and loud enough to be heard in the balcony above: "Largess! noble lord, largess! for the sake of the lady thou lovest best!" The fair equestrian turned away her head at these words ; the nobleman watched her a moment, and dropped some coins into the timbrel. "Ha! ha!" cried the tymbestere, pointing her long arm to Sibyll, and springing towards the balcony : " The cushat would mate Above her state, And she flutters her wings round the falcon's beak ; But death to the dove Is the falcon's love Oh, sharp is the kiss of the falcon's beak ! " Before this rude song was ended, Sibyll had vanished from the place; the cavalcade had disappeared. The timbrel-players, without deigning to notice Marmaduke, darted elsewhere, to ply their discordant trade, and the Nevile, crossing himself devoutly, muttered: "Jesu defend us! Those she Will-o'-the- wisps are eno' to scare all the blood out of one's body. What a murrain on them! do they portend, flitting round and round, and skirting off, as if the devil's broomstick was behind them? By the mass! they have frightened away the damozel, and I am not sorry for it. They have left me small heart for the part of Sir Launval." His meditations were broken off by the sudden sight of Nicholas Alwyn, mounted on a small palfrey, and followed by a sturdy groom on horseback, leading a steed handsomely caparisoned. In another moment, Marmaduke had descended, opened the door, and drawn Alwyn info the hall. CHAPTER IX. MASTER MARMADUKE NEVILE LEAVES THE WIZARD'S HOUSE FOR THE GREAT WORLD. "RIGHT glad am I," said Nicholas, "to see you so stout and hearty, for I am the bearer of good news. Though I have been away, I have not forgotten you ; and it so chanced that I went yesterday to attend my Lord of Warwick with some nowches* and knackeries, that he takes out as gifts and exem- plars of English work. They were indifferently well wrought, specially a chevesail, of which the " * Nowches buckles and other ornaments. &2 Till. LAST OF THE BARONS. "Spare me the fashion of thy mechanicals, and come to the point," interrupted Marmaduke impatiently. "Pardon me, Master Nevile. I interrupt thee not when thou talkest of bassinets and hauberks every cobbler to his last. But, as thou sayest, to the point: the stout Earl, while scan- ning my workmanship, for in much the chevesail was mine, was pleased to speak graciously of my skill with the bow, of which he had heard; and he then turned to thyself, of whom my Lord Montagu had already made disparaging mention: when I told the Earl somewhat more about thy qualities and disposings; and when I spoke of thy desire to serve him and the letter of which thou art the bearer, his black brows smoothed mighty graciously, and he bade me tell thee to come to him this afternoon, and he would judge of thee with his own eyes and ears. Wherefore I have ordered the craftsmen to have all thy gauds and gear ready at thine hostelrie, and I have engaged thee henchmen and horses for thy fitting appearance. Be quick: time and the great wait for no man. So take what- ever thou needest for present want from thy mails, and I will send a porter for the rest ere sunset." "But the gittern for the damozel?" "I have provided that for thee, as is meet." And Nicholas, stepping back, eased the groom of a case which contained a gittern, whose workmanship and ornaments delighted the Nevile. "It is of my lord the young Duke of Gloucester's own musical-vender; and the Duke, though a lad yet, is a notable judge of all appertaining to the gentle craft.* So dispatch, and away! " Marmaduke retired to his chamber, and Nicholas, after a moment spent in silent thought, searched the room for the hand-bell, which then made the mode of communication be- tween the master and domestics. Not finding this necessary luxury, he contrived at last to make Madge hear his voice from her subterranean retreat; and, on her arrival, sent her in quest of Sibyll. The answer he received was, that Mistress Sibyll was ill, and unable to see him. Alwyn looked disconcerted at this intelli- gence, but, drawing from his girdle a small gipsire, richly broidered, he prayed Madge to deliver it to her young mis- tress, and inform her that it was the fruit of the commission with which she had honored him. * For Richard III.'s love of music, and patronage of musicians and minstrels, see th discriminating character of that Prince in Sharon Turner's " History of England," voU iv., p. 66. tHE LAST OF THE fe AROINT 3 "It is passing strange, " said he, pacing the hall alone "passing strange, that the poor child should have taken such hold on me. After all, she would be a bad wife for a plain man like me. Tush! that is the trader's thought all over. Have I brought no fresher feeling out of my fair village-green? Would it not be sweet to work for her, and rise in life, with her by my side? And these girls of the city so prim and so brainless! as well marry a painted puppet. Sibyll! Am I dement? Stark wode? What have I to do with girls and mar- riage? Humph! I marvel what Marmaduke still thinks of her and she of him." While Alwyn thus soliloquized, the Nevile, having hastily arranged his dress, and laden himself with the money his mails contained, summoned old Madge to receive his largess, and to conduct him to Warner's chamber, in order to proffer his fare- well. With somewhat of a timid step he followed the old woman (who kept muttering thanks and benedicites, as she eyed the coin in her palm), up the rugged stairs, and for the first time knocked at the door of the student's sanctuary. No answer came. "Eh, sir! you must enter," said Madge; "an' you fired a bombard under his ear he would not heed you." So, suiting the action to the word, she threw open the door, and closed it behind him, as Marmaduke entered. The room was filled with smoke, through which mirky at- mosphere the clear red light of the burning charcoal peered out steadily like a Cyclop's eye. A small, but heaving, regu- lar, laboring, continuous sound, as of a fairy hammer, smote the young man's ear. But, as his gaze accustoming itself to the atmosphere, searched around, he could not perceive what was its cause. Adam Warner was standing in the middle of the room, his arms folded, and contemplating something at a little distance, which Marmaduke could not accurately distin- guish. The youth took courage and approached. "Honored mine host," said he, "I thank thee for hospitality and kind- ness, I crave pardon for disturbing thee in thy incanta ehem! thy thy studies, and I come to bid thee farewell." Adam turned round with a puzzled, absent air, as if scarcely recognizing his guest; at length, as his recollection slowly came back to him, he smiled graciously, and said: "Good youth, thou art richly welcome to what little it was in my power to do for thee. Peradventure, a time may come when they who seek the roof of Adam Warner may find less homely cheer, a less rugged habitation for look you!" he exclaimed 84 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. suddenly, with a burst of irrepressible enthusiasm, and laying his hand on Nevile's arm, as, through all the smoke and grime that obscured his face, flashed the ardent soul of the tri- umphant Inventor "look you! since you have been in this house, one of my great objects is well-nigh matured achieved. Come hither, " and he dragged the wondering Marmaduke to his model, or Eureka, as Adam had fondly named his contriv- ance. The Nevile then perceived that it was from the interior of this machine that the sound which had startled him arose; to his eye the THING was uncouth and hideous; from the jaws of an iron serpent, that, wreathing round it, rose on high with erect crest, gushed a rapid volume of black smoke, and a damp spray fell around. A column of iron in the centre kept in perpetual and regular motion, rising and sinking succes- sively, as the whole mechanism within seemed alive with noise and action. "The Syracusan asked an inch of earth, beyond the earth, to move the earth," said Adam; "I stand in the world, and lo! with this engine the world shall one day be moved." "Holy Mother!" faltered Marmaduke; "I pray thee, dread sir, to ponder well ere thou attemptest any such sports with the habitation in which every woman's son is so concerned. Bethink thee, that if in moving the world thou shouldst make any mistake, it would " "Now stand there and attend," interrupted Adam, who had not heard one word of this judicious exhortation. "Pardon me, terrible sir!" exclaimed Marmaduke, in great trepidation, and retreating rapidly to the door; ' 'but I have heard that the fiends are mightily malignant to all lookers on, not initiated." While he spoke, fast gushed the smoke, heavily heaved the fairy hammers, up and down, down and up, sunk or rose the column, with its sullen sound. The young man's heart sank to the soles of his feet. "In deed and in truth," he stammered out, "I am but a dolt in these matters; I wish thee all success compatible with the weal of a Christian, and bid thee, in sad humility, good- day": and he added, in a whisper "the Lord's forgiveness! Amen." Marmaduke, then, fairly rushed through the open door, and hurried out of the chamber as fast as possible. He breathed more freely as he descended the stairs. "Be- fore I would call that gray carle my father, or his child my wife, may I feel all the hammers of the elves and spirits he THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 85 keeps tortured within that ugly little prison-house, playing a death's march on my body. Holy St. Dunstan, the timbrel- girls came in time! They say these wizards always have fail daughters, and their love can be no blessing!" As he thus muttered, the door of Sibyll's chamber opened, and she stood before him at the threshold. Her countenance was very pale, and bore evidence of weeping. There was a silence on both sides, which the girl was the first to break. "So, Madge tells me, thou art about to leave us?" "Yes, gentle maiden! I I that is, my Lord of Warwick has summoned me. I wish and pray for all blessings on thee ! And and if ever it be mine to serve or aid thee, it will be that is verily, my tongue falters, but my heart that is fare thee well, maiden ! Would thou hadst a less wise father ; and so may the saints (St. Anthony especially, whom the Evil One was parlous afraid of) guard and keep thee!" With this strange and incoherent address, Marmaduke left the maiden standing by the threshold of her miserable cham- ber. Hurrying into the hall, he summoned Alwyn from his meditations, and giving the gittern to Madge, with an injunc- tion to render it to her mistress, with his greeting and service, he vaulted lightly on his steed; the steady and more sober Alwyn mounted his palfrey with slow care and due caution. As the air of spring waved the fair locks of the young cavalier, as the good horse caracolled under his lightsome weight, his natural temper of mind, hardy, healthful, joyous, and world- awake, returned to him. The image of Sibyll and her strange father fled from his thoughts like sickly dreams. BOOK II. THE KING'S COURT. CHAPTER I. EARL WARWICK THE KING-MAKER. THE young men entered the Strand, which, thanks to the profits of a toll bar, was a passable road for equestrians, studded towards the river, as we have before observed, with stately and half-fortified mansions; while on the opposite side, here and there, were straggling nouses of a humbler kind, the mediaeval villas of merchant and trader (for from the earliest period since the Conquest, the Londoners had delight in such re- 86 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. treats), surrounded with blossoming orchards,* and adorned in front with the fleur-de-lis, emblem of the vain victories of re- nowned Agincourt. But by far the greater portion of the road northward, stretched, unbuilt upon, towards a fair chain of fields and meadows, refreshed by many brooks, "turning water- mills with a pleasant noise." High rose, on the thoroughfare, the tamous Cross, at which "the Judges Itinerant whilome sate, without London."! There hallowed and solitary, stood the inn for the penitent pilgrims, who sought "the murmuring runnels" of St. Clement's healing well; for in this neighbor- hood, even from the age of the Roman, springs of crystal wave and salubrious virtue received the homage of credulous dis- ease. Through the gloomy arches of the Temple Gate and Lud, our horsemen wound their way, and finally arrived in safety at Marmaduke's hostelrie in the East Chepe. Here Marmaduke found the decorators of his comely person already assembled. The simpler yet more manly fashions he had taken from the provinces, were now exchanged for an attire worthy the kinsman of the great minister of a court, unparalleled, since the reign of William, the Red King, for extravagant gorgeous- ness of dress. His corset was of the finest cloth, sown with seed pearls ; above it, the lawn shirt, worn without collar, par- tially appeared, fringed with gold ; over this was loosely hung a super-tunic of crimson sarcenet, slashed and pounced with a profusion of fringes. His velvet cap, turned up at the sides, extended in a point far over the forehead. His hose under which appellation is to be understood what serves us of the modern day both for stockings and pantaloons were of white cloth, and his shoes, very narrow, were curiously carved into checker work at the instep, and tied with bobbins of gold thread, turning up like skates at the extremity, three inches in length. His dagger was suspended by a slight silver-gilt chain, and his girdle contained a large gipsire, or pouch, of embossed leather, richly gilt. And this dress, marvellous as it seemed to the Nevile, the tailor gravely assured him was far under the mark of the highest fashion, and that an' the noble youth had been a knight, the shoes would have stretched at least three inches farther over the natural length of the feet, the placard have shone with jewels, and the tunic luxuriated in flowers of damascene. Even as it was, however, Marmaduke felt a natural diffidence of his habili- ments, which cost him a round third of his whole capital. And * Fitzstephen *' On all sides, without the suburbs, are the citizens' gardens and orchards," etc, t Stowe. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 87 no bride ever unveiled herself with more shamefaced bashful- ness than did Marmaduke Nevile experience when he remounted his horse, and, taking leave of his foster-brother, bent his way to Warwick Lane, where the Earl lodged. The narrow streets were, however, crowded with equestrians whose dress eclipsed his own, some bending their way to the Tower, some to the palaces of the Flete. Carriages there were none, and only twice he encountered the huge litters, in which some aged prelate or some highborn dame veiled greatness from the day. But the frequent vistas to the river gave glimpses of the gay boats and barges that crowded the Thames, which was then the principal thoroughfare for every class, but more es- pecially the noble. The ways were fortunately dry and clean for London ; though occasionally deep holes and furrows in the road menaced perils to the unwary horseman. The streets themselves might well disappoint in splendor the stranger's eye; for although, viewed at a distance, ancient London was incalcula- bly more picturesque and stately than the modern, yet, when fairly in its tortuous labyrinths, it seemed to those who had improved the taste by travel, the meanest and the mirkiest capi- tal of Christendom. The streets were marvellously narrow, the upper stories, chiefly of wood, projecting far over the lower, which were formed of mud and plaster. The shops were piti- ful booths, and the 'prentices standing at the entrance bare- headed and cap in hand, and lining the passages, as the old French writer avers, comme idoles* kept up an eternal din with their clamorous invitations, often varied by pert witticisms on some churlish passenger, or loud vituperations of each other. The whole ancient family of the London criers were in full bay. Scarcely had Marmaduke's ears recovered the shock of "Hot peascods all hot," than they were saluted with "mackerel," "sheep's feet hot sheep's feet." At the smaller taverns stood the inviting vociferators of "cock-pie," "ribs of beef hot beef, " while, blended with these multitoned discords, whined the vielle or primitive hurdy-gurdy, screamed the pipe, twanged the harp, from every quarter where the thirsty paused to drink, or the idler stood to gape.f Through this Babel Marmaduke at last slowly wound his way, and arrived before the mighty mansion in which the chief baron of England held his state. As he dismounted and resigned his steed to the servitor hired for him by Alwyn, Marmaduke paused a moment, struck by the disparity, common as it was to eyes more accustomed to the * Perlin, t See Lydgate's " London Lyckpenny." 83 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. metropolis, between the stately edifice and the sordid neighbor- hood. He had not noticed this so much, when he had repaired to the Earl's house on his first arrival in London, for his thoughts then had been too much bewildered by the general bustle and novelty of the scene:' but now it seemed to him that he better comprehended the homage accorded to a great noble in surveying, at a glance, the immeasurable eminence to which he was elevated above his fellow-men by wealth and rank. Far on either side of the wings of the Earl's abode stretched, in numerous deformity, sheds rather than houses, of broken plaster and crazy timbers. But here and there were" open places of public reception, crowded with the lower followers of the puissant chief; and the eye rested on many idle groups of sturdy swash-bucklers, some half-clad in armor, some in rude jerkins of leather, before the doors of. these resorts as others, like bees about a hive, swarmed in and out with a perpetual hum. The exterior of Warwick House was of a gray but dingy stone, and presented a half-fortified and formidable appearance. The windows, or rather loop-holes, towards the street, were few, and strongly barred. The black and massive arch of the gateway yawned between two huge square towers ; and from a yet higher, but slender tower on the inner side, the flag gave the "White Bear and Ragged Staff" to the smoky air. Still, under the portal as he entered, hung the grate of the portcullis, and the square court which he saw before him swarmed with the more immediate retainers of the Earl, in scarlet jackets, wrought with their chieftain's cognizance. A man of gigantic girth and stature, who officiated as porter, leaning against the wall under the arch, now emerged from the shadow, and with sufficient civility demanded the young visitor's name and busi- ness. On hearing the former, he bowed low as he doffed his cap, and conducted Marmaduke through the first quadrangle. The two sides to the right and left were devoted to the offices and rooms of retainers, of whom no less than six hundred, not to speak of the domestic and more orderly retinue, attested the state of the Last of the English Barons on his visits to the capi- tal. Far from being then, as now, the object of the great to thrust all that belongs to the service of the house out of sight, it was their pride to strike awe into the visitor by the extent of accommodation afforded to their followers: some seated on benches of stone ranged along the walls ; some grouped in the centre of the court ; some lying at length upon the two oblong patches of what had been turf, till worn away by frequent feet--' THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 89 this domestic army filled the young Nevile with an admiration far greater than the gay satins of the knights and nobles who had gathered round the Lord of Montagu and Northumberland at the pastime-ground. This assemblage, however, were evidently under a rude disci- pline of their own. They were neither noisy nor drunk. They made way with surly obeisance as the cavalier passed, and clos- ing on his track like some horde of wild cattle, gazed after him with earnest silence, and then turned once more to their indo- lent whispers with each other. And now, Nevile entering the last side of the quadrangle, the huge hall, divided from the passage by a screen of stone fret-work, so fine as to attest the hand of some architect in the reign of Henry III., stretched to his right; and so vast, in truth it was, that though more than fifty persons were variously engaged therein, their number was lost in the immense space ; of these, at one end of the longer and lower table beneath tfye dais, some squires of good dress and mien were engaged at chess or dice; others were conferring in the gloomy embrasures of the casements ; some walking to and fro; others gathered round the shovel-board. At the entrance of this hall the porter left Marmaduke, after exchanging a whisper with a gentleman whose dress eclipsed the Nevile's in splendor; and this latter personage, who, though of high birth, did not disdain to perform the office of chamberlain, or usher to the king-like Earl, ad- vanced to Marmaduke with a smile, and said : "My lord expects you, sir, and has appointed this time to receive you, that you may not be held back from his presence by the crowds that crave audience in the forenoon. Please to follow me!" This said, the gentleman slowly preceded the visitor, now and then stopping to exchange a friendly word with the various parties he passed in his progress ; for the ur- banity which Warwick possessed himself, his policy inculcated as a duty on all who served him. A small door at the other extremity of the hall admitted into an ante-room, in which some half-score pages, the sons of knights and barons, were gathered round an old warrior, placed at their head as a sort of tutor, to instruct them in all knightly accomplishments ; and beckoning forth one of these youths from the ring, the Earl's chamberlain said, with a profound reverence: "Will you be pleased, my young lord, to conduct your cousin, master Marmaduke Nevile, to the Earl's presence." The young gentleman eyed Marma- duke with a supercilious glance. "Marry!" said he pertly, "if a man born in the north were 90 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. to feed all his cousins, he would soon have a tail as long as my uncle, the stout Earl's. Come, Sir Cousin, this way." And without tarrying even to give Nevile information of the name and quality of his new-found relation, who was no less than Lord Montagu's son, the sole male heir to the honors of that mighty family, though now learning the apprenticeship of chivalry amongst his uncle's pages, the boy passed before Mar- maduke with a saunter, that, had they been in plain Westmore- land, might have cost him a cuff from the stout hand of the in- dignant elder cousin. He raised the tapestry at one end of the room, and ascending a short flight of broad stairs, knocked gently on the panels of an arched door, sunk deep in the walls. "Enter !" said a clear, loud voice, and the next moment Marmaduke was in the presence of the King-maker. He heard his guide pronounce his name, and saw him smile maliciously at the momentary embarrassment the young man displayed as the boy passed by Marmaduke, and vanished. The Earl of Warwick was seated near a door that opened upon an inner court, or rather garden, which gave communication to the river. The chamber was painted in the style of Henry III., with huge figures representing the battle of Hastings, or rather, for there were many separate pieces, the conquest of Saxon England. Over each head, to enlighten the ignorant, the artist had taken the precaution to insert a label, which told the name and the subject. The ceiling was groined, vaulted, and em- blazoned with the richest gilding and colors. The chimney- piece (a modern ornament) rose to the roof, and represented in bold reliefs, gilt and decorated, the signing of Magna Charta. The floor was strewed thick with dried rushes, and odorous herbs; the furniture was scanty, but rich. The low-backed chairs, of which there were but four, carved in ebony, had cushions of velvet with fringes of massive gold. A small cup- board, or beaufet, covered with carpets de cuir (carpets of gilt and painted leather), of great price, held various quaint and curious ornaments of plate inwrought with precious stones; and beside this a singular contrast on a plain Gothic table lay the helmet, the gauntlets, and the battle-axe of the master. Warwick himself, seated before a large cumbrous desk, was writing but slowly and with pain and he lifted his finger as the Nevile ap- proached, in token of his wish to conclude a task probably little congenial to his tastes. But Marmaduke was grateful for the moments afforded him to recover his self-possession, and to examine his kinsman. The Earl was in the lusty vigor of his age. His hair, of the THE I- AST OF THE BARONS. 1 deepest black, was worn short, as if in disdain of the effeminate fashions of the day, and fretted bare from the temples, by the constant and early friction of his helmet, gave to a forehead naturally lofty yet more majestic appearance of expanse and height. His complexion, though dark and sunburnt, glowed with rich health. The beard was closely shaven, and left in all its remarkable beauty the contour of the oval face and strong jaw strong as if clasped in iron. The features were marked and aquiline, as was common to those of Norman blood. The form spare, but of prodigious width and depth of chest, the more apparent from the fashion of the short surcoat which was thrown back, and left in board expanse a placard, not of holi- day velvet and satins, but of steel polished as a mirror, and in- laid with gold. And now, as concluding his task, the Earl rose and motioned Marmaduke to a stool by his side, his great stat- ure, which, from the length of his limbs, was not so observable when he sate, actually startled his guest. Tall as Marmaduke was himself, the Earl towered* above him, with his high, ma- jestic, smooth, unwrinkled forehead, like some Paladin of the rhyme of poet or romancer; and, perhaps, not only in this mas- culine advantage, but in the rare and harmonious combination of colossal strength with graceful lightness, a more splen- did union of all the outward qualities we are inclined to give to the heroes of old, never dazzled the eye, or impresssed the fancy. But even this effect of mere person was subordi- nate to that which this eminent nobleman created, upon his inferiors, at least, by a manner so void of all arrogance, yet of all condescension, so simple, open, cordial, and herolike that Marmaduke Nevile, peculiarly alive to external impressions, and subdued and fascinated by the Earl's first word, and that word was "Welcome!" dropped on his knee and kissing the hand extended to him, said: "Noble kinsman, in thy service, and for thy sake, let me live and die!" Had the young man been prepared by the subtlest master of court-craft for this interview, so important to his fortunes, he could not have advanced a hundredth part so far with the great Earl, as he did by that sudden, frank burst of genuine emotion ; for Warwick was extremely sensitive to the admiration he excited vain or proud of it, it matters not which grateful as a child for love, and inexorable as a woman for slight or insult: in rude ages, one sex has often the qualities of the other. 02 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. "Thou hast thy father's warm heart, and hasty thought, Marmaduke," said Warwick, raising him, "and now he is gone where, we trust, brave men shrived of their sins look down upon us, who should be thy friend but Richard Nevile? So so yes let me look at thee. Ha! stout Guy's honest face, every line of it ; but to the girls, perhaps, comelier, for wanting a scar or two. Never blush thou shalt win the scars yet. So thou hast a letter from thy father?" "It is here, noble lord." "And why," said the Earl, cutting the silk with his dagger "why hast thou so long hung back from presenting it? But I need not ask thee. These uncivil times have made kith and kin doubt worse of each other than thy delay did of me. Sir Guy's mark, sure eno'! Brave old man! I loved him the bet- ter for that, like me, the sword was more meet than the pen for his bold hand." Here Warwick scanned, with some slow- ness, the lines dictated by the dead to the priest ; and when he had done, he laid the letter respectfully on his desk, and bow- ing his head over it, muttered to himself it might be an Ave for the deceased. "Well," he said, reseating himself, and again motioning Marmaduke to follow his example, "thy father was, in sooth, to blame for the side he took in the Wars. What son of the Norman could bow knee or vale plume to that shadow of a king, Henry of Windsor? and for his bloody wife, she knew no more of an Englishman's pith and pride than I know of the rhymes and roundels of old Rene, her father. Guy Nevile good Guy many a day in my boyhood did he teach me how to bear my lance at the crest, and direct my sword at the mail-joints. He was cunning at fence thy worshipful father but I was ever a bad scholar; and my dull arm, to this day, hopes more from its strength than its craft." "I have heard it said, noble Earl, that the stoutest hand can scarcely lift your battle-axe." "Fables! romaunt!" answered the Earl, smiling; "there it lies go and lift it." Marmaduke went to the table, and, though with some diffi- culty, raised and swung this formidable weapon. "By my halidame, well swung, cousin mine! Its use depends not on the strength, but the practice. Why look you now, there is the boy Richard of Gloucester, who comes not up to thy shoulder, and by dint of custom each day can wield mace or axe with as much ease as a jester doth his lath-sword. Ah! trust me, Marmaduke, the York House is a princely one ; and THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 93 if we must have a king, we barons, by stout St. George ! let no meaner race ever furnish our lieges. But to thyself, Marma- duke what are thy views and thy wishes?" "To be one of thy following, noble Warwick." "I thank and accept thee, young Nevile; but thouhast heard that I am about to leave England, and in the mean time thy youth would run danger without a guide." The Earl paused a moment, and resumed : "My brother of Montagu showed thee cold countenance ; but a word from me will win thee his grace and favor. What sayest thou wilt thou be one of his gentlemen? If so, I will tell thee the qualities a man must have; a discreet tongue, a quick eye, the last fashion in hood and shoe-bobbins, a perfect seat on thy horse, a light touch for the gittern, a voice for a love-song, and " "I have none of these, save the horsemanship, gracious my lord; and if thou wilt not receive me thyself, I wilt not burden my Lord of Montagu* and Northumberland." "Hot and quick! No! John of Montagu would not suit thee, nor thou him. But how to provide for thee till my return, I know not." "Dare I not hope, then, to make one of your embassage, noble Earl?" Warwick bent his brows, and looked at him in surprise. "Of our embassage ! Why, thou art haughty, indeed ! Nay, and so a soldier's son and a Nevile should be! I blame thee not ; but I could not make thee one of my train, without creat- ing a hundred enemies to me (but that's nothing) and to thee, which were much. Knowest thou not that there is scarce a gentleman of my train below the state of a peer's son, and that I have made, by refusals, malcontents eno' as it is yet, hold! there is my learned brother the Archbishop of York. Knowest thou Latin and the schools?" " 'Fore Heaven, my lord," said the Nevile bluntly, "I see already I had best go back to green Westmoreland, for I am as unfit for his Grace the Archbishop, as I am for my Lord Montagu." "Well, then," said the Earl dryly, "since thou hast not yet station enough for my train, nor glosing for Northumber- land, nor wit and lere for the Archbishop, I suppose, my poor youth, I must e'en make you only a gentleman about the King! It is not a post so sure of quick rising and full gipsires as one about myself, or my brethren, but it will be less envied, and is good for thy first essay. How goes the clock? Oh! here is Nick Alwyn s new horologe. He tells me that the 94 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. English will soon rival the Dutch * in these baubles. The more the pity! our red-faced yeomen, alas, are fast sinking into lank-jawed mechanics! We shall find the King in his garden within the next half-hour. Thou shalt attend me." Marmaduke expressed, with more feeling than eloquence, the thanks he owed for an offer that, he was about to say, ex- ceeded his hopes, but he had already, since his departure from Westmoreland, acquired sufficient wit to think twice of his words. And so eagerly, at that time, did the youth of the nobility contend for the honor of posts about the person of Warwick, and even of his brothers, and so strong was the belief that the Earl's power to make or to mar fortune was all-paramount in England, that even a place in the King's household was considered an inferior appointment to that which made Warwick the immediate patron and protector. This was more specially the case amongst the more haughty and ancient gentry, since the favor shown by Edward to the relations of his wife, and his own indifference to the rank and birth of his associates. Warwick had therefore spoken with truth when he expressed a comparative pity for the youth, whom he could not better provide for than by a place about the Court of his Sovereign ! The Earl then drew from Marmaduke some account of his early training, his dependence on his brother, his adventures at the archery ground, his misadventure with the robbers, and even his sojourn with Warner though Marmaduke was dis- erectly silent as to the very existence of Sibyll. The Earl, in the mean while, walked to and fro the chamber, with a light, careless stride, every moment pausing to laugh at the frank sim- plicity of his kinsman, or to throw in some shrewd remark, which he cast purposely in the rough Westmoreland dialect ; for no man ever attains to the popularity that rejoiced or ac- cursed the Earl of Warwick, without a tendency to broad and familiar humor, without a certain commonplace of character in its shallower and more every-day properties. This charm always great in the great Warwick possessed to perfection ; and in him, such was his native and unaffected majesty of bear- ing, and such the splendor that surrounded his name, it never seemed coarse or unfamiliar, but "everything he did became his best." Marmaduke had just brought his narrative to a * Clockwork appears to have been introduced into England in the reign of Edward III., when three Dutch norologers were invited over from Delft. They must soon have passed into common use, for Chaucer thus familiarly speaks of them : " Full sickerer was his crowing in his loge Than is a clock or any abbey orloge. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 95 conclusion, when, after a slight tap at the door, which War- wick did not hear, two fair young forms bounded joyously in, and, not seeing the stranger, threw themselves upon War- wick's breast with the caressing familiarity of infancy. "Ah, father," said the elder of these two girls, as Warwick's hand smoothed her hair fondly, "you promised you would take us in your barge to see the sports on the river, and now it will be too late." "Make your peace with your young cousins here," said the Earl, turning to Marmaduke; "you will cost them an hour's joyaunce. This is my eldest daughter, Isabel ; and this soft- eyed, pale-cheeked damozel too loyal for a leaf of the red rose is the Lady Anne." The two girls had started from their father's arms at the first address to Marmaduke, and their countenances had re- lapsed from their caressing and childlike expression, into all the stately demureness with which they had been brought up to regard a stranger. Howbeit, this reserve, to which he was accustomed, awed Marmaduke less than the alternate gayety and sadness of the wilder Sibyll, and he addressed them with all the gallantry to the exercise of which he had been reared ; concluding his compliments with a declaration that he would rather forego the advantage proffered him by the Earl's favor with the King than foster one obnoxious and ungracious mem- ory in damozels so fair and honored. A haughty smile flitted for a moment over the proud, young face of Isabel Nevile; but the softer Anne blushed, and drew bashfully behind her sister. As yet these girls, born for the highest and fated to the most wretched fortunes, were in all the bloom of earliest youth ; but the difference between their characters might be already ob- servable in their mien and countenance. Isabel, of tall and commanding stature, had some semblance to her father, in her aquiline features, rich, dark hair, and the lustrous brilliancy of her eyes; while Anne, less striking, yet not less lovely, of smaller size and slighter proportions, bore in her pale, clear face, her dove-like eyes, and her gentle brow, an expression of yielding meekness not unmixed with melancholy, which, con- joined with an exquisite symmetry of features, could not fail of exciting interest where her sister commanded admiration. Not a word, however, from either did Marmaduke abstract in return for his courtesies, nor did either he or the Earl seem to expect it ; for the latter, seating himself and drawing Anne on his knee, while Isabella walked with stately grace towards the 96 THK LAST OF THE BARONS. table that bore her father's warlike accoutrements, and played, as it were, unconsciously with the black plume on his black burgonot, said to Nevile: "Well, thou hast seen enough of the Lancastrian raptriis to make thee true to the Yorkists. I would I could say as much for the King himself, who is already crowding the court with that venomous faction, in honor of Dame Elizabeth Gray born Mistress Woodville, and now Queen of England. Ha! my proud Isabel, thou wouldst have better filled the throne that thy father built!" And at these words a proud flash broke from the Earl's dark eyes, betraying even to Marmaduke the secret of perhaps his earliest alienation from Edward IV. Isabella pouted her rich lip, but said nothing. "As for thee, Anne," continued the Earl, "it is a pity that monks can- not marry thou wouldst have suited some sober priest better than a mailed knight. 'Fore George, I would not ask thee to buckle my baldrick when the war- steeds were snorting, but I would trust Isabel with the links of my hauberk." "Nay, father," said the low, timid voice of Anne, "if thou wert going to danger, I could be brave in all that could guard thee!" "Why, that's my girl kiss me! Thou hast a look of thy mother now so thou hast ! And I will not chide thee the next time I hear thee muttering soft treason, in pity of Henry of Windsor." "Is he not to be pitied? Crown, wife, son, and Earl War- wick's stout arm lost lost!" "No!" said Isabel suddenly; "no, sweet sister Anne, and fie on thee for the words! He lost all, because he had neither the hand of a knight nor the heart of a man ! For the rest Margaret of Anjou, or her butchers, beheaded our father's father!" "And may God and St. George forget me, when I forget those gray and gory hairs!" exclaimed the Earl; and, putting away the Lady Anne somewhat roughly, he made a stride across the room, and stood by his hearth. "And yet Edward, the son of Richard of York, who fell by my father's side he forgets he forgives! And the minions of Rivers the Lancas- trian tread the heels of Richard of Warwick!" At this unexpected turn in the conversation, peculiarly un- welcome, as it may be supposed, to the son of one who had fought on the Lancastrian side, in the very battle referred to, Marmaduke felt somewhat uneasy, and, turning to the Lady THE LAST OF THE BARONS, 97 Anne, he said, with the gravity of wounded pride: "I owe more to my lord, your father, than I even wist of how much he must have overlooked to " "Not so!" interrupted Warwick, who overheard him "not so; thou wrongest me! Thy father was shocked at those butcheries ; thy father recoiled from that accursed standard ; thy father was of a stock ancient and noble as my own ! But, these Woodvilles! tush! my passion overmasters me. We will go to the King it is time." Warwick here rung the hand-bell on his table, and on the entrance of his attendant gentleman, bade him see that the barge was in readiness ; then, beckoning to his kinsman, and with a nod to his daughters, he caught up his plumed cap, and passed at once into the garden. "Anne," said Isabel, when the two girls were alone, "thou hast vexed my father, and what marvel? If the Lancastrians can be pitied, the Earl of Warwick must be condemned!" ' ' Unkind ! ' ' said Anne, shedding tears ; "I can pity woe and mischance without blaming those whose hard duty it might be to achieve them." "In good sooth, cannot I! Thou wouldst pity and pardon till thou left'st no distinction between foeman and friend, like and loathing. Be it mine, like my great father, to love and to hate!" "Yet why art thou so attached to the White Rose?" said Anne, stung, if not to malice, at least to archness. "Thou knowest my father's nearest wish was that his eldest daughter might be betrothed to King Edward. Dost thou not pay good for evil when thou seest no excellence out of the House of York?" "Saucy Anne, " answered Isabel, with a half-smile, "I am not raught by thy shafts, for I was a child for the nurses when King Edward sought a wife for his love. But were I chafed as I may be vain enough to know myself whom should I blame? Not the King, but the Lancastrian who witched him!" She paused a moment, and, looking away, added in a low tone: "Didst thou hear, Sister Anne, if the Duke of Clarence visited my father the forenoon?" "Ah! Isabel Isabel!" "Ah! Sister Anne, Sister Anne! Wilt thou know all my secrets ere I know them myself?" and Isabel, with something of her father's playfulness, put her hand to Anne's laughing lips, 98 THF. LAST OF THE BARONS. Meanwhile Warwick, after walking musingly a few moments along the garden, which was formed by plots of sward, bor- dered with fruit trees, and white rose trees not yet in blossom, turned to his silent kinsman, and said: "Forgive me, cousin mine, my mannerless burst against thy brave father's faction ; but when thou hast been a short while at court, thou wilt see where the sore is. Certes, I love this King!" Here his dark face lighted up. "Love him as a king, ay, and as a son! And who would not love him; brave as his sword, gallant, and winning, and gracious as the noonday in summer? Besides, I placed him on his throne I honor myself in him!" The Earl's stature dilated as he spoke the last sentence, and his hand rested on his dagger hilt. He resumed, with the same daring and incautious candor that stamped his dauntless soldier-like nature, "God hath given me no son. Isabel of Warwick had been a mate for William the Norman; and my grandson, if heir to his grandsire's soul, should have ruled from the throne of England over the realms of Charlemagne! But it hath pleased Him, whom the Christian knight alone bows to without shame, to order otherwise. So be it. I for- got my just pretensions, forgot my blood, and counselled the King to strengthen his throne with the alliance of Louis XI. He rejected the Princess Bona of Savoy, to marry widow Eliza- beth Gray I sorrowed for his sake, and forgave the slight to my counsels. At his prayer I followed the train of his queen, and hushed the proud hearts of our barons to obeisance. But since then, this Dame Woodville, whom I queened, if her hus- band mated, must dispute this roiaulme with mine and me a Nevile, nowadays, must vail his plume to a Woodville! And not the great barons whom it will suit Edward's policy to win from the Lancastrians not the Exeters and the Somersets but the craven varlets, and lackeys, and dross of the camp false alike to Henry and to Edward are to be fondled into lordships and dandled into power. Young man, I am speak- ing hotly Richard Nevile never lies nor conceals. But I am speaking to a kinsman, am I not? Thou hearest thou wilt not repeat?" "Sooner would I pluck forth my tongue by the roots." "Enough!" returned the Earl, with a pleased smile. "When I come from France, I will speak more to thee. Meanwhile be courteous to all men servile to none. Now to the King." So speaking, he shook back his surcoat, drew his cap over his brow, and passed to the broad stairs, at the foot of which fifty rowers, with their badges on their shoulders, waited in the THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 99 huge turge, gilt richly at prow and stern, and with an awning of silk, wrought with the Earl's arms and cognizance. As they pushed off, six musicians, placed towards the helm, began a slow and half-Eastern march, which, doubtless, some crusader of the Temple had brought from the cymbals and trumps Oi" Palestine. CHAPTER II. KING EDWARD THE FOURTH. THE Tower of London, more consecrated to associations of gloom and blood than those of gayety and splendor, was, never- theless, during the reign of Edward IV., the seat of a gallant and gorgeous court. That king, from the first to the last so dear to the people of London, made it his principal residence when in his metropolis; and its ancient halls and towers were then the scene of many a brawl and galliard. As Warwick's barge now approached its huge walls, rising from the river, there was much that might either animate or awe, according to the mood of the spectator. The King's barge, with many lesser craft, re- served for the use of the courtiers, gay with awnings and streamers, and painting and gilding, lay below the wharfs, not far from the gate of St. Thomas, now called the Traitor's Gate. On the walk raised above the battlemented wall of the inner ward, not only paced the sentries, but there, dames and knights were inhaling the noonday breezes, and the gleam of their rich dresses of cloth of gold glanced upon the eye at fre- quent intervals from tower to tower. Over the vast round iurret, behind the Traitor's Gate, now called "The Bloody Tower," floated cheerily in the light wind the royal banner. Near the Lion's Tower, two or three of the keepers of the menagerie, in the King's livery, were leading forth, by a strong chain, the huge white bear that made one of the boasts of the collection, and was an especial favorite with the King and his brother Richard. The sheriffs of London were bound to find this grisly minion his chain and his cord, when he deigned to amuse himself with bathing or "fishing" in the river; and sev- eral boats, filled with gape-mouthed passengers, lay near the wharf, to witness the diversions of Bruin. These folk set up a loud shout of : "A Warwick! a Warwick!" "The stout Earl, and God bless him ! " as the gorgeous barge shot towards the fortress. The Earl acknowledged their greeting by vailing his plumed cap, and passing the keepers with a merry allusion to their care of his own badge, and a friendly compliment to the grunting bear, he stepped ashore, followed by his kinsman. 100 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. Now, however, he paused a moment, and a more thoughtful shade passed over his countenance, as, glancing his eye care- lessly aloft towards the standard of King Edward, he caught sight of the casement, in the neighboring tower, of the very room in which the sovereign of his youth, Henry the Sixth, was a prisoner, almost within hearing of the revels of his suc- cessor; then, with a quick stride, he hurried on through the vast court, and, passing the White Tower, gained the royal lodge. Here, in the great hall, he left his companion, amidst a group of squires and gentlemen, to whom he formally pre- sented the Nevile as his friend and kinsman, and was ushered by the deputy chamberlain (with an apology for the absence of his chief, the Lord Hastings, who had gone abroad to fly his falcon), into the small garden, where Edward was idling away the interval between the noon and evening meals repasts to which already the young King inclined with that intemperate zest and ardor which he carried into all his pleasures, and which finally destroyed the handsomest person and embruted one of the most vigorous intellects of the age. The garden, if bare of flowers, supplied their place by the various and brilliant-colored garbs of the living beauties assem- bled on its straight walks and smooth sward. Under one of those graceful cloisters which were the taste of the day, and had been recently built and gayly decorated, the Earl was stopped in his path by a group of ladies playing at closheys (ninepins) of ivory ; * and one of these fair dames, who excelled the rest in her skill, had just bowled down the central or crowned pin the king of the closheys. This lady, no less a person than Elizabeth, the Queen of England, was then in her thirty-sixth year ten years older than her lord but the peculiar fairness and delicacy of her complexion still preserved to her beauty the aspect and bloom of youth. From a lofty head-gear, embroidered with fleur-de-lis, round which wreathed a light diadem of pearls, her hair of the pale yellow considered then the perfection of beauty, flowed so straight and so shining down her shoulders, almost to the knees, that it seemed like a mantle of gold. The baudekin stripes (blue and gold) of her tunic, attested her roy- alty. The blue court-pie of satin was bordered with ermine, and the sleeves, fitting close to an arm of exquisite contour, shone with seed-pearls. Her features were straight and regu- lar, yet would have been inspired, but for an expression rather of cunning than intellect ; and the high arch of the eyebrows, * Narrative of Louis of Bruges,, Lord Grauthuse. Edited by Sir F. Madden. Arch- 1835. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. IOI with a slight curve downward of a mouth otherwise beautiful, did not improve the expression, by an addition of something supercilious and contemptuous, rather than haughty or ma- jestic. "My lord of Warwick," said Elizabeth, pointing to the fallen closhey, "what would my enemies say if they heard I had toppled down the king?" "They would content themselves with asking which of your Grace's brothers you would .place in his stead," answered the hardy Earl, unable to restrain his sarcasm. The Queen blushed, and glanced round her ladies with an eye which never looked direct or straight upon its object, but wandered sidelong with a furtive and stealthy expression, that did much to obtain for her the popular character of falseness and self-seeking. Her displeasure was yet more increased by observing the ill-concealed smile which the taunt had called forth. "Nay, my lord," she said, after a short pause, "we value the peace of our roiaulme too much for so high an ambition. Were we to make a brother even the prince of the closheys, we should disappoint the hopes of a Nevile." The Earl disdained pursuing the war of words, and answer- ing coldly, "The Neviles are more famous for making ingrates than asking favors. I leave your Highness to the closheys," turned away and strode towards the King, who at the opposite end of the garden was reclining on a bench beside a lady, in whose ear, to judge by her downcast and blushing cheek, he was breathing no unwelcome whispers. "Mort-Dieu! " muttered the Earl, who was singularly ex- empt, himself, from the amorous follies of the day, and eyed them with so much contempt that it often obscured his natural downright penetration into character, and never more than when it led him afterwards to underrate the talents of Edward IV. "Mort-Dieu! if, an hour before the battle of Touton, some wizard had shown me, in his glass, this glimpse of the gardens of the Tower, that giglet for a queen, and that squire of dames for a king, I had not slain my black destrier (poor Malech!) that I might conquer or die for Edward Earl of March!" "But see!" said the lady, looking up from the enamoured and conquering eyes of the king; "art thou not ashamed, my lord? the grim Earl comes to chide thee for thy faithless- ness to thy queen, whom he loves so well." "Pasque-Dieu ! as my cousin Louis of France says or 102 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. swears," answered the King, with an evident petulance in his altered voice, "I would that Warwick could be only worn with one's armor! I would as lief try to kiss through my visor as hear him talk of glory and Touton, and King John and poor Edward II., because I am not always in mail. Go! leave us, sweet bonnibel! we must brave the bear alone!" The lady inclined her head, drew her hood round her face, and striking into the contrary path from that in which Warwick was slowly striding, gained the group round the Queen, whose apparent freedom from jealousy, the consequence of cold affec- tions and prudent calculation, made one principal cause of the empire she held over the powerful mind, but the indolent temper, of the gay and facile Edward. The King rose as Warwick now approached him; and the appearance of these two eminent persons was in singular con- trast. Warwick, though richly and even gorgeously attired nay, with all the care which in that age was considered the im- perative duty a man of station and birth owed to himself, held in lofty disdain whatever vagary of custom tended to cripple the movements or womanize the man. No loose flowing robes ; no shoon half a yard long; no flaunting tawdiness of fringe and aiglet, characterized the appearance of the baron, who, even in peace, gave his dress a half-martial fashion. But Edward, who in common with all the princes of the House of York carried dress to a passion, had not only re- introduced many of the most effeminate modes in vogue under William the Red King, but added to them whatever could tend to impart an almost Oriental character to the old Norman garb. His gown (a womanly garment which had greatly superseded, with men of the highest rank, not only the mantle but the sur- coat) flowed to his heels, trimmed with ermine, and broidered with large flowers of crimson wrought upon cloth of gold. Over this he wore a tippet of ermine, and a collar or necklace of uncut jewels set in filigree gold ; the nether limbs were, it is true, clad in the more manly fashion of tight-fitting hosen, but the folds of the gown, as the day was somewhat fresh, were drawn around so as to conceal the only part of the dress which really betokened the male sex. To add to this unwarlike attire, Edward's locks, of a rich golden color, and perfuming the whole air with odors, flowed, not in curls, but straight to his shoulders, and the cheek of the fairest lady in his court might have seemed less fair beside the dazzling clearness of a complexion at once radiant with health and delicate with youth. Yet, in spite of all this effeminacy, the appearance of Edward IV. was not THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 103 effeminate. From this it was preserved, not only by a stature little less commanding than that of Warwick himself, and of great strength and breadth of shoulder, but also by features beautiful indeed, but pre-eminently masculine large and bold in their outline, and evincing by their expression all the gallantry and daring characteristic of the hottest soldier, next to War- wick, and, without any exception, the ablest captain, of the age. "And welcome a merry welcome, dear Warwick, and cousin mine," said Edward, as Warwick slightly bent his proud knee to his King; "your brother, Lord Montagu, has but left us. Would that our court had the same joyaunce for you as for him." "Dear and honored my liege," answered Warwick, his brow smoothing at once, for his affectionate though hasty and irrita- ble nature was rarely proof against the kind voice and winning smile of his young sovereign, "could I ever serve you at the court as I can with the people, you would not complain that John of Montagu was a better courtier than Richard of War- wick. But each to his calling. I depart to-morrow for Calais, and thence to King Louis. And, surely, never envoy nor dele- gate had better chance to be welcome than one empowered to treat of an alliance that will bestow on a prince, deserving, I trust, his fortunes, the sister of the bravest sovereign in Christian Europe." "Now, out on thy flattery, my cousin: though I must needs own I provoked it by my complaint of thy courtiership. But thou hast learned only half thy business, good Warwick ; and it is well Margaret did not hear thee. Is not the Prince of France more to be envied for winning a fair lady than having a fortu- nate soldier for his brother-in-law?" "My liege," replied Warwick, smiling, "thou knowest I am a poor judge of a lady's fair cheek, though indifferently well skilled as to the valor of a warrior's stout arm. Algates, the Lady Margaret is indeed worthy in her excellent beauties to become the mother of brave men?" "And that is all we can wring from thy stern lip, man of iron. Well, that must content us. But to more serious mat- ters." And the King, leaning his hand on the Earl's arm, and walking with him slowly to and fro the terrace, continued : "Knowest thou not, Warwick, that this French alliance, to which thou hast induced us, displeases sorely our good traders of London?" "Mort-Dieu ! " returned Warwick bluntly ; "and what busi- ness have the flat-caps with the marriage of a king's sister? Is it for them to breathe garlick on the alliances of Bourbons and 104 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. Plantagenets? Faugh ! You have spoiled them, good my lord King you have spoiled them by your condescensions. Henry IV. staled not his majesty to consultations with the mayor of his city. Henry V. gave the knighthood of the Bath to the heroes of Agincourt, not to the venders of cloth and spices." "Ah, my poor Knights of the Bath!" said Edward, good humoredly, "wilt thou never let that sore scar quietly over? Ownest thou not that the men had their merits?" "What the merits were, I weet not," answered the Earl; "unless, peradventure, their wives were comely and young!" "Thou wrongest me, Warwick," said the King carelessly; "Dame Cook was awry, Dame Philips a grandmother, Dame Jocelyn had lost her front teeth, and Dame Waer saw seven ways at once! But thou forgettest, man, the occasion of those honors the eve before Elizabeth was crowned and it was policy to make the city of London have a share in her honors. As to the rest," pursued the King earnestly and with dignity, "I and my house have owed much to London. When the Peers of England, save thee and thy friends, stood aloof from my cause, London was ever loyal and true. Thou seest not, my poor Warwick, that these burgesses are growing up into power by the decline of the orders above them. And if the sword is the monarch's appeal for his right, he must look to contented and honored industry for his buckler in peace. This is policy policy, Warwick; and Louis XL will tell thee the same truths, harsh though they grate in a warrior's ear." The Earl bowed his haughty head, and answered shortly, but with a touching grace: "Be it ever thine, noble King, to rule as it likes thee; and mine to defend with my blood even what I approve not with my brain. But if thou doubtest the wisdom of this alliance, it is not too late yet. Let me dismiss my following, and cross not the seas. Unless thy heart is with the marriage, the ties I would form are threads and cobwebs." "Nay," returned Edward irresolutely; "in these great state viatters, thy wit is elder than mine; but men do say the Count flf Charolois is a mighty lord, and the alliance with Burgundy will be more profitable to staple and mart." "Then, in God's name, so concldue it!" said the Earl hasti- ly, but with so dark a fire in his eyes, that Edward, who was observing him, changed countenance; "only ask me not, my liege, to advance such a marriage. The Count of Charolois knows me as his foe shame were mine did I shun to say where I love, where I hate. That proud dullard once slighted me when we met at his father's court, and the wish next to my THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 10$ heart, is to pay back my affront with my battle-axe. Give thy sister to the heir of Burgundy, and forgive me if I depart to my Castle of Middleham." Edward, stung by the sharpness of this reply, was about to answer as became his majesty of king, when Warwick more deliberately resumed: "Yet think well, Henry of Windsor is thy prisoner, but his cause lives in Margaret and his son. There is but one power in Europe that can threaten thee with aid to the Lancastrians, that power is France. Make Louis thy friend and ally, and thou givest peace to thy life and thy lineage; make Louis thy foe, and count on plots, and stratagems, and trea- son uneasy days and sleepless nights. Already thou hast lost one occasion to secure that wiliest and most restless of princes, in rejecting the hand of the Princess Bona. Happily, this loss now can be retrieved. But alliance with Burgundy is war with France war more deadly because Louis is a man who declares it not a war carried on by intrigue and bribe, by spies and minions, till some disaffection ripens the hour when young Edward of Lancaster shall land on thy coasts, with the Ori- flamme and the Red Rose with French soldiers and English malcontents. Wouldst thou look to Burgundy for help? Bur- gundy will have enough to guard its own frontiers from the gripe of Louis the Sleepless. Edward, my king, my pupil in arms Edward, my loved, my honored liege, forgive Richard Nevile his bluntness, and let not his faults stand in bar of his counsels. " "You are right, as you are ever safeguard of England, and pillar of my state," said the King frankly, and pressing the arm he still held. "Go to France and settle all as thou wilt." Warwick bent low and kissed the hand of his sovereign. "And," said he, with a slight, but a sad smile, "when I am gone, my liege will not repent, will not misthink me, will not listen to my foes, nor suffer merchant and mayor to sigh him back to the mechanics of Flanders?' ' "Warwick, thou deemest ill of thy King's kingliness." "Not of thy kingliness, but that same gracious quality of yielding to counsel which bows this proud nature to submis- sion often makes me fear for thy firmness, when thy will is won through thy heart. And now, good my liege, forgive me one sentence more. Heaven forefend that I should stand in the way of thy princely favors. A king's countenance is a sun that should shine on all. But bethink thee well, the barons of England are a stubborn and haughty race ; chafe not thy most puissant peers by too cold a neglect of their past services, and too lavish a largess to new men," IO6 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. "Thou aimest at Elizabeth's kin," interrupted Edward, withdrawing his hand from his minister's arm, "and I tell thee, once for all times, that I would rather sink again to mine Earldom of March, with a subject's right to honor where he loves, than wear crown and wield sceptre without a king's unquestioned prerogative to ennoble the line and blood of one he has deemed worthy of his throne. As for the barons, with whose wrath thou threatenest me, I banish them not if they go in gloom from my court, why let them chafe themselves sleek again!" "King Edward," said Warwick moodily, "tried services merit not this contempt. It is not as the kith of the Queen that I regret to see lands and honors lavished upon men, rooted so newly to the soil that the first blast of the war-trump will scatter their greenness to the winds. But what sorrows me is to mark those who have fought against thee, preferred to the stout loyalty that braved block and field for thy cause. Look round thy court; where are the men of bloody York and victorious Touton? unrequited, sullen in their strongholds, begirt with their yeomen and retainers. Thou standest thou, the heir of York almost alone (save where the Neviles whom one day thy court will seek also to disgrace and discard vex their old comrades in arms by their defection) thou standest almost alone among the favorites and minions of Lancaster. Is there no danger in proving to men that to have served thee is dis- credit to have warred against thee is guerdon and grace?" "Enough of this, cousin," replied the King, with an effort which preserved his firmness. "On this head we cannot agree. Take what else thou wilt of royalty: make treaties and contract marriages; establish peace or proclaim war ; but trench not on my sweetest prerogative to give and to forgive. And now, wilt thou tarry and sup with us? The ladies grow impatient of a commune that detains from their eyes the stateliest knight since the Round Table was chopped into firewood." "No, my liege," said Warwick, whom flattery of this sort rather angered than soothed, "I have much yet to prepare. I leave Your Highness to fairer homage and more witching coun- sels than mine." So saying, he kissed the King's hand, and was retiring, when he remembered his kinsman, whose humble interest, in the midst of more exciting topics, he had hitherto forgotten, and added: "May I crave, since you are so merci- ful to the Lancastrians, one grace for my namesake a Nevile, whose father repented the side he espoused a son of Sir Guy of Arsdale." "Ah," said the King, smiling maliciously, "it pleaseth us THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 1OJ much to find that it is easier to the warm heart of our cousin Warwick to preach sententiaries of sternness to his King, than to enforce the same by his own practice!" "You misthink me, sire. I ask not that Marmaduke Nevile should supplant his superiors and elders; I ask not that he should be made baron and peer ; I ask only that as a young gentleman, who hath taken no part himself in the wars, and whose father repented his error, Your Grace should strengthen your following by an ancient name and a faithful servant. But I should have remembered me that his name of Nevile would have procured him a taunt in the place of advancement." "Saw man ever so froward a temper?" cried Edward, not without reason. ' 'Why, Warwick, thou art as shrewish to a jest as a woman to advice. Thy kinsman's fortunes shall be my care. Thou sayest thou hast enemies I weet not who they be. But to show what I think of them, I make thy namesake and client a gentleman of my chamber. When Warwick is false to Edward, let him think that Warwick's kinsman wears a dagger within reach of the King's heart day and night." This speech was made with so noble and touching a kindness of voice and manner, that the Earl, thoroughly subdued, looked at his sovereign with moistened eyes, and only trusting himself to say: "Edward, thou art king, knight, gentleman, and sol- dier, and I verily trow that I love thee best when my petulant zeal makes me anger thee most," turned away with evident emotion, and passing the Queen and her ladies with a lowlier homage than that with which he had before greeted them, left the garden. Edward's eye followed him, musingly. The frank expression of his face vanished, and with the deep breath of a man who is throwing a weight from his heart, he muttered: "He loves me yes but will suffer no one else to love me! This must end some day. I am weary of the bondage." And sauntering towards the ladies, he listened in silence, but not apparently in displeasure, to his Queen's sharp sayings on the imperious mood and irritable temper of the iron-handed builder of his throne. CHAPTER III. THE ANTECHAMBER. As Warwick passed the door that led from the garden, he brushed by a young man, the baudekin stripes of whose vest announced his relationship to the King, and who, though far less majestic than Edward, possessed sufficient of family like- 108 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. ness to pass for a very handsome and comely person. But his countenance wanted the open and fearless expression which gave that of the King so masculine and heroic a character. The features were smaller, and less clearly cut, and to a physi- ognomical observer there was much that was weak and irreso- lute in the light blue eyes and the smiling lips, which never closed firmly over the teeth. He did not wear the long gown then so much in vogue, but his light figure was displayed to ad- vantage by a vest, fitting it exactly, descending half-way down the thigh, and trimmed at the border and the collar with ermine. The sleeves of the doublet were slit, so as to show the white lawn beneath, and adorned with aiglets and knots of gold. Over the left arm hung a rich jacket of furs and velvet, some- thing like that adopted by the modern hussar. His hat or cap was high and tiara-like, with a single white plume, and the rib- bon of the garter bound his knee. Though the dress of this personage was thus far less effeminate than Edward's, the effect of his appearance was infinitely more so partly, perhaps, from a less muscular frame, and partly from his extreme youth. For George Duke of Clarence was then, though initiated not only in the gayeties, but all the intrigues, of the court, only in his eighteenth year. Laying his hand, every finger of which sparkled with jewels, on the Earl's shoulder: "Hold!" said the young Prince, in a whisper, "a word in thy ear, noble War- wick." The Earl, who, next to Edward, loved Clarence the most of his princely house, and who always found the latter as docile as the other (when humor or affection seized him) was intractable, relaxed into a familiar smile at the duke's greeting, and suf- fered the young Prince to draw him aside from the group of courtiers, with whom the chamber was filled, to the leaning places (as they were called) of a large mullion window. In the mean while, as they thus conferred, the courtiers interchanged looks, and many an eye of fear and hate was directed towards the stately form of the Earl. For these courtiers were composed principally of the kindred of friends of the Queen, and though they dared not openly evince the malice with which they re- torted Warwick's lofty scorn and undisguised resentment at their new fortunes, they ceased not to hope for his speedy humiliation and disgrace, recking little what storm might rend the empire, so that it uprooted the giant oak, which still, in some measure, shaded their sunlight and checked their growth. True, however, that amongst these were mingled, though rarely, men of a hardier stamp and nobler birth some few of THE LAST OF THE BARONS. IO0 the veteran friends of the King's great father and these, keep- ing sternly and loftily aloof from the herd, regarded Warwick with the same almost reverential and yet affectionate admiration which he inspired amongst the yeomen, peasants, and mechan- ics ; for in that growing, but quiet struggle of the burgesses, as it will often happen in more civilized times, the great Aristoc- racy and the Populace were much united in affection, though with very different objects; and the Middle and Trading Class, with whom the Earl's desire for French alliances and disdain of commerce had much weakened his popularity, alone shared not the enthusiasm of their countrymen for the lion-hearted minister. Nevertheless, it must here be owned, that the rise of Eliza- beth's kindred introduced a far more intellectual, accomplished, and literary race into court favor, than had for many genera- tions flourished in so uncongenial a soil: and in this ante- chamber feud, the pride of education and mind retaliated, with juster sarcasm, the pride of birth and sinews. Amongst those opposed to the Earl, and fit in all qualities to be the head of the new movement if the expressive modern word be allowed us stood at that moment in the very centre of the chamber, Anthony Woodville in right of the rich heiress he had married, the Lord Scales. As when some hostile and formidable foe enters the meads where the flock grazes, the gazing herd gather slowly round their leader, so grouped the Queen's faction slowly, and by degrees, round this accomplished nobleman, at the prolonged sojourn of Warwick. "Gramercy!" said the Lord Scales, in a somewhat affected intonation of voice, "the conjunction of the bear and the young lion is a parlous omen, for the which I could much desire we had a wise astrologer's reading." "It is said," observed one of the courtiers, "that the Duke of Clarence much affects either the lands or the person of the Lady Isabel." "A passably fair damozel," returned Anthony, "though a thought or so too marked and high in her lineaments, and wholly unlettered, no doubt ; which were a pity, for George of Clarence hath some pretty taste in the arts and poesies. But as Occleve hath it : ' Gold, silver, jewel, cloth, beddying, array,' would make gentle George amorous of a worse-featured face than high-nosed Isabel; 'strange to spell or rede,' as I would wager my best destrier to a tailor's hobby, the damozel surely is." 110 THfc LAST OF THE BARON:,. "Notest thou yon gaudy popinjay?" whispered the Lord of St. John to one of his Teuton comrades, as, leaning against the wall, they overheard the sarcasms of Anthony, and the laugh of the courtiers, who glassed their faces and moods to his; "Is the time so out of joint that Master Anthony Wood- ville can vent his scurrile japes on the heiress of Salisbury and Warwick, in the King's chamber?" "And prate of spelling and reading, as if they were the car- dinal virtues," returned his sullen companion. "By my hali- dame, I have two fair daughters at home who will lack hus- bands, I trow, for they can only spin and be chaste two maidenly gifts out of bloom with the White Rose." In the mean while, unwitting, or contemptuous of the atten- tion they excited, Warwick and Clarence continued yet more earnestly to confer. "No, George, no," said the Earl, who as the descendant of John of Gaunt, and of kin to the King's blood, maintained in private a father's familiarity with the princes of York, though on state occasions, and when in the hearing of others, he sedu- lously marked his deference for their rank "no, George, calm and steady thy hot mettle, for thy brother's and England's sake. I grieve as much as thou to hear that the Queen does not spare even thee in her froward and unwomanly peevishness. But there is a glamour in this, believe me, that must melt away, soon or late, and our kingly Edward recover his senses." "Glamour!" said Clarence, "thinkest thou indeed, that her mother, Jacquetta, has bewitched the King? One word of thy belief in such spells, spread abroad amongst the people, would soon raise the same storm that blew Eleanor Cobham from Duke Humphrey's bed, along London streets in her penance shift. " "Troth," said the Earl indifferently, "I leave such grave questions as these to prelate and priest ; the glamour I spoke of, is that of a fair face over a wanton heart; and Edward is not so steady a lover that this should never wear out!" "It amates me much, noble cousin, that thou leavest the court in this juncture. The Queen's heart is with Burgundy the city's hate is with France and when once thou art gone, I fear that the King will be teased into mating my sister with the Count of Charolois." "Ho!" exclaimed Warwick, with an oath so loud that it rung through the chamber, and startled every ear that heard it. Then, perceiving his indiscretion, he lowered his tone into a deep and hollow whisper, and griped the Prince's arm almost fiercely as he spoke. 1'HE LAST Olf THE BARONS. Hi "Could Edward so dishonor my embassy; so palter and juggle with my faith ; so flout me in the eyes of Christendom, I would I would "he paused, and relaxed his hold of the Duke, and added, with an altered voice "I would leave his wife and his lemans, and yon things of silk, whom he makes peers (that is easy), but cannot make men to guard his throne from the grandson of Henry V. But thy fears, thy zeal, thy love for me, dearest prince and cousin, make thee misthink Edward's kingly honor and knightly faith. I go, with the sure knowledge that by alliance with France I shut the house of Lancaster from all hope of this roiaulme." "Hadst thou not better, at least, see my Sister Margaret she has a high spirit, and she thinks thou mightest, at least, woo her assent, and tell her of the good gifts of her lord to be ! " "Are the daughters of York spoilt to this by the manners and guise of a court in which beshrew me if I well know which the woman and whom the man? Is it not enough to give peace to broad England, root to her brother's stem? Is it not enough to wed the son of a king, the descendant of Charle- magne and St. Louis? Must I go bonnet in hand and simper forth the sleek personals of the choice of her kith and house ; swear the bridegroom's side-locks are as long as King Ed- ward's, and that he bows with the grace of Master Anthony Woodville? Tell her this thyself, gentle Clarence, if thou wilt: all Warwick could say would but anger her ear, if she be the maid thou bespeakest her." The Duke of Clarence hesitated a moment, and then, color- ing slightly, said: "If, then, the daughter's hand be the gift of her kith alone shall I have thy favor when the Lady Isabel " "George," interrupted Warwick, with a fond and paternal smile, "when we have made England safe, there is nothing the son of Richard of York can ask of Warwick in vain. Alas'" he added mournfully, "thy father and mine were united in the same murtherous death, and I think they will smile down on us from their seats in heaven when a happier generation ce- ments that bloody union with a marriage bond!" Without waiting for further parlance, the Earl turned sud- denly away, threw his cap on his towering head, and strode right through the centre of the whispering courtiers, who shrunk, louting low, from his haughty path, to break into a hubbub of angry exclamations, or sarcastic jests, at his unman- nerly bearing, as his black plume disappeared in the arch of the vaulted door. While such the scene in the interior chambers of the oalace, JT2 THR LAST OF THE BARONS. Marmadukc, with the frank simpleness which belonged to his youth and training, had already won much favor and popular- ity, and he was laughing loud with a knot of young men by the shovel-board, when Warwick re-entered. The Earl, though so disliked by the courtiers more immediately about the person of the King, was still the favorite of the less elevated knights and gentry who formed the subordinate household and retain- ers ; and with these, indeed, his manner, so proud and arro- gant to his foes and rivals, relapsed at once into the ease of the manly and idolized chief. He was pleased to see the way made by his young namesake, and lifting his cap, as he nodded to the group, and leant his arm upon Marmaduke's shoulder, he said: "Thanks, and hearty thanks, to you, knights and gen- tles, for your courteous reception of an old friend's young son. I have our King's most gracious permission to see him enrolled one of the court ye grace. Ah ! Master Falconer, and how does thy worthy uncle? braver knight never trod. What young gentleman is yonder? a new face and a manly one; by your favor, present him! the son of a Savile! Sir, on my return, be not the only Savile who shuns our table of War- wick-court. Master Dacres, commend me to the lady, your mother ; she and I have danced many a measure together in the old time we all live again in our children. Good den to you, sirs. Marmaduke. follow me to the office you lodge in the palace. You are gentleman to the most gracious, and, if Warwick lives, to the most puissant of Europe's sovereigns. I shall see Montagu at home; he shall instruct thee in thy duties, and requite thee for all discourtesies on the archery ground." BOOK III. IN WHICH THE HISTORY PASSES FROM THE KING'S COURT TO THE STUDENT'S CELL, AND RELATES THE PERILS THAT BEFEL A PHILOSOPHER FOR MEDDLING WITH THE AFFAIRS OF THE WORLD. CHAPTER I. THE SOLITARY SAGE AND THE SOLITARY MAID. WHILE such the entrance of Marmaduke Nevile into a court that, if far less intellectual and refined than those of later days, THE LAST OF THE BARONS. fI3 was yet more calculated to dazzle the fancy, to sharpen the wit, and to charm the senses; for round the throne of Edward IV., chivalry was magnificent, intrigue restless, and pleasure ever on the wing, Sibyll had ample leisure, in her solitary home, to muse over the incidents that had preceded the de- parture of the young guest. Though she had rejected Marma- duke's proffered love, his tone, so suddenly altered; his abrupt, broken words and confusion; his farewell, so soon succeeding his passionate declaration, could not fail to wound that pride of woman which never sleeps till modesty is gone. But this made the least cause of the profound humiliation which bowed down her spirit. The meaning taunt conveyed in the rhyme of the tymbesteres, pierced her to the quick ; the calm, indifferent smile of the stranger, as he regarded her; the beauty of the dame he attended, woke mingled and con- trary feelings, but those of jealousy were, perhaps, the keenest : and in the midst of all she started to ask herself, if indeed she had suffered her vain thoughts to dwell too tenderly upon one from whom the vast inequalities of human life must divide her evermore What to her was his indifference? Nothing; yet had she given worlds to banish that careless smile from her remembrance. Shrinking, at last, from the tyranny of thoughts till of late unknown, her eye rested upon the gipsire which Alwyn had sent her by the old servant. The sight restored to her the holy recollection of her father, the sweet joy of having minis- tered to his wants. She put up the little treasure, intending to devote it all to Warner; and, after bathing her heavy eyes, that no sorrow of hers might afflict the student, she passed, with a listless step, into her father's chamber. There is, to the quick and mercurial spirits of the young, something of marvellous and preternatural in that life within life, which the strong passion of science and genius forms and feeds that passion so much stronger than love, and so much more self-dependent; which asks no sympathy, leans on no kindred heart ; which lives alone in its works and fancies like a god amidst his creations. The philosopher, too, had experienced a great affliction since they met last. In the pride of his heart he had designed to show Marmaduke the mystic operations of his model, which had seemed that morning to open into life; and when the young man was gone, and he made the experiment alone, alas! he found that new progress but involved him in new difficulties. He had gained the first steps in the gigantic creation of modern 114 THK LAST OF THE BARONS. days, and he was met by the obstacle that baffled so long the great modern sage. There was the cylinder there the boiler; yet, work as he would, the steam failed to keep the cylinder at work. And now, patiently as the spider re-weaves the broken web, his untiring ardor was bent upon constructing a new cyl- inder of other materials. "Strange," he said to himself, "that the heat of the mover aids not the movement"; and so, blun- dering near the truth, he labored on. Sibyll, meanwhile, seated herself abstractedly on a heap of fagots, piled in the corner, and seemed busy in framing char- acters on the dusty floor with the point of her tiny slipper. So fresh and fair and young she seemed, in that murky atmos- phere, that strange scene, and beside that worn man, that it might have seemed, to a poet, as if the youngest of the Graces were come to visit Mulciber at his forge. The man pursued his work, the girl renewed her dreams the dark evening hour gradually stealing over both. The si- lence was unbroken, for the forge and the model were now at rest, save by the grating of Adam's file upon the metal, or by some ejaculation of complacency now and then vented by the enthusiast. So, apart from the many-noised, gaudy, babbling world without, even in the midst of that bloody, turbulent, and semi-barbarous time, went on (the one neglected and un- known, the other loathed and hated), the two movers of the ALL that continues the airy life of the Beautiful from age to age the Woman's dreaming Fancy, and the Man's active Genius. CHAPTER II. MASTER ADAM WARNER GROWS A MISER, AND BEHAVES SHAMEFULLY. FOR two or three days nothing disturbed the outward monot- ony of the recluse's household. Apparently all had settled back as before the advent of the young cavalier. But Sibyll's voice was not heard singing, as of old, when she passed the stairs to her father's room. She sate with him in his work no less frequently and regularly than before ; but her childish spirits no longer broke forth in idle talk or petulant movement, vex- ing the good man from his absorption and his toils. The little cares and anxieties, which had formerly made up so much of Sibyll's day, by forethought of provision for the morrow, were suspended; for the money transmitted to her by Alwyn, in return for the emblazoned MSS., was sufficient to supply their THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 115 modest wants for months to come. Adam, more and more engrossed in his labors, did not appear to perceive the daintier plenty of his board, nor the purchase of some small comforts unknown for years. He only said, one morning: "It is strange, girl, that as that gathers in life (and he pointed to the model), it seems already to provide, to my phantasy, the lux- uries it will one day give to us all in truth. Methought my very bed last night seemed wondrous easy, and the coverings were warmer, for I woke not with the cold!" "Ah!" thought the sweet daughter, smiling through moist eyes, "while my cares can smooth thy barren path through lite, why should I cark and pine?" Their solitude was now occasionally broken in the evenings by the visits of Nicholas Alwyn. The young goldsmith was himself not ignorant of the simpler mathematics; he had some talent for invention, and took pleasure in the construction of horologes, though, properly speaking, not a part of his trade. His excuse for his visits was the wish to profit by Warner's mechanical knowledge ; but the student was so wrapped in his own pursuits, that he gave but little instruction to his visitor. Neverthless, Alwyn was satisfied, for he saw Sibyll. He saw her in the most attractive phase of her character the loving, patient, devoted daughter ; and the view of her household vir- tues affected more and more his honest English heart. But, ever awkward and embarrassed, he gave no vent to his feelings. To Sibyll he spoke little, and with formal constraint ; and the girl, unconscious of her conquest, was little less indifferent to his visits than her abstracted father. But all at once Adam woke to a sense of the change that had taken place all at once he caught scent of gold, for his works were brought to a pause for want of some finer and more costly materials than the coins in his own possession (the remnant of Marmaduke's gift) enabled him to purchase. He had stolen out at dusk unknown to Sibyll, and lavished the whole upon the model, but in vain! The model in itself was, indeed, completed; his invention had mastered the difficulty that it had encountered. But Adam had complicated the contrivance by adding to it experimental proofs of the agency it was intended to exercise. It was necessary in that age, if he were to con- vince others, to show more than the principle of his engine, he must show also something of its effects; turn a mill without wind or water, or set in motion some mimic vehicle without other force than that the contrivance itself supplied. And here, at every step, new obstacles arose. It was the misfor- Il6 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. tune to science in those days, not only that all books and mathematical instruments were enormously dear, but that the students, still struggling into light through the glorious delu- sions of alchemy and mysticism, imagined that, even in simple practical operations, there were peculiar virtues in virgin gold and certain precious stones. A link in the process upon which Adam was engaged failed him : his ingenuity was baffled, his work stood still; and in poring again and again over the learned MSS, alas! now lost, in which certain German doctors had sought to explain the pregnant hints of Roger Bacon, he found it inculcated that the axle of a certain wheel must be composed of a diamond. Now in truth, it so happened that Adam's contrivance, which (even without the appliances which were added in illustration of the theory) was infinitely more complicated than modern research has found necessary, did not even require the wheel in question, much less the absent diamond; it happened, also, that his understanding, which, though so obtuse in common life, was in these matters aston- ishingly clear, could not trace any mathematical operations by which the diamond axle would in the least correct the difficulty that had suddenly started up ; and yet the accursed diamond began to haunt him the German authority was so positive on the point, and that authority had in many respects been accu- rate. Nor was this all the diamond was to be no vulgar dia- mond: it was to be endowed, by talismanic skill, with certain properties and virtues ; it was to be for a certain number of hours exposed to the rays of the full moon ; it was to be washed in a primitive and wondrous elixir, the making of which consumed no little of the finest gold. This diamond was to be to the machine what the soul is to the body a glori- ous, all-pervading, mysterious principle of activity and life. Such were the dreams that obscured the cradle of infant science! And Adam, with all his reasoning powers, his lore in the hard truths of mathematics, was but one of the giant children of the dawn. The magnificent phrases and solemn promises of the mystic Germans got firm hold of his fancy. Night and day, waking or sleeping, the diamond, basking in the silence of the full moon, sparkled before his eyes mean- while all was at a stand. In the very last steps of his discov- ery he was arrested. Then suddenly looking round for vulgar moneys to purchase the precious gem, and the materials for the soluble elixir, he saw that MONEY had been at work around him ; that he had been sleeping softly and faring sumptuously. He was seized with a divine rage. How had Sibyll dared to THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 1 1'/ secrete from him this hoard? How presumed to waste upon the base body what might have so profited the eternal mind? In his relentless ardor, in his sublime devotion and loyalty to his abstract idea, there was a devouring cruelty, of which this meek and gentle scholar was wholly unconscious. The grim iron model, like a Moloch, ate up all things health, life, love and its jaws now opened for his child. He rose from his bed it was daybreak he threw on his dressing robe; he strode into his daughter's room; the gray twilight came through the comfortless, curtainless casement, deep-sunk into the wall. Adam did not pause to notice that the poor child, though she had provoked his anger by refitting his dismal chamber, had spent nothing in giving a less rugged frown to her own. The scanty worm-worn furniture, the wretched pallet, the poor attire folded decently beside nothing, save that inex- pressible purity and cleanliness which, in the lowliest hovel, a pure and maiden mind gathers round it nothing to distinguish the room of her whose childhood had passed in courts from the hut of the meanest daughter of drudgery and toil ! No he who had lavished the fortunes of his father and his child into the grave of his idea no he saw nothing of this self- forgetful penury the diamond danced before him! He ap- proached the bed and oh ! the contrast of that dreary room and peasant pallet, to the delicate, pure, enchanting loveliness of the sleeping inmate. The scanty covering left partially ex- posed the snow-white neck and rounded shoulder; the face was pillowed upon the arm, in an infantine grace; the face was slightly flushed, and the fresh red lips parted into a smile for in her sleep the virgin dreamed a happy dream? It was a sight to have touched a father's heart, to have stopped his foot- step, and hushed his breath into prayer. And call not Adam hard, unnatural, that he was not then, as men far more harsh than he for the father at that moment was not in his breast the human man was gone he himself, like his model, was <* machine of iron! his life was his one idea!" "Wake, child, wake!" he said, in a loud but hollow voice. "Where is the gold thou hast hidden from me? Wake confess!" Roused from her gracious dreams thus savagely, Sibyll started, and saw the eager, darkened face of her father. Its expression was peculiar and undefinable, for it was not threat- ening, angry, stern; there was a vacancy in the eyes, a strain in the features, and yet a wild intense animation lighting and per- vading all it was as the face of one walking in his sleep; and Il8 THE. I, AST OF THE BARONS. at the first confusion of waking Sibyll thought indeed that such was her father's state. But the impatience with which he shook the arm he grasped and repeated as he opened convul- sively his other hand: "The gold, Sibyll the gold: Why didst thou hide it from me?" speedily convinced her that her fath- er's mind was under the influence of the prevailing malady that made all its weakness and all its strength. "My poor father!" she said pityingly, "wilt thou not leave thyself the means whereby to keep strength and health for thine high hopes. Ah, father, thy Sibyll only hoarded her poor gains for thee!" "The gold!" said Adam mechanically, but in a softer voice "all all thou hast! How didst thou get it how?" "By the labors of these hands. Ah, do not frown on me!" "Thou the child of knightly fathers thou labor!" said Adam, an instinct of his former state of gentle-born and high- hearted youth flashing from his eyes. "It was wrong in thee!" "Dost thoujiot labor too?" "Ay, but for the world. Well the gold!" Sibyll rose, and modestly throwing over her form the old mantle which lay on the pallet, passed to a corner of the room, and opening a chest, took from it the gipsire, and held it out to her father. "If it please thee, dear and honored sir, so be it; and Heaven prosper it in thy hands!" Before Adam's clutch could close on the gipsire, a rude hand was laid on his shoulder, the gipsire was snatched from Sibyll, and the gaunt, half-clad form of old Madge interposed between the two. "Eh, sir!" she said, in her shrill, cracked tone, "I thought, when I heard your door open, and your step hurrying down, you were after no good deeds. Fie, master, fie! I have clung to you when all reviled, and when starvation within and foul words without made all my hire ; for I ever thought you a good and mild man, though little better than stark wode. But, augh! to rob your poor child thus; to leave her to starve and pine! We old folks are used to it. Look round look round; I remember this chamber, when ye first came to your father's halls. Saints of heaven ! There stood the brave bed all rustl- ing with damask of silk ; on those stone walls once hung fine arras of the Flemings a marriage gift to my lady from Queen Margaret, and a mighty show to see, and good for the soul's comforts, with Bible stories wrought on it. Eh, sir! don't you call to mind your namesake, Master Adam, in his brave THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 119 scarlet hosen, and Madam Eve, in her bonny blue kirtle and laced courtpie ; and now now look round, I say, and see what you have brought your child to!" "Hush! hush! Madge, hush!" cried Sibyll, while Adam gazed in evident perturbation and awakening shame at the in- truder, turning his eyes round the room as she spoke, and heaving from time to time short, deep sighs. "But I will not hush," pursued the old woman; "I will say my say, for I love ye both, and I loved my poor mistress, who is dead and gone. Ah, sir, groan ! it does you good. And now when this sweet damsel is growing up, now when you should think of saving a marriage dower for her (for no mar- riage where no pot boils), do you rend from her the little that she has drudged to gain! She! Oh, out on your heart? And for what for what, sir? For the neighbors to set fire to your father's house, and the little ones to " "Forbear, woman!" cried Adam, in a voice of thunder, "forbear! Leave us!" And he waved his hand as he spoke, with so unexpected a majesty that Madge was awed into sud^ den silence, and, darting a look of compassion at Sibyll, she hobbled from the room. Adam stood motionless an instant; but when he felt his child's soft arms round his neck; when he heard her voice struggling against tears, praying him not to heed the foolish words of the old servant to take to take all that it would be easy to gain more the ice of his philos- ophy melted at once the man broke forth, and, clasping Sibyll to his heart, and kissing her cheek, her lips, her hands, he faltered out: "No! no: forgive me! forgive thy cruel father! Much thought has maddened me, I think it has in- deed! Poor child, poor Sibyll," and he stroked her cheek gently, and with a movement of pathetic pity "poor child, thou art pale ; and so slight and delicate ! And this cham- ber and thy loneliness and ah ! my life hath been a curse to thee, yet I meant to bequeath it a boon to all!" "Father, dear father, speak not thus. You break my heart. Here, here take the gold ; or rather, for thou must not ven- ture out to insult again, let me purchase with it what thou needest. Tell me, trust me " "No!" exclaimed Adam, with that hollow energy by which a man resolves to impose restraint on himself; "I will not, for all that science ever achieved I will not lay this shame on my soul. Spend this gold on thyself: trim this room; buy thee raiment all that thou needest I order I command it ! And hark thee, if thou gettest more, hide it from me hide it well 120 THE LAST OK T1IK BARONS. men's desires are foul tempters! I never knew, in following wisdom, that I had a vice. I wake and find myself a miser and a robber!" And with these words he fled from the girl's chamber, gained his own, and locked the door. CHAPTER III. A STRANGE VISITOR ALL AGES OF THE WORLD BREED WORLD-BETTERS. SIBYLL, whose soft heart bled for her father, and who now reproached herself for having concealed from him her little hoard, began hastily to dress that she might seek him out, and soothe the painful feelings which the honest rudeness of Madge had aroused. But before her task was concluded, there pealed a loud knock at the outer door. She heard the old house- keeper's quivering voice responding to a loud clear tone; and presently Madge herself ascended the stairs to Warner's room, followed by a man whom Sibyll instantly recognized, for he was not one easily to be forgotten, as their protector from the assault of the mob. She drew back hastily as he passed her door, and in some wonder and alarm awaited the descent of Madge. That venerable personage having with some difficulty induced her master to open his door and admit the stranger, came straight into her young lady's chamber. "Cheer up cheer up, sweetheart," said the old woman, "I think better days will shine soon ; for the honest man I have admitted says he is but come to tell Master Warner something that will re- dound much to his profit. Oh ! he is a wonderful fellow, this same Robin ! You saw how he turned the cullions from burn- ing the old house!" "What! you know this man, Madge! What is he, and who?" Madge looked puzzled. "That is more than I can say, sweet mistress. But though he has been but some weeks in the neighborhood, they all hold him in high count and esteem. For why it is said he is a rich man and a kind one. He does a world of good to the poor." While Sibyll listened to such explanations as Madge could give her, the stranger, who had carefully closed the door of the student's chamber, after regarding Adam for a moment with silent but keen scrutiny, thus began : "When last we met, Adam Warner, it was with satchels on our backs. Look well at me!" "Troth," answered Adam languidly, for he was still under THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 121 the deep dejection that had followed the scene with Sibyll, "I cannot call you to mind, nor seems it veritable that our school- days passed together, seeing that my hair is gray and men call me old; but thou art in all the lustihood of this human life." "Nathless," returned the stranger, "there are but two years or so between thine age and mine. When thou wert poring over the crabbed text, and pattering Latin by the ell, dost thou not remember a lack-grace, good-for-nought Robert Hilyard, who was always setting the school in an uproar, and was finally outlawed from that boy-world as he hath been since from the man's world, for inciting the weak to resist the strong?" "Ah!" exclaimed Adam, with a gleam of something like joy on his face; "art thou, indeed, that riotous, brawling, fighting, frank-hearted, bold fellow, Robert Hilyard? Ha! ha! those were merry days! I have known none like them " The old schoolfellows shook hands heartily. "The world has not fared well with thee in person or pouch, I fear me, poor Adam," said Hilyard; "thou canst scarcely have passed thy fiftieth year, and yet thy learned studies have given thee the weight of sixty; while I, though ever in toil and bustle, often wanting a meal, and even fearing the halter, am strong and hearty as when I shot my first fallow buck in the King's forest, and kissed the forester's pretty daughter. Yet, methinks, Adam, if what I hear of thy task be true, thou and I have each been working for one end; thou to make the world other than it is, and I to " "What! hast thou too, taken nourishment from the bitter milk of Philosophy thou, fighting Rob?" "I know not whether it be called philosophy but marry, Edward of York would call it rebellion ; they are much the same, for both war against rules established ! ' ' returned Hil- yard, with more depth of thought than his careless manner seemed to promise. He paused, and laying his broad brown hand on Warner's shoulder, resumed: "Thou art poor, Adam!" 4 ' Very poor very very ! ' ' "Does thy philosophy disdain gold?" "What can philosophy achieve without it? She is a hungry dragon, and her very food is gold." "Wilt thou brave some danger thou wert ever a fearless boy when thy blood was up, though so meek and gentle wilt thou brave some clanger for large reward?" "My life braves the scorn of men, the pinchings of famine, 122 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. and, it may be, the stake and the fagot. Soldiers brave not the dangers that arc braved by a wise hum in an unwise age!" "Gramercy! thou hast a hero's calm aspect while thou speakest, and thy words move me! Listen! Thou were wont, when Henry of Windsor was King of England, to visit and confer with him on learned matters. He is now a captive in the Tower; but his gaolers permit him still to receive the visits of pious monks and harmless scholars. I ask thee to pay him such a visit, and for this office I am empowered by richer men than myself to award thee the guerdon of twenty broad pieces of gold." "Twenty! A mine! A Tmolus!" exclaimed Adam, in uncontrollable glee. "Twenty! O true friend! then my work will be born at last!" "But hear me further, Adam, for I will not deceive thee; the visit hath its peril! Thou must first see if the mind of King Henry, for king he 'is, though the usurper wear his holy crown, be clear and healthful. Thou knowest he is subject to dark moods suspension of man's reason ; and if he be, as his friends hope, sane and right-judging, thou wilt give him cer- tain papers, which, after his hand has signed them, thou wilt bring back to me. If in this thou succeedest, know that thou mayest restore the royalty of Lancaster to the purple and the throne ; that thou wilt have princes and earls for favorers and protectors to thy learned life; that thy fortunes and fame are made! Fail, be discovered and Edward of York never spares! Thy guerdon will be the nearest tree and the strong- est rope!" "Robert," said Adam, who had listened to this address with unusual attention, "thou dealest with me plainly, and as man should deal with man. I know little of stratagem and polity, wars and kings ; and save that King Henry, though passing ignorant in the mathematics, and more given to alchemists than to solid seekers after truth, was once or twice gracious to me, I could have no choice, in these four walls, between an Edward and a Henry on the throne. But I have a king whose throne is in mine own breast, and, alack, it taxeth me heavily, and with sore burdens." "I comprehend." said the visitor, glancing round the room "I comprehend thou wantest money for thy books and in- struments, and thy melancholic passion is thy sovereign. Thou wilt incur the risk?" "I will," said Adam. "I would rather seek in the lion's den for what I lack, than do what I well-nigh did this day." THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 1 23 "What crime was that, poor scholar?" said Robert, smiling. "My child worked for her bread, and my luxuries I would have robbed her, old schoolfellow. Ha! ha! what is cord And gibbet to one so tempted?" A tear stood in the bright gray eyes of the bluff visitor. "Ah! Adam," he said sadly, "only by the candle held in the skeleton hand of Poverty can man read his own dark heart. But thou, Workman of Knowledge, hast the same interest as the poor, who dig and delve. Though strange circumstance hath made me the servant and emissary of Margaret, think not that I am but the varlet of the great." Hilyard paused a moment, and resumed : "Thou knowest, peradventure, that my race dates from an elder date than these Norman nobles, who boast their robber- fathers. From the renowned Saxon Thane, who, free of hand and of cheer, won the name of Hildegardis,* our family took its rise. But under these Norman barons, we sank with the nation to which we belonged. Still were we called gentlemen, and still were dubbed knights. But, as I grew up to man's es- tate, I felt myself more Saxon than gentleman, and, as one of a subject and vassal race, I was a son of the Saxon people. My father, like thee, was a man of thought and bookcraft. I dare own to thee that he was a Lollard, and with the religion of those bold foes to priest-vice, goes a spirit that asks why the people should be evermore the spoil and prey of lords and kings. Early in my youth, my father, fearing rack and fagot in Eng- land, sought refuge in the Hans Town of Lubeck. There I learned grave truths how liberty can be won and guarded. Later in life I saw the republics of Italy, and I asked why they were so glorious in all the arts and craft of civil life, while the braver men of France and England seemed as savages by the side of the Florentine burgess, nay, of the Lombard vine-dres- ser. I saw that even when those republics fell a victim to some tyrant or podesta, their men still preserved rights and ut- tered thoughts which left them more free and more great than the Commons of England, after all their boasted wars. I came back to my native land and settled in the North, as my frank- lin ancestry before me. The broad lands of my forefathers had devolved on the elder line, and gave a knight's fee to Sir Rob- ert Hilyard, who fell afterwards at Teuton for the Lancas- trians. But I had won gold in the far countree, and I took farm and homestead near Lord Warwick's tower of Middle- * Hildegardis, viz., old German, a person of noble or generous disposition. Wotton'j Baronetage. Art. Hiiyard, or Hildyard, of Pattrington. 124 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. ham. The feud between Lancaster and York broke forth; Earl Warwick summoned his retainers, myself amongst them, since I lived upon his land; I sought the great Earl, and told him boldly him whom the Commons deemed a friend and a foe to all malfaisance and abuse I told him that the war he asked me to join seemed to me but a war of ambitious lords, and that I saw not how the Commons were to be bettered, let who would be king. The Earl listened and deigned to reason: and when he saw I was not convinced, he left me to my will; for he is a noble chief, and I admired even his angry pride, when he said: 'Let no man fight for Warwick whose heart beats not in his cause.' I lived afterwards to discharge my debt to the proud Earl, and show him how even the lion may be meshed, and how even the mouse may gnaw the net. But to my own tragedy. So I quitted those parts, for I feared my own reso- lution near so great a man: I made a new home not far from the city of York. So, Adam, when all the land around bristled with pike and gisarrne, and while my own cousin and namesake, the head of my house, was winning laurels and wast- ing blood, I, thy quarrelsome, fighting friend, lived at home in peace with my wife and child (for I was now married, and wife and child were dear to me) and tilled my lands. But in peace I was active and astir, for my words inflamed the bosoms of laborers and peasants, and many of them, benighted as they were, thought with me. One day I was absent from home, selling my grain in the marts of York one day there entered the village a young captain, a boy-chief, Edward Earl of March, beating for recruits. Dost thou heed me, Adam? Well, man well, the peasants stood aloof from tromp and banner, and they answered, to all the talk of hire and fame: 'Robin Hilyard tells us we have nothing to gain but blows ?eave us to hew and to delve.' Oh! Adam, this boy this chief the Earl of March, now crowned King Edward, made but one reply: 'This Robin Hilyard must be a wise man show me his house.' They pointed out the ricks, the barns, the home- stead, and in five minutes all all were in flames. 'Tell the hilding, when he returns, that thus Edward of March, fair to friends and terrible to foes, rewards the coward who disaffects the men of Yorkshire to their chief.' And by the blazing rafters, and the pale faces of the silent crowd, he rode on his way to battle and the throne!" Hilyard paused, and the anguish of his countenance was ter- rible to behold. "I returned to find a heap of ashes: I returned to find my THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 125 wife a maniac; I returned to find my child my boy great God! he had run to hide himself, in terror at the torches and the grim men ; they had failed to discover him, till, too late, his shrieks, amidst the crashing walls, burst on his mother's ear and the scorched, mangled, lifeless corpse lay on that mother's bosom!" Adam rose; his figure was transformed; not the stooping student, but the knight-descended man, seemed to tower in the murky chamber; his hands felt at his side, as for a sword; he stifled a curse, and Hilyard, in that suppressed low voice which evinces a strong mind in deep emotion, continued his tale. "Blessed be the divine Intercessor, the mother of the dead died too! Behold me, a lonely, ruined, wifeless, childless wretch ! I made all the world my foe ! The old love of lib- erty (alone left me) became a crime; I plunged into the gloom of the forest, a robber-chief, sparing no, never never never! one York captain, one spurred knight, one belted lord! But the poor, my Saxon countrymen, they had suffered, and were safe! "One dark twilight thou hast heard the tale, every village minstrel sets it to his viol a majestic woman a hunted fugi- tive crossed my path; she led a boy in her hand, a year or so younger than my murdered child. 'Friend!' said the woman fearlessly, 'save the son of your king: I am Margaret, Queen of England ! ' I saved them both. From that hour, the robber- chief, the Lollard's son, became a queen's friend. Here opened, at least, vengeance against the fell destroyer. Now see you why I seek you why tempt you into danger? Pause if you will, for my passion heats my blood ; and all the kings since Saul, it may be, are not worth one scholar's life! And yet," continued Hilyard, regaining his ordinary calm tone, "and yet, it seemeth to me, as I said at first, that all who labor have, in this, a common cause and interest with the poor. This woman-king, though bloody man, with his wine-cups and his harlots this usurping York his very existence flaunts the life of the sons of toil. In civil war and in broil, in strife that needs the arms of the people, the people shall get their own." "I will go," said Adam, and he advanced to the door. Hilyard caught his arm. "Why, friend, thou hast not even the documents, and how wouldst thou get access to the pris- on? Listen to me; or," added the conspirator, observing poor Adam's abstracted air, "or let me rather speak a word to thy 126 THE LAST OF THF. BAkONS. fair daughter; women have ready wit, and are the pioneers to the advance of men! Adam! Adam! thou art dreaming!" He shook the philosopher's arm roughly. "I heed you," said Warner meekly. "The first thing required," renewed Hilyard, "is a permit to see King Henry. This is obtained either from the Lord Worcester, governor of the Tower, a cruel man, who may deny it, or the Lord Hastings, Edward's chamberlain, a humane and gentle one, who will readily grant it. Let not thy daugh- ter know why thou wouldst visit Henry ; let her suppose it is solely to make report of his health to Margaret ; let her not know there is scheming or danger; so, at least, her ignorance will secure her safety. But let her go to the lord chamberlain, and obtain the order for a learned clerk to visit the learned prisoner to ha! well thought of this strange machine is, doubtless, the invention of which thy neighbors speak; this shall make thy excuse; thou wouldst divert the prisoner with thy mechanical comprehendest thou, Adam?" "Ah! King Henry will see the model, and when he is on the throne " "He will protect the scholar!" interrupted Hilyard. "Good! good! Wait here I will confer with thy daughter." He gently pushed aside Adam, opened the door, and on de- scending the stairs, found Sibyll by the large casement where she had stood with Marmaduke, and heard the rude stave of the tymbesteres. The anxiety the visit of Hilyard had occasioned her was at once allayed, when he informed her that he had been her father's schoolmate and desired to become his friend. And when he drew a moving picture of the exiled condition of Margaret and the young prince, and their natural desire to learn tidings of the health of the deposed king, her gentle heart, forgetting the haughty insolence with which her royal mistress had often wounded and chilled her childhood, felt all the generous and compassionate sympathy the conspirator desired to awaken. "The occasion," added Hilyard, "for learning the poor cap- tive's state now offers! He hath heard of your father's labors; he desires to learn their nature from his own lips. He is allowed to receive, by an order from King Edward's chamberlain, the visits of those scholars in whose converse he was ever wont to delight. Wilt thou so far aid the charitable work as to seek the Lord Hastings, and crave the necessary license? Thou seest that thy father has wayward and abstract moods ; he might forget that Henry of Windsor is no longer king, and might give THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 127 him that title in speaking to Lord Hastings a slip of the tongue which the law styles treason." "Certes," said Sibyll quickly, "if my father would seek the poor captive, I will be his messenger to my Lord Hastings. But, oh, sir! as thou hast known my father's boyhood, and as thou hopest for mercy in the last day, tempt to no danger one so guileless?" Hilyard winced as he interrupted her hastily: "There is no danger if thou wilt obtain the license. I will say more a reward awaits him, that will not only banish his poverty but save his life." "His life!" "Ay! seest thou not, fair mistress, that Adam Warner is dy- ing, not of the body's hunger, but of the soul's? He craveth gold, that his toils may reap their guerdon. If that gold be denied, his toils will fret him to the grave!" "Alas! alas! it is true." "That gold he shall honorably win! Nor is this all. Thou wilt see the Lord Hastings : he is less learned, perhaps, than Worcester; less dainty in accomplishments and gifts than An- thony Woodville, but his mind is profound and vast; all men praise him, save the Queen's kin. He loves scholars; he is mild to distress ; he laughs at the superstitions of the vulgar. Thou wilt see the Lord Hastings, and thou mayst interest him in thy father's genius and his fate!" "There is frankness in thy voice, and I will trust thee," an- swered Sibyll. "When shall I seek this lord?" "This day, if thou wilt. He lodges at the Tower, and gives access, it is said, to all who need his offices, or seek succor from his power." "This day, then, be it!" answered Sibyll calmly. Hilyard gazed at her countenance, rendered so noble in its youthful resignation, in its soft firmness of expression, and muttering: "Heaven prosper thee, maiden; we shall meet to- morrow, " descended the stairs, and quitted the house. His heart smote him when he was in the street. "If evil should come to this meek scholar to that poor child's father, it would be a sore sin to my soul. But no ; I will not think it. The saints will not suffer this bloody Edward to triumph long; and in this vast chess-board of vengeance and great ends, we must move men to and fro, and harden our natures to the hazard of the game." Sibyll sought her father; his mind had flown back to the model. He was already living in the life that the promised 128 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. gold would give to the dumb thought. True that all the in- genious additions to the engine additions that were to convince the reason and startle the fancy, were not yet complete (for want, of course, of the diamond bathed in moonbeams), but still there was enough in the inventions already achieved to excite curi- osity and obtain encouragement. So, with care and diligence and sanguine hope, the philosopher prepared the grim model for exhibition to a man who had worn a crown, and might wear again. But with that innocent and sad cunning which is so common with enthusiasts of one idea, the sublime dwellers of the narrow border between madness and inspiration, Adam, amidst his excitement, contrived to conceal from his daughter all glimpse of the danger he run, of the correspondence of which he was to be the medium, or rather, may we think that he had forgotten both ! Not the stout Warwick himself, in the roar of battle, thought so little of peril to life and limb as that gentle student, in the reveries of his lonely closet; and there- fore, all unsuspicious, and seeing but diversion to Adam's recent gloom of despair, an opening to all his bright prospects, Sibyll attired herself in her holiday garments, drew her wimple closely round her face, and summoning Madge to attend her, bent her way to the Tower. Near York House, within view of the Sanctuary and the palace of Westminster, they took a boat, and arrived at the stairs of the Tower. CHAPTER IV. LORD HASTINGS. WILLIAM LORD HASTINGS was one of the most remarkable men of the age. Philip de Comines bears testimony to his high repute for wisdom and virtue. Born the son of a knight of ancient lineage but scanty lands, he had risen, while yet in the prime of life, to a rank and an influence second, perhaps, only to the house of Nevile. Like Lord Montagu, he united in happy combination the talents of a soldier and a courtier. But as a statesman, a schemer, a thinker, Montagu, with all his craft, was inferior to Hastings. In this, the latter had but two equals, viz., George, the youngest of the Nevile brothers, Arch- bishop of York; and a boy, whose intellect was not yet fully developed, but in whom was already apparent to the observant the dawn of a restless, fearless, calculating, and subtle genius that boy, whom the philosophers of Utrecht had taught to rea son. whom the lessons of Warwick had trained to arms, was THE LAST OF THE BARONS. I2p Richard Duke of Gloucester, famous even now for his skill in the tilt-yard, and his ingenuity in the rhetoric of the schools. The manners of Lord Hastings had contributed to his for- tunes. Despite the newness of his honors, even the haughtiest of the ancient nobles bore him no grudge, for his demeanor was at once modest and manly. He was peculiarly simple and unostentatious in his habits, and possessed that nameless charm which makes men popular with the lowly, and welcome to the great.* But in that day a certain mixture of vice was neces- sary to success ; and Hastings wounded no self-love by the as- sumption of unfashionable purism. He was regard with small favor by the Queen, who knew him as the companion of Edward in his pleasures, and at a later period accused him of enticing her faithless lord into unworthy affections. And certain it is that he was foremost amongst the courtiers in those adventures which we call the excesses of gayety and folly, though too often leading to Solomon's wisdom and his sadness. But profligacy, with Hastings, had the excuse of ardent passions : he had loved deeply, and unhappily, in his earlier youth, and he gave in to the dissipation of the time with the restless eagerness common to strong and active natures when the heart is not at ease ; and under all the light fascination of his converse, or the dissipa- tion of his life, lurked the melancholic temperament of a man worthy of nobler things. Nor was the courtly vice of the libertine the only drawback to the virtuous character as- signed to Hastings by Comines. His experience of men had taught him something of the disdain of the cynic, and he scrupled not at serving his pleasure or his ambition by means which his loftier nature could not excuse to his clear sense, f Still, however, the world, which had deteriorated, could not harden, him. Few persons so able acted so frequently from impulse; the impulses were, for the most part, affectionate and generous, but then came the regrets of caution and ex- perience ; and Hastings summoned his intellect to correct the movement of his heart in other words, reflection sought to undo what impulse had suggested. Though so successful a gallant, he had not acquired the ruthless egotism of the sensua- list; and his conduct to women often evinced the weakness of * On Edward's accession, so highly were the services of Hastings appreciated by the party, that not only the King, but many of the nobility, contributed to render his wealth equal to his .new station, by grants of lands and moneys. Several years afterwards, when he went with Edward into France, no less than two lords, nine knights, fifty-eight squires, and twenty gentlemen, joined his train. Dugdale's " Baronage," p. 583. Sharon Turner's " History of England," vol. iii. p. 380. t See Comines, b. vi., for a curious anecdote of what Mr. Sharon Turner happily calls 14 the moral coquetry " of Hastings an anecdote which reveals much of his character. 130 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. giddy youth, rather than the cold deliberation of profligate man- hood. Thus in his veriest vices there was a spurious amiability, a seductive charm ; while in the graver affairs of life, the intel- lectual susceptibility of his nature served but to quicken his penetration and stimulate his energies, and Hastings might have said, with one of his Italian contemporaries: "That in subjec- tion to the influences of women he had learned the government of men." In a word, his powers to attract, and his capacities to command, may be guessed by this : that Lord Hastings was the only man Richard III. seems to have loved, when Duke of Gloucester,* and the only man he seems to have feared when resolved to be King of England. Hastings was alone in the apartments assigned to him in the Tower, when his page, with a peculiar smile, announced to him the visit of a young donzell, who would not impart her business to his attendants. The accomplished chamberlain looked up somewhat im- patiently from the beautiful MS., enriched with the silver verse of Petrarch, which lay open on his table, and, after muttering to himself: "It is only Edward to whom the face of a woman never is unwelcome," bade the page admit the visitor. The damsel entered, and the door closed upon her. "Be not alarmed, maiden," said Hastings, touched by the downcast bend of the hooded countenance, and the unmistaka- ble and timid modesty of his vistor's bearing. "What hast thou to say to me?" At the sound of his voice, Sibyll Warner started, and uttered a faint exclamation. The stranger of the pastime-ground was before her. Instinctively she drew the wimple yet more closely round her face, and laid her hand upon the bolt of the door as if in the impulse of retreat. The nobleman's curiosity was aroused. He looked again and earnestly on the form that seemed to shrink from his gaze ; then rising slowly, he advanced, and laid his hand on her arm. "Donzell, I recognize thee," he said, in a voice that sounded cold and stern; "What service wouldst thou ask me to render thee! Speak! Nay! I pray thee, speak." "Indeed, good my lord," said Sibyll, conquering her con- fusion ; and, lifting her wimple, her dark blue eyes met those bent on her, with fearless truth and innocence, "I knew not, and you will believe me I knew not till this moment that I had such cause for gratitude to the Lord Hastings. I sought you but on the behalf of my father, Master Adam Warner, who * Sir Thomas Moore, " Life of Edward V. ," sneaks of " the great love " Richard bore to Hastings, THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 13! wcuid fain have the permission accorded to other scholars, to see the Lord Henry of Windsor, who was gracious to him in other days, and to while the duress of that princely captive with the show of a quaint instrument he has invented." "Doubtless," answered Hastings, who deserved his character (rare in that day) for humanity arid mildness "doubtless it will pleasure me, nor offend His Grace the King, to show all courtesy and indulgence to the unhappy gentleman and lord whom the weal of England condemns us to hold incarcerate. I have heard of thy father, maiden an honest and simple man, in whom we need not fear a conspirator and of the young mistress, I have heard also, since we parted." "Of me, noble sir?" "Of thee," said Hastings, with a smile; and, placing a seat for her, he took from the table an illuminated MS. "I have to thank thy friend, Master Aly wn, for procuring me this treasure ! ' ' "What, my lord!" said Sibyll, and her eyes glistened, "were you you the the " "The fortunate person whom Alwyn has enriched at so slight a cost. Yes. Do not grudge me my good fortune in this. Thou hast nobler treasures, methinks, to bestow on another!" "My good lord!" "Nay, I must not distress thee. And the young gentleman has a fair face; may it bespeak a true heart!" These words gave Sibyll an emotion of strange delight. They seemed spoken sadly ; they seemed to betoken a jealous sor- row: they awoke the strange, wayward, woman-feeling, which is pleased at the pain that betrays the woman's influence: the girl's rosy lips smiled maliciously. Hastings watched her and her face was so radiant with that rare gleam of secret happi- ness so fresh, so young, so pure, and withal so arch and capti- vating, that hackneyed and jaded as he was in the vulgar pur- suit of pleasure, the sight moved better and tenderer feelings than those of the sensualist. "Yes," he muttered to himself, "there are some toys it were a sin to sport with and cast away amidst the broken rubbish of gone passions!" He turned to the table, and wrote the order of admission to Henry's prison, and as he gave it to Sibyll, he said: "Thy young gallant, I see, is at the court now. It is a perilous ordeal, and especially to one for whom the name of Nevile opens the road to advancement and honor. Men learn betimes in courts to forsake Love for Plutus, and many a wealthy lord would give his heiress to the poorest gentleman who claims kindred to the Earl of Salisbury and Warwick." 132 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. "May my father's guest so prosper," answered Sibyll, "for he seems of loyal heart and gentle nature!" "Thou art unselfish, sweet mistress," said Hastings; and, surprised by her careless tone, he paused a moment, "or art thou, in truth, indifferent? Saw I not thy hand in his, when even those loathly tymbesteres chanted warning to thee for lov- ing, not above thy merits, but alas, it may be, above thy for- tunes?" Sibyll's delight increased. Oh, then, he had not applied that hateful warning to himself! He guessed not her secret. She blushed, and the blush was so chaste and maidenly, while the smile that went with it was so ineffably animated and joyous, that Hastings exclaimed, with unaffected admiration: "Surely, fair donzell, Petrarch dreamed of thee, when he spoke of the woman- blush and the angel-smile of Laura. Woe to the man who would injure thee. Farewell ! I would not see thee too often, unless I saw thee ever." He lifted her hand to his lips, with a chivalrous respect, as he spoke ; opened the door, and called his page to attend her to the gates. Sibyll was more flattered by the abrupt dismissal, than if he had knelt to detain her. How different seemed the world as her light step wended homeward ! CHAPTER V. MASTER ADAM WARNER AND KING HENRY VI. THE next morning Hilyard revisited Warner, with the let- ters for Henry. The conspirator made Adam reveal to him the interior mechanism of the Eureka to which Adam, who had toiled all night, had appended one of the most ingenious con- trivances he had as yet been enabled (sans the diamond) to ac- complish, for the better display of the agencies which the engine was designed to achieve. This contrivance was full of strange cells and recesses, in one of which the documents were placed. And there they lay, so well concealed as to puzzle the minutest search, if not aided by the inventor, or one to whom he had communicated the secrets of the contrivance. After repeated warnings and exhortations to discretion, Hil- yard then, whose busy, active mind had made all the necessary arrangements, summoned a stout-looking fellow, whom he had left below, and, with his aid, conveyed the heavy machine across the garden, to a back lane, where a mule stood ready to receive the burden, THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 133 "'Suffer this trusty fellow to guide thee, dear Adam; he will take thee through ways where thy brutal neighbors are not likely to meet and molest thee. Call all thy wits to the sur- face. Speed and prosper !" "Fear not," said Adam disdainfully. "In the neighorhood of kings, science is ever safe. Bless thee, child," and he laid his hand upon Sibyll's head, for she had accompanied them thus far in silence "now go in." "I go with thee, father," said Sibyll firmly. "Master Hil- yard, it is best so," she whispered ; "what if my father fall into one of his reveries!" "You are right: go with him, at least, to the Tower-gate. Hard by is the house of a noble dame, and a worthy, known to our friend Hugh, where thou mayest wait Master Warner's return. It will not suit thy modesty and sex to loiter amongst the pages and soldiery in the yard. Adam, thy daughter must wend with thee." Adam had not attended to this colloquy, and mechanically bowing his head, he set off, and was greatly surprised, on gain- ing the river-side (where a boat was found large enough to ac- commodate not only the human passengers, but the mule and its burden), to see Sibyll by his side. The imprisonment of the unfortunate Henry, though guarded with sufficient rigor against all chances of escape, was not, as the reader has perceived, at this period embittered by unneces- sary harshness. His attendants treated him with respect, his table was supplied more abundantly and daintily than his ha- bitual abstinence required, and the monks and learned men whom he had favored were, we need not repeat, permitted to enliven his solitude with their grave converse. On the other hand, all attempts at correspondence between Margaret or the exiled Lancastrians and himself had been jeal- ously watched, and, when detected, the emissaries had been punished with relentless severity. A man named Hawkins had been racked for attempting to borrow money for the Queen from the great London merchant, Sir Thomas Cook. A shoe- maker had been tortured to death with red-hot pincers for abet- ting her correspondence with her allies. Various persons had been racked for similar offences, but the energy of Margaret, and the zeal of her adherents, were still unexhausted and uncon- quered. Either unconscious or contemptuous of the perils to which he was subjected, the student, with his silent companions, per- formed the voyage, and landed in sight of the Fortress Palatine. 134 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. And now Hugh stopped before a house of good fashion, knocked at the door, which was opened by an old servitor, disappeared for a few moments, and returning, informed Sibyll, in a mean- ing whisper, that the gentlewoman within was a good Lancas- trian, and prayed the donzell to rest in her company till Master Warner's return. Sibyll, accordingly, after pressing her father's hand without fear, for she had deemed the sole danger Adam risked was from the rabble by the way, followed Hugh into a fair chamber, strewed with rushes, where an aged dame, of noble air and aspect, was employed at her broidery frame. This gentle- woman, the widow of a nobleman who had fallen in the service of Henry, received her graciously, and Hugh then retired to com- plete his commission. The student, the mule, the model, and the porter, pursued their way to the entrance of that part of the gloomy palace inhabited by Henry. Here they were stopped, and Adam, after rummaging long in vain for the chamberlain's passport, at last happily discovered it, pinned to his sleeve, by Sibyll's forethought. On this a gentleman was summoned to inspect the order, and in a few moments Adam was conducted to the presence of the illustrious prisoner. "And what," said a subaltern officer, lolling by the arch- way of the (now styled) "Bloody Tower," hard by the turret devoted to the prisoner,* and speaking to Adam's guide, who still mounted guard by the model "what may be the precious burden of which thou art the convoy?" "Marry, sir," said Hugh, who spoke in the strong York- shire dialect, which we are obliged to render into intelligible English "marry, I weet not; it is some curious puppet-box, or quaint contrivance, that Master Warner, whom they say is a very deft and ingenious personage, is permitted to bring hither for the Lord Henry's diversion." "A puppet-box!" said the officer, with much animated curi- osity. ' 'Fore the mass! that must be a pleasant sight. Lift the lid, fellow!" "Please your honor, I do not dare," returned Hugh; "I but obey orders." "Obey mine, then. Out of the way!" and the officer lifted the lid of the pannier with the point of his dagger, and peered within. He drew back, much disappointed : "Holy Mother!" said he, "this seemeth more like an instrument of torture, than a juggler's merry device. It looks parlous ugly!" "Hush!" said one of the lazy bystanders, with whom the * The Wakefield Tower. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 135 various gateways and ' courts of the palace fortress were crowded, "hush! Thy cap and thy knee, sir!" The officer started; and, looking round, perceived a young man of low stature, followed by three or four knights and no- bles, slowly approaching towards the arch, and every cap in the vicinity was off, and every knee bowed. The eye of this young man was already bent with a search- ing and keen gaze upon the motionless mule, standing patiently by the Wakefield Tower; and turning from the mule to the porter, the latter shrunk, and grew pale, at that dark, steady, penetrating eye, which seemed to pierce at once into the secrets and hearts of men. "Who may this young lord be?" he whispered, to the officer. "Prince Richard, Duke of Gloucester, man," was the an- swer. "Uncover, varlet!" "Surely," said the Prince, pausing by the gate, "surely this is no sumpter-mule, bearing provisions to the Lord Henry of Windsor. It would be but poor respect to that noble person, whom, alas the day! His Grace the King is unwillingly com- pelled to guard from the malicious designs of rebels and mischief-seekers, that one not bearing the King's livery should attend to any of the needful wants of so worshipful a lord and guest ! ' ' "My lord," said the officer at the gate, "one Master Adam Warner hath just, by permission, been conducted to the Lord Henry's presence, and the beast beareth some strange and grim-looking device for my lord's diversion." The singular softness and urbanity which generally charac- terized the Duke of Gloucester's tone and bearing at that time, which, in a court so full of factions and intrigues, made him the enemy of none, and seemingly the friend of all, and, con- joined with abilities already universally acknowledged, had given to his very boyhood a pre-eminence of grave repute and good opinion, which, indeed, he retained till the terrible cir- cumstances connected with his accession to the throne, under the bloody name of Richard the Third, roused all men's hearts and reasons into the persuasion that what before had seemed virtue was but dissimulation this singular sweetness, we say. of manner and voice, had in it nevertheless, something that imposed, and thrilled, and awed. And, in truth, in our com- mon and more vulgar intercourse with life, we must have ob- served, that where external gentleness of bearing is accompa- nied by a repute for iron will, determined resolution, and a serious, profound, and all-inquiring intellect, it carries with it 136 THF. LAST OB' THE BARONS. a majesty wholly distinct from that charm which is exercised by one whose mildness of nature corresponds with the outward humility; and, if it does not convey the notion of falseness, bears the appearance of that perfect self-possession, that calm repose of power, which intimidates those it influences far more than the imperious port and the loud voice. And they who best knew the Duke knew also that, despite this general smoothness of mien, his temperament was naturally irritable, quick, and subject to stormy gusts of passion, the which de- fects his admirers praised him for laboring hard and sedulously to keep in due control. Still, to a keen observer, the constitu- tional tendencies of that nervous temperament were often visi- ble, even in his blandest moments even when his voice was most musical, his smile most gracious. If something stung, or excited him, an uneasy gnawing of the nether lip, a fretful playing with his dagger, drawing it up and down from its sheath,* a slight twitching of the muscles of the face, and a quiver of the eyelid, betokened the efforts he made at self- command; and now, as his dark eyes rested upon Hugh's pale countenance, and then glanced upon the impassive mule, doz- ing quietly under the weight of poor Adam's model, his hand mechanically sought his dagger-hilt, and his face took a sinister and sombre expression. "Thy name, friend?" "Hugh Withers, please you, my lord Duke." "Um! North country, by thine accent. Dost thou serve u.is Master Warner?" "No, my lord, I was only hired with my mule to carry " "Ah! true! to carry what thy pannier contains; open it. Holy Paul! a strange jonglerie indeed! This Master Adam Warner methinks, I have heard his name a learned man um let me see his safe-conduct. Right it is Lord Hastings's signature." But still the Prince held the passport, and still suspiciously eyed the Eureka and its appliances, which, in their complicated and native ugliness of doors, wheels, pipes, and chimney, were exposed to his view. At this moment one of the attendants of Henry descended the stairs of the Wake- field Tower, with a request that the model might be carried up to divert the prisoner. Richard paused a moment, as the officer hesitatingly watched his countenance before giving the desired permission. But the Prince, turning to him, and smoothing his brow, said mildly: "Certes! all that can divert the Lord Henry must be innocent * Pol. Virg. 565. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 137 pastime. And I am well pleased that he hath this cheerful mood for recreation. It gainsayeth those who would accuse us of rigor in his durance. Yes, this warrant is complete and formal"; and the Prince returned the passport to the officer, and walked slowly on through that gloomy arch evermore asso- ciated with Richard of Gloucester's memory, and beneath the very room in which our belief yet holds that the infant sons of Edward IV. breathed their last ; still as Gloucester moved, he turned and turned, and kept his eye furtively fixed upon the porter. "Lovell, " he said, to one of the gentlemen who attended him, and who was among the few admitted to his more pecu- liar intimacy "that man is of the north." "Well, my lord?" "The north was always well affected to the Lancastrians. Master Warner hath been accused of witchcraft. Marry, I should like to see his device um, Master Catesby, come hither approach, sir. Go back, and the instant Adam Warner and his contrivance are dismissed, bring them both to me in the King's chamber. Thou understandest? We too would see his device and let neither man nor mechanical, when once they re-appear, out of thine eye's reach. For divers and subtle are the contrivances of treasonable men!" Catesby bowed, and Richard, without speaking further, took his way to the royal apartments, which lay beyond the White Tower, towards the river, and are long since demolished. Meanwhile the porter, with the aid of one of the attendants, had carried the model into the chamber of the august captive. Henry, attired in a loose robe, was pacing the room with a slow step, and his head sunk on his bosom, while Adam, with much animation, was enlarging on the wonders of the contriv- ance he was about to show him. The chamber was commodi- ous, and furnished with sufficient attention to the state and dignity of the prisoner; for Edward, though savage and relent- less when his blood was up, never descended into the cool and continuous cruelty of detail. The chamber may yet be seen; its shape a spacious octagon; but the walls, now rude and bare, were then painted and blaz- oned with scenes from the Old Testament. The door opened beneath the pointed arch in the central side (not where it now does), giving entrance from a small ante-room, in which the visitor now beholds the receptacle for old rolls and papers. At the right, on entering, where now, if our memory mistake not, is placed a press, stood the bed, quaintly carved, and with 138 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. hangings of damascene. At the farther end, the deep recess which faced the ancient door was fitted up as a kind of oratory. And there, were to oe seen, besides the crucifix and the mass- book, a profusion of small vessels of gold and crystal, contain- ing the relics, supposed or real, of Saint and Martyr, treasures which the deposed King had collected in his palmier days, at a sum that, in the minds of his followers, had been better be- stowed on arms and war-steeds. A young man named Aller- ton one of the three gentlemen personally attached to Henry, to whom Edward had permitted general access, and who in fact lodged in other apartments of the Wakefield Tower, and might be said to share his captivity was seated before a table, and following the steps of his musing master, with earnest and watchful eyes. One of the small spaniels employed in springing game for Henry, despite his mildness, had been fond of all the sports of the field lay curled round on the floor, but started up, with a shrill bark, at the entrance of the bearer of the model, while a starling, in a cage, by the window, seemingly delighted at the disturbance, flapped his wings, and screamed out: "Bad men! Bad world! Poor Henry!" The captive paused at that cry, and a sad and patient smile of inexpressible melancholy and sweetness hovered over his lips. Henry still retained much of the personal comeliness he possessed at the time when Margaret of Anjou, the theme of minstrel and minne-singer, left her native court of poets, for the fatal throne of England. But beauty, usually so popular and precious a gift to kings, was not in him of that order which commanded the eye and moved the admiration of a turbulent people and a haughty chivalry. The features, if regular, were small ; their expression meek and timid ; the form, though tall, was not firm-knit and muscular; the lower limbs were too thin, the body had too much flesh, the delicate hands betrayed the sickly paleness of feeble health; there was a dreamy vague- ness in the clear, soft blue eyes, and a listless absence of all energy in the habitual bend, the slow, heavy, sauntering tread all about that benevolent aspect, that soft voice, that resigned mien, and gentle manner, spoke the exquisite, unre- sisting goodness, which provoked the lewd to taunt, the hardy to despise, the insolent to rebel for the foes of a king in stormy times are often less his vices than his virtues. "And now, good my lord," said Adam, hastening, with eager hands, to assist the bearer in depositing the model on the table; "now will I explain to you the contrivance, which THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 139 it hath cost me long years of patient toil to shape from thought into this iron form." "But first," said Allerton, "were it not well that these good people withdrew? A contriver likes not others to learn his secret ere the time hath come to reap its profits." "Surely surely!" said Adam, and alarmed at the idea thus suggested, he threw the folds of his gown over the model. The attendant bowed and retired: Hugh followed him, but not till he had exchanged a significant look with Allerton. As soon as the room was left clear to Adam, the captive, and Master Allerton, the last rose, and looking hastily round the chamber, approached the mechanician. "Quick, sir!" said he, in a whisper, "we are not often left without witnesses. " "Verily," said Adam, who had now forgotten kings and stratagems, plots and counterplots, and was all-absorbed in his invention; "Verily, young man, hurry not in this fashion I am about to begin. Know, my lord," and he turned to Henry, who, with an indolent, dreamy gaze, stood contemplat- ing the Eureka; "know that, more than a hundred years before the Christian era, one Hero, an Alexandrian, discov- ered the force produced by the vapor begot by heat on water. That this power was not unknown to the ancient sages, witness the contrivances, not otherwise to be accounted for, of the heathen oracles; but to our great countryman and predecessor, Roger Bacon, who first suggested that vehicles might be drawn without steeds or steers, and ships might " "Marry, sir," interrupted Allerton, with great impatience, "it is not to prate to us of such trivial fables of Man, or such wanton sports of the Foul Fiend, that thou hast risked limb and life. Time is precious. I have been prevised that thou hast letters for King Henry; produce them quick!" A deep glow of indignation had overspread the Enthusiast's face at the commencement of this address; but the close re- minded him, in truth, of his errand. "Hot youth," said he, with dignity, "a future age may judge differently of what thou deemest trivial fables, and may rate high this poor invention when the brawls of York and Lan- caster are forgotten." "Hear him," said Henry, with a soft smile, and laying his hand on the shoulder of the young man, who was about to utter a passionate and scornful retort "Hear him, sir. Have I not often and ever said this same thing to thee? We chil- dren of a day imagine our contests are the sole things that move the world. Alack! our fathers thought the same; and they 140 THE LAST OF T.lf liARONS. and their turmoils sleep forgotten! Nay, Master Warner" for here Adam, poor man, awed by Henry's mildness into shame at his discourteous vaunting, began to apologize "nay, sir, nay thou art right to contemn our bloody and futile struggles for a crown of thorns; for ' Kingdoms are but cares, State is devoid of stay ; Riches are ready snares, And hasten to decay.'* And yet, sir, believe me, thou hast no cause for vainglory in thine own craft and labors ; for to wit and to lere there are the same vanity and vexation of spirit as to war and empire. Only, O would-be wise man, only when we muse on Heaven do our souls ascend from the Fowler's snare!" "My saint-like liege," said Allerton, bowing low, and with tears in his eyes, "thinkest thou not that thy very disdain of thy rights makes thee more worthy of them? If not for thine, for thy son's sake remember that the usurper sits on the throne of the conqueror of Agincourt! Sir Clerk, the letters." Adam, already anxious to retrieve the error of his first for- getfulness, here, after a moment's struggle for the necessary remembrance, drew the papers from the labyrinthine recepta- cle which concealed them; and Henry uttered an exclamation of joy, as, after cutting the silk, his eye glanced over the writing: "My Margaret! My wife!" Presently he grew pale, and his hands trembled ! "Saints defend her ! Saints defend her ! She is here, disguised, in London!" "Margaret! Our hero-queen! The manlike woman!" ex- claimed Allerton, clasping his hands; "Then be sure that " He stopped, and abruptly taking Adam's arm, drew him aside, while Henry continued to read "Master Warner, we may trust thee thou art one of us thou art sent here, I know, by Robin of Redesdale we may trust thee?" "Young sir," replied the philosopher gravely, "the fears and hopes of power are not amidst the uneasier passions of the stu- dent's mind. I pledged myself but to bear these papers hither, and to return with what may be sent back." "But thou didst this for love of the cause, the truth, and the right?" "I did it partly from Hilyard's tale of wrong, but partly, also, for the gold," answered Adam simply; and kis noble air, * Lines ascribed to Henry VI., with commendation " as a prettie verse," by Sir John Harrington, in the " Nugae Antiquae." They are also given, with little alteration, to the unhappy King by Baldwin, in his tragedy of King Henry VI, THE X AST OF THE BARONS. 141 his high brow, the serene calm of his features, so contrasted the meanness implied in the ratter words of his confession, that Allerton stared at him amazed, and without reply. Meanwhile Henry had concluded the letter, and with a heavy sigh glanced over the papers that accompanied it. "Alack! alack! more turbulence, more danger, and dis- quiet more of my people's blood!" He motioned to the young man, and drawing him to the window, while Adam re- turned to his model, put the papers in his hand. "Allerton," he said, "thou lovest me, btu t.hou art one of the few in this distraught land who love also God. Thou art not one of the warriors, the men of steel. Counsel me. See Margaret de- mands my signature to these papers ; the one, empowering and craving the levy of men and arms in the northern counties; the other, promising free pardon to all who will desert Edward; the third it seemeth to me more strange and less kinglike than the others undertaking to abolish all the imposts and all the laws that press upon the Commons, snd (is this a holy and pious stipulation?) to inquire into the exactions and persecu- tions of the priesthood of our Holy Church!" "Sire ! ' ' said the young man, after he had hastily perused the papers, "my lady liege showeth good argument for your assenf to two, at least, of these undertakings. See the names of fifty gentlemen ready to take arms in your cause if authorized by your royal warrant. The men of the North are malcontent with the usurper, but they will not yet stir, unless at your owi? command. Such documents will, of course, be used with dis- cretion, and not to imperil Your Grace's safety." "My safety!" said Henry, with a flash of his father's hero soul in his eyes, "of that I think not! If I have small courage to attack, I have some fortitude to bear ! But, three months after these be signed, how many brave hearts will be still ! How many stout hands be dust! O Margaref! Margaret! why temptest thou? Wert thou so happy when a. queen?" The prisoner broke from Allerton's arm, and walked, in great disorder and irresolution, to and fro the chamber; and strange it was to see the contrast between himself and Warner both, in so much alike, both so purely creatures out of the common world, so gentle, abstract, so utterly living in the life apart : and now, the student so calm, the Prince so disturbed? The contrast struck Henry himself! He paused abruptly, and, folding his arms, contemplated the philosopher, as with an affectionate complacency, Adam played and toyed, as it were, with his beloved model, now opening and shutting again 14^ THE LAST OF THE BARONS. its doors, now brushing away with his sleeve some particles of dust that had settled on it, now retiring a few paces to gaze the better on its stern symmetry. "Oh, my Allerton!" cried Henry, "behold! the kingdom a man makes out of his own mind is the only one that it delight- eth man to govern ! Behold, he is lord over its springs and movements, its wheels revolve and stop at his bidding. Here, here, alone, God never asketh the ruler: 'Why was the blood of thousands poured forth like water, that a worm might wear a crown' ?" "Sire," said Allerton solemnly, "when our Heavenly King appoints His anointed representative on earth, He gives to that human delegate no power to resign the ambassade and trust. What suicide is to a man, abdication is to a king! How canst thou dispose of thy son's rights? And what be- come of those rights, if thou wilt prefer for him the exile, for thyself, the prison, when one effort may restore a throne!" Henry seemed struck by a tone of argument that suited both his own mind and the reasoning of the age. He gazed a moment on the face of the young man, muttered to himself, and suddenly moving to the table, signed the papers, and re- stored them to Adam, who mechanically replaced them in their iron hiding-place: "Now begone, sir!" whispered Allerton, afraid that Hen- ry's mind might again change. "Will not my lord examine the engine?" asked Warner half-beseechingly. "Not to-day! See, he has alreadv retired to his oratory he is in prayer!" and, going to the door, Allerton summoned the attendants in waiting to carry down the model. "Well, well patience, patience thou shall have thine au- dience at last," muttered Adam, as he retired from the room, his eyes fixed upon the neglected infant of his brain. CHAPTER VI. HOW, ON LEAVING KING LOG, FOOLISH WISDOM RUNS AMUCK ON KING STORK. AT the outer door of the Tower by which he had entered, the philosopher was accosted by Catesby a man who, in imita- tion of his young patron, exhibited the soft and oily manner which concealed intense ambition and innate ferocity "Worshipful, my master," said he, bowing low, but with a THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 143 half-sneer on his lips, "the King and his Highness the Duke of Gloucester have heard much of your strange skill, and com- mand me to lead you to their presence. Follow, sir, and you, my men. convey this quaint contrivance to the King's apart- ments." With this, not waiting for any reply, Catesby strode on. Hugh's face fell ; he turned very pale, and, imagining himself unobserved, turned round to slink away. But Catesby, who seemed to have eyes at the back of his head, called out, in a mild tone: "Good fellow, help to bear the mechanical you too may be needed." "Cog's wounds!" muttered Hugh, "an' I had but known what it was to set my foot in a King's palace ! Such walking may do for the silken shoon, but the hobnail always gets into a hobble." With that, affecting a cheerful mien, he helped to replace the model on the mule. Meanwhile Adam, elated, poor man! at the flattery of the royal mandate, persuaded that his fame had reached Edward's ears, and chafed at the little heed paid by the pious Henry to his great work, stalked on, his head in the air. "Verily," mused the student, "King Edward may have been a cruel youth, and over-hasty; it is horrible to think of Robin Hilyard's calami- ties! But men do say he hath an acute and masterly compre- hension. Doubtless, he will perceive at a glance how much I can advantage his kingdom." With this, we grieve to say, selfish reflection, which if the thought of his model could have slept awhile, Adam would have blushed to recall, as an affront to Hilyard's wrongs, the philosopher followed Catesby across the spacious yard, along a narrow passage, and up a winding turret-stair, to a room in the third story, which opened at one door into the King's closet, at the other into the spaciou? gallery, which was already a feature in the plan of the more princely houses. In another minute Adam and his model were in the presence of the King. The part of the room in which Edward sate was distinguished from the rest by a small Eastern carpet on the floor (a luxury more in use in the pal- aces of that day, than it appears to have been a century later) ;* a table was set before him, on which the model was placed. At his right hand sat Jacquetta Duchess of Bedford, the Queen's mother; at his left, Prince Richard. The Duch- ess, though not without the remains of beauty, had a stern, haughty, scornful expression, in her sharp aquiline features. * See the Narrative of the Lord Grauthuse, before referred to. 144 THR LAST OF THE BARONS. compressed lips, and imperious eye. The paleness of her com- plexion, and the careworn, anxious lines of her countenance, were ascribed by the vulgar to studies of no holy cast. Her reputation for sorcery and witchcraft was daily increasing, and served well the purpose of the discontented barons, whom the rise of her children mortified and enraged. "Approach, Master What say you his name is, Richard?" "Adam Warner," replied the sweet voice of the Duke of Gloucester, "of excellent skill in the mathematics." "Approach, sir, and show us the nature of this notable in- vention." "I desire nothing better, my lord King," said Adam boldly. "But first let me crave a small modicum of fuel. Fire, which is the life of the world, as the wise of old held it, is also the soul of this my mechanical." ' ' Peradventure, ' ' whispered the Duchess, ' ' the wizard desireth to consume us!" "More likely," replied Richard, in the same undertone, "to consume whatever of treasonable nature may lurk concealed in his engine." "True," said Edward, and then, speaking aloud, "Master Warner, " he added, "put thy puppet to its purpose without fire ; we will it. ' ' "It is impossible, my lord," said Adam, with a lofty smile. "Science and nature are more powerful than a king's word." "Do not say that in public, my friend," said Edward dryly, "or we must hangthee! .1 would not my subjects were told anything so treasonable. Howbeit, to give thee no excuse in failure, thou shalt have what thou needest." "But surely not in our presence," exclaimed the Duchess. "This may be a device of the Lancastrians for our perdition." "As you please, belle nitre," said Edward, and he motioned to a gentleman, who stood a few paces behind his chair, and who, from the entrance of the mechanician, had seemed to ob- serve him with intense interest. "Master Nevile, attend this wise man; supply his wants, and hark, in thy ear, watch well that he abstract nothing from the womb of his engine; observe what he doeth be all eyes." Marmaduke bowed low to con- ceal his change of countenance, and, stepping forward, made a sign to Adam to follow him. "Go also, Catesby, " said Richard to his follower, who had taken his post near him, "and clear the chamber." As soon as the three members of the royal family were left alone, the King, stretching himself, with a slight yawn, ob. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 145 served: "This man looks not like a conspirator, Brother Rich- ard, though his sententiary as to nature and science lacked loyalty and respect." "Sire and brother," answered Richard, "great leaders often dupe their own tools; at least, meseemeth that they would rea- son well so to do. Remember, I have told thee, that there is strong cause to suppose Margaret to be in London. In the suburbs of the city has also appeared, within the last few weeks, that strange and dangerous person whose very objects are a mystery, save that he is our foe Robin of Redesdale. The men of the north have exhibited a spirit of insurrection; a man of that country attends this reputed wizard, and he himself was favored in past times by Henry of Windsor. These are omi- nous signs when the conjunctions be considered!" "It is well said; but a fair day for breathing our palfreys is half-spent!" returned the indolent Prince. "By'rLady! I like the fashion of thy super-tunic well, Richard: but thou hast it too much puffed over the shoulders." Richard's dark eye shot fire, and he gnawed his lip as he answered: "God hath not given to me the fair shape of my kinsmen!" "Thy pardon, dear boy," said Edward kindly; "yet little needest thou our broad backs and strong sinews, for thou hast a tongue to charm women, and a wit to command men." Richard bowed his face, little less beautiful than his brother's, though wholly different from it in feature, for Edward had the long oval countenance, the fair hair, the rich coloring, and the large outline of his mother, the Rose of Raby. Richard, on the contrary, had the short face, the dark brown locks, and the pale olive complexion of his father, whom he alone of the royal brothers strikingly resembled.* The cheeks, too were somewhat sunken and already, though scarcely past childhood, about his lips were seen the lines of thoughtful manhood. But then those small features, delicately aquiline, were so regular; that dark eye was so deep, so fathomless in its bright musing intelligence; that quivering lip was at once so beautifully formed and so expressive of intellectual subtlety and haughty will; and that pale forehead was so massive, high, and majestic, that when, at a later period, the Scottish prelate f commended Rich- * Pol. Virg. 544. t Archibald Quhitlaw. " Faciem mam summo imperio principatu dignam inspicit, quam tnoralis et heroica, virtus illustrat," etc. We need scarcely observe that even a Scotchman would not have risked a public compliment to Richard's face, if so inappropriate as to seem a sarcasm, especially as the orator immediately proceeds to notice the shortness of Richard's stature a comment not likely to have been peculiarly acceptable. In the Rous Roll, the portrait of Richard represents him as undersized, but compactly and strongly built, and without any sign of deformity, unless the inelegant defect of a short neck can be so called. 146 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. ard's 'princely countenance, the compliment was not one to be disputed, much less contemned. But now as he rose, obedient to a whisper from the Duchess, and followed her to the window, while Edward appeared engaged in admiring the shape of his own long upturned shoes, those defects in his shape which the popular hatred and the rise of the House of Tudor exaggerated into the absolute deformity, that the unexamining ignorance of modern days, and Shakspeare's fiery tragedy, have fixed into established caricature, were sufficiently apparent. Deformed or hunchbacked we need scarcely say he was not, for no man so disfigured could have possessed that great personal strength which he invariably exhibited in battle, despite the comparative slightness of his frame. He was considerably below the ordi- nary height, which the great stature of his brother rendered yet more disadvantageous by contrast, but his lower limbs were strong-jointed and muscular. Though the back was not curved, yet one shoulder was slightly higher than the other, which was the more observable from the evident pains that he took to dis- guise it, and the gorgeous splendor, savoring of personal cox- combry, from which no Plantagenet was ever free that he exhibited in his dress. And as, in a warlike age, the physical conformation of men is always critically regarded, so this de- fect, and that of his low stature, were not so much redeemed as they would be in our day by the beauty and intelligence of his face. Added to this, his neck was short, and a habit of bend- ing his head on his bosom (arising either from thought or the affectation of humility, which was a part of his character), made it seem shorter still. But this peculiarity, while taking from the grace, added to the strength of his frame, which, spare, sinewy, and compact, showed to an observer that power of en- durance, that combination of solid stubbornness and active energy, which at the battle of Barnet made him no less formida- ble to encounter than the ruthless sword of the mighty Edward. "So, Prince," said the Duchess, "this new gentleman of the King's is, it seems, a Nevile. When will Edward's high spirit cast off that hateful yoke?" Richard sighed and shook his head. The Duchess, encour- aged by these signs of sympathy, continued: "Your brother Clarence, Prince Richard, despises us, to cringe to the proud Earl. But you " "I am not suitor to the Lady Isabel; Clarence is over-lavish, and Isabel has a fair face and a queenly dowry." "May I perish," said the Duchess, "ere Warwick's daughter wears the baudekin of royalty, and sits in as high a state as the THE LAST OF THE BARONS. t47 Queen's mother! Prince, I would fain confer with thee; we have a project to abase and banish this hateful lord. If you but join us, success is sure. The Count of Charolois " "Dear lady," interrupted Richard, with an air of profound humility, "tell me nothing of plot or project; my years are too few for such high and subtle policy; and the Lord Warwick hath been a leal friend to our House of York." The Duchess bit her lip: "Yet I have heard you tell Ed- ward that a subject can be too powerful?" "Never, lady! you have never heard me." "Then Edward has told Elizabeth that you so spoke." "Ah!" said Richard, turning away with a smile; "I see that the King's conscience hath a discreet keeper. Pardon me. Edward, now that he hath sufficiently surveyed his shoon, must marvel at this prolonged colloquy. And see, the door opens." With this, the Duke slowly moved to the table, and resumed his seat. Marmaduke, full of fear for his ancient host, had in vain sought an opportunity to address a few words of exhortation to him to forbear all necromancy, and to abstain from all perilous distinctions between the power of Edward IV. and that of his damnable Nature and Science ; but Catesby watched him with so feline a vigilance, that he was unable to slip in more than: "Ah, Master Warner, for our blessed Lord's sake, recollect that rack and cord are more than mere words here!" To the which pleasant remark, Adam, then busy in filling his miniature boiler, only replied by a wistful stare, not in the least recogniz- ing the Nevile in his fine attire, and the new-fashioned mode of dressing his long hair. But Catesby watched in vain for the abstraction of any trea- sonable contents in the engine, which the Duke of Gloucester had so shrewdly suspected. The truth must be told. Adam had entirely forgotten that in the intricacies of his mechanical lurked the papers that might overthrow a throne! Magnificent Incar- nation was he (in that oblivion) of Science itself, which cares not a jot for men and nations, in their ephemeral existences; which only remembers THINGS things that endure forages; and in its stupendous calculations loses sight of the unit of a generation! No; he had thoroughly forgotten Henry, Edward, his own limbs and life not only York and Lancaster, but Adam Warner and the rack. Grand in his forgetfulness, he stood before the tiger and the tiger-cat Edward and Richard a Pure Thought a Man's Soul ; Science fearless in the presence of Cruelty, Tyranny, Craft, and Power. 148 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. In truth, now that Adam was thoroughly in his own sphere was in the domain of which he was king, and those beings in velvet and ermine were but as ignorant savages admitted to the frontier of his realm, his form seemed to dilate into a majesty the beholders had not before recognized. And even the lazy Edward muttered involuntarily: "By my halidame, the man has a noble presence!" "I am prepared now, sire," said Adam loftily, "to show to my King and to his court, that, unnoticed and obscure, in study md retreat, often live those men whom kings may be proud to call their subjects. Will it please you, my lords, this way!" and he motioned so commandingly to the room in which he had left the Eureka, that his audience rose by a common impulse, and in another minute stood grouped round the model in the adjoining chamber. This really wonderful invention so won- derful, indeed, that it will surpass the faith of those who do not pause to consider what vast forestalments of modern science have been made and lost in the darkness of ages not fitted to receive them was, doubtless, in many important details not yet adapted for the practical uses to which Adam designed its application. But as a mere model, as a marvellous essay, for the suggestion of gigantic results, it was, perhaps, to the full as effective as the ingenuity of a mechanic of our own day could construct. It is true that it was crowded with unnecessary cylinders, slides, cocks and wheels hideous and clumsy to the eye but through this intricacy the great simple design accomplished its main object. It contrived to show what force and skill man can obtain from the alliance of nature; the more clearly, inasmuch as the mech- anism affixed to it, still more ingenious than itself, was well calculated to illustrate practically one of the many uses to which the" principle was destined to be applied. Adam had not yet fathomed the secret by which to supply the miniature cylinder with sufficient steam for any prolonged effect; the great truth of latent heat was unknown to him; but he had contrived to regulate the supply of water so as to make the engine discharge its duties sufficiently for the satisfaction of curiosity, and the explanation of its objects. And now this strange thing of iron was in full life. From its serpent-chimney issued the thick, rapid smoke, and the groan of its travail was heard within. "And what propose you to yourself and to the kingdom, in all this, Master Adam?" asked Edward curiously, bending his tall person over the tortured iron. "I propose to make Nature the -laborer of man," answered THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 149 Warner. "When I was a child of some eight years old, I ob- served that water swelleth into vapor when fire is applied to it. Twelve years afterwards, at the age of twenty, I observed that while undergoing this change, it exerts a mighty mechani- cal force. At twenty-five, constantly musing, I said: 'Why should not that force become subject to man's art?' I then began the first rude model, of which this is the descendant. I noticed that the vapor so produced is elastic that is, that as it expands, it presses against what opposes it; it has a force ap- plicable everywhere force is needed by man's labor. Behold a second agency of gigantic resources. And then, still studying this, I perceived that the vapor thus produced can be re-con- verted into water, shrinking necessarily while so retransformed, from the space it filled as vapor, and leaving that space a vacu- um. But Nature abhors a vacuum produce a vacuum, and the bodies that surround rush into it. Thus the vapor again, while changing back into water, becomes also a force our agent. And all the while these truths were shaping themselves to my mind, I was devising and improving also the material form by which I might render them useful to man so at last, out of these truths, arose this invention!" "Pardie, " said Edward, with the haste natural to royalty, "what in common there can be between thy jargon of smoke and water and this huge ugliness of iron, passeth all understand- ing. But spare us thy speeches, and on to thy puppet-show." Adam stared a moment at the King, in the surprise that one full of his subject feels when he sees it impossible to make another understand it, sighed, shook his head, and prepared to begin. "Observe," he said, "that there is no juggling, no deceit. I will place in this deposit this small lump of brass would the size of this toy would admit of larger experiment ! I will then pray ye to note, as I open door after door, how the metal passes through various changes, all operated by this one agency of vapor. Heed and attend. And if the crowning work please thee, think, great King, what such an agency upon the large scale would be to thee : think how it would multiply all arts, and lessen all labor; think that thou hast, in this, achieved for a whole people the true philosopher's stone. Now, note!" He placed the rough ore in its receptacle, and suddenly it seemed seized by a vise within, and vanished. He proceeded, then, while dexterously attending to the complex movements, to open door after door, to show the astonished spectators the rapid transitions the metal underwent, and suddenly, in the 150 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. midst of his pride, he stopped short, for, like a lightning flash, came across his mind the remembrance of the fatal papers. Within the next door he was to open, they lay concealed. His change of countenance did not escape Richard, and he noted the door which Adam forebore to open, as the student hurriedly, and with some presence of mind, passed to the next, in which the metal was shortly to appear. "Open this door," said the Prince, pointing to the handle. "No! forbear! There is danger! forbear!" exclaimed the mechanician. "Danger to thine own neck, varlet and impostor!" exclaimed the Duke ; and he was about himself to open the door, when suddenly a loud roar a terrific explosion was heard. Alas! Adam Warner had not yet discovered for his engine what we now call the safety-valve. The steam contained in the minia- ture boiler had acquired an undue pressure; Adam's attention had been too much engrossed to notice the signs of the grow- ing increase, and the rest may be easily conceived. Nothing could equal the stupor and horror of the spectators at this ex- plosion, save only the boy-duke, who remained immovable, and still frowning. All rushed to the door, huddling one on the other, scarcely knowing what next was to befall them ; but cer- tain that the wizard was bent upon their destruction. Edward was the first to recover himself: and seeing that no lives were lost, his first impulse was that of ungovernable rage. "Foul traitor!" he exclaimed, "was it for this that thou hast pretended to beguile us with thy damnable sorceries ! Seize him! Away to the Tower Hill! and let the priest patter an ave, while the doomsman knots the- rope. " Not a hand stirred; even Catesby would as lief have touched the King's lion before meals, as that poor mechanician, stand- ing aghast, and unheeding all, beside his mutilated engine. "Master Nevile," said the King sternly, "dost thou hear us?" "Verily," muttered the Nevile, approaching very slowly, "I knew what would happen; but to lay hands on my host, an* he were fifty times a wizard No! My liege," he said, in a firm tone, but falling on his knee, and his gallant countenance pale with generous terror "My liege, forgive me. This man suc- cored me when struck down and wounded by a Lancastrian ruffian this man gave me shelter, food, and healing. Com- mand me not, O gracious my lord, to aid in taking the life of one to whom I owe my own." "His life!" exclaimed the Duchess of Bedford "the life of this most illustrious person! Sire, you do not dream it!" THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 151 "Heh! by the saints, what now?" cried the King, whose choler, though fierce and ruthless, was as short-lived as the passions of the indolent usually are, and whom the earnest in- terposition of his mother-in-law much surprised and diverted. "If, fair belle mere, thou thinkest it so illustrious a deed to frighten us out of our mortal senses, and narrowly to 'scape sending us across the river like a bevy of balls from a bombard, there is no disputing of tastes. Rise up, Master Nevile, we esteem thee not less for thy boldness ; ever be the host and the benefactor revered by English gentleman and Christian youth. Master Warner may go free." Here Warner uttered so deep and hollow a groan, that it startled all present. "Twenty-five years of labor, and not to have seen this!" he ejaculated. "Twenty and five years, and all wasted! How repair this disaster O fatal day!" "What says he? What means he?" said Jacquetta. "Come home! home!" said Marmaduke, approaching the philosopher, in great alarm lest he should once more jeopardize his life. But Adam, shaking him off, began eagerly, and with tremulous hands, to examine the machine, and not perceiving any mode by which to guard in future against a danger that he saw at once would, if not removed, render his invention useless, tottered to a chair, and covered his face with his hands. "He seemeth mightily grieved that our bones are still whole!" muttered Edward. "And why, belle mere mine, wouldst thou protect this pleasant tregetour ? " "What!" said the Duchess "see you not that a man capa- ble of such devices must be of doughty service against our foes?" "Not I how?" "Why, if merely to signify his displeasure at our young Rich- ard's overcurious meddling, he can cause this strange engine to shake the walls nay, to destroy itself, think what he might do were his power and malice at our disposing. I know something of these nigromancers." "And would you knew less! for already the Commons mur- mur at your favor to them. But be it as you will. And now ho there! let our steeds be caparisoned." "You forget, sire," said Richard, who had hitherto silently watched the various parties, "the object for which we summoned this worthy man. Please you now, sir, to open that door." "No no!" exclaimed the King hastily, "I will have no more provoking the foul fiend conspirator or not, I have had I$2 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. enough of Master Warner. Pah ! My poor placard is turned lampblack. Sweet mother-in-law, take him under thy protec- tion; and Richard, come with me." So saying, the King linked his arm in that of the reluctant Gloucester, and quitted the room. The Duchess then or- dered the rest also to depart, and was left alone with the crest- fallen philosopher. CHAPTER VII. MY LADY DUCHESS'S OPINION OF THE UTILITY OF MASTER WARNER'S INVENTION, AND HER ESTEEM FOR ITS EXPLO- SION! ADAM, utterly unheeding, or rather deaf to, the discussion that had taken place, and his narrow escape from cord and gibbet, lifted his head peevishly from his bosom, as the Duch- ess rested her hand almost caressingly on his shoulder, and thus addressed him : "Most puissant sir, think not that I am one of those, who, in their ignorance and folly, slight the mysteries of which thou art clearly so great a master. When I heard thee speak of sub- jecting Nature to Man, I at once comprehended thee, and blushed for the dulness of my kindred." "Ah! lady, thou hast studied, then, the mathematics. Alack! this is a grievous blow ; but it is no inherent fault in the device. I am clearly of mind that it can be remedied. But oh ! what time what thought what sleepless nights what gold will be needed!" "Give me thy sleepless nights and thy grand thoughts, and thou shalt not want gold." "Lady," cried Adam, starting to his feet, "do I hear aright? Art thou, in truth, the patron I have so long dreamed of? Hast thou the brain and the heart to aid the pursuits of science?" "Ay! and the power to protect the students! Sage, lam the Duchess of Bedford, whom men accuse of witchcraft as thee of wizardry. From the wife of a private gentleman, I have become che mother of a queen. I stand amidst a court full of foes; I desire gold to corrupt, and wisdom to guard against, and means to destroy, them. And I seek all these in men like thee!" Adam turned on her his bewildered eyes, and made no answer. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 153 "They tell me," said the Duchess, "that Henry of Windsor employed learned men to transmute the baser metals into gold. Wert thou one of them?" "No." "Thou knowest that art?" "I studied it in my youth, but the ingredients of the cruci- ble were too costly." "Thou shalt not lack them with me; thoK knowest the lore of the stars, and canst foretell the designs of enemies the hour whether to act or to forbear?" "Astrology I have studied, but that also was in youth, for there dwelleth in the pure mathematics that have led me to this invention " "Truce with that invention, whatever it be think of it no more, it has served its end in the explosion, which proved thy power of mischief high objects are now before thee. Wilt thou be of my household, one of my alchemists and astrolo- gers? Thou shalt have leisure, honor, and all the moneys thou canst need." "Moneys!" said Adam eagerly, and casting his eyes upon the mangled model ; "Well, I agree what you will alchem- ist, astrologist, wizard what you will. This shall all be re- paired all I begin to see now ah! I begin to see yes, if a pipe by which the too excessive vapor would ay, ay! right, right," and he rubbed his hands. Jacquetta was struck with his enthusiasm: "But surely, Mas- ter Warner, this has some virtue you have not vouchsafed to explain; confide in me can it change iron to gold?" 'No but " 'Can it predict the future?" 'No but " 'Can it prolong life?" 'No but " 'Then in God's name let us waste no more time about it!" said the Duchess impatiently "your art is mine now. Ho, there ! I will send my page to conduct thee to thy apartments, and thou shalt lodge next to Friar Bungey, a man of wondrous lere, Master Warner, and a worthy confrere in thy researches. Hast thou any one of kith and kin at home, to whom thou wilt announce thy advancement?" "Ah, lady! Heaven forgive me, I have a daughter an only child my Sibyll, I cannot leave her alone, and " "Well, nothing should distract thy cares from thine art she shall be sent for. I will rank her amongst my maidens. Fare 154 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. thee well, Master Warner! At night I will send for thee, and appoint the tasks I would have thee accomplish." So saying, the Duchess quitted the room, and left Adam alone, bending over his model in deep revery. From this absorption it was the poor man's fate to be again aroused. The peculiar character of the boy-prince of Gloucester was that of one who, having once seized upon an object, never will- ingly relinquished it. First he crept and slid, and coiled around it as a snake. But if craft failed, his passion, roused by resistance, sprang at his prey with a lion's leap: and who- ever examines the career of this extraordinary personage will perceive that, whatever might be his habitual hypocrisy, he seemed to lose sight of it wholly, when once resolved upon force. Then the naked ferocity with which the destructive propensity swept away the objects in his path becomes fearfully and startlingly apparent, and offers a strange contrast to the wily duplicity with which, in calmer moments, he seems to have sought to coax the victim into his folds. Firmly convinced that Adam's engine had been made the medium of dangerous nnd treasonable correspondence with the royal prisoner, and of that suspicious, restless, feverish temperament, which never slept when a fear was wakened, a doubt conceived, he had broke from his brother, whose more open valor and less un- quiet intellect were ever willing to leave the crown defended but by the gibbet for the detected traitor, the sword for the declared foe; and obtaining Edward's permission "to inquire further into these strange matters," he sent at once for the porter who had conveyed the model to the Tower; but that suspicious accomplice was gone. The sound of the explosion of the engine had no less startled the guard below than the spectators above. Releasing their hold of their prisoner, they had, some taken fairly to their heels, others rushed into the palace to learn what mischief had ensued; and Hugh, with the quick discretion of his north country, had not lost so favorable an opportunity for escape. There stood the dozing mule at the door below, but the guide was vanished. More confirmed in his suspicions by this disappearance of Adam's companion, Richard, giving some preparatory orders to Catesby, turned at once to the room which still held the philosopher and his de- vice. He closed the door on entering, and his brow was dark and sinister as he approached the musing inmate. But here we must return to Sibyll. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 155 CHAPTER VIII. THE OLD WOMAN TALKS OF SORROWS THE YOUNG WOMAN DREAMS OF LOVE THE COURTIER FLIES FROM PRESENT POWER TO REMEMBRANCES OF PAST HOPES AND THE WORLD-BETTERER OPENS UTOPIA, WITH A VIEW OF THE GIBBET FOR THE SILLY SAGE HE HAS SEDUCED INTO HIS SCHEMES SO, EVER AND EVERMORE, RUNS THE WORLD AWAY! THE old lady looked up from her embroidery-frame as Sibyll sate musing on a stool before her ; she scanned the maiden with a wistful and somewhat melancholy eye. "Fair girl," she said, breaking a silence that had lasted for some moments, "it seems to me that I have seen thy face before. Wert thou never in Queen Margaret's court?" "In childhood, yes, lady." "Do you not remember me, the Dame of Longueville?" Sibyll started in surprise, and gazed long before she recog- nized the features of her hostess ; for the Dame of Longueville had been still, when Sibyll was a child at the court, renowned for matronly beauty, and the change was greater than the lapse of years could account for. The lady smiled sadly: "Yes, you marvel to see me thus bent and faded. Maiden, I lost my husband at the battle of St. Alban's, and my three sons in the field of Touton. My lands and my wealth have been confis- cated to enrich new men; and to one of them one of the ene- mies of the only king whom Alice de Longueville will ac- knowledge I owe the food for my board, and the roof for my head. Do you marvel now that I am so changed?" Sibyll rose and kissed the lady's hand, and the tear that sparkled on its surface was her only answer. "I learn," said the Dame of Longueville, "that your father has an order from the Lord Hastings to see King Henry. I trust that he will rest here as he returns, to tell me how the monarch-saint bears his afflictions. But I know: his example should console us all." She paused a moment, and resumed: "Sees your father much of the Lord Hastings?" "He never saw him that I weet of," answered Sibyll, blush- ing; "the order was given, but as of usual form to a learned scholar." "But given to whom?" persisted the lady. "To to me," replied Sibyll falteringly. 156 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. The Dame of Longueville smiled. "Ah! Hastings could scarcely say no to a prayer from such rosy lips. But let me not imply aught to disparage his humane and gracious heart. To Lord Hastings, next to God and His saints, I owe all that is left to me on earth. Strange, that he is not yet here. This is the usual day and hour on which he comes, from pomp and pleasurement, to visit the lonely widow." And pleased to find an attentive listener to her grateful loquacity, the dame then proceeded, with warm eulo- gies upon her protector, to inform Sibyll that her husband had, in the first outbreak of the Civil War, chanced to capture Hastings, and, moved by his valor and youth, and some old connections with his father, Sir Leonard had favored his es- cape from the certain death that awaited him from the wrath of the relentless Margaret. After the field of Touton, Hast- ings had accepted one of the manors confiscated from the attainted House of Longueville, solely that he might restore it to the widow of the fallen lord; and, with a chivalrous consid- eration, not contented with beneficence, he omitted no occasion to show to the noblewoman whatever homage and respect might soothe the pride which, in the poverty of those who have been great, becomes disease. The loyalty of the Lady Longueville was carried to a sentiment most rare in that day, and rather resembling the devotion inspired by the later Stuarts. She made her home within the precincts of the Tower, that, morning and eve, when Henry opened his lattice to greet the rising and the setting sun, she might catch a dim and distant glance of the captive King, or animate, by that sad sight, the hopes and courage of the Lancastrian emissaries, to whom, fearless of danger, she scrupled not to give counsel, and, at need, asylum. While Sibyll, with enchanted sense, was listening to the praise of Hastings, a low knock at the door was succeeded by the entrance of that nobleman himself. Not to Elizabeth, in the alcoves of Shene, or on the dais of the palace hall, did the graceful courtier bend with more respectful reverence than to the powerless widow, whose very bread was his alms, for the true high-breeding of chivalry exists not without delicacy of feeling, formed originally by warmth of heart; and though the warmth may lose its glow, the delicacy endures, as the steel, that acquires through heat its polish, retains its lustre, even when the shine but betrays the hardness. "And how fares my noble lady of Longueville? But need I ask? for her cheek still wears the rose of Lancaster. A com- THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 157 panion? Ha! Mistress Warner, I learn now how much pleas- ure exists in surprise!" "My young visitor," said the dame, "is but an old friend; she was one of the child-maidens reared at the court of Queen Margaret. ' ' "In sooth!' exclaimed Hastings, and then, in an altered tone, he added: "but I should have guessed so much grace had not come all from nature. And your father has gone to see the Lord Henry, and you rest, here, his return? Ah, noble lady ! may you harbor always such innocent Lan- castrians. ' ' The fascination of this eminent person's voice and manner was such, that it soon restored Sibyll to the ease she had lost at his sudden entrance. He conversed gayly with the old dame upon such matters of court anecdote as in all the changes of state were still welcome to one so long accustomed to court air; but from time to time he addressed himself to Sibyll, and provoked replies which startled herself for she was not yet well aware of her own gifts by their spirit and intelligence. "You do not tell us," said the Lady Longueville sarcasti- cally, "of the happy spousailles of Elizabeth's brother with the Duchess of Norfolk a bachelor of twenty, a bride of some eighty-two.* Verily, these alliances are new things in the his- tory of English royalty. But when Edward, who, even if not a rightful king, is at least a born Plantagenet, condescended to marry Mistress Elizabeth, a born Woodville, scarce of good gentleman's blood, nought else seems strange enough to pro- voke marvel." "As to the last matter," returned Hastings gravely, "though Her Grace the Queen be no warm friend tome, I must needs become her champion and the King's. The lady who refused the dishonoring suit of the fairest prince and the boldest knight in the Christian world, thereby made herself worthy of the suit that honored her; it was not Elizabeth Woodville alone that won the purple. On the day she mounted a throne, the chastity of woman herself was crowned." "What!" said the Lady Longueville angrily, "mean you to say that there is no disgrace in the mal-alliance of kite and fal- con of Plantagenet and Woodville of high-born and mud- descended?" "You forget, lady, that the widow of Henry the Fifth, Katharine of Valois, a king's daughter, married the Welch sol- * The old chronicler justly calls this a "diabolical marriage." It greatly roused the wrath of the nobles, and indeed of all honorable men, as a proof of the shameless avarice of the Queen's family 158 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. dier, Owen Tudor; that all England teems with brave men born from similar spousailles, where love has levelled all dis- tinctions, and made a purer hearth, and raised a bolder off- spring, than the lukewarm likings of hearts that beat but for lands and gold. Wherefore, lady, appeal not to me, a squire of dames, a believer in the old Parliament of Love ; whoever is fair and chaste, gentle and loving, is, in the eyes of William De Hastings, the mate and equal of a king!" Sibyll turned involuntarily as the courtier spoke thus, with animation in his voice, and fire in his eyes; she turned, and her breath came quick she turned, and her look met his, and those words and that look sank deep into her heart; they called forth brilliant and ambitious dreams ; they rooted the growing love, but they aided to make it holy ; they gave to the delicious fancy what before it had not paused, on its wing, to sigh for ; they gave it that without which all fancy, sooner or later, dies ; they gave it that which, once received in a noble heart, is the excuse for untiring faith; they gave it HOPE! "And thou wouldst say," replied the lady of Longueville, with a meaning smile, still more emphatically "thou wouldst say that a youth, brave and well nurtured, ambitious and lov- ing, ought, in the eyes of rank and pride, to be the mate and equal of " "Ah, noble df.me," interrupted Hastings quickly; "I must not prolong encounter with so sharp a wit. Let me leave that answer to this fair maiden, for, by rights, it is a challenge to her sex, not to mine." "How say you, then, Mistress Warner?" said the dame. "Suppose a young heiress of the loftiest birth, of the broadest lands, of the comeliest form suppose her wooed by a gentle- man, poor and stationless, but with a mighty soul, born to achieve greatness, would she lower herself by hearkening to his suit?" "A maiden, methinks, '' answered Sibyll, with reluctant but charming hesitation, "cannot love truly, if she love unworthily; and if she love worthily, it is not rank nor wealth she loves." "But her parents, sweet mistress, may deem differently; and should not her love refuse submission to their tyranny?" asked Hastings. "Nay, good my lord, nay," returned Sibyll, shaking her head with thoughtful demureness. "Surely the wooer, if he love worthily, will not press her to the curse of a child's dis- obedience and a parent's wrath!" "Shrewdly answered," said the dame of Longueville. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 159 "Then she would renounce the poor gentleman if the par- ent ordain her to marry a rich lord. Ah, you hesitate, for a woman's ambition is pleased with the excuse of a child's obedience." Hastings said this so bitterly, that Sibyll could not but per- ceive that some personal feeling gave significance to his words. Yet how could they be applied to him to one now in rank and repute equal to the highest below the throne? "If the demoiselle should so choose," said the dame of Lon- gueville, "it seemeth to me that the rejected suitor might find it facile to disdain and to forget." Hastings made no reply ; but that remarkable and deep shade of melancholy which sometimes in his gayest hours startled those who beheld it, and which had perhaps induced many of the prophecies that circulated, as to the untimely and violent death that should close his bright career, gathered like a cloud over his brow. At this moment the door opened gently, and Robert Hilyard stood at the aperture. He was clad in the dress of a friar, but the raised cowl showed his features to the lady of Longueville, to whom alone he was visible ; and those bold features were literally haggard with agitation and alarm. He lifted his finger to his lips, and motioning the lady to follow him, closed the door. The dame of Longueville rose, and praying her visitors to excuse her absence for a few moments, she left Hastings and Sibyll to themselves. "Lady," said Hilyard, in a hollow whisper as soon as the dame appeared in the low hall, communicating on one hand with the room just left, on the other with the street, "I fear all will be detected. Hush ! Adam and the iron coffer that contains the precious papers have been conducted to Ed- ward's presence. A terrible explosion, possibly connected with the contrivance, caused such confusion among the guards, that Hugh escaped to scare me with his news. Stationed near the gate in this disguise, I ventured to enter the court-yard, and saw saw the TORMENTOR! the torturer the hideous, masked minister of agony, led towards the chambers in which our hapless messenger is examined by the ruthless tyrants. Gloucester, the lynx-eyed mannikin, is there!" "O Margaret, my Queen!" exclaimed the lady of Longue- ville, "the papers will reveal her whereabout." "No she is safe," returned Hilyard; "but thy poor scholar, I tremble for him, and for the heads of all whom the papers name." l6o TI1K LAST OK TMK I! A RONS. "What can be done! Ha! Lord Hastings is here he is ever humane and pitiful. Dare we confide in him?" A bright gleam shot over Hilyard's face. "Yes yes; let me confer with him alone. I wait him here quick!" The lady hastened back. Hastings was conversing in a low voice with Sibyll. The dame of Longueville whispered in the courtier's ear, drew him into the hall, and left him alone with the false friar, who had drawn the cowl over his face. "Lord Hastings," said Hilyard, speaking rapidly, "you are in danger, if not of loss of life, of loss of favor. You gave a passport to one Warner to see the ex-King Henry. Warner's simplicity (for he is innocent) hath been duped; he is made the bearer of secret intelligence from the unhappy gentlemen who still cling to the Lancaster cause. He is suspected ; he is examined ; he may be questioned by the torture. If the trea- son be discovered, it was thy hand that signed the passport the Queen, thou knowest, hates thee the Woodvilles thirst for thy downfall. What handle may this give them! Fly, my lord fly to the Tower thou mayst yet be in time ; thy wit can screen -all that may otherwise be bare. Save this poor scholar; conceal this correspondence. Hark ye, lord! frown not so haughtily that correspondence names thee as one who has taken the gold of Count Charolois, and whom, therefore, King Louis may outbuy. Look to thyself!" A slight blush passed over the pale brow of the great states- man, but he answered with a steady voice: "Friar, or layman, I care not which; the gold of the heir of Burgundy was a gift, not a bribe. But I need no threats to save, if not too late, from rack and gibbet, the life of a guiltless man. I am gone. Hold! Bid the maiden, the scholar's daughter, follow me to the Tower." CHAPTER IX. HOW THE DESTRUCTIVE ORGAN OF PRINCE RICHARD PROM- ISES GOODLY DEVELOPMENT. THE Duke of Gloucester approached Adam as he stood gaz- ing on his model. "Old man," said the Prince, touching him with the point of his sheathed dagger, "look up, and answer. What converse hast thou held with Henry of Windsor, and who commissioned thee to visit him in his confinement? Speak, and the truth! for, by Holy Paul! I am one who can detect a lie, and without that door stands the Tormentor!" Upon a pleasing and joyous dream broke these harsh words ; THE LAST OF THE BARONS. l6l for Adam then was full of the contrivance by which to repair the defect of the engine ; and with this suggestion was blent confusedly the thought that he was now protected by royalty; that he should have means and leisure to accomplish his great design ; that he should have friends whose power could obtain its adoption by the King. He raised his eyes, and that young dark face frowned upon him the child menacing the sage brute force in a pigmy shape, having authority of life and death over the giant strength of genius. But these words, which re- called Warner from his existence as philosopher, woke that of the gentle, but brave and honorable man which he was, when reduced to earth. "Sir," he said gravely, "If I have consented to hold con- verse with the unhappy, it was not as the tell-tale and the espier. I had formal warrant for my visit, and I was solicited to render it by an early friend and comrade who sought to be my benefactor in aiding with gold my poor studies for the King's people." "Tut!" said Richard impatiently, and playing with his dagger hilt, "thy words, stealthy and evasive, prove thy guilt! Sure am I that this iron traitor, with its intricate hollows and recesses, holds what, unless confessed, will give thee to the hangman! Confess all, and thou art spared." "If," said Adam mildly, "your Highness for though I know not your quality, I opine that no one less than royal could so menace ; if your Highness imagines that I have been entrusted by a fallen man, wrong me not by supposing that I could fear death more than dishonor; forcertes!" (continued Adam, with innocent pedantry) "to put the case scholasti- cally, and in the logic familiar, doubtless, to Your Highness, either I have something to confess, or I have not; if I have " "Hound!" interrupted the Prince, stamping his foot, "thinkest thou to banter me see!" As his foot shook the floor, the door opened, and a man with his arms bare, covered from head to foot in a black gown of serge, with his features concealed by a hideous mask, stood ominously at the aperture. The Prince motioned to the torturer (or tormentor, as he was technically styled) to approach, which he did noiselessly, till he stood, tall, grim, and lowering, beside Adam, like some silent and devouring monster by its prey. "Dost thou repent thy contumacy? A moment, and I ren- der my questioning to another!" "Sir," said Adam, drawing himself up, and with so sudden a change of mien that his loftiness almost awed even the daunt- *l THE LAST OK THE 15ARONS. less Richard; "Sir, my fathers feared not death when they did battle for the throne of England; and why? Because in their loyal valor they placed not the interests of a mortal man, but the cause of imperishable honor! And though their son be a poor scholar, and wears not the spurs of gold ; though his frame be weak and his hairs gray, he loveth honor also well eno' to look without dread on death!" Fierce and ruthless, when irritated and opposed, as the Prince was, he was still in his first youth ambition had here no motive to harden him into stone. He was naturally so brave himself that bravery could not fail to win from him something of respect and sympathy, and he was taken wholly by surprise in hearing the language of a knight and hero from one whom he had regarded but as the artful impostor or the despicable intriguer. He changed countenance as Warner spoke, and remained a moment silent. Then as a thought occurred to him, at which his features relaxed into a half-smile, he beckoned to the tor- mentor, said a word in his ear, and the horrible intruder nodded and withdrew. "Master Warner, " then said the Prince, in his customary sweet and gliding tones, "it were a pity that so gallant a gentle- man should be exposed to peril for adhesion to a cause that can never prosper, and that would be fatal, could it prosper, to our common country. For look you, this Margaret, who is now, we believe, in London (here he examined Adam's counte- nance, which evinced surprise) this Margaret, who is seeking to rekindle the brand and brennen of civil war, has already sold for base gold to the enemy of the realm, to Louis XL, that very Calais which your fathers, doubtless, lavished their blood to annex to our possessions. Shame on the lewd harlot! What worn an so bloody and so dissolute? What man so feeble and craven as her lord?" "Alas! sir," said Adam, "I am unfitted for these high con- siderations of state. I live but for my art, and in it. And now, behold how my kingdom is shaken and rent!" he pointed with so touching a smile, and so simple a sadness, to the broken engine, that Richard was moved. "Thou lovest this, thy toy? I can comprehend that love for some dumb thing that we have toiled for. Ay!" continued the Prince thoughtfully "ayj I have noted myself in life, that there are objects, senseless as that mould of iron, which, if we labor at them, wind round our hearts as if they were flesh and blood, So some men love learning, others glory, others power, THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 163 Well, man, thou lovest that mechanical? How many years hast thou been about it?" "From the first to the last, twenty-five years, and it is still incomplete." "Um!" said the Prince, smiling, "Master Warner, thou hast read of the judgment of Solomon how the wise King dis- covered the truth by ordering the child's death." "It was indeed," said Adam unsuspectingly, "amost shrewd suggestion of native wit and clerkly wisdom." "Glad am I thou approvest it, Master Warner," said Richard. And as he spoke the tormentor re-appeared with a smith, armed with the implements of his trade. "Good smith, break into pieces this stubborn iron; bare all its receptacles; leave not one fragment standing on the other! Delenda est tua Carthago^ Master Warner. There is Latin in answer to thy logic." It is impossible to convey any notion of the terror, the rage, the despair, which seized upon the unhappy sage when these words smote his ear, and he saw the smith's brawny arms swing on high the ponderous hammer. He flung himself between the murderous stroke and his beloved model. He embraced the grim iron tightly. "Kill me/" he exclaimed sublimely, "kill me ! not my THOUGHT!" "Solomon was verily and indeed a wise king," said the Duke, with a low, inward laugh. ' 'And now, man, I have thee! To save thy infant thine art's hideous infant con- fess the whole!" It was then that a fierce struggle evidently took place in Adam's bosom. It was, perhaps O reader! thou, whom pleas- ure, love, ambition, hatred, avarice, in thine and our ordinary existence, tempt it was, perhaps, to him the one arch-tempta- tion of a life. In the changing countenance, the heaving breast, the trembling lip, the eyes that closed and opened to close again, as if to shut out the unworthy weakness yea, in the whole physical man was seen the crisis of the moral struggle. And what, in truth, to him, an Edward or a Henry, a Lancas- ter or a York? Nothing. But still that instinct, that princi- ple, that conscience, ever strongest in those whose eyes are accustomed to the search of truth, prevailed. So he rose sud- denly and quietly, drew himself apart, left his work to the De- stroyer, and said : "Prince, thou art a boy! Let a boy's voice annihilate that which should have served all time. Strike!" Richard motioned the hammer descended the engine and 104 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. its appurtenances reeled and crashed the doors flew open the wheels rattled the sparks flew. And Adam Warner fell to the ground, as if the blow had broken his own heart. Little heeding the insensible victim of his hard and cunning policy, Richard advanced to the inspection of the interior recesses of the machinery. But that which promised Adam's destruction saved him. The heavy stroke had battered in the receptacle of the documents ; had buried them in the layers of iron. The faithful Eureka, even amidst its injuries and wrecks, preserved the secret of its master. The Prince, with impatient hands, explored all the apertures yet revealed, and after wasting many minutes in a fruitless search, was about to bid the smith complete the work of destruc- tion, when the door suddenly opened and Lord Hastings entered. His quick eye took in the whole scene; he arrested the lifted arm of the smith, and passing deliberately to Glou- cester, said with a profound reverence, but a half-reproachful smile: "My lord! my lord! Your Highness is indeed severe upon my poor scholar." "Canst thou answer for thy scholar's loyalty?" said the Duke gloomily. Hastings drew the Prince aside, and said, in a low tone : "His loyalty! poor man, I know not; but his guilelessness, surely, yes. Look you, sweet Prince, I know the interest thou hast in keeping well with the Earl of Warwick, whom I, in sooth, have slight cause to love. Thou hast trusted me with thy young hopes of the Lady Anne; this new Nevile placed about the King, and whose fortunes Warwick hath made his care, hath, I have reason to think, some love-passages with the scholar's daughter the daughter came to me for the passport. Shall this Marmaduke Nevile have it to say to his fair kins- woman, with the unforgiving malice of a lover's memory, that the princely Gloucester stooped to be the torturer of yon poor old man? If there be treason in the scholar, or in yon bat- tered craft-work, leave the search to me." The Duke raised his dark, penetrating eyes to those of Hast- ings, which did not quail. For here world-genius encountered world-genius, and art, art. "Thine argument hath more subtlety and circumlocution than suit with simple truth," said the Prince, smiling. "But it is enough to Richard that Hastings wills protection even to a spy ! ' ' Hastings kissed the Duke's hand in silence, and going to the door, he disappeared a moment and returned with Sibyll. As THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 165 she entered, pale and trembling, Adam rose, and the girl with a wild cry flew to his bosom. "It is a winsome face, Hastings," said the Duke dryly. "I pity Master Nevile the lover, and envy my Lord Chamberlain the protector." Hastings laughed, for he was well pleased that Richard's suspicion took that turn. "And now," he said, "I suppose Master Nevile and the Duchess of Bedford's page may enter. Your guard stopped them hitherto. They come for this gentleman from Her High- ness the Queen's mother." "Enter, Master Nevile, and you Sir Page. What is your errand?" "My lady, the Duchess," said the page, "has sent me to conduct Master Warner to the apartments prepared for him as her special multiplier and alchemist." "What!" said the Prince, who, unlike the irritable Clarence, made it his policy to show all decorous homage to the Queen's kin; "hath that illustrious lady taken this gentleman into her service? Why announced you not, Master Warner, what at once had saved you from further questioning? Lord Hastings, I thank you now for your intercession." Hastings, in answer, pointed archly at Marmaduke, who was aiding Sibyll to support her father. "Do you suspect me still, Prince?" he whispered. The Duke shrugged his shoulders, and Adam, breaking from Marmaduke and Sibyll, passed with tottering steps to the shattered labor of his solitary life. He looked at the ruin with mournful despondence, with quivering lips. "Have you done with me?" then he said, bowing his head lowlily, for his pride was gone "may we that is, I and this, my poor device, with- draw from your palace? I see we are not fit for kings!" "Say not so," said the young Duke gently, "we have now convinced ourselves of our error, and I crave thy pardon, Mas- ter Warner, for my harsh dealings. As for this, thy toy, the King's workmen shall set it right for thee. Smith, call the fel- lows yonder, to help bear this to" He paused and glanced at Hastings. "To my apartments, "said the chamberlain. "Your High- ness may be sure that I will there inspect it. Fear not, Master Warner; no further harm shall chance to thy contrivance." "Come, sir, forgive me," said the Duke. With gracious affa- bility the young Prince held out his hand, the fingers of which sparkled with costly gems, to the old man. The old man bowed 166 THE LAST OF THE I'.AkoXS. as if his beard would have swept the earth, but he did not touch the hand. He seemed still in a state between dream and rea- son, life and death : he moved not, spoke not, till the men came to bear the model; and he then followed it, his arms folded in his gown, till, on entering the court, it was borne in a contrary direction from his own, to the chamberlain's apartment; then wistfully pursuing it with his eyes, he uttered such a sigh as might have come from a resigned father losing the last glimpse of a beloved son. Richard hesitated a moment, loth to relinquish his research, and doubtful whether to follow the Eureka for renewed investi- gation ; but, partly unwilling to compromise his dignity in the eyes of Hastings, should his suspicions prove unfounded, and partly indisposed to risk the displeasure of the vindictive Duchess of Bedford by further molestation of one now under her protection, he reluctantly trusted all further inquiry to the well-known loyalty of Hastings. "If Margaret be in London," he muttered to himself as he turned slowly away, "now is the time to seize and chain the lioness! Ho, Catesby, hither (a valuable man that Catesby a lawyer's nurturing with a bloodhound's nature!) Catesby, while King Edward rides for pleasure, let thou and I track the scent of his foes. If the she-wolf of Anjou hath ventured hither, she hides in some convent or monastery, be sure. See to our palfreys, Catesby! Strange (added the Prince, muttering to himself) that I am more restless to guard the crown than he who wears it! Nay, a crown is a goodly heirloom in a man's family, and a fair sight to see near and near and near " The Prince abruptly paused, opened and shut his right hand convulsively, and drew a long sigh. BOOK IV. INTRIGUES OF THE COURT OF EDWARD IV. CHAPTER I. MARGARET OF ANJOU. THE day after the events recorded in the last section of this narrative, and about the hour of noon, Robert Hilyard (still in the reverend disguise in which he had accosted Hastings) bent THE LAST OF THE BARONS. $67 his way through the labyrinth of alleys that wound in dingy confusion from the Chepe towards the river. The purlieus of the Thames, in that day of ineffective police, sheltered many who either lived upon plunder, or sought abodes that proffered, at alarm, the facility of flight. Here, saunter- ing in twos or threes, or lazily reclined by the thresholds of plaster huts, might be seen that refuse population which is the unholy offspring of Civil War disbanded soldiers of either Rose, too inured to violence and strife for peaceful employ- ment, and ready for any enterprise by which keen steel wins bright gold. At length, our friend stopped before the gate of a small house, on the very marge of the river, which belonged to one of the many religious Orders then existing; but from its site and aspect denoted the poverty seldom their characteristic. Here he knocked : the door was opened by a lay-brother ; a sign and a smile were interchanged, and the visitor was ushered into a room belonging to the Superior, but given up for the last few days to a foreign priest, to whom the whole community appeared to consider the reverence of a saint was due. And yet this priest, who, seated alone, by a casement which com- manded a partial view of the distant Tower of London, received the conspirator, was clad in the humblest serge. His face was smooth and delicate; and the animation of the aspect, the vehement impatience of the gesture, evinced little of the holy calm that should belong to those who have relinquished the affairs of earth for meditation on the things of heaven. To this personage the sturdy Hilyard bowed his manly knees; and casting himself at the priest's feet, his eyes, his countenance changed from their customary hardihood and recklessness into an expression at once of reverence and of pity. "Well, man well, friend good friend, tried and leal friend speak! speak!" exclaimed the priest, in an accent that plainly revealed a foreign birth. "Oh, gracious lady, all hope is over: I come but to bid you fly. Adam Warner was brought before the usurper: he es- caped, indeed, the torture, and was faithful to the trust. But the papers the secret of the rising are in the hands of Hast- ings." "How long, O Lord," said Margaret of Anjou, for she it was, under that reverend disguise; "how long wilt thou delay the hour of triumph and revenge?" The Princess, as she spoke, had suffered her hood to fall back, and her pale, commanding countenance, so well fitted to express fiery and terrible emotion, wore that aspect in which l68 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. many a sentenced man had read his doom ; an aspect the more fearful, inasmuch as the passion that pervaded it did not dis- tort the features, but left them locked, rigid, and marble-like in beauty, as the head of the Medusa. "The day will dawn at last," said Hilyard, "but the judg- ments of Heaven are slow. We are favored, at the least, that our secret is confined to a man more merciful than his tribe." He then related to Margaret his interview with Hastings, at the house of the Lady Longueville, and continued: "This morn- ing, not an hour since, I sought him (for last evening he did not leave Edward a council met at the Tower), and learned that he had detected the documents in the recesses of Warner's engine. Knowing, from Your Highness and your spies, that he had been open to the gifts of Charolois, I spoke to him plainly of the guerdon that should await his silence. 'Friar,' he answered, 'if in this court and this world I have found that it were a fool's virtue to be more pure than others, and, if I know that I should but provoke the wrath of those who profit by Burgundian gold were I alone to disdain its glitter; I have still eno' of my younger conscience left me not to make barter of human flesh. Did I give these papers to King Edward, the heads of fifty gallant men, whose error is but loyalty to their ancient sovereign, would glut the doomsman. But,' he con- tinued, 'I am yet true to my King and his cause; I shall know how to advise Edward to the frustrating all your schemes. The districts where you hoped a rising will be guarded, the men ye count upon will be watched : the Duke of Gloucester, whose vigilance never sleeps, has learned that the Lady Margaret is in England, disguised as a priest. To-morrow, all the Religious Houses will be searched ; if thou knowest where she lies con- cealed, bid her lose not an hour to fly.' ' "I will not fly!" exclaimed Margaret; "let Edward, if he dare, proclaim to my people that their Queen is in her city of London. Let him send his hirelings to seize her. Not in this dress shall she be found. In robes of state, the sceptre in her hand, shall they drag the consort of their King to the prison- house of her palace." "On my knees, great Queen, I implore you to be calm; with the loss of your liberty ends indeed all hope of victory, all chance even of struggle. Think not Edward's fears would leave to Margaret the life that his disdain has spared to your royal spouse. Between your prison and your grave but one secret and bloody step! Be ruled, no time to lose! My trusty Hugh, even now., waits with his boat below. Relays of horses THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 169 are ready, night and day, to bear you to the coast; while seek- ing your restoration, I have never neglected the facilities for flight. Pause not, O gracious lady ; let not your son say : 'My mother's passion has lost me the hope of my grandsire's crown.' ' "My boy, my princely boy, my Edward!" exclaimed Mar- garet, bursting into tears, all the warrior-queen merged in the remembrance of the fond mother. "Ah, faithful friend, he is so gallant and so beautiful ! Oh, he shall reward thee well here- after!" "May he live to crush these barons, and raise this people!" said the demagogue of Redesdale. "But now, save thyself." "But what! is it not possible yet to strike the blow! Rather let us spur to the north rather let us hasten the hour of action, and raise the Red Rose through the length and breadth of England!" "Ah, lady, if without warrant from your lord; if without foreign subsidies ; if without having yet ripened the time ; if without gold, without arms, and without one great baron on our side, we forestall a rising, all that we have gained is lost; and instead of war, you can scarcely provoke a riot. But for this accursed alliance of Edward's daughter with the brother of the icy-hearted Louis, our triumph had been secure. The French King's gold would have manned a camp, bribed the discontented lords, and his support have sustained the hopes of the more leal Lancastrians. But it is in vain to deny, that if Lord Warwick win Louis " "He will not! He shall not! Louis, mine own kinsman!" exclaimed Margaret, in a voice in which the anguish pierced through the louder tone of resentment and disdain. "Let us hope that he will not," replied Hilyard soothingly; "some chance may yet break off these nuptials, and once more give us France as our firm ally. But now we must be patient. Already Edward is fast wearing away the gloss of his crown ; already the great lords desert his court; already, in the rural provinces, peasant and franklin complain of the exactions of his minions: already the mighty House of Nevile frowns sullen on the throne it built. Another year, and who knows but the Earl of Warwick the beloved and the fearless; whose states- man-art alone hath severed from you the arms and aid of France: at whose lifted finger all England would bristle with armed men may ride by the side of Margaret through the gates of London?" "Evil-omened consoler, never!" exclaimed the Princess, starting to her feet, with eyes that literally shot fire, 170 THE LAST OF THK BARONS. "Thinkest thou that the spirit of a Queen lies in me so low and crushed, that I, the descendant of Charlemagne, could forgive the wrongs endured from Warwick and his father. But ihou, though wise and loyal, art of the Commons; thou knowest not how they feel through whose veins rolls the blood of kings!" A dark and cold shade fell over the bold face of Robin of Redesdale at these words. "Ah, lady," he said, with bitterness, "if no misfortune can curb thy pride, in vain would we rebuild thy throne. It is these Commons, Margaret of Anjou these English Commons this Saxon people, that can alone secure to thee the holding of the realm which the right arm wins. And, beshrew me, much as I love thy cause ; much as thou hast, with thy sorrows and thy princely beauty, glamoured and spelled my heart and my hand ay, so that I, the son of a Lollard, forget the wrongs the Lollards sustained from the House of Lancaster; so that I, who have seen the glorious fruitage of a Republic, yet labor for thee, to overshadow the land with the throne of ONE yet yet, lady yet, if I thought thou wert to be the same Margaret as of old, looking back to thy dead kings, and contemptuous of thy living people, I would not bid one mother's son lift lance or bill on thy behalf." So resolutely did Robin of Redesdale utter these words, that the Queen's haughty eye fell abashed as he spoke; and her craft, or her intellect, which was keen and prompt where her passions did not deafen and blind her judgment, instantly re- turned to her. Few women equalled this once idol of knight and minstrel, in the subduing fascination that she could exert in her happier moments. Her affability was as gracious as her wrath was savage; and with a dignified and winning frankness, she extended her hand to her ally, as she answered, in a sweet, humble, womanly, and almost penitent voice : "Oh, bravest and lealest of friends, forgive thy wretched Queen. Her troubles distract her brain, chide her not if they sour her speech. Saints above, will ye not pardon Margaret, if at times her nature be turned from the mother's milk into streams of gall and bloody purpose, when ye see, from your homes serene, in what a world of strife and falsehood her very womanhood hath grown unsexed!" She paused a moment, and her uplifted eyes shed tears fast and large. Then, with a sigh, she turned to Hilyard, and resumed more calmly: "Yes, thou art right adversity hath taught me much. And though adversity will too often but feed, and not starve, our pride ; yet thou thou hast made me know, that there is more of THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 171 nobility in the blunt Children of the People than in many a breast over which flows the kingly robe. Forgive me, and the daughter of Charlemagne shall yet be a mother to the Com- mons, who claim thee as their brother!" Thoroughly melted, Robin of Redesdale bowed over the hand held to his lips, and his rough voice trembled as he an- swered though that answer took but the shape of prayer. "And now," said the Princess, smiling, "to make peace lasting between us ; I conquer myself I yield to thy counsels. Once more the fugitive, I abandon the city that contains Hen- ry's unheeded prison. See, I am ready. Who will know Margaret in this attire? Lead on!" Rejoiced to seize advantage of this altered and submissive mood, Robin instantly took the way through a narrow passage, to a small door communicating with the river. There Hugh was waiting in a small boat, moored to the damp and discol- ored stairs. Robin, by a gesture, checked the man's impulse to throw himself at the feet of the pretended priest, and bade him put forth his best speed. The Princess seated herself by the helm, and the little boat cut rapidly through the noble stream. Gal- leys, gay and gilded, with armorial streamers, and filled with nobles and gallants, passed them, noisy with mirth or music, on their way. These the fallen sovereign heeded not ; but, with all her faults, the woman's heart beating in her bosom she who, in prosperity, had so often wrought ruin, and shame, and woe to her gentle lord ; she who had been reckless of her trust as Queen, and incurred grave but, let us charitably hope, unjust suspicion of her faith as wife, still fixed her eyes on the gloomy tower that contained her captive husband, and felt that she could have forgotten awhile even the loss of power if but permitted to fall on that plighted heart, and weep over the past with the woe-worn bridegroom of her youth. CHAPTER II. IN WHICH ARE LAID OPEN TO THE READER THE CHARAC- TER OF EDWARD IV. AND THAT OF HIS COURT, WITH THE MACHINATIONS OF THE WOODVILLES AGAINST THE EARL OF WARWICK. SCARCELY need it be said to those who have looked with some philosophy upon human life, that the young existence of Master Marmaduke Nevile, once fairly merged in the great 172 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. common sea, will rarely reappear before us individualized and distinct. The type of the provincial cadet of the day, hasten- ing courtwards to seek his fortune, he becomes lost amidst the gigantic characters and fervid passions that alone stand forth in history. And as, in reading biography, we first take inter- est in the individual who narrates, but if his career shall pass into that broader and more stirring life, in which he mingles with men who have left a more dazzling memory than his own, we find the interest change from the narrator to those by whom he is surrounded and eclipsed, so, in this record of a time, we scarce follow our young adventurer into the court of the brilliant Edward, ere the scene itself allures and separates us from our guide; his mission is, as it were, well-nigh done. We leave, then, for a while, this bold, frank nature fresh from the health of the rural life gradually to improve, or deprave itself, in the companionship it finds. The example of the Lords Hastings, Scales, and Worcester, and the accomplishments of the two younger Princes of York, especially the Duke of Glou- cester, had diffused among the younger and gayer part of the court that growing taste for letters which had somewhat slept during the dynasty of the House of Lancaster; and Marma- duke's mind became aware that learning was no longer the pe- culiar distinction of the Church, and that Warwick was behind his age, when he boasted "that the sword was more familiar to him than the pen." He had the sagacity to perceive that the alliance with the great Earl did not conduce to his popu- larity at court; and, even in the King's presence, the courtiers permitted themselves many taunts and jests at the fiery War- wick, which they would have bitten out their tongues ere they would have vented before the Earl himself. But, though the Nevile sufficiently controlled his native candor not to incur unprofitable quarrel by ill-mannered and unseasonable defence of the hero-baron, when sneered at or assailed, he had enough of the soldier and the man in him, not to be tainted by the envy of the time and place not to lose his gratitude to his patron, nor his respect for the bulwark of the country. Rather, it may be said that Warwick gained in his estimation when- ever compared with the gay and silken personages who avenged themselves by words for his superiority in deeds. Not only as a soldier, but as a statesman, the great and peculiar merits of the Earl were visible in all those measures which emanated solely from himself. Though so indifferently educated, his busy, practical career, his affable mixing with all classes, and his hearty, national sympathies, made him so well acquainted THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 173 with the interests of his country and the habits of his country- men / that he was far more fitted to rule than the scientific Worcester the learned Scales. The young Duke of Glou- cester presented a marked contrast to the general levity of the court, in speaking of this powerful nobleman. He never named him but with respect, and was pointedly courteous to even the humblest member of the Earl's family. In this he appeared to advantage, by the side of Clarence, whose weak- ness of disposition made him take the tone of the society in which he was thrown, and who, while really loving Warwick, often smiled at the jests against him not, indeed, if uttered by the Queen or her family, of whom he ill concealed his jeal- ousy and hatred. The whole court was animated and pregnant with a spirit of intrigue, which the artful cunning of the Queen, the astute policy of Jacquetta, and the animosity of the different factions had fomented to a degree quite unknown under former reigns. It was a place in which the wit of young men grew old rapidly: amidst stratagem, and plot, and ambitious design, and stealthy overreaching, the boyhood of Richard III. passed to its relentless manhood : such is the inevitable fruit of that era in civilization when a martial aristocracy .first begins to merge into a voluptuous court. Through this moving and shifting web of ambition and in- trigue the royal Edward moved with a careless grace; simple himself, because his object was won, and pleasure had sup- planted ambition. His indolent, joyous temper served to deaden his powerful intellect; or, rather, his intellect was now lost in the sensual stream through which it flowed. Ever in pursuit of some new face, his schemes and counter-schemes were limited to cheat a husband or deceive a wife; and dexter- ous and successful, no doubt, they were. But a vice always more destructive than the love of women began also to reign over him, viz., the intemperance of the table. The fastidious and graceful epicurism of the early Normans, inclined to dain- ties but abhorring excess, and regarding with astonished dis- dain the heavy meals and deep draughts of the Saxon, had long ceased to characterize the offspring of that noblest of all noble races. Warwick, whose stately manliness was disgusted with whatever savored of effeminacy or debauch, used to de- clare that he would rather fight fifty battles for Edward IV. than once sup with him! Feasts were prolonged for hours, and the banquets of this king of the Middle Ages almost re- sembled those of the later Roman emperors. The Lord Mon- 174 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. tagu did not share the abstemiousness of his brother of War- wick. He was, next to Hastings, the King's chosen and most favorite companion. He ate almost as much as the King, and drank very little less. Of few courtiers could the same be said! Over the lavish profligacy and excess of the court, how- ever, a veil, dazzling to the young and high-spirited, was thrown. Edward was thoroughly the cavalier, deeply imbued with the romance of chivalry, and, while making the absolute ivoman his plaything, always treated the ideal woman as a goddess. A refined gallantry a deferential courtesy to dame and demoiselle united the language of an Amadis with the licentiousness of a Gaolor; and a far more alluring contrast than the court of Charles II. presented to the grim Common- wealth, seduced the vulgar in that of this most brave and most beautiful prince, when compared with the mournful and lugu- brious circles in which Henry VI. had reigned and prayed. Edward himself, too, it was so impossible to judge with severe justice, that his extraordinary popularity in London, where he was daily seen, was never diminished by his faults; he was so bold in the field, yet so mild in the chamber; when his pas- sions slept, he was so thoroughly good-natured and social ; so kind to all about his person ; so hearty and gladsome in his talk and in his vices; so magnificent and so generous withal; and, despite his indolence, his capacities for business were marvellous and these last commanded the reverence of the good Londoners: he often administered justice himself, like the Caliphs of the East, and with great acuteness and address. Like most extravagant men, he had a wholesome touch of avarice. That contempt for commerce which characterizes a modern aristocracy was little felt by the nobles of that day, with the exception of such blunt patricians as Lord Warwick or Raoul de Fulke. The great house of De la Pole (Duke of Suffolk), the heir of which married Edward's sister, Elizabeth, had been founded by a merchant of Hull. Earls and arch- bishops scrupled not to derive revenues from what we should now esteem the literal resources of trade.* No house had ever consider the Lancastrian cause the more " liberal of the two, because Henry IV. was the popular choice, and, in fact, an elected, not an hereditary king, so it cannot be too emphati- cally repeated, that the accession of Edward IV. was the success of two new and two highly popular principles the one, that of church reform, the other, that of commercial lculation. All that immense section, almost a majority of the people, who had been per- THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 175 shown itself on this point more liberal in its policy, more free from feudal prejudices, than that of the Plantagenets. Even Edward II. was tenacious of the commerce with Genoa, and an intercourse with the merchant princes of that republic prob- ably served to associate the pursuits of commerce with the no- tion of rank and power. Edward III. is still called the Father of English Commerce; but Edward IV. carried the theories of his ancestors into far more extensive practice, for his own personal profit. This king, so indolent in the palace, was lit- erally the most active merchant in the mart. He traded largely in ships of his own, freighted with his own goods; and though, according to sound modern economics, this was any- thing but an aid to commerce, seeing that no private merchant could compete with a royal trader, who went out and came in duty-free, yet certainly the mere companionship and association in risk and gain, and the common conversation that it made between the affable monarch and the homeliest trader, served to increase his popularity, and to couple it with respect for practical sense. Edward IV. was in all this pre-eminently THE MAN OF HIS AGE not an inch behind it or before ! And, in addition to this happy position, he was one of those darlings of Nature, so affluent and blest in gifts of person, mind, and out- ward show, that it is only at the distance of posterity we ask why men of his own age admired the false, the licentious, and the cruel, where those contemporaries, over-dazzled, saw but the heroic and the joyous, the young, the beautiful the affable to friend, and the terrible to foe ! It was necessary to say thus much on the commercial ten- dencies of Edward, because, at this epoch, they operated greatly, besides other motives shortly to be made clear, in favor of the plot laid by the enemies of the Earl of Warwick, to dis- honor that powerful minister, and drive him from the councils of the King. One morning Hastings received a summons to attend Ed- spirit, it had received nothing but injury under Henry V., and little belter than contempt under Henry VI. The accession of the Yorkists was, then, on two grounds, a great popu- lar movement ; and it was followed by a third advantage to the popular cause, viz., in th; determined desire both of Edward and Richard III. to destroy the dangerous influence of the old feudal aristocracy. To this end Edward labored in the creation of a court noblesse ; and Richard, with the more dogged resolution that belonged to him, went at once to the root of the feudal power, in forbidding the nobles to give badges and liveries;* in other words, to appropriate armies under the name of retainers. Henry VII., in short, did not originate the policy for which he has monopolized the credit ; he did but steadily follow out the theory of raising the middle class and humbling the baronial, which the House of York first put into practice. * This also was forbidden, it is true, by the edict of Edward IV., as well as by his prede- cessors from the reign of Richard II., but no king seems to have had the courage to en- force the prohibition before Richard III. ij6 THE LAST OK TI1K. HAKONS. ward, and, on entering the royal chamber, he found already assembled, Lord Rivers, the Queen's father, Anthony Wood- ville, and the Earl of Worcester. The King seemed thoughtful; he beckoned Hastings to ap- proach, and placed in his hand a letter, dated from Rouen. "Read and judge, Hastings," said Edward. The letter was from a gentleman in Warwick's train. It gave a glowing account of the honors accorded to the Earl by Louis XL, greater than those ever before manifested to a sub- ject, and proceeded thus: "But it is just I should apprise you that there be strange rumors as to the marvellous love that King Louis shows my lord the Earl. He lodgeth in the next house to him, and hath even had an opening made in the parti- tion-wall between his own chamber and the Earl's. Men do say that the King visits him nightly, and there be those who think that so much stealthy intercourse between an English ambassador and the kinsman of Margaret of Anjou bbdeth small profit to our Grace the King." "I observe," said Hastings, glancing to the superscription, "that this letter is addressed to my Lord Rivers. Can he avouch the fidelity of his correspondent?" "Surely, yes," answered Rivers; "it is a gentleman of my own blood." "Were he not so accredited," returned Hastings, "I should question the truth of a man who can thus consent to play the spy upon his lord and superior." "The public weal justifies all things," said the Earl of Wor- cester (who, though by marriage nearly connected to Warwick, eyed his power with the jealous scorn which the man of book- lore often feels for one whose talent lies in action) "so held our masters in all statecraft, the Greek and Roman." "Certes," said Sir Anthony Woodville, "it grieveth the pride of an English knight, that we should be beholden for courtesies to the born foe of England, which I take the French- man naturally to be." "Ah," said Edward, smiling sternly, "I would rather be my- self, with banner and trump, before the walls of Paris, than sending my cousin, the Earl, to beg the French King's brother to accept my sister as a bride. And what is to become of my good merchant-ships, if Burgundy take umbrage, and close its ports?" "Beau sire," said Hastings, "thou knowest how littfe cause I have to love the Earl of Warwick. We all here, sare your gracious self, bear the memory of some affront rendered to us THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 1)7 by his pride and heat of mood; but in this council I must cease to be William de Hastings, and be all and wholly the King's servant. I say first, then, with reference to these noble peers, that Warwick's faith to the House of York is too well proven to become suspected because of the courtesies of King Louis an artful craft, as it clearly seems to me of the wily Frenchman, to weaken your throne, by provoking your dis- trust of its great supporter. Fall we not into such a snare ! Moreover, we may be sure that Warwick cannot be false, if he achieve the object of his embassy, viz., detach Louis from the side of Margaret and Lancaster by close alliance with Edward and York. Secondly, sire, with regard to that alliance which it seems you would repent I hold now, as I have held ever, that it is a master-stroke in policy, and the Earl in this proves his sharp brain worthy his strong arm ; for as His Highness the Duke of Gloucester hath now clearly discovered that Margaret of Anjou has been of late in London, and that treasonable de- signs were meditated, though now frustrated, so we may ask why the friends of Lancaster really stood aloof? why all con- spiracy was, and is, in vain? Because, sire, of this very alli- ance with France; because the gold and subsidies of Louis are not forthcoming; because the Lancastrians see that if once Lord Warwick win France from the Red Rose, nothing short of such a miracle as their gaining Warwick instead can give a hope to their treason. Your Highness fears the anger of Bur- gundy, and the suspension of your trade with the Flemings ; but forgive me this is not reasonable. Burgundy dare not offend England, matched, as its arms are, with France; the Flemings gain more by you than you gain by the Flemings, and those interested burghers will not suffer any prince's quar- rel to damage their commerce. Charolois may bluster and threat, but the storm will pass; and Burgundy will be con- tented, if England remain neutral in the feud with France. All these reasons, sire, urge me to support my private foe, the Lord Warwick, and to pray you to give no ear to the discredit- ing his honor and his embassy." The profound sagacity of these remarks, the repute of the speaker, and the well-known grudge between him and War- wick, for reasons hereafter to be explained, produced a strong effect upon the intellect of Edward, always vigorous, save when clouded with passion. But Rivers, whose malice to the Earl was indomitable, coldly recommenced. "With submission to the Lord Hastings, sire, whom we know that love sometimes blinds, and whose allegiance to the 178 THE LAST 01 I II!. i.AKO.N>. Earl's fair sister, the Lady of Bonville, perchance somewhat moves to forget the day when Lord Warwick "Cease, my lord," said Hastings, white with suppressed an- ger; "these references beseem not the councils of grave men." "Tut, Hastings," said Edward, laughing merrily "women mix themselves up in all things : board or council, bed or bat- tle wherever there is mischief astir, there, be sure, peeps a woman's sly face from her wimple. Go on, Rivers." "Your pardon, my Lord Hastings," said Rivers, "I knew not my thrust went so home; there is another letter I have not yet laid before the King." He drew forth a scroll from his bosom, and read as follows: "Yesterday the Earl feasted the King, and as, in discharge of mine office, I carved for my lord, I heard King Louis say : 'Pasque Dieu, my Lord Warwick, our couriers bring us word that Count Charolois declares he shall yet wed the Lady Mar- garet, and that he laughs at your ambassage. \Vhat if our brother, King Edward, fall back from the treaty?' 'He durst not!' said the Earl." "Durst not!" exclaimed Edward, starting to his feet, and striking the table with his clenched hand, "Durst not! Hastings, hear you that?" Hastings bowed his head, in assent. "Is that all, Lord Rivers?" "All! and methinks enough." "Enough, by my halidame!" said Edward, laughing bit- terly; "he shall see what a King dares when a subject threat- ens. Admit the worshipful the deputies from our city of Lon- don lord chamberlain, it is thine office they await in the ante-room." Hastings gravely obeyed, and in crimson gowns, with purple hoods, and gold chains, marshalled into the King's presence a goodly deputation from the various corporate companies of London. These personages advanced within a few paces of the dais, and there halted and knelt, while their spokesman read, on his knees, a long petition, praying the King to take into his gra- cious consideration the state of the trade with the Flemings; and though not absolutely venturing to name or to deprecate the meditated alliance with France, beseeching His Grace to satisfy them as to certain rumors, already very prejudicial to their commerce, of the possibility of a breach with the Duke of Burgundy. The merchant-king listened with great atten- tion and affability to this petition ; and replied, shortly, that THE LAST OF THE BARONS, 1?9 he thanked the deputation for their zeal for the public weal: that a king would have enough to do, if he contravened every gossip's tale ; but that it was his firm purpose to protect, in all ways, the London traders, and to maintain the most amicable understanding with the Duke of Burgundy. The supplicators then withdrew from the royal presence. "Note you how gracious the King was to me?" whispered Master Heyford to one of his brethren; "he looked at me while he answered." "Coxcomb!" muttered the confidant, "as if I did not catch his eye, when he said, 'Ye are the pillars of the public weal.' But because Master Heyford has a handsome wife, he thinks he tosseth all London on his own horns!" As the citizens were quitting the palace, Lord Rivers joined them: "You will thank me for suggesting this deputation, worthy sires," said he, smiling significantly; "you have timed it well!" And passing by them, without further comment, he took the way to the Queen's chamber. Elizabeth was playing with her infant daughter, tossing the child in the air, and laughing at its riotous laughter. The stern old Duchess of Bedford, leaning over the back of the state-chair, looked on with all a grandmother's pride, and half- chanted a nursery rhyme. It was a sight fair to see! Eliza- beth never seemed more lovely; her artificial, dissimulating smile changed into hearty, maternal glee; her smooth cheek flushed with exercise, a stray ringlet escaping from the stiff coif! And, alas, the moment the two ladies caught sight of Rivers, all the charm was dissolved the child was hastily put on the floor the Queen, half-ashamed of being natural, even before her father, smoothed back the rebel lock, and the duch- ess, breaking off in the midst of her grandam song, exclaimed: "Well, well! how thrives our policy?" "The King," answered Rivers, "is in the very mood we could desire. At the words, 'He durst not!' the Plantagenet sprung up in his breast; and now, lest he ask to see the rest of the letter, thus I destroy it"; and flinging the scroll in the blazing hearth, he watched it consume. "Why this, sir?" said the Queen. "Because, my Elizabeth, the bold words glided off into a decent gloss: 'He durst not,' said Warwick, 'because what a noble heart dares least, is to belie tl.e plighted word, and what the kind heart shuns most is to wrong the confiding friend.' " "It was fortunate," said the Duchess, "that Edward took heat at the first words, nor stopped, it seems, for the rest!" l8o THE LAST OF THE BARONS. "I was prepared, Jacquetta; had he asked to see the rest, I should have dropped the scroll into the brazier, as containing what I would not presume to read. Courage! Edward has seen the merchants; he has flouted Hastings who would gain- say us. For the rest, Elizabeth; be it yours to speak of affronts paid by the Earl to your Highness; be it yours, Jac- quetta, to rouse Edward's pride, by dwelling on Warwick's overweening power. Be it mine, to enlist his interest on be- half of his merchandise; be it Margaret's, to move his heart by soft tears for the bold Charolois ; and ere a month be told, Warwick shall find his embassy a thriftless laughing-stock, and no shade pass between the house of Woodville and the sun of England." "I am scarce Queen while Warwick is minister," said Eliza- beth vindictively. "How he taunted me in the garden, when we met last!" "But hark you, daughter and lady liege, hark you! Ed- ward is not prepared for the decisive stroke. I have arranged with Anthony, whose chivalrous follies fit him not for full com- prehension of our objects, how upon fair excuse the heir of Burgundy's brother the Count de la Roche shall visit Lon- don, and the Count once here, all is ours ! Hush ! take up the little one Edward comes!" CHAPTER III. WHEREIN MASTER NICHOLAS ALWYN- VISITS THE COURT, AND THERE LEARNS MATTER OF WHICH THE ACUTE READER WILL JUDGE FOR HIMSELF. IT was a morning towards the end of May (some little time after Edward's gracious reception of the London deputies), when Nicholas Alwyn, accompanied by two servitors armed to the teeth for they carried with them goods of much value, and even in the broad daylight, and amidst the most fre- quented parts of the city, men still confided little in the secur- ity of the law arrived at the Tower, and was conducted to the presence of the Queen. Elizabeth and her mother were engaged in animated but whispered conversation when the goldsmith entered ; and there was an unusual gayety in the Queen's countenance as she turned to Alwyn and bade him show her his newest gauds. While, with a curiosity and eagerness that seemed almost childlike, Elizabeth turned over rings, chains, and brooches, THE LAST OF THE BARONS. l8l scarcely listening to Alwyn's comments on the lustre of the gems or the quaintness of the fashion, the Duchess disappeared for a moment, and returned with the Princess Margaret. . This young Princess had much of the majestic beauty of her royal brother, but, instead of the frank, careless expression, so fascinating in Edward, there was, in her full and curved lip, and bright, large eye, something at once of haughtiness and passion, which spoke a decision and vivacity of character be- yond her years. "Choose for thyself, sweetheart and daughter mine," said the Duchess, affectionately placing her hand on Margaret's luxuriant hair, "and let the noble visitor we await confess that our Rose of England outblooms the world." The Princess colored with complacent vanity at these words, and, drawing near the Queen, looked silently at a collar of pearls which Elizabeth held. "If I may adventure so to say," observed Alwyn, "pearls will mightily beseem Her Highness's youthful bloom; and lo! here be some adornments for the bodice or partelet, to sort with the collar; not," added the goldsmith, bowing low, and looking down, "not, perchance, displeasing to Her Highness, in that they are wrought in the guise of the fleur-de-lis " An impatient gesture in the Queen, and a sudden cloud over the fair brow of Margaret, instantly betokened to the shrewd trader that he had committed some most unwelcome error in this last allusion to the alliance with King Louis of France, which, according to rumor, the Earl of Warwick had well-nigh brought to a successful negotiation ; and to convince him yet more of his mistake, the Duchess said, haughtily: "Good fel- low, be contented to display thy goods, and spare us thy comments. As for thy hideous fleur-de-lis, an* thy master had no better device, he would not long rest the King's jeweller!" " I have no heart for the pearls," said Margaret abruptly; "they are at best pale and sicklied. What hast thou of bolder ornament, and more dazzling lustrousness?" "These emeralds, it is said, were once among the jewels of the great House of Burgundy," observed Nicholas slowly, and fixing his keen, sagacious look on the royal purchasers. "Of Burgundy!" exclaimed the Queen. "It is true," said the Duchess of Bedford, looking at the ornament with care, and slightly coloring for, in fact, the jewels had been a present from Philip the Good to the Duke of Bedford, and the exigencies of the civil wars had led, some 182 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. time since, first to their mortgage, or rather pawn, and then to their sale. The Princess passed her arm affectionately round Jacquetta's neck, and said: "If you leave me my choice, I will have none but these emeralds." The two elder ladies exchanged looks and smiles. "Hast thou travelled, young man?" asked the Duchess. "Not in foreign parts, gracious lady, but I have lived much with those who have been great wanderers." "Ah! and what say they of the ancient friends of mine house, the Princes of Burgundy?" "Lady, all men agree that a nobler prince and a juster than Duke Philip never reigned over brave men ; and those who have seen the wisdom of his rule grieve sorely to think so ex- cellent and mighty a lord should have trouble brought to his old age by the turbulence of his son, the Count of Charolois." Again Margaret's fair brow lowered, and the Duchess hast- ened to answer: "The disputes between princes, young man, can never be rightly understood by such as thou and thy friends. The Count of Charolois is a noble gentleman ; and fire in youth will break out. Richard the Lion-hearted of England was not less puissant a king for the troubles he occa- sioned to his sire when prince." Alwyn bit his lip to restrain a reply that might not have been well received ; and the Queen, putting aside the emeralds and a few other trinkets, said smilingly, to the Duchess: "Shall the King pay for these, or have thy learned men yet discov- ered the great secret?" "Nay, wicked child," said the Duchess, "thou lovest to ban* ter me ; and truth to say, more gold has been melted in the crucible than as yet promises ever to come out of it; but my new alchemist, Master Warner, seems to have gone nearer to the result than any I have yet known. Meanwhile the King's treasurer must, perforce, supply the gear to the King's sister." The Queen wrote an order on the officer thus referred to, who was no other than her own father, Lord Rivers ; and Al- wyn, putting up his goods, was about to withdraw, when the Duchess said carelessly : "Good youth, the dealings of our mer- chants are more with Flanders than with France is it not so?" "Surely," said Alwyn, "the Flemings are good traders and honest folk." "It is well known, I trust, in the city of London, that this new alliance with France is the work of their favorite, the Lord Warwick," said the Duchess scornfully; "but whatever the THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 183 Earl does is right with ye of the hood and cap, even though he were to leave yon river without one merchant-mast." "Whatever be our thoughts, puissant lady," said Alwyn cau- tiously, "we give them not vent to the meddling with state affairs." "Ay," persisted Jacquetta, "thine answer is loyal and dis- creet. But an' the Lord Warwick had sought alliance with the Count of Charolois, would there have been brighter bonfires than ye will see in Smithfield, when ye hear that business with the Flemings is surrendered for fine words from King Louis the Cunning?" "We trust too much to our King's love for the citizens of London to fear that surrender, please your Highness," an- swered Alwyn; ' 'our King himself is the first of our merchants, and he hath given a gracious answer to the deputation from our city." "You speak wisely, sir," said the Queen; "and your King will yet defend you from the plots of your enemies. You may retire." Alwyn, glad to be released from questionings but little to his taste, hastened to depart. At the gate of the royal lodge, he gave his caskets to the servitors who attended him, and passing slowly along the courtyard, thus soliloquized: "Our neighbors the Scotch say, 'It is good fishing in muddy waters'; but he who fishes into the secrets of courts must bait with his head. What mischief doth that crafty quean, the proud Duchess, devise? Um ! They are thinking still to match the young Princess with the hot Count of Charolois. Better for trade, it is true, to be hand in hand with the Flemings ; but there are two sides to a loaf. If they play such a trick on the stout Earl, he is not a man to sit down and do nothing. More food for the ravens, I fear more brown bills and bright lances in the green fields of poor England! And King Louis is an awful carle, to sow flax in his neighbor's house, when the torches are burning. Um! Here is fair Marmaduke. He looks brave in his gay super-tunic. Well, sir and foster-brother, how fare you at court?" "My dear Nicholas, a merry welcome and hearty to your sharp, thoughtful face. Ah, man! we shall have a gay time for you venders of gewgaws. There are to be revels and jousts revels in the Tower, and jousts in Smithfield. We gentles are already hard at practice in the tilt-yard." "Sham battles are better than real ones, Master Nevile! But what is in the wind?" 184 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. "A sail, Nicholas! A sail, bound to England! Know that the Count of Charolois has permitted Sir Anthony Count de la Roche, his bastard brother, to come over to London, to cross lances with our own Sir Anthony Lord Scales. It is an old challenge, and right royally will the encounter be held." "Urn!" muttered Alwyn "this bastard, then, is the carrier pigeon." "And," said he, aloud, "is it only to exchange hard blows that Sir Anthony of Burgundy comes over to confer with Sir Anthony of England? Is there no court rumor of other matters between them?" "Nay. What else? Plague on you craftsmen! Ye cannot even comprehend the pleasure and pastime two knights take in the storm of the lists!" "I humbly avow it, Master Nevile. But it seemeth, indeed, strange to me that the Count of Charolois should take this very moment to send envoys of courtesy, when so sharp a slight has been put on his pride, and so dangerous a blow struck at his interests, as the alliance between the French prince and the Lady Margaret. Bold Charles has some cunning, I trow, which your kinsman of Warwick is not here to detect." "Tush, man! Trade, I see, teaches ye all so to cheat and overreach, that ye suppose a knight's burgonot is as full of tricks and traps as a citizen's flat-cap. Would, though, that my kins- man of Warwick were here," added Marmaduke, in a low whis- per, "for the women and the courtiers are doing their best to belie him." "Keep thyself clear of them all, Marmaduke," said Alwyn; "for, by the Lord, I see that the evil days are coming once more, fast and dark, and men like thee will again have to choose be- tween friend and friend, kinsman and king. For my part, I say nothing; for I love not fighting, unless compelled to it. But if ever I do fight, it will not be by thy side, under Warwick's broad flag." "Eh, man?" interrupted the Nevile. "Nay, nay, ** continued Nicholas, shaking his head, "I ad- mire the great Earl, and were I lord or gentle, the great Earl should be my chief. But each to his order; and the trader's tree grows not out of a baron's walking-staff. King Edward may be a stern ruler, but he is a friend to the goldsmiths, and has just confirmed our charter. Let every man praise the bridge he goes over, as the saw saith. Truce to this talk, Master Nevile. I hear that your young hostess ehem Mistress Sibyll, is greatly marvelled at among the court gallants is it so?" Marmaduke' s frank face grew gloomy. "Alas! dear foster- THE LAST OF THE feAfcONS. 185 brother, he said, dropping the somewhat affected tone in which he had before spoken, "I must confess, to my shame, that I cannot yet get the damsel out of my thoughts, which is what I consider it a point of manhood and spirit to achieve." "How so?" "Because, when a maiden chooseth steadily to say nay to your wooing to tollow her heels, and whine and beg, is a dog's duty, not a man's." "What!" exclaimed Alwyn, in a voice of great eagerness, "mean you to say that you have wooed Sibyll Warner as your wife?" f "Verily, yes!" "And failed?" "And failed!" "Poor Marmaduke!" "There is no 'poor' in the matter, Nick Alwyn," returned Marmaduke sturdily; "if a girl likes me, well; if not, there are too many others in the wide world for a young fellow to break his heart about one. Yet, " he added, after a short pause, and with a sigh "yet, if thou hast not seen her since she came to the court, thou wilt find her wondrously changed." "More's the pity!" said Alwyn, reciprocating his friend's sigh. "I mean that she seems all the comelier for the court air. And beshrew me, I think the Lord Hastings, with his dulcet flatteries, hath made it a sort of frenzy for all the gallants to flock round her." "I should like to see Master Warner again, " said Alwyn; "Where lodges he?" "Yonder by the little postern, on the third flight of the tur- ret that flanks the corridor,* next to Friar Bungey, the magician ; but it is broad daylight, and therefore not so dangerous not but thou mayest as well patter an Ave in going upstairs." "Farewell, Master Nevile," said Alwyn, smiling; "I will seek the mechanician, and if I find there Mistress Sibyll, what shall I say from thee?" "That young bachelors in the reign of Edward IV. will never want fair feres, " answered the Nevile, debonairly smooth- ing his lawn partelet. * This description refers to that part of the Tower called the King's or Queen's Lodge and long since destroyed. l86 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. CHAPTER IV. EXHIBITING THE BENEFITS WHICH ROYAL PATRONAGE CONFERS ON GENIUS. ALSO THE EARLY LOVES OF THE LORD HAST- INGS; WITH OTHER MATTERS EDIFYING AND DELECTABLE. THE furnace was still at work, the flame glowed, the bellows heaved, but these were no longer ministering to the service of a mighty and practical invention. The mathematician the philosopher had descended to the alchemist. The nature of the TIME ha<} conquered the nature of a GENIUS meant to sub- due time. Those studies that had gone so far to forestall the master-triumph of far later ages were exchanged for occupa- tions that played with the toys of infant wisdom. Oh, true Tartarus of Genius when its energies are misapplied, when the labor but rolls the stone up the mountain, but pours water upon water, through the sieve! There is a sanguineness in men of great intellect which often leads them into follies avoided by the dull. When Adam War- ner saw the ruin of his contrivance ; when he felt that time, and toil, and money were necessary to its restoration ; -and when the gold he lacked was placed before him as a reward for al- chemical labors he at first turned to alchemy, as he would have turned to the plough, as he had turned to conspiracy, simply as a means to his darling end. But by rapid degrees, the fascination which all the elder sages experienced in the grand secret exercised its witchery over his mind. If Roger Bacon, though catching the notion of the steam-engine, devoted himself to the philosopher's stone; if even in so much more en- lightened an age, Newton had wasted some precious hours in the transmutation of metals, it was natural that the solitary sage of the reign of Edward IV. should grow, for a while at least, wedded to a pursuit which promised results so august. And the worst of alchemy is, that it always allures on its vic- tims : one gets so near, and so near the object it seems that so small an addition will complete the sum ! So there he was, this great practical genius, hard at work on turning copper into gold ! "Well, Master Warner," said the young goldsmith, entering the student's chamber, "methinks you scarcely remember your friend and visitor, Nicholas Alwyn?" ' ' Remember, oh, certes ! doubtless one of the gentlemen pres- ent when they proposed to put me to the brake * please to stand a little on this side what is your will?" * Brake, the old word for rack. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 187 "I am not a gentleman, and I should have been loth to stand idly by when the torture was talked of for a free-born English- man, let alone a scholar. And where is your fair daughter, Master Warner? I suppose you see but little of her now she is the great dame's waiting-damsel!" "And why so, Master Alwyn?" asked a charming voice; and Alwyn, for the first time, perceived the young form of Sibyll, by the embrasure of a window, from which might be seen in the court below a gay group of lords and courtiers, with the plain, dark dress of Hastings contrasting their gaudy surcoats, glit- tering with cloth of gold. Alywn's tongue clove to his mouth; all he had to say was forgotten in a certain bashful and inde- scribable emotion. The alchemist had returned to his furnace, and the young man and the girl were as much alone as if Adam Warner had been in heaven. "And why should the daughter forsake the sire more in a court where love is rare, than in the humbler home, where they may need each other less?" ' ' I thank thee for the rebuke, mistress, ' ' said Alwyn, delighted with her speech; "for I should have been sorry to see thy heart spoiled by the vanities that kill most natures." Scarcely had he uttered these words, than they seemed to him overbold and presuming; for his eye now. took in the great change of which Marmaduke had spoken. Sibyll's dress beseemed the new rank which she held : the corset, fringed with gold, and made of the finest thread, showed the exquisite contour of the throat and neck, whose ivory it concealed. The kirtle of rich blue became the fair complexion and dark chestnut hair ; and over all she wore that most graceful robe called the sasquenice, of which the old French poet sang : " Car nulle robe n'est si belle, A dame ne & demoiselle. " This garment, worn over the rest of the dress, had perhaps a classical origin, and, with slight variations, may be seen on the Etruscan vases; it was long and loose, of the whitest and finest linen, with hanging sleeves, and open at the sides. But it was not the mere dress that had embellished the young maiden's form and aspect it was rather an indefinable alteration in the expression and the bearing. She looked as if born to the air of courts; still modest, indeed, and simple, but with a con- sciousness of dignity and almost of power ; and in fact the woman had been taught the power that womanhood possesses. She had been admired, followed, flattered; she had learned l88 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. the authority of beauty. Her accomplishments, uncommon in that age among her sex, had aided her charm of person: her natural pride, which though hitherto latent, was high and ardent, fed her heart with sweet hopes a bright career seemed to extend before her; and, at peace as to her father's safety, relieved from the drudging cares of poverty, her fancy was free to follow the phantasms of sanguine youth through the airy land of dreams. And therefore it was that the maid was changed! At the sight of the delicate beauty, the self-possessed expres- sion, the courtly dress, the noble air of Sibyll, Nicholas Alwyn recoiled, and turned pale: he no longer marvelled at her re- jection of Marmaduke, and he started at the remembrance of the bold thoughts which he had dared himself to indulge. The girl smiled at the young man's confusion. "It is not prosperity that spoils the heart," she said touch- ingly, "unless it be mean, indeed. Thou rememberest, Master Alwyn, that when God tried His saint, it was by adversity and affliction." "May thy trial in these last be over," answered Alwyn; "but the humble must console their state by thinking that the great have their trials too; and, as our homely adage hath it, 'That is not always good in the maw which is sweet in the mouth.' Thou seest much of my gentle foster-brother, Mistress Sibyll?" "But in the court dances, Master Alwyn; for most of the hours in which my lady Duchess needs me not are spent here. Oh, my father hopes great things! And now at last fame dawns upon him." "I rejoice to hear it, mistress; and so, having paid ye both my homage, I take my leave, praying that I may visit you from time to time, if it be only to consult this worshipful master touching certain improvements in the horologe, in which his mathematics can doubtless instruct me Farewell. I have some jewels to show to the Lady of Bonville. " "The, Lady of Bonville!" repeated Sibyll, changing color; "she is a dame of notable loveliness." "So men say; and mated to a foolish lord; but scandal, which spares few, breathes not on her rare praise for a court dame. Few houses can have the boast of Lord Warwick's 'that all the men are without fear and all the women without stain.' ' "It is said," observed Sibyll, looking down, "that my Lord Hastings once much affectioned the Lady Bonville. Hast thou heard such gossip?" THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 189 "Surely, yes: in the city we hear all the tales of the court; for many a courtier, following King Edward's exemplar, dines with the citizen to-day, that he may borrow gold from the citi- zen to-morrow. Surely, yes; and hence, they say, the small love the wise Hastings bears to the stout Earl." "How runs the tale? Be seated, Master Alwyn." "Marry, thus: when William Hastings was but a squire, and much favored by Richard, Duke of York, he lifted his eyes to the Lady Katherine Nevile, sister to the Earl of Warwick ; and in beauty and in dower, as in birth, a mate for a king's son." "And, doubtless, the Lady Katherine returned his love?" "So it is said, maiden; and the Earl of Salisbury, her father, and Lord Warwick, her brother, discovered the secret, and swore that no new man (the stout Earl's favorite word of con- tempt) though he were made a duke, should give to an upstart posterity the quarterings of Montagu and Nevile. Marry, Mis- tress Sibyll, there is a north country and pithy proverb : ' Happy is the man whose father went to the devil.' Had some old Hastings been a robber and extortioner, and left to brave Will- iam the heirship of his wickedness in lordships and lands, Lord Warwick had not called him 'a new man.' Master Hastipgs was dragged, like a serf's son, before the Earl on his dais; and be sure he was rated soundly, for his bold blood was up, and he defied the Earl, as a gentleman born, to single battle. Then the Earl's followers would have fallen on him; and in those days, under King Henry, he who bearded a baron in his hall must have a troop at his back, or was like to have a rope round his neck ; but the Earl (for the lion is not as fierce as they paint him) came down from his dais, and said: 'Man, I like thy spirit, and I myself will dub thee knight, that I may pick up thy glove and give thee battle/ ' "And they fought? Brave Hastings!" "No. For, whether the Duke of York forbade it, or whether the Lady Katherine would not hear of such strife between fere and frere, I know not; but Duke Richard sent Hastings to Ire- land, and, a month after, the Lady Katherine married Lord Bonville's son and heir so, at least, tell the gossips and sing the ballad-mongers. Men add, that Lord Hastings still loves the dame, though, certes, he knows how to console himself." "Loves her! Nay, nay I trow not," answered Sibyll, in a low voice, and with a curl of her dewy lip. At this moment the door opened gently, and Lord Hastings himself entered. He came in with the familiarity of one ac- customed to the place. igo THE LAST OF THK HARONS. "And how fares the grand secret, Master Warner? Sweet mistress! them seemest lovelier to me in this dark chamber than outshining all in the galliard. Ha! Master Alwyn, I owe thee many thanks for making me know first the rare arts of this fair emblazoner. Move me yon stool, good Alwyn." As the goldsmith obeyed, he glanced from Hastings to the blushing face and heaving bosom of Sibyll, and a deep and ex- quisite pang shot through his heart. It was not jealousy alone; it was anxiety, compassion, terror. The powerful Hastings the ambitious lord the accomplished libertine what a fate for poor Sibyll, if for such a man the cheek blushed, and the bosom heaved ! "Well, Master Warner," resumed Hastings, "thou art still silent as to thy progress." The philosopher uttered an impatient groan. "Ah, I comprehend. The gold-maker must not speak of his craft before the goldsmith. Good Alwyn, thou mayest retire. All arts have their mysteries." Alwyn, with a sombre brow, moved to the door. "In sooth," he said, "I have overtarried, good my lord. The Lady Bonville will chide me; for she is of no patient temper. "Bridle thy tongue, artisan, and begone!" said Hastings, with unusual haughtiness and petulance. "I stung him there," muttered Alwyn, as he withdrew "Oh! fool that I was to nay, I thought it never. I did but dream it. What wonder we traders hate these silken lords. They reap, we sow; they trifle, we toil; they steal with soft words into the hearts which Oh, Marmaduke, thou art right right! Stout men sit not down to weep beneath the willow. But she the poor maiden! she looked so haught and so happy. This is early May ; will she wear that look when the autumn leaves are strewn?" CHAPTER V. THE WOODVILLE INTRIGUE PROSPERS MONTAGU CONFERS WITH HASTINGS VISITS THE ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, AND IS MET ON THE ROAD BY A STRANGE PERSONAGE. AND now the one topic at the court of King Edward IV. was the expected arrival of Anthony of Burgundy, Count de la Roche, bastard brother of Charolois, afterwards, as Duke of Burgundy, so famous as Charles the Bold. Few indeed, out of the immediate circle of the Duchess of Bedford's confidants, THE LAST OF THE BARONS. IQI regarded the visit of this illustrious foreigner as connected with any object beyond the avowed one of chivalrous encounter with Anthony Woodville ; the fulfilment of a challenge given by the latter two years before, at the time of the Queen's coronation. The origin of this challenge, Anthony Woodville Lord Scales has himself explained in a letter to the bastard, still extant, and of which an extract may be seen in the popular and delightful biographies of Miss Strickland.* It seems that, on the Wednesday before Easter-day, 1465, as Sir Anthony was speaking to his royal sister, "on his knees," all the ladies of the court gathered round him, and bound to his left knee a band of gold, adorned with stones fashioned into the letters S.S. (souvenance or remembrance), and to this band was suspended an enamelled "Forget-me- not." "And one of the ladies said that 'he ought to take a step fitting for the times.' ' This step was denoted by a letter on vellum, bound with a gold thread, laced in his cap ; and having obtained the King's permission to bring the adventure of the flower of souvenance to a conclusion, the gallant An- thony forwarded the articles and the enamelled flower to the bastard of Burgundy, beseeching him to touch the latter with his knightly hand, in token of his accepting the challenge. The Count de la Roche did so, but was not sent by his brother amongst the knights whom Charolois despatched to England, and the combat had been suspended to the present time. But now the intriguing Rivers and his Duchess gladly availed themselves of so fair a pretext for introducing to Edward the able brother of Warwick's enemy, and the French prince's rival, Charles of Burgundy ; and Anthony Woodville, too gentle and knightly a person to have abetted their cunning projects in any mode less chivalrous, willingly consented to revive a chal- lenge in honor of the ladies of England. The only one amongst the courtiers who seemed dissatisfied with the meditated visit of the doughty Burgundian champion was the Lord Montagu. This penetrating and experienced per- sonage was not to be duped by an affectation of that chivalry which, however natural at the court of Edward III., was no longer in unison with the more intriguing and ambitious times over which presided the luxurious husband of Elizabeth Wood- ville. He had noticed of late, with suspicion, that Edward had held several councils with the anti-Nevile faction, from which he himself was excluded. The King, who heretofore had de- * " Queens of England," vol. iii. ;;. j3o. 192 THE LAST Of THE BARONS. lighted in his companionship, had shown him marks of cold- ness and estrangement, and there was an exulting malice in the looks of the Duchess of Bedford, which augured some ap- proaching triumph over the great family which the Woodvilles so openly labored to supplant. One day, as Marmaduke was loitering in the courtyard of the Tower, laughing and jesting with his friends, Lord Montagu, issuing from the King's closet, passed him with a hurried step and a thoughtful brow. This haughty brother of the Earl of Warwick had so far attended to the recommendation of the latter, that he had with some cour- tesy excused himself to Marmaduke for his language in the archery-ground, and had subsequently, when seeing him in attendance on the King, honored him with a stately nod, or a brief "Good-morrow, young kinsman." But as his eye now rested on Marmaduke, while the group vailed their bonnets to the powerful courtier, he called him forth, with a familiar smile he had never before assumed, and drawing him apart, and leaning on his shoulder, much to the envy of the standers- by, he said caressingly: "Dear kinsman Guy " "Marmaduke, please you, my lord." "Dear kinsman Marmaduke, my brother esteems you for your father's sake. And, sooth to say, the Neviles are not so numerous at court as they were. Business and state matters have made me see too seldom those whom I would most affect. Wilt thou ride with me to the More Park? I would present thee to my brother the Archbishop." "If the King would graciously hold me excused." "The King, sir! when / I forgot," said Montagu, check- ing himself "oh, as to that, the King stirs not out to-day! He hath with him a score of tailors and armorers, in high council on the coming festivities. I will warrant thy release ; and here comes Hastings, who shall confirm it." "Fair my lord!" as at that moment Hastings emerged from the little postern that gave egress from the apartments occupied by the alchemist of the Duchess of Bedford "wilt thou be pleased, in thy capacity of chamberlain, to sanction my cousin in a day's absence? I would confer with him on family matters." "Certes, a small favor to so deserving a youth. I will see to his deputy." "A word with you, Hastings," said Montagu thoughtfully, and he drew aside his fellow courtier: "What thinkest thou of this Burgundy bastard's visit' 1 " THE LAST OF THE BARON... 193 "That it has given a peacock's strut to the popinjay An- thony Woodville." "Would that were all," returned Montagu. "But the very moment that Warwick is negotiating with Louis of France, this interchange of courtesies with Louis's deadly foe, the Count of Charolois, is out of season." "Nay, take it not so gravely a mere pastime." "Hastings, thou knowest better. But thou art no friend of my great brother." "Small cause have I to be so," answered Hastings, with a quivering lip. "To him and your father I owe as deep a curse as ever fell on the heart of man. I have lived to be above even Lord Warwick's insult. Yet young, I stand amongst the warriors and peers of England, with a crest as haught, and a scutcheon as stainless as the best. I have drank deep of the world's pleasures. I command, as I list, the world's gaudy pomps, and I tell thee, that all my success in life countervails not the agony of the hour when all the bloom and loveliness of the earth faded into winter, and the only woman I ever loved was sacrificed to her brother's pride." The large drops stood on the pale brow of the fortunate noble as he thus spoke, and his hollow voice affected even the worldly Montagu. "Tush, Hastings!" said Montagu kindly; "these are but a young man's idle memories. Are we not all fated, in our early years, to love in vain? Even I married not the maiden I thought the fairest, and held the dearest. For the rest, be- think thee thou wert then but a simple squire." "But of as ancient and pure a blood as ever rolled its fiery essence through a Norman's veins." "It may be so; but old houses, when impoverished, are cheaply held. And thou must confess thou wert then no mate for Katherine. Now, indeed, it were different; now a Nevile might be proud to call Hastings brother." "I know it," said Hastings proudly "I know it, lord, and why? Because I have gold, and land, and the King's love, and can say, as the Centurion to my fellow-man, 'Do this, and he doeth it' ; and yet I tell thee, Lord Montagu, that I am less worthy now the love of beauty, the right hand of fellowship from a noble spirit, than I was then, when, the simple squire, my heart full of truth and loyalty, with lips that had never lied, with a soul never polluted by unworthy pleasures or mean intrigxies, I felt that Katherine Nevile should never blush to v\vn her fere and plighted lord in William de Hastings. Let 194 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. this pass let it pass. You call me no friend to Warwick. True! but I am a friend to the King he has served, and the land of my birth to which he has given peace ; and, therefore, not till Warwick desert Edward, not till he wake the land again to broil and strife, will I mingle in the plots of those who seek his downfall. If, in my office and stated rank, I am compelled to countenance the pageant of this mock tournament, and seem to honor the coming of the Count de la Roche, I will at least stand aloof and free from all attempt to apply a gaudy pageant to a dangerous policy ; and on this pledge, Montagu, I give you my knightly hand." "It suffices," answered Montagu, pressing the hand ex- tended to him. "But the other day I heard the King's dis- sour tell him a tale of some tyrant, who silently showed a curi- ous questioner how to govern a land, by cutting down, with his staff, the heads of the tallest poppies; and the Duchess of Bedford turned to me, and asked: 'What says a Nevile to the application?" 'Faith, lady,' said I, 'the Nevile poppies have oak stems.' Believe me, Hastings, these Woodvilles may grieve and wrong and affront Lord Warwick, but woe to all the pigmy goaders when the lion turns at bay." With this solemn menace Montagu quitted Hastings, and passed on, leaning upon Marmaduke, and with a gloomy brow. At th gate of the palace waited the Lord Montagu's palfrey and his retinue of twenty squires and thirty grooms. "Mount, Master Marmaduke, and take thy choice among these steeds, for we shall ride alone. There is no Nevile amongst these gentlemen." Marmaduke obeyed. The Earl dismissed his retinue, and in little more than ten minutes so different, then, was the extent of the metropolis the noble and the squire were amidst the open fields. They had gone several miles, at a brisk trot, before the Earl opened his lips, and then, slackening his pace, he said abruptly : "How dost thou like the King ? Speak out, youth; there are no eavesdroppers here." "He is a most gracious master, and a most winning gen- tleman." "He is both," said Montagu, with a touch of emotion, that surprised Marmaduke, "and no man can come near without loving him. And yet, Marmaduke (is that thy name?) yet, whether it be weakness or falseness, no man can be sure of his king's favor from day to day! We Neviles must hold fast to each other. Not a stick should be lost if the faggot is to re- THE LAST Of THE BARONS. 195 main unbroken. What say you?" and the Earl's keen eye turned sharply on the young man. "I say, my lord, that the Earl of Warwick was to me pa- tron, lord, and father, when I entered yon city a friendless orphan; and that, though I covet honors, and love pleasure, and would be loth to lift finger or speak word against King Edward, yet were that princely lord the head of mine house an outcast and a beggar, by his side I would wander, for his bread I would beg!" "Young man," exclaimed Montagu, "from this hour I admit thee to my heart! Give me thy hand. Beggar and outcast? No! If the storm come, the meaner birds take to shelter, the eagle remains solitary in heaven!" So saying, he relapsed into silence, and put spurs to his steed. Towards the decline of day they drew near to the favorite palace of the Archbishop of York. There, the features of the country presented a more cultivated aspect than it had hitherto worn. For at that period the. lands of the churchmen were infinitely in advance of those of the laity, in the elementary arts of husbandry, partly because the ecclesiastic proprietors had greater capital at their command, partly because their superior learning had taught them to avail themselves, in some measure, of the instructions of the Latin writers. Still the pre- vailing characteristic of the scenery was pasture land im- mense tracts of common supported flocks of sheep ; the fra- grance of new-mown hay breathed sweet from many a sunny field. In the rear, stretched woods of Druid growth ; and in the narrow lanes, that led to unfrequent farms and homesteads, built almost entirely either of wood or (more primitive still) of mud and clay, profuse weeds, brambles, and wild flowers al- most concealed the narrow pathway, never intended for cart or wagon, and arrested the slow path of the ragged horse bearing the scanty produce of acres to yard or mill. But, though to the eye of an economist or philanthropist, broad England now, with its variegated agriculture, its wide roads, its whitewalled villas, and numerous towns, may present a more smiling countenance, to the early lover of Nature, fresh from the childlike age of poetry and romance, the rich and lovely verdure which gave to our mother-country the name of "Green England"; its wild woods and covert alleys, proffer- ing adventure to fancy; its tranquil heaths, studded with peaceful flocks, and vocal, from time to time, with the rude scrannel of the shepherd, had a charm which we can under stand alone by the luxurious reading of our elder writers. For !p6 THE LAST OK Till'. liAKONS. *he country itself ministered to that mingled fancy and con- templation which the stirring and ambitious life of towns and civilization has in much banished from our later literature. Even the thoughtful Montagu relaxed his brow as he gazed around, and he said to Marmaduke, in a gentle and subdued voice: "Methinks, young cousin, that in such scenes, those silly rhymes, taught us in our childhood, of the green woods and the summer cuckoos, of bold Robin and Maid Marian ring back in our ears. Alas, that this fair land should be so often dyed in the blood of her own children ! Here, how the thought shrinks from broils and war civil war war between brother and brother, son and father! In the city and the court, we forget others overmuch, from the too keen memory of ourselves." Scarcely had Montagu said these words, before there sud- denly emerged from a bosky lane to the right a man mounted upon a powerful roan horse. His dress was that of a substan- tial franklin; a green surtout of broadcloth, over a tight vest of the same color, left, to the admiration of a soldierly eye, an expanse of chest that might have vied with the mighty strength of Warwick himself. A cap, somewhat like a turban, fell in two ends over the left cheek, till they touched the shoulder, and the upper part of the visage was concealed by a half viz- ard, not unfrequently worn out of doors with such head-gear, as a shade from the sun. Behind this person rode, on a horse equally powerful, a man of shorter stature, but scarcely less muscular a frame, clad in a leathern jerkin, curiously fastened with thongs, and wearing a steel bonnet, projecting far over the face. The foremost of these strangers, coming thus unawares upon the courtiers, reined in his steed, and said, in a clear, full voice: "Good-evening to you, my masters. It is not often that these roads witness riders in silk and pile." "Friend," quoth the Montagu, "may the peace we enjoy under the White Rose increase the number of all travellers through our land, whether in pile or russet!" "Peace, sir!" returned the horseman roughly "peace is no blessing to poor men, unless it bring something more than life the means to live in security and ease. Peace hath done nothing for the poor of England. Why, look you towards yon gray tower, the owner is, forsooth, gentleman and knight; but yesterday, he and his men broke open a yeoman's house, carried off his wife and daughters to his tower, and refuseth to THE LAST OF THE BARONS. Ip7 surrender them till ransomed by half the year's produce on the yeoman's farm." "A caitiff, and illegal act," said Montagu. "Illegal! But the law will notice it not why should it? Unjust, if it punish the knight, and dare not touch the King's brother!" "How, sir?" "I say the King's brother. Scarcely a month since twenty- four persons, under George, Duke of Clarence, entered by force a lady's house, and seized her jewels and her money, upon some charge, God wot, of contriving mischief to the boy- duke.* Are not the Commons ground by imposts for the Queen's kindred? Are not the King's officers and purveyors licensed spoilers and rapiners? Are not the old chivalry ban- ished for new upstarts? And in all this, is peace better than war?" "Knowest thou not that these words are death, man?" "Ay, in the city! but in the fields and waste, thought is free. Frown not, my lord. Ah! I know you; and the time may come when the baron will act what the franklin speaks. What! think you I see not the signs of the storm? Are War- wick and Montagu more safe with Edward than they were with Henry? Look to thyself! Charolois will outwit King Louis, and ere the year be out, the young Margaret of England will be lady of your brave brother's sternest foe!" "And who art thou, knave?" cried Montagu, aghast, and laying his gloved hand on the bold prophet's bridle. "One who has sworn the fall of the House of York, and may live to fight, side by side, in that cause with Warwick; for Warwick, whatever be his faults, has an English heart, and loves the Commons." Montagu, uttering an exclamation of astonishment, relaxed hold of the franklin's bridle; and the latter waved his hand, and spurring his steed across the wild chain of commons, dis- appeared with his follower. "A sturdy traitor!" muttered the Earl, following him with his eye. "One of the exiled Lancasterian lords, perchance. Strange how they pierce into our secrets! Heardst thou that fellow, Marmaduke?" "Only in a few sentences, and those brought my hand to my dagger. But as thou madest no sign, I thought his Grace the King could not be much injured by empty words." * See for this and other instances of the prevalent contempt of law in the reign of Edward IV., and, indeed, during the fifteenth century, the extracts from the Parliamentary Rolls, quoted by Sharon Turner, " History of England," vol. iii., p. 399. 198 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. "True! and misfortune has ever a shrewish tongue." "An" it please you, my lord," quoth Marmaduke, "I have seen the man before, and it seemeth to me that he holds much power over the rascal rabble." And here Marmaduke narrated the attack upon Warner's house, and how it was frustrated by the intercession of Robin of Redesdale. "Art thou sure it is the same man, for his face was masked?" "My lord, in the north, as thou knowest, we recognize men by their forms, not faces, as, in truth, we ought, seeing that it is the sinews and bulk, not the lips and nose, that make a man a useful friend or a dangerous foe." Montagu smiled at this soldierly simplicity. "And heard you the name the raptrils shouted?" "Robin, my lord. They cried out 'Robin,' as if it had been a 'Montagu' or a 'Warwick.' ' "Robin! Ah, then, I guess the man a most perilous and staunch Lancastrian. He has more weight with the poor than had Cade the rebel, and they say Margaret trusts him as much as she doth an Exeter or Somerset. I marvel that he should show himself so near the gates of London. It must be looked to. But come, cousin. Our steeds are breathed let us on!" On arriving at the More, its stately architecture, embellished by the prelate with a fa9ade of double arches, painted and blazoned somewhat in the fashion of certain old Italian houses, much dazzled Marmaduke. And the splendor of the arch- bishop's retinue less martial, indeed, than Warwick's was yet more imposing to the common eye. Every office that pomp could devise for a king's court was to be found in the household of this magnificent prelate master of the horse and the hounds, chamberlain, treasurer, pursuivant, herald, senes- chal, captain of the body guard, etc. and all emulously sought for and proudly held by gentlemen of the first blood and birth. His mansion was at once a court for middle life, a school for youth, an asylum for age ; and thither, as to a Medici, fled the letters and the arts. Through corridor and hall, lined with pages and squires, passed Montagu and Marmaduke, till they gained a quaint garden, the wonder and envy of the time, planned by an Ital- ian of Mantua, and perhaps the stateliest one of the kind exis- tent in England. Straight walks, terraces, and fountains, clipped trees, green alleys and smooth bowling-greens abounded, but the flowers were few and common ; and if here and there a statue might be found, it possessed none of the art so admirable in our earliest ecclesiastical architecture, but its THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 199 clumsy proportions were made more uncouth by a profusion of barbaric painting and gilding. The fountains, however, were especially curious, diversified, and elaborate: some shot up as pyramids, others coiled in undulating streams, each jet chasing the other as serpents; some, again, branched off in the form of trees, while mimic birds, perched upon leaden boughs, poured water from their bills. Marmaduke, much astounded and be- wildered, muttered a paternoster in great haste ; and even the clerical rank of the prelate did not preserve him from the sus- picion of magical practices in the youth's mind. Remote from all his train, in a little arbor overgrown with the honeysuckle and white rose, a small table before him bear- ing fruits, confectionery, and spiced wines (for the prelate was a celebrated epicure, though still in the glow of youth), they found George Nevile, reading lazily a Latin MS. "Well, my dear lord and brother," said Montagu, laying his arm on the prelate's shoulder, "first let me present to thy favor a gallant youth, Marmaduke Nevile, worthy his name, and thy love." "He is welcome, Montagu, to our poor house," said the Archbishop, rising, and complacently glancing at his palace, splendidly gleaming through the trellis-work. ' " Puer ingenui vicltfis.' Thou art acquainted, doubtless, young sir, with the Humaner Letters?" "Well-a-day, my lord, my nurturing was somewhat neglected in the province," said Marmaduke, disconcerted, and deeply blushing, "and only of late have I deemed the languages fit study for those not reared for our Mother Church." "Fie, sir, fie! Correct that error, I pray thee. Latin teaches the courtier how to thrive, the soldier how to manoeuvre, the husbandman how to sow ; and if we churchmen are more cunning, as the profane call us (and the prelate smiled), than ye of the laity, the Latin must answer for the sins of our learning." With this, the Archbishop passed his arm affectionately through his brother's, and said: "Beshrew me, Montagu, thou lookest worn and weary. Surely thou lackest food, and supper shall be hastened. Even I, who have but slender appetite, grow hungered in these cool gloaming hours." "Dismiss my comrade, George I would speak to thee," whispered Montagu. "Thou knowest not Latin?" said the Archbishop, turning with a compassionate eye to Nevile, whose own eye was amor- ously fixed on the delicate confectioneries "never too late to 200 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. learn. Hold, here is a grammar of the verbs, that, with mine own hand, I have drawn up for youth. Study thine anw and thy monfo, while I confer on church matters with giddy Mon- tagu. I shall expect, ere we sup, that thou wilt have mastered the first tenses." "But" "Oh, nay, nay; but me no buts. Thou art too tough, I fear me, for flagellation, a wondrous improver of tender youth," and the prelate forced his grammar into the reluctant hands of Marmaduke, and sauntered down one of the solitary alleys with his brother. Long and earnest was their conference, and at one time keen were their disputes. The Archbishop had very little of the energy of Montagu or the impetuosity of Warwick, but he had far more of what we now call wind, as distinct from talent, than either; that is, he had not their capacities for action, but he had a judgment and sagacity that made him considered a wise and sound adviser : this he owed principally to the churchman's love of ease, and to his freedom from the wear and tear of the passions which gnawed the great minister and the aspiring courtier; his natu- ral intellect was also fostered by much learning. George Nevile had been reared, by an Italian ecclesiastic, in all the subtle diplomacy of the Church ; and his ambition, despising lay objects (though he consented to hold the office of chancel- lor), was concentrated in that kingdom over kings which had animated the august dominators of religious Rome. Though, as we have said, still in that age when the affections are usually vivid,* George Nevile loved no human creature not even his brothers; not even King Edward, who, with all his vices, pos- sessed so eminently the secret that wins men's hearts. His early and entire absorption in the great religious community, which stood apart from the laymen in order to control them, alienated him from his kind; and his superior instruction only served to feed him with a calm and icy contempt for all that prejudice, as he termed it, held dear and precious He de- spised the knight's wayward honor, the burgher's crafty hon- esty. For him no such thing as principle existed; and con- science itself lay dead in the folds of a fancied exemption from all responsibility to the dull herd, that were but as wool and meat to the Churchman-Shepherd. But withal, if somewhat pe- dantic, he had in his manner a suavity and elegance and pol- * He was consecrated Bishop of Exeter at the age of twenty, at twenty-six he became Archbishop of York, and was under thirty at the time referred to in the text. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 2OI ish, which suited well his high station, and gave persuasion to his counsels. In all externals, he was as little like a priest as the high-born prelates of that day usually were. In dress he rivalled the fopperies of the Plantagenet brothers. In the chase he was more ardent than Warwick had been in his earlier youth ; and a dry, sarcastic humor, sometimes elevated into wit, gave liveliness to his sagacious converse. Montagu desired that the Archbishop and himself should de- mand solemn audience of Edward, and gravely remonstrate with the King on the impropriety of receiving the brother of a rival suitor, while Warwick was negotiating the marriage of Margaret with a prince of France. "Nay," said the Archbishop, with a bland smile, that fretted Montagu to the quick, "surely, even a baron, a knight, a franklin, a poor priest like myself, would rise against the man who dictated to his hospitality. Is a king less irritable than baron, knight, franklin, and priest? Or rather, being, as it were, per legetn, lord of all, hath he not irritability eno' for all four? Ay, tut and tush as thou wilt, John, but thy sense must do justice to my counsel at the last. I know Edward well; he hath something of mine own idlesse and ease of tem- per, but with more of the dozing lion than priests, who have only, look you, the mildness of the dove. Prick up his higher spirit, not by sharp remonstrance, but by seeming trust. Ob- serve to him, with thy gay, careless laugh which, methinks, thou hast somewhat lost of late that with any other prince Warwick might suspect some snare some humiliating over- throw of his embassage but that all men know how steadfast in faith and honor is Edward IV." "Truly," said Montagu, with a forced smile, "you under' stand mankind ; but yet, bethink you suppose this fail, and Warwick return to England to hear that he hath been cajoled and fooled; that the Margaret he hath crossed the seas to affi- ance to the brother of Louis is betrothed to Charolois bethink you, I say, what manner of heart beats under our brother's mail." "Impiger, iracundus!" said the Archbishop; "a very Achilles, to whom our English Agamemnon, if he cross him, is a baby. All this is sad truth; our parents spoilt him in his childhood, and glory in his youth, and wealth, power, success, in his manhood. Ay, if Warwick be chafed, it will be as the stir of the sea-serpent, which, according to the Icelanders, moves a world. Still the best way to prevent the danger is to enlist the honor of the King in his behalf to show that our 2C2 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. eyes are open, but that we disdain to doubt, and are frank to confide. Meanwhile send messages and warnings privately to Warwick." These reasonings finally prevailed with Montagu, and the brothers returned with one mind to the house. Here, as after their ablutions, they sate down to the evening meal, the Arch- bishop remembered poor Marmaduke, and despatched to him one of his thirty household chaplains. Marmaduke was found fast asleep over the second tense of the verb amo. CHAPTER VI. THE ARRIVAL OF THE COUNT DE LA ROCHE, AND THE VARIOUS EXCITEMENT PRODUCED ON MANY PERSONAGES BY THAT EVENT. THE prudence of the Archbishop's counsel was so far made manifest, that on the next day Montagu found all remonstrance would have been too late. The Count de la Roche had al- ready landed, and was on his way to London. The citizens, led by Rivers partially to suspect the object of the visit, were delighted not only by the prospect of a brilliant pageant, but by the promise such a visit conveyed of a continued peace with their commercial ally; and the preparations made by the wealthy merchants increased the bitterness and discontent of Montagu. At length, at the head of a gallant and princely retinue, the Count de la Roche entered London. Though Hastings made no secret of his distaste to the Count de la Roche's visit, it became his office as lord chamberlain to meet the Count at Blackwall, and escort him and his train, in gilded barges, to the palace. In the great hall of the Tower, in which the story of Antio- chus was painted, by the great artists employed under Henry III., and on the elevation of the dais, behind which, across Gothic columns, stretched draperies of cloth of gold, was placed Edward's chair of state. Around him were grouped the Dukes of Clarence and Gloucester, the Lords Worcester, Montagu, Rivers, D'Eyncourt, St. John, Raoul de Fulke, and others. But at the threshold of the chamber stood Anthony Woodville, the knightly challenger, his knee bound by the ladye-badge of the S.S., and his fine person clad in white- flovered velvet of Genoa, adorned with pearls. Stepping for- ward, as the Count appeared, the gallant Englishman bent his knee half-way to the ground, and raising the Count's hand to THE LAST OF THE BARONS 2OJ his lips, said in French: "Deign, noble sir, to accept the grati- tude of one who were not worthy of encounter from so peerless a hand, save by the favor of the ladies of England, and your own courtesy, which ennobles him whom it stoops to." So saying, he led the Count towards the King. De la Roche, an experienced and profound courtier, and justly deserving Hall's praise as a man of "great witte, cour- age, valiantness, and liberalise," did not affect to conceal the admiration which the remarkable presence of Edward never failed to excite ; lifting his hand to his eyes, as if to shade them from a sudden blaze of light, he would have fallen on both knees, but Edward with quick condescension raised him, and, rising himself, said gayly : "Nay, Count de la Roche, brave and puissant chevalier, who hath crossed the seas in honor of knighthood and the ladies, we would, indeed, that our roiaulme boasted a lord like thee, from whom we might ask such homage. But since thou art not our subject, it consoles us at least that thou art our guest. By our halidame, Lord Scales, thou must look well to thy lance and thy steeds' girths, for never, I trow, hast thou met a champion of goodlier strength and knightlier metal." "My lord King," answered the Count, "I fear me, indeed, that a knight like the Sieur Anthony, who fights under the eyes of such a king, will prove invincible. Did kings enter the lists with kings, where, through broad Christendom, find a compeer for your Highness?" "Your brother, Sir Count, if fame lies not," returned Ed- ward, slightly laughing, and lightly touching the bastard's shoulder, "were a fearful lance to encounter, even though Charlemagne himself were to revive, with his twelve paladins at his back. Tell us, Sir Count, " added the King, drawing himself up "tell us, for we soldiers are curious in such mat- ters, hath not the Count of Charolois the advantage of all here in sinews and stature?" "Sire," returned De la Roche, "my princely brother is in- deed mighty with the brand and battle-axe, but your Grace is taller by half the head ; and, peradventure, of- even a more stalwart build, but that mere strength in Your Highness is not that gift of God which strikes the beholder most." Edward smiled good-humoredly at a compliment, the truth of which was too obvious to move much vanity, and said, with a royal and knightly grace: "Our House of York hath been taught, Sir Count, to estimate men's beauty by men's deeds, and therefore the Count of Charolois hath long been 204 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. known to us, who, alas, have seen him not, as the fairest gen tleman in Europe. My Lord Scales, we must here publicly crave your pardon. Our brother-in-law, Sir Count, would fain have claimed his right to hold you his guest, and have graced himself by exclusive service to your person. We have taken from him his lawful office, for we kings are jealous, and would not have -our subjects more honored than ourselves." Edward turned round to his courtiers as he spoke, and saw that his last words had called a haughty and angry look to the watchful countenance of Montagu. "Lord Hastings," he continued, "to your keeping, as our representative, we intrust this gentleman. He must need refreshment, ere we present him to our Queen." The Count bowed to the ground, and reverently withdrew from the royal presence, accompanied by Hastings. Edward then, singling Anthony Woodville and Lord Rivers from the group, broke up the audience, and, followed by those two noblemen, quitted the hall. Montagu, whose countenance had recovered the dignified and high-born calm habitual to it, turned to the Duke of Clarence, and observed indifferently: "The Count de la Roche hath a goodly mien, and a fair tongue." "Pest on these Burgundians!" answered Clarence, in an undertone, and drawing Montagu aside. "I would wager my best greyhound to a scullion's cur, that our English knights will lower their burgonots." "Nay, sir, an idle holiday show. What matters whose lance breaks, or whose destrier stumbles?" "Will you not yourself, Cousin Montagu you, who are so peerless in the joust take part in the fray?" "I, your Highness I, the brother of the Earl of Warwick, whom this pageant hath been devised by the Woodvilles to mortify and disparage in his solemn embassy to Burgundy's mightiest foe! I!" "Sooth to say," said the young Prince, much embarrassed, "it grieves me sorely to hear thee speak as if Warwick would be angered at this pastime. For look you, Montagu I, think- ing only of my hate to Burgundy, and my zeal for our English honor, have consented, as high constable, and despite my grudge to the Woodvilles, to bear the bassinet of our own champion and " "Saints in heaven!" exclaimed Montagu, with a burst of his fierce brother's temper, which he immediately checked, and changed into a torje that concealed, beneath outward respect, THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 2O$ the keenest irony, "I crave your pardon, humbly, for my vehemence, Prince of Clarence. I suddenly remember me that humility is the proper virtue of knighthood. Your Grace does indeed set a notable example of that virtue to the peers of Eng- land; and my poor brother's infirmity of pride will stand re- buked for aye, when he hears that George Plantagenet bore the bassinet of Antony Woodville." "But it is for the honor of the ladies, "said Clarence falter- ingly, "in honor of the fairest maid of all the flower of Eng- lish beauty the Lady Isabel that I " "Your Highness will pardon me," interrupted Montagu, "but I do trust to your esteem for our poor and insulted house of Nevile, so far as to be assured that the name of my niece, Isabel, will not be submitted to the ribald comments of a base- born Burgundian." "Then I will break no lance in the lists!" "As it likes you, Prince," replied Montagu shortly; and, with a low bow, he quitted the chamber, and was striding to the outer gate of the Tower, when a sweet, clear voice behind him called him by his name. He turned abruptly, to meet the dark eye and all-subduing smile of the boy-Duke of Gloucester. "A word with you, Montagu noblest and most prized, with your princely brothers, of the champions of our house I read your generous indignation with our poor Clarence. Ay, sir! ay! it was a weakness in him that moved even me. But you have not now to learn that his nature, how excellent soever, is somewhat unsteady. His judgment alone lacks weight and sub- stance ever persuaded against his better reason by those who approach his infirmer side. But if it be true that our cousin Warwick intends for him the hand of the peerless Isabel, wiser heads will guide his course." "My brother," said Montagu, greatly softened, "is much beholden to your Highness for a steady countenance and friend- ship, for which I also, believe me and the families of Beau- champ, Montagu, and Nevile are duly grateful. But to speak plainly (which your Grace's youthful candor, so all-acknowl- edged, will permit), the kinsmen of the Queen do now so aspire to rule this land, to marry or forbid to marry, not only our own children, but your illustrious father's, that I foresee, in this visit of the Bastard Anthony, the most signal disgrace to War- wick that ever king passed upon ambassador, or gentleman. And this moves me more! yea, I vow to St. George, my pa- tron, it moves me more by the thought of danger to your royal 2o6 THK LAST OF THfc BARONS. house, than by the grief of slight to mine; for Warwick but you know him." "Montagu, you must soothe and calm your brother if chafed. I impose that task on your love for us. Alack, would that Ed- ward listened more to me and less to the Queen's kith these Woodvilles ! And yet they may live to move not wrath but pity. If aught snapped the thread of Edward's life (Holy Paul forbid ! ) what would chance to Elizabeth her brothers her children?" "Her children would mount the throne that our right hands built," said Montagu sullenly. "Ah! think you so? You rejoice me! I had feared that the Barons might, that the Commons would, that the Church must, pronounce the unhappy truth, that but you look amazed, my lord! Alas, my boyish years are too garrulous!" "I catch not your Highness's meaning." "Pooh, pooh! By St. Paul, your seeming dulness proves your loyalty ; but, with me, the King's brother, frankness were safe. Thou knowest well that the King was betrothed before to the Lady Eleanor Talbot ; that such betrothal, not set aside by the Pope, renders his marriage with Elizabeth against law ; that his children may (would to Heaven it were not so ! ) be set aside as bastards, when Edward's life no longer shields them from the sharp eyes of men." "Ah!" said Montagu thoughtfully ; "and in that case, George of Clarence would wear the crown, and his children reign in England." "Our Lord forefend," said Richard, "that I should say that Warwick thought of this when he deemed George worthy of the hand of Isabel. Nay, it could not be so; for, however clear the claim, strong and powerful would be those who would resist it, and Clarence is not, as you will see, the man who can wrestle boldly even for a throne. Moreover, he is too addicted to wine and pleasure to bid fair to outlive the King." Montagu fixed his penetrating eyes on Richard, but dropped them, abashed, before that steady, deep, unrevealing gaze, which seemed to pierce into other hearts, and show nothing of the heart within. "Happy Clarence!" resumed the Prince, with a heavy sigh, and after a brief pause "a Nevile's husband and a Warwick's son ! What can the saints do more for men? You must excuse all his errors to your brother. You may not know, peradven- ture, sweet Montagu, how deep an interest I have in maintain- ing all amitv between Lord Warwick and th^ King. For me- THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 207 thinks there is one face fairer than fair Isabel's, and one man more to be envied than even Clarence. Fairest face to me in the wide world is the Lady Anne's happiest man, between the cradle and the grave, is he whom the Lady Anne shall call her lord! And if I oh, look you, Montagu, let there be no breach between Warwick and the King! Fare you well, dear lord and cousin I go to Baynard's Castle till these feasts are over." "Does not your Grace," said Montagu, recovering from the surprise into which one part of Gloucester's address had thrown him "does not your Grace so skilled in lance and horse- manship preside at the lists?" "Montagu, I love your brother well enough to displease my King. The great Earl shall not say, at least, that Richard Plan- tagenet, in his absence, forgot the reverence due to loyalty and merit. Tell him that; and if I seem (unlike Clarence) to for- bear to confront the Queen and her kindred, it is because youth should make no enemies not the less for that, should princes forget no friends." Richard said this with a tone of deep feeling, and, folding his arms within his furred surcoat, walked slowly on to a small postern admitting to the river ; but there, pausing by a buttress which concealed him till Montagu had left the yard, instead of descending to his barge, he turned back into the royal garden. Here several of the court, of both sexes, were assembled, conferring on the event of the day. Richard halted at a dis- tance, and contemplated their gay dresses and animated counte- nances with something between melancholy and scorn upon his young brow. One of the most remakable social characteristics of the middle ages is the prematurity at which the great ar- rived at manhood, shared in its passions, and indulged its am- bitions. Among the numerous instances in our own and other countries that might be selected from history, few are more striking than that of this Duke of Gloucester great in camp and in council, at an age when nowadays a youth is scarcely trusted to the discipline of a college. The whole of his por- tentous career was closed, indeed, before the public life of modern ambition usually commences. Little would those ac- customed to see, on our stage, "the elderly ruffian" * our ac- tors represent, imagine that at the opening of Shakspeare's play of "Richard the Third," the hero was but in his nine- teenth year; but at the still more juvenile age in which he ap- pears in this our record, Richard of Gloucester was older in * Sharon Turner. 2o8 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. intellect, and almost in experience, than many a wise man at the date of thirty-three the fatal age when his sun set forever on the field of Bosworth ! The young Prince, then, eyed the gaudy, fluttering, babbling assemblage before him with mingled melancholy and scorn. Not that he felt, with the acuteness which belongs to modern sentiment, his bodily defects amidst that circle of the stately and the fair, for they were not of a nature to weaken his arm in war or lessen his persausive influences in peace. But it was rather that sadness which so often comes over an active and ambitious intellect in early youth, when it pauses to ask, in sor- row and disdain, what its plots and counterplots, its restless- ness and strife, are really worth. The scene before him was of pleasure; but in pleasure, neither the youth nor the manhood of Richard III. was ever pleased; though not absolutely of the rigid austerity of Amadis, or our Saxon Edward, he was compar- atively free from the licentiousness of his times. His passions were too large for frivolous excitements. Already the Italian, or, as it is falsely called, the Machiavelian, policy was pervad- ing the intellect of Europe, and the effects of its ruthless, grand, and deliberate statecraft are visible from the accession of Edward IV., till the close of Elizabeth's reign. With this policy, which reconciled itself to crime as a necessity of wisdom, was often blended a refinement of character which disdained vulgar vices. Not skilled alone in those knightly accomplishments which in- duced Caxton, with propriety, to dedicate to Richard "The Book of the Order of Chivalry," the Duke of Gloucester's more peaceful amusements were borrowed from severer Graces than those which presided over the tastes of his royal brothers. He loved, even to passion, the Arts, Music especially of the more Doric and warlike kind- Painting, and Architecture ; he was a reader of books, as of men the books that become princes and hence that superior knowledge of the principles of law and of commerce which his brief reign evinced. More like an Ital- ian in all things than the careless Norman or the simple Saxon, Machiavel might have made of his character a companion, though a contrast, to that of Castruccio Castrucani. The crowd murmured and rustled at the distance, and still, with folded arms, Richard gazed aloof, when a lady entering the garden from the palace, passed by him so hastily that she brushed his surcoat, and, turning round in surprise, made a low reverence as she exclaimed : ' ' Prince Richard ! and alone amidst so many!" "Lady," said the Duke, "it was a sudden hope that brought THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 209 me into this garden and that was the hope to see your fair face shining above the rest." "Your Highness jests, " returned the lady, though her superb countenance and haughty carriage evinced no opinion of herself so humble as her words would imply. "My lady of Bonville," said the young Duke, laying his hand on her arm; "mirth is not in my thoughts at this hour." "I believe your Highness; for the Lord Richard Plantage- net is not one of the Woodvilles. The mirth is theirs to-day." "Let who will have mirth it is the breath of a moment. Mirth cannot tarnish Glory the mirror in which the gods are glassed." "I understand you, my lord," said the proud lady; and her face, before stern and high, brightened into so lovely a change, so soft and winning a smile, that Gloucester no longer mar- velled that that smile had rained so large an influence on the fate and heart of his favorite Hastings. The beauty of this noble woman was indeed remarkable in its degree, and pecu- liar in its character. She bore a stronger likeness in feature to the Archbishop, than to either of her other brothers ; for the prelate had the straight and smooth outline of the Greeks, not, like Montagu and Warwick, the lordlier and manlier aquiline of the Norman race, and his complexion was femi- nine in its pale clearness. But though in this resembling the subtlest of the brethren, the fair sister shared with Warwick an expression, if haughty, singularly frank and candid in its imperious majesty; she had the same splendid and steady brilliancy of eye, the same quick quiver of the lip, speak- ing of nervous susceptibility and haste of mood. The hateful fashion of that day, which pervaded all ranks, from the highest to the lowest, was the prodigal use of paints and cosmetics, and all imaginable artificial adjuncts of a spurious beauty. This ex- tended often even to the men, and the sturdiest warrior deemed it no shame to recur to such arts of the toilet as the vainest wanton in our day would never venture to acknowledge. But the Lady Bonville, proudly confident of her beauty, and possess- ing a purity of mind that revolted from the littleness of court- ing admiration, contrasted forcibly in this the ladies of the court. Her cheek was of a marble whiteness, though occas- sionally a rising flush through the clear, rich, transparent skin showed that in earlier youth the virgin bloom had not been ab- sent from the surface. There was in her features, "/hen they reposed, somewhat of the trace of suffering of a struggle, past it may be, but still remembered. But when she spoke, those 2IO THE LAST OF THE BARONS. features lighted up and undulated in such various and kindling life as to dazzle, to bewitch, or to awe the beholder, according as the impulse moulded the expression. Her dress suited her lofty and spotless character. Henry VI. might have contem- plated, with holy pleasure, its matronly decorum ; the jewelled gorget ascended to the rounded and dimpled chin; the arms were bare only at the wrists, where the blue veins were seen through a skin of snow; the dark glossy locks, which her tire- woman boasted, when released, swept the ground, were gathered into a modest and simple braid, surmounted by the beseeming coronet that proclaimed her rank. The Lady Bonville might have stood by the side of Cornelia, the model of a young and highborn matron, in whose virtue the honor of man might se- curely dwell. "I understand you, my lord," she said, with her bright, thank- ful smile; "and as Lord Warwick's sister, I am grateful." "Your love for the great Earl proves you are noble enough to forgive," said Richard meaningly. "Nay, chide me not with that lofty look : you know that there are no secrets between Hastings and Gloucester." "My lord Duke, the head of a noble house hath the right to dispose of the hands of the daughters ; I know nothing in Lord Warwick to forgive." But she turned her head as she spoke, and a tear for a mo- ment trembled in that haughty eye. "Lady," said Richard, moved to admiration, "to you let me confide my secret. I would be your nephew. Boy though I be in years, my heart beats as loudly as a man's; and that heart beats for Anne." "The love of Richard Plantagenet honors even Warwick's daughter!" "Think you so. Then stand my friend; and, being thus my friend, intercede with Warwick, if he angers at the silly holiday of this Woodville pageant."' "Alas, sir, you know that Warwick listens to no interceders between himself and his passions. But what then? Grant him wronged, aggrieved, trifled with what then? Can he injure the House of York?" Richard looked in some surprise at the fair speaker. "Can he injure the House of York? Marry, yes, " he re- plied bluntly. "But for what end? Whom else should he put upon the throne?" "What if he forgive the Lancastrians? What if " THE LAST OP THE BARONS. 211 'Utter not the thought, Prince, breathe it not," exclaimed the Lady Bonville, almost fiercely. "I love and honor my brave brother, despite despite " She paused a moment, blushed, and proceeded rapidly, without concluding the sen- tence: "I love him as a woman of his house must love the hero who forms its proudest boast. But if for any personal grudge, any low ambition, any rash humor, the son of my father, Salisbury, could forget that Margaret of Anjou placed the gory head of that old man upon the gates of York, could by word or deed abet the cause of usurping and bloody Lancaster, I would I would Out upon my sex ! I could do nought but weep the glory of Nevile and Monthermer gone forever." Before Richard could reply, the sound of musical instru- ments, and a procession of heralds and pages proceeding from the palace, announced the approach of Edward. He caught the hand of the Dame of Bonville, lifted it to his lips, and say- ing: "May fortune one day permit me to face as the Earl's son the Earl's foes," made his graceful reverence, glided from the garden, gained his barge, and was rowed to the huge pile of Baynard's Castle, lately reconstructed, but in a gloomy and bar- baric taste, and in which, at that time, he principally resided with his mother, the once peerless Rose of Raby. The Lady of Bonville paused a moment, and in that pause her countenance recovered its composure. She then passed on with a stately step towards a group of the ladies of the court, and her eye noted with proud pleasure that the highest names of the English knighthood and nobility, comprising the numer- ous connections of her family, formed a sullen circle apart from the rest, betokening, by their grave countenances and moody whispers, how sensitively they felt the slight to Lord Warwick's embassy in the visit of the Count de la Roche, and how little they were disposed to cringe to the rising sun of the Wood- villes. There, collected into a puissance whose discontent had sufficed to shake a firmer throne (the young Raoul de Fulke, the idolater of Warwick, the personation in himself of the old Norman seignorie, in their centre), with folded arms and lowering brows, stood the Earl's kinsmen, the Lords Fitzhugh and Fauconberg; with them, Thomas Lord Stanley, a prudent noble, who rarely sided with a malcontent, and the Lord St. John, and the heir of the ancient Bergavennies, and many an- other chief, under whose banner marched an army! Richard of Gloucester had shown his wit in refusing to mingle in in- trigues which provoked the ire of that martial phalanx. As the Lady of Bonville swept by these gentlemen, their murmur of 212 iHF. LAST OF THE BARONS. respectful homage, their profound salutation, and unbonneted heads, contrasted forcibly with the slight and grave, if not scorn- ful, obeisance they had just rendered to one of the Queen's sisters, who had passed, a moment before, in the same direction. The lady still moved on, and came suddenly across the path of Hastings, as in his robes of state he issued from the palace. Their eyes met, and both changed color. "So, my lord chamberlain," said the dame sarcastically, "the Count de la Roche is, I hear, consigned to your especial charge." "A charge the chamberlain cannot refuse, and which William Hastings does not covet." "A King had never asked Montagu and Warwick to consider amongst their duties any charge they had deemed dishonoring." "Dishonoring, Lady Bonville!" exclaimed Hastings, with a bent brow and a flushed cheek; "neither Montagu nor War- wick had with safety, applied to me the word that has just passed your lips." "I crave your pardon," answered Katharine bitterly. "Mine articles of faith in men's honor are obsolete or heretical. I had deemed it dishonoring in a noble nature to countenance insult to a noble enemy in his absence. I had deemed it dis- honoring in a brave soldier, a well-born gentleman (now from his valiantness, merit, and wisdom, become a puissant and dreaded lord), to sink into that lackeydom and varletaille which falsehood and cringing have stablished in these walls, and bap- tized under the name of 'courtiers.' Better had Katherine de Bonville esteemed Lord Hastings had he rather fallen under a king's displeasure than debased his better self to a Woodville's dastard schemings." "Lady, you are cruel and unjust, like all your haughty race. And idle were reply to one who, of all persons, should have judged me better. For the rest, if this mummery humbles Lord Warwick, gramercy! there is nothing in my memory that should make my share in it a gall to my conscience; nor do I owe the Neviles so large a gratitude that rather than fret the pile of their pride, I should throw down the scaffolding on which my fearless step hath clombe to as fair a height, and one perhaps that may overlook as long a posterity, as the best baron that ever quartered the Raven Eagle and the Dun Bull. But (resumed Hastings, with a withering sarcasm) doubtless the Lady de Bonville more admires the happy lord who holds him- self, by right of pedigree, superior to all things that make the Stacesman wise, the scholar learned, and the soldier famous. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 213 Way there back, gentles," and Hastings turned to the crowd behind " way there for my lord of Harrington and Bonville!" The bystanders smiled at each other as they obeyed ; and a heavy, shambling, graceless man, dressed in the most exagger- ated fopperies of the day, but with a face which even sickliness, that refines most faces, could not divest of the most vacant dul- ness, and a mien and gait to which no attire could give dignity, passed through the group, bowing awkwardly to the right and left, and saying in a thick, husky voice: "You are too good, sirs too good: I must not presume so overmuch on my seig- norie. The King would keep me he would indeed, sirs; um um why,Katherine dame thy stiff gorget makes me ashamed of thee. Thou wouldst not think, Lord Hastings, that Katherine had a white skin a parlous white skin. La, you now fie on these mufflers! " The courtiers sneered ; Hastings, with a look of malignant and pitiless triumph, eyed the Lady of Bonville. For a mo- ment the color went and came across her transparent cheek, but the confusion passed, and returning the insulting gaze of her ancient lover with an eye of unspeakable majesty, she placed her arm upon her lord's, and saying calmly, "An English matron cares but to be fair in her husband's eyes," drew him away; and the words and the manner of the lady were so digni- fied and simple, that the courtiers hushed their laughter, and for the moment the lord of such a woman was not only envied but respected. While this scene had passed, the procession, preceding Ed- ward, had filed into the garden in long and stately order. From another entrance, Elizabeth, the Princess Margaret, and the Duchess of Bedford, with their trains, had already issued, and were now ranged upon a flight of marble steps, backed by a columned alcove, hung with velvets striped into the royal bau- dekin, while the stairs themselves were covered with leathern carpets, powdered with the white rose and the fleur-de-lis; either side lined by the bearers of the many banners of Edward, displaying the white lion of March, the black bull of Clare, the cross of Jerusalem, the dragon of Arragon, and the rising sun, which he had assumed as his peculiar war badge since the bat- tle of Mortimer's Cross. Again, and louder, came the flourish of music ; and a murmur through the crowd, succeeded by deep silence, announced the entrance of the King. He appeared, leading by the hand the Count de la Roche> and followed by the Lords Scales, Rivers, Dorset, and the Duke of Clarence, 214 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. All eyes were bent upon the Count, and though seen to dis- advantage by the side of the comeliest and stateliest and most gorgeously attired prince in Christendom, his high forehead, bright sagacious eye, and powerful frame did not disappoint the expectations founded upon the fame of one equally subtle in council and redoubted in war. The royal host and the princely guest made their way where Elizabeth, blazing in jewels and cloth of gold, shone royally, begirt by the ladies of her brilliant court. At her right hand stood her mother, at her left the Princess Margaret. "I present to you, my Elizabeth," said Edward, "a princely gentleman to whom we nevertheless wish all ill-fortune for we cannot desire that he may subdue our knights, and we would fain hope that he may be conquered by our ladies." "The last hope is already fulfilled," said the Count gallant- ly, as on his knee he kissed the fair hand extended to him. Then rising, and gazing full and even boldly upon the young Princess Margaret, he added: "I have seen too often the pict- ure of the Lady Margaret not to be aware that I stand in that illustrious presence." "Her picture! Sir Count," said the Queen; "we knew not that it had been even limned." "Pardon me, it was done by stealth." "And where have you seen it?" "Worn at the heart of my brother the Count of Charolois!" answered De la Roche, in a whispered tone. Margaret blushed with evident pride and delight ; and the wily envoy, leaving the impression his words had made to take their due effect, addressed himself, with all the gay vivacity he possessed, to the fair Queen and her haughty mother. After a brief time spent in this complimentary converse, the Count then adjourned to inspect the menagerie, of which the King was very proud. Edward, offering his hand to his Queen, led the way, and the Duchess of Bedford, directing the Count to Margaret by a shrewd and silent glance of her eye, so far smothered her dislike to Clarence as to ask his Highness to at- tend herself. "Ah! lady," whispered the Count, as the procession moved along, "what thrones would not Charolois resign for the hand that his unworthy envoy is allowed to touch!" "Sir," said Margaret demurely, looking down, "the Count of Charolois is a lord, who, if report be true, makes war his only mistress." "Because the only living mistress his great heart could serve THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 215 is denied to his love ! Ah, poor lord and brother, what new reasons for eternal war to Burgundy, when France, not only his foe, becomes his rival!" Margaret sighed, and the Count continued, till by degrees he warmed the royal maiden from her reserve ; and his eye grew brighter and a triumphant smile played about his lips, when, after the visit to the menagerie, the procession re-entered the palace, and the Lord Hastings conducted the Count to the bath prepared for him, previous to the crowning banquet of the night. And far more luxurious and more splendid than might be deemed by those who read but the general histories of that sanguinary time, or the inventories of furniture in the houses even of the great barons, was the accommodation which Edward afforded to his guest. His apartments and chambers were hung with white silk and linen, the floors covered with richly woven carpets ; the counterpane of his bed was cloth of gold, trimmed with ermine ; the cupboard shone with vessels of silver and gold ; and over two baths were pitched tents of white cloth of Rennes, fringed with silver.* Agreeably to the manners of the time, Lord Hastings as- sisted to disrobe the Count ; and, the more to bear him com- pany, afterwards undressed himself and bathed in the one bath, while the Count refreshed his limbs in the other. "Pri'thee, " said De la Roche, drawing aside the curtain of his tent, and putting forth his head "pri'thee, my Lord Hast- ings, deign to instruct my ignorance of a court which I would fain know well, and let me weet whether the splendor of your King, far exceeding what I was taught to look for, is derived from his revenue, as sovereign of England, or chief of the House of York?" "Sir," returned Hastings gravely, putting out his own head, "it is Edward's happy fortune to be the wealthiest proprietor in England, except the Earl of Warwick, and thus he is enabled to indulge a state which yet oppresses not his people." "Except the Earl of Warwick," repeated the Count musing- ly, as the fumes of the odors, with which the bath was filled, rose in a cloud over his long hair "ill would fare that subject, in most lands, who was as wealthy as his King! You have heard that Warwick has met King Louis at Rouen, and that they are inseparable?" "It becomes an ambassador to win grace of him he is sent to please." "But none win grace of Louis whom Louis does not dupe." * See Madden's Narrative of the Lord Grauthusq : Archteologia, 1830, 2l6 THK LAST OF THE BARONS. "You know not Lord Warwick, Sir Count. His mind is so strong and so frank, that it is as hard to deceive him, as it is to be deceived." "Time will show," said the Count pettishly, and he with- drew his head into the tent. And now there appeared the attendants, with hippocras, syrups, and comfits, by way of giving appetite for the supper, so that no farther opportunity for private conversation was left to the two lords. While the Count was dressing, the Lord Scales entered with a superb gown, clasped with jewels, and lined with minever, with which Edward had commissioned him to present the Bastard. In this robe, the Lord Scales insisted upon enduing his antagonist with his own hands, and the three knights then repaired to the banquet. At the King's table no male personage out of the royal family sate, except Lord Riv- ers as Elizabeth's father and the Count De la Roche, placed between Margaret and the Duchess of Bedford. At another table, the great peers of the realm feasted under the presidence of Anthony Woodville, while, entirely filling one side of the hall, the ladies of the court held their "mess" (so called) apart, and "great and mighty was the eating thereof!" The banquet ended, the dance begun. The admirable ' ' feat- liness" of the Count de la Roche, in the pavon, with the Lady Margaret, was rivalled only by the more majestic grace of Ed- ward and the dainty steps of Anthony Woodville. But the lightest and happiest heart which beat in that revel was one in which no scheme and no ambition but those of love nursed the hope and dreamed the triumph. Stung by the coldness, even more than by the disdain of the Lady Bonville, and enraged to find that no taunt of his own, however galling, could ruffle a dignity which was an insult both to memory and to self-love, Hastings had exerted more than usual, both at the banquet and in the revel, those general powers of pleasing which, even in an age when personal qualifications ranked so high, had yet made him no less renowned for suc- cesses in gallantry than the beautiful and youthful King. All about this man witnessed to the triumph of mind over the ob- stacles that beset it, his rise without envy, his safety amidst foes, the happy ease with which he moved through the snares and pits of everlasting stratagem and universal wile! Him alone the arts of the Woodvilles could not supplant in Edward's confidence and love; to him alone dark Gloucester bent his haughty soul ; him alone, Warwick, who had rejected his alli- ance, and knew the private grudge the rejection bequeathed : THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 217 him alone, among the "new men," Warwick always treated with generous respect, as a wise patriot and a fearless soldier; and in the more frivolous scenes of courtly life, the same mind raised one no longer in the bloom of youth, with no striking advantages of person, and studiously disdainful of all the fop- peries of the time, to an equality with the youngest, the fairest, the gaudiest courtier, in that rivalship which has pleasure for its object and love for its reward. Many a heart beat quicker as the graceful courtier, with that careless wit which veiled his profound mourn fulness of character, or with that delicate flat- tery which his very contempt for human nature had taught him, moved from dame to donzell ; till at length, in the sight and hearing of the Lady Bonville, as she sate, seemingly heedless of his revenge, amidst a group of matrons elder than herself, a murmur of admiration made him turn quickly, and his eye, fol- lowing the gaze of the bystanders, rested upon the sweet, ani- mated face of Sibyll, flushed into rich bloom at the notice it excited. Then as he approached the maiden, his quick glance, darting to the woman he had first loved, told him that he had at last discovered the secret how to wound. An involuntary compression of Katherine's proud lips, a hasty rise and fall of the stately neck, a restless, indescribable flutter, as it were, of the whole frame, told the experienced woman-reader of the signs of jealousy and fear. And he passed at once to the young maiden's side. Alas! what wonder that Sibyll that night sur- rendered her heart to the happiest dreams; and finding herself on the floors of a court intoxicated by its perfumed air hear- ing on all sides the murmured eulogies which approved and justified the seeming preference of the powerful noble what wonder that she thought the humble maiden, with her dower of radiant youth and exquisite beauty, and the fresh and count- less treasures of virgin love, might be no unworthy mate of the "new lord." It was morning * before the revel ended ; and, when dis- missed by the Duchess of Bedford, Sibyll was left to herself, not even amidst her happy visions did the daughter forget her office. She stole into her father's chamber. He, too, was astir and up at work at the untiring furnace, the damps on his brow, but all hope's vigor at his heart. So while Pleasure feasts, and Youth revels, and Love deludes itself, and Am- bition chases its shadows (chased itself by Death) so works the world-changing and world-despised SCIENCE, the life within life, for all living and to all dead ! * The hours of our ancestors, on great occasions, were not always more seasonable than our own. Froissart speaks of Court Balls in the reign of Richard II., kept up till day. 2l8 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. CHAPTER VII. THE RENOWNED COMBAT BETWEEN SIR ANTHONY WOODVILLE AND THE BASTARD OF BURGUNDY. AND now the day came for the memorable joust between the Queen's brother and the Count de la Roche. By a chapter solemnly convoked at St. Paul's, the preliminaries were settled; upon the very timber used in decking the lists, King Edward expended half the yearly revenue derived from all the forests of his duchy of York. In the wide space of Smithfield, des- tined at a later day to blaze with the fires of intolerant bigotry, crowded London's holiday population: and yet, though all the form and parade of chivalry were there ; though, in the open balconies, never presided a braver king or a comelier queen ; though never a more accomplished chevalier than Sir Anthony Lord of Scales, nor a more redoubted knight than the brother of Charles the Bold, met lance to lance ; it was obvious to the elder and more observant spectators, that the true spirit of the lists was already fast wearing out from the influences of the age ; that the gentleman was succeeding to the knight; that a more silken and scheming race had become the heirs of the iron men, who, under Edward III., had realized the fabled Paladins of Charlemagne and Arthur. But the actors were less changed than the spectators the Well-born than the People. Instead of that hearty sympathy in the contest; that awful re- spect for the champions; that eager anxiety for the honor of the national lance, which, a century or more ago, would have moved the throng as one breast, the comments of the bystanders evinced rather the cynicism of ridicule; the feeling that the contest was unreal; and that chivalry was out of place in the practical tem- per of the times. On the great chess-board the pawns were now so marshalled that the knights' moves were no longer able to scour the boarr 1 and hold in check both castle and king. "Gramercy!" raid Master Stokton, who sate in high state as sheriff,* "this is a sad waste of moneys; and where, after all, is the glory in two tall fellows, walled a yard thick in ar- mor, poking at each other with poles of painted wood?" "Give me a good bull-bait!" said a sturdy butcher, in the crowd below: "that's more English, I take it, than these fooleries." Amongst the ring, the bold 'prentices of London, up and away betimes, had pushed their path into a foremost place, * Fabyan. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 2I<) much to the discontent of the gentry, and with their flat caps, long hair, thick bludgeons, loud exclamations, and turbulent demeanor, greatly scandalized the formal heralds. That, too, was a sign of the times. Nor less did it show the growth of commerce, that, on seats very little below the regal balconies, and far more conspicuous than the places of earls and barons, sate in state the mayor (that mayor a grocer*) and aldermen of the city. A murmur, rising gradually into a general shout, evinced the admiration into which the spectators were surprised, when An- thony Woodville Lord Scales, his head bare, appeared at the entrance of the lists so bold and so fair was his countenance, so radiant his armor, and so richly caparisoned his gray steed, in the gorgeous housings that almost swept the ground; and around him grouped such an attendance of knights and peers as seldom graced the train of any subject, with the Duke of Clarence at his right hand, bearing his bassinet. But Anthony's pages, supporting his banner, shared at least the popular admiration with their gallant lord: they were, ac- cording to the old custom, which probably fell into disuse under the Tudors, disguised in imitation of the heraldric beasts that typified his armorial cognizance: f and horrible and laidley looked they in the guise of griffins, with artful scales of thin steel painted green, red forked tongues, and griping the banner in one huge claw, while, much to the marvel of the bystanders, they contrived to walk very statelily on the other. "Oh, the brave monsters!" exclaimed the butcher, "Cogs bones, this beats all the rest!" But when the trumpets of the heralds had ceased ; when the words "Laissez aller /" were pronounced; when the lances were set and the charge began, this momentary admiration was converted into a cry of derision, by the sudden restiveness of the Burgundian's horse. This animal, of the pure race of Flanders, of a bulk approaching to clumsiness, of a rich bay, where, indeed, amidst the barding and the housings, its color could be discerned, had borne the valiant Bastard through many a sanguine field, and in the last had received a wound which had greatly impaired its sight. And now, whether scared by the shouting, or terrified by its obscure vision, and the recollection of its wound when last bestrode by its lord, it halted midway, reared on end, and, fairly turning round, des- pite spur and bit, carried back the Bastard, swearing strange oaths, that grumbled hoarsely through his visor, to the very place whence he had started. * Sir John Yonge Fabyan. t Hence the origin of Supporttrt. 22O THE LAST OF THE BARONS. The uncourteous mob yelled and shouted and laughed, and wholly disregarding the lifted wands, and drowning the solemn rebukes of the heralds, they heaped upon the furious Burgun- dian all the expressions of ridicule in which the wit of Cock- aigne is so immemorially rich. But the courteous Anthony of England, seeing the strange and involuntary flight of his redoubted foe, incontinently reined-in, lowered his lance, and made his horse, without turning round, back to the end of the lists in a series of graceful gambadas and caracols. Again the signal was given, and this time the gallant bay did not fail his rider; ashamed, doubtless, of its late misdemeanor, arching its head till it almost touched the breast, laying its ears level on the neck, and with a snort of anger and disdain, the steed of Flanders rushed to the encounter. The Bastard's lance shiv- ered fairly against the small shield of the Englishman, but the Woodville's weapon, more deftly aimed, struck full on the Count's bassinet, and at the same time the pike projecting from the gray charger's chaffron pierced the nostrils of the unhappy bay, whom rage and shame had blinded more than ever. The noble animal, stung by the unexpected pain, and bitted sharply by the rider, whose seat was sorely shaken by the stroke on his helmet, reared again, stood an instant per- fectly erect, and then fell backwards, rolling over and over the illustrious burden it had borne. Then the debonair Sir An- thony of England, casting down his lance, drew his sword, and dexterously caused his destrier to curvet in a close circle round the fallen Bastard, courteously shaking at him the brandished weapon, but without attempt to strike. "Ho, marshal!" cried King Edward, "assist to his legs the brave Count." The marshal hastened to obey. " Ventrebleu /" quoth the Bastard, when extricated from the weight of his steed, "I can- not hold by the clouds, but though my horse failed me, surely I will not fail my companions" and as he spoke, he placed himself in so gallant and superb a posture, that he silenced the inhospitable yell which had rejoiced in the foreigner's discom- fiture. Then, observing that the gentle Anthony had dis- mounted, and was leaning gracefully against his destrier, the Burgundian called forth: "Sir Knight, thou hast conquered the steed, not the rider. We are now foot to foot. The pole-axe, or the sword which? Speak!" "I pray thee, noble sieur," quoth the Woodville mildly, "to let the strife close for this day, and when rest hath " THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 221 "Talk of rest to striplings I demand my rights!" "Heaven forefend," said Anthony Woodville, lifting his hand on high, "that I, favored so highly by the fair dames of England, should demand repose on their behalf. But bear witness " he said (with the generosity of the last true chevalier of his age, and lifting his visor, so as to be heard by the King, and even through the foremost ranks of the crowd) "bear witness, that in this encounter, my cause hath befriended me, not mine arm. The Count de la Roche speaketh truly; and his steed alone be blamed for his mischance." "It is but a blind beast!" muttered the Burgundian. "And," added Anthony, bowing towards the tiers rich with the beauty of the court; "And the Count himself assureth me that the blaze of yonder eyes blinded his goodly steed." Having delivered himself of this gallant conceit, so much in accord- ance with the taste of the day, the Englishman, approaching the King's balcony, craved permission to finish the encounter with the axe or brand. "The former, rather, please you, my liege; for the warriors of Burgundy have ever been deemed unconquered in that martial weapon." Edward, whose brave blood was up and warm at the clash of steel, bowed his gracious assent, and two pole-axes were brought into the ring. The crowd now evinced a more earnest and respectful atten- tion than they had hitherto shown, for the pole-axe, in such stalwart hands, was no child's toy. "Hum," quoth Master Stokton, "there may be some merriment now not like those silly poles! Your axe lops off a limb mighty cleanly." The knights themselves seemed aware of the greater gravity of the present encounter. Each looked well to the bracing of his visor ; and poising their weapons with method and care, they stood apart some moments, eyeing each other steadfastly, as adroit fencers with the small sword do in our schools at this day. At length the Burgundian, darting forward, launched a mighty stroke at the Lord Scales, which, though rapidly par- ried, broke down the guard, and descended with such weight on the shoulder, that but for the thrice-proven steel of Milan, the benevolent expectation of Master Stokton had been happily fulfilled. Even as it was, the Lord Scales uttered a slight cry, which might be either of anger or of pain and lifting his axe with both hands, levelled a blow on the Burgundian' s helmet that well-nigh brought him to his knee. And now, for 222 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. the space of some ten minutes, the crowd, with charmed sus- pense, beheld the almost breathless rapidity with which stroke on stroke was given and parried ; the axe shifted to and fro wielded now with both hands now the left, now the right and the combat reeling, as it were, to and fro, so that one moment it raged at one extreme of the lists, the next at the other ; and so well inured, from their very infancy, to the weight of mail were these redoubted champions, that the very wrest- lers on the village green, nay, the naked gladiators of old, might have envied their lithe agility and supple quickness. At last, by a most dexterous stroke, Anthony Woodville forced the point of his axe into the visor of the Burgundian, and there so firmly did it stick, that he was enabled to pull his antagonist to and fro at his will, while the Bastard, rendered as blind as his horse by the stoppage of the eye-hole, dealt his own blows about at random, and was placed completely at the mercy of the Englishman. And gracious as the gentle Sir An- thony was, he was still so smarting under many a bruise felt through his dinted mail, that small mercy, perchance, would the Bastard have found, for the gripe of the Woodville's left hand was on his foe's throat, and the right seemed about to force the point deliberately forward into the brain, when Edward, roused from his delight at that pleasing spectacle by a loud shriek from his Sister Margaret, echoed by the Duchess of Bedford, who was by no means anxious that her son's axe should be laid at the root of all her schemes, rose, and crying, "Hold!" with that loud voice which had so often thrilled a mightier field, cast down his warderer. Instantly the lists opened the marshals advanced severed the champions and unbraced the Count's helmet. But the Bastard's martial spirit, exceedingly dissatisfied at the un- friendly interruption, rewarded the attention of the marshals by an oath worthy his relationship to Charles the Bold ; and hur- rying straight to the King, his face flushed with wrath, and his eyes sparkling with fire : "Noble sire and King," he cried, "do me not this wrong! I am not overthrown, nor scathed, nor subdued I yield not. By every knightly law, till one champion yields, he can call upon the other to lay on and do his worst." Edward paused, much perplexed and surprised at finding his intercession so displeasing. He glanced first at the Lord Rivers, who sate a little below him, and whose cheek grew pale at the prospect of his son's renewed encounter with one so de- termined; then at the immovable aspect of the gentle and ap THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 223 thetic Elizabeth; then at the agitated countenance of the Duchess; then at the imploring eyes of Margaret, who, with an effort, preserved herself from swooning ; and finally, beck- oning to him the Duke of Clarence, as high constable, and the Duke of Norfolk, as earl marshal, he said: "Tarry a moment, Sir Count, till we take counsel in this grave affair." The Count bowed sullenly ; the spectators maintained an anxious silence; the curtain before the King's gallery was closed while the council conferred. At the end of some three minutes, however, the drapery was drawn aside by the Duke of Norfolk ; and Edward, fixing his bright blue eye upon the fiery Burgun- dian, said gravely: "Count de la Roche, your demand is 'just. Acording to the laws of the list, you may fairly claim that the encounter go on." "O Knightly Prince, well said. My thanks! We lose time squires, my bassinet!" "Yea," renewed Edward, "bring hither the Count's bassi- net. By the laws, the combat may go on at thine asking I retract my wafderer. But, Count de la Roche, by those laws you appeal to, the said combat must go on precisely at the point at which it was broken off. Wherefore brace on thy bassinet, Count de la Roche, and thou, Anthony Lord Scales, fix the pike of thine a^e, which I now perceive was inserted exactly where the right ey/2 giveth easy access to the brain, precisely in the same place. So renew the contest, and the Lord have mercy on thy soul, Count de la Roche!" At this startling sentence, wholly unexpected, and yet wholly according to those laws of which Edward was so learned a judge, the Bastard's visage fell. With open mouth and as- tounded eyes, he stood gazing at the King, who, majestically reseating himself, motioned to the heralds. "Is that the law, sire?" at length faltered forth the Bastard. "Can you dispute it? Can any knight or gentleman gain- say it?" "Then," quoth the Bastard gruffly, and throwing his axe to the ground, "by all the saints in the calendar, I have had enough ! I came hither to dare all that beseems a chevalier, but to stand still while Sir Anthony Woodville deliberately pokes out my right eye, were a feat to show that very few brains would follow. And so, my Lord Scales, I give thee my right hand, and wish thee joy of thy triumph and the golden collar." * "No triumph," replied the Woodville modestly, "for thou * The prize was a collar of gold, enamelled with the flower of the sourenance. 224 TIIK LAST OK THE BARONS. art only, as brave knights should be, subdued by the charms of the ladies, which no breast, however valiant, can with impu- nity dispute." So saying, the Lord Scales led the Count to a seat of honor near the Lord Rivers. And the actor was contented, perforce, to become a spectator of the ensuing contests. These were carried on till late at noon between the Burgundians and the English, the last maintaining the superiority of their principal champion ; and among those in the melee, to which squires were admitted, not the least distinguished and conspicuous was our youthful friend, Master Marmaduke Nevile. CHAPTER VIII. HOW THE BASTARD OF BURGUNDY PROSPERED MORE IN HIS POLICY THAN WITH THE POLE-AXE AND HOW KING ED- WARD HOLDS HIS SUMMER CHASE IN THE FAIR GROVES OF SHENE. IT was some days after the celebrated encounter between the Bastard and Lord Scales ; and the court had removed to the Palace of Shene. The Count de la Roche's favor with the Duchess of Bedford and the young Princess had not rested upon his reputation for skill with the pole-axe, and it had now increased to a height that might well recompense the diploma- tist for his discomfiture in the lists. In the mean while, the arts of Warwick's enemies had been attended with signal success. The final preparations for the alliance, now virtually concluded, with Louis's brother, still detained the Earl at Rouen, and fresh accounts of the French King's intimacy with the ambassador were carefully forwarded to Rivers, and transmitted to Edward. Now, we have Ed- ward's own authority for stating that his first grudge against Warwick originated in this displeasing intimacy, but the Eng- lish King was too clear-sighted to interpret such courtesies into the gloss given them by Rivers. He did not for a moment conceive that Lord Warwick was led into any absolute connec- tion with Louis which could link him to the Lancastrians, for this was against common-sense; but Edward, with all his good-humor, was implacable and vindictive, and he could not endure the thought that Warwick should gain the friendship of the man he deemed his foe. Putting aside his causes of hatred to Louis, in the encouragement which that King had formerly given to the Lancastrian exiles, Edward's pride as sovereign THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 225 felt acutely the slighting disdain with which the French King had hitherto treated his royalty and his birth. The customary nickname with which he was maligned in Paris was "the Son of the Archer" a taunt upon the fair fame of his mother, whom scandal accused of no rigid fidelity to the Duke of York. Be- sides this, Edward felt somewhat of the jealousy natural to a king, himself so spirited and able, of the reputation for pro- found policy and statecraft which Louis XI. was rapidly widening and increasing throughout the courts of Europe. And, what with the resentment, and what with the jealousy, there had sprung up in his warlike heart a secret desire to ad- vance the claims of England to the throne of France, and re- trieve the conquests won by the Fifth Henry, to be lost under the Sixth. Possessing these feelings and these views, Edward necessarily saw, in the alliance with Burgundy, all that could gratify both his hate and his ambition. The Count of Charo- lois had sworn to Louis the most deadly enmity, and would have every motive, whether of vengeance or of interest, to as- sociate himself heart in hand with the arms of England in any invasion of France; and to these warlike objects Edward added, as we have so often had cause to remark, the more peaceful aims and interests of commerce. And, therefore, although he could not so far emancipate himself from that in- fluence, which both awe and gratitude invested in the Earl of Warwick, as to resist his great minister's embassy to Louis; and though, despite all these reasons in favor of connection with Burgundy, he could not but reluctantly allow that War- wick urged those of a still larger and wiser policy, when show- ing that the infant dynasty of York could only be made secure by effectually depriving Margaret of the sole ally that could venture to assist her cause, yet no sooner had Warwick fairly departed, than he inly chafed at the concession he had made, and his mind was open to all the impressions which the Earl's enemies sought to stamp upon it. As the wisdom of every man, however able, can but run through those channels which are formed by the soil of the character, so Edward, with all his talents, never possessed the prudence which fear of conse- quences inspires. He was so eminently fearless so scornful of danger that he absolutely forgot the arguments on which the affectionate zeal of Warwick had based the alliance with Louis arguments as to the unceasing- peril, whether to his person or his throne, so long as the unprincipled and plotting genius of the French King had an interest against both ; and thus he became only alive to the representations of his pa- 226 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. sions, his pride, and his mercantile interests. The Duchess of Bedford, the Queen, and all the family of Woodville, who had but one object at heart the downfall of Warwick and his house knew enough of the Earl's haughty nature to be aware that he would throw up the reins of government the moment he knew that Edward had discredited and dishonored his em- bassy ; and, despite the suspicions they sought to instil into their King's mind, they calculated upon the Earl's love and near relationship to Edward upon his utter, and seemingly irreconcilable, breach with the house of Lancaster to render his wrath impotent, and to leave him only the fallen minister, not the mighty rebel. Edward had been thus easily induced to permit the visit of the Count de la Roche, although he had by no means then re- solved upon the course he should pursue. At all events, even if the alliance with Louis was to take place, the friendship of Burgundy was worth much to maintain. But De la Roche, soon made aware, by the Duchess of Bedford, of the ground on which he stood, and instructed by his brother to spare no pains and to scruple no promise that might serve to alienate Edward from Louis, and win the hand and dower of Margaret, found it a more facile matter than his most sanguine hopes had deemed, to work upon the passions and the motives which in- clined the King to the pretensions of the heir of Burgundy. And what more than all else favored the envoy's mission was the very circumstance that should most have defeated it, viz., the recollection of the Earl of Warwick. For in the absence of that powerful baron, and master-minister, the King had seemed to breathe more freely. In his absence, he forgot his power. The machine of government, to his own surprise, seemed to go on as well, the Commons were as submissive, the mobs as noisy in their shouts, as if the Earl was by. There was no longer any one to share with Edward the joys of popu- larity, the sweets of power. Though Edward was not Dioge- nes, he loved the popular sunshine, and no Alexander now stood between him and its beams. Deceived by the represen- tations of his courtiers, hearing nothing but abuse of Warwick, and sneers at his greatness, he began to think the hour had come when he might reign alone, and he entered, though tacitly, and not acknowledging it even to himself, into the very object of the womankind about him, viz., the dismissal of his minister. The natural carelessness and luxurious indolence of Ed- ward's temper did not, however, permit him to see all the THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 227 ingratitude of the course he was about to adopt. The egotism a king too often acquires, and no king so easily as one, like Ed- ward IV., not born to a throne, made him consider that he alone was entitled to the prerogatives of pride. As sovereign and as brother, might he not give the hand of Margaret as he listed? If Warwick was offended, pest on his disloyalty and presumption ! And so saying to himself, he dismissed the very thought of the absent Earl, and glided unconsciously down the current of the hour. And yet, notwithstanding all these pre- possessions and dispositions, Edward might no doubt have de- ferred, at least, the meditated breach with his great minister until the return of the latter, and then have acted with the deli- cacy and precaution that became a king bound by ties of grati- tude and blood to the statesman he desired to discard, but for a habit, which, while history mentions, it seems to forget, in the consequences it ever engenders the habit of intemper- ance. Unquestionably, to that habit many of the impruden- ces and levities of a king possessed of so much ability, are to be ascribed; and over his cups with the wary and watchful De la Roche, Edward had contrived to entangle himself far more than in his cooler moments he would have been disposed to do. Having thus admitted our readers into those recesses of that cor inscrutabile the heart of kings we summon them to a scene peculiar to the pastimes of the magnificent Edward. Amidst the shades of the vast park or chase which then apper- tained to the Palace of Shene, the noonday sun shone upon such a spot as Armida might have dressed for the subdued Ri- naldo. A space had been cleared of trees and underwood, and made level as a bowling green. Around this space the huge oak and the broad beech were hung with trellis-work, wreathed with jasmine, honeysuckle, and the white rose, trained in arches. Ever and anon through these arches extended long alleys, or vistas, gradually lost in the cool depth of foliage ; amidst these alleys and around this space, numberless arbors, quaint with all the flowers then known in England, were con- structed. In the centre of the sward was a small artificial lake, long since dried up, and adorned then with a profusion of fountains, that seemed to scatter coolness around the glowing air. Pitched in various and appropriate sites were tents of silk and the white cloth of Rennes, each tent so placed as to com- mand one of the alleys ; and at the opening of each stood cav- alier or dame, with the bow or cross-bow, as it pleased the fancy or suited best the skill, looking for the quarry, which horn ^nd hound drove fast and frequent across the alleys, 2*8 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. Such was the luxurious ' 'summer-chase" of the Sardanapalus of the North. Nor could any spectacle more thoroughly repre- sent that poetical yet effeminate taste, which borrowed from the Italians, made a short interval between the chivalric and the modern age. The exceeding beauty of the day; the rich- ness of the foliage in the first suns of bright July; the bay of the dogs ; the sound of the mellow horn ; the fragrance of the air, heavy with noontide flowers; the gay tents; the rich dresses and fair faces and merry laughter of dame and don- zell combined to take captive every sense, and to reconcile ambition itself that eternal traveller through the future to the enjoyment of the voluptuous hour. But there were illus- trious exceptions to the contentment of the general company. A courier had arrived that morning to apprise Edward of the unexpected debarkation of the Earl of Warwick, with the Archbishop of Narbonne and the Bastard of Bourbon, the ambassadors commissioned by Louis to settle the preliminaries of the marriage between Margaret and his brother. This unwelcome intelligence reached Edward at the very moment he was sallying from his palace gates to his pleasant pastime. He took aside Lord Hastings, and communicated the news to his able favorite. "Put spurs to thy horse, Hast- ings, and hie thee fast to Baynard's Castle. Bring back Glou- cester. In these difficult matters, that boy's head is better than a council." "Your Highness," said Hastings, tightening his girdle with ane hand, while with the other he shortened his stirrups, "shall be obeyed. I foresaw, sire, that this coming would occasion much that my Lords Rivers and Worcester have over- looked. I rejoice that you summon the Prince Richard, who hath wisely forborne all countenance to the Burgundian envoy. But is this all, sire? Is it not well to assemble also your trusti- est lords and most learned prelates, if not to overawe Lord Warwick's anger, at least to confer on the fitting excuses to be made to King Louis's ambassadors?" "And so lose the fairest day this summer hath bestowed upon us? Tush! the more need for pleasaunce to-day, since business mast come to-morrow. Away with you, dear Will!" Hastings looked grave, but he saw all further remonstrance would be in vain, and hoping much from the intercession of Gloucester, put spurs to his steed and vanished. Edward mused a moment ; and Elizabeth, who knew every expression and change of his countenance, rode from the circle of her ladies, and approached him timidly. Casting down her eyes, THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 329 which she always affected in speaking to her lord, the Queen said softly: "Something hath disturbed my liege and my life's life." "Marry, yes, sweet Bessee. Last night, to pleasure thee and thy kin (and sooth to say, small gratitude ye owe me, for it also pleased myself), I promised Margaret's hand, through De la Roche, to the heir of Burgundy." "O princely heart!" exclaimed Elizabeth, her whole face lighted up with triumph, "ever seeking to make happy those it cherishes. But is it that which disturbs thee that which thou repentest?" "No, sweetheart, no. Yet had it not been for the strength of the clary, I should have kept the Bastard longer in sus- pense. But what is done is done. Let not thy roses wither when thou hearest Warwick is in England nay, nay, child, look not so appalled thine Edward is no infant, whom ogre and goblin scare; and" glancing his eye proudly round as he spoke, and saw the goodly cavalcade of his peers and knights, with his body-guard tall and chosen veterans filling up the palace-yard, with the show of casque and pike "and if the struggle is to come between Edward of England and his sub- ject, never an hour more ripe than this: my throne assured, the new nobility I have raised, around it ; London true, mar- row and heart, true; the provinces at peace; the ships and the steel of Burgundy mine allies! Let the White Bear growl as he list, the Lion of March is lord of the forest. And now, my Bessee," added the King, changing his haughty tone into a gay, careless laugh, "now let the lion enjoy his chase." He kissed the gloved hand of his Queen, gallantly bending over his saddle-bow, and the next moment he was by the side of a younger, if not a fairer lady, to whom he was devoting the momentary worship of his inconstant heart. Elizabeth's eyes shot an angry gleam as she beheld her faithless lord thus en* gaged; but so accustomed to conceal and control the natural jealousy, that it never betrayed itself to the court or to her husband, she soon composed her countenance to its ordinary smooth and artificial smile, and rejoining her mother, she re- vealed what had passed. The proud and masculine spirit of the Duchess felt only joy at the intelligence. In the antici- pated humiliation of Warwick, she forgot all cause for fear not so her husband and son, the Lords Rivers and Scales, to whom the news soon travelled. "Anthony," whispered the father, "in this game we have staked our heads." 230 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. "But our right hands can guard them well, sir," answered Anthony; "and so God and the ladies for our rights!" Yet this bold reply did not satisfy the more thoughtful judg- ment of the Lord Treasurer, and even the brave Anthony's arrows that day wandered wide of their quarry. Amidst this gay scene, then, there were anxious and thoughtful bosoms. Lord Rivers was silent and abstracted; his son's laugh was hollow and constrained; the Queen, from her pavilion, cast, ever and anon, down the green alleys more restless and prying looks than the hare or the deer could call forth; her mother's brow was knit and flushed and keenly were those illustrious persons watched by one deeply inter- ested in the coming events. Affecting to discharge the pleas- ant duty assigned him by the King, the Lord Montagu glided from tent to tent, inquiring courteously into the accommo- dation of each group, lingering, smiling, complimenting, watch- ing, heeding, studying, those whom he addressed. For the first time since the Bastard's visit he had joined in the di- versions in its honor, and yet, so well had Montagu played his part at the court, that he did not excite amongst the Queen's relatives any of the hostile feelings entertained towards his brother. No man, except Hastings, was so "entirely loved" by Edward; and Montagu, worldly as he was, and indignant against the King as he could not fail to be, so far repaid the affection, that his chief fear at that moment sincerely was, not for Warwick, but for Edward. He alone of those present was aware of the cause of Warwick's hasty return, for he had pri- vately despatched to him the news of the Bastard's visit, its real object, and the inevitable success of the intrigues afloat, unless the Earl could return at once, his mission accomplished, and the ambassadors of France in his train ; and even before the courier dispatched to the King had arrived at Shene, a pri- vate hand had conveyed to Montagu the information that War- wick, justly roused and alarmed, had left the state procession behind at Dover, and was hurrying, fast as relays of steeds and his own fiery spirit could bear him, to the presence of the un- grateful King. Meanwhile the noon had now declined, the sport relaxed, and the sound of the trumpet from the King's pavilion pro- claimed that the lazy pastime was to give place to the lux- urious banquet. At this moment, Montagu approached a tent remote from the royal pavilions, and, as his noiseless footstep crushed the grass, he heard the sound of voices, in which there THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 23! was little in unison with the worldly thoughts that filled his breast. "Nay, sweet mistress, nay," said a young man's voice, ear- nest with emotion "do not misthink me do not deem me bold and overweening. I have sought to smother my love, and to rate it, and bring pride to my aid, but in vain ; and, now, whether you will scorn my suit or not, I remember, Sibyll O Sibyll! I remember the days when we conversed together, and as a brother, if nothing else nothing dearer I pray you to pause well, and consider what manner of man this Lord Hastings is said to be!" "Master Nevile, is this generous? Why afflict me thus? Why couple my name with so great a lord's?" "Because beware the young gallants already so couple it, and their prophecies are not to thine honor, Sibyll. Nay, do not frown on me. I know thou art fair and winsome, and deftly gifted, and thy father may, for aught I know, be able to coin thee a queen's bower out of his awesome engines. But Hast- ings will not wed thee, and his wooing, therefore, but stains thy fair repute; while I " "You!" said Montagu, entering suddenly "y u > kinsman, may look to higher fortunes than the Duchess of Bedford's waiting-damsel can bring to thy honest love. How now, mis- tress, say wilt thou take this young gentleman for loving fere and plighted spouse? If so, he shall give thee a manor for jointure, and thou shalt wear velvet robe and gold chain, as a knight's wife." This unexpected interference, which was perfectly in char- acter with the great lords, who frequently wooed in very per- emptory tones for their clients and kinsmen,* completed the displeasure which the blunt Marmaduke had already called forth in Sibyll's gentle but proud nature. "Speak, maiden, ay or no?" continued Montagu, surprised and angered at the haughty silence of one whom he just knew by sight and name, though he had never before addressed her. "No, my lord," answered Sibyll, keeping down her indig- nation at this tone, though it burned in her cheek, flashed in her eye, and swelled in the heave of her breast. "No! and your kinsman might have spared this affront to one whom but it matters not." She swept from the tent as she said this, and passed up the alley, into that of the Queen's mother. * See, in Miss Strickland's " Life of Elizabeth Woodville," the curious letters which the Duke of York and the Earl of Warwick addressed to her, then a simple maiden, in favor of their proMtf^ Sir R. Johnes. 232 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. "Best so; thou art too young for marriage, Marmaduke, ' said Montagu coldly. "We will find thee a richer bride e:e long. There is Mary of Winstown the Archbishop's ward with two castles, and seven knight's fees." "But so marvellously ill-featured, my lord," said poor Mar- maduke, sighing. Montagu looked at him in surprise. "Wives, sir," he said, "are not made to look at unless, indeed, they be the wives of other men. But dismiss these follies for the nonce. Back to thy post by the King's pavilion; and by the way, ask Lord Fauconberg and Aymer Nevile, whom thou wilt pass by yon- der arbor ask them in my name, to be near the pavilion while the King banquets. A word in thine ear ere yon sun gilds the tops of those green oaks, the Earl of Warwick will be with Edward IV. ; and come what may, some brave hearts should be by to welcome him. Go!" Without tarrying for an answer, Montagu turned into one of the tents, wherein Raoul de Fulke and the Lord St. John, heedless of hind and hart, conferred, and Marmaduke, much bewildered, and bitterly wroth with Sibyll, went his way. CHAPTER IX. THE GREAT ACTOR RETURNS TO FILL THE STAGE. AND now, in various groups, these summer foresters were at rest in their afternoon banquet; some lying on the smooth sward around the lake; some in the tents; some again in the arbors; here and there the forms of dame and cavalier might be seen, stealing apart from the rest, and gliding down the alleys till lost in the shade for under that reign, gallantry was universal. Before the King's pavilion a band of those merry jongleurs, into whom the ancient and honored minstrels were fast degenerat- ing, stood waiting for the signal to commence their sports, and listening to the laughter that came in frequent peals from the royal tent. Within feasted Edward, the Count de la Roche, the Lord Rivers ; while in a larger and more splendid pavilion, at some little distance, the Queen, her mother, and the great dames of the court, held their own slighter and less noisy repast. "And here, then," said Edward, as he put his lips to a gold goblet, wrought with gems, and passed it to Anthony the Bas- tard "here, Count, we take the first waissall to the loves of Charolois and Margaret!" The Count drained the goblet, and the wine gave him new fire. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 233 "And with those loves, King," said he, "we bind forever Burgundy and England. Woe to France!" "Ay, woe to France!" exclaimed Edward, his face lighting up with that martial joy which it ever took at the thoughts of war "for we will wrench her lands from this huckster, Louis. By Heaven ! I shall not rest in peace till York hath regained what Lancaster hath lost ; and out of the parings of the realm which I will add to England, thy brother of Burgundy shall have eno' to change his Duke's diadem for a King's. How now, Rivers? Thou gloomest, father mine." "My liege," said Rivers, wakening himself, "I did but think that if the Earl of Warwick " "Ah! I had forgotten," interrupted Edward; "and, sooth to say, Count Anthony, I think if the Earl were by, he would not much mend our boon fellowship!" "Yet a good subject," said De la Roche sneeringly, "usually dresses his face by that of his king." "A subject! Ay, but Warwick is much such a subject to England as William of Normandy or Duke Rollo was to France. Howbeit, let him come our realm is at peace we want no more his battle-axe ; and in our new designs on France, thy brother, bold Count, is an ally that might compensate for a greater loss than a sullen minister. Let him come!" As the King spoke, there was heard gently upon the smooth turf the sound of the hoofs of steeds. A moment more, and from the outskirts of the scene of revel, where the King's guards were stationed, there arose a long, loud shout. Nearer and nearer came the hoofs of the steeds they paused. "Doubt- less Richard of Gloucester, by that shout! The soldiers love that brave boy," said the King. Marmaduke Nevile, as gentleman in waiting, drew aside the curtain of the pavilion ; and as he uttered a name that paled the cheeks of all who heard, the Earl of Warwick entered the royal presence. The Earl's dress was disordered and soiled by travel; the black plume on his cap was broken, and hung darkly over his face; his horseman's boots, coming half-way up the thigh, were sullied with the dust of the journey; and yet as he entered, be- fore the majesty of his mien, the grandeur of his stature, sud- denly De la Roche, Rivers, even the gorgeous Edward himself, seemed dwarfed into common men ! About the man his air, his eyes, his form, his attitude there was THAT which, in the earlier times, made kings, by the acclamation of the crowd an unmistakable sovereignty, as one of whom Nature herself had 234 THE LAST OK THK BARONS. shaped and stamped for power and for rule. All three had risen as he entered ; and to a deep silence suceeded an exclamation from Edward, and then again all was still. The Earl stood a second or two calmly gazing on the effect he had produced ; and turning his dark eye from one to the other, till it rested full upon De la Roche, who, after vainly striving not to quail beneath the gaze, finally smiled with af- fected disdain, and, resting his hand on his dagger, sunk back into his seat. "My liege, " then said Warwick, doffing his cap, and approach- ing the King with slow and grave respect, "I crave pardon for presenting myself to your Highness thus travel-worn and dis- ordered, but I announce that news which insures my welcome. The solemn embassy of trust committed to me by your grace has prospered with God's blessing; and the Fils de Bourbon and the Archbishop of Narbonne are on their way to your me- tropolis. Alliance between the two great monarchies of Europe is concluded on terms that insure the weal of England, and augment the lustre of your crown. Your claims on Normandy and Guienne, King Louis consents to submit to the arbitrement of the Roman Pontiff,* and to pay to your treasury annual trib- ute ; these advantages, greater than your Highness even em- powered me to demand, thus obtained, the royal brother of your new ally joyfully awaits the hand of the Lady Margaret." "Cousin," said Edward, who had thoroughly recovered him- self, motioning the Earl to a seat, "you are ever welcome, no matter what your news ; but I marvel much that so deft a states- man should broach these matters of council in the unseasona- ble hour, and before the gay comrades, of a revel." "I speak, sire," said Warwick calmly, though the veins in his forehead swelled, and his dark countenance was much flushed "I speak openly of that which hath been done nobly; and this truth has ceased to be matter of council, since the meanest citi- zen who hath ears and eyes, ere this, must know for what pur- pose the ambassadors of King Louis arrive in England with your Highness's representative." Edward, more embarrassed at this tone than he could have foreseen, remained silent; but De la Roche, impatient to hum- ble his brother's foe, and judging it also discreet to arouse the King, said carelessly : "It were a pity, Sir Earl, that the citizens, whom you thus deem privy to the thoughts of kings, had not prevised the Arch- * The Pope, moreover, was to be engaged to decide the question within four years. A Hior? brilliant treaty for England, Edward's ambassador could not have effected. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 235 bishop of Narbonne, that, if he desire to see a fairer show than even the palaces of Westminster and the Tower, he will hasten back to behold the banners of Burgundy and England waving from the spires of Notre Dame." Ere the Bastard had concluded, Rivers, leaning back, whis- pered the King: "For Christ's sake, sire, select some fitter scene for what must follow! Silence your guest!" But Edward, on the contrary, pleased to think that De la Roche was breaking the ice, and hopeful that some burst from Warwick would give him more excuse than he felt at present fora rupture, said sternly: "Hush, my lord, and meddle not!" "Unless I mistake," said Warwick coldly, "he who now ac- costs me is the Count de la Roche a foreigner." "And the brother of the heir of Burgundy," interrupted De la Roche "brother to the betrothed and princely spouse of Margaret of England." "Doth this man lie, sire?" said Warwick, who had seated himself a moment, and who now rose again. The Bastard sprung also to his feet, but Edward, waiving him back, and reassuming the external dignity which rarely for- sook him, replied: "Cousin, thy question lacketh courtesy to our noble guest : since thy departure, reasons of state, which we will impart to thee at a meeter season, have changed our purpose, and we will now that our Sister Margaret shall wed with the Count of Charolois." "And this to me, King!" exclaimed the Earl, all his passions at once released "this to me! Nay, frown not, Edward I am of the race of those who, greater than kings, have buil* thrones and toppled them! I tell thee, thou hast misused mine honor, and belied thine own ; thou hast debased thyself in jug- gling me, delegated as the representative of thy royalty! Lord Rivers, stand back there are barriers eno' between truth and a King!" "By St. George and my father's head!" cried Edward, with a rage no less fierce than Warwick's, "thou abusest, false lord, my mercy and our kindred blood. Another word, and thou leavest this pavilion for the Tower!" "King!" replied Warwick scornfully, and folding his arms on his broad breast "there is not a hair on this head which thy whole house, thy guards, and thine armies could dare to touch. ME to the Tower ! Send me and when the third sun reddens the roof of prison-house and palace look round broad England, and miss a throne!" "What ho, there!" exclaimed Edward, stamping his foot; 336 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. and at that instant the curtain of the pavilion was hastily torn aside, and Richard of Gloucester entered, followed by Lord Hastings, the Duke of Clarence, and Anthony Woodville. "Ah!" continued the King, "ye come in time. George of Clarence, Lord High Constable of England, arrest yon haughty man who dares to menace his liege and suzerain!" Gliding between Clarence, who stood dumb and thunder- stricken, and the Earl of Warwick, Prince Richard said, in a voice which, though even softer than usual, had in it more com- mand over those who heard than when it rolled in thunder along the ranks of Barnet or of Bosworth: "Edward, my brother, remember Teuton, and forbear Warwick, my cousin, forget not thy King nor his dead father!" At these last words the Earl's face fell; for to that father he had sworn to succor and defend the sons: his sense recover- ing from his pride, showed him how much his intemperate an- ger had thrown away his advantages in the foul wrong he had sustained from Edward. Meanwhile the King himself, with flashing eyes, and a crest as high as Warwick's, was about, per- haps, to overthrow his throne, by the attempt to enforce his threat, when Anthony Woodville, who followed Clarence, whis- pered to him: "Beware, sire! a countless crowd, that seem to have followed the Earl's steps, have already pierced the chase, and can scarcely be kept from the spot, so great is their desire to behold him. Beware!" and Richard's quick ear catching these whispered words, the Duke suddenly backed them by again drawing aside the curtain of the tent. Along the sward, the guard of the King, summoned from their unseen but neigh- boring post within the wood, were drawn up as if to keep back an immense multitude men, women, children, who swayed, and rustled, and murmured in the rear. But no sooner was the cur- tain drawn aside, and the guards themselves caught sight of the royal princes, and the great Earl towering amidst them, than supposing, in their ignorance, the scene thus given to them was intended for. their gratification, from that old soldiery of Teuton rose a loud and long: "Hurrah Warwick and the King" "The King and the stout Earl." The multitude be- hind caught the cry ; they rushed forward, mingling with the soldiery, who no longer sought to keep them back. "A Warwick! a Warwick!" they shouted. "God bless the people's friend!" Edward, startled and aghast, drew sullenly into the rear of the tent. De la Roche grew pale, but with the promptness of a THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 237 practised statesman, he hastily advanced, and drew the curtain. "Shall varlets," he said to Richard, in French, "gloat over the quarrels of their lords?" "You are right, Sir Count," murmured Richard meekly; his purpose was effected, and leaning on his riding staff, he awaited what was to ensue. A softer shade had fallen over the Earl's face, at the proof of the love in which his name was held ; it almost seemed to his noble, though haughty and impatient nature, as if the affection of the people had reconciled him to the ingratitude of the King. A tear started to his proud eye, bujt he twinkled it away, and approaching Edward (who remained erect, and with all a sover- eign's wrath, though silent on his lip, lowering on his brow), he said, in a tone of suppressed emotion : "Sire, it is not for me to crave pardon of living man, but the grievous affront put upon my state and mine honor hath led my words to an excess which my heart repents. I grieve that your Grace's Highness hath chosen this alliance; hereafter you may find at need what faith is to be placed in Burgundy." "Darest thou gainsay it?" exclaimed De la Roche. "Interrupt me not, sir!" continued Warwick, with a disdain- ful gesture. "My liege, I lay down mine offices, and I leave it to your Grace to account as it lists you to the ambassadors of France I shall vindicate myself to their King. And now, ere I depart for my hall of Middleham, I alone here, unarmed and unattended, save, at least, by a single squire, I, Richard Nevile, say that if any man, peer or knight, can be found to execute your Grace's threat, and arrest me, I will obey yout royal pleasure, and attend him to the Tower." Haughtily he bowed his head as he spoke, and raising it again, gazed around: "I await your Grace's pleasure." "Begone where thou wilt, Earl. From this day Edward IV., reigns alone," said the King. Warwick turned. "My Lord Scales," said he, "lift the curtain; nay, sir, it misdemeans you not. You are still the son of the Woodville, I still the descendant of John of Gaunt." "Not for the dead ancestor, but for the living warrior, " said the Lord Scales, lifting the curtain, and bowing with knightly grace as the Earl passed. And scarcely was Warwick in the open space, than the crowd fairly broke through all restraint, and the clamor of their joy filled with its hateful thunders the royal tent. "Edward," said Richard whisperingly, and laying his finger 238 THE LAST OF THE DARONS. on his brother's arm "forgive me if I offended, but had you, at such a time, resolved on violence " "I see it all you were right. But is this to be endured for- ever?" "Sire," returned Richard, with his dark smile, "rest calm; for the age is your best ally, and the age is outgrowing the steel and hauberk. A little while, and " "And what " "And ah, sire, I will answer that question when our brother George (mark him !) either refrains from listening, or is married to Isabel Nevile, and hath quarrel with her father about the dowry. What, ho, there! let the jongleurs perform." "The jongleurs!" exclairried the King; "why, Richard, thou hast more levity than myself!" "Pardon me! Let the jongleurs perform, and bid the crowd stay. It is by laughing at the mountebanks that your Grace can best lead the people to forget their Warwick ! ' ' CHAPTER X. HOW THE GREAT LORDS COME TO THE KING-MAKER, AND WITH WHAT PROFFERS. MASTERING the emotions that swelled within him, Lord War- wick returned, with his wonted cheerful courtesy, the welcome of the crowd, and the enthusiastic salutations of the King's guard ; but as, at length, he mounted his steed, and attended but by the squire who had followed him from Dover, penetrated into the solitudes of the chase, the recollection of the indignity he had suffered smote his proud heart so sorely that he groaned aloud. His squire, fearing the fatigue he had undergone might have affected even that iron health, rode up at the sound of the groan, and Warwick's face was hueless as he said, with a forced smile: "It is nothing, Walter. But these heats are oppressive, and we have forgotten our morning draught, friend. Hark! I hear the brawl of a rivulet, and a drink of fresh water were more grateful now than the daintiest hippocras. " So saying, he flung himself from his steed ; following the sound of the rivulet, he gained its banks, and after quenching his thirst in the hollow of his hand, laid himself down upon the long grass, waving coolly over the margin, and fell into profound thought. From this revery he was roused by a quick footstep, and as he lifted his gloomy gaze, he beheld Marmaduke Nevile by his side. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 2$$ "Well, young man," said he sternly, "with what messages art thou charged?" "With none, my lord Earl. I await now no commands but thine." "Thou knowest not, poor youth, that I can serve thee no more. Go back to the court." "Oh, Warwick," said Marmaduke, with simple eloquence, "send me not from thy side! This day I have been rejected by the maid I loved. I loved her well, and my heart chafed sorely, and bled within; but now, methinks, it consoles me to have been so cast off to have no faith, no love, but that which is best of all, to a brave man love and faith for a hero-chief! Where thy fortunes, there be my humble fate to rise or fall with thee!" Warwick looked intently upon his young kinsman's face, and said, as to himself: "Why this is strange! I gave no throne to this man, and he deserts me not! My friend," he added, aloud, "have they told thee already that I am disgraced?" "I heard the Lord Scales say to the young Lovell that thou wert dismissed from all thine offices; and I came hither; for I will serve no more the King who forgets the arm and heart to which he owes a kingdom." "Man, I accept thy loyalty!" exclaimed Warwick, starting to his feet; "and know that thou hast done more to melt, and yet to nerve my spirit than but complaints in me are idle, and praise were no reward to thee." "But see, my lord, if the first to join thee, I am not the sole, one. See, brave Raoul de Fulke, the Lords of St. John, Ber- gavenny, and Fitzhugh, ay, and fifty others of the best blood of England, are on thy track." And as he spoke, plumes and tunics where seen gleaming up the forest path, and in another moment a troop of knights and gentlemen, comprising the flower of such of the ancient no- bility as yet lingered round the court, came up to Warwick, bareheaded. "Is it possible," cried Raoul de Fulke, "that we have heard aright, noble Earl? And has Edward IV. suffered the base Woodvilles to triumph over the bulwark of his realm?" "Knights and gentles!" said Warwick, with a bitter smile, "is it so uncommon a thing that men in peace should leave the battle-axe and brand to rust? I am but an useless weapon, to be suspended at rest amongst the trophies of Touton in my hall of Middleham." "Return with us," said the Lord of St. John, "and we will 240 "IK LAST OF THE BARONS. make Edward do thee justice, or, one and all, we will abandon a court where knaves and varlets have become mightier than English valor, and nobler than Norman birth." "My friends," said the Earl, laying his hand on St. John's shoulder, "not even in my just wrath will I wrong my King. He is punished eno* in the choice he hath made. Poor Edward and poor England ! What woes and wars await ye both, from the gold, and the craft, and the unsparing hate of Louis XI. ! No; if I leave Edward, he hath more need of you. Of mine own free will, I have resigned mine offices." "Warwick," interrupted Raoul de Fulke, "this deceives us not; and in disgrace to you, the ancient barons of England be- hold the first blow at their own state. We have wrongs we en- dured in silence, while thou Avert the shield and sword of yon merchant-king. We have seen the ancient peers of England set aside for men of yesterday; we have seen our daughters, sis- ters nay, our very mothers, if widowed and dowered forced into disreputable and base wedlock, with creatures dressed in titles, and gilded with wealth stolen from ourselves. Merchants and artificers tread upon our knightly heels, and the avarice of trade eats up our chivalry as a rust. We nobles, in our greater day, have had the crown at our disposal, and William the Nor- man dared not think what Edward Earl of March hath been permitted with impunity to do. We, Sir Earl we knights and barons would a King simple in his manhood, and princely in his truth. Richard Earl of Warwick, thou art of royal blood the descendant of old John of Gaunt. In thee we behold the true, the living likeness of the Third Edward, and the Hero- Prince of Cressy. Speak but the word, and we make thee King!" The descendant of the Norman, the representative of the mighty faction that no English monarch had ever braved in vain, looked round as he said these last words, and a choral murmur was heard through the whole of that august nobility: "We make thee King!" "Richard, descendant of the Plantagenet,* speak the word," repeated Raoul de Fulke. "I speak it not," interrupted Warwick; "nor shalt thou continue, brave Raoul de Fulke. What, my lords and gentle- men," he added, drawing himself up, and with his counte- nance animated with feelings it is scarcely possible in our times to sympathize with or make clear; "What! think you * By the female side, through Joan Beaufort, or Plantagenet, Warwick was thi.d in descent from John of Gaunt, as Henry VII., through the male tine, was/bwrM in descent. tHE LAST OF THE BARONS. 241 that Ambition limits itself to the narrow circlet of a Crown? Greater, and more in the spirit of our mighty fathers, is the condition of men like us, THE BARONS who make and un- make kings. What! who of us would not rather descend from the Chiefs of Runnymede than from the royal craven whom they controlled and chid? By Heaven, my lords, Rich- ard Nevile has too proud a soul to be a king! A king a puppet of state and form ! A king a holiday show for the crowd, to hiss or hurrah, as the humor seizes! A king a beggar to the nation, wrangling with his Parliament for gold ! A king! Richard II. was a king, and Lancaster dethroned him. Ye would debase me to a Henry of Lancaster. Mart Dieu! I thank ye. The Commons and the Lords raised him, forsooth for what? To hold him as the creature they had made, to rate him, to chafe him, to pry into his very house- hold, and quarrel with his wife's chamberlains and lavorers.* What ! dear Raoul de Fulke, is thy friend fallen now so low, that he Earl of Salisbury and of Warwick, chief of the three- fold race of Montagu, Monthermer, and Nevile, lord of a hun- dred baronies, leader of sixty thousand followers is not greater than Edward of March, to whom we will deign still, with your permission, to vouchsafe the name and pageant of a king?" This extraordinary address, strange to say, so thoroughly expressed the peculiar pride of the old barons, that when it ceased a sound of admiration and applause circled through that haughty audience, and Raoul de Fulke, kneeling suddenly, kissed the Earl's hand; "Oh, noble Earl," he said, "ever live as one of us, to maintain our Order, and teach kings and nations what we are." "Fear it not, Raoul ! fear it not we will have our rights yet. Return, I beseech ye. Let me feel I have such friends about the King. Even at Middleham, my eye shall watch over our common cause; and till seven feet of earth suffice him, your brother baron, Richard Nevile, is not a man \\{hpm kings and courts can forget, much less dishonor. Sirs, our honor is in our bosoms and there, is the only throne armies cannot shake, nor cozeners undermine." With these words he gently waved his hand, motioned to his squire, who stood out of hearing with the steeds, to approach, and mounting gravely, rode on. Ere he had got many paces, he called to Marmaduke, who was on foot, and bade him follow him to London that night. "I have strange tidings to tell * Laundresses. The Parliamentary Rolls in the reign of Henry IV. abound in curious specimens of the interference of the Commons with the household of Henry's wif^ Queen Joan. 24* THE LAST OF THE KARONS. the French envoys, and for England's sake I must soothe then anger if I can; then to Middleham." The nobles returned slowly to the pavilions. And as they gained the open space, where the gaudy tents still shone against the settling sun, they beheld the mob of that day whom Shak- speare hath painted with such contempt, gathering, laughing and loud, around the mountebank and the conjurer, who had already replaced in their thoughts (as Gloucester had foreseen) the hero-idol of their worship. BOOK V. THE LAST OF THE BARONS IN HIS FATHER'S HALLS. CHAPTER I. RURAL ENGLAND IN THE MIDDLE AGES NOBLE VISITORS SEEK THE CASTLE OF MIDDLEHAM. AUTUMN had succeeded to summer winter to autumn and the spring of 1468 was green in England, when a gallant caval- cade were seen slowly winding the ascent of a long and gradual hill, towards the decline of day. Different, indeed, from the aspect which that part of the country now presents was the landscape that lay around them, bathed in the smiles of the westering sun. In a valley to the left, a full view of which the steep road commanded (where now roars the din of trade through a thousand factories), lay a long secluded village. The houses, if so they might be called, were constructed en- tirely of wood, and that of the more perishable kind willow, sallow, elm, and plum tree. Not one could boast a chimney ; but the smok^from the single fire in each, after duly darken- ing the atmosphere within, sent its .surplusage, lazily and fit- fully, through a circular aperture in the roof. In fact, there was long in the provinces a prejudice against chimneys! The smoke was considered good both for house and owner; the first it was supposed to season, and the last to guard "from rheums, catarrhs, and poses." * Neither did one of these habi- * So worthy Hollinshed (Book ii., c. 22): "Then had we none but reredosses, and our heads did nerer ache. For as the smote, in those days, was supposed to be a sufficient hardening for the timber of the house, so it was reputed a far better medicine to keep the goodman and his familie from the quacke, or pose, wherewith as then very few were oft acquainted." THE LAST OP THE BARONS. 243 tations boast the comfort of a glazed .window, the substitute being lattice, or checker- work even in the house of the frank- lin, which rose statelily above the rest, encompassed with barns and outsheds. And yet greatly should we err, did we conceive that these deficiencies were an index to the general condition of the working-class. Far better off was the laborer, when employed, than now. Wages were enormously high, meat ex- tremely low ;* and our mother land bountifully maintained her children. On that greensward, before the village (now foul and reek- ing with the squalid population whom commerce rears up the victims, as the movers of the modern world) were assem- bled youth and age ; for it was a holiday evening, and the stern Puritan had not yet risen to sour the face of Mirth. Well clad in leathern jerkin, or even broadcloth, the young peasants vied with each other in quoits, and wrestling ; while the merry laughter of the girls, in their gay-colored kirtles, and ribboned hair, rose oft and cheerily to the ears of the caval- cade. From a gentle eminence beyond the village, and half- veiled by trees, on which the first verdure of spring was bud- ding (where now, around the gin-shop, gather the fierce and sickly children of toil and of discontent), rose the venerable walls of a monastery, and the chime of its heavy bell swung far and sweet over the pastoral landscape. To the right of the road (where now stands the sober meeting-house) was one of those small shrines, so frequent in Italy, with an image of the Virgin gaudily painted, and before it each cavalier in the pro- cession halted an instant to cross himself, and mutter an ave. Beyond still, to the right, extended vast chains of woodland, interspersed with strips of pasture, upon which numerous flocks were grazing, with horses, as yet unbroken to bit and selle, that neighed and snorted as they caught scent of their more civilized brethren pacing up the road. In front of the cavalcade rode two, evidently of superior rank to the rest. The one small and slight, with his long hair flowing over his shoulders ; and the other, though still young, many years older; and indicating his clerical profession by the absence of all love-locks, compensated by a curled and glossy beard, trimmed with the greatest care. But the dress of the ecclesiastic was as little according to our modern notions of what beseems the Church as can well be conceived : his tunic * See Hallam's " Middle Ages," chap, xx.. Part ii. So also Hollinshed, Book xi.. >o well as the King I 244 fHE LAST OF THE BARONS. and surcoat, of a rich' amber, contrasted well with the clear darkness of his complexion ; his piked shoes, or beakers, as they were called, turned up half-way to the knee ; the buckles of his dress were of gold, inlaid with gems; and the hous- ings of his horse, which was of great power, were edged with gold fringe. By the side of his steed walked a tall greyhound, upon which he ever and anon glanced with affection. Behind these rode two gentlemen, whose golden spurs announced knighthood ; and then followed a long train of squires and pages, richly clad and accoutred, bearing generally the Nevile badge of the bull; though interspersed amongst the retinue might be seen the grim boar's head, which Richard of Glou- cester, in right of his duchy, had assumed as his cognizance. "Nay, sweet Prince," said the ecclesiastic, "I pray thee to consider that a greyhound is far more of a gentleman than any other of the canine species. Mark his stately, yet delicate, length of limb, his sleek coat, his keen eye, his haughty neck." "These are but the externals, my noble friend. Will the greyhound attack the lion, as our mastiff doth? The true char- acter of the gentleman is to know no fear, and to rush through all danger at the throat of his foe ; wherefore I uphold the dig- nity of the mastiff above all his tribe, though others have a daintier hide, and a statelier crest. Enough of such matters, Archbishop we are nearing Middleham." "The Saints be praised! for I am hungered," observed the Archbishop piously; "but, sooth to say, my cook at the More far excelleth what we can hope to find at the board of my brother. He hath some faults, our Warwick! Hasty and careless, he hath not thought eno" of the blessings he might enjoy, and many a poor abbot hath daintier fare on his hum- ble table." "Oh, George Nevile, who that heard thee, when thou talkest of hounds and interments,* would recognize the Lord Chancel- lor of England the most learned dignitary, the most subtle statesman?" "And oh, Richard Plantagenet, " retorted the Archbishop, dropping the mincing and affected tone, which he in common with the coxcombs of that day, usually assumed, "who that heard thee, when thou talkest of humility and devotion, would recognize the sternest heart and the most daring ambition God ever gave to prince?" Richard started at these words, and" his eye shot fire as it met the keen, calm gaze of the prelate. * Interments, entremets (side dishes). THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 245 "Nay, your Grace wrongs me," he said, gnawing his lip "or I should not say wrongs, but flatters; for sternness and ambition are no vices in a Nevile's eyes." "Fairly answered, royal son," said the Archbishop, laugh- ing; "but let us be frank. Thou hast persuaded me to accom- pany thee to Lord Warwick as a mediator : the provinces in the north are disturbed ; the intrigues of Margaret of Anjou are restless; the King reaps what he has sown in the Court of France, and, as Warwick foretold, the emissaries and gold of Louis are ever at work against his throne : the great barons are moody and discontented ; and our liege King Edward is at last aware that, if the Earl of Warwick do not return to his councils, the first blast of a hostile trumpet may drive him from his throne. Well, I attend thee : my fortunes are woven with those of York, and my interest and my loyalty go hand in hand. Be equally frank with me. Hast thou, Lord Richard, no interest to serve in this mission save that of the public weal?" "Thou forgettest that the Lady Isabel is dearly loved by Clarence, and that I would fain see removed all barrier to his nuptial bliss. But yonder rise the towers of Middleham. Be- loved walls, which sheltered my childhood! and, by holy Paul, a noble pile, which would resist an army, or hold one." While thus conversed the Prince and the Archbishop, the Earl of Warwick, musing and alone, slowly paced the lofty terrace that crested the battlements of his outer fortifications. In vain had that restless and powerful spirit sought content in retirement. Trained from his chidhood to active life to move mankind to and fro at his beck this single and sudden interval of repose in the prime of his existence, at the height of his fame, served but to swell the turbulent and dangerous passions to which all vent was forbidden. The statesman of modern days has at least food for intellect, in letters, when deprived of action ; but with all his talents, and thoroughly cultivated as his mind was in camp, the council, and the state, the great Earl cared for nothing in book-lore, except some rude ballad that told of Charlemagne or Rollo. The sports that had pleased the leisure of his earlier youth were tedious and flat to one snatched from so mighty a career. His hound lay idle at his feet, his falcon took holiday on the perch, his jester was banished to the page's table. Behold the repose of this great unlettered spirit ! But while his mind was thus debarred from its native sphere, all tended to pamper Lord Warwick's infirmity of pride. The ungrateful Edward 246 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. might forget him ; but the King seemed to stand alone in that oblivion. The mightiest peers, the most renowned knights gathered to his hall. Middleham, not Windsor, nor Shene, nor Westminster, nor the Tower, seemed the COURT OF ENG- LAND. As the Last of the Barons paced his terrace, far as his eye could reach his broad domains extended, studded with villages, and towns, and castles, swarming with his retainers. The whole country seemed in mourning for his absence. The name of Warwick was in all men's mouths, and not a group gathered in market-place or hostel, but what the minstrel who had some ballad in praise of the stout Earl found a rapt and thrilling audience. "And is the river of my life," muttered Warwick, "shrunk into this stagnant pool! Happy the man who hath never known what it is to taste of Fame to have it is a purgatory, to want it is a hell!" Wrapped in this gloomy self-commune, he heard not the light step that sought his side, till a tender arm was thrown round him, and a face, in which a sweet temper and pure thought had preserved to matronly beauty all the bloom of youth, looked up smilingly to his own. "My Lord my Richard," said the Countess, "why didst thou steal so churlishly from me? Hath there, alas, come a time when thou deemest me unworthy to share thy thoughts, or soothe thy troubles?" "Fond one, no!" said Warwick, drawing the form still light, though rounded, nearer to his bosom. "For nineteen years hast thou been to me a leal and loving wife. Thou wert a child on our wedding-day, m'amie, and I a beardless youth ; yet wise enough was I then to see, at the first glance of thy blue eye, that there was more treasure in thy heart than in all the lordships thy hand bestowed." "My Richard!" murmured the Countess, and her tears of grateful delight fell on the hand she kissed. "Yes, let us recall those early and sweet days, " continued Warwick, with a tenderness of voice and manner that strangers might have marvelled at, forgetting how tenderness is almost ever a part of such peculiar manliness of character "yes, sit we here under this spacious elm, and think that our youth has come back to us once more. For verily, m'atnie, nothing in life has ever been so fair to me, as those days when we stood hand in hand on its threshold, and talked, boy-bridegroom and ' nild-bride as we were, of the morrow that lay beyond." "Ah, Richard, even in those days thy ambition sometimes THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 247 vexed my woman vanity, and showed me that I could never be all in all to so large a heart!" "Ambition! No, thou mistakest Montagu is ambitious, I but proud. Montagu ever seeks to be higher than he is, I but assert the right to be what I am and have been ; and my pride, sweet wife, is a part of my love for thee. It is thy title, Heir- ess of Warwick, and not my father's, that I bear; thy badge, and not the Nevile's, which I have made the symbol of my power. Shame, indeed, on my knighthood, if the fairest dame in England could not justify my pride! Ah, belle amie, why have we not a son?" "Peradventure, fair lord," said the Countess, with an arch, yet half-melancholy smile, "because that pride or ambition, name it as thou wilt, which thou excusest so gallantly, would become too insatiate and limitless, if thou sawest a male heir to thy greatness ; and God, perhaps, warns thee that, spread and increase as thou wilt, yea, until half our native country becometh as the manor of one man, all must pass from the Beauchamp and the Nevile into new houses; thy glory, indeed, an eternal heirloom, but only to thy land thy lordships and thy wealth melting into the dowry of a daughter." "At least, no king hath daughters so downed," answered Warwick; "and though I disdain for myself the hard vas- salage of a throne, yet, if the channel of our blood must pass into other streams into nothing meaner than the veins of royalty should it merge." He paused a moment, and added, with a sigh: "Would that Clarence were more worthy Isabel ! " "Nay," said the Countess gently, "he loveth her as she merits. He is comely, brave, gracious, and learned." "A pest upon that learning it sicklies and womanizes men's minds!" exclaimed Warwick bluntly. "Perhaps it is his learning that I am to thank for George of Clarence's fears, and doubts, and calculations, and scruples. His brother forbids his marriage with any English donzell, for Edward dares not specialize what alone he dreads. His letters burn with love, and his actions freeze with doubts. It was not thus I loved thee, sweetheart. By all the saints in the calendar, had Henry V., or the Lion Richard started from the tomb to forbid me thy hand, it would but have made me a hotter lover! How- beit Clarence shall decide ere the moon wanes, and but for Isabel's tears and thy entreaties, my father's grandchild should not have waited thus long the coming of so hesitating a wooer. But lo, our darlings! Anne hath thine eyes, m'amie; and she 24$ THE LAST OF THE BARONS. groweth more into my heart every day, since daily she more favors thee." While he thus spoke, the fair sisters came lightly and gayly up the terrace: the arm of the statelier Isabel was twined round Anne's slender waist ; and as they came forward in that gentle link, with their lithesome and bounding step, a happier blend- ing of contrasted beauty was never seen. The months that had passed since the sisters were presented first to the reader had little changed the superb and radiant loveliness of Isabel, but had added surprisingly to the attractions of Anne. Her form was more rounded, her bloom more ripened, and though something of timidity and bashfulness still lingered about the grace of her movements and the glance of her dove-like eye, the more earnest thoughts of the awakening woman gave sweet intelligence to her countenance, and that divinest of all attrac- tions, the touching and conscious modesty to the shy, but tender smile, and the blush that so came and went, so went and came, that it stirred the heart with a sort of delighted pity for one so evidently susceptible to every emotion of pleasure and of pain. Life seemed too rough a thing for so soft a nature, and, gazing on her, one sighed to guess her future. "And what brings ye hither, young truants?" said the Earl, as Anne, leaving her sister, clung lovingly to his side (for it was ever her habit to cling to some one) while Isabel kissed her mother's hand, and then stood before her parents, coloring deeply, and with downcast eyes. "What brings ye hither, whom I left so lately deep engaged in the loom, upon the hel- met of Goliath, with my burgonot before you as a sample? Wife, you are to blame our room of state will be arrasless for the next three generations, if these rosy fingers are suffered thus to play the idlers." "My father," whispered Anne, "guests are on their way hither a noble cavalcade ; you note them not from this part of the battlements, but from our turret it was fair to see how their plumes and banners shone in the setting sun." "Guests!" echoed the Earl; "well, is that so rare an honor, that your hearts should beat like village girls at a holi- day? Ah, Isabel! look at her blushes. Is it George of Clar- ence at last? Is it?" "We see the Duke of Gloucester's cognizance," whispered Anne, "and our own Nevile Bull. Perchance our cousin George, also, may " Here she was interrupted by the sound of the warder's horn, THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 249 followed a moment after by the roar of one of the bombards on the keep. "At least," said Warwick, his face lighting up, "that sig- nal announces the coming of king's blood. We must honor it for it is our own. We will go forth and meet our guests your hand, Countess." And gravely and silently, and in deep, but no longer gloomy, thought, Warwick descended from the terrace, followed by the fair sisters ; and who that could have looked upon that princely pair, and those lovely and radiant children could have fore- seen that, in that hour, Fate, in tempting the Earl once more to action, was busy on their doom! CHAPTER II. COUNCILS AND MUSINGS. THE lamp shone through the lattice of Warwick's chamber at the unwonted hour of midnight, and the Earl was still in deep commune with his guests. The Archbishop, whom Ed- ward, alarmed by the state of the country, and the disaffection of his barons, had reluctantly commissioned to mediate with Warwick, was, as we have before said, one of those men pecu- liar to the early Church. There was nothing more in the title of Archbishop of York than in that of the Bishop of Osnaburg (borne by the royal son of George III.*), to prevent him who enjoyed it from leading armies, guiding states, or indulging pleasure. But beneath the coxcombry of George Nevile, which was what he shared most in common with the courtiers of the laity, there lurked a true ecclesiastic's mind. He would have made, in later times, an admirable Jesuit, and no doubt, in his own time, a very brilliant pope. His objects in his present mission were clear and perspicuous ; any breach be- tween Warwick and the King must necessarily weaken his own position, and the power of his house was essential to all his views. The object of Gloucester in his intercession was less denned, but not less personal: in smoothing the way to his brother's marriage with Isabel, he removed all apparent obsta- cles to his own with Anne. And it is probable that Richard, who, whatever his crimes, was far from inaccessible to affec- tion, might have really loved his early playmate, even while his ambition calculated the wealth of the baronies that would swell * The late Duke of York. 250 ' 1-AST OF THE BARONS. the dower of the heiress and gild the barren coronet of his duchy.* "God's truth!" said Warwick, as he lifted his eyes from the scroll in the King's writing, "ye know well, princely cous- in, and thou, my brother, ye know well how dearly I have loved King Edward ; and the mother's milk overflows my heart when I read these gentle and tender words, which he deigns to bestow upon his servant. My blood is hasty and over-hot, but a kind thought from those I love puts out much fire. Sith he thus beseeches me to return to his councils, I will not be sullen enough to hold back; but, oh, Prince Rich- ard, is it indeed a matter past all consideration that your sis- ter, the Lady Margaret, must wed with the Duke of Bur- gundy?" "Warwick," replied the Prince, "thou mayst know that I never looked with favor on that alliance ; that when Clarence bore the Bastard's helmet, I withheld my countenance from the Bastard's presence. I incurred Edward's anger by refus- ing to attend his court while the Count de la Roche was his guest. And therefore you may trust me when I say now that Edward, after promises, however rash, most solemn and bind- ing, is dishonored forever if he break off the contract. New cir- cumstances, too, have arisen, to make what were dishonor, dan- ger also. By the death of his father, Charolois has succeeded to the Duke of Burgundy's diadem. Thou knowest his warlike temper, and though in a contest popular in England we need fear no foe, yet thou knowest that no subsidies could be raised for strife with our most profitable commercial ally. Where- fore, we earnestly implore thee magnanimously to forgive the past, accept Edward's assurance of repentance, and be thy thought as it has been ever the weal of our common country." "I may add, also," said the archbishop, observing how much Warwick was touched and softened, "that in returning to the helm of state, our gracious King permits me to say that, save only in the alliance with Burgundy, which toucheth his plighted word, you have full liberty to name conditions, and to ask whatever grace or power a monarch can bestow." "I name none but my Prince's confidence," said Warwick generously, "in that, all else is given, and in return for that, I will make the greatest sacrifice that my nature knoweth, or can conceive I will mortify my familiar demon I will subdue my * Majetus, the Flemish Chronicler, quoted by Bucke (Life of Richard III.), mentions the early attachment of Richard to Anne. They were much together, as children, at Mid* dlcham. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 2$! PRIDE. If Edward can convince me that it is for the good of England that his sister should wed with mine ancient and bit- ter foe, I will myself do honor to his choice. But of this here- after. Enough, now, that I forget past wrongs in present favor; and that, for peace or war, I return to the side of that man whom I loved as my son, before I served him as my king." Neither Richard nor the Archbishop was prepared for a con- ciliation so facile, for neither quite understood that peculiar magnanimity which often belongs to a vehement and hasty temper, and which is as eager to forgive as prompt to take offence; which, even in extremes, is not contented with any- thing short of fiery aggression, or trustful generosity; and where it once passes over an offence, seeks to oblige the offender. So, when, after some further conversation on the state of the country, the Earl lighted Gloucester to his chamber, the young Prince said to himself, musingly : "Does ambition besot and blind men? Or can Warwick think that Edward can ever view him but as one to be destroyed when the hour is ripe?" Catesby, who was the Duke's chamberlain, was in atten- dance, as the Prince unrobed. "A noble castle this," said the Duke, "and one in the midst of a warlike population our own countrymen of York." "It would be no mean addition to the dowry of the Lady Isabel," said Catesby, with his bland, false smile. "Methinks rather that the lordships of Salisbury (and this is the chief) pass to the Lady Anne," said Richard musingly. "No, Edward were imprudent to suffer this stronghold to fall to the next heir to his throne. Marked you the Lady Anne her beauty is most excellent." "Truly, your Highness," answered Catesby unsuspiciously, "the Lady Isabel seems to me the taller and the statelier." ' 'When man's merit and woman's beauty are measured by the ell, Catesby, Anne will certainly be less fair than Isabel, and Richard a dolt compared to Clarence. Open the casement my dressing robe good-night to you!" CHAPTER III. THE SISTERS. THE next morning, at an hour when modern beauty falls into its first sickly sleep, Isabel and Anne conversed on the same terrace, and near the same spot which had witnessed their 52 THE LAST OK THE BARONS. father's meditations the day before. They were seated on a rude bench in an angle of the wall, flanked by a low, heavy bastion. And from the parapet their gaze might have wan- dered over a goodly sight, for on a broad space, covered with sand and sawdust, within the vast limits of the castle range, the numerous knights, and youths who sought apprenticeship in arms and gallantry under the Earl, were engaged in those mar- tial sports which, falling elsewhere into disuse, the Last of the Barons kinglily maintained. There, boys of fourteen, on their small horses, ran against each other with blunted lances. There, those of more advanced adolescence, each following the other in a circle, rode at the ring; sometimes (at the word of command from an old knight who had fought at Agincourt, and was the preceptor in these valiant studies) leaping from their horses at full speed, and again vaulting into the saddle. A few grim old warriors sate by to censure or applaud. Most skilled among the younger was the son of the Lord Montagu, among the maturer the name of Marmaduke Nevile was the most often shouted. If the eye turned to the left, through the Barbican might be seen flocks of beeves entering to supply the mighty larder ; and at a smaller postern, a dark crowd of men- dicant friars and the more destitute poor waited for their daily crumbs from the rich man's table. What need of a poor law then ? the baron and the abbot made the parish ! But not on these evidences of wealth and state turned the eyes so famil- iar to them, that they woke no vanity, and roused no pride. With downcast looks and a pouting lip, Isabel listened to the silver voice of Anne. "Dear sister, be just to Clarence. He cannot openly defy his king and brother. Believe that he would have accompa- nied our uncle and cousin had he not deemed that their media- tion would be more welcome, at least to King Edward, with- out his presence." "But not a letter not a line!" "Yet when I think of it, Isabel, are we sure that he even knew of the visit of the Archbishop and his brother?" "How could he fail to know?" "The Duke of Gloucester, last evening, told me that the King had sent him southward." "Was it about Clarence that the Duke whispered to thee so softly by the oriel window?" "Surely, yes!" said Anne simply. "Was not Richard as a brother to us when we played as children on yon green- sward?" THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 255 "Never as a brother to me never was Richard of Glouces- ter one whom I could think of without fear, and even loathing," answered Isabel quickly. It was at this turn in the conversation that the noiseless step of Richard himself neared the spot, and hearing his own name thus discourteously treated, he paused, screened from their eyes by the bastion, in the angle. "Nay, nay, sister," said Anne; "what is there in Richard that misbeseems his princely birth?" "I know not, but there is no youth in his eye and in his heart. Even as a child he had the hard will and the cold craft of gray hairs. Pray St. Mary you give me not Gloucester for a brother! " Anne sighed and smiled; "Ah no," she said, after a short pause "when thou art Princess of Clarence, may I " "May thou, what?" "Pray for thee and thine in the house of God! Ah! thou knowest not, sweet Isabel, how often at morn and eve mine eyes and heart turn to the spires of yonder convent!" She rose as she said this, her lip quivered, and she moved on in the opposite direction to that in which Richard stood, still unseen, and no longer within his hearing. Isabel rose also, and hast- ening after her, threw her arms round Anne's neck, and kissed away the tears that stood in those meek eyes. "My sister my Anne! Ah! trust in me, thou hast some secret, I know it well I have long seen it. Is it possible that thou canst have placed thy heart, thy pure love thou blush- est ! Ah ! Anne, Anne ! thou canst not have loved beneath thee." "Nay," said Anne, with a spark of her ancestral fire lighting her meek eyes through its tears, "not beneath me, but above. What do I say ! Isabel, ask me no more. Enough mat it is a folly a dream and that I could smile with pity at myself, to think from what light causes love and grief can spring." "Above thee!" repeated Isabel, in amaze; "And who in England is above the daughter of Earl Warwick? Not Rich- ard of Gloucester? If so, pardon my foolish tongue." "No, not Richard though I feel kindly towards him, and his sweet voice soothes me when I listen not Richard. Ask no more." "Oh, Anne speak speak! we are not both so wretched. Thou lovest not Clarence? It is it must be!" "Canst thou think me so false and treacherous a heart pledged to thee? Clarence! Oh no!" ^54 Tllli LA ST OF THE UARONS. "But who then who then?" said Isabel, still suspiciously; "Nay, if thou wilt not speak, blame thyself if I must still wrong thee." Thus appealed to, and wounded to the quick by Isabel's tone and eye, Anne at last, with a strong effort, suppressed her tears, and, taking her sister's hand, said in a voice of touching solemnity: "Promise, then, that the secret shall be ever holy ; and, since I know that it will move thine anger perhaps thy scorn strive to forget what I will confess to thee." Isabel for answer pressed her lips on the hand she held ; and the sisters, turning under the shadow of a long row of vener- able oaks, placed themselves on a little mound, fragrant with the violets of spring. A different part of the landscape beyond was now brought in view: calmly slept in the valley the roofs of the subject town of Middleham ; calmly flowed through the pastures the noiseless waves of Ure. Leaning on Isabel's bosom, Anne thus spake: "Call to mind, sweet sister, that short breathing-time in the horrors of the Civil War, when a brief peace was made between our father and Queen Margaret. We were left in the palace mere children that we were to play with the young Prince, and the children in Margaret's train." "I remember." "And I was unwell, and timid, and kept aloof from the sports with a girl of my own years, whom I think see how faithful my memory! they called Sibyll; and Prince Edward, Henry's son, stealing from the rest, sought me out ; and we sate together, or walked together alone, apart from all, that day and the few days we were his mother's guests. Oh! if you could have seen him and heard him then so beautiful, so gen- tle, so wise beyond his years, and yet so sweetly sad; and when we parted, he bade me ever love him, and placed his ring on my finger, and wept as we kissed each other, as children will." "Children! Ye were infants !" exclaimed Isabel, whose won- der seemed increased by this simple tale. "Infant though I was, I felt as if my heart would break when I left him; and then the wars ensued; and do you not remember how ill I was, and like to die, when our house tri- umphed, and the prince and heir of Lancaster was driven into friendless exile? From that hour my fate was fixed. Smile if you please at such infant folly, but children often feel more deeply than later years can weet of." "My sister, this is indeed a wilful invention of sorrow for thine own scourge. Why, ere this, believe me, the Boy-Prince bath forgotten thy very name," THE LAST OF THE BAROXS. 255 'Not so, Isabel," said Anne, coloring, and quickly, "and perchance, did all rest here, I might have outgrown my weakness. But last year, when we were at Rouen with my father ' ' "Well?" "One evening, on entering my chamber, I found a packet low left I know not, but the French King and his suite, thou rememberest, made our house almost their home and in this Dacket was a picture, and on its back these words : 'Forget not 'he exile, who remembers thee ' /' ' "And that picture was Prince Edward's?" Anne blushed, and her bosom heaved beneath the slender md high-laced gorget. After a pause, looking round her, she Irew forth a small miniature, which lay on the heart that beat :hus sadly, and placed it in her sister's hands. "You see I deceive you not, Isabel. And is not this a fair excuse for " She stopped short, her modest nature shrinking from com- nent upon the mere beauty that might have won the heart. And fair indeed was the face upon which Isabel gazed admir- ngly, in spite of the stiff and rude art of the limner; full of the ire and energy which characterized the countenance of the nother, but with a tinge of the same profound and inexpres- sible melancholy that gave its charm to the pensive features of Henry VI. a face, indeed, to fascinate a young eye, even if lot associated with such remembrances of romance and pity. Without saying a word, Isabel gave back the picture, but ;he pressed the hand that took it, and Anne was contented to nterpret the silence into sympathy. "And now you know why I have so often incurred you! inger by compassion for the adherents of Lancaster ; and foi :his, also, Richard of Gloucester hath been endeared to me; :or fierce and stern as he may be called, he hath ever been jentle in his mediation for that unhappy House." "Because it is his policy to be well with all parties. My Door Anne, I cannot bid you hope ; and yet, should I ever wed vith Clarence, it may be possible that that but you in turn vill chide me for ambition." "How.-'" "Clarence is heir to the throne of England, for King Edward las no male children ; and the hour may arrive when the son jf Henry of Windsor may return to his native land, not as sovereign, but as Duke of Lancaster, and thy hand may regon.* ;ile him to the loss of a crown." 256 THE LAST OK THE BARONS. "Would love reconcile thee to such a loss, proud Isabel?" said Anne, shaking her head and smiling mournfully. "No," answered Isabel emphatically. "And are men less haught than we?" said Anne. "Ah! I know not if I could love him so well could he resign his rights, or even could he regain them. It is his position that gives him a holiness in my eyes. And this love, that must be hopeless, is half-pity and half- respect." At this moment a loud shout arose from the youths in the yard, or sporting ground, below, and the sisters, startled, and looking up, saw that the sound was occasioned by the sight of the young Duke of Gloucester, who was standing on the para- pet near the bench the demoiselles had quitted, and who ac- knowledged the greeting by a wave of his plumed cap and a lowly bend of his head ; at the same time the figures of War- wick and the Archbishop, seemingly in earnest conversation, appeared at the end of the terrace. The sisters rose hastily, and would have stolen away, but the Archbishop caught a glimpse of their robes, and called aloud to them. The reverent obedience, at that day, of youth to relations, left the sisters no option but to advance towards their uncle, which they did with demure reluctance. "Fair brother," said the Archbishop, "I would that Glou- cester were to have my stately niece instead of the gaudy Clar- ence." "Wherefore?" "Because he can protect those he loves, and Clarence will ever need a protector." "I like George not the less for that," said Warwick, "for I would not have my son-in-law my master." "Master!" echoed the Archbishop, laughing; "The sol- dan of Babylon himself, were he your son in-law, would find Lord Warwick a tolerably stubborn servant!" "And yet," said Warwick, also laughing, but with a franker tone, "beshrew me, but much as I approve young Gloucester, and deem him the hope of the House of York, I never feel sure, when we are of the same mind, whether I agree with him, or whether he leadeth me. Ah, George ! Isabel should have wed- ded the King, and then Edward and I would have had a sweet mediator in all our quarrels. But not so hath it been decreed." There was a pause. "Note how Gloucester steals to the side of Anne. Thou mayest have him for a son-in-law, though no rival to Clarence. Montagu hath hinted that the Duke so aspires." THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 257 "He has his father's face well," said the Earl softly. " But yet, " he added, in an altered and reflective tone, "the boy is to me a riddle. That he will be bold in battle and wise in council I foresee; but would he had more of a young man's honest follies! There is a medium between Edward's wanton- ness and Richard's sanctimony; and he who in the heyday of youth's blood scowls alike upon sparkling wine and smiling woman, may hide in his heart darker and more sinful fancies. But fie on me. I will not wrongfully mistrust his father's son. Thou spokest of Montagu ; he seems to have been mighty cold to his brother's wrongs ever at the court ever sleek with Villein and Woodville. " "But the better to watch thy interests I so counselled him." ' 'A priest's counsel ! Hate frankly or love freely is a knight's and soldier's motto. A murrain on all double-dealing!" The Archbishop shrugged his shoulders, and applied to his nostril a small pouncet-box of dainty essences. "Come hither, my haughty Isabel," said the prelate, as the demoiselles now drew near. He placed his niece's arm within his own, and took her aside to talk of Clarence. Richard re- mained with Anne, and the young cousins were joined by War- wick. The Earl noted in silence the soft address of the elo- quent Prince, and his evident desire to please Anne. And strange as it may seem, although he had hitherto regarded Richard with admiration and affection, and although his pride ror both daughters coveted alliances not less than royal, yet, in contemplating Gloucester for the first time as a probable suitor to his daughter (and his favorite daughter), the anxiety of a t'ather sharpened his penetration, and placed the character of Richard before him in a different point from that in which he had hitherto looked only on the fearless heart and accomplished wit of his royal godson. CHAPTER IV. THE DESTRIER. IT was three days afterwards that the Earl, as according to custom Anne knelt to him for his morning blessing in the ora- tory, where the Christian baron at matins and vespers offered up his simple worship, drew her forth into the air, and said abruptly: "Wouldst thou be happy if Richard of Gloucester were thy betrothed?" 25** TH E LAST OF THE BARONS. Anne started, and with more vivacity than usually belonged to her, exclaimed: "Oh, no, my father!" "This is no maiden's silly coyness, Anne? It is a plain yea or nay that I ask from thee!" "Nay, then," answered Anne, encouraged by her father's tone "nay, if it so please you." "It doth please me," said the Earl shortly; and after a pause, .he added: "Yes, I am well pleased. Richard gives promise of an illustrious manhood; but Anne, thou growest so like thy mother, that, whenever my pride seeks to see thee great, my heart steps in, and only prays that it may see thee happy! so much so, that I would not have given thee to Clar- ence, whom it likes me well to view as Isabel's betrothed, for, to her, greatness and bliss are one ; and she is of firm nature, andean rule in her own house; but thou where out of ro- maunt can I find a lord loving enough for thee, soft child?" Inexpressibly affected, Anne threw herself on her father's breast and wept. He caressed,. and soothed her fondly: and, before her emotion was well over, Gloucester and Isabel joined them. "My fair cousin," said the Duke, "hath promised to show me thy renowned steed, Saladin; and since, on quitting thy halls, I go to my apprenticeship in war on the turbulent Scot- tish frontier, I would fain ask thee for 'a destrier of the same race as that which bears the thunderbolt of Warwick's wrath through the storm of battle." "A steed of the race of Saladin," answered the Earl, leading the way to the destrier's stall, apart from all other horses, and rather a chamber of the castle than a stable, "were indeed a boon worthy a soldier's gift and a prince's asking. But, alas! Saladin, like myself, is sonless the last of a long line." "His father, methinks, fell for us on the field of Touton. Was it not so? I have heard Edward say, that when the archers gave way, and the victory more than wavered, thou, dismounting, didst slay thy steed with thine own hand, and kissing the cross of thy sword, swore, on that spot, to stem the rush of the foe, and win Edward's crown or Warwick's grave."* "It was so; and the shout of my merry men, when they saw me amongst their ranks on foot all flight forbid was Malech's death-dirge ! It is a wondrous race that of Malech and his son 1 " Every Palm Sunday, the day on which the Battle of Touton was fought, a rough figure, called the Red Horse, on the side of a hill in Warwickshire, is scoured out. This is suggested to be done in commemoration of the horse which the Earl of Warwick slew on that day determined to vanquish or die." Roberts's "York and Lancaster." vol. i,. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 259 Saladin (continued the Earl, smiling). When my ancestor, Aymerde Nevile, led his troops to the Holy Land, under Cceur de Lion, it was his fate to capture a lady beloved by the mighty Saladin. Need I say that Aymer, under a flag of truce, escorted her ransomless, her veil never raised from her face, to the tent of the Saracen King. Saladin, too gracious for an infidel, made him tarry awhile, an honored guest ; and Aymer's chivalry be- came sorely tried, for the lady he had delivered loved and tempted him ; but the good knight prayed and fasted, and de- fied Satan and all his works.. The lady (so runs the legend) grew wroth at the pious crusader's disdainful coldness; and when Aymer returned to his comrades, she sent, amidst the gifts of the Soldan, two coal-black steeds, male and mare, over which some foul and weird spells had been duly muttered. Their beauty, speed, art, and fierceness were a marvel. And Aymer, unsuspecting, prized the boon, and selected the male destrier for his war-horse. Great were the feats, in many a field, which my forefather wrought, bestriding his black charger. But one fatal day on which The" *dden war-trump made him forget his morning ave, the beast had power over the Christian, and bore him, against bit and spur, into the thickest of the foe. He did all a knight can do against many (pardon his descen- dant's vaunting so^ runs the tale) and the Christians for a while beheld him solitary in the melee, mowing down moon and turban. Then the crowd closed, and the good knight was lost to sight. "To the rescue!" cried bold King Richard, and on rushed the crusaders to Aymer's help; when lo! and sud- denly, the ranks severed, and the black steed emerged ! Aymer still on the selle, but motionless, and his helm battered and plumeless, his brand broken, his arm drooping. On came man and horse, on charging on, not against Infidel, but Christian. On dashed the steed, I say, with fire bursting from eyes and nostrils, and the pike of his chaffron bent lance-like against the crusaders' van. The foul fiend seemed in the destrier's rage and puissance. He bore right against Richard's standard-bearer, and down went the lion and the cross. He charged the King himself ; and Richard, unwilling to harm his own dear soldier Aymer, halted wondering, till the pike of the destrier pierced his own charger through the barding, and the King lay rolling in the dust. A panic seized the cross-men : they fled the Saracens pursued and still with the Saracens came the black steed and the powerless rider. At last, when the crusaders reached the camp, and the flight ceased, there, halted also Ay- mer. Not a man dared near him. He spoke not none spoke 260 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. to him till a holy priest and palmer approached and sprinkled the L'.OOI! knight and the black barb with holy water, and exor- cised both the spell broke, and Aymer dropped to the earth. They unbraced his helm he was cold and stark. The fierce steed had but borne a dead man." "Holy Paul!" cried Gloucester, with seeming sanctimony, though a covert sneer played round the firm beauty of his pale lips "a notable tale, and one that proveth much of Sacred Truth, now lightly heeded. But, verily, Lord Earl, I should have little -loved a steed with such a pedigree!" "Hear the rest, " said Isabel "King Richard ordered the destrier to be slain forthwith ; but the holy palmer who had exorcised it forbade the sacrifice. 'Mighty shall be the ser- vice,' said the reverend man, 'which the posterity of this steed shall render to thy royal race, and great glory shall they give to the sons of Nevile. Let the war-horse, now duly exorcised from infidel spells, live long to bear a Christian warrior!" "And so," quoth the Earl, taking up the tale "so mare and horse were brought by Aymer's squires to his English hall; and Aymer's son, Sir Reginald, bore the cross, and bestrode the fatal steed, without fear and without scathe. From that hour the House of Nevile rose amain, in fame and in puissance, and the legend further saith, that the same palmer encountered Sir Reginald at Joppa, bade him treasure that race of war steeds as his dearest heritage, for with that race his own should flourish and depart; and the sole one of the infidel's spells which could not be broken was that which united the gift generation after generation, for weal or for woe, for honor or for doom to the fate of Aymer and his house. 'And,' added the palmer, 'as with woman's love and woman's craft was woven the indissoluble charm, so shall woman, whether in craft or in love, ever shape the fortunes of thee and thine.' " "As yet," said the Prince, "the prophecy is fulfilled in a golden sense, for nearly all thy wide baronies, I trow, have come to thee through the female side. A woman's hand brought to the Nevile this castle and its lands.* From a woman came the heritage of Monthermer and Montagu, and Salisbury's fa mous earldom ; and the dower of thy peerless Countess was the broad domains of Beauchamp. " "And a woman's cra f t, young Prince, wrought my King's * Middlcham Castle was built bv Robert Fitz Ranulph. grandson of Ribald, younger brother of the Earl of Bretagne and Richmond, nephew to the Conqueror. The founder's line failed in male heirs, and the heiress married Robert Nevile, son of Lord Raby. War- wick's father held the eirldom of Salisbury in right of his wife, the heiress of Thomas do THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 2t>l displeasure! But enough of these dissour's tales: behold the son of poor Malech, whom, forgetting all such legends, I slew at Teuton. Ho! Saladin greet thy master!" They stood now in the black steed's stall an ample and high vaulted space, for halter never insulted the fierce destrier's mighty neck, which the God of Battles had clothed in thunder. A marble cistern contained his limpid drink, and in a gilded manger the finest wheaten bread was mingled with the oats of Flanders. On entering, they found young George, Montagu's son, with two or three boys, playing familiarly with the noble animal, who had all the affectionate docility inherited from an Arab origin. But at the sound of Warwick's voice, its ears rose, its mane dressed itself, and with a short neigh it came to his feet, and kneeling down, in slow and stately grace, licked its master's hand. So perfect and so matchless a steed never had knight bestrode! Its hide without one white hair, and glossy as the sheenest satin; a lady's tresses were scarcely finer than the hair of its noble mane ; the exceeding smallness of its head, its broad frontal, the remarkable and almost human intelligence of its eye, seemed actually to elevate its conformation above that of its species. Though the race had increased, genera^ tion after generation, in size and strength, Prince Richard still marvelled (when, obedient to a sign from Warwick, the destrier rose, and leant its head, with a sort of melancholy and quiet tenderness, upon the Earl's shoulder) that a horse, less in height and bulk than the ordinary battle steed, could bear the vast weight of the giant Earl in his ponderous mail. But his sur- prise ceased when the Earl pointed out to him the immense strength of the steed's ample loins, the sinewy cleanness, the iron muscle, of the stag-like legs, the bull-like breadth of chest, and the swelling power of the shining neck. "And after all," added the Earl, "both in man and beast, the spirit and the race, not the stature and the bulk, bring the prize. M0rt JDieu, Richard, it often shames me of mine own thews and broad breast I had been more vain of laurels had I been shorter by the head!" ' 'Nevertheless, " said young George of Montagu, with a page's pertness, "I had rather have thine inches than Prince Rich- ard's, and thy broad breast than his Grace's short neck." The Duke of Gloucester turned as if a snake had stung him. He gave but one glance to the speaker, but that glance lived forever in the boy's remembrance, and the young Montagu turned pale and trembled, even before he heard the Earl's stern rebuke. i62 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. "Young magpies chatter, boy young eagles in silence meas ure the space between the eyrie and the sun!" The boy hung his head, and would have slunk off, but Rich- ard detained him with a gentle hand: "My fair young cousin," said he, "thy words gall no sore, and if ever thou and I charge side by side into the foeman's ranks, thou shalt comprehend what thy uncle designed to say how in the hour of strait and need, we measure men's stature not by the body, but the soul!" "A noble answer," whispered Anne, with something like sis- terly admiration. "Too noble," said the more ambitious Isabel, in the same voice, "for Clarence's future wife not to fear Clarence's daunt- less brother." "And so," said the Prince, quitting the stall with Warwick, while the girls still lingered behind, "so Saladin hath no son! Wherefore? Can you mate him with no bride?" "Faith," answered the Earl, "the females of his race sleep in yonder dell, their burial-place, and the proud beast disdains all meaner loves. Nay, were it not so, to continue the breed if adulterated, were but to mar it." "You care little for the legend, meseems." "Pardieu! at times, yes, overmuch ; but in sober moments, I think that the brave man who does his duty lacks no wizard prophecy to fulfil his doom ; and whether in prayer or in death, in fortune or defeat, his soul goes straight to God!" "Umph," said Richard musingly, and there was a pause. "Warwick," resumed the Prince, "doubtless even on your return to London, the Queen's enmity and her mother's will not cease. Clarence loves Isabel, but Clarence knows not how to persuade the King and rule the King's womankind. Thou knowest how I have stood aloof from all the factions of the court. Unhappily I go to the borders, and can but slightly serve thee. But " (he stopped short, and sighed heavily). "Speak on, Prince." "In a word, then, if I were thy son, Anne's husband I see I see I see"(thrice repeated the Prince, with a vague dreami- iness in his eye, and stretching forth his hand) "a future that might defy all foes, opening to me and thee!" Warwick hesitated in some embarrassment. "My gracious and princely cousin," he said, at length, "this proffer is indeed sweet incense to a father's pride. But pardon me, as yet, noble Richard, thou art so young that the King and the world would blame me did I suffer my ambition to listen to such temptation. Enough at present, if all disputes between ?HE LASt OP THE BARONS. 263 our house and the King can be smoothed and laid at rest, with- out provoking new ones. Nay, pardon me, Prince, let this matter cease at least, till thy return from the borders." "May I take with me hope?" "Nay," said Warwick, "thou knowest that I am a plain man; to bid thee hope were to plight my word. And," he added seriously, "there be reasons grave, and well to be con- sidered, why both the daughters of a subject should not wed with their King's brothers. Let this cease now, I pray thee, sweet lord." Here the demoiselles joined their father, and the conference was over: but when Richard, an hour after, stood musing alone on the battlements, he muttered to himself; "Thou art a fool, stout Earl, not to have welcomed the union between thy power and my wit. Thou goest to a court where, without wit, power is nought. Who may foresee the future? Marry, that was a wise ancient fable, that he who seized and bound Proteus could extract from the changeful god the prophecy of the days to come. Yea ! the man who can seize fate, can hear its voice predict to him. And by my own heart and brain, which never yet relinquished what affection yearned for or thought aspired to, I read, as in a book, Anne, that thou shalt be mine ; and that where wave on yon battlements the ensigns of Beauchamp, Monthermer, and Nevile, the Boar of Gloucester shall liege it over their broad baronies and hardy vassals. ' ' 264 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. BOOK VI. WHEREIN ARE OPENED SOME GLIMPSES OF THE FATE, BELOW, THAT ATTENDS THOSE WHO ARE BETTER THAN OTHERS, AND THOSE WHO DESIRE TO MAKE OTHERS BETTER. LOVE, DEMAGOGY, AND SCIENCE ALL EQUALLY OFFSPRING OF THE SAME PROLIFIC DELUSION VIZ., THAT MEAN SOULS (THE EARTH'S MAJORITY) ARE WORTH THE HOPE AND THE AGONY OF NOBLE SOULS, THE EVERLASTINGLY SUFFERING AND ASPIRING FEW. CHAPTER I. NEW DISSENSIONS. WE must pass over some months. Warwick and his family had returned to London, and the meeting between Edward and the Earl had been cordial and affectionate. Warwick was reinstated in the offices which gave him apparently the supreme rule in England. The Princess Margaret had left England, as the bride of Charles the Bold ; and the Earl had attended the procession in honor of her nuptials. The King, agreeably with the martial objects he had had long at heart, had then declared war on Louis XL, and Parliament was addressed, and troops were raised for that impolitic purpose.* To this war, however, Warwick was inflexibly opposed. He pointed out the madness of withdrawing from England all her best affected chivalry, at a time when the adherents of Lancaster, still pow- erful, would require no happier occasion to raise the Red Rose banner. He snowed how hollow was the hope of steady aid from the hot, but reckless and unprincipled Duke of Bur- gundy, and how different now was the condition of France under a king of consummate sagacity, and with an overflowing treasury, to its distracted state in the former conquests of the English. This opposition to the King's will gave every oppor- tunity for Warwick's enemies to renew their old accusations o f secret and treasonable amity with Louis. Although the proud and hasty Earl had not only forgiven the aL'ront put upon him by Edward, but had sought to make amends for his own intem- * Parliamentary Rolls, 623. The fact in the text has been neglected by most historians. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 265 perate resentment, by public attendance on the ceremonials that accompanied the betrothal of the Princess, it was impossi- ble for Edward ever again to love the minister who had defied his power, and menaced his crown. His humor and his suspi- cions broke forth despite the restraint that policy dictated to him ; and in the disputes upon the invasion of France, a sec- ond and more deadly breach between Edward and his minister must have yawned, had not events suddenly and unexpectedly proved the wisdom of Warwick's distrust of Burgundy. Louis with XI. bought off the Duke of Bretagne, patched up a peace Charles the Bold, and thus frustrated all the schemes, and broke all the alliances of Edward at the very moment his military preparations were ripe.* Still the angry feelings that the dispute had occasioned be- tween Edward and the Earl were not removed with the cause; and, under pretence of guarding against hostilities from Louis, the King requested Warwick to depart to his government of Calais, the most important and honorable post, it is true, which a subject could then hold; but Warwick considered the request as a pretext for his removal from the Court. A yet more irri- tating and insulting cause of offence was found in Edward's withholding his consent to Clarence's often-urged demand for permission to wed with the Lady Isabel. It is true that this refusal was accompanied with the most courteous protesta- tions of respect for the Earl, and placed only upon the general ground of state policy. "My dear George," Edward would say, "the heiress of Lord Warwick is certainly no mal-alliance for a King's brother; but the safety of the throne imperatively demands that my brothers should strengthen my rule, by connections with foreign poten- tates. I, it is true, married a subject, and see all the troubles that have sprung from my boyish passion! No, no! Go to Bretagne. The Duke hath a fair daughter, and we will make up for any scantiness in the dower. Weary me no more, George. Fiat voluntas mea ! " But the motives assigned were not those which influenced the King's refusal. Reasonably enough, he dreaded that the next male heir to his crown should wed the daughter of the subject who had given that crown, and might at any time take it away. He knew Clarence to be giddy, unprincipled, and vain. Edward's faith in Warwick was shaken by the continual and artful representations of the Queen and her family. He felt that the alliance between Clarence and the Earl would be * W. Wyr. 518. 266 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. the union of two interests, almost irresistible, if once arrayed against his own. But Warwick, who penetrated into the true reasons for Ed- ward's obstinacy, was yet more resentful against the reasons than the obstinacy itself. The one galled him through his affections, the other through his pride; and the first were as keen as the last was morbid. He was the more chafed, inas- much as his anxiety of father became aroused. Isabel was really attached to Clarence, who, with all his errors, possessed every superficial attraction that graced his house ; gallant and handsome, gay and joyous, and with manners that made him no less popular than Edward himself. And if Isabel's affections were not deep, disinterested, and tender, like those of Anne, they were strengthened by a pride which she inherited from her father, and a vanity which she took from her sex. It was galling in the extreme to feel that the loves between her and Clarence were the court gossip, and the King's refusal the court jest. Her health gave way, and pride and love both gnawed at her heart. It happened, unfortunately for the King and for Warwick, that Gloucester, whose premature acuteness and sagacity would have the more served both, inasmuch as the views he had formed in regard to Anne would have blended his interest, in some degree, with that of the Duke of Clarence, and certainly with the object of conciliation between Edward and his minis- ter, it happened, we say, unfortunately, that Gloucester was still absent with the forces employed on the Scottish frontier, whither he had repaired on quitting Middleham, and where his extraordinary military talents found their first brilliant opening; and he was therefore absent from London during all the dis- gusts he might have removed, and the intrigues he might have frustrated. But the interests of the House of Warwick, during the Earl's sullen and indignant sojourn at his government of Calais, were not committed to unskilful hands; and Montagu and the Arch- bishop were well fitted to cope with Lord Rivers and the Duchess of Bedford. Between these able brothers, one day, at the More, an im- portant conference took place. "I have sought you," said Montagu, with more than usual care upon his brow "I have sought you in consequence of an event that may lead to issues of no small moment, whether for good or evil. Clarence has suddenly left England for Calais. " "I know it, Montagu; the Duke confided to me his resolti- THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 267 tion to proclaim himself old enough to marry and discreet enough to choose for himself." "And you approved?" "Certes; and, sooth to say, I brought him to that modest opinion of his own capacities. What is more still, I propose to join him at Calais!" "George!" "Look not so scared, O valiant captain, who never lost a battle where the Church meddles, all prospers. Listen!" And the young prelate gathered himself up from his listless posture, and spoke with earnest unction: "Thou knowest that I do not much busy myself in lay schemes when I do, the object must be great. Now, Montagu, I have of late narrowly and keenly watched that spidery web which ye call a court, and I see that the spider will devour the wasp, unless the wasp boldly break the web for woman-craft I call the spider, and soldier-pride I style the wasp. To speak plainly, these Wood- villes must be bravely breasted and determinedly abashed. I do not mean that we can deal with the King's wife and her family as with any other foes ; but we must convince them that they cannot cope with us, and that their interest will best con- sist in acquiescing to that condition of things which places the rule of England in the hands of the Neviles. " "My own thought, if I saw the way!" "I see the way in this alliance; the Houses of York and Warwick must become so indissolubly united, that an attempt to injure the one must destroy both. The Queen and the Woodvilles plot against us; we must raise in the King's family a counterpoise to their machinations. It brings no scandal on the Queen to conspire against Warwick, but it would ruin her in the eyes of England to conspire against the King's brother; and Clarence and Warwick must be as one. This is not all! If our sole aid was in giddy George, we should but buttress our house with a weathercock. This connection is but as a part of the grand scheme on which I have set my heart Clarence shall wed Isabel, Gloucester wed Anne, and (let thy ambitious heart beat high, Montagu) the King's eldest daughter shall wed thy son the male representative of our triple honors. Ah, thine eyes sparkle now ! Thus the whole royalty of England shall centre in the Houses of Nevile and York; and the Woodvilles will be caught and hampered in their own meshes their resentment impotent; for how can Elizabeth stir against us, if her daughter be betrothed to the son of Montagu, the nephew of Warwick. Clarence, beloved by the shallow Com- 68 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. mons;* Gloucester, adored both by army and the Church ; and Montagu and Warwick, the two great captains of the age is not this a combination of power that may defy Fate?" "Oh, George!" said Montagu admiringly, "what pity that the Church should spoil such a statesman!" "Thou art profane, Montagu; the Church spoils no man the Church leads and guides ye all; and, mark, I look farther still. I would have intimate league with France; I would strengthen ourselves with Spain and the German Emperor; I would buy, or seduce, the votes of the sacred college; I would have thy poor brother, whom thou so pitiest because he has no son to marry a king's daughter no daughter to wed with a king's son I would have thy unworthy brother, Montagu, the father of the whole Christian world, and, from the chair of the Vatican, watch over the weal of kingdoms. And now, seest thou why with to-morrow's sun I depart for Calais, and lend my voice in aid of Clarence's for the first knot in this compli- cated bond?" "But, will Warwick consent while the King opposes? Will his pride " "His pride serves us here; for, so long as Clarence did not dare to gainsay the King, Warwick, in truth, might well dis- dain to press his daughter's hand upon living man. The King opposes, but with what right? Warwick's pride will but lead him, if well addressed, to defy affront, and to resist dictation. Besides, our brother has a woman's heart for his children; and Isabel's face is pale, and that will plead more than all my eloquence." "But can the King forgive your intercession, and Warwick's contumacy?" "Forgive! the marriage once over, what is left for him to do? He is then one with us, and when Gloucester returns all will be smooth again smooth for the second and more impor- tant nuptials and the second shall preface the third ; mean- while, you return to the court. To these ceremonials you need be no party; keep but thy handsome son from breaking his neck in overriding his hobby, and 'bide thy time'!" Agreeably with the selfish, but sagacious, policy, thus de- tailed, the prelate departed the next day for Calais, where Clar- ence was already urging his suit with the ardent impatience of amorous youth. The Archbishop found, however, that War- * Singular as it may seem to those who know not that popularity is given to the vulgar qualities of men, and that where a noble nature becomes popular (a rare occurrence), it is despite the nobleness not because of it, Clarence was a popular idol even to the time of pis death. Croj>t. t 568, THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 20Q wick was more reluctant than he had anticipated to suffer his daughter to enter any house without the consent of its chief, nor would the Earl, in all probability, have acceded to the prayers of the princely suitor, had not Edward, enraged at the flight of Clarence, and worked upon by the artful Queen, com- mitted the imprudence of writing an intemperate and menacing letter to the Earl, which called up all the passions of the haughty Warwick. "What!" he exclaimed, "thinks this ungrateful man not only to dishonor me, by his method of marrying his sisters, but will he also play the tyrant with me in the disposal of mine own daughter! He threats! he! enough. It is due tome to show that there lives no man whose threats I have not the heart to defy: 5 ' And the prelate, finding him in this mood, had no longer any difficulty in winning his consent. This ill- omened marriage was, accordingly, celebrated with great and regal pomp at Calais, and the first object of the Archbishop was attained. While thus stood affairs between the two great factions oi the state, those discontents which Warwick's presence at court had awhile laid at rest again spread, broad and far, through- out the land. The luxury and indolence of Edward's disposi- tion, in ordinary times, always surrendered him to the guidance, of others. In the commencement of his reign he was emi- nently popular, and his government, though stern, suited to th& times; for then the presiding influence was that of Lord War- wick. As the Queen's counsels prevailed over the consummate experience and masculine vigor of the Earl, the King's govern- ment lost both popularity and respect, except only in thfe metropolis ; and if, at the close of his reign, it regained all its earlier favor with the people, it must be principally ascribed to the genius of Hastings, then England's most powerful subject, and whose intellect calmly moved all the springs of action. But now everywhere the royal authority was weakened; and while Edward was feasting at Shene, and Warwick absent at Calais, the provinces were exposed to all the abuses which most gall a population. The poor complained that undue exactions were made on them by the hospitals, abbeys, and barons; the Church complained that the Queen's relations had seized and spent Church moneys ; the men of birth and merit complained of the advancement of new men who had done no service; and all these several discontents fastened themselves upon the odious Woodvilles, as the cause of all. The second breach, now notorious, between the King and the all-beloved 27O 'UK LAST OF THE BARONS. Warwick, was a new aggravation of the popular hatred to the Queen's family, and seemed to give occasion for the malcon- tents to appear with impunity, at least so far as the Earl was concerned : it was, then, at this critical time that the circum- stances we are about to relate occurred. CHAPTER II. THE WOULD-BE IMPROVERS OF JOVE'S FOOT-BALL, EARTH THE SAD FATHER AND THE SAD CHILD THE FAIR RIVALS. ADAM WARNER was at work on his crucible when the servi- tor commissioned to attend him opened the chamber door, and a man dressed in the black gown of a student entered. He approached the alchemist, and after surveying him for a moment in a silence that seemed not without contempt, said: "What, Master Warner, are you so wedded to your new studies, that you have not a word to bestow on an old friend?" Adam turned, and after peevishly gazing at the intruder a few moments, his face brightened up into recognition. "n iterum /" he said. "Again, bold Robin Hilyard, and in a scholar's garb. Ha! doubtless thou hast learned ere this, that peaceful studies do best ensure man's weal below, and art come to labor with me in the high craft of mind-work !" "Adam," quoth Hilyard, "ere I answer, tell me this: Thou, with thy science wouldst change the world art thou a jot nearer to thy end?" "Well-a-day," said poor Adam, "you know little what I have undergone; for danger to myself by rack and gibbet, I say nought. Man's body is fair prey to cruelty, and what a king spares to-day the v/orm shall gnaw to-morrow. But mine invention my Eureka look!" and stepping aside, he lifted a cloth, and exhibited the mangled remains of the unhappy model. "I am forbid to restore it," continued Adam dolefully. "I must work day and night to make gold, and the gold comes not: and my only change of toil is when the Queen bids me construct little puppet-boxes for her children! How, then, can I change the world? And thou," he added doubtingly and eagerly "thou, with thy plots and stratagem, and active demagogy, thinkest thou that thou hast changed the world, or extracted one drop of evil out of the mixture of gall and hyssop which man is born to drink?" Hilyard was silent, and the two world-betterers the phil- THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 271 osopher and the demagogue gazed on each other, half in sym- pathy, half contempt. At last Robin said : "Mine old friend, hope sustains us both; and in the wilder- ness we yet behold the Pisgah ! But to my business. Doubt- less thou art permitted to visit Henry in his prison." "Not so," replied Adam: "and for the rest, since I now eat King Edward's bread, and enjoy what they call his protection, ill would it beseem me to lend myself to plots against his throne." "Ah! man man man," exclaimed Hilyard bitterly, "thou art like all the rest scholar or serf, the same slave; a king's smile bribes thee from a people's service!" Before Adam could reply, a panel in the wainscot slid back,, and the bald head of a friar peered into the room. "Son Adam," said the holy man, "I crave your company an instant, oro vestrem aurem "/ and with this abominable piece of Latinity the friar vanished. With a resigned and mournful shrug of the shoulders, Adam walked across the room, when Hilyard, arresting his progress, said, crossing himserf, and in a subdued and fearful whisper : "Is not that Friar Bungey, the notable magician?" "Magician or not," answered Warner, with a lip of inex- pressible contempt and a heavy sigh, "God pardon his mother for giving birth to such a numbskull!" And with this pious and charitable ejaculation Adam disappeared in the adjoining chamber, appropriated to the friar. "Hum," soliloquized Hilyard, "theysay that Friar Bungey is employed by the witch Duchess in everlasting diabolisms against her foes. A peep into his den might suffice me for a stirring tale to the people." No sooner did this daring desire arise, than the hardy Robin resolved to gratify it ; and stealing on tiptoe along the wall, he peered cautiously through the aperture made by the sliding panel. An enormous stuffed lizard hung from the ceiling, and various strange reptiles, dried into mummy, were ranged around, and glared at the spy with green glass eyes. A huge book lay open on a tripod stand, and a caldron seethed over a slow and dull fire. A sight yet more terrible presently awaited the rash beholder. "Adam," said the friar, laying his broad palm on the stu- dent's reluctant shoulders, "inter sapentes." "Sapientes, brother," groaned Adam. "That's the old form, Adam," quoth the friar supercili- ously " sapentes is the last improvement. I say, between Z"]2 THE LAST OF THE IURONS. wise men there is no envy. Our noble and puissant patroness, the Duchess of Bedford, hath committed to me a task that promiseth much profit. I have worked at it night and day stotif filibus" "O man, what lingo speakest thou? stotis filibus !" "Tush, if it is not good Latin, it does as well, son Adam. 1 say I have worked* at it night and day, and it is now advanced eno' for experiment. But thou art going to sleep." "Dispatch speak out speak on!" said Adam desperately; "What is thy achievement?" "See!" answered the friar majestically; and drawing aside a black pall, he exhibited to the eyes of Adam, and to the more startled gaze of Robin Hilyard, a pale, cadaverous, corpse-like image, of pigmy proportions, but with features moulded into a coarse caricature of the lordly countenance of the Earl of Warwick. "There," said the friar complacently, and rubbing his hands; "that is no piece of bungling, eh! As like the stout Earl as one pea to another." "And for what hast thou kneaded up all this waste of wax?" asked Adam. "Forsooth I knew not you had so much of in- genious art; algates, the toy is somewhat ghastly." "Ho, ho!" quoth the friar, laughing so as to show a set of jagged, discolored fangs from ear to ear, "surely thou, who art so notable a wizard and scholar, knowest for what purpose we image forth our enemies. Whatever the Duchess inflicts upon this figure, the Earl of Warwick, whom it representeth, will feel through his bones and marrow waste wax, waste man!" "Thou art a devil to do this thing, and a blockhead to think it, O miserable friar," exclaimed Adam, roused from all his gentleness. "Ha!" cried the friar, no less vehemently, arid his burly face purple with passion, "dost thou think to bandy words with me? Wretch ! I will set goblins to pinch thee black and blue. I will drag thee at night over all the jags of Mount Pepanon, at the tail of a mad nightmare. I will put aches in all thy bones, and the blood in thy veins shall run into sores and blotches. Am I not Friar Bungey? And what art thou?" At these terrible denunciations, the sturdy Robin, though far less superstitious than most of his contemporaries, was seized with a trembling from head to foot; and expecting to see goblins and imps start forth from the walls, he retired hastily from his hiding-place, and, without waiting for further com- THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 273 mune with Warner, softly opened the chamber door, and stole down the stairs. Adam, however, bore the storm unquailingly, and when the holy man paused to take breath, he said calmly : "Verily, if thou canst do these things, there must be secrets in Nature which I have not yet discovered. Howbeit, though thou art free to try all thou canst against me, thy threats make it necessary that this communication between us should be nailed up, and I shall so order." The friar, who was ever in want of Adam's aid, either to construe a bit of Latin, or to help him in some chemical illu- sion, by no means relished this quiet retort; and, holding out his huge hand to Adam, said, with affected cordiality : "Pooh! we are brothers, and must not quarrel. I was over hot, and thou too provoking; but I honor and love thee, man let it pass. As for this figure, doubtless we might pink it all over, and the Earl be never the worse. But if our employers order these things, and pay for them, we cunning men make profit by fools!" "It is men like thee that bring shame on science," answered Adam sternly; "and I will not listen to thee longer." "Nay, but you must," said the friar, clutching Adam's robe, and concealing his resentment by an affected grin. "Thou thinkest me a mere ignoramus ha! ha! I think the same of thee. Why, man, thou hast never studied the parts of the human body, I'll swear." "I'm no leech," answered Adam. "Let me go." "No not yet. I will convict thee of ignorance. Thou dost not even know where the liver is placed." "I do," answered Adam shortly; "but what then?" "Thou dost! I deny it. Here is a pin; stick it into this wax, man, where thou sayest the liver lies in the human frame." Adam unsuspiciously obeyed. "Well! the liver is there, eh. Ah! but where are the lungs?" "Why, here." "And the midriff?" "Here, certes." "Right! thou mayst go now," said the friar dryly. Adam disappeared through the aperture, and closed the panel. "Now I know where the lungs, midriff, and liver are," said the friar to himself, "I shall get on famously. 'Tis an useful fellow, that, or I should have had him hanged long ago!" Adam did not remark, on his re-entrance, that his visitor, 274 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. Hilyard, had disappeared, and the philosopher was soon re- immersed in the fiery interest of his thankless labors. It might be an hour afterwards, when, wearied and exhausted by perpetual hope and perpetual disappointment, he flung him- self on his seat; and that deep sadness, which they who devote themselves in this noisy world to wisdom and to truth alone can know, suffused his thoughts, and murmured from his feverish lips. "Oh, hard condition of my life!" groaned the sage "ever to strive, and never to accomplish. The sun sets and the sun rises upon my eternal toils, and my age stands as distant from the goal, as stood my youth ! Fast, fast the mind is wearing out the frame, and my schemes have but woven the ropes of sand, and my name shall be writ in water. Golden dreams of my young hope, where are ye? Methought once, that could I obtain the grace of royalty, the ear of power, the command of wealth, my path to glory was made smooth and sure I should become the grand inventor of my time and land; I should leave my lord a heritage and blessing wherever labor works to civilize the round globe. And now my lodging is a palace royalty my patron they give me gold at my desire my wants no longer mar my leisure. Well ! and for what? On condi- tion that I forego the sole task for which patronage, wealth, and leisure were desired ! There stands the broken iron, and there simmers the ore I am to turn to gold the iron worth more than all the gold, and the gold, never to be won! Poor, I was an inventor, a creator, the true magician ; protected, patronized, enriched, I am but the alchemist, the bubble, the dupe or duper, the fool's fool. God, brace up my limbs! Let me escape give me back my old dream, and die, at least, if accomplishing nothing, hoping all!" He rose as he spoke, he strode across the chamber with majestic step, with resolve upon his brow. He stopped short, for a sharp pain shot across his heart. Premature age, and the disease that labor brings, were at their work of decay within : the mind's excitement gave way to the body's weakness, and he sank again upon his seat, breathing hard, gasping, pale, the icy damps upon his brow. Bubblingly seethed the molten metals, redly glowed the poisonous charcoal; the air of death was hot within the chamber where the victim of royal will pan- dered to the desire of gold terrible and eternal moral for Wisdom and for Avarice, for sages and for kings ever shall he who would be the maker of gold, breathe the air of death! "Father," said the low and touching voice of one who had THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 2*75 entered unperceived, and who now threw her arms round Adam's neck; "Father, thou art ill, and sorely suffering " "At heart yes, Sibyll. Give me thine arm; let us forth and taste the fresher air." It was so seldom that Warner could be induced to quit his chamber, that these words almost startled Sibyll, and she looked anxiously in his face, as she wiped the dews from his forehead. "Yes air air!" repeated Adam, rising. Sibyll placed his bonnet over his silvered locks, drew his gown more closely round him, and slowly, and in silence, they left the chamber, and took their way across the court to the ramparts of the fortress-palace. The day was calm and genial, with a low but fresh breeze stiring gently through the warmth of noon. The father and child seated themselves on the parapet, and saw, below, the gay and numerous vessels that glided over the sparkling river, while the dark walls of Baynard's Castle, the adjoining bulwark and battlements of Montfichet, and the tall watch-tower of Warwick's mighty mansion, frowned in the distance, against the soft blue sky. "There," said Adam quietly, and point- ing to the feudal roofs, "there seems to rise power and yon- der (glancing to the river) yonder seems to flow genius! A century or so hence, the walls shall vanish, but the river shall roll on. Man makes the castle, and founds the power God forms the river, and creates the genius. And yet, Sibyll, there may be streams as broad and stately as yonder Thames, that flow afar in the waste, never seen, never heard by man. What profits the river unmarked? What the genius never to be known?" It was not a common thing with Adam Warner to be thus eloquent. Usually silent and absorbed, it was not his gift to moralize or declaim. His soul must be deeply moved before the profound and buried sentiment within it could escape into words. Sibyll pressed her father's hand, and, though her own heart was very heavy, she forced her lips to smile, and her voice to soothe. Adam interrupted her. "Child, child, ye women know not what presses darkest and most bitterly on the minds of men. You know not what it is to form out of immaterial things some abstract but glorious ob- ject, to worship, to serve it, to sacrifice to it, as on an altar, youth, health, hope, life and suddenly, in old age, to see that the idol was a phantom, a mockery, a shadow laughing us to scorn, because we have sought to clasp it." fj6 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. "Oh, yes, father, women have known that illusion." "What! Do they study?" "No, father, but they feel!" "Feel! I comprehend thee not." "As man's genius to him, is woman's heart to her," an* swered Sibyll, her dark and deep eyes suffused with. tears. ' ' Doth not the heart create invent? Doth it not dream ? Doth it not form its idol out of air? Goeth it not forth into the future, to prophesy to itself? And, sooner or later, in age or youth, doth it not wake at last, and see how it hath wasted its all on follies? Yes, father, my heart can answer, when thy genius would complain." "Sibyll," said Warner, roused, and surprised, and gazing on her wistfully, "time flies apace. Till this hour I have thought of thee but as a child an infant. Thy words disturb me now." "Think not of them, then. Let me never add one grief to thine." "Thou art brave and gay in thy silken sheen," said Adam curiously, stroking down the rich, smooth stuff of Sibyll's tunic; "Her Grace the Duchess is generous to us. Thou art surely happy here!" "Happy!" "Not happy!" exclaimed Adam almost joyfully; "Wouldst thou that we were back once more in our desolate ruined home?" "Yes, oh, yes! but rather away, far away, in some quiet vil- lage, some green nook ; for the desolate ruined home was not safe for thine old age." "I would we could escape, Sibyll, "said Adam earnestly, in a whisper, and with a kind of innocent cunning in his eye "we and the poor Eureka! The palace is a prison-house to me. I will speak to the Lord Hastings, a man of great excel- lence, and gentle too. He is ever kind to us." "No, no, father, not to him," cried Sibyll, turning pale; "let him not know a word of what we would propose, nor whither we would fly." "Child, he loves me, or why does he seek me so often, and sit and talk not?" Sibyll pressed her clasped hands tightly to her bosom, but made no answer ; and while she was summoning courage to say something that seemed to oppress her thoughts with intolerable weight, a footstep sounded gently near, and the Lady of Bon- ville (then on a visit to the Queen), unseen, and unheard by the two, approached the spot. She paused, and gazed at THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 277 Sibyll, at first haughtily; and then, as the deep sadness of. that young face struck her softer feelings, and the pathetic picture of father and child, thus alone in their commune, made its pious and sweet effect, the gaze changed from pride to compas- sion, and the lady said courteously: "Fair mistress, canst thou prefer this solitary scene to the gay company about to take the air in her Grace's gilded barge?" Sibyll looked up in surprise, not unmixed with fear. Never before had the great lady spoken to her thus gently. Adam, who seemed for a while restored to the actual life, saluted Katherine with simple dignity, and took up the word: "Noble lady, whoever thou art, in thine old age, and thine hour of care, may thy child, like this poor girl, forsake all gayer comrades for a parent's side!" The answer touched the Lady of Bonville, and involuntarily she extended her hand to Sibyll. With a swelling heart. Sibyll, as proud as herself, bent silently over that rival's hand. Katherine's marble cheek colored, as she interpreted the girl's silence. "Gentle sir," she said, after a short pause, "wilt thou per- mit me a few words with thy fair daughter? And if in aught, since thou speakest of care, Lord Warwick's sister can serve thee, prithee bid thy young maiden impart it, as to a friend." "Tell her, then, my Sibyll tell Lord Warwick's sister, to ask the King to give back to Adam Warner his poverty, his labor, and his hope," said the scholar, and his noble head sank gloomily on his bosom. The Lady of Bonville, still holding Sibyll's hand, drew her a few paces up the walk, and then she said suddenly, and with some of that blunt frankness which belonged to her great brother: "Maiden, can there be confidence between thee and me?" "Of what nature, lady?" Again Katherine blushed, but she felt the small hand she held tremble in her clasp, and was emboldened: "Maiden, thou mayst resent and marvel at my words; but, when I had fewer years than thou, my father said: 'There are many carks in life which a little truth could end.' So would I heed his lesson. William de Hastings has followed thee with a homage that has broken, perchance, many as pure a heart nay, nay, fair child, hear me on. Thou hast heard that in youth he wooed Katherine Nevile that we loved, and were severed. They who see us now marvel whether we hate or 278 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. love: no, not love that question were an insult to Lord Bon- ville's wife. Ofttimes we seem pitiless to each other why? Lord Hastings would have wooed me, an English matron, to forget mine honor and my house's. He chafes that he move me not. / behold him debasing a great nature, to unworthy triflings with man's conscience and a knight's bright faith. But mark me! The heart of Hastings is everlastingly mine, and mine alone! What seek I in this confidence? To warn thee. Wherefore? Because for months, amidst all the vices of this foul court-air amidst the flatteries of the softest voice that ever fell upon woman's ear amidst, peradventure, the pleadings of thine own young and guileless love thine inno- cence is unscathed. And therefore Katherine of Bonville may be the friend of Sibyll Warner." However generous might be the true spirit of these words, it was impossible that they should not gall and humiliate the young and flattered beauty to whom they were addressed. They so wholly discarded all belief in the affection of Hast- ings for Sibyll ; they so haughtily arrogated the mastery over his heart; they so plainly implied that his suit to the poor maiden was but a mockery or dishonor, that they made even the praise for virtue an affront to the delicate and chaste ear on which they fell. And, therefore, the reader will not be astonished, though the Lady of Bonville certainly was, when Sibyll, drawing her hand from Katherine's clasp, stopping short, and calmly folding her arms upon her bosom, said : "To what this tends, lady, I know not. The Lord Hast- ings is free to carry his homage where he will. He has sought me, not I Lord Hastings. And if to-morrow he offered me his hand, I would reject it, if I were not convinced that the heart " "Damsel," interrupted the Lady Bonville, in amazed con- tempt, "the hand of Lord Hastings! Look ye indeed so high, or has he so far paltered with your credulous youth as to speak to you, the daughter of the alchemist, of marriage? If so, poor child, beware!" "I knew not," replied Sibyll bitterly, "that Sibyll Warner was more below the state of Lord Hastings, than Master Hast- ings was once below the state of Lady Katherine Nevile. " "Thou art distraught with thy self-conceit," answered the dame scornfully; and, losing all the compassion and friendly interest she had before felt, "my rede is spoken reject it, if thou wilt, in pride. Rue thy folly thou wilt in shame." She drew her wimple round her face as she said these words and, gathering up her long robe, swept slowly on. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 379 CHAPTER III. WHEREIN THE DEMAGOGUE SEEKS THE COURTIER. ON quitting Adam's chamber, Hiiyard paused not till he reached a stately house, not far from Warwick Lane, which was the residence of the Lord Montagu. That nobleman was employed in reading, or rather, in pon- dering over, two letters, with which a courier from Calais had just arrived the one from the Archbishop, the other from Warwick. In these epistles were two passages, strangely con- tradictory in their counsel. A sentence in Warwick's letter ran thus: "It hath reached me, that certain disaffected men meditate a rising against the King, under pretext of wrongs from the Queen's kin. It is even said that our kinsmen, Con- iers and Fit/.hugh, are engaged therein. Need I caution thee to watch well that they bring our name into no disgrace or at- taint. We want no aid to right our own wrongs ; and if the misguided men rebel, Warwick will best punish Edward, by proving that he is yet of use." On the other hand, thus wrote the prelate: "The King, wroth with my visit to Calais, has taken from me the Chancellor's seal. I humbly thank him, and shall sleep the lighter for the fardel's loss. Now, mark me, Montagu: our kinsman, Lord Fitzhugh's son, and young Henry Nevile, aided by old Sir John Coniers, meditate a fierce and well-timed assault upon the Woodvilles. Do thou keep neuter neither help nor frustrate it. Howsoever it end, it will answer our views, and shake our enemies." Montagu was yet musing over these tidings, and marvelling that he in England should know less than his brethren in Calais of events so important, when his page informed him that a stranger, with urgent messages from the north country, craved an audience. Imagining that these messages would tend to illustrate the communications just received, he ordered the visi- tor to be admitted. He scarcely noticed Hiiyard on his entrance, and said abruptly: "Speak shortly, friend I have but little leisure." "And yet, Lord Montagu, my business may touch thee home!" Montagu, surprised, gazed more attentively on his visitor: "Surely, I know thy face, friend we have met before." "True; thou wert then on thy way to the More." 8o THE LAST OF THE BARONS. "I remember me; and thou then seem'dst, from thy words, on a still shorter road to the gallows." "The tree is not planted," said Robin. carelessly, "that will serve for my gibbet. But were there no words uttered by me that thou couldst not disapprove? I spoke of lawless dis- orders of shameful malfaisance throughout the land which the Woodvilles govern under a lewd tyrant " "Traitor, hold!" "A tyrant," continued Robin (heeding not the interruption nor the angry gesture of Montagu); " A tyrant who, at this moment, meditates the destruction of the house of Nevile. And not contented with this world's weapons, palters with the Evil One for the snares and devilries of witchcraft." "Hush, man! Not so loud," said Montagu, in an altered voice. ' 'Approach nearer nearer yet. They who talk of a crowned king whose right hand raises armies, and whose left hand reposes on the block should beware how they speak above their breath. Witchcraft, sayest thou? Make thy meaning clear. ' ' Here Robin detailed, with but little exaggeration, the scene he had witnessed in Friar Bungey's chamber the waxen image, the menaces against the Earl of Warwick, and the words of the friar, naming the Duchess of Bedford as his employer. Mon- tagu listened in attentive silence. Though not perfectly free from the credulities of the time, shared even by the courageous heart of Edward, and the piercing intellect of Gloucester, he was yet more alarmed by such proofs of determined earthly hos- tility in one so plotting and so near to the throne as the Duch- ess of Bedford, than by all the pins and needles that could be planted into the Earl's waxen counterpart "A devilish malice, indeed," said he, when Hilyard had concluded; "and yet this story, if thou wilt adhere to it, may serve us well at need. I thank thee, trusty friend, for thy con- fidence, and beseech thee to come at once with me to the King. There will I denounce our foe, and, with thine evidence, we will demand her banishment." "By your leave, not a step will I budge, my Lord Montagu," quoth Robin bluntly. "I know how these matters are man- aged at court. The King will patch up a peace between the Duchess and you, and chop off my ears and nose as a liar and common scandal-maker. No, no; denounce the Duchess and all the Woodvilles, I will ; but it shall not be in the halls of the Tower, but on the broad plains of Yorkshire, with twenty thousand men at my back." THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 2&I "Ha! thou a leader of armies and for what end? To de- throne the King?" "That as it may be but first for injustice to the people; it is the people's rising that I will head, and not a faction's. Neither White Rose nor Red shall be on my banner, but our standard shall be the gory head of the first oppressor we can place upon a pole." "What is it the people, as you word it, would demand?" "I scarce know what we demand as yet that must depend upon how we prosper," returned Hilyard, with a bitter laugh; "but the rising will have some good, if it shows only to you lords and Normans that a Saxon people does exist, and will turn when the iron heel is upon its neck. We are taxed, ground, pillaged, plundered sheep, maintained to be sheared for your peace, or butchered for your war. And now will we have a petition and a charter of our own, Lord Montagu. I speak frankly I am in thy power thou canst arrest me thou canst strike off the head of this revolt. Thou art the King's friend wilt thou do so? No, thou and thy house have wrongs as well as we, the people. And a part at least of our demands and our purpose is your own." "What part, bold man?" "This: we shall make our first complaint the baneful domi- nation of the Queen's family; and demand the banishment of the Woodvilles, root and stem." "Hem!" said Montagu involuntarily, glancing over the arch- bishop's letter; "Hem, but without outrage to the King's state and person?" "Oh, trust me, my lord, the franklin's head contains as much north-country cunning as the noble's. They who would speed well, must feel their way cautiously." "Twenty thousand men impossible! Who art thou, to col- lect and head them?" "Plain Robin of Redesdale." "Ha!" exclaimed Montagu, "is it indeed, as I wastaughtto suspect ! Art thou that bold, strange, mad fellow, whom, by pike and brand a soldier's oath I a soldier, have often longed to see. Let me look at thee! 'Fore St. George, a tall man, and well knit, with dareiment in thy brow. Why, there are as many tales of thee in the north as of my brother the Earl. Some say thou art a lord of degree and birth ; others that thou art the robber of Hexham, to whom Margaret of Anjou trusted her own life and her son's." "Whatever they say of me," returned Robin, "they all agree 282 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. in this, that I am a man of honest word, and bold deed ; that I can stir up the hearts of men, as the wind stirreth fire; that I came an unknown stranger into the parts where I abide, and that no peer in this roiaulme, save Warwick himself, can do more to raise an army, or shake a throne." "But by what spell?" "By men's wrongs, lord," answered Robin, in a deep voice: "and now, ere this moon wanes, Redesdale is a camp!" "What the immediate cause of complaint?" "The hospital of St. Leonard's has compelled us unjustly to render them a thrave of corn." "Thou art a cunning knave! Pinch the belly if you would make Englishmen rise." "True," said Robin, smiling grimly ;* "and now what say you will you head us?" 4 ' Head you ! No ! ' ' "Will you betray us?" "It is not easy to betray twenty thousand men; if ye rise merely to free yourselves from a corn-tax, and England from the Woodvilles, I see no treason in your revolt." "I understand you, Lord Montagu," said Robin, with a stern and half-scornful smile; "you are not above thriving by our danger; but we need now no lord and baron we will suffice for ourselves. And the hour will come, believe me, when Lord Warwick, pursued by the King, must fly to the Com- mons. Think well of these things and this prophecy, when the news from the north startles Edward of March in the lap of his harlots." Without saying another word, he turned and quitted the chamber as abruptly as he had entered. Lord Montagu was not, for his age, a bad man ; though worldly, subtle, and designing; with some of the craft of his prelate brother, he united something of the high soul of his brother soldier. But that age had not the virtue of later times, and cannot be judged by its standard. He heard this bold daredevil menace his country with civil war upon grounds not plainly stated, nor clearly understood he aided not, but he connived: "Twenty thousand men in arms," he muttered to himself ' 'say half well, ten thousand not against Edward, but the Woodvilles! It must bring the King to his senses: must prove to him how odious the mushroom race of the Wood- villes, and drive him for safety and for refuge to Montagu and Warwick. If the knaves presume too far (and Montagu smiled), "what are undisciplined multitudes to the eye of a skilful cap- THE LAST OF THE BARONS. tain? Let the storm blow, we will guide the blast. In this world man must make use of man." CHAPTER IV. SIBYLL. WHILE Montagu, in anxious forethought, awaited the revolt that Robin of Redesdale had predicted ; while Edward feasted and laughed, merry-made with his courtiers, and aided the con- jugal duties of his good citizens in London ; while the Queen and her father, Lord Rivers, more and more in the absence of Warwick, encroached on all the good things power can bestow and avarice seize: while the Duchess of Bedford and Friar Bungey toiled hard at the waxen effigies of the great Earl, who still held his royal son-in-law in his court at Calais the stream of our narrative winds from its noisier channels, and lingers, with a quiet wave, around the temple of a virgin's heart. Wherefore is Sibyll sad ? Some short months since, and we beheld her gay with hope, and basking in the sunny atmos- phere of pleasure and of love. The mind of this girl was a singular combination of tenderness and pride: the first wholly natural, the last the result of circumstance and position. She was keenly conscious of her gentle birth, and her earlier pros- pects in the court of Margaret; and the poverty and distress and solitude in which she had grown up from the child into the woman had only served to strengthen what, in her nature, was already strong, and to heighten whatever was already proud. Ever in her youngest dreams of the future, ambition had visibly blent itself with the vague ideas of love. The imagined wooer was less to be young and fair, than renowned and stately. She viewed him through the mists of the future, as the protector of her persecuted father ; as the rebuilder of a fallen house ; as the ennobler of a humbled name. And from the moment in which her girl's heart beat at the voice of Hast- ings, the ideal of her soul seemed found. And when trans- planted to the court, she learned to judge of her native grace and loveliness by the common admiration they excited, her hopes grew justified to her inexperienced reason. Often and ever the words of Hastings, at the house of the Lady Longue- ville, rang in her ear, and thrilled through the solitude of night: "Whoever is fair and chaste, gentle and loving, is, in the eyes of William de Hastings, the mate and equal of a king." In visits that she had found opportunity to make to the Lady 284 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. Longueville, these hopes were duly fed; for the old Lancastrian detested the Lady Bonville, as Lord Warwick's sister, and she would have reconciled her pride to view with complacency his alliance with the alchemist's daughter, if it led to his estrange- ment from the memory of his first love; and, therefore, when her quick eye penetrated the secret of Sibyll's heart, and when she witnessed for Hastings often encountered (and seemed to seek the encounter) the young maid at Lady Longueville's house the unconcealed admiration which justified Sibyll in her high-placed affection, she scrupled not to encourage the blushing girl, by predictions in which she forced her own better judgment to believe. Nor, when she learned Sibyll's descent from a family that had once ranked as high as that of Hastings, would she allow that there was any disparity in the alliance she foretold. But more, far more than Lady Longueville's assurances, did the delicate and unceasing gallantries of Hast- ings himself flatter the fond faith of Sibyll. True, that he spoke not actually of love, but every look implied, every whis- per seemed to betray it. And to her he spoke as to an equal, not in birth alone, but in mind; so superior was she in culture, in natural gifts, and, above all, in that train of high thought and elevated sentiment, in which genius ever finds a sympathy, to the court-flutterers of her sex, that Hastings, whether or not he cherished a warmer feeling, might well take pleasure in her converse, and feel the lovely infant worthy the wise man's trust. He spoke to her without reserve of the Lady Bonville, and he spoke with bitterness. "I loved her," he said, "as woman is rarely loved. She deserted me for another rather should she have gone to the convent than the altar; and now, forsooth, she deems she hath the right to taunt and to rate me; to dictate to me the way I should walk, and to flaunt the honors I have won." "May that be no sign of a yet tender interest?" said Sibyll timidly. The eyes of Hastings sparkled for a moment, but the gleam vanished. "Nay, you know her not. Her heart is marble, as hard and as cold. Her very virtue but the absence of emo- tion I would say, of gentler emotion for, pardieu, such emotions as come from ire and scorn are the daily growth of that stern soil. Oh, happy was my escape! happy the deser- tion, which my young folly deemed a curse. No!" he added with a sarcastic quiver of his lip; "No; what stings and galls the Lady of Harrington and Bonville what makes her counte- nance change 'in my presence, and her voice sharpen at my THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 285 accost, is plainly this: in wedding her dull lord, and rejecting me, Katherine Nevile deemed she wedded power, and rank, and station: and now, while we are both young, how proves her choice? The Lord of Harrington and Bonville is so noted a dolt that even the Neviles cannot help him to rise the meanest office is above his mind's level; and, dragged down by the heavy clay to which her wings are yoked, Katherine, Lady of Harrington and Bonville oh, give her her due titles! is but a pageant figure in the court. If the war-trump blew, his very vassals would laugh at a Bonville's banner, and be- neath the flag of poor William Hastings would gladly march the best chivalry of the land. And this it is, I say, that galls her. For evermore she is driven to compare the state she holds, as the dame of the accepted Bonville, with that she lost as the wife of the disdained Hastings." And if, in the heat and passion that such words betrayed, Sibyll sighed to think that something of the old remembrance yet swelled and burned, they but impressed her more with the value of a heart in which the characters once writ endured so long, and roused her to a tender ambition to heal and to con- sole. Then looking into her own deep soul, Sibyll beheld there a fund of such generous, pure, and noble affection such rever- ence as to the fame, such love as to the man that she proudly felt herself worthier of Hastings than the haughty Katherine. She entered then, as it were, the lists with this rival a memory rather, so she thought, than a corporeal being; and her eye grew brighter, her step statelier, in the excitement of the con- test, the anticipation of the triumph. For, what diamond without its flaw? what rose without its canker? And bedded deep in that exquisite and charming nature lay the dangerous and fatal weakness which has cursed so many victims, broken so many hearts the vanity of the sex. We may now readily conceive how little predisposed was Sibyll to the blunt advances and displeasing warnings of the Lady Bonville, and the more so from the time in which they chanced. For here comes the answer to the question, "Why was Sibyll sad?" The reader may determine for himself what were the ruling motives of Lord Hastings in the court he paid to Sibyll. Whether to pique the Lady Bonville and force upon her the jealous pain he restlessly sought to inflict; whether, from the habit of his careless life, seeking the pleasure of the moment, with little forethought of the future, and reconciling itself to much cruelty, by that profound contempt for human beings, 286 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. man, and still more for woman, which sad experience often brings to acute intellect; or whether, from the purer and holier complacency with which one, whose youth has fed upon nobler aspirations than manhood cares to pursue, suns itself back to something of its earlier lustre in the presence and the converse of a young bright soul whatever, in brief, the earlier motives of gallantries to Sibyll, once begun, constantly renewed, by degrees wilder, and warmer, and guiltier emotions, roused up in the universal and all-conquering lover the vice of his softer nature. When calm and unimpassioned, his conscience had said to him: "Thou shalt spare that flower." But when once the passion was roused within him, the purity of the flower was forgotten in the breath of its voluptuous sweetness. And but three days before the scene we have described with Katherine, Sibyll's fabric of hope fell to the dust. For Hast- ings spoke for the first time of love for the first time knelt at her feet for the first time, clasping to his heart that virgin hand, poured forth the protestation and the vow. And oh! woe woe ! for the first time she learned how cheaply the great man held the poor maiden's love ; how little he deemed that purity and genius and affection equalled the possessor of fame and wealth and power; for plainly visible, boldly shown and spoken, the love that she had foreseen as a glory from the Heaven sought but to humble her to the dust. The anguish of that moment was unspeakable and she spoke it not. But as she broke from the profaning clasp, as escaping to the threshold she cast on the unworthy wooer one look of such reproachful sorrow, as told at once all her love and all her horror the first act in the eternal tragedy of man's wrong and woman's grief was closed. And therefore was Sibyll sad ! CHAPTER V. KATHERINE. FOR several days Hastings avoided Sibyll ; in truth, he felt remorse for his design, and in his various, active, and brilliant life he had not the leisure for obstinate and systematic siege to a single virtue, nor was he, perhaps, any longer capable of deep and enduring passion ; his heart, like that of many a chevalier in the earlier day, had lavished itself upon one object, and sul- lenly, upon regrets and dreams, and vain anger and idle scorn, it had exhausted those sentiments which make the sum of true Jove, And so, like Petrarch, whom his taste and fancy wor- THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 287 shipped, and many another votary of the gentil Dieu, while his imagination devoted itself to the chaste and distant ideal the spiritual Laura his senses, ever vagrant and disengaged, settled, without scruple, upon the thousand Cynthias of the minute. But then those Cynthias were, for the most part, and especially of late years, easy and light-won nymphs: their coyest were of another clay from the tender but lofty Sibyll. And Hastings shrunk from the cold-blooded and deliberate seduction of one so pure, while he could not reconcile his mind to contemplate marriage with a girl who could give nothing to his ambition ; and yet it was not, in this last reluctance, only his ambition that startled and recoiled. In that strange tyranny over his whole soul which Katherine Bonville secretly exercised, he did not dare to place a new barrier evermore between her and himself. The Lord Bonville was of infirm health ; he had been more than once near to death's door, and Hastings, in every succeeding fancy that beguiled his path, recalled the thrill of his heart, when it had whispered: "Katherine, the loved of thy youth, may yet be thine ! ' ' And then that Kather- ine rose before him, not as she now swept the earth, with haughty step, and frigid eye, and disdainful lip, but as in all her bloom of maiden beauty, before the temper was soured, or the pride aroused she had met him in the summer twilight by the trysting tree ; broken with him the golden ring of faith, and wept upon his bosom. And yet, during his brief and self-inflicted absence from Sibyll, this wayward and singular personage, who was never weak but to women, and ever weak to them, felt that she had made herself far dearer to him than he had at first supposed it possible. He missed that face, ever, till the last interview, so confiding in the unconsciously betrayed affection. He felt how superior in sweetness, and yet in intellect, Sibyll was to Katherine ; there was more in common between her mind and his in all things, save one. But oh, that one exception ! what a world lies within it the memory of the spring of life ! In fact, though Hastings knew it not, he was in love with two objects at once ; the one, a chimera, a fancy, an ideal, an Eidolon, under the name of Katherine ; the other, youth, and freshness, and mind, and heart, and a living shape of beauty, under the name of Sibyll.. Often does this double love happen to men; but when it does, alas for the human object! for the shadowy and the spiritual one is immortal until, indeed, it be possessed! It might be, perhaps, with a resolute desire to conquer the 288 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. new love and confirm the old, that Hastings, one morning, re paired to the house of the Lady Bonville, for her visit to the court had expired. It was a large mansion without the Lud Gate. He found the dame in a comely chamber, seated in the sole chair the room contained, to which was attached a foot-board that served as a dais, while around her, on low stools, sate some spinning, others broidering some ten or twelve young maidens of good family, sent to receive their nurturing under the high-born Katherine,* while two other and somewhat elder virgins sate a little apart, but close under the eye of the lady, practising the courtly game of "prime," for the diversion of cards was in its zenith of fashion under Edward IV., and even half a century later was considered one of the essential accom- plishments of a well-educated young lady.f The exceeding stiffness, the solemn silence of this female circle, but little accorded with the mood of the graceful visitor. The demoi- selles stirred not at his entrance, and Katherine quietly mo- tioned him to a seat at some distance. "By your leave, fair lady," said Hastings, "I rebel against so distant an exile from such sweet company" ; and he moved the tabouret close to the formidable chair of the presiding chieftainess. Katherine smiled faintly, but not in displeasure. "So gay a presence," she said, "must, I fear me, a little disturb these learners." Hastings glanced at the prim demureness written on each blooming visage, and replied : "You wrong their ardor in such noble studies. I would wager that nothing less than my entering your bower on horse- back, with helm on head and lance in rest, could provoke even a smile from one pair of the twenty rosy lips round which, methinks, I behold Cupido hovering in vain!" The Baroness bent her stately brows, and the twenty rosy lips were all tightly pursed up, to prevent the indecorous exhi- bition which the wicked courtier had provoked. But it would not do : one and all the twenty lips broke into a smile but a smile so tortured, constrained, and nipped in the bud, that it * And strange as it may seem to modern notions, the highest lady who received such pensioners accepted a befitting salary for their board and education. t So the Princess Margaret, daughter of Henry VII., at the age of fourteen, exhibits her skill, in prime or trump, to her betrothed husband, James IV. of Scotland ; so, among the womanly arts of the unhappy Katherine of Arragon, it is mentioned that she could play at "cardis and dyce." (See Strutt's " Games and Pastimes," Hone's edition, p. 327.) The legislature was very anxious to keep these games sacred to the aristocracy, and very wroth With 'prentices and the vulgar for imitating the ruinous amusements of their better*, THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 289 only gave an expression of pain to the features it was forbidden to enliven. "And what brings the Lord Hastings hither?" asked the Baroness, in a formal tone. "Can you never allow for motive the desire of pleasure, fair dame?" That peculiar and exquisite blush which at moments changed the whole physiognomy of Katherine, flitted across her smooth cheek, and vanished. She said gravely: "So much do I allow it in you, my lord, that hence my question." "Katherine!" exclaimed Hastings, in a voice of tender re- proach, and attempting to seize her hand, forgetful of all other presence save that to which the blush, that spoke of old, gave back the ancient charm. Katherine cast a hurried and startled glance over the maiden group, and her eye detected on the automaton faces one com- mon expression of surprise. Humbled and deeply displeased, she rose from the awful chair, and then, as suddenly reseating herself, she said, with a voice and lip of the most cutting irony: "My lord chamberlain is, it seems, so habituated to lackey his King amidst the goldsmiths and grocers, that he forgets the form of language and respect of bearing which a noblewoman of repute is accustomed to consider seemly." Hastings bit his lip, and his falcon eye shot indignant fire. "Pardon, my Lady of Bonville and Harrington, I did indeed forget what reasons the dame of so wise and so renowned a lord hath to feel pride in the title she hath won. But I see that my visit hath chanced out of season. My business, in truth, was rather with my lord, whose counsel in peace is as famous as his truncheon in war!" "It is enough," replied Katherine, with a dignity that re- buked the taunt, "that Lord Bonville has the name of an honest man who never rose at court." "Woman, without one soft woman-feeling!" muttered Hast- ings, between his ground teeth, as he approached the lady and made his profound obeisance. The words were intended only for Katherine's ear, and they reached it. Her bosom swelled beneath the brocaded gorget, and when the door closed on Hastings, she pressed her hands convulsively together, and her dark eyes were raised upward. "My child, thou art entangling thy skein," said the Lady of Bonville, as she passed one of the maidens, towards the casement, which she opened "The air to-day weighs heavily!" 290 Mli LAST OK llti I.ARONS. CHAPTER VI. JOY FOR ADAM, AND HOPE FOR SIBYLL AND POPULAR FRIAR BUNGEY! LEAPING on his palfrey, Hastings rode back to the Tower, dismounted at the gate, passed on to the little postern in the inner court, and paused not till he was in Warner's room. "How now, friend Adam? Thou art idle." "Lord Hastings, I am ill." "And thy child not with thee?" "She is gone to her Grace the Duchess, to pray her to grant me leave to go home and waste no more life on making gold." "Home! Go hence! We cannot hear it! The Duchess must not grant it. I will not suffer the King to lose so learned a philosopher. "Then pray the King to let the philosopher achieve that which is in the power of labor." He pointed to the Eureka. "Let me be heard in the King's council, and prove to sufficing judges what this iron can do for England." "Is that all? So be it. I will speak to his Highness forth- with. But promise that thou wilt think no more of leaving the King's palace." "Oh, no, no! If I may enter again into mine own palace mine own royalty of craft and hope the 'court or the dungeon all one to me!" "Father," said Sibyll, entering, "be comforted. The Duchess forbids thy departure, but we will yet flee " She stopped short as she saw Hastings. He approached her timidly, and with so repentant, so earnest a respect in his mien and gesture, that she had not the heart to draw back the fair hand he lifted to his lips. "No, flee not, sweet donzell; leave not the desert court with- out the flower and the laurel, the beauty and the wisdom, that scent the hour, and foretype eternity. I have conferred with thy father I will obtain his prayer from the King. His mind shall be free to follow its own impulse, and thou (he whis- pered) pardon pardon an offence of too much love. Never shall it wound again." Her eyes, swimming with delicious tears, were fixed upon the floor. Poor child! with so much love, how could she cherish anger? With so much purity, how distrust herself? And while, at least, he spoke, the dangerous lover was sincere. So from that hour peace was renewed between Sibyll and Lord THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 291 Hastings. Fatal peace ! alas for the girl who loves and has no mother! True to his word, the courtier braved the displeasure of the Duchess of Bedford, in inducing the King to consider the ex- pediency of permitting Adam to relinquish alchemy, and repair his model. Edward summoned a deputation from the London merchants and traders, before whom Adam appeared, and ex- plained his device. But these practical men at first ridiculed the notion as a madman's fancy, and it required all the art of Hastings to overcome their contempt, and appeal to the native acuteness of the King. Edward, however, was only caught by Adam's incidental allusions to the application of his principle to ships. The Merchant- King suddenly roused him- self to attention, when it was promised to him that his galleys could cross the seas without sail, and against wind and tide. "By St. George!" said he then, "let the honest man have his whim. Mend thy model, and every saint in the calendar speed thee! Master Heyford, tell thy comely wife that I and Hast- ings will sup with her to-morrow, for her hippocras is a rare dainty. Good-day to you, worshipful my masters. Hastings, come hither enough of these trifles I must confer with thee on matters really pressing this damnable marriage of gentle Georgie's!" And now Adam Warner was restored to his native element of thought; now the crucible was at rest, and the Eureka be- gan to rise from its ruins. He knew not the hate that he had acquired, in the permission he had gained; for the London deputies, on their return home, talked of nothing else for a whole week but the favor the King had shown to a strange man, half-maniac, half-conjuror, who had undertaken to devise a something which would throw all the artisans and journey- men out of work ! From merchant to mechanic travelled the news, and many an honest man cursed the great scholar, as he looked at his young children, and wished to have one good blow at the head that was hatching such devilish malice against the poor ! The name of Adam Warner became a byword of scorn and horror. Nothing less than the deep ditch and strong walls of the Tower could have saved him from the popular in- dignation ; and these prejudices were skilfully fed by the jeal- ous enmity of his fellow-student, the terrible Friar Bungey. This man, though in all matters of true learning and science worthy the utmost contempt Adam could heap upon him, was by no means of despicable abilities in the arts of imposing upon men. In nis youth he had been an itinerant mountebank, or, 292 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. as it was called, tregetour. He knew well all the curious tricks of juggling that then amazed the vulgar, and, we fear, are lost to the craft of our modern necromancers. He could clothe a wall with seeming vines, that vanished as you approached; he could conjure up in his quiet cell the likeness of a castle manned with soldiers, or a forest tenanted by deer.* Besides these illusions, probably produced by more powerful magic lanterns than are now used, the friar had stumbled upon the wondrous effects of animal magnetism, which was then unconsciously practised by the alchemists and cultivators of white or sacred magic. He was an adept in the craft of fortune-telling: and his intimate acquaintance with all noted characters in the me- tropolis, their previous history, and present circumstances, en- abled his natural shrewdness to hit the mark, at least, now and then, in his oracular predictions. He had taken for safety and for bread the friar's robes, and had long enjoyed the confi- dence of the Duchess of Bedford, the traditional descendant of the serpent-witch, Melusina. Moreover, and in this the friar especially valued himself, Bungey had, in the course of his hardy, vagrant, early life, studied, as shepherds and mariners do now, the signs of the weather, and as weather-glasses were then unknown, nothing could be more convenient to the royal planners of a summer chase or a hawking company than the neighborhood of a skilful predictor of storm and sunshine. In fact, there was no part in the lore of magic which the popular seers found so useful and studied so much as that which en- abled them to prognosticate the humors of the sky, at a period when the lives of all men were principally spent in the open air. The fame of Friar Bungey had travelled much farther than the repute of Adam Warner: it was known in the distant provinces ; and many a northern peasant grew pale as he re- lated to his gaping listeners the tales he had heard of the Duchess Jacquetta's dread magician. And yet, though the friar was an atrocious knave, and a ludi- crous impostor, on the whole he was by no means unpopular, especially in the metropolis, for he was naturally a jolly, social fellow : he often ventured boldly forth into the different hostelries and reunions of the populace, and enjoyed the admiration he there excited, and pocketed the groats he there collected. He had no pride none in the least, this Friar Bungey! and * See Chaucer, " House of Time," book iii. ; also the account given by Baptista Porte of his own Magical Delusions, of which an extract may be seen in the " Curiosities of Lit- erature," Art. Dreamt at thf Dawn of Philosophy. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 203 was as affable as a magician could be to the meanest mechanic who crossed his broad horn palm. A vulgar man is never un- popular with the vulgar. Moreover, the friar, who was a very cunning person, wished to keep well with the mob: he was fond of his own impudent, cheating, burly carcase, and had the prudence to foresee that a time might come when his royal patrons might forsake him, and a mob might be a terrible mon- ster to meet in his path ; therefore he always affected to love the poor; often told their fortunes gratis; now and then gave them something to drink, and was esteemed a man exceedingly good-natured, because he did not always have the devil at his back. Now Friar Bungey had, naturally enough, evinced from the first a great distaste and jealousy of Adam Warner; but oc- casionally profiting by the science of the latter, he suffered his resentment to sleep latent till it was roused into fury by learn- ing the express favor shown to Adam by the King, and the marvellous results expected from his contrivance. His envy, then, forbade all tolerance and mercy ; the world was not large enough to contain two such giants Bungey and Warner the genius and the quack. To the best of our experience, the quacks have the same creed to our own day. He vowed deep vengeance upon his associate, and spared no arts to foment the popular hatred against him. Friar Bungey would have been a great critic in our day ! But besides his jealousy, the fat friar had another motive for desiring poor Adam's destruction; he coveted his model! True, he despised the model ; he jeered the model ; he abhorred the model; but, nevertheless, for the model every string in his bowels fondly yearned. He believed that if that model were once repaired, and in his possession, he could do what he knew not but certainly all that was wanting to complete his glory, and to bubble the public. Unconscious of all that was at work against him, Adam threw his whole heart and soul into his labor, and, happy in his happi- ness, Sibyll once more smiled gratefully upon Hastings, from whom the rapture came. CHAPTER VII. A LOVE SCENE. More than ever chafed against Katherine, Hastings sur- rendered himself without reserve to the charm he found in the society of Sibyll. Her confidence being again restored, again 294 THE LART OF THE BARONS. her mind showed itself to advantage, and the more because hei pride was farther roused, to assert the equality with rank and gold which she took from nature and from God. It so often happens that the first love of woman is ac- companied with a bashful timidity which overcomes the effort, while it increases the desire, to shine, that the union of love and timidity has been called inseparable, in the hackneyed language of every love-tale. But this is no invariable rule, as Shakspeare has shown us in the artless Miranda, in the elo- quent Juliet, in the frank and healthful Rosalind ; and the love of Sibyll was no common girl's spring fever of sighs and blushes. It lay in the mind, the imagination, the intelligence, as well as in the heart and fancy. It was a breeze that stirred from the modest leaves of the rose all their divinest odor. It was impos- sible but what this strong, fresh, young nature, with its free gayety when happy, its earnest pathos when sad, its various faculties of judgment and sentiment, and covert play of inno- cent wit, should not contrast forcibly, in the mind of a man who had the want to be amused and interested, with the cold pride of Katherine, the dull atmosphere in which her stiff, un- bending virtue breathed unintellectual air, and still more with the dressed puppets, with painted cheeks and barren talk, who filled up the common world, under the name of women. His feelings for Sibyll, therefore, took a more grave and re- spectful color, and his attentions, if gallant ever, were those of a man wooing one whom he would make his wife, and study- ing the qualities in which he was disposed to intrust his happi- ness; and so pure was Sibyll's affection, that she could have been contented to have lived forever thus have seen and heard him daily have talked but the words of friendship, though with the thoughts of love ; for some passions refine themselves through the very fire of the imagination into which these senses are absorbed, and by the ideal purification ele- vated up to spirit. Wrapped in the exquisite happiness she now enjoyed, Sibyll perceived not, or, if perceiving, scarcely heeded that the admirers, who had before fluttered round her, gradu ally dropped off; that the ladies of the court, the damsels who shared her light duties, grew distant and silent at her ap- proach; that strange looks were bent on her; that sometimes, when she and Hastings were seen together, the stern frowned and the godly crossed themselves. The popular prejudices had reacted on the court. The wiz- ard's daughter was held to share the gifts of her sire, and the fascination of beauty was imputed to evil spells. Lord Hast- THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 295 ings was regarded, especially by all the ladies he had once courted and forsaken, as a man egregiously bewitched! One day it chanced that Sibyll encountered Hastings in the walk that girded the ramparts of the Tower. He was pacing musingly, with folded arms, when he raised his eyes and beheld her. "And whither go you thus alone, fair mistress?" "The Duchess bade me seek the Queen, who is taking the air yonder. My lady has received some tidings she would impart to her Highness." "I was thinking of thee, fair damsel, when thy face bright- ened on my musings, and I was comparing thee to others, who dwell in the world's high places and marvelling at the whims of fortune." Sibyll smiled faintly, and answered : "Provoke not too much the aspiring folly of my nature. Content is better than am- bition." "Thou ownest thy ambition?" asked Hastings curiously. "Ah, sir, who hath it not?" "But, for thy sweet sex, ambition has so narrow and cribbed a field." "Not so, for it lives in others. I would say," continued Sibyll, coloring, fearful that she had betrayed herself, "for example, that so long as my father toils for fame, I breathe in his hope, and am ambitious for his honor." "And so, if thou wert wedded to one worthy of thee, in his ambition thou wouldst soar and dare?" "Perhaps," answered Sibyll coyly. "But, if thou wert wedded to sorrow, and poverty, and troublous care, thine ambition, thus struck dead, would, of consequence, strike dead thy love?" "Nay, noble lord, nay canst thou so wrong womanhood in me unworthy? for surely true ambition lives not only in the goods of fortune. Is there no nobler ambition than that of the vanity? Is there no ambition of the heart? An ambition to console, to cheer the griefs of those who love and trust us? An ambition to build a happiness out of the reach of fate? An ambition to soothe some high soul, in its strife with a mean world to lull to sleep its pain, to smile to serenity its cares? Oh, methinks a woman's .true ambition would rise the bravest when, in the very sight of death itself, the voice of him in whom her glory had dwelt through life should say: 'Thou fearest not to walk to the grave, and to heaven, by my side ! ' ' Sweet and thrilling were the tones in which these words were 296 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. said lofty and solemn the upward and tearful look with whick they closed. And the answer struck home to the native and original hero- ism of the listener's nature, before debased into the cynic sour- ness of worldly wisdom. Never had Katherine herself more forcibly recalled to Hastings the pure and virgin glory of his youth. "Oh, Sibyll!" he exclaimed passionately, and yielding to the impulse of the moment "oh, that for me, as to me, such high words were said ! Oh, that all the triumphs of a life men call prosperous were excelled by the one triumph of waking such an ambition in such a heart!" Sibyll stood before him transformed pale, trembling, mute and Hastings, clasping her hand and covering it with kisses, said: "Dare I arede thy silence? Sibyll, thou lovest me! Oh, Sibyll, speak!" With a convulsive effort, the girl's lips moved, then closed, then moved again, into low and broken words. "Why this why this? Thou hadst promised not to not to " "Not to insult thee by unworthy vows! Nor do I! But as my wife " he paused abruptly, alarmed at his own impetuous words, and scared by the phantom of the world that rose like a bodily thing before the generous impulse, and grinned in scorn of his folly. But Sibyll heard only that one holy word of WIFE, and so sudden and so great was the transport it called forth, that her senses grew faint and dizzy, and she would have fallen to the earth but for the arms that circled her, and the breast upon which, now, the virgin might veil the blush that did not speak of shame. With various feelings, both were a moment silent. But, oh, that moment ! what centuries of bliss were crowded into it for the nobler and fairer nature ! At last, gently releasing herself, she put her hands before her eyes, as if to convince herself she was awake, and then, turning her lovely face full upon the wooer, Sibyll said ingenuously: "Oh, my lord oh, Hastings! if thy calmer reason repent not these words ; if thou canst approve in me what thou didst admire in Elizabeth the Queen ; if thou canst raise one who has no dower but her heart, to the state of thy wife and part- ner by this hand, which I place fearlessly in thine, I pledge THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 29} to 'hee such a love as minstrel hath never sung. No!" she continued, drawing loftily up her light stature; "no, thou shalt not find me unworthy of thy name mighty though it is, mightier though it shall be ! I have a mind that can share thine objects; I have pride that can exult in thy power, cour- age to partake thy dangers, and devotion " she hesitated, with the most charming blush "but of that, sweet lord, thou shalt judge hereafter! This is my dowry! it is all!" "And all I ask or covet," said Hastings. But his cheek had lost its first passionate glow. Lord of many a broad land and barony, victorious captain in many a foughten field, wise statesman in many a thoughtful stratagem, high in his King's favor, and linked with a nation's history William de Hastings at that hour was as far below, as earth is to heaven, the poor maiden whom he already repented to have so honored, and whose sublime answer woke no echo from his heart. Fortunately, as he deemed it, at that very instant he heard many steps rapidly approaching, and his own name called aloud by the voice of the King's body squire. "Hark, Edward summons me," he said, with a feeling of reprieve. "Farewell, dear Sibyll, farewell for a brief while we shall meet anon." At this time they were standing in that part of the rampart walk which is now backed by the barracks of a modern sol- diery, and before which, on the other side of the moat, lay a space that had seemed solitary and deserted ; but, as Hastings, in speaking his adieu, hurriedly pressed his lips on Sibyll's forehead from a tavern without the fortress, and opposite the spot on which they stood, suddenly sallied a disorderly troop of half-drunken soldiers, with a gang of the wretched women that always continue the classic association of a false Venus with a brutal Mars; and the last words of Hastings were scarcely spoken, before a loud laugh startled both himself and Sibyll, and a shudder came over her when she beheld the tinsel robes of the tymbesteres glittering in the sun, and heard their leader sing, as she darted from the arms of a reeling soldier: " Ha ! death to the dove Is the falcon's love Ob ! sharp is the kiss of the falcon's beak ! " 298 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. BOOK VII. THE POPULAR REBELLION. CHAPTER I. THE WHITE LION OF MARCH SHAKES HIS MANE. "AND what news?" asked Hastings, as he found himself amidst the King's squires; while yet was heard the laugh of the tymbesteres, and yet, gliding through the trees, might be seen the retreating form of Sibyll. "My lord, the King needs you instantly. A courier has just arrived from the North. The Lords St. John, Rivers, De Fulke, and Scales are already with his Highness." "Where?" "In the great council chamber." To that memorable room,* in the White Tower, in which the visitor, on entrance, is first reminded of the name and fate of Hastings, strode the unprophetic lord. He found Edward not reclining on cushions and carpets not womanlike in loose robes not with his lazy smile upon his sleek beauty. The King had doffed his gown, and stood erect in the tight tunic, which gave in full perfection the splendid proportions of a frame unsurpassed in activity and strength. Before him, on the long table, lay two or three open letters beside the dagger with which Edward had cut the silk that bound them. Around him gravely sate Lord Rivers, Anthony Woodville, Lord St. John, Raoul de Fulke, the young and val- iant D'Eyncourt, and many other of the principal lords. Hastings saw at once that something of pith and moment had occurred ; and by the fire in the King's eye, the dilation of his nostrils, the cheerful and almost joyous pride of his mien and brow, the experienced courtier read the signs of WAR. "Welcome, brave Hastings," said Edward, in a voice wholly changed from its wonted soft affectation loud, clear, and thrilling as it went through the marrow and heart of all who heard its stirring and trumpet accent; "Welcome now to the field, as ever to the banquet! We have news from the North that bids us brace on the burgonot, and buckle-to the brand a revolt that requires a king's arm to quell. In Yorkshire fif- teen thousand men are in arms, under a leader they call Robin * It Was from this room that Hastings was hurried to execution, June 13, 1483, THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 299 of Redesdale the pretext, a thrave of corn demanded by the Hospital of St. Leonard's the true design that of treason to our realm. At the same time, we hear from our brother of Gloucester, now on the border, that the Scotch have lifted the Lancaster Rose. There is peril if these two armies meet; no time to lose they are saddling our war-steeds we hasten to the van of our royal force. We shall have warm work, my lords. But who is worthy of a throne that cannot guard it!" "This is sad tidings indeed, sire," said Hastings gravely. "Sad! Say it not, Hastings! War is the chase of kings! Sir Raoul de Fulke, why lookest thou brooding and sor- rowful?" "Sire, I but thought that had Earl Warwick been in Eng- land, this " "Ha!" interrupted Edward haughtily and hastily "and is Warwick the sun of heaven that no cloud can darken where his face may shine? The rebels shall need no foe, my realm no regent, while I, the heir of the Plantagenets, have the sword for one, the sceptre for the other. We depart this evening ere the sun be set." "My liege," said the Lord St. John gravely, "on what forces do you count to meet so formidable an array?" "All England, Lord of St. John!" "Alack, my liege, may you not deceive yourself! But in this crisis, it is right that your leal and trusty subjects should speak out and plainly. It seems that these insurgents clamor not against yourself, but against the Queen's relations yes, my Lord Rivers, against you and your house, and I fear me that the hearts of England are with them here." "It is true, sire, " put in Raoul de Fulke boldly; "and if these new men are to head your armies, the warriors of Teuton will stand aloof Raoul de Fulke serves no Woodville's banner. Frown not, Lord de Scales! It is the griping avarice of you and yours that lias brought this evil on the King. For you the Commons have been pillaged; for you the daughters of our peers have been forced into monstrous marriages, at war with birth and with nature herself; for you, the princely Warwick, near to the throne in blood, and front and pillar of our time-hon- ored order of seigneur and of knight, has been thrust from our suzerain's favor. And if now ye are to march at the van of war you to be avengers of the strife of which ye are the cause I say that the soldiers will lack heart, and the prov- inces ye pass through will be the country of a foe!" "Vain man!" began Anthony Woodville, when Hastings 300 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. laid his hand on his arm, while Edward, amazed at this out- burst from two of the supporters on whom he principally counted, had the prudence to suppress his resentment, and remained silent, but with the aspect of one resolved to com- mand obedience, when he once deemed it right to interfere. "Hold, Sir Anthony!" said Hastings, who, the moment he found himself with men, woke to all the manly spirit and pro- found wisdom that had rendered his name illustrious "hold, and let me have the word ; my lords St. John and De Fulke, your charges are more against me than against thee gentle- men, for / am a new man a squire by birth and proud to derive mine honors from the same origin as all true nobility I mean the grace of a noble liege, and the happy fortune of a soldier's sword. It may be (and here the artful favorite, the most beloved of the whole court, inclined himself meekly) it may be that I have not borne those honors so mildly as to disarm blame. In the war to be, let me atone. My liege, hear your servant : give me no command let me be a simple soldier, fighting by your side. My example who will not fol- low? proud to ride but as a man of arms along the track which the sword of his sovereign shall cut through the ranks of battle? Not you, Lord de Scales, redoubtable and invincible with lance and axe; let us new men soothe envy by our deeds; and you, Lords St. John and De Fulke, you shall teach us how your fathers led warriors who did not fight more gallantly than we will. And when rebellion is at rest when we meet again in our suzerain's hall accuse us new men, if you can find us faulty, and we will answer you as we best may!" This address, which could have come from no man with such effect as from Hastings, touched all present. And though the Woodvilles, father and son, saw in it much to gall their pride, and half-believed it a snare for their humiliation, they made no opposition. Raoul de Fulke, ever generous as fiery, stretched forth his hand, and said: "Lord Hastings, you have spoken well. Be it as the King wills." "My lords," returned Edward gayly, "my will is that ye be friends while a foe is in the field. Hasten, then, I beseech you, one and all, to raise your vassals, and join our standard at Fotheringay. I will find ye posts that shall content the bravest." The King made a sign to break up the conference, and, dis- missing even the Woodvilles, was left alone with Hastings. "Thou hast served me at need, Will," said the King. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 30! "But I shall remember (and his eye flashed a tiger's fire) the mouthing of those mock-pieces of the lords at Runnymede. I am no John, to be bearded by my vassals. Enough of them, now. Think you Warwick can have abetted this revolt?" "A revolt of peasants and yeomen! No, sire. If he did so, farewell forever to the love the barons bear him." "Um! and yet Montagu, whom I dismissed ten days since to the Borders, hearing of disaffection, hath done nought to check it. But come what may, his must be a bold lance that shivers against a king's mail. And now one kiss of my Lady Bessee, one cup of the bright canary, and then God and St. George for the White Rose!" CHAPTER II. THE CAMP AT OLNEY. IT was some weeks after the citizens of London had seen their gallant king, at the head of such forces as were collected in haste in the metropolis, depart from their walls to the en- counter of the rebels. Surprising and disastrous had been the tidings in the interim. At first, indeed, there were hopes that the insurrection had been put down by Montagu, who had de- feated the troops of Robin of Redesdale, near the city of York, and was said to have beheaded their leader. But the spirit of discontent was only fanned by an adverse wind. The popular hatred to the Woodvilles was so great, that in proportion as Edward advanced to the scene of action, the country rose in arms as Raoul de Fulke had predicted. Leaders of lordly birth now headed the rebellion; the sons of the Lords Latimer and Fitzhugh (near kinsmen of the House of Nevile) lent their names to the cause; and Sir John Coniers, an experienced soldier, whose claims had been disregarded by Edward, gave to the insurgents the aid of a formidable capacity for war. In every mouth was the story of the Duchess of Bedford's witchcraft; and the waxen figure of the Earl did more to rouse the people, than perhaps the Earl himself could have done in person.* As yet, however, the language of the insurgents was tempered with all personal respect to the King; they declared in their mani- festoes that they desired only the banishment of the Wood- villes, and the recall of Warwick, whose name they used un- scrupulously, and whom they declared they were on their way * See " Parliamentary Rolls," vi. 23?, for the accusations of witchcraft, and the fabrica- tion of a necromantic image of Lord Warwick, circulated against the Du< ness of Bedford. She herself quotes, and complains of, them. 301 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. to meet. As soon as it was known that the kinsmen of the beloved Earl were in the revolt, and naturally supposed that the Earl himself must countenance the enterprise, the tumul- tuous camp swelled every hour, while knight after knight, vet- eran after veteran, abandoned the royal standard. The Lord d'Eyncourt (one of the few lords of the highest birth and greatest following, over whom the Neviles had no influence, and who bore the Woodvilles no grudge), had, in his way to Lincolnshire, where his personal aid was necessary to rouse his vassals, infected by the common sedition, been attacked and wounded by a body of marauders, and thus Edward's camp lost one of its greatest leaders. Fierce dispute broke out in the King's councils; and when the witch Jacquetta's practices against the Earl travelled from the hostile into the royal camp, Raoul de Fulke, St. John, and others, seized with pious horror, positively declared they would throw down their arms and re- tire to their castles, unless the Woodvilles were dismissed from the camp, and the Earl of Warwick was recalled to England. To the first demand the King was constrained to yield; with the second he temporized. He marched from Fotheringay to Newark ; but the signs of disaffection, though they could not dis- may him as a soldier, altered his plans as a captain of singular military acuteness; he fell back on Nottingham, and des- patched, with his own hands, letters to Clarence, the Arch- bishop of York, and Warwick. To the last he wrote touch- ingly. "We do not believe (said the letter) that ye should be of any such disposition towards us, as the rumor here runneth, considering the trust and affection we bear you and cousin, ne think ye shall be to us welcome." * But ere these letters reached the destination, the crown seemed well-nigh lost. At Edgecote, the Earl of Pembroke was defeated and slain, and five thousand royalists were left on the field. Earl Rivers, and his son, Sir John Woodville,f who, in obedience to the royal order, had retired to the Earl's country seat of Grafton, were taken prisoners, and beheaded by the vengeance of the insur- gents. The same lamentable fate befell the Lord Stafford, on whom Edward relied as one of his most puissant leaders; and * " Paston's Letters," ccxcviii. (Knight's edition), vol. ii., p. 59. See also Lingard, vol. iii., p. 522, (410 edition), note 43, for the proper date to be assigned to Edward's letter to Warwick, etc. t This Sir John Woodville was the most obnoxious of the queen's brothers, and infamous for the avarice which had led him to marry the old Duchess of Norfolk, an act which, ac- cording to the old laws of chivalry, would have disabled him from entering the lists of knighthood, for the ancient code disqualified and degraded any knight who should mairy an old woman for her money ! Lord Rivers was the more odious to the people at the time of the insurrection, because, in his capacity of treasurer, he had lately tampered with the coin and circulation. THE LAST OF TH BARONS. 303 London heard with dismay that the King, with but a handful of troops, and those lukewarm and disaffected, was begirt on all sides by hostile and marching thousands. From Nottingham, however, Edward made good his retreat to a village called Olney, which chanced at that time to be par- tially fortified with a wall and a strong gate. Here the rebels pursued him; and Edward, hearing that Sir Anthony Wood- ville, who conceived that the fate of his father and brother cancelled all motive for longer absence from the contest, was busy in collecting a force in the neighborhood of Coventry, while other assistance might be daily expected from London, strengthened the fortifications as well as the time would permit, and awaited the assault of the insurgents. It was at this crisis, and while throughout all England reigned terror and commotion, that one day, towards the end of July, a small troop of horsemen were seen riding rapidly towards the neighborhood of Olney. As the village came in view of the cavalcade, with the spire of its church, and its gray stone gateway, so, also, they beheld, on the pastures that stretched around wide and far, a moving forest of pikes and plumes. "Holy Mother!" said one of the foremost riders, "good knight and strong man though Edward be, it were sharp work to cut his way from that hamlet through yonder fields ! Brother, we were more welcome, had we brought more bills and bows at our backs!" "Archbishop," answered the stately personage thus ad- dressed, "we bring what alone raises armies and disbands them a NAME that a People honors! From the moment the White Bear is seen on yonder archway, side by side with the King's banner, that army will vanish as smoke before the wind." "Heaven grant it, Warwick!" said the Duke of Clarence, "for, though Edward hath used us sorely, it chafes me as Plan- tagenet and as prince, to see how peasants and varlets can hem round a king." "Peasants and varlets are pawns in the chess-board, Cousin George," said the prelate, "and knight and bishop find them mighty useful, when pushing forward to an attack. Now knight and bishop appear themselves and take up the game Warwick," added the prelate, in a whisper, unheard by Clar- ence, ' 'forget not, while appeasing rebellion, that the King is in your power." "For shame, George! I think not now of the unkind King; I think only of the brave boy I dandled on my knee, and whose 364 'i UK LAST OF THE BARON3. sword I girded on at Touton. How his lion heart must chafe, condemned to see a foe whom his skill as captain tells him it were madness to confront!" "Ay, Richard Nevile! ay," said the prelate, with a slight sneer, "play the Paladin, and become the dupe release the prince, and betray the people!" "No! I can be true to both. Tush! brother, your craft is slight to the plain wisdom of bold honesty. You slacken your steeds, sirs, on on see, the march of the rebels! On, for an Edward and a Warwick !" and spurring to full speed, the little company arrived at the gates. The loud bugle of the new-comers was answered by the cheerful note of the joyous warder, while dark, slow, and solemn, over the meadows, crept on the mighty cloud of the rebel army. "We have forestalled the insurgents!" said the Earl, throw- ing himself from his black steed. "Marmaduke Nevile, ad- vance our banner; heralds, announce the Duke of Clarence, the Archbishop of York, and the Earl of Salisbury and Warwick." Through the anxious town, along the crowded walls and housetops, into the hall of an old mansion (that then adjoined the church), where the King, in complete armor, stood, at bay, with stubborn and disaffected officers, rolled the thunder cry : "A Warwick a Warwick! All saved! a Warwick!" Sharply, as he heard the clamor, the King turned upon his startled council. "Lords and captains!" said he, with that inexpressible majesty which he could command in his happier hours, "God and our Patron Saint have sent us at least one man who has the heart to fight fifty times the odds of yon mis- creant rabble, by his King's side, and for the honor of loyalty and knighthood!" "And who says, sire," answered Raoul de Fulke, "that we your lords and captains would not risk blood and life for our King and our knighthood in a just cause? But we will not butcher our countrymen for echoing our own complaint, and praying your Grace that a grasping and ambitious family which you have raised to power may no longer degrade your nobles and oppress your Commons. We shall see if the Earl of Warwick blame us or approve." "And I answer," said Edward loftily, "that whether War- wick approve or blame, come as friend or foe, I will sooner ride alone through yonder archway, and carve out a soldier's grave amongst the ranks of rebellious war, than be the puppet of my subjects, and serve their will by compulsion. Free am I THE LAST OF THE BARON& $65 free ever will I be, while the crown of Plantagenet is mine, to raise those whom I love, to defy the threats of those sworn to obey me. And were I but Earl of March, instead of King of England, this hall should have swam with the blood of those who have insulted the friends of my youth the wife of my bosom. Off, Hastings! I need no mediator with my servants. Nor here, nor anywhere in broad England, have I my equal, and the King forgives or scorns construe it as ye will, my lords what the simple gentleman would avenge." It were in vain to describe the sensation that this speech produced. There is ever something in courage and in will that awes numbers, though brave themselves. And what with the unquestioned valor of Edward ; what with the effect of his splendid person, towering above all present by the head, and moving lightly, with each impulse, through the mass of a mail that few there could have borne unsinking, this assertion of ab- solute power in the midst of mutiny an army marching to the gates imposed an unwilling reverence and sullen silence, mixed with anger, that, while it chafed, admired. They who, in peace, had despised the voluptuous monarch, feasting in his palace, and reclining on the lap of harlot-beauty, felt that in war all Mars seemed living in his person. Then, indeed, he was a king ; and had the foe, now darkening the landscape, been the noblest chivalry of France, not a man but had died for a smile from that haughty lip. But the barons were knit heart in heart with the popular outbreak, and to put down the revolt seemed to them but to raise the Woodvilles. The silence was still unbroken, save where the persuasive whisper of Lord Hastings might be faintly heard in remonstrance with the more powerful or the more stubborn of the chiefs, when the tread of steps resounded without, and, unarmed, bareheaded, the only form in Christendom grander and statelier than the King's strode into the Hall. Edward, as yet unaware what course Warwick would pur- sue, and half-doubtful whether a revolt that had borrowed his name, and was led by his kinsmen, might not originate in his consent, surrounded by those to whom the Earl was especially dear, and aware that if Warwick were against him all was lost, still relaxed not the dignity of his mien ; and leaning on his large two-handed sword, with such inward resolves as brave kings and gallant gentlemen form, if the worst should befall, he watched the majestic strides of his great kinsman, and said, as the Earl approached, and the mutinous captains louted low: "Cousin, you are welcome! for truly do I know that when 306 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. you have aught whereof to complain, you take not the moment of danger and disaster. And whatever has chanced to alienate your heart from me, the sound of the rebel's trumpet chases all difference, and marries your faith to mine." "Oh, Edward, my King, why did you so misjudge me in the prosperous hour!" said Warwick simply, but with affecting earnestness; "since in the adverse hour you arede me well?" As he spoke, he bowed his head, and, bending his knee, kissed the hand held out to him. Edward's face grew radiant, and raising the Earl, he glanced proudly at the barons who stood round, surprised and mute. "Yes, my lords and sirs, see it is not the Earl of Warwick, next to our royal brethren, the nearest subject to the throne, who would desert me in the day of peril!" " Nor do 7y love to him. It is true that he hath paltered with me, and that I had stern resolves, not against his crown, but to leave him to his fate, and in these halls to resign my charge. But while he spoke, and while he looked, me- thought I saw his mother's face, and heard his dear father's tones, and the past rushed over me, and all wrath was gone. Sonless myself, why would he not be my son?" The Earl's voice trembled, and the tears stood in his dark eyes. "Speak thus, dear lord, to Isabel, for I fear her over-vaulting spirit " " Ah had Isabel been his wife ! " he paused and moved away. Then, as if impatient to escape the thoughts that tended to an ungracious recollection, he added : " And now, sweetheart, these slight fingers have oft-times buckled on my mail, let them place on my breast this badge of St. George's chivalry ; and, if angry thoughts return, it shall remind me that the day on which I wore it first, Richard of York said to his young Edward ' ' Look to that star, boy, if ever, in cloud 344 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. and trouble, thou wouldst learn what safety dwells in the heart which never knew deceit ' ! " During the banquet, the King, at whose table sate only the Duke of Clarence and the Earl's family, was gracious as day to all, but especially to the Lady Anne ; attributing her sudden illness to some cause not unflattering to himself, her beauty, which somewhat resembled that of the Queen, save that it had more advantage of expression and of youth, was precisely of the character he most admired. Even her timidity, and the reserve with which she answered him, had their charm ; for like many men, themselves of imperious nature and fiery will, he preferred even imbecility in a woman to whatever was energetic or determined ; and hence, perhaps, his indifference to the more dazzling beauty of Isabel. After the feast, the numerous demoiselles, high-born and fair, who swelled the more than regal train of the Countess, were assembled in the long gallery, which was placed in the third story of the castle, and served for the principal state apartment. The dance began ; but Isabel excused herself from the Pavon, and the King led out the reluctant and melancholy Anne. The proud Isabel, who had never forgiven Edward's slight to herself, resented deeply his evident admiration of her sister, and conversed apart with the Archbishop, whose subtle craft easily drew from her lips confessions of an ambition higher even than his own. He neither encouraged nor dissuaded ; he thought there were things more impossible than the accession of Clarence to the throne, but he was one who never plotted save for himself and for the Church. As the revel waned, the prelate approached the Earl, who, with that remarkable courtesy which charmed those below his rank, and contrasted with his haughtiness to his peers, had well played amongst his knights the part of host, and said, in a whisper : " Edward is in a happy mood let us lose it not. Will you trust me to settle all differences, ere he sleep? Two proud men never can agree without a third of a gentler temper." "You are right," said Warwick, smiling, "yet the danger is, that I should rather concede too much, than be too stubborn. But look you ; all I demand is, satisfaction to mine own honor, and faith to the army I disbanded in the King's name." "All!" muttered the Archbishop, as he turned away, "but that all is everything to provoke quarrel for you, and nothing to bring power to me ! " The Earl and the Archbishop attended the King to his chamber, and after Edward was served with the parting refec- THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 345 tion, or livery, the Earl said, with his most open smile : " Sire, there are yet affairs between us ; whom will you confer with me or the Archbishop?" "Oh! the Archbishop, by all means, fair cousin," cried Edward, no less frankly, " for if you and I are left alone, the Saints help both of us ! when flint and steel meet, fire flies, and the house may burn." The Earl half-smiled at the candor, half-sighed at the levity of the royal answer, and silently left the room. The King, drawing round him his loose dressing-robe, threw himself upon the gorgeous coverlid of the bed, and lying at lazy length, mo- tioned to the prelate to seat himself at the foot. The Arch- bishop obeyed. Edward raised himself on his elbow, and, by the light of seven gigantic tapers, set in sconces of massive sil- ver, the priest and the King gravely gazed on each other, with- out speaking. At last, Edward, bursting into his hale, clear, silvery laugh, said : "Confess, dear sir and cousin confess that we are like two skilful masters of Italian fence, each fearing to lay himself open by commencing the attack." "Certes," quoth the Archbishop, "your Grace over-esti- mates my vanity, in opining that I deemed myself equal to so grand a duello. If there were dispute between us, I should only win by baring my bosom." The King's bow-like lip curved with a slight sneer, quickly replaced by a serious and earnest expression : "Let us leave word-making, and to the point, George. Warwick is displeased because I will not abandon my wife's kindred ; you, with more reason, because I have taken from your hands the chancellor's great seal " " For myself, I humbly answer that your Grace errs. I never coveted other honors than those of the Church." " Ay," said Edward, keenly examining the young prelate's smooth face, " is it so ? Yes, now I begin to comprehend thee. What offence have I given to the Church ? Have I suffered the law too much to sleep against the Lollards ? If so, blame Warwick." "On the contrary, sire, unlike other priests, I have ever deemed that persecution heals no schism. Blow not dying embers. Rather do I think of late that too much severity hath helped to aid, by Lollard bows and pikes, the late rising. My lady, the Queen's mother, unjustly accused of witchcraft, hath sought to clear herself, and perhaps too zealously, in exciting your Grace against that invisible giant ycleped heresy." 346 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. " Pass on," said Edward. " It is not then indifference to the ecclesia that you complain of. Is it neglect of the ecclesiastic ? Ha ! ha ! you and I, though young, know the colors that make up the patchwork world. Archbishop, I love an easy life ; if your brother and his friends will but give me that, let them take all else. Again, I say, to the point ; I cannot banish my lady's kindred, but I will bind your house still more to mine. I have a daughter, failing male issue, the heiress to my crown. I will betroth her to your nephew, ray beloved Montagu's son. They are children yet, but their ages not unsuited. And when I re- turn to London, young Nevile shall be Duke of Bedford, a title hitherto reserved to the royal race.* Let that be a pledge of peace between the Queen's mother, bearing the same honors, and the house of Nevile, to which they pass." The cheek of the Archbishop flushed with proud pleasure ; he bowed his head, and Edward, ere he could answer, went on: " Warwick is already so high that, pardie, I have no other step to give him save my throne itself, and God's truth, I would rather be Lord Warwick than King of England ! But for you listen our only English cardinal is old and sickly ; whenever he pass to Abraham's bosom, who but you should have the suf- frage of the holy college ? Thou knowest that I am somewhat in the good favor of the sovereign pontiff. Command me to the utmost. Now, George, are we friends ? " The Archbishop kissed the gracious hand extended to him, and, surprised to find, as by magic, all his schemes frustrated by sudden acquiescence in the objects of them all, his voice faltered with real emotion as he gave vent to his gratitude. But abruptly he checked himself, his brow lowered, and with a bitter remembrance of his brother's plain, blunt sense of honor, he said: "Yet, alas, my liege, in all this there is nought to sat- isfy our stubborn host." " By dear Saint George and my father's head ! " exclaimed Edward, reddening, and starting to his feet, " what would the man have?" * You know," answered the Archbishop, " that Warwick's pride is only roused when he deems his honor harmed. Un- happily, as he thinks, by your Grace's full consent, he pledged himself to the insurgents of Olney to the honorable dismissal of the lords of the Woodville race. And unless this be conceded, I fear me that all else he will reject, and the love between ye can be but hollow ! " _* And indeed there was but one Yorkist duke then in England out of the royal family, viz., the young boy, Buckingham, who afterwards vainly sought to bend the Ulysses bow of Warwick against Richard III. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 347 Edward took but three strides across the chamber, and then halted opposite the Archbishop, and laid both hands on his shoulders, as, looking him full in the face, he said: " Answer me frankly, am I a prisoner in these towers, or not ? " " Not, sire." " You palter with me, priest. I have been led hither against my will. I am almost without an armed retinue. I am at the Earl's mercy. This chamber might be my grave, and this couch my bed of death." " Holy Mother ! Can you think so of Warwick ? Sire, you freeze my blood." " Well, then, if I refuse to satisfy Warwick's pride, and dis- dain to give up loyal servants to rebel insolence, what will Warwick do? Speak out, Archbishop." " I fear me, sire, that he will resign all office, whether of peace or war. I fear me that the goodly army now at sleep within and around these walls will vanish into air, and that your Highness will stand alone amidst new men, and against the disaffection of the whole land ! " Edward's firm hand trembled. The prelate continued, with a dry, caustic smile : " Sire, Sir Anthony Woodville, now Lord Rivers, has relieved you of all embarrassment ; no doubt, my Lord Dorset and his kinsmen will be chevaliers enough to do the same. The Duchess of Bedford will but suit the decorous usage to retire awhile into privacy, to mourn her widowhood. And when a year is told, if these noble persons re-appear at court, your word and the Earl's will at least have been kept." " I "understand thee," said the King, half-laughing; "but I have my pride as well as Warwick. To concede this point is to humble the conceder." " I have thought how to soothe all things, and without humbling either party. Your Grace's mother is dearly beloved by Warwick, and revered by all. Since your marriage she hath lived secluded from all state affairs. And so nearly akin to Warwick so deeply interested in your Grace she is a fitting mediator in all disputes. Be they left to her to arbitrate." " Ah ! cunning prelate, thou knowest how my proud mother hates the Woodvilles thou knowest how her judgment will decide." " Perhaps so ; but at least your Grace will be spared all pain and all abasement." " Will Warwick consent to this ? " " I trust so." 348 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. " Learn and report to me. Enough for to-night's confei ence." Edward was left alone, and his mind ran rapidly over tlu- field of action open to him. " I have half-won the Earl's army," he thought ; " but it would be to lose all hold in their hearts again, if they knew that these unhappy Woodvilles were the cause of a second breach between us. Certes, the Lancastrians are making strong head ! Certes, the times must be played with and appeased ! And yet these poor gentlemen love me after my own fashion, and not with the bear's hug of that intolerable Earl. How came the grim man by so fair a daughter ? Sweet Anne ! I caught her eye often fixed on me, and with a soft fear which my heart beat loud to read aright. Verily, this is the fourth week I have passed without hearing a woman's sigh ! What marvel that so fair a face enamours me ! Would that Warwick made her his ambassador ; and yet it were all over with the Woodvilles if he did ! These men know not how to manage me, and well-a-day, that task is easy eno' to women ! " He laughed gayly to himself as he thus concluded his solilo- quy, and extinguished the tapers. But rest did not come to his pillow: and after tossing to and fro for some time in vain search for sleep, he rose and opened his casement to cool the air which the tapers had overheated. In a single casement in a broad turret, projecting from an angle in the building, below the tower in which his chamber was placed, the King saw a solitary light burning steadily. A sight so unusual at such an hour s.urprised him. " Peradventure, the wily prelate," thought he. "Cunning never sleeps." But a second look showed him the very form that chased his slumbers. Beside the casement, which was partially open, he saw the soft profile of the Lady Anne ; it was bent downwards ; and what with the clear moon- light, and the lamp within her chamber, he could see distinctly that she was weeping. "Ah! Anne," muttered the amorous King, " would that I were by to kiss away those tears ! " While yet the unholy wish murmured on his lips, the lady rose. The fair hand, that seemed almost transparent in the moonlight, closed the casement ; and though the light lingered for some minutes ere it left the dark walls of the castle without other sign of life than the step of the sentry, Anne was visible no more. " Madness madness madness ! " again murmured the King. " These Neviles are fatal to me in all ways in hatred or in love ! " THE LAST OK THE BARONS. 349 BOOK VIII. IN WHICH THE LAST LINK BETWEEN KING-MAKER AND KING SNAPS ASUNDER. CHAPTER I. THE LADY ANNE VISITS THE COURT. IT was some weeks after the date of the events last recorded. The storm that hung over the destinies of King Edward was dispersed for the hour, though the scattered clouds still dark- ened the horizon : the Earl of Warwick had defeated the Lancastrians on the frontier,* and their leader had perished on the scaffold, but Edward's mighty sword had not shone in the battle. Chained by an attraction yet more powerful than slaughter, he had lingered at Middleham, while Warwick led his army to York ; and when the Earl arrived at the capital of Edward's ancestral duchy, he found that the able and active Hastings having heard, even before he reached the Duke of Gloucester's camp, of Edward's apparent seizure by the Earl and the march to Middleham had deemed it best to halt at York, and to summon in all haste a council of such of the knights and barons, as either love to the King or envy to Warwick could collect. The report was general that Edward was detained against his will at Middleham, and this rumor Hastings gravely demanded Warwick, on the arrival of the latter at York, to disprove. The Earl, to clear himself from a suspicion that impeded all his military movements, dispatched Lord Montagu to Middleham, who returned not only with the King, but the Countess and her daughters, whom Edward, un- der pretence of proving the complete amity that existed be- tween Warwick and himself, carried in his train. The King's appearance at York reconciled all differences. But he suffered Warwick to march alone against the enemy, and not till after the decisive victory, which left his reign for a while without an open foe, did he return to London. Thither the Earl, by the advice of his friends, also repaired, and in a council of peers, summoned for the purpose, deigned to refute the rumors still commonly circulated by his foes, and not disbelieved by the vulgar, whether of his connivance at * Croyl, 55 j, 350 THE LAST PI' THE BARONS. the popular rising, or his forcible detention of the King at Mid- dleham. To this, agreeably to the council of the Archbishop, succeeded a solemn interview of the heads of the houses of York and Warwick, in which the once fair Rose of Raby (the King's mother) acted as mediator and arbiter. The Earl's word to the Commons at Olney was ratified. Edward consented to the temporary retirement of the Woodvilles, though the gallant Anthony yet delayed his pilgrimage to Compostella. The vanity of Clarence was contented by the government of Ire- land, but, under various pretences, Edward deferred his bro- ther's departure to that important post. A general amnesty was proclaimed, a Parliament summoned for the redress of popular grievances, and the betrothal of the King's daughter to Montagu's heir was proclaimed ; the latter received the title of Duke of Bedford ; and the whole land rejoiced in the recovered peace of the realm, the retirement of the Woodvilles, and the reconciliation of the young King with his all-beloved subject. Never had the power of the Neviles seemed so se- cure never did the throne of Edward appear so stable. It was at this time that the King prevailed upon the Earl and his Countess to permit the Lady Anne to accompany the Duchess of Clarence in a visit to the palace of the Tower. The Queen had submitted so graciously to the humiliation of her family, that even the haughty Warwick was touched and softened ; and the visit of his daughter at such a time became a homage to Elizabeth, which it suited his chivalry to render. The public saw in this visit, which was made with great state and ceremony, the probability of a new and popular alliance. The Archbishop had suffered the rumor of Gloucester's attach- ment to the Lady Anne to get abroad, and the young Prince's return from the north was anxiously expected by the gossips of the day. It was on this occasion that Warwick showed his gratitude for Marmaduke Nevile's devotion. " My dear and gallant kinsman," he said, " I forget not that when thou didst leave the King and the court for the discredited minister and his gloomy hall I forget not that thou didst tell me of love to some fair maiden, which had not prospered according to thy merits. At least it shall not be from lack of lands, or of the gold spur, which allows the wearer to ride by the side of king or kaisar, that thou canst not choose thy bride as the heart bids thee. I pray thee, sweet cousin, to attend my child Anne to the court, where the King will show thee no ungracious countenance ; but it is just to recompense thee for THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 351 the loss of thy post in his Highness's chamber. I hold the King's commission to make knights of such as can pay the fee, and thy lands shall suffice for the dignity. Kneel down, and rise up, Sir Marmaduke Nevile, Lord of the Manor of Borro- daile, with its woodlands and its farms, and may God and Our Lady render thee puissant in battle and prosperous in love ! " Accordingly, in his new rank, and entitled to ruffle it with the bravest, Sir Marmaduke Nevile accompanied the Earl and the Lady Anne to the palace of the Tower. As Warwick, leaving his daughter amidst the brilliant circle that surrounded Elizabeth, turned to address the King, he said, with simple and unaffected nobleness : " Ah, my liege, if you needed a hostage of my faith, think that my heart is here, for verily its best blood were less dear to me than that slight girl the likeness of her mother when her lips first felt the touch of mine ! " Edward's bold brow fell, and he blushed as he answered : " My Elizabeth will hold her as a sister. But, cousin, part you not now for the north ? " " By your leave, I go first to Warwick." " Ah ! you do not wish to approve of my seeming prepara- tions against France ! " " Nay, your Highness is not in earnest. I promised the Com- mons that you would need no supplies for so thriftless a war." " Thou knowest I mean to fulfil all thy pledges. But the country so swarms with disbanded soldiers that it is politic to hold out to them a hope of service, and so let the clouds gradu- ally pass away." " Alack, my liege ! " said Warwick gravely. " I suppose that a crown teaches the brow to scheme ; but hearty peace or open war seems ever the best to me." Edward smiled and turned aside. Warwick glanced at his daughter, whom Elizabeth flatteringly caressed, stifled a sigh, and the air seemed lighter to the insects of the court as his proud crest bowed beneath the doorway, and, with the pomp of his long retinue, he vanished from the scene. "And choose, fair Anne," said the Queen, " choose from my ladies, whom you will have for your special train. We would not that your attendance should be less than royal." The gentle Anne in vain sought to excuse herself from an honor at once arrogant and invidious, though too innocent to perceive the cunning so characteristic of the Queen ; for under the guise of a special compliment, Anne had received the royal request to have her female attendants chosen from the court, and 35- 'I' HE LAST OF THK KARONS. Elizabeth now desired to force upon her a selection which could not fail to mortify those not preferred. But glancing timidly round the circle, the noble damsel's eye rested on one fair face, and in that face there was so much that awoke her own interest, and stirred up a fond and sad remembrance, that she passed involuntarily to the stranger's side, and artlessly took her hand. The high-born maidens grouped around glanced at each other with a sneer, and slunk back. Even the Queen looked sur- prised, but recovering herself, inclined her head graciously, and said : " Do we read your meaning aright, Lady Anne, and would you this gentlewoman, Mistress Sibyll Warner, as one of your chamber ?" " Sibyll, ah, I knew that my memory failed me not," mur- mured Anne ; and, after bowing assent to the Queen, she said : " Do you not also recall, fair demoiselle, our meeting, when children, long years ago?" " Well, noble dame," * answered Sibyll. And as Anne turned, with her air of modest gentleness, yet of lofty birth and breed- ing, to explain to the Queen that she had met Sibyll in earlier years, the King approached to monopolize his guest's voice and ear. It seemed natural to all present that Edward should devote peculiar attention to the daughter of Warwick and the sister of the Duchess of Clarence : and even Elizabeth sus- pected no guiltier gallantry in the subdued voice, the caressing manner, which her handsome lord adopted throughout that day, even to the close of the nightly revel, towards a demois- elle too high (it might well appear) for licentious homage. But Anne herself, though too guileless to suspect the nature of Edward's courtesy, yet shrunk from it in vague terror. All his beauty, all his fascination, could not root from her mind the remembrance of the exiled Prince nay, the brilliancy of his qualities made her the more averse to him. It darkened the prospects of Edward of Lancaster that Edward of York should wear so gracious and so popular a form. She hailed with delight the hour when she was conducted to her chamber, and dismissing gently the pompous retinue allotted to her, found herself alone with the young maiden whom she had elected to her special service. " And you remember me, too, fair Sibyll ? " said Anne, with her dulcet and endearing voice. ' Truly, who would not ? for as you, then, noble lady, glided apart from the other children, hand in hand with the young * The title of Dame was at that time applied indiscriminately to ladies, whether married pr single, if of high birth, THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 353 Prince, in whom all dreamed to see their future King I heard the universal murmur of a false prophecy ! " " Ah ! and of what ? " asked Anne. " That in the hand the Prince clasped, with his small rosy fingers the hand of great Warwick's daughter lay the best defence of his father's throne." Anne's breast heaved, and her small foot began to mark strange characters on the floor. " So," she said musingly, "so, even here, amidst a new court, you forget not Prince Edward of Lancaster. Oh, we shall find hours to talk of the past days. But how, if your childhood was spent in Margaret's court, does your youth find a welcome in Elizabeth's ? " " Avarice and power had need of my father's science. He is a scholar of good birth, but fallen fortunes even now, and ever while night lasts, he is at work. I belonged to the train of her Grace of Bedford, but when the Duchess quitted the court, and the King retained my father in his own royal service, her Highness the Queen was pleased to receive me among her maidens. Happy that my father's home is mine who else could tend him ! " " Thou art his only child ? He must love thee dearly ? " " Yet not as I love him he lives in a life apart from all else that live. But, after all, peradventure it is sweeter to love than to be loved." Anne, whose nature was singularly tender and womanlike, was greatly affected by this answer ; she drew nearer to Sibyll ; she twined her arm round her slight form, and kissed her forehead. " Shall / love thee, Sibyll ? " she said, with a girl's candid simplicity, "And wilt thou love me ?" " Ah, lady ! there are so many to love thee ; father, mother, sister all the world ; the very sun shines more kindly upon the great ! " " Nay ! " said Anne, with that jealousy of a claim to suffer- ing, to which the gentler natures are prone, " I may have sor- rows from which thou art free. I confess to thee, Sibyll, that something, I know not how to explain, draws me strangely towards thy sweet face. Marriage has lost me my only sister for since Isabel is wed, she is changed to me would that her place was supplied by thee ! Shall I steal thee from the Queen, when I depart ? Ah ! my mother at least thou wilt love her ! for, verily, to love my mother you have but to breathe the same air. Kiss me, Sibyll." Kindness, of late, had. been strange to Sibyll, especially from 354 THK LAST OF THR KARONS. her own sex, one of her own age ; it came like morning upon the folded blossom. She threw her arms round the new friend that seemed sent to her from heaven ; she kissed Anne's face and hands with grateful tears. " Ah ! " she said, at last, when she could command a voice still broken with emotion " if I could ever serve ever repay thee though those gracious words were the last thy lips should ever deign to address to me ! " Anne was delighted ; she had never yet found one to pro- tect ; she had never yet found one in whom thoroughly to confide. Gentle as her mother was, the distinction between child and parent was, even in the fond family she belonged to, so great in that day, that she could never have betrayed to the Countess the wild weakness of her young heart. The wish to communicate to reveal is so natural to ex- treme youth, and in Anne that disposition was so increased by a nature at once open and inclined to lean on others, that she had, as we have seen, sought a confidant in Isabel ; but with her, even at the first, she found but the half-contemptuous pity of a strong and hard mind ; and, lately, since Edward's visit to Middleham, the Duchess of Clarence had been so wrapt in her own imperious egotism and discontented ambition, that the timid Anne had not even dared to touch, with her, upon those secrets which it flushed her own bashful cheek to recall. And this visit to the court this new, unfamiliar scene this estrangement from all the old accustomed affections, had pro- duced in her that sense of loneliness which is so irksome, till grave experience of real life accustoms us to the common lot. So with the exaggerated and somewhat morbid sensibility that be- longed to her, she turned at once, and by impulse, to this sudden, yet graceful, friendship. Here was one of her own age one who had known sorrow one whose voice and eyes charmed her one who would not chide even folly one, above all, who had seen her beloved Prince one associated with her fondest memories one who might have a thousand tales to tell of the day when the outlaw-boy was a monarch's heir. In the child- ishness of her soft years, she almost wept at another channel for so much natural tenderness. It was half the woman gain- ing a woman-friend half the child clinging to a new playmate. "Ah, Sibyll!" she whispered, "do not leave me to-night this strange place daunts me, and the figures on the arras seems so tall and spectre-like and they say the old tower i$ haunted. Stay, dear Sibyll!" And, Sibyll stayed. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 355 CHAPTER II. THE SLEEPING INNOCENCE THE WAKEFUL CRIME. WHILE these charming girls thus innocently conferred ; while, Anne's sweet voice running on in her artless fancies, they helped each other to undress ; while hand in hand they knelt in prayer by the crucifix in the dim recess; while timidly they extinguished the light, and stole to rest ; while, convers- ing in whispers, growing gradually more faint and low, they sank into guileless sleep the unholy King paced his solitary chamber, parched with the fever of the sudden and frantic passion, that swept away from a heart, in which every impulse was a giant, all the memories of honor, gratitude, and law. The mechanism of this strong man's nature was that almost unknown to the modern time ; it belonged to those earlier days which furnish to Greece the terrible legends Ovid has clothed in gloomy fire, which a similar civilization produced no less in the Middle Ages, whether of Italy or the North that period when crime took a grandeur from its excess ; when power was so great and absolute, that its girth burst the ligaments of con- science; when a despot was but the incarnation of WILL ; when honor was indeed a religion, but its faith was valor, and it wrote its decalogue with the point of a fearless sword. The youth of Edward IV. was as the youth of an ancient Titan of an Italian Borgia ; through its veins the hasty blood rolled as a devouring flame. This impetuous and fiery tem- perament was rendered yet more fearful by the indulgence of every intemperance ; it fed on wine and lust ; its very virtues strengthened its vices ; its courage stifled every whisper of pru- dence; its intellect, uninured to all discipline, taught it to dis- dain every obstacle to its desires. Edward could, indeed, as we have seen, be false and crafty a temporizer a dissimula- tor but it was only as the tiger creeps, the better to spring, undetected, on its prey. If detected, the cunning ceased, the daring rose, and the mighty savage had fronted ten thousand foes, secure in its fangs and talons, its bold heart, and its deadly spring. Hence, with all Edward's abilities, the aston- ishing levities and indiscretions of his younger years. It al- most seemed, as we have seen him play fast and loose with the might of Warwick, and with that power, whether of barons or of people, which any other prince of half his talents would have trembled to arouse against an unrooted throne it almost geeme# as if he loved to provoke a danger, for the pleasure it 356 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. i;a\v the brain to baffle, or the hand to crush it. His whole nature coveting excitement, nothing was left to the beautiful, the luxurious Edward, already wearied with pomp and pleas- ure, but what was unholy and forbidden. In his court were a hundred ladies, perhaps not less fair than Anne, at least of a beauty more commanding the common homage, but these he had only to smile on, with ease to win. No awful danger, no inexpiable guilt, attended those vulgar frailties, and therefore they ceased to tempt. But here the virgin guest, the daughtei of his mightiest subject, the beloved treasure of the man whose hand had built a throne, whose word had dispersed an army here, the more the reason warned, the conscience started, the more the hell-born passion was aroused ! Like men of his peculiar constitution, Edward was wholly incapable of pure and steady love. His affection for his Queen the most resembled that diviner affection ; but when analyzed, it was composed of feelings widely distinct. From a sudden passion, not otherwise to be gratified, he had made the rashest sacrifices for an unequal marriage. His vanity, and something of original magnanimity, despite his vices, urged him to pro- tect what he himself had raised, to secure the honor of the sub- ject who was honored by the King. In common with most rude and powerful natures, he was strongly alive to the affec- tions of a father, and the faces of his children helped to main- tain the influence of the mother. But in all this, we need scarcely say that that true love, which is at once a passion and a devotion, existed not. Love with him cared not for the per- son loved, but solely for its own gratification; it was desire for possession nothing more. But that desire was the will of a king who never knew fear or scruple; and, pampered by eter- nal indulgence, it was to the feeble lusts of common men what the storm is to the west wind. Yet still, as in the solitude of night he paced his chamber, the shadow of the great crime ad- vancing upon his soul appalled even that dauntless conscience. He gasped for breath his cheek flushed crimson, and the next moment grew deadly pale. He heard the loud beating of his heart. He stopped still. He flung himself on a seat, and hid his face with his hands; then starting up, he exclaimed: "No no! I cannot shut out that sweet face, those blue eyes, from my gaze. They haunt me to my destruction and her own. Yet why say destruction? If she love me, who shall know the deed; if she love me not, will she dare to reveal her shame? Shame nay, a king's embrace never dishonors. A king's bas- tard i a house's pride, All is still the very mpon vanishes THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 357 from heaven. The noiseless rushes in the gallery give no echo to the footstep. Fie on me ! Can a Plantagenet know fear?" He allowed himself no further time to pause; he opened the door gently, and stole along the gallery. He knew well the chamber, for it was appointed by his command; and, besides the usual door from the corridor, a small closet con- ducted to a secret panel behind the arras. It was the apart- ment occupied, in her visits to the court, by the Queen's rival, the Lady Elizabeth Lucy. He passed into the closet he lifted the arras he stood in that chamber which gratitude, and chivalry, and hospitable faith, should have made sacred as a shrine. And suddenly, as he entered, the moon, before hid beneath a melancholy cloud, broke forth in awful splendor, and her light rushed through the casement opposite his eye, and bathed the room with the beams of a ghostlier day. The abruptness of the solemn and mournful glory scared him as the rebuking face of a living thing: a presence as if not of earth seemed to interpose between the victim and the guilt. It was, however, but for a moment that his step halted. He advanced : he drew aside the folds of the curtain heavy with tissue of gold, and the sleeping face of Anne lay hushed be- fore him. It looked pale in the moonlight, but ineffably serene, and the smile on its lips seemed still sweeter than that which it wore awake. So fixed was his gaze so ardently did his whole heart and being feed through his eyes upon that ex- quisite picture of innocence and youth, that he did not see for some moments that the sleeper was not alone. Suddenly an exclamation rose to his lips; he clenched his hand in jealous agony; he approached he bent over he heard the regular breathing which the dreams of guilt never know, and then, when he saw that pure and interlaced embrace the serene yet somewhat melancholy face of Sibyll, which seemed hueless as marble in the moonlight bending partially over that of Anne, as if, even in sleep, watchful both charming forms so linked and woven that the two seemed as one life, the very breath in each rising and ebbing with the other, the dark ringlets of Sibyll mingling with the auburn gold of Anne's luxuriant hair, and the darkness and the gold, tress within tress, falling impartially over either neck, that gleamed like ivory beneath that common veil when he saw this twofold loveliness, the sentiment the conviction of that mysterious defence which exists in purity thrilled like ice through his burning veins. In all his might of monarch and of man, he felt the awe of that unlooked-for protection maidenhood sheltering maidenhood innocence 35$ THE LAST OF THE BARONS. guarding innocence. The double virtue appalled and baffled him ; and that slight arm which encircled the neck he would have perilled his realm to clasp, shielded his victim more effect- ually than the bucklers of all the warriors that ever gathered round the banner of the lofty Warwick. Night and the occa- sion befriended him ; but in vain. While Sibyll was there, Anne was saved. He ground his teeth, and muttered to him- self. At that moment Anne turned restlessly. This move- ment disturbed the light sleep of her companion. She spoke half-inaudibly, but the sound was as the hoot of shame in the ear of the guilty King. He let fall the curtain, and was gone. And if one who lived afterwards to hear, and to credit, the murderous doom which, unless history lies, closed the male line of Edward, had beheld the King stealing, felon-like, from the chamber, his step reeling to and fro the gallery floors: his face distorted by stormy passion ; his lips white and murmuring ; his beauty and his glory dimmed and humbled the spectator might have half believed that while Edward gazed upon those harmless sleepers, A VISION OF THE TRAGEDY TO COME had stricken down his thought of guilt, and filled up its place with horror a vision of a sleep as pure of two forms wrapped in an embrace as fond of intruders meditating a crime scarce fouler than his own ; and the sins of the father starting into grim corporeal shapes, to become the deathsmen of the sons ! CHAPTER III. ;-.'.W DANGERS TO THE HOUSE OF YORK AND THE KING'S HEART ALLIES ITSELF WITH REBELLION AGAINST THE KING'S THRONE. OH! beautiful is the love of youth to youth, and touching the tenderness of womanhood to woman; and fair in the eyes of the happy sun is the waking of holy sleep, and the virgin kiss upon virgin lips smiling and murmuring the sweet "Good- morrow!" Anne was the first to wake ; and as the bright winter morn, robust with frosty sunbeams, shone cheerily upon Sibyll.'s face, she was struck with a beauty she had not sufficiently observed the day before ; for in the sleep of the young the traces of thought and care vanish, the aching heart is lulled in the body's rest, the hard lines relax into flexile ease, a softer, warmer bloom steals over the cheek, and, relieved from the stiff restraints of dress, the rounded limbs repose in a more THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 359 alluring grace! Youth seems younger in its slumbar, and beauty more beautiful, and purity more pure. Long and dark, the fringe of the eyelash rested upon the white lids, and the freshness of the parting pouted lips invited the sister kiss that wakened up the sleeper. "Ah! lady," said Sibyll, parting her tresses from her dark blue eyes, "you are here you are safe! blessed be the saints and Our Lady for I had a dream in the night that startled and appalled me." "And my dreams were all blithe and golden," said Anne. "What was thine?" "Methought you were asleep and in this chamber, and I not by your side, but watching you, at a little distance; and, lo! a horrible serpent glided from yon recess, and, crawling to your pillow, I heard its hiss, and strove to come to your aid, but in vain ; a spell seemed to chain my limbs. At last I found voice I cried aloud I woke ; and mock me not, but I surely heard a parting footstep, and the low grating of some sliding door." "It was the dream's influence, enduring beyond the dream. I have often felt it so nay, even last night; for I, too, dreamt of another, dreamt that I stood by the altar with one far away, and when I woke for I woke also it was long before I could believe it was thy hand I held, and thine arm that embraced me." The young friends rose, and their coilet was scarcely ended, when again appeared in the chamber all the stateliness of retinue allotted to the Lady Anne. Sibyll turned to depart. "And whither go you?" asked Anne. "To visit my father; it is my first task on rising," returned Sibyll, in a whisper. "You must let me visit him, too, at a later hour. Find me here an hour before noon, Sibyll." The early morning was passed by Anne in the Queen's com- pany. The refection, the embroidery frame, the closheys, filled up the hours. The Duchess of Clarence had left the palace with her lord to visit the King's mother at Bay- nard's Castle; and Anne's timid spirits were saddened by the strangeness of the faces round her, and Elizabeth's habitual silence. There was something in the weak and ill-fated Queen that ever failed to conciliate friends. Though perpetually striving to form and create a party, she never succeeded in gaining confidence or respect. And no one raised so high was ever left so friendless as Elizabeth, when, in her awful widow- 360 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. hood, her dowry home became the sanctuary. All her power was but the shadow of her husband's royal sun, and vanished when the orb prematurely set; yet she had all gifts of person in her favor, and a sleek smoothness of manner that seemed to the superficial formed to win ; but the voice was artificial, and the eye cold and stealthy. About her formal precision there was an eternal consciousness of self a breathing egotism. Her laugh was displeasing cynical, not mirthful ; she had none of that forgetfulness of self, that warmth when gay, that earnestness when sad, which create sympathy. Her beauty was without loveliness, her character without charm; every proportion in her form might allure the sensualist; but there stopped the fascination. The mind was trivial, though cun- ning and dissimulating; and the very evenness of her temper seemed but the clockwork of a heart insensible to its own movements. Vain in prosperity, what wonder that she was so abject in misfortune. What wonder that even while, in later and gloomier years,* accusing Richard III. of the murder of her royal sons, and knowing him, at least, the executioner of her brother, and her child by the bridegroom of her youth,f she consented to send her daughters to his custody, though sub- jected to the stain of illegitimacy, and herself only recognized as the harlot? The King, meanwhile, had ridden out betimes alone, and no other of the male sex presumed in his absence to invade the female circle. It was with all a girl's fresh delight that Anne escaped at last to her own chamber, where she found Sibyll, and, with her guidance, she threaded the gloomy mazes of the Tower. "Let me see," she whispered, "before we visit your father let me see the turret in which the unhappy Henry is confined." And Sibyll led her through the arch of that tower, now called The Bloody, and showed her the narrow casement deep sunk in the mighty wall, without which hung the starling in the cage, basking its plumes in the wintry sun. Anne gazed with that deep interest and tender reverence which the parent of the man she loves naturally excites in a woman ; and while thus standing sorrowful and silent, the casement was unbarred, and she saw the mild face of the human captive; he seemed to talk to the bird, which, in shrill tones and with clapping wings, answered his address. At that time a horn sounded at a little * Grafton, 806. t Anthony, Lord Rivers, and Lord Richard Gray. Not the least instance of the frivolity of Elizabeth's mind, is to be found in her willingness, after all the woes of her second widowhood, and when she was not very far short of sixty years old, to take a third hus- band, James III. of Scotland a marriage prevented only by the death of the Scotch King. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 361 distance off; a clangor of arms, as the sentries saluted, was heard; the demoiselles retreated through the arch, and mounted the stair conducting to the very room, then occupied, in which tradition records the murder of the Third Richard's nephews; and scarcely had they gained this retreat, ere to- wards the Bloody Gate, and before the prison tower, rode the King who had mounted the captive's throne. His steed, gaudy with its housings ; his splendid dress ; the knights and squires who started forward from every corner to hold his gilded stirrup; his vigorous youth, so blooming and so radiant all contrasted, with oppressive force, the careworn face that watched him meekly through the little casement of the Wake- field Tower. Edward's large quick blue eye caught sudden sight of the once familiar features. He looked up steadily, and his gaze encountered the fallen king's. He changed coun- tenance ; but with the external chivalry that made the surface of his hollow though brilliant character, he bowed low to his saddle-bow as he saw his captive, and removed the plumed cap from his high brow. Henry smiled sadly, and shook his reverend head, as if gently to rebuke the mockery ; then he closed the casement, and Ed- ward rode into the yard. "How can the King hold here a court, and here a prison? Oh, hard heart!" murmured Anne, as, when Edward had dis- appeared, the damsels bent their way to Adam's chamber. "Would the Earl Warwick approve thy pity, sweet Lady Anne?" asked Sibyll. "My father's heart is too generous to condemn it," returned Anne, wiping the tears from her eyes; "How often in the night's galliard shall I see that face!" The turret in which Warner's room was placed flanked the wing inhabited by the royal family and their more distin- guished guests (viz., the palace, properly speaking, as distinct from the fortress), and communicated with the regal lodge by a long corridor, raised above cloisters, and open to a court-yard. At one end of this corridor a door opened upon the passage in which was situated the chamber of the Lady Anne, the other extremity communicated with a rugged stair of stone, conduct- ing to the rooms tenanted by Warner. Leaving Sibyll to present her learned father to the gentle Anne, we follow the King into the garden, which he entered on dismounting. He found here the Archbishop of York, who had come to the palace in his barge, and with but a slight retinue, and who was now conversing with Hastings in earnest whispers, 362 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. The King, who seemed thoughtful and fatigued, approached th t\vo, and said, with a forced smile: "What learned senten- tiary engages you two scholars?" "Your Grace," said the Archbishop, "Minerva was not pre- cisely the goddess most potent over our thoughts at that mo- ment. I received a letter last evening from the Duke of Gloucester, and as I know the love borne by the Prince to the Lord Hastings, I inquired of your chamberlain how far he would have foreguessed the news it announced." "And what may the tidings be?" asked Edward absently. The prelate hesitated. "Sire," he said gravely, "the familiar confidence with which both your Highness and the Duke of Gloucester distin- guish the chamberlain, permits me to communicate the pur- port of the letter in his presence. The young Duke informs me that he hath long conceived an affection which he would improve into marriage, but before he address either the dem- oiselle or her father, he prays me to confer with your Grace, whose pleasure in this, as all things, will be his sovereign law." "Ah, Richard loves me with a truer love than George of Clarence! But whom can he have seen on the Borders worthy to be a prince's bride?" "It is no sudden passion, sire, as I before hinted; nay, it has been for some time sufficiently notorious to his friends, and many of the court it is an affection for a maiden known to him in childhood, connected to him by blood my niece, Anne Nevile!" As if stung by a scorpion, Edward threw off the prelate's arm, on which he had been leaning with his usual caressing courtesy. "This is too much!" said he quickly, and his face, before somewhat pale, grew highly flushed. "Is the whole royalty of England to be one Nevile? Have I not sufficiently narrowed the basis of my throne? Instead of mating my daughter to a foreign power to Spain or to Bretagne she is betrothed to young Montagu ! Clarence weds Isabel, and now Gloucester no, prelate, I will not consent!" The Archbishop was so little prepared for this burst, that he remained speechless; Hastings pressed the King's arm, as if to caution him against so imprudent a display of resentment. But the King walked on, not heeding him, and in great distur- bance. Hastings interchanged looks with the Archbishop ; and followed his royal master. ' My King," he said, in an earnest whisper, "whatever you THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 363 decide, do not again provoke unhappy feuds laid at rest! Al- ready this morning I sought your chamber, but you were abroad, to say that I have received intelligence of a fresh rising of the Lancastrians in Lincolnshire, under Sir Robert Welles, and the warlike knight of Scrivelsby, Sir Thomas Dymoke. This is not yet an hour to anger the pride of the Neviles." "Oh, Hastings! Hastings!" said the King, in a tone of pas- sionate emotion, "there are moments when the human heart cannot dissemble! Howbeit, your advice is wise and honest! No! we must not anger the Neviles!" He turned abruptly ; rejoined the Archbishop, who stood on the spot on which the King had left him, his arms folded on his breast, his face calm but haughty. "My most worshipful cousin," said Edward, "forgive the well-known heat of my hasty moods ! I had hoped that Rich- ard would, by a foreign alliance, have repaired the occasion of confirming my dynasty abroad, which Clarence lost. But, no matter! Of these things we will speak anon. Say nought to Richard till time ripens maturer resolutions: he is a youth yet. What strange tidings are these from Lincolnshire?" "The house of your purveyor, Sir Robert de Burgh, is burned his lands wasted. The rebels are headed by lords and knights. Robin of Redesdale, who, methinks, bears a charmed life, has even ventured to rouse the disaffected in my brother's very shire of Warwick." "Oh, Henry!" exclaimed the King, casting his eyes towards the turret that held his captive, "well mightest thou call a crown, 'a wreath of thorns'!" "I have already," said the Archbishop, "despatched cou- riers to my brother, to recall him from Warwick, whither he went on quitting your Highness. I have done more prompted by a zeal that draws me from the care of the Church to that of the State, I have summoned the Lords St. John, De Fulke, and others, to my house of the More praying your Highness to deign to meet them, and well sure that a smile from your princely lips will regain their hearts and confirm their allegiance, at a moment when new perils require all strong arms." ' ' You have done most wisely ; I will come to your palace appoint your own day." "It will take some days for the barons to arrive from their castles. I fear not ere the tenth day from this." "Ah!" said the King, with a vivacity that surprised his lis- teners, aware of his usual impetuous energy, "the delay will 364 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. but befriend us; as for Warwick, permit me to alter your ar- rangements; let him employ the interval, not in London, where he is useless, but in raising men in the neighborhood of his castle, and in defeating the treason of this Redesdale knave. We will give commission to him, and to Clarence, to levy troops; Hastings, see to this forthwith. Ye say Sir Robert Welles leads the Lincolnshire varlets; I know the nature of his father, the Lord Welles a fearful and timorous one; I will send for him, and the father's head shall answer for the son's faith. Pardon me, dear cousin, that I leave you to attend these matters^ Prithee visit our Queen, meanwhile she holds you our guest." "Nay, your Highness must vouchsafe my excuse; I also have your royal interests too much at heart to while an hour in my pleasurement. I will but see the friends of our house, now in London, and then back to the More and collect the force of my tenants and retainers." "Ever right; fair speed to you cardinal that shall be! Your arm, Hastings." The King and his favorite took their way into the state chambers. "Abet not Gloucester in this alliance abet him not!" said the King solemnly. "Pause, sire! This alliance gives to Warwick a wise coun- sellor instead of the restless Duke of Clarence. Reflect what danger may ensue if an ambitious lord, discontented with your reign, obtains the hand of the great Earl's coheiress, and the half of a hundred baronies that command an army larger than the Crown's." Though these reasonings at a calmer time might well have had their effect on Edward, at that moment they were little heeded by his passions. He stamped his foot violently on the floor. "Hastings!" he exclaimed, "be silent! or--" He stopped short mastered his emotion: "Go, assemble our privy coun- cil. We have graver matters than a boy's marriage now to think of." It was in vain that Edward sought to absorb the fire of his nature in state affairs, in all needful provisions against the im- pending perils, in schemes of war and vengeance. The fatal frenzy that had seized him haunted him everywhere, by day and by night. For some days after the unsuspected visit which he had so criminally stolen to his guest's chamber, some- thing of knightly honor, of religious scruple, of common rea- son awakened in him the more by the dangers which had THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 365 sprung up, and which the Neviles were now actively employed in defeating struggled against his guilty desire, and roused his conscience to a less feeble resistance than it usually dis- played when opposed to passion ; but the society of Anne, into which he was necessarily thrown so many hours in the day, and those hours chiefly after the indulgences of the banquet, was more powerful than all the dictates of a virtue so seldom exercised as to have none of the strength of habit. And as the time drew near when he must visit the Archbishop, head his army against the rebels (whose force daily in- creased, despite the captivity of Lord Welles and Sir Thomas Dymoke, who, on the summons of the King, had first taken sanctuary and then yielded their persons on the promise of pardon and safety), and restore Anne to her mother as this time drew near, his perturbation of mind became visible to the whole court ; but with the instinct of his native craft, he contrived to conceal its cause. For the first time in his life he had no confidant; he did not dare trust his secret to Hastings. His heart gnawed itself. Neither, though con- stantly stealing to Anne's side, could he venture upon lan- guage that might startle and enlighten her. He felt that even those attentions, which on the first evening of her arrival had been noticed by the courtiers, could not be safely renewed. He was grave and constrained, even when by her side, and the etiquette of the court allowed him no opportunity for unwit- nessed conference. In this suppressed and unequal struggle with himself the time passed, till it was now but the day before that fixed for his visit to the More. And, as he rose at morn- ing from his restless couch, the struggle was over, and the soul resolved to dare the crime. His first thought was to separate Anne from Sibyll. He affected to rebuke the Queen for giv- ing to his high-born guest an associate below her dignity, and on whose character, poor girl, rested the imputation of witch- craft; and when the Queen replied that Lady Anne herself had so chosen, he hit upon the expedient of visiting Warner himself, under pretence of inspecting his progress ; affected to be struck by the sickly appearance of the sage, and sending for Sibyll, told her, with an air of gracious consideration, that her first duty was to attend her parent, that the Queen released her for some days from all court duties, and that he had given or- ders to prepare the room adjoining Master Warner's, and held by Friar Bungey, till that worthy had retired with his patron- ess from the court, to which she would for the present remove. Sibyll, wondering at this novel mark of consideration in the 3^>6 THF. LAST OF THK I! .\RONS. careless King, yet imputing it to the high value set on her father's labors, thanked Edward with simple earnestness, and withdrew. In the ante-room she encountered Hastings, on his way to the King. He started in surprise, and with a jeal- ous pang: "What thou, Sibyll! and from the King's closet! What led thee hither?" "His Grace's command." And too noble for the pleasure of exciting the distrust that delights frivolous minds as the proof of power, Sibyll added: "The King has been kindly speaking to me of my father's health." The courtier's bro:" cleared; he mused a moment, and said, in a whisper: "I be- seech thee to meet me an hour hence at the eastern rampart." Since the return of Lord Hastings to the palace there had been an estrangement and distance in his manner, ill suiting one who enjoyed the rights of an accepted suitor, and wound- ing alike to Sibyll's affection and her pride; but her confi- dence in his love and truth was entire. Her admiration for him partook of worship, and she steadily sought to reason away any causes for alarm by recalling the state cares which pressed heavily upon him, and whispering to herself that word of "wife," which, coming in passionate music from those beloved lips, had thrown a mist over the present, a glory over the future ; and in the King's retention of Adam Warner, despite the Duchess of Bedford's strenuous desire to carry him off with Friar Bungey, and restore him to his tasks of alchemist and multiplier, as well as in her own promotion to the Queen's ser- vice, Sibyll could not but recognize the influence of her power- ful lover. His tones now were tender, though grave and ear- nest. Surely, in the meeting he asked, all not comprehended would be explained. And so, with a light heart, she passed on. Hastings sighed as his eye followed her from the room, and thus said he to himself: "Were I the obscure gentleman I once was, how sweet a lot would that girl's love choose to me from the urn of fate! But, oh! when we taste of power and great- ness, and master the world's dark wisdom, what doth love shrink to? an hour's bliss, and a life's folly." His delicate lip curled, and breaking from his soliloquy, he entered the King's closet. Edward was resting his face upon the palms of his hands, and his bright eyes dwelt upon vacant space, till they kindled into animation as they lighted on his favorite. " Dear Will, " said the King, "knowest thou that men say thou art bewitched?" "Beau sire, often have men, when a sweet face hath cap tured thy great heart, said the same of thee! " THE LAST OF THE DARONS. 367 "It may be so, with truth, for, verily, love is the arch-devil's birth." The King rose, and strode his chamber with a quick step; at last, pausing: "Hastings," he said, "so thou lovest the multiplier's pretty daughter. She hath just left me. Art thou jealous?" "Happily, your Highness sees no beauty in locks that have the gloss of the raven, and eyes that have the hue of the violet." "No, I am a constant man constant to one ideal of beauty in a thousand forms eyes like the summer's light-blue sky and locks like its golden sunbeams! But to set thy mind at rest. Will, know that I have but compassionated the sickly state of the scholar, whom thou prizest so highly ; and I have placed thy fair Sibyll's chamber near her father's. Young Lovell says thou art bent on wedding the wizard's daughter." "And if I were, beau sire?" Edward looked grave. "If thou wert, my poor Will, thou wouldst lose all the fame for shrewd wisdom which justifies thy sudden fortunes. No no thou art the flower and prince of my new seignorie thou must mate thyself with a name and a barony that shall be worthy thy fame and thy prospects. Love beauty, but marry power, Will. In vain would thy King draw thee up, if a despised wife draw thee down!" Hastings listened with profound attention to these words. The King did not wait for his answer, but added laughingly: "It is thine own fault, crafty gallant, if thou dost not end all her spells." "What ends the spells of youth and beauty, beau sire?" "Possession!" replied the King, in a hollow and muttered voice. Hastings was about to answer, when the door opened, and the officer in waiting announced the Duke of Clarence. "Ha!" said Edward, "George comes, to importune me for leave to depart to the government of Ireland, and I have to make him weet that I think my Lord Worcester a safer viceroy of the two!" "Your Highness will pardon me; but, though I deemed you too generous in the appointment, -it were dangerous now to annul it." "More dangerous to confirm it. Elizabeth has caused me to see the folly of a grant made over the malmsey a wine, by the way, in which poor George swears he would be content to 368 THE LAST OF THE BAROMS. drown himself. Viceroy of Ireland! My father had that gov- ernment, and once tasting the sweets of royalty, ceased to be a subject! No, no, Clarence " "Can never meditate treason against a brother's crown. Has he the wit, or the energy, or the genius, for so desperate an ambition?" "No; but he hath the vanity. And I will wager thee a thous- and marks to a silver penny that my jester shall talk giddy Georgie into advancing a claim to be soldan of Egypt, or pope of Rome ! ' ' CHAPTER IV. THE FOSTER-BROTHERS. SIR MARMADUKE NEVILE was sunning his bravery in the Tower Green, amidst the other idlers of the court, proud of the gold chain and the gold spurs which attested his new rank, and not grieved to have exchanged the solemn walls of Middle- ham for the gay delights of the voluptuous palace, when, to his pleasure and surprise, he perceived his foster-brother enter the gateway ; and no sooner had Nicholas entered, than a bevy of the younger courtiers hastened eagerly towards him. " Gramercy ! " quoth Sir Marmaduke. to one of the by- standers, " what hath chanced to make Nick Alwyn a man of such note, that so many .vings of satin and pile should flutter round him, like sparrows round an owl, which, by the Holy Rood, his wise face somewhat resembleth." " Know you not that Master Alwyn, since he hath com- menced trade for himself, hath acquired already the repute of the couthliest goldsmith in London ? No dague-hilts, no buckles are to be worn, save those that he fashions ; and an" he live, and the House of York prosper ^-verily, Master Alwyn, the goldsmith, will, ere long, be the richest and best man from Mile-end to the Sanctuary." " Right glad am I to hear it," said honest Marmaduke heartily ; and approaching Alwyn, he startled the precise trader by a friendly slap on the shoulder. " What, man, art thou too proud to remen.ber Marmaduke Nevile ! Come to my lodgment, yonder, and talk of old days over the King's canary." " I crave your pardon, dear Master Nevile." " Master avaunt ! Sir Marmaduke knighted by the hand of Lord Warwick, Sir Marmaduke Nevile, lord of a manor he hath never yet seen sober Alwyn." THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 369 Then drawing his foster-brother's arm in his, Marmaduke led him to the chamber in which he lodged. The young men spent some minutes in congratulating each other on their respective advances in life : the gentleman, who had attained competence and station, simply by devotion to a powerful patron ; the trader, who had already won repute and the prospect of wealth, by ingenuity, application, and toil ; and yet, to do justice, as much virtue went to Marmaduke's loyalty to Warwick, as to Alvvyn's capacities for making a fortune. Mutual compliments over, Alwyn said hesitatingly : " And dost thou find Mistress Sibyll more gently disposed to thee than when thou didst complain to me of her cruelty ? " " Marry, good Nicholas, I will be frank with thee. When I left the court to follow Lord Warwick, there were rumors of the gallantries of Lord Hastings to the girl which grieved me to the heart. I spoke to her thereof bluntly and honorably, and got but high looks and scornful words in return. Good fellow, 1 thank thee for that squeeze of the hand and that dole- ful sigh. In my absence at Middleham, I strove hard to forget one who cared so little for me. My dear Alwyn, those York- shire lasses are parlously comely, and mighty douce and deb- onair. So I stormed cruel Sibyll out of my heart, perforce of numbers." " And thou lovest her no more? " "Not I, by this goblet ! On coming back, it is true, I felt pleased to clank my gold spurs in her presence, and curious to see if my new fortunes would bring out a smile of approval ; and verily, to speak sooth, the donzell was kind and friendly, and spoke to me so cheerly of the pleasures she felt in my advancement, that I adventured again a few words of the old folly. But my lassie drew up like a princess, and I am a cured man." " By your troth ? " " By my troth ! " Alwyn's head sank on his bosom, in silent thought. Sir Marmaduke emptied his goblet ; and really the young knight looked so fair and so gallant, in his new surcoat of velvet, that it was no marvel if he should find enough food for consolation in a court where men spent six hours a day in making love nor in vain. " And what say they still of the Lord Hastings ? " asked Alwyn, breaking silence. "Nothing, I trow and trust, that arraigns the poor lady's honor though much that may scoff at her simple faith, in a nature so vain and fickle. ' The 370 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. tongue's not steel, yet it cuts,' as the proverb saith of the slanderer." " No ! scandal spares her virtue as woman, to run down her cunning as witch ! They say that Hastings hath not prevailed, nor sought to prevail that he is spellbound. By St. Thomas, from a maid of such character, Marmaduke Nevile is happily rescued ! " " Sir Marmaduke," then said Alwyn, in a grave and earnest voice, "it behoves me, as true friend, though humble, and as honest man, to give thee my secret, in return for thine own. I love this girl. Ay, ay ! thou thinkest that love is a strange word in a craftsman's lips, but 'cold flint hides hot fire.' I would not have been thy rival, Heaven forfend ! hadst thou still cherished a hope or if thou now wilt forbid my aspiring ; but if thou wilt not say me nay, I will try :TIV chance in deliver- ing a pure soul from a crafty wooer." Marmaduke stared in great surprise at his foster-brother; and though, no doubt, he spoke truth when he said he was cured of his love for Sibyll, he yet felt a sort of jealousy at Alwyn's unexpected confession, and his vanity was hurt at the notion that the plain-visaged trader should attempt where the handsome gentleman had failed. However, his blunt, generous, manly nature, after a brief struggle, got the better of these sore feelings, and holding out his hand to Alwyn, he said : " My dear foster-brother, try the hazard and cast thy dice, if thou wilt. Heaven prosper thee, if success be for thine own good ! But if she be really given to witchcraft (plague on thee, man, sneer not at. the word) small comfort to bed and hearth can such practices bring ! " " Alas ! " said Alwyn, " the witchcraft is on the side of Hastings the witchcraft of fame and rank, and a glozing tongue and experienced art. But she shall not fall, if a true arm can save her; and 'though Hope be a small child, she can carry a great anchor ' ! " These words were said so earnestly, that they opened new light into Marmaduke's mind, and his native generosity stand- ing in lieu of intellect, he comprehended sympathetically the noble motives which actuated the son of commerce. "My poor Alwyn," he said, "if thou canst save this young maid, whom by my troth I loved well, and who tells me yet that she loveth me as a sister loves, right glad shall I be. But thou stakest thy peace of mind against hers : fair luck to thee, say I again ; and if thou wilt risk thy chance at once (for sus- pense is love's purgatory), seize the moment. I saw Sibyll, THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 371 just ere we met, pass to the Ramparts, alone ; at this sharp season, the place is deserted go." " I will, this moment ! " said Alwyn, rising and turning very pale ; but as he gained the door, he halted : " I had forgot, Master Nevile, that I bring the King his signet ring, new set, of the falcon and fetter-lock." " They will keep thee three hours in the ante-room. The Duke of Clarence is now with the King. Trust the ring to me, I shall see His Highness ere he dines." Even in his love, Alwyn had the Saxon's considerations of business ; he hesitated : " May I not endanger thereby the King's favor and loss of custom ? " said the trader. "Tush, man! little thou knowest King Edward; he cares nought for the ceremonies : moreover, the Neviles are now all- puissant in favor. I am here in attendance on sweet Lady Anne, whom the King loves as a daughter, though too young for sire to so well-grown a donzell ; and a word from her lip if need be, will set all as smooth as this gorget of lawn ! " Thus assured, Alwyn gave the ring to his friend, and took his way at once to the Ramparts. Marmaduke remained behind to finish the canary, and marvel how so sober a man should form so ardent a passion. Nor was he much less surprised to remark that his friend, though still speaking with a strong pro- vincial accent, and still sowing his discourse with rustic saws and proverbs, had risen in language and in manner with the riseof his fortunes. "An'hegoon so, and become lord mayor," muttered Marmaduke, " verily he will half look like a gentle- man ! " To these meditations the young knight was not long left in peace. A messenger from Warwick House sought and found him, with the news that the Earl was on his road to London, and wished to see Sir Marmaduke the moment of his arrival, which was hourly expected. The young knight's hardy brain somewhat flustered by the canary, Alwyn's secret, and this sudden tidings, he hastened to obey his chief's summons, and forgot, till he gained the Earl's mansion, the signet ring entrusted to him by Alwyn. " What matters it ? " said he then, philosophically ; " the King hath rings eno' on his fingers not to miss one for an hour or so, and I dare not send any one else with it. Marry, I must plunge mv head in cold water, to get rid of the fumes of the wine." 37* THE LAST OF THE BARONS. CHAPTER V. THE LOVER AND THE GALLANT WOMAN'S CHOICE. ALWYN bent his way to the Ramparts, a part of which then resembled the boulevards of a Fiench town, having rows of trees, green sward, a winding walk, and seats placed at frequent intervals, for the repose of the loungers. During the summer evenings, the place was a favorite resort of the court idlers ; but now, in winter, it was usually deserted, save by the sentries, placed at distant intervals. The trader had not gone far in his quest when he perceived, a few paces before him, the very man he had most cause to dread : and Lord Hastings, hearing the sound of a footfall amongst the crisp, faded leaves that strewed the path, turned abruptly as Alwyn approached his side. At the sight of his formidable rival, Alwyn had formed one of those resolutions which occur only to men of his decided, plain-spoken, energetic character. His distinguishing shrewd- ness and penetration had given him considerable insight into the nobler as well as the weaker qualities of Hastings ; and his hope in the former influenced the determination to which he came. The reflections of Hastings at that moment were of a nature to augur favorably to the views of the humbler lover ; for, during the stirring scenes in which his late absence from Sibyll had been passed, Hastings had somewhat recovered from her influence ; and feeling the difficulties of reconciling his honor and his worldly prospects to further prosecution of the love, rashly expressed but not deeply felt, he had determined frankly to cut the Gordian knot he could not solve, and inform Sibyll that marriage between them was impossible. With that view he had appointed this meeting, and his conference with the King but confirmed his intention. It was in this state of mind that he was thus accosted by Alwyn : " My lord, may I make bold to ask, for a few moments, your charitable indulgence to words you may deem presumptuous." " Be brief, then, Master Alwyn I am waited for." " Alas, my lord ! I can guess by whom by the one whom I seek myself by Sibyll Warner?" " How, sir goldsmith ! " said Hastings haughtily " what knowest thou of my movements, and what care I for thine ? " " Hearken, my Lord Hastings hearken ! " said Alwyn, repressing his resentment, and in a voice so earnest that it riveted the entire attention of the listener "hearken and judge THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 373 not as noble judges craftsman, but as man should judge man. As the saw saith, 'We all lie alike in our graves.' From the first moment I saw this Sibyll Warner I loved her. Yes ; smile disdainfully, but listen still. She was obscure and in distress. I loved her not for her fair looks alone 1 loved her for her good gifts, for her patient industry, for her filial duty, for her struggles to give bread to her father's board. I did not say to myself : ' This girl will make a comely fere a delicate para- mour ! ' I said : ' This good daughter will make a wife whom an honest man may take to his heart and cherish.'" Poor Alwyn stopped, with tears in his voice, struggled with his emo- tions, and pursued : " My fortunes were more promising than hers ; there was no cause why I might not hope. True, I had a rival then ; young as myself better born comelier ; but she loved him not. I foresaw that his love for her, if love it were, would cease. Methought that her mind would under- stand mine ; as mine verily I say it yearned for hers ! I could not look on the maidens of mine own rank, and who had lived around me, but what Oh, no, my lord, again I say, not the beauty, but the gifts, the mind, the heart of Sibyll, threw them all into the shade. You may think it strange that I a plain, steadfast, trading, working, careful man should have all these feelings ; but I will tell you wherefore such as I some- times have them, nurse them, brood on them, more then you lords and gentlemen, with all your graceful arts in pleasing. We know no light loves ! No brief distractions to the one arch passion ! We sober sons of the stall and the ware are no gen- eral gallants ; we love plainly, we love but once, and we love heartily. But who knows not the proverb, ' What's a gentle- man but his pleasure ' ? And what's pleasure but change ? When Sibyll came to the palace, I soon heard her name linked with yours ; I saw her cheek blush when you spoke. Well well well ! after all, as the old wives tell us, ' blushing is virtue's livery.' I said : ' She is a chaste and high-hearted girl. This will pass, and the time will come when she can compare your love and mine.' Now, my lord, the time has come I know that you seek her. Yea, at this moment, I know that her heart beats for your footstep. Say but one word say that you love Sibyll Warner with the thought of wedding her say that, on your honor, noble Hastings, as gentleman and peer, and I will kneel at your feet, and beg your pardon for my vain follies, and go back to my ware, and work, and not repine. Say it ! You are silent ! Then I implore you, still as peer and gentleman, to let the honest love save the maiden 374 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. from the wooing that will blight her peace and blast her name! And now, Lord Hastings, I wait your gracious answer." The sensations experienced by Hastings, as Alvvyn thus con- cluded, were maniform and complicated ; but at the first, admiration and pity were the strongest. " My poor friend," said he kindly, "if you thus love a demoiselle deserving all my reverence, your words and your thoughts bespeak you no unworthy pretender ; but take my counsel, good Alwyn. Come not thou from the Chepe come not to the court for a wife. Forget this fantasy." " My lord, it is impossible ! Forget, I cannot regret I may." " Thou canst not succeed, man," resumed the nobleman more coldly, " nor couldst if William Hastings had never lived. The eyes of women accustomed to gaze on the gor- geous externals of the world, are blinded to plain worth like thine. It might have been different had the donzell never abided in a palace ; but, as it is, brave fellow, learn how these wounds of the heart scar over, and the spot becomes hard and callous evermore. What art thou, Master Nicholas Alwyn (continued Hastings gloomily, and with a withering smile), what art thou, to ask for a bliss denied to me to all of us the bliss of carrying poetry into life youth into manhood, by winning the FIRST LOVED? But think not, sir lover, that I say this in jealousy or disparagement. Look yonder, by the leafless elm, the white robe of Sibyll Warner. Go, and plead thy suit." " Do I understand you, my lord ? " said Alwyn, somewhat confused and perplexed by the tone and the manner Hastings adopted. " Does report err, and you do not love this maiden ? " " Fair master," returned Hastings scornfully, " thou has no right that I trow of to pry into my thoughts and secrets ; I cannot acknowledge my judge in thee, good jeweller and gold- smith enough, surely, in all courtesy, that I yield thee the precedence. Tell thy tale, as movingly, if thou wilt, as thou has told it to me ; say of me all that thou fanciest thou hast reason to suspect ; and if, Master Alvvyn, thou woo and win the lady, fail not to ask me to thy wedding ! " There was in this speech, and the bearing of the speaker, that superb levity, that inexpressible and conscious superiority, that cold, ironical tranquillity, which awe and humble men more than grave disdain or imperious passion. Alwyn ground his teeth as he listened, and gazed in silent despair and rage upon the calm lord. Neither of these men could strictly be THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 375 called handsome. Of the two, Alwyn had the advantage of more youthful prime, of a taller stature, of a more powerful, though less supple and graceful, frame. In their very dress there was little of that marked distinction between classes which then usually prevailed, for the dark cloth tunic and sur- coat of Hastings made a costume even simpler than the brigKt- colored garb of the trader, with its broad trimmings of fur, and its aiglettes of elaborate lace. Between man and man, then, where was the visible, the mighty, the insurmountable difference in all that can charm the fancy and captivate the eye, which, as he gazed, Alwyn confessed to himself there existed between the two ? Alas ! how the distinctions least to be analyzed are ever the sternest ! What lofty ease in that high-bred air : What histories of triumph seemed to speak in that quiet eye, sleeping in its own imperious lustre : What magic of command in that pale brow : What spells of persuasion in that artful lip ! Alwyn muttered to himself, bowed his head involuntarily, and passed on at once from ' Hastings to Sibyll, who, now, at the distance of some yards, had arrested her steps, in surprise to see the conference between the nobleman and the burgher. But as he approached Sibyll, poor Alwyn felt all the firm- ness and courage he had exhibited with Hastings, melt away. And the trepidation which a fearful but deep affection ever occasions in men of his character made his movements more than usually constrained and awkward, as he cowered beneath the looks of the maid he so truly loved. " Seekest thou me, Master Alwyn ? " asked Sibyll gently, seeing that, though he paused by her side, he spoke not. " I do," returned Alwyn abruptly, and again he was silent. At length, lifting his eyes, and looking round him, he saw- Hastings at the distance, leaning against the rampart, with folded arms, and the contrast of his rival's cold and arrogant indifference, and his own burning veins and bleeding heart, roused up his manly spirit, and gave to his tongue the elo- quence which emotion gains when it once breaks the fetters it forges for itself. " Look, look, Sibyll ! " he said, pointing to Hastings "look! that man you believe loves you : If so if he loved thee, would he stand yonder mark him aloof, contemptuous, careless while he knew that I was by your side ! " Sibyll turned upon the goldsmith eyes full of innocent sur- prise eyes that asked, plainly as eyes could speak ; " And wherefore not, Master Alwyn ? " 376 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. Ahvyn so interpreted the look, and replied as if she had spoken : "Because he must know how poor and tame is that feeble fantasy, which alone can come from a soul worn bare with pleasure, to that which I feel and now own for thee the love of youth, born of the heart's first vigor ; because he ought to fear that that love should prevail with thee ; because that love ought to prevail. Sibyll, between us there are not imparity and obstacle. Oh, listen to me listen still ! Frown not, turn not away." And, stung and animated by the sight of his rival, fired by the excitement of a contest on which the bliss of his own life and the weal of Sibyll's might depend, his voice was as the cry of a mortal agony, and affected the girl to the inmost recesses of her soul. " Oh, Ahvyn, I frown not ! " she said sweetly " Oh, Alwyn, I turn not away ! Woe is me to give pain to so kind and brave a heart ; but " " No, speak not yet, I have studied thee : I have read thee as a scholar would read a book. I know thee proud ; I know thee aspiring ; I know thou art vain of thy gentle blood, and distasteful of my yeoman's birth. There, I am not blind to thy faults, but I love thee despite them ; and to please those faults I have toiled, schemed, dreamed, risen I offer to thee the future with the certainty of a man who can command it. Wouldst thou wealth ? Be patient (as ambition ever is) ; in a few years thou shalt have more gold than the wife of Lord Hastings can command ; thou shalt lodge more statelily, fare more sumptuously ; * thou shalt walk on cloth of gold if thou wilt ? Wouldst thou titles ? I will win them. Richard de la Pole, who founded the greatest duchy in the realm, was poorer than I, when he first served in a merchant's ware. Gold buys all things now. Oh, would to Heaven it could but buy me thee ! " " Master Alwyn, it is not gold that buys love. Be soothed. What can I say to thee to soften the harsh word ' Nay ' ? " " You reject me, then, and at once. I ask not your hand now. I will wait, tarry, hope I care not if for years, wait till I can fulfil all I promise thee ! " Sibyll, affected to tears, shook her head mournfully ; and there was a long and painful silence. Never was wooing more strangely circumstanced than this : the one lover pleading while the other was in view ; the one, ardent, impassioned ; the other, calm and passive and the silence of the last, alas ! * This was no vain promise of Master Alwyn. At that time a successful trader made a fortune with signal rapidity, and enjoyed greater luxuries than most of the barons. All the gold in the country flowed into the coffers of the London merghams, THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 377 having all the success which the words of the other lacked. It might be said that the choice before Sibyll was a type of the choice ever given, but in vain, to the child of genius. Here a secure and peaceful life, an honored home, a tranquil lot, free from ideal visions, it is true, but free also from the doubt and the terror the storms of passion ; there, the fatal influence of an affection, born of imagination, sinister, equivocal, ominous, but irresistible. And the child of genius fulfilled her destiny ! " Master Alwyn," said Sibyll, rousing herself to the neces- sary exertion, " I shall never cease gratefully to recall thy gen- erous friendship never cease to pray fervently for thy weal below. But forever and forever let this content thee I can no more." Impressed by the grave and solemn tone of Sibyll, Alwyn hushed the groan that struggled to his lips, and gloomily re- plied : " I obey you, fair mistress, and I return to my work- day life ; but ere I go, I pray you misthink me not if I say this much not alone for the bliss of hoping for a day in which I" might call thee mine have I thus importuned, but, not less I swear not less from the soul's desire to save thee from what I fear will but lead to woe and wayment, to peril and pain, to weary days and sleepless nights. ' Better a little fire that warms than a great that burns.' Dost thou think that Lord Hastings, the vain, the dissolute " " Cease, sir ! " said Sibyll proudly ; " me reprove if thou wilt, but lower not my esteem for thee by slander against another ! " " What ! " said Alwyn bitterly ; " doth even one word of counsel chafe thee ; I tell thee that if thou dreamest that Lord Hastings loves Sibyll Warner as man loves the maiden he would wed, thou deceives! thyself to thine own misery. If thou wouldst prove it, go to him now go and say ; ' Wilt thou give me that home of peace and honor that shelter for my father's old age under a son's roof which the trader I despise proffers me in vain ?" " If it were already proffered me by him? " said Sibyll, in a low voice, and blushing deeply. Ahvyn started. "Then I wronged him ; and and "he added, generously, though with a faint sickness at his heart, "I can yet be happy in thinking thou art so. Farewell, maiden, the saints guard thee from one memory of regret at what hath passed between us ! " He pulled his bonnet hastily over his brows, and departed with unequal and rapid strides. As he passed the spot where 378 I HB LAST OK THK HARONS. Hastings stood, leaning his arm upon the wall, and his face upon his hand, the nobleman looked up, and said : " Well, sir goldsmith, own at least that thy trial hath been a fair one ! " Then, struck with the anguish written upon Alwyn's face, he walked up to him, and, with a frank, compas- sionate impulse, laid his hand on his shoulder : " Alwyn," he said, " I have felt what you feel now I have survived it, and the world hath not prospered with me less ! Take with you a compassion that respects, and does not degrade you." " Do not deceive her, my lord she trusts and loves you. You never deceived man the wide world says it do not de- ceive woman ! Deeds kill men ! words women ! " Speaking thus simply, Alwyn strode on, and vanished. Hastings slowly and silently advanced to Sibyll. Her re- jection of Alwyn had by no means tended to reconcile him to the marriage he himself had proffered. He might well suppose that the girl, even if unguided by affection, would not hesitate between a mighty nobleman and an obscure goldsmith. His pride was sorely wounded that the latter should have even thought himself the equal of one whom he had proposed, though but in a passionate impulse, to raise to his own state. And yet, as he neared Sibyll, and, with a light footstep, she sprang forward to meet him, her eyes full of sweet joy and confi- dence, he shrank from an avowal which must wither up a heart opening thus all its bloom of youth and love to greet him. " Ah, fair lord," said the maiden, "was it kindly in thee to permit poor Alwyn to inflict on me so sharp a pain, and thou to stand calmly distant ? Sure, alas ! that had thy humble rival proffered a crown, it had been the same to Sibyll ! Oh, how the grief it was i.nne to cause grieved me ; and yet, through all, I had one selfish, guilty gleam of pleasure to think that I had not been loved so well, if I were all unworthy the sole love I desire or covet ! " " And yet, Sibyll, this young man can in all, save wealth and a sounding name, give thee more than I can ; a heart un- darkened by moody memories, a temper unsoured by the world's dread and bitter lore of man's frailty and earth's sorrow. Ye are not far separated by ungenial years, and might glide to a common grave hand in hand ; but I, older in heart than in age, am yet so far thine elder in the last, that these hairs will be gray, and this form bent, while thy beauty is in its prime, and but thou weepest ! " " I weep that thou shouldst bring one thought of time to THE LAST OP THE BARONS. 379 sadden my thoughts, which are of eternity. Love knows no age, it foresees no grave ! Its happiness and its trust behold on the earth but one glory, melting into the hues of heaven, where they who love lastingly pass calmly on to live forever ! See, I weep not now ! " "And did not this honest burgher," pursued Hastings, soft- ened and embarrassed, but striving to retain his cruel pur- pose, " tell thee to distrust me ? tell thee that my vows were false?" " Methinks, if an angel told me so, I should disbelieve ! " " Why, look thee, Sibyll, suppose his warning true suppose that at this hour I sought thee with intent to say that that des- tiny which ambition weaves for itself forbade me to fulfil a word hotly spoken ? that I could not wed thee ? should I not seem to thee a false wooer a poor trifler with thy earnest heart and so, couldst thou not recall the love of him whose truer and worthier homage yet lingers in thine ear, and with him be happy ? " Sibyll lifted her dark eyes, yet humid, upon the unrevealing face of the speaker, and gazed on him with wistful and in- quiring sadness, then, shrinking from his side, she crossed her arms meekly on her bosom, and thus said : "If ever, since we parted, one such thought hath- glanced across thee one thought of repentance at the sacrifice of pride, or the lessening of power which (she faltered, broke off the sentence, and resumed) in one word, if thou wouldst retract, say it now, and I will not accuse thy falseness, but bless thy truth." "Thou couldst be consoled then, by thy pride of woman, for the loss of an unworthy lover ? " " My lord, are these questions fair ? " Hastings was silent. The gentler part of his nature struggled severely with the harder. The pride of Sibyll moved him no less than her trust ; and her love in both was so evident, so deep, so exquisitely contrasting the cold and frivolous natures amidst which his lot had fallen, that he recoiled from casting away forever a heart never to be replaced. Standing on that bridge of life, with age before and youth behind, he felt that never again could he be so loved, or, if so loved, by one so worthy of whatever of pure affection, of young romance, was yet left to his melancholy and lonely soul. He took her hand, and, as she felt its touch, her firmness forsook her, her head drooped upon her bosom, and she burst into an agony of tears. 380 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. "Oil, Sibyll, forgive me .' Smile on me ngain, Sibyll ! " ex- claimed Hastings, subdued and melted. But, alas ! the heart once bruised and galled recovers itself but slowly, and it was many minutes before the softest words the eloquent lover could shape to sound sufficed to dry those burning tears, and bring back the enchanting smile nay, even then the smile was forced and joyless. They walked on for some moments, borh in thought, till Hastings said : " Thou lovest me, Sibyll, and art worthy of all the love that man can feel for maid ; and yet, canst thou solve me this question, nor chide me that I ask it : Dost thou not love the world and the world's judgment more than me ? What is that which women calls honor ? What makes them shrink from all love that takes not the form and circumstance of the world's hollow rites ? Does love cease to be love, un- less over its wealth of trust and emotion the priest mouths his empty blessing ? Thou in thy graceful pride art angered if I, in wedding thee, should remember the sacrifice which men like me I own it fairly deem as great as man can make ; and yet thou wouldst fly, my love, if it wooed thee to a sacrifice of thine own ?" Artfully was the question put, and Hastings smiled to him- self in imagining the reply it must bring ; and then Sibyll answered with the blush which the very subject called forth : "Alas, my lord, I am but a poor casuist, but I feel that if I asked thee to forfeit whatever men respect honor, and repute for valor to be traitor and dastard, thou couldst love me no more ; and marvel you, if when man woos woman to forfeit all that her sex holds highest to be in woman what dastard and traitor is in man she hears her conscience and her God speak in a louder voice than can come from a human lip ? The goods and pomps of the world we are free to sacrifice, and true love needs and counts them not ; but true love cannot sacrifice that which makes up love ; it cannot sacrifice the right to be loved below, the hope to love on in the realm above, the power to pray with a pure soul for the happiness it yearns to make, the blessing to seem ever good and honored in the eyes of the one by whom alone it would be judged and therefore, sweet lord, true love never contemplates this sacrifice ; and if once it be- lieves itself truly loved, it trusts with a fearless faith in the love on which it leans." " Sibyll, would to Heaven I had seen thee in my youth ! Would to Heaven I were more worthy of thee ! " And in that interview Hastings had no heart to utter what he had resolved : " Sibyll, I sought thee but to say, Farewell." THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 381 CHAPTER VI. WARWICK RETURNS APPEASES A DISCONTENTED PRINCE AND CONFERS WITH A REVENGEFUL CONSPIRATOR. IT was not till late in the evening that Warwick arrived at his vast residence in London, where he found not only Mar- niaduke Nevile ready to receive him, but a more august expec- tant, in George Duke of Clarence. Scarcely had the Earl crossed the threshold, when the Duke seized his arm, and lead- ing him into the room that adjoined the hall, said : " Verily Edward is besotted no less than ever by his wife's leech-like family. Thou knowest my appointment to the gov- ernment of Ireland ; Isabel, like myself, cannot endure the subordinate vassalage we must brook at the court, with the Queen's cold looks and sour words. Thou knowest, also, with what vain pretexts Edward hath put me off ; and now, this very day, he tells me that he hath changed his humor ; that I am not stern enough for the Irish kernes ; that he loves me too well to banish me, forsooth ; and that Worcester, the people's butcher, but the Queen's favorite, must have the post so sacredly pledged to me. I see, in this, Elizabeth's crafty malice. Is this struggle between King's blood and Queen's kith to go on forever ? " "Calm thyself, George ; I will confer with the King to-mor- row, and hope to compass thy not too arrogant desire. Certes, a king's brother is the fittest vice-king for the turbulent kernes of Ireland, who are ever flattered into obeisance by ceremony and show. The government was pledged to thee Edward can scarcely be serious. Moreover, Worcester, though forsooth a learned man {Mort Dieu ! methinks that same learning fills the head to drain the heart !) is so abhorred for his cruelties that his very landing in Ireland will bring a new rebellion to add to our already festering broils and sores. Calm thyself, I say. Where didst thou leave Isabel ? " "With my mother." "And Anne? The Queen chills not her young heart with cold grace?" " Nay the Queen dare not unleash her malice against Ed- ward's will ; and, to do him justice, he hath shown all honor to Lord Warwick's daughter." " He is a gallant prince, with all his faults," said the father neartily, " and we must bear with him, George ; for verily he bound men by a charm to Jove him. Stay thou, and $82 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. share my hasty repast, and over the wine we will talk of thy views. Spare me now for a moment ; 1 have to prepare work eno' for a sleepless night. This Lincolnshire rebellion prom- ises much trouble. Lord Willoughby has joined it more than twenty thousand men are in arms. I have already sent to con- vene the knights and barons on whom the King can best depend, and must urge their instant departure for their halls, to raise men and meet the foe. While Edward feasts, his min- ister must toil. Tarry awhile, till I return." The Earl re-entered the hall, and beckoned to Marmaduke, who stood amongst a group of squires. " Follow me ; I may have work for thee." Warwick took a taper from one of the servitors, and led the way to his own more private apartment. On the landing of the staircase, by a small door, stood his body squire: " Is the prisoner within ? " "Yes, my lord." " Good ! " The Earl opened the door by which the squire had mounted guard, and bade Marmaduke wait without. The inmate of the chamber, whose dress bore the stains of fresh travel and hard riding, lifted his face hastily as the Earl entered. " Robin Hilyard," said Warwick, "I have mused much how to reconcile my service to the King with the gratitude I owe to a man who saved me from great danger. In the midst of thy unhappy and rebellious designs, thou wert captured and brought to me ; the papers found on thee attest a Lancastrian revolt ; so ripening towards a mighty gathering, and so formid- able from the adherents whom the gold and intrigues of King Louis have persuaded to risk land and life for the Red Rose, that all the King's friends can do to save his throne is now needed. In this revolt thou hast been the scheming brain, the master hand, the match to the bombard, the firebrand to the flax. Thou smilest, man ! Alas ! seest thou not that it is my stern duty to send thee bound hand and foot before the King's council for the brake to wring from thee thy guilty secrets, and the gibbet to close thy days ? " " I am prepared," said Hilyard ; " when the bombard ex- plodes, the match has become useless ; when the flame smites the welkin, the firebrand is consumed ! " " Bold man ! what seest thou in this rebellion that can profit thee ? " " I see looming through the chasms and rents made in the feudal order by civil war, the giant image of a free people." THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 383 " And thou wouldst be a martyr for the multitude, who deserted thee at Olney ? " " As thou for the King, who dishonored thee at Shene ! " Warwick frowned, and there was a moment's pause ; at last, said the Earl : " Look you, Robin, I would fain not have on my hands the blood of a man who saved my life. I believe thee, though a fanatic and half-madman I believe thee true in word as rash of deed. Swear to me on the cross of this dagger, that thou wilt lay aside all scheme and plot for this rebellion, all aid and share in civil broil and dissension, and thy life and liberty are restored to thee. In that intent I have summoned my own kinsman, Marmaduke Nevile. He waits without the door ; he shall conduct thee safely to the seashore ; thou shall gain in peace my government of Calais, and my seneschal there shall find thee all thou canst need meat for thy hunger, and moneys for thy pastime. Accept my mercy, take the oath, and begone." " My lord," answered Hilyard, much touched and affected, " blame not thyself if this carcase feed the crows my blood be on my own head ! I cannot take this oath ; I cannot live in peace ; strife and broil are grown to me food and drink. Oh, my lord ! thou knowest not what dark and baleful memories made me an agent in God's hand against this ruthless Edward "; and then passionately, with whitening lips and convulsive fea- tures, Hilyard recounted to the startled Warwick the same tale which had roused the sympathy of Adam Warner. The Earl, whose affections were so essentially homely and domestic, was even more shocked than the scholar by the fear- ful narrative. " Unhappy man ! " he said, with moistened eyes, " from the core of my heart, I pity thee. But thou, the scathed sufferer from civil war, wilt thou be now its dread reviver? " " If Edward had wronged thee, great Earl, as me, poor frank- lin, what would be thine answer ? In vain moralize to him whom the spectre of a murdered child and the shriek of a maniac wife haunt and hound on to vengeance ! So send me to rack and halter. Be there one curse more on the soul of Edward ! " " Thou shalt not die through my witness," said the Earl abruptly, and he quitted the chamber. Securing the door by a heavy bolt on the outside, he gave orders to attend to the comforts of the prisoner : and then, turning into his closet with Marmaduke, said : " I sent for thee, young cousin, with design to commit to thy charge one 384 1HK LAST OK TI1K HA RONS. whose absence from England I deemed needful that design I must abandon. Go back to the palace, and see, if thou canst, the King, before he sleeps ; say that this rising in Lincolnshire is more than a riot ; it is the first burst of a revolution ! that I hold council here to-night, and every shire, ere the morrow, shall have its appointed captain. I will see the King at morn- ing. Yet stay gain sight of my child Anne ; she will leave the court to-morrow. I will come for her bid her train be prepared ; she and the Countess must away to Calais England again hath ceased to be a home for women ! What to do with this poor rebel ? " muttered the Earl, when alone " release him I cannot, slay him I will not. Hum there is space enough in these walls to enclose a captive." CHAPTER VII. THE FEAR AND THE FLIGHT. KING EDWARD feasted high, and Sibyll sate in her father's chamber she silent with thought of love, Adam silent in the toils of science. The Eureka was well-nigh finished rising from its ruins, more perfect, more elaborate, than before. Maiden and scholar, each seeming near to the cherished goal one to love's genial altar, the other to fame's lonely shrine. Evening advanced night began night deepened. King Edward's feast was over, but still in his perfumed chamber the wine sparkled in the golden cup. It was announced to him that Sir Marmaduke Nevile, just arrived from the Earl's house, craved an audience. The King, preoccupied in deep revery, impatiently postponed it till the morrow. " To-morrow," said the gentleman in attendance, " Sir Mar- maduke bids me say, fearful that the late hour would forbid his audience, that Lord Warwick himself will visit your Grace. I fear, sire, that the disturbances are great indeed, for the squires and gentlemen in Lady Anne's train have orders to accompany her to Calais to-morrow." " To-morrow, to-morrow ! " repeated the King ; " Well, sir, you are dismissed." The Lady Anne (to whom Sibyll had previously communi- cated the King's kindly consideration for Master Warner), had just seen Marmaduke, and learned the new dangers that awaited the throne and the realm. The Lancastrians were then openly in arms for the Prince of her love, and against her mighty father ! THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 385 The Lady Anne sate awhile, sorrowful and musing, and then, before yon crucifix, the Lady Anne knelt in prayer. Sir Marmaduke Nevile descends to the court below, and some three or four busy, curious gentlemen, not yet abed, seize him by the arm, and pray him stay what storm is in the wind. The night deepened still the wine is drained in King Edward's goblet King Edward has left his chamber and Sibyll, entreating her father, but in vain, to suspend his toil, has kissed the damps from his brow, and is about to retire to her neighboring room. She has turned to the threshold, when, hark ! a faint, a distant cry, a woman's shriek, the noise of a clapping door ! The voice it is the voice of Anne ! Sibyll passed the threshold she is in the corridor the winter moon shines through the open arches the air is white and cold with frost. Suddenly the door at the farther end is thrown wide open, a form rushes into the corridor, it passes Sibyll, halts, turns round : " Oh, Sibyll ! " cried the Lady Anne, in a voice wild with horror, " save me aid help ! Merciful Heaven, the King!" Instinctively, wonderingly, tremblingly, Sibyll drew Anne into the chamber she had just quitted, and as they gained its shelter as Anne sunk upon the floor the gleam of cloth of gold flashed through the dim atmosphere, and Edward, yet in the royal robe in which he had dazzled all the eyes at his kingly feast, stood within the chamber. His countenance was agitated with passion, and'its clear hues flushed red with wine. At his entrance Anne sprang from the floor and rushed to Warner, who, in dumb bewilderment, had suspended his task, and stood before the Eureka, from which steamed and rushed the dark rapid smoke, while round and round, laboring and groaning, rolled its fiery wheels.* " Sir," cried Anne, clinging to him convulsively, " You are a father by your child's soul, protect Lord Warwick's daugh- ter ! " Roused from his abstraction by this appeal, the poor scholar wound his arm round the form thus clinging to him, and rais- ing his head with dignity, replied : " Thy name, youth, and sex protect thee ! " " Unhand that lady, vile sorcerer," exclaimed the King "/ am her protector. Come, Anne, sweet Anne, fair lady thou * The gentle reader will doubtless bear in mind that Master Warner's complicated model had but little resemblance to the models of the steam engine in our own day, and that it was usually connected with other contrivances, for the better display of the principle it was intended to illustrate. 386 THE LAST OK THE BARONS. mistakes! come ! " he whispered. " Give not to these low natures matter for guesses that do but shame thee. Let thy King and cousin lead thee back to thy sweet rest." He sought, though gently, to loosed the arms that wound themselves round the old man ; but Anne, not heeding, not listening, distracted by a terror that seemed to shake her whole frame, and to threaten her very reason, continued to cry out loudly upon her father's name her great father, wakeful, then, for the baffled ravisher's tottering throne ! Edward had still sufficient possession of his reason to be alarmed lest some loiterer or sentry in the outer court might hear the cries which his attempts to soothe but the more pro- voked. Grinding his teeth and losing patience, he said to Adam : " Thou knovvest me, friend I am thy King. Since the Lady Anne, in her bewilderment, prefers thine aid to mine, help to bear her back to her apartment ; and thou, young mistress, lend thine arm. This wizard's den is no fit chamber for our high-born guest." " No, no ; drive me not hence, Master Warner. That man that King give me not up to his his " " Beware ! " exclaimed the King. It was not till now that Adam's simple mind comprehended the true cause of Anne's alarm, which Sibyll still conjectured not, but stood trembling by her friend's side, and close to her father. " Do not fear, maiden," said Adam Warner, laying his hand upon the loosened locks that swept over his bosom, " for though I am old and feeble, God and his angels are in every spot where virtue trembles and resists. My lord King, thy sceptre extends not over a human soul ! " " Dotard, prate not to me ! " said Edward, laying his hand on his dagger. Sibyll saw the movement, and instinctively placed herself between her father and the King. That slight form, those pure, steadfast eyes, those features, noble at once and delicate, recalled to Edward the awe which had seized him in his first dark design ; and again that awe came over him. He retreated. " I mean harm to none," said he, almost submissively ; "and if I am so unhappy as to scare with my presence the Lady Anne, I will retire, praying you, donzell, to see to her state, and lead her back to her chamber when it so pleases herself. Saying this much, I command you, old man, and you, maiden, to stand back while I but address one sentence to the Lady Anne." THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 387 With these words he gently advanced to Anne, and took her hand ; but, snatching it from him, the poor lady broke from Adam, rushed to the casement, opened it, and seeing some figures indistinct and distant in the court below, she called out in a voice of such sharp agony, that it struck remorse and even terror into Edward's soul. " Alas ! " he muttered, " she will not listen to me, her mind is distraught ! What frenzy has been mine ! Pardon pardon, Anne oh, pardon ! " Adam Warner laid his hand on the King's arm, and he drew the imperious despot away as easily as a nurse leads a docile child. " King ! " said the brave old man, " may God pardon thee ! for if the last evil hath been wrought upon this noble lady, David sinned not more heavily than thou." " She is pure inviolate I swear it ! " said the King humbly. " Anne, only say that I am forgiven." But Anne spoke not : her eyes were fixed her lips had fallen she was insensible as a corpse dumb and frozen with her ineffable dread. Suddenly steps were heard upon the stairs ; the door opened, and Marmaduke Nevile entered abruptly. " Surely I heard my lady's voice surely ! What marvel this ? The King ! Pardon, my liege ! " and he bent his knee. The sight of Marmaduke dissolved the spell of awe and re- pentant humiliation which had chained the King's dauntless heart. His wonted guile returned to him with his self-posses- sion. " Our wise craftsman's strange and weird invention (and Edward pointed to the Eureka) has scared our fair cousin's senses, as, by sweet St. George, it well might ! Go back, Sir Marmaduke, we will leave Lady Anne for a moment to the care of Mistress Sibyll. Donzell, remember my command. Come, sir," (and he drew the wondering Marmaduke from the chamber), but as soon as he had seen the knight descend the stairs and regain the court, he returned to the room, and in a low stern voice, said : " Look you, Master Warner, and you, damsel, if ever either of ye breathe one word of what has been your dangerous fate to hear and witness, kings have but one way to punish slanderers, and silence but one safeguard trifle not with death ! " He then closed the door, and resought his own chamber. The Eastern spices, which were burned in the sleeping-rooms of the great, still made the air heavy with their feverish fragrance, 388 THE LAST OF TUT. HARONS. The King seated himself, and strove to recollect his thoughts, and examine the peril he had provoked. The resistance and the terror of Anne had effectually banished from his heart the guilty passion it had before harbored ; for emotions like his, and in such a nature, are quick of change. His prevailing feeling was one of sharp repentance, and reproachful shame. But, as he roused himself from a state of mind which light characters ever seek to escape, the image of the dark-browed Earl rose before him, and fear succeeded to mortification ; but even this, however well-founded, could not endure long in a disposition so essentially scornful of all danger. Before morn- ing, the senses of Anne must return to her. So gentle a bosom could be surely reasoned out of resentment, or daunted, at least, from betraying to her stern father a secret that, if told, would smear the sward of England with the gore of thousands. What woman will provoke war and bloodshed ? And for an evil not wrought fora purpose not fulfilled ? The King was grateful that his victim had escaped him. He would see Anne before the Earl could, and appease her anger obtain her silence ! For Warner, and for Sibyll, they would not dare to reveal ; and, if they did, the lips that accuse a king should belie themselves, while a rack can torture truth, and the doomsman be the only judge between the subject and the head that wears a crown ! Thus reasoning with himself, his soul faced the solitude. Meanwhile Marmaduke regained the courtyard, where, as we have said, he had been detained in conferring with some of the gentlemen in the King's service, who, hearing that he brought important tidings from the Earl, had abstained from rest till they could learn if the progress of the new rebellion would bring their swords into immediate service. Marmaduke, pleased to be of importance, had willingly satisfied their curiosity, as far as he was able, and was just about to retire to his own chamber, when the cry of Anne had made him enter the postern door which led up the stairs to Adam's apartment, and which was fortu- nately not locked ; and now, on returning, he had again a new curiosity to allay. Having briefly said that Master Warner had taken that untoward hour to frighten the women with a machine that vomited smoke and howled piteously, Marmaduke dismissed the group to their beds, and was about to seek his own, when, looking once more towards the casement, he saw a white hand gleaming in the frosty moonlight, and beckoning to him. The knight crossed himself, and reluctantly ascended the stairs, and re-entered the wizard's den. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 389 The Lady Anne had so far recovered herself that a kind of unnatural calm had taken possession of her mind, and changed her ordinary sweet and tractable nature into one stern, obsti- nate resolution, to escape, if possible, that unholy palace. And as soon as Marmaduke re-entered, Anne met him at the threshold, and laying her hand convulsively on his arm, said : " By the name you bear by your love to my father, aid me to quit these walls." In great astonishment, Marmaduke stared, without reply. " Do you deny me, sir?" said Anne, almost sternly. " Lady and mistress mine," answered Marmaduke, " I am your servant in all things. Quit these walls the palace ! How ! the gates are closed. Nay, and what would my lord say, if at night " " If at night /" repeated Anne, in a hollow voice ; and then pausing, burst into a terrible laugh. Recovering herself ab~ ruptly, she moved to the door; "I will go forth alone, and trust in God and our Lady." Sibyll sprang forward to arrest her steps, and Marmaduke hastened to Adam, and whispered : " Poor lady, is her mind unsettled ? Hast thou, in truth, distracted her with thy spells and glamour?" " Hush ! " answered the old man ; and he whispered in the Nevile's ear. Scarcely had the knight caught the words, than his cheek paled his eyes flashed fire. "The great Earl's daughter !" he exclaimed "infamy! horror she is right !" He broke from the student, approached Anne, who still struggled with Sibyll, and kneeling before her, said, in a voice choked with passions at once fierce and tender : " Lady, you are right. Unseemly it may be for one of your quality and sex to quit this place with me, and alone ; but at least I have a man's heart a knight's honor. Trust to me your safety, noble maiden, and I will cut your way, even through yon foul King's heart, to your great father's side ! " Anne did not seem quite to understand his words, but she smiled on him as he knelt, and gave him her hand. The re- sponsibility he had assumed quickened all the intellect of the young knight. As he took and kissed the hand extended to him % he felt the ring upon his finger the ring entrusted to him by Alwyn the King's signet-ring, before which would fly open every gate. He uttered a joyous exclamation, loosened his long night-cloak, and praying Anne to envelop her form in 390 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. its folds, drew the hood over her head ; he was about to lead her forth, when he halted suddenly. "Alack," said he, turning to Sibyll, "even though we may escape the tower, no boatman now can be found on the river. The way through the streets is dark and perilous, and beset with midnight ruffians." " Verily," said Warner, " the danger is past now. Let the noble demoiselle rest here until morning. The King dare not again " " Dare not ! " interrupted Marmaduke. " Alas ! you little know King Edward." At that name Anne shuddered, opened the door, and hurried down the stair ; Sibyll and Marmaduke followed her. " Listen, Sir Marmaduke," said Sibyll. " Close without the Tower is the house of a noble lady, the dame of Longueville, where Anne may rest in safety, while you seek Lord Warwick. I will go with you, if you can obtain egress for us both." " Brave damsel ! " said Marmaduke with emotion, " but your own safety the King's anger no besides, a third, your dress not concealed, would create the warder's suspicion. Describe the house." " The third to the left, by the river's side, with an arched porch, and the fleur-de-lis embossed on the walls." " It is not so dark but we shall find it. Fare you well, gen- tle mistress." While they yet spoke, they had both reached the side of Anne. Sibyll still persisted in the wish to accompany her friend ; but Marmaduke's representation of the peril to life itself, that might befall her father, if Edward learned she had abetted Anne's escape, finally prevailed. The knight and his charge gained the outer gate. " Haste, haste, Master Warder ! " he cried, beating at the door with his dagger till it opened jealously "messages of importance to the Lord Warwick. We have the King's signet. Open ! " The sleepy warder glanced at the ring the gates were opened. They were without the fortress they hurried on. " Cheer up, noble lady ; you are safe you shall be avenged ! " said Marmaduke, as he felt the steps of his companion falter. But the reaction had come. The effort Anne had hitherto made was for escape for liberty ; the strength ceased, the object gained ; her head drooped, she muttered a few incohe- rent words, and then sense and life left her. Marmaduke paused in great perplexity and alarm. But lo, a light in a THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 391 house before him ! that house the third to the river the only one with the arched porch described by Sibyll. He lifted the light and holy burthen in his strong arms he gained the door ; to his astonishment, it was open a light burned on the stairs he heard, in the upper room, the sound of whispered voices, and quick, soft footsteps, hurrying to and fro. Still bearing the insensible form of his companion, he ascended the stair- case, and entered at once upon a chamber, in which, by a dim lamp, he saw some two or three persons assembled round a bed in the recess. A grave man advanced to him, as he paused at the threshold : " Whom seek you ? " " The Lady Longueville." "Hush!" " Who needs me ? " said a faint voice, from the curtained recess. " My name is Nevile," answered Marmaduke, with straight- forward brevity. " Mistress Sibyll Warner told me of this house, where I come for an hour's shelter to my companion, the Lady Anne, daughter of the Earl of Warwick." Marmaduke resigned his charge to an old woman, who was the nurse in that sick chamber, and who lifted the hood, and chafed the pale, cold hands of the young maiden ; the knight then strode to the recess. The Lady of Longueville was on the bed of death an illness of two days had brought her to the brink of the grave but there was in her eye and coun- tenance a restless and preternatural animation, and her voice was clear and shrill, as she said : " Why does the daughter of Warwick, the Yorkist, seek refuge in the house of the fallen and childless Lancastrian ? " " Swear, by thy hopes in Christ, that thou wilt tend and guard her while I seek the Earl, and I reply." " Stranger, my name is Longueville my birth noble those pledges of hospitality and trust are stronger than hollow oaths. Say on ! " " Because, then," whispered the knight, after waiving; the bystanders from the spot " because the Earl's daughter flies dishonor in a King's palace, and her insulter is the King ! " Before the dying woman could reply, Anne, recovered by the cares of the experienced nurse, suddenly sprung to the recess, and kneeling by the bedside, exclaimed wildly : " Save me ! hide me ! save me ! " " Go and seek the Earl, whose riuht hand destroyed my house and his lawful sovereign's throne go ! 1 will live till 392 THE T.AST OF THE BARONS. he arrives ! " said the childless widow, and a wild gicam of triumph shot over her haggard features. CHAPTER VIII. THE GROUP ROUND THE DEATH-BED OF THE LANCASTRIAN WIDOW. THE dawning sun gleamed through gray clouds upon a small troop of men, armed in haste, who were grouped round a cov ered litter by the outer door of the Lady Longueville's house ; while in the death-chamber, the Earl of Warwick, with a face as pale as the dying woman's, stood beside the bed Anne calmly leaning on his breast, her eyes closed, and tears yet moist on their long fringes. " Ay ay ay ! " said the Lancastrian noblewoman, " ye men of wrath and turbulence should reap what ye have sown ! This is the King for whom ye dethroned the sainted Henry ! This the man for whom ye poured forth the blood of England's best ! Ha ! ha ! Look down from Heaven, my husband, my martyr-sons! The daughter of your mightiest foe flies to this lonely hearth flies to the death-bed of the powerless woman for refuge from the foul usurper whom that foe placed upon the throne ! " " Spare me," muttered Warwick, in a low voice, and between his grinded teeth. The room had been cleared, and Doctor Godard (the grave man who had first accosted Marmaduke, and who was the priest summoned to the dying) alone save the scarce-conscious Anne herself witnessed the ghastly and awful conference. " Hush, daughter," said the man of peace, lifting the solemn crucifix "calm thyself to holier thoughts." The lady impatiently turned from the priest, and grasping the strong right arm of Warwick with her shrivelled and trem- bling fingers, resumed, in a voice that struggled to repress the gasps which broke its breath : " But thou oh. thou, wilt bear this indignity ! Thou, the chief of England's Barons, wilt see no dishonor in the rank love of the vilest of England's kings ! Oh, yes, ye Yorkists have the hearts of varlets not of men and fathers ! " " By the symbol from which thou turnest, woman ! " ex- claimed the Earl, giving vent to the fury which the presence of death had before suppressed "by Him, to whom morning and night I have knelt in grateful blessing for the virtuous life THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 393 of this beloved child, I will have such revenge on the recreant whom I kinged, as shall live in the Rolls of England till the trump of the Judgment Angel ! " " Father," said Anne, startled by her father's vehemence from her half-swoon, half-sleep " Father, think no more of the past take me to my mother ! I want the clasp of my moth- er's arms ! " " Leave us leave the dying, Sir Earl and son," saidGodard. " I too am Lancastrian I too would lay down my life for the holy Henry ; but I shudder, in the hour of death, to hear yon pale lips, that should pray for pardon, preach to thee of revenge." " Revenge ! " shrieked out the Dame of Longueville, as, sinking fast and fast, she caught the word " Revenge ! Thou hast sworn revenge on Edward of York, Lord Warwick sworn it, in the chamber of death in the ear of one who will carry that word to the hero-dead of a hundred battle-fields ! Ha the sun has risen ! Priest Godard thine arms support raise bear me to the casement ! Quick quick ! I would see my King once more ! Quick quick ! and then then I will hear thee pray ! " The priest, half-chiding, yet half in pity, bore the dying woman to the casement. She motioned to him to open it : he obeyed. The sun, just above the welkin, shone over the lordly Thames, gilded the gloomy fortress of the Tower, and glit- tered upon the window of Henry's prison. " There there ! It is he it is my King ! Hither lord, rebel Earl hither. Behold your sovereign ! Repent, re- venge !" With her livid and outstretched hand, the Lancastrian pointed to the huge Wakefield Tower. The Earl's dark eye beheld, in the dim distance, a pale and reverend countenance, recognized even from afar. The dying woman fixed her glaz- ing eyes upon the wronged and mighty baron, and suddenly her arm fell to her side, the face became set as into stone, the last breath of life gurgled within, and fled and still those glazing eyes were fixed on the Earl's hueless face ; and still in his ear, and echoed by a thousand passions in his heart, thrilled the word which had superseded prayer, and in which the sinner's soul had flown REVENGE ! 394 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. BOOK IX. THE WANDERERS AND THE EXILES. CHAPTER I. HOW THE GREAT BARON BECOMES AS GREAT A REBEL. HILYARD was yet asleep in the chamber assigned to him as his prison, when a rough grasp shook off his slumbers, and he saw the Earl before him, with a countenance so changed from its usual open majesty so dark and sombre, that he said, in- voluntarily : "You send me to the doomsman I am ready ! " " Hist, man ! Thou hatest Edward of York ? " " An* it were my last word yes ! " " Give me thy hand we are friends ! Stare not at me with those eyes of wonder ask not the why nor wherefore ! This last night gave Edward a rebel more in Richard Nevile. A steed waits thee at my gates ride fast to young Sir Robert Welles with this letter. Bid him not be dismayed ; bid him hold out for ere many days are past, Lord Warwick and it may be, also, the Duke of Clarence will join their force with his. Mark, I say not that I am for Henry of Lancaster I say only that I am against Edward of York. Farewell, and when we meet again, blessed be the arm that first cuts its way to a tyrant's heart ! " Without another word, Warwick left the chamber. Hilyard, at first, could not believe his senses ; but as he dressed him- self in haste, he pondered over all those causes of dissension which had long notoriously subsisted between Edward and the Earl, and rejoiced that the prophecy he had long so shrewdly hazarded was at last fulfilled. Descending the stairs, he gained the gate, where Marmaduke awaited him, while a groom held a stout haquente (as the common riding-horse was then called), whose points and breeding promised speed and endurance. " Mount, Master Robin," said Marmaduke ; " I little thought we should ever ride as friends together ! Mount our way for some miles out of London is the same. You go into Lin- colnshire I into the shire of Hertford." " And for the same purpose ? " asked Hilyard, as he sprung on his horse, and the two men rode briskly on. " Yes ! " THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 395 ' Lord Warwick is changed at last." ' At last ! " ' For long ? " ' Till death ! " ' Good I ask no more ! " A sound of hoofs behind made the franklin turn his head, and he saw a goodly troop, armed to the teeth, emerge from the Earl's house and follow the lead of Marmaduke. Meanwhile Warwick was closeted with Montagu. Worldly as the latter was, and personally attached to Ed- ward, he was still keenly alive to all that touched the honor of his house : and his indignation at the deadly insult offered to his niece was even more loudly expressed than that of the fiery Earl. " To deem," he exclaimed, " to deem Elizabeth Woodville worthy of his throne, and to see in Anne Nevile one only worthy to be his leman ! " " Ay ! " said the Earl, with a calmness perfectly terrible, from its unnatural contrast to his ordinary heat, when but slightly chafed : " Ay ! thou sayest it ! But be tranquil cold cold as iron, and as hard ! We must scheme now, not storm and threaten I never schemed before ! You are right honesty is a fool's policy ! Would I had known this but an hour before the news reached me ! I have already dismissed our friends to their different districts, to support King Ed- ward's cause he is still king a little while longer king ! Last night, I dismissed them last night, at the very hour when O God, give me patience !" He paused, and added, in a low voice: "Yet yet how long the moments are how long! Ere the sun sets, Edward, I trust, will be in my power ! " "How?" " He goes to-day, to the More he will not go the less for what hath chanced ; he will trust to the Archbishop to make his peace with me churchmen are not fathers ! Marmaduke Nevile hath my orders a hundred armed men, who would march against the fiend himself, if I said the word, will sur- round the More, and seize the guest ! " " But what then ? Who, if Edward I dare not say the word who is to succeed him ? " " Clarence is the male heir ! " "But with what face to the people proclaim " "There there it is!" interrupted Warwick. "I have thought of that I have thought of all things ; my mind seems to have traversed worlds since daybreak ! True ! all commo- 396 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. tion to be successful must have a cause that men can under- stand. Nevertheless, you, Montagu you have a smoother tongue than I ; go to our friends to those who hate Edward seek them, sound them ! " " And name to them Edward's infamy ! " " 'Sdeath, dost thou think it ! Thou, a Monthermer and Montagu ! proclaim to England the foul insult to the hearth of an English gentleman and peer ! Feed every ribald Bour- dour with song and roundel of Anne's virgin shame ! How King Edward stole to her room at the dead of night, and wooed and pressed, and swore, and God of Heaven, that this hand were on his throat ! No, brother, no ! there are some wrongs we may not tell tumors and swellings of the heart, which are eased not till blood can flow ! " During this conference between the brothers, Edward, in his palace, was seized with consternation and dismay on hear- ing that the Lady Anne could not be found in her chamber. He sent forthwith to summon Adam Warner to his presence, and learned from the simple sage, who concealed nothing, the mode in which Anne had fled from the Tower. The King abruptly dismissed Adam, after a few hearty curses and vague threats ; and awaking to the necessity of inventing some plausi- ble story, to account to the wonder of the court for the abrupt disappearance of his guest, he saw that the person who could best originate and circulate such a tale was the Queen ; and he sought her at once, with the resolution to choose his confidant in the connection most rarely honored by marital trust, in simi- lar offences. He, however, so softened his narrative as to leave it but a venial error. He had been indulging over-freely in the wine-cup ; he had walked into the corridor, for the re- freshing coolness of the air : he had seen the figure of a female whom he did not recognize ; and a few gallant words, he scarce remembered what, had been misconstrued. On perceiving whom he had thus addressed, he had sought to soothe the anger or alarm of the Lady Anne ; but still mistaking his intention she had hurried into Warner's chamber he had followed her thither and now she had fled the palace. Such was his story, told lightly and laughingly, but ending with a grave enumera- tion of the dangers his imprudence had incurred. Whatever Elizabeth felt, or however she might interpret the confession, she acted with her customary discretion ; affected, after a few tender reproaches, to place implicit credit in her lord's account, and volunteered to prevent all scandal by the probable story, that the Earl, being prevented from coming in f tite LAST OF THE BARONS. 397 person for his daughter, as he had purposed, by fresh news of the rebellion which might call him from London with the early day, had commissioned his kinsman Marmaduke to escort her home. The quick perception of her sex told her that, what- ever license might have terrified Anne into so abrupt a flight, the haughty Earl would shrink no less than Edward himself from making public an insult which slander could well distort into the dishonor of his daughter ; and that, whatever pretext might be invented, Warwick would not deign to contradict it. And^as, despite Elizabeth's hatred to the Earl and desire of permanent breach between Edward and his minister, she could not, as queen, wife, and woman, but be anxious that some cause more honorable in Edward, and less odious to the people, should be assigned for quarrel, she earnestly recom- mended the King to repair at once to the More, as had been before arranged, and to spare no pains, disdain no expressions of penitence and humiliation, to secure the mediation of the Archbishop. His mind somewhat relieved by this interview and counsel, the King kissed Elizabeth with affectionate grati- tude, and returned to his chamber to prepare for his departure to the Archbishop's palace. But then, remembering that Adam and Sibyll possessed his secret, he resolved at once to banish them from the Tower. For a moment he thought of the dungeons of his fortress of the rope of his doomsman ; but his conscience at that hour was sore and vexed. His fierceness humbled by the sense of shame, he shrunk from a new crime ; and, moreover, his strong common-sense assured him that the testimony of a shunned and abhorred wizard ceased to be of weight the moment it was deprived of the influence it took from the protection of a king. He gave orders for a boat to be in readiness by the gate of St. Thomas, again summoned Adam into his presence, and said briefly : " Master Warner, the London mechanics cry so loudly against thine invention, for lessening labor and starving the poor, the sailors on the wharfs are so mutinous, at the thought of vessels without rowers, that, as a good king is bound, I yield to the voice of my people. Go home, then, at once ; the Queen dis- penses with thy fair daughter's service the damsel accom- panies thee. A boat awaits ye at the stairs ; a guard shall attend ye to your house. Think what has passed within these walls has been a dream ; a dream that, if told, is deathful if concealed and forgotten, hath no portent ! " Without waiting a reply, the King called from the ante- room one of his gentlemen, and gave him special directions as 398 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. to the departure and conduct of the worthy scholar and his gentle daughter. Edward next summoned before him the war- der of the gate, learned that he alone was privy to the mode of his guest's flight, and deeming it best to leave at large no com- mentator on the tale he had invented, sentenced the astonished warder to three months' solitary imprisonment for appearing before him with soiled hosen ! An hour afterwards, the King, with a small though gorgeous retinue, was on his way to the More. The Archbishop had, according to his engagement, as- sembled in his palace the more powerful of the discontented seigneurs ; and his eloquence had so worked upon them, that Edward beheld, on entering the hall, only countenances of cheerful loyalty and respectful welcome. After the first greet- ings, the prelate, according to the custom of the day, con- ducted Edward into a chamber, that he might refresh himself with a brief rest and the bath, previous to the banquet. Edward seized the occasion, and told his tale ; but, however softened, enough was left to create the liveliest dismay in his listener. The lofty scaffolding of hope, upon which the am- bitious prelate was to mount to the papal throne, seemed to crumble into the dust. The King and the Earl were equally necessary to the schemes of George Nevile. He chid the royal layman with more than priestly unction for his offence ; but Edward so humbly confessed his fault, that the prelate at length relaxed his brow, and promised to convey his penitent assurances to the Earl. " Not an hour should be lost," he said ; " the only one who can soothe his wrath is your Highness's mother, our noble kinswoman. Permit me to dispatch to her Grace a letter, praying her to seek the Earl, while I write by the same courier to himself." " Be it all as you will," said Edward, doffing his surcoat, and dipping his hands in a perfumed ewer, " I shall not know rest till I have knelt to the Lady Anne, and won her pardon." The prelate retired, and scarcely had he left the room when Sir John Ratcliffe,* one of the King's retinue, and in waiting on his person, entered the chamber, pale and trembling. " My liege," he said, in a whisper, " I fear some deadly treason awaits you. I have seen, amongst the trees below this * Afterwards Lord Fitzwalter. Sec Lingard, note, vol. in., p. 507, quarto edition, for the proper date to be assigned to this royal visit to the More a date we have here adopted not ns Sharon Turner and others place, viz (upon the authority of Hearne's Fragm., 302, which subsequent events disprove), after the open rebellion f Warwick, but just be/art it that is, not after Easter, but before Lent. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 399 tower, the gleam of steel ; I have crept through the foliage, and counted no less than a hundred armed men their leader is Sir Marmaduke Nevile. Earl Warwick's kinsman ! " "Ha ! " muttered the King, and his bold face fell, "comes the Earl's revenge so soon ? " " And," continued Ratcliffe, " I overheard Sir Marmaduke say, ' The door of the Garden Tower is unguarded wait the signal ! ' Fly, my liege ! Hark ! even now, I hear the rattling of arms ! " The King stole to the casement the day was closing ; the foliage grew thick and dark around the wall ; he saw an armed man emerge from the shade a second, and a third. " You are right, Ratcliffe ! Flight but how ? " '' This way, my liege. By the passage I entered, a stair winds to a door on the inner court ; there, I have already a steed in waiting. Deign, for precaution, to use my hat and manteline." The King hastily adopted the suggestion, followed the noise- less steps of Ratcliffe, gained the door, sprung on his steed, and dashing right through a crowd assembled by the gate, gal- loped alone and fast, untracked by human enemy, but goaded by the foe that mounts the rider's steed over field, over fell, over dyke, through hedge, and in the dead of night reined in at last, before the royal towers of Windsor. CHAPTER II. MANY THINGS BRIEFLY TOLD. THE events that followed the King's escape were rapid and startling. The barons assembled at the More, enraged at Edward's seeming distrust of them, separated in loud anger. The Archbishop learned the cause from one of his servitors, who detected Mannaduke's ambush, but he was too wary to make known a circumstance suspicious to himself. He flew to London, and engaged the mediation of the Duchess of York to assist his own.* The Earl received their joint overtures with stern and omi- nous coldness, and abruptly repaired to Warwick, taking with him the Lady Anne. There he was joined, the same day, by the Duke and Duchess of Clarence. The Lincolnshire rebellion gained head : Edward made a dexterous feint in calling, by public commission, upon Clar- * Lingard. See for the dates, Fabyan, 657. 4 00 THE LAST OF THE KARONS. ence and Warwick to aid in dispersing it ; if they refused, the odium of first aggression would seemingly rest with them. Clarence, more induced by personal ambition than sympathy with Warwick's wrong, incensed by his brother's recent slights, looking to Edward's resignation and his own consequent accession to the throne, and inflamed by the ambition and pride of a wife whom he at once feared and idolized, went hand in heart with the Earl ; but not one lord and captain whom Montagu had sounded lent favor to the deposition of one brother for the advancement of the next. Clarence, though popular, was too young to be respected ; many there were who would rather have supported the Earl, if an aspirant to the throne ; but that choice forbidden by the Earl himself, there could be but two parties in England the one for Edward IV., the other for Henry VI. Lord Montagu had repaired to Warwick Castle, to communi- cate in person this result of his diplomacy. The Earl, whose manner was completely changed, no longer frank and hearty, but close and sinister, listened in gloomy silence. " And now," said Montagu, with the generous emotion of a man whose nobler nature was stirred deeply, " if you resolve on war with Edward, I am willing to renounce my own ambi- tion, the hand of a king's daughter for my son, so that I may avenge the honor of our common name. I confess that I have so loved Edward that I would fain pray you to pause, did I not distrust myself, lest in such delay his craft should charm me back to the old affection. Nathless, to your arm, and to your great soul, I have owed all, and if you are resolved to strike the blow, I am ready to share the hazard." The Earl turned away his face, and wrung his brother's hand. " Our father, methinks, hears thee from his grave ! " said he solemnly, and there was a long pause. At length Warwick resumed : " Return to London ; seem to take no share in my actions, whatever they be ; if I fail, why drag thee into my ruin ? And yet, trust me, I am rash and fierce no more. He who sets his heart on a great object suddenly becomes wise. When a throne is in the dust when from St. Paul's cross a voice goes forth, to Carlisle and the Land's End, proclaiming that the reign of Edward the Fourth is past and gone then, Montagu, I claim thy promise of aid and fellowship not before ! " Meanwhile, the King eager to dispel thought in action, rushed in person against the rebellious forces. Stung by fear into THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 46! cruelty, he beheaded, against all kingly faith, his hostages, Lord Welles and Sir Thomas Dymoke, summoned Sir Robert Welles, the leader of the revolt, to surrender ; received for answer, " that Sir Robert Welles would not trust the perfidy of the man who had murdered his father ! " pushed on to Erpingham, defeated the rebels in a singal battle, and crowned his victory by a series of ruthless cruelties committed to the fierce and learned Earl of Worcester, " Butcher of England." * With the prompt vigor and superb generalship which Edward ever displayed in war, he then cut his gory way to the force which Clarence and Warwick (though their hostility was still undeclared) had levied, with the intent to join the defeated rebels. He sent his herald, Garter King-at-arms, to summon the Earl and the Duke to appear before him within a certain day. The time expired ; he proclaimed them traitors, and offered rewards for their apprehension ! f So sudden had been Warwick's defection so rapid the King's movements that the Earl had not time to mature his resources, assemble his vassals, consolidate his schemes. His very preparations, upon the night on which Edward had repaid his services by such hideous ingratitude, had manned the coun- try with armies against himself. Girt but with a scanty force collected in haste (and which consisted merely of his retainers, in the single shire of Warwick), the march of Edward cut him off from the counties in which his name was held most dear in which his trumpet could raise up hosts. He was disap- pointed in the aid he had expected from his powerful but self- interested brother-in-law, Lord Stanley. Revenge had be- come more dear to him than life : life must not be hazarded, lest revenge be lost. On still marched the King ; and the day * Stowe. Warkworth Chronicle Cont. Croyl. Lord Worcester ordered Clapham (a squire to Lord Warwick) and nineteen others, gentlemen and yeomen, to be imfaled, and from the horror the spectacle inspired, and the universal odium it attached to Worcester, it is to be feared that the unhappy men were still sensible to the agony of this infliction, though they appear first to have been drawn, and partially hanged outrage confined only to the dead bodies of rebels being too common at that day to have excited the indignation which attended the sentence Worcester passed on his victims. It is in vain that some writers would seek to cleanse the memory of this learned nobleman from the stain of cruelty, by rhetorical remarks on the improbability that a cultivator of letters should be of a ruthless disposition. The general philosophy of this defence is erroneous. In ignorant ages, a man of superior acquirements is not necessarily made humane by the cultivation of his intelltct ; on the contrary, he too often learns to look upon the uneducated herd as things of another clay. Of this truth all history is pregnant witness' the accomplished tyrants of Greece, the profound and cruel intellect of the Italian Borgias. Richard III. and Henry VIII. were both highly educated for their age. But in the case of Tiptoft, Lord Worcester, the evidence of his cruelty is no less incontestable than that which proves his learning the Crpyland historian alone is unimpeachable. Worcester's popular name of " the Butcher " is sufficient testimony in itself. The people are often mistaken, to be sure, but can scarcely be so upon the one point whether a man who has sate in judgment on themselves be merciful or cruel. t One thousand pounds in money, or one hundred pounds a year in land ; an immense reward for that day. 403 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. that his troops entered Exeter, Warwick, the females of his family, with Clarence, and a small but armed retinue, took ship from Dartmouth, sailed for Calais (before which town, while at anchor, Isabel was confined of her first-born) to the Earl's rage and dismay, his deputy Vauclerc fired upon his ships. Warwick then steered on towards Normandy, captured some Flemish vessels by the way, in token of defiance to the Earl's old Burgundian foe, and landed at Harfleur, where he and his companions were received with royal honors by the Admiral of France, and finally took their ways to the court of Louis XI , at Amboise. " The danger is past forever ! " said King Edward, as the wine sparkled in his goblet. " Rebellion hath lust its head and now, indeed, and for the first time a monarch, I reign alone ! " * CHAPTER III. THE PLOT OF THE HOSTELRY THE MAID AND THE SCHOLAR IN THEIR HOME. THE country was still disturbed, and the adherents, whether of Henry or the Earl, still ro>e in many an outbreak, though prevented from swelling into one common army by the extra- ordinary vigor not only of Edward, but of Gloucester and Hastings, when one morning, just after the events thus rapidly related, the hostelry of Master Bancroft, in the suburban parish of Marybone, rejoiced in a motley crowd of customers and topers. Some half-score soldiers, returned in triumph from the royal camp, sate round a table placed agreeably enough in the deep * Before leaving England, Warwick and Clarence are generally said to have fallen in with Anthony Wood vifle and Lord Audley, and ordered them to execution; from which they were saved by a Dorsetshire gentleman. Carte, who, though his history is not with- out great mistakes, is well worth reading by those whom the character of Lord Warwick may interest, says, that the Earl had " too much magnanimity to put them to death immediately, according to the common practice of the times, and only imprisoned them in the castle of Wardour, from whence they were soon rescued by John Thornhill, a gentle- man of Dorsetshire." The whole of this story is, however, absolutely contradicted by the WarkworthChronicle,(p. q, edited by Mr. Halliwell) according to which authority Anthony Woodville was at that time commanding a fleet upon the Channel, which waylaid Warwick on his voyatre; but the success therein attributed to the gallant Anthony, in dispersing or seizing all the carl's ships, save the one that bore the earl himself and his family, is proved to be purely fabulous, by the earl's well-attested capture of the Flemish vessels, as he passed from Calais to the coasts of Normandy an exploit he could never have performed with a single vessel of his own. It is very probable that the story of Anthony Woodville's capture and peril at this time originates in a misadventure many years before, and recorded in the Paston letters, as well as in the Chronicles. In the year 1459, Anthony Woodville and his father, Lord Rivers (then zealous Lancastrians) really did fill into the hands of the Earl of March (Edward IV.), Warwick and Salisbury, and got off with a sound " rating " upon the rude language which such " knaves' sons " and " little squires " had held to those " who were of king's blood." THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 403 recess made by the large jutting lattice ; with them were mingled about as many women, strangely and gaudily clad. These last were all young ; one or two, indeed, little advanced from childhood. But there was no expression of youth in their hard, sinister features : coarse paint supplied the place of bloom ; the very youngest had a wrinkle on her brow ; their forms wanted the round and supple grace of early years. Living principally in the open air, trained from infancy to feats of activity, their muscles were sharp and prominent their aspects had something of masculine audacity and rudeness ; health itself seemed in them more loathsome than disease. Upon those faces of bronze, vice had set its ineffable, unmis- taken seal. To those eyes never had sprung the tears of com- passion or woman's gentle sorrow ; on those brows never had flushed the glow of modest shame ; their very voices half- belied their sex harsh, and deep, and hoarse their laughter loud and dissonant. Some amongst them were not destitute of a certain beauty, but it was a beauty of feature with a common hideousness of expression an expression at once cunning, bold, callous, and licentious. Womanless, through the worst vices of woman ; passionless, through the premature waste of passion ; they stood between the sexes like foul and monstrous anomalies, made up and fashioned from the rank depravities of both. These creatures seemed to have newly arrived from some long wayfaring ; their shoes and the hems of their robes were covered with dust and mire ; their faces were heated, and the veins in their bare, sinewy, sunburned arms were swollen by fatigue. Each had beside her on the floor a timbrel ; each wore at her girdle a long knife in its sheath ; well that the sheaths hid the blades, for not one not even that which yon cold-eyed child of fifteen wore but had on its steel the dark stain of human blood ! The presence of soldiers fresh from the scene of action had naturally brought into the hostelry several of the idle gossips of the suburb, and these stood round the table, drinking into their large ears the boasting narratives of the soldiers. At a small table, apart from the revellers, but evidently listening with attention to all the news of the hour, sate a friar, gravely discussing a mighty tankard of huffcap, and ever and anon, as he lifted his head for the purpose of drinking, glancing a wanton eye at one of the tymbesteres. " But an' you had seen," said a trooper, who was the mouth- piece of his comrades '' an' you had seen the raptrils run when King Edward himself led the charge ! Marry, it wag 404 'I'HE LAST OF THE BARONS. like a cat in a rabbit burrow ! Easy to see, I trow, that Earl Warwick was not amongst them ! His men, at least, fight like devils ! " " But there was one tall fellow," said a soldier, setting down his tankard, " who made a good fight and dour, and but for me and my comrades, would have cut his way to the King." "Ay ay true! We saved his Highness, and ought to have been knighted but there's no gratitude nowadays ! ' " And who was this doughty warrior?" asked one of the by- standers, who secretly favored the rebellion. " Why, it was said that he was Robin of Redesdale. He who fought my Lord Montagu off York." " Our Robin ! " exclajmed several voices. " Ay, he was ever a brave fellow poor Robin ! " " ' Your Robin,' and ' poor Robin,' varlets ! " cried the principal trooper. " Have a care ! What do you mean by your Robin?" " Marry, sir soldier," quoth a butcher, scratching his head, and in a humble voice, ''craving your pardon, and the King's, this Master Robin sojourned a short time in this hamlet, and was a kind neighbor, and mighty glib of the tongue. Don't ye mind, neighbors," he added rapidly, eager to change the con- versation, " how he made us leave off when we were just about burning Adam Warner, the old nigromancer, in his den, yonder ? Who else could have done that ? But an' we had known Robin had been a rebel to sweet King Edward, we'd have joasted him along with the wizard ! " One of the timbrel girls, the leader of the choir, her arm round a soldier's neck, looked up at the last speech, and her eye followed the gesture of the butcher, as he pointed through the open lattice to the sombre, ruinous abode of Adam Warner. " Was that the house ye would have burned ? " she asked abruptly. " Yes ; but Robin told us the King would hang those who took on them the King's blessed privilege of burning nigro- mancers ; and, sure enough, old Adam Warner was advanced to be wizard-in-chief to the King's own Highness a week or two afterwards." The friar had made a slight movement at the name of Warner ; he now pushed his stool nearer to the principal group, and drew his hood completely over his countenance. " Yea ! " exclaimed the mechanic, whose son had been the innocent cause of the memorable siege to poor Adam's dilapi- dated fortress, related in the first book of this narrative " yea ; THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 405 and what did he when there ? Did he not devise a horrible engine for the destruction of the poor an engine that was to do all the work in England by the devil's help ? So that if a gentleman wanted a coat of mail, or a cloth tunic if his dame needed a Norwich worsted if a yeoman lacked a plough or a wagon, or his good wife a pot or a kettle, they were to go, not to the armorer, and the draper, and the tailor, and the weaver, and the wheelwright, and the blacksmith, but, hey presto ! Master Warner set his imps a churning, and turned ye out mail and tunic, worsted and wagon, kettle and pot, spick and span new, from his brewage of vapor and sea-coal ? Oh, have I not heard enough of the sorcerer from my brother, who works in the Chepe for Master Stokton, the mercer ! and Master Stokton was one of the worshipful deputies to whom the old nigromancer had the front to boast his devices." " It is true," said the friar suddenly. "Yes, reverend father, it is true," said the mechanic, doffing his cap, and inclining his swarthy face to this unexpected wit- ness of his veracity. A murmur of wrath and hatred was heard amongst the bystanders. The soldiers indifferently turned to their female companions. There was a brief silence ; and, involuntarily, the gossips stretched over the table to catch sight of the house of so demoniac an oppressor of the poor. "See," said the baker, " the smoke still curls from the roof top ! I heard he had come back. Old Madge, his handmaid, has bought simnel cakes of me the last week or so ; nothing less than the finest wheat serves him now, I trow. However, right's right, and " " Come back ! " cried the fierce mechanic, " the owl hath kept close in his roost ! An ' it were not for the King's favor, I would soon see how the wizard liked to have fire and water brought to bear against himself ! " " Sit down, sweetheart," whispered one of the young tymbes- teres to the last speaker " Come kiss me, my darling, Warm kisses I trade for " " Avaunt ! " quoth the mechanic gruffly, and shaking off the seductive arm of the tymbestere : " Avaunt ! I have neither liefe nor halfpence for thee and thine. Out on thee a child of thy years ! A rope's end to thy back were a friend's best kindness ! " The girl's eyes sparkled, she instinctively put her hand to her knife ; then turning to a soldier by her side, she said ' " Hear you that, and sit still?" 406 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. "Thunder and wounds ! " growled the soldier, thus appealed to " more respect to the sex, knave ; if I don't break thy fool's costard with my sword-hilt, it is only because Red Grisell can take care of herself against twenty such lozels as thou. These honest girls have been to the wars with us ; King Edward grudges no man his jolly fere. Speak up for thyself, Grisell ! How many tall fellows didst thou put out of their pain, after the battle of Losecote ? " " Only five, Hal, " replied the cold-eyed girl, and showing her glittering teeth with the grin of a young tigress ; " but one was a captain. I shall do better next time ; it was my first battle, thou knovvest ! " The more timid of the bystanders exchanged a glance of horror, and drew back. The mechanic resumed sullenly : " I seek no quarrel with lass or lover. I am a plain, blunt man, with a wife and children, who are dear to me ; and if I have a grudge to the nigromancer, it is because he glamoured my poor boy Tim. See ! " and he caught up a blue-eyed, hand- some boy, who had been clinging to his side, and baring the child's arm, showed it to the spectators : there was a large scar on the limb, and it was shrunk and withered. " It was my own fault," said the little fellow deprecatingly. The affectionate father silenced the sufferer with a cuff on the cheek, and resumed : "Ye note, neighbors, the day when the foul wizard took this little one in his arms : well, three weeks afterwards that very day three weeks as he was standing like a lamb by the fire, the good wife's caldron seethed over, without reason or rhyme, and scalded his arm till it rivelled up like a leaf in November ; and if that is not glamour, why have we laws against witchcraft ?" '' True true ! " groaned the chorus. The boy, who had borne his father's blow without a murmur, now again attempted remonstrance. " The hot water went over the gray cat, too, but Master Warner never bewitched her, daddy." "He takes his part ! You hear the daff laddy ? He takes the old nigromancer's part a sure sign of the witchcraft ; but I'll leather it out of thee, I will! " and the mechanic a^ain raided his weighty arm. The child did not this time awau the blow ; he dodged under the butcher's apron, gained the door, and disappeared. " And he teaches our own children to fly in our faces ! " said the father, in a kind of whimper. The neighbors sighed, in commiseration. " Oh ! " he exclaimed, in a fiercer tone, grinding his teeth, THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 407 and shaking his clenched fist towards Adam Warner's melan- choly house, " I say again, if the King did not protect the vile sorcerer, I* would free the land from his devilries, ere his black master could come to his help." "The King cares not a straw for Master Warner or his inven- tions, my son," said a rough, loud voice. All turned and saw the friar standing in the midst of the circle. " Know ye not, my children, that the King sent the wretch neck and crop out of the palace, for having bewitched the Earl of Warwick and his Grace the Lord Clarence, so that they turned unnaturally against their own kinsman, his Highness. But ' Manus malo- rum suos bonos breaket' that is to say the fists of wicked men only whack their own bones. Ye have all heard tell of Friar Bungey, my children ?" " Ay, ay ! " answered two or three in a breath " a wizard, it's true, and a mighty one ; but he never did harm to the poor, though they do say he made a quaint image of the Earl, and " "Tut, tut!" interrupted the friar; "all Bungey did was to try to disenchant the Lord Warwick, whom yon miscreant had spellbound. Poor Bungey ! he is a friend to the people ; and when he found that Master Adam was making a device for their ruin, he spared no toil, I assure ye, to frustrate the iniquity. Oh, how he fasted and watched ! Oh, how many a time he fought, tooth and nail, with the devil in person, to get at the infernal invention ! F.or if he had that invention once in his hands, he could turn it to good account, I can promise ye ; and give ye rain for the green blade, and sun for the ripe sheaf. But the fiend got the better at first ; and King Edward, be- witched, himself for the moment, would have hanged Friar Bungey for crossing old Adam, if he had not called three times, in a loud voice, ' Presto pepranxenon !' changed himself into a bird, and flown out of the window. As soon as Master Adam Warner found the field clear to himself, he employed his daugh- ter to bewitch the Lord Hastings ; he set brother against brother, and made the King and Lord George fall to logger- heads ; he stirred up the rebellion, and where he would have stopped the foul fiend only knows, if your friend, Friar Bungey, who, though a wizard as you say, is only so for your benefit (and a holy priest into the bargain), had not, by aid of a good spirit, whom he conjured up in the Island of Tartary, disen- chanted the King, and made him see in a dream what the villa- nous Warner was devising against his crown and his people ; whereon his Highness sent Master Warner and his daughter back to their roost, and, helped by Friar Bungey, beat his 408 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. out of the kingdom. So, if ye have a mind to save your children from mischief and malice, ye may sot to work with i;ood heart, always provided that ye touch not old Adam's iron invention. Woe betide ye, if ye think to destroy that! Bring it safe to Friar Bungey, whom ye will find returned to the palace, and journeymen's wages will be a penny a day higher for the next ten years to come ! " With these words the friar threw down his reckoning, and moved majestically to the door. " An" I might trust you ? " said Tim's father, laying hold of the friar's serge. "Ye may, ye may!" cried the leader of the tymbesteres, starting up from the lap of her soldier, " for it is Friar Bungey himself ! " A movement of astonishment and terror was universal. " Friar Bungey himself ! " repeated the burly impostor " Right, lassie, right ; and he now goes to the palace of the Tower, to mutter good spells in King Edward's ear spells to defeat the malignant ones, and to lower the price of beer. Wax wobiscum ! " With that salutation, more benevolent than accurate, the friar vanished from the room ; the chief of the tymbesteres leaped lightly on the table, put one foot on the soldier's shoulder, and sprang through the open lattice. She found the friar in the act of mounting a sturdy mule, which had been tied to a post by the door. " Fie, Graul Skellet ! Fie, Graul ! " said the conjurer. " Respect for my serge. We must not be noted together out of door in the daylight. There's a groat for thee. Vade, exe- crabilis that is, good-day to thee, pretty rogue ! " "A word, friar, a word. Wouldst thou have the old man burned, drowned, or torn piecemeal ! He hath a daughter, too, who once sought to mar our trade with her gittern ; a daughter, then in a kirtle that I would not .have nimmed from a hedge, but whom I last saw in sarcenet and lawn, with a great lord for her fere." The tymbestere's eyes shone with malig- nant envy, as she added : " Graul Skellet loves not to see those who have worn worsted and say walk in sarcenet and lawn ! Graul Skellet loves not wenches who have lords for their feres, and yet who shrink from Graul and her sisters as the sound from the leper." " Fegs," answered the friar impatiently, " I know nought against the daughter a pretty lass, but too high for my kisses. And as for the father, I want not the man's life that is, not THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 469 very specially but his model, his mechanical. He may go free, if that can be compassed ; if not why, the model at all risks ! Serve me in this." " And thou will teach me the last tricks of the cards, and thy great art of making phantoms glide by on the wall ?" "Bring the model intact, and I will teach thee more, Graul the dead man's candle, and the charm of the newt ; and I'll give thee, to boot, the caul of the parricide, that thou hast prayed me so oft for. Hum ! thou hast a girl in thy troop who hath a blinking eye that well pleases me ; but go now, and obey me. Work before play and grace before pudding ! " The tymbestere nodded, snapped her fingers in the air, and humming no holy ditty, returned to the house through the door- way. This short conference betrays to the reader the relations, mutually advantageous, which subsisted between the conjurer and the tymbesteres. Their troop (the mothers, perchance, of the generation we treat of) had been familiar to the friar in his old capacity of mountebank or tregetour, and in his clerical and courtly elevation he did not disdain an ancient connection that served him well with the populace ; for these grim children of vice seemed present in every place where pastime was gay, or strife was rampant : in peace at the merry-makings and the hostelries ; in war, following the camp, and seen, at night, prowling through the battle-fields to despatch the wounded and to rifle the slain in merry-making, hostelry, or in camp, they could thus still spread the fame of Friar Bungey, and up- hold his repute both for terrible lore and for hearty love of the Commons. Nor was this all ; both tymbesteres and conjurer were for- tune-tellers by profession. They could interchange the anec- dotes each picked up in their different lines. The tymbestere could thus learn the secrets of gentle and courtier, the conjurer those of the artisan and mechanic. Unconscious of the formidable dispositions of their neigh- bors, Sibyll and Warner were inhaling the sweet air of the early spring in their little garden. His disgrace had affected the philosopher less than might be supposed. True, that the loss of the King's favor was the deferring indefinitely perhaps for life any practical application of his adored theory ; and yet, somehow or other, the theory itself consoled him. At the worst, he should find some disciple, some ingenious student, more fortunate than himself, to whom he could bequeath the secret, and who, when Adam was in his grave, would teach the 410 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. world to revere his name. Meanwhile, his time was his own : lie was lord of a home, though ruined and desolate ; he was free, with his free thoughts ; and therefore, as he paced the nar- row garden, his step was lighter, his mind less absent, than when parched with feverish fear and hope, for the immediate practical success of a principle which was to be tried before the hazardous tribunal of prejudice and ignorance. " My child," said the sage, " I feel, for the first time for years, the distinction of the seasons. I feel that we are walking in the pleasant spring. Young days come back to me like dreams ; and I could almost think thy mother were once more by my side ! " Sibyll pressed her father's hand, and a soft but melancholy sigh stirred her rosy lips. She, too, felt the balm of the young year ; yet her father's words broke upon sad and anxious musings. Not to youth as to age, not to loving fancy as to baffled wisdom, has seclusion charms that compensate for the passionate and active world ! On coming back to the old house, on glancing round its mildewed walls, comfortless and bare, the neglected, weed-grown garden, Sibyll had shuddered in dismay. Had her ambition fallen again into its old abject state ? Were all her hopes to restore her ancestral fortunes, to vindicate her dear father's fame, shrunk into this slough of actual poverty the butterfly's wings folded back into the chrysalis shroud of torpor? The vast disparity between her- self and Hastings had not struck her so forcibly at the court ; here, at home, the very walls proclaimed it. When Edward had dismissed the unwelcome witnesses of his attempted crime, he had given orders that they should be conducted to their house through the most private ways. He naturally de- sired to create no curious comment upon their departure. Unperceived by their neighbors, Sibyll and her father had gained access by the garden gate. Old Madge received them in dismay ; for she had been in the habit of visiting Sibyll weekly at the palace, and had gained, in the old familiarity subsisting then between maiden and nurse, some insight into her heart. She had cherished the fondest hopes for the fate of her young mistress ; and now, to labor and to penury had the fate returned ! The guard who accompanied them, ac- cording to Edward's orders, left some pieces of gold, which Adam rejected, but Madge secretly received and judiciously expended. And this was all their wealth. But not of toil nor of penury in themselves thought Sibyll ; she thought but of Hastings wildly, passionately, trustfully, unceasingly, of the absent Hastings. Oil ! he would seek her he would come THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 411 her reverse would but the more endear her to him ! Hastings came not. She soon learned the wherefore. War threatened the land ; he was at his post, at the head of armies. Oh, with what panoply of prayer she sought to shield that beloved breast ! And now the old man spoke of the blessed spring, the holiday time of lovers and of love, and the young girl, sighing, said to her mournful heart : " The world hath its sun where is mine? " The peacock strutted up to his poor protectors, and spread his plumes to the gilding beams. And then Sibyll recalled the day when she had walked in that spot with Marmaduke, and he had talked of his youth, ambition, and lusty hopes, while, silent and absorbed, she had thought within herself, " could the world be open to me as to him 1 too have ambition, and it should find its goal." Now what contrast between the two : the man enriched and honored, if to-day in peril or in exile, to-morrow free to march forward still on his career the world the country to him whose heart was bold and whose name was stainless ! And she, the woman, brought back to the prison- home, scorn around her, impotent to avenge, and forbidden to fly ! Wherefore ? Sibyll felt her superiority of mind, of thought, of nature Wherefore the contrast ? The success was that of man, the discomfiture that of woman. Woe to the man who precedes his age, but never yet has an age been in which genius and ambition are safe to woman ! The father and the child turned into their house ; the day was declining ; Adam mounted to his studious chamber, Sibyll sought the solitary servant. " What tidings, oh, what tidings ! The war, you say, is over ; the great Earl, his sweet daughter, safe upon the seas, but Hastings, oh, Hastings, what of him ! " "My bonnibell, my lady-bird, I have none but good tales to tell thee. I saw and spoke with a soldier who served under Lord Hastings himself ; he is unscathed, he is in London. But they say that one of his bands is quartered in the suburb, and that there is a report of a rising in Hertfordshire." "When will peace come to England and to me?" sighed Sibyll. CHAPTER IV. THIS WORLD'S JUSTICE, AND THE WISDOM OF OUR ANCESTORS. THE night had now commenr ed, and Sibyll was still listen- ing or, perhaps, listening not to the soothing babble of the 41-' THK LAST 01 -I'll I. HAUONS. venerable servant. They were both seated in the little room that adjoined the hall, and their only light came through the door opening on the garden a gray, indistinct twilight, re- lieved by the few earliest stars. The peacock, his head under his wing, roosted on the balustrade, and the song of the nightin- gale, from amidst one of the neighboring copses, which studded the ground towards the chase of Marybone, came soft and dis- tant on the serene air. The balm and freshness of spring were felt in the dews, in the skies, in the sweet breath of young herb and leaf ; through the calm of ever-watchful nature, it seemed as if you might mark, distinct and visible, minute after minute, the blessed growth of April into May. Suddenly, Madge uttered a cry of alarm, and pointed towards the opposite wall. Sibyll, startled from her revery, looked up, and saw something dusk and dwarf-like perched upon the crumbling eminence. Presently this apparition leaped lightly into the garden, and the alarm of the women was lessened on seeing a young boy creep stealthily over the grass, and ap- proach the open door. " Heh, child ! " said Madge, rising. " What wantest thou ? " " Hist, gammer, hist ! Ah ! the young mistress ? That's well. Hist ! I say again." The boy entered the room. " I'm in time to save you. In half an hour your house will be broken into, perhaps burnt. The boys are clapping their hands now at the thoughts of the bonfire. Father and all the neigh- bors are getting ready. Hark ! hark ! No, it is only the wind ! The tymbesteres are to give note. When you hear their bells tinkle, the mob will meet. Run for your lives, you and the old man, and don't ever say it was poor Tim who told you this, for father would beat me to death. Ye can still get through the garden into the fields. Quick ! " " I will go to the master," exclaimed Madge, hurrying from the room. The child caught Sibyll s cold hand through the dark. " And I say, mistress, if his worship is a wizard, don't let him punish father and mother, or poor Tim, or his little sister ; though Tim was once naughty and hooted Master Warner. Many, many, many a time and oft have I seen that kind, mild face in my sleep, just as when it bent over me, while I kicked and screamed, and the poor gentleman said : ' Think- est thou I would harm thee ? ' But he'll forgive me now, will he not ? And when I turned the seething water over myself, and they said it was all along of the wizard, my heart pained more than the arm. But they whip me, and groan out that THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 413 the devil is in me, if I don't say that the kettle upset of itself ! Oh, those tymbesteres ! Mistress, did you ever see them ! They fright me. If you 'could hear how they set on all the neighbors ? And their laugh it makes the hair stand on end ! But you will get away, and thank Tim too ! Oh, I shall laugh then, when they find the old house empty ! " " May our dear Lord bless thee bless thee, child," sobbed Sibyll, clasping the boy in her arms, and kissing him, while her tears bathed his cheeks. A light gleamed on the threshold Madge, holding a candle, appeared with Warner, his hat and cloak thrown on in haste. " What is this ? " said the poor scholar. " Can it be true ? Is mankind so cruel ? What have I done, woe is me ! What have I done to deserve this ? " " Come, dear father, quick," said Sibyll, drying her tears, and wakened, by the presence of the old man, into energy and courage. " But put thy hand on this boy's head, and bless him, for it is he who has, haply, saved us." The boy trembled a moment as the long-bearded face turned towards him, but when he caught and recognized those meek, sweet eyes, his superstition vanished, and it was but a holy and grateful awe that thrilled his young blood, as the old man placed both bewildered hands over his yellow hair, and murmured : " God shield thy youth God make thy manhood worthy God give thee children in thine old age with hearts like thine ! " Scarcely had the prayer ceased when the clash of timbrels, with their jingling bells, was heard in the street. Once, twice, again, and a fierce yell closed in chorus caught up and echoed from corner to corner, from house to house. " Run, run ! " cried the boy, turning white with terror. " But the Eureka my hope my mind's child ! " exclaimed Adam suddenly, and halting at the door. " Eh eh ! " said Madge, pushing him forward. " It is too heavy to move ; thou couldst not lift it. Think of thine own flesh and blood of thy daughter of her dead mother. Save her life, if thou carest not for thine own ! " " Go, Sibyll, go and thou, Madge I will stay. What mat- ters my life, it is but the servant of a thought ! Perish mas- ter perish slave ! " " Father, unless you come with me I stir not. Fly, or perish ! Your fate is mine ! Another minute ! Oh, heaven of mercy, that roar again ! We are both lost ! " 414 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. "Go, sir, go; they care not for your iron iron cannot feel. They will not touch that! Have not your daughter's life upon your soul ! " " Sibyll, Sibyll, forgive me ! Come ! " said Warner, con- science-stricken at the appeal. Madge and the boy ran forward ; the old woman unbarred the garden-gate, Sibyll and her father went forth the fields stretched before them calm and solitary ; the boy leaped up, kissed Sibyll's pale cheek, and then bounded across the grass, and vanished. " Loiter not, Madge. Come ! " cried Sibyll. "Nay," said the old woman, shrinking back ; " they bear no grudge to me ; I am too old to do aught but burthen ye. I will stay, and perchance save the house and the chattels, and poor master's deft contrivance. Whist ! thou knowest his heart would break if none were by to guard it." With that the faithful servant thrust the broad pieces that yet remained of the King's gift into the gipsire Sibyll wore at her girdle, and then closed and rebarred the door before they could detain her. " It is base to leave her," said the scholar gentleman. The noble Sibyll could not refute her father. Afar they heard the trampling of feet ; suddenly, a dark red light shot up into the blue air, a light from the flame of many torches. " The Wizard the Wizard ! Death to the Wizard, who would starve the poor ! " yelled forth, and was echoed by a stern hurrah. Adam stood motionless, Sibyll by his side. "The Wizard and his daughter !" shrieked a sharp single voice, the voice of Graul the tymbestere. Adam turned. " Fly, my child ; they now threaten thee. Come come come "; and taking her by the hand, he hurried her across the fields, shirting the hedge, their shadows dodg- ing, irregular and quaint, on the starlit sward. The father had lost all thought all care but for the daughter's life. They paused at last, out of breath and exhausted : the sounds at the distance were lulled and hushed. They looked towards the direction of the house they had abandoned, expecting to see the flames destined to consume it reddening the sky : but all was dark ; or, rather, no light save the holy stars and the rising moon offended the majestic heaven. " They cannot harm the poor old woman ; she hath no lore. On her gray hairs has fallen not the curse of men's hate ! " said Warner. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 415 "Right, father ; when they found us flown, doubtless the cruel ones dispersed. But they may search yet for thee. Lean on me. I am strong and young. Another effort, and we gain the safe coverts of the Chase." While yet the last word hung on her lip, they saw, on the path they had left, the burst of torchlight, and heard the mob hounding on their track. But the thick copses, with their pale green just budding into life, were at hand. On they fled : the deer started from amidst the entangled fern, but stood and gazed at them without fear ; the playful hares in the green alleys ceased not their nightly sports at the harmless footsteps ; and when at last, in the dense thicket, they sunk down on the mossy roots of a giant oak, the nightingales overhead chanted as if in melancholy welcome. They were saved ! But in their home fierce fires glared amidst the tossing torchlight ; the crowd, baffled by the strength of the door, scaled the wall, broke through the lattice-work of the hall window, and streaming through room after room, roared forth : " Death to the \\izard ! " Amidst the sordid dresses of the men, the soiled and faded tinsel of the tymbesteres gleamed and sparkled. It was a scene the she-fiends revelled in ; dear are outrage and malice, and the excitement of turbu- lent passions, and the savage voices of frantic men, and the thirst of blood to those everlasting furies of a mob, under whatever name we know them, in whatever time they taint with their presence women in whom womanhood is blasted ! Door after door was burst open with cries of disappointed rage ; at last they ascended the turret-stairs ; they found a small door, barred and locked. Tim's father, a huge axe in his brawny arm, shivered the panels ; the crowd rushed in, and there, seated amongst a strange and motley litter, they found the devoted Madge. The poor old woman had collected into this place, as the stronghold of the mansion, whatever portable articles seemed to her most precious, either from value or as- sociation. Sibyll's gittern (Marmaduke's gift) lay amidst a lumber of tools and implements ; a faded robe of her dead mother's, treasured by Madge and Sibyll both, as a relic of holy love ; a few platters and cups of pewter, the pride of old Madge's heart to keep bright and clean ; odds and ends of old hangings ; a battered silver brooch (a love-gift to Madge her- self when she was young) these, and suchlike scraps of finery, hoards inestimable to the household memory and affection, lay confusedly heaped around the huge, grim model, before which, mute and tranquil, sate the brave old woman. 416 Til! LAST OK rill I! A RONS. The crowd halted, and stared round in superstitious terror, and dumb marvel. The leader of the tymbesteres sprang forward : " Where is thy master, old hag, and where the bonny maid who glamours lords, and despises us bold lasses ? " " Alack ! master and the damsel have gone hours ago ! I am alone in the house : what's your will ? " "The crone looks parlous witch-like ! " said Tim's father, crossing himself, and somewhat retreating from her gray, un- quiet eyes. And, indeed, poor Madge, with her wrinkled face, bony form, and high cap, corresponded far more with the vulgar notions of a dabbler in the black art than did Adam Warner, with his comely countenance and noble mien. " So she doth, indeed, and verily," said a humpbacked tinker ; " if we were to try a dip in the horse-pool yonder it could be no harm." " Away with her ! away ! " cried several voices at that humane suggestion. " Nay, nay," quoth the baker, " she is a douce creature, after all, and hath dealt with me many years. I don't care what becomes of the wizard every one knows (he added with pride) that I was one of the first to set fire to his house when Robin gainsayed it ! but right's right burn the master, not the drudge ! " This intercession might have prevailed, but, unhappily, at that moment Graul Skellet, who had secured two stout fellows to accomplish the object so desired by Friar Bungey, laid hands on the model, and, at her shrill command, the men ad- vanced and dislodged it from its place. At the same time, the other tymbesteres, caught by the sight of things pleasing to their wonted tastes, threw themselves, one upon the faded robe Sibyll's mother had worn in her chaste and happy youth ; another, upon poor Madge's silver brooch ; a third, upon the gittern. These various attacks roused up all the spirit and wrath of of the 'old woman : her cries of distress, as she darted from one to the other, striking to the right and left with her feeble arms, her form trembling with passion, were at once ludicrous and piteous, and these were responded to by the shrill excla- mations of the fierce tymbesteres, as they retorted scratch for scratch, and blow for blow. The spectators grew animated by the sight of actual outrage and resistance : the humpbacked tinker, whose unwholesome fancy one of the aggrieved tymbes- teres had mightily warmed, hastened to the relief of his virago ; THE LAST OK THE BARONS. /[\"J and rendered furious by finding tea nails fastened suddenly on his face, he struck down the poor creature by a blow that stunned her, seized her in his arms for deformed and weakly as the tinker was, the old woman, now sense and spirit were gone, was as light as skin and bone could be and followed by half a score of his comrades, whooping and laughing, bore her down the stairs. Tim's father, who, whether from parental affection, or, as is more probable, from the jealous hatred and prejudice of ignorant industry, was bent upon Adam's destruc- tion, hallooed on some of his fiercer fellows into the garden, tracked the footsteps of the fugitives by the trampled grass, and bounded over the wall in fruitless chase. But on went the more giddy of the mob, rather in sport than in cruelty, with a chorus of drunken apprentices and riotous boys, to the spot where the humpbacked tinker had dragged his passive burthen. The foul green pond near Master Bancroft's hostel reflected the glare of torches ; six of the tymbesteres leaping and wheeling, with doggerel song and discordant music, gave the signal for the ordeal of the witch " Lake or river, dyke or ditch, Water never drowns the witch. Witch or wizard would ye know? Sink or swim, is ay or no. Lift her, swing her, once and twice, Lift her, swing her o'er the brim, Lille lera twice and thrice Ha ! ha ! mother, sink or swim ! " And while the last line was chanted, amidst the full jollity of laughter and clamor, and clattering timbrels, there was a splash in the sullen water ; the green slough on the surface parted with an oozing gurgle, and then came a dead silence. "A murrain on the hag, she does not even struggle !" said, at last, the hump-backed tinker. " No ! no ! she cares not for water try fire ! Out with her ! out ! " cried Red Grisell. "Aroint her, she is sullen ! " said the tinker, and his lean fingers clutched up the dead body, and let it fall upon the margin. " Dead ! " said the baker, shuddering, " We have done wrong I told ye so ! She dealt with me many a year. Poor Madge ! Right's right. She was no witch ! " " But that was the only way to try it," said the humpbacked tinker; "and if she was not a witch, why did she look like one ! I cannot abide ugly folks ! " The bystanders shook their heads. But whatever their re- 418 THE LAST OF THK KARONS. morse, it was diverted by a double sound : first, a loud hurrah from some of the mob who had loitered for pillage, and who now emerged from Adam's house, following two men, who, preceded by the terrible Graul, dancing before them, and tossing aloft her timbrel, bore in triumph the captured Eureka ; and, secondly, the blast of a clarion at the distance, while up the street marched horse and foot, with pike and banner a goodly troop. The Lord Hastings in person led a royal force, by a night march, against a fresh outbreak of the rebels, not ten miles from the city, under Sir Geoffrey Gates, who had been lately arrested by the Lord Howard at Southampton escaped collected a disorderly body of such restless men as are always disposed to take part in civil commotion, and now menaced London itself. At the sound of the clarion the valiant mob dispersed in all directions, for even at that day mobs had an instinct of terror at the approach of the military, and a quick reaction from outrage to the fear of retaliation. But, at the sound of martial music, the tymbesteres silenced their own instruments, and instead of flying, they darted through the crowd, each to seek the other, and unite as for counsel. Graul, pointing to Mr. Sancroft's hostelry, whispered the bearers of the Eureka to seek refuge there for the present, and to bear their trophy with the dawn to Friar Bungey, at the Tower ; and then, gliding nimbly through the fugitive rioters, sprang into the center of the circle formed by her companions. " Ye scent the coming battle," said the arch-tymbestere. "Ay, ay, ay!" answered the sisterhood. "But we have gone miles since noon I am faint and veary!" said one amongst them. Red Grisell, the youngest of the band, struck her comrade on the cheek: "Faint and weary, ronion, with blood and booty in the wind!" The tymbesteres smiled grimly on their young sister; but the leader whispered "Hush!" And they stood fora seconder two with outstretched throats, with dilated nostrils, with pent breath, listening to the clarion, and the hoofs, and the rattling armor the human vultures foretasting their feast of carnage; then, obedient to a sign from their chieftainess, they crept lightly and rapidly into the mouth of a neighboring alley, where they cowered by the squalid huts, concealed. The troop passed on a gallant and serried band horse and foot about fifteen hundred men. As they filed up the thoroughfare, and the tramp of the last soldiers fell hollow on the starlit ground, the tymbesteres stole from their retreat, and, at the distance THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 419 of some few hundred yards, followed the procession, with long, silent, stealthy strides as the meaner beasts, in the in- stinct of hungry cunning, follow the lion for the garbage of his prey. CHAPTER V. THE FUGITIVES ARE CAPTURED THE TYMBESTERES RE- APPEAR MOONLIGHT ON THE REVEL OF THE LIVING MOON- LIGHT ON THE SLUMBER OF THE DEAD. THE father and child made their resting-place under the giant oak. They knew not whither to fly for refuge the day and the night had become the same to them the night menaced with robbers, the day with the mob. If return to their home was forbidden, where in the wide world a shelter for the would-be world-improver? Yet they despaired not, their hearts failed them not. The majestic splendor of the night, as it deepened in its solemn calm : as the shadows of the windless trees fell larger and sharper upon the silvery earth ; as the skies grew mellower and more luminous in the strengthening starlight, in- spired them with the serenity of faith, for night, to the earnest soul, opens the bible of the universe, and on the leaves of Heaven is written: "God is everywhere!" Their hands were clasped, each in each ; their pale faces were upturned; they spoke not, neither were they conscious that they prayed, but their silence was thought, and the thought was worship. Amidst the grief and solitude of the pure, there comes, at times, a strange and rapt serenity a sleep-awake over which the instinct of life beyond the grave glides like a noiseless dream ; and ever that heaven that the soul yearns for is col- ored by the fancies of the fond human heart, each fashioning the above from the desires unsatisfied below. "There," thought the musing maiden, "cruelty and strife shall cease ; there, vanish the harsh differences of life ; there, those whom we have loved and lost are found, and through the Son, who tasted of mortal sorrow, we are raised to the home of the Eternal Father!" "And there," thought the aspiring sage, "the mind, dun- geoned and chained below, rushes free into the realms of space; there, from every mystery falls the veil ; there, the Omniscient smiles on those who through the darkness of life have fed that lamp, the soul; there, Thought, but the seed on earth, bursts into the flower, and ripens to the fruit!" 42O THE LAST OK THK BARONS. And on the several hope of both maid and sage the eyes of the angel stars smiled with a common promise. At last, insensibly, and while still musing, so that slumber but continued the revery into visions, father and daughter slept. The night passed away; the dawn came slow and gray; the antlers of the deer stirred above the fern ; the song of the nightingale was hushed; and just as the morning star waned back, while the reddening east announced the sun, and labor and trouble resumed their realm of day, a fierce band halted before those sleeping forms. These men had been Lancastrian soldiers, and, reduced to plunder for a living, had, under Sir Geoffrey Gates, formed the most stalwart part of the wild, disorderly force whom Hil- yard and Coniers had led to Olney. They had heard of the new outbreak, headed by their ancient captain, Sir Geoffrey (who was supposed to have been instigated to his revolt by the gold and promises of the Lancastrian chiefs), and were on their way to join the rebels; but as war for them was but the name for booty, they felt the wonted instinct of the robber, when they caught sight of the old man and the fair maid. Both Adam and his daughter wore, unhappily, the dresses in which they had left the court, and Sibyll's especially was that which seemed to betoken a certain rank and station. "Awake rouse ye!" said the captain of the band, roughly shaking the arm which encircled Sibyll's slender waist. Adam started, opened his eyes, and saw himself begirt by figures in rusty armor, with savage faces peering under their steel sallets. "How came ye hither? Yon oak drops strange acorns," quoth the chief. "Valiant sir!" replied Adam, still seated, and drawing his gown instinctively over Sibyll's face, which nestled on his bosom, in slumber so deep and heavy that the gruff voice had not broken it. "Valiant sir! we are forlorn and houseless an old man and a simple girl. Some evil-minded persons invaded our home we fled in the night and " "Invaded your house! ha, it is clear," said the chief. "We know the rest." At this moment Sibyll woke, and starting to her feet in as- tonishment and terror at the sight on which her eyes opened, her extreme beauty made a sensible effect upon the bravos. "Do not be daunted, young demoiselle," said the captain, with an air almost respectful "It is necessary thou and Sir John should follow us, but we will treat you well, and consult THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 42 1 later on the ransom ye will pay us. Jock, discharge the young sumpter mule ; put its load on the black one. We have no better equipment for thee, lady but the first haquenee we find shall replace the mule, and meanwhile my knaves will heap their cloaks for a pillion." "But what mean you ! you mistake us ! " exclaimed Sibyll "we are poor; we cannot ransom ourselves." "Poor! tut!" said the captain, pointing significantly to the costly robe of the maiden "moreover, his worship's wealth is well known. Mount in haste we are pressed." And without heeding the expostulations of Sibyll and the poor scholar, the rebel put his troop into motion, and marched himself at their head, with his lieutenant. Sibyll found the subalterns sterner than their chief; for as Warner offered to resist, one of them lifted his gisarme, with a frightful oath, and Sibyll was the first to persuade her father to submit. She mildly, however, rejected the mule, and the two captives walked together in the midst of the troop. "Pardie!" said the lieutenant, "I see little help to Sir Geof- frey in these recruits, captain!" "Fool!" said the chief disdainfully "if the rebellion fail, these prisoners may save our necks. Will Somers, last night, was to break into the house of Sir John Bourchier, for arms and moneys, of which the knight hath a goodly store. Be sure, Sir John slinked off in the siege, and this is he and his daugh- ter. Thou knowest he is one of the greatest knights, and the richest, whom the Yorkists boast of; and we may name our own price for his ransom." "But where lodge them, while we go to the battle?" "Ned Porpustone hath a hostelry not far from the camp, and Ned is a good Lancastrian, and a man to be trusted." "We have not searched the prisoners," said the lieutenant; "they may have some gold in their pouches." "Marry, when Will Somers storms a hive, little time does he leave to the bees to fly away with much honey ! Nathless, thou mayest search the old knight, but civilly, and with gentle excuses." "And the damsel?" "Nay! that were unmannerly, and the milder our conduct, the larger the ransom when we have great folks to deal with." The lieutenant accordingly fell back to search Adam's gip- sire, which contained only a book and a file, and then rejoined his captain, without offering molestation to Sibyll. The mistake made by the bravo was at least so far not Till-: LAST OK THE wholly unfortunate, that the notion of the high quality of the captives for Sir John Bourchier was indeed a person of consid- erable station and importance (a notion favored by the noble appearance of the scholar, and the delicate and high-born air of Sibyll) procured for them all the respect compatible with the circumstances. They had not gone far before they entered a village, through which the ruffians marched with the most per- fect impunity; for it was a strange feature in those civil wars, that the mass of the population, except in the northern dis- tricts, remained perfectly supine and neutral : and as the little band halted at a small inn to drink, the gossips of the village collected round them, with the same kind of indolent, careless curiosity which is now evinced, in some hamlet, at the halt of a stage-coach. Here the captain learned, however, some intel- ligence important to his objects, viz., the night march of the troop under Lord Hastings, and the probability that the con- flict was already begun. "If so," muttered the rebel, "we can see how the tide turns, before we endanger ourselves; and at the worst our prisoners will bring something of prize-money." While thus soliloquizing, he spied one of those cumbrous vehicles of the day called whirlicotes* standing in the yard of the hostelry ; and seizing upon it, vi et armi's, in spite of all the cries and protestations of the unhappy landlord, he or- dered his captives to enter, and recommenced his march. As the band proceeded farther on their way, they were joined by fresh troops, of the same class as themselves, and they pushed on gayly, till, about the hour of eight, they halted before the hostelry the captain had spoken of. It scood a little out of the high-road, not very far from the village of Hadley, and the heath or chase of Gladsmoor, on which was fought, some time afterwards, the Battle of Barnet. It was a house of good aspect, and considerable size, for it was much frequented by all cara- vanserais and travellers from the north to the metropolis. The landlord, at heart a stanch Lancastrian, who had served in the French wars, and contrived, no one knew how, to save moneys in the course of an adventurous life, gave to his hostelry the ap- pellation and sign of the Talbot, in memory of the old hero of that name; and, hiring a tract of land, joined the occupation of a farmer to the dignity of a host. The house, which was built round a spacious quadrangle, represented the double char- acter of its owner, one side being occupied by barns and a * Whirlicotes were in use from a very early period, but only among the great, till, in the reign of Richard II., his queen, Anne, introduced side-saddles, when the whirlicote fell out of fashion, but might be found at different hostelries on the main roads, for the accommo- dation of the infirm or aged. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 423 considerable range of stabling, while cows, oxen, and ragged colts grouped amicably together, in a space railed off in the centre of the yard. At another side ran a large wooden stair- case,with an open gallery, propped on wooden columns, con- ducting to numerous chambers, after the fashion of the Tabard in Southwark, immortalized by Chaucer. Over the archway, on entrance, ran a labyrinth of sleeping lofts, for foot passen- gers and muleteers, and the side facing the entrance was nearly occupied by a vast kitchen, the common hall, and the bar, with the private parlor of the host, and two or three chambers in the second story. The whirlicote jolted and rattled into the yard. Sibyll and her father were assisted out of the vehicle, and, after a few words interchanged with the host, conducted by Master Porpustone himself up the spacious stairs into a chamber, well furnished and fresh littered, with repeated assurances of safety, provided they maintained silence, and attempted no escape. "Ye are in time," said Ned Porpustone to the Captain "Lord Hastings made proclamation at daybreak that he gave the rebels two hours to disperse." "Pest! I like not those proclamations. And the fellows stood their ground?" "No; for Sir Geoffrey, like a wise soldier, mended the ground by retreating a mile to the left, and placing the wood between the Yorkists and himself. Hastings, by this, must have remarshalled his men. But to pass the wood is slow work, and Sir Geoffrey's cross-bows are no doubt doing damage in the covert. Come in, while your fellows snatch a morsel without ; five minutes are not thrown away on filling their bellies." "Thanks, Ned thou art a good fellow! and if all else fail, why Sir John's ransom shall pay the reckoning. Any news of bold Robin?" "Ay! he has 'scaped with a whole skin, and gone back to the north," answered the host, leading the way to his parlor, where a flask of strong wine and some cold meats awaited his guest. "If Sir Geoffrey Gates can beat off the York troopers, tell him, from me, not to venture to London, but to fall back into the marches. He will be welcome there, I foreguess; for every northman is either for Warwick or for Lancaster; and the two must unite now, I trow." "But Warwick is flown!" quoth the captain. "Tush! he has only flown, as the falcon flies when he has a heron to fight with wheeling and soaring. Woe to the heron when the falcon swoops! But you drink not!" "No: I must keep the head cool to-day. For Hastings is a 424 !"> ' AST Ol-' THF. 1IARONS. perilous captain. Thy fist, friend ! if I fall, I leave you Sii jo^..; and his girl, to wipe off old scores; if we beat off the Yorkists, 1 vow to our Lady of Walsingham an image of wax, of the weight of myself." The marauder then started up, and strode to his men, who were snatching a hasty meal on the space before the hostel. He paused a moment or so, while his host whispered : "Hastings was here before daybreak; but his men only got the sour beer; yours fight upon huff-cap." "Up, men! To your pikes! Dress to the right !" thundered the captain, with a sufficient pause between each sentence. "The York lozels have starved on stale beer shall they beat huff-cap and Lancaster? Frisk and fresh up with the Ante- lope* banner, and long live Henry the Sixth!" The sound of the shout that answered this harangue shook the thin walls of the chamber in which the prisoners were con- fined, and they heard with joy the departing tramp of the sol- diers. In a short time Master Porpustone himself, a corpu- lent, burly fellow, with a face by no means unprepossessing, mounted to the chamber, accompanied by a comely house- keeper, linked to him, as scandal said, by ties less irksome than Hymen's, and both bearing ample provisions, with rich pig- ment and lucid clary, f which they spread with great formality on an oak table before their involuntary guests. "Eat, your worship, eat!" cried mine host heartily. "Eat, ladybird! nothing like eating to kill time and banish care. Fortune of war, Sir John fortune of war never be daunted! Up to-day, down to-morrow. Come what may York or Lan- caster still a rich man always falls on his legs. Five hundred marks or so to the captain ; a noble or two, out of pure gener- osity, to Ned Porpustone (I scorn extortion), and you and the fair young dame may breakfast at home to-morrow, unless the captain or his favorite lieutenant is taken prisoner; and then, you see, they will buy off their necks by letting you out of the bag. Eat, I say eat!" "Verily," said Adam, seating himself solemnly, and prepar- ing to obey, "I confess I'm a-hungered, and the pasty hath a savory odor; but I pray thee to tell me why I am called Sir John? Adam is my baptismal name." Ha ! ha ! good very good, your honor to be sure, and your father's name before you. We are all sons of Adam, and every son, I trow, has a just right and a lawful to his father's name." With that, followed by the housekeeper, the honest landlord, * The antelope was one of the Lancastrian badges. The special cognizance of Henry VI, was two feathers in sal tire. t Clary was wins clarified. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 425 chuckling heartily, rolled his goodly bulk from the chamber, which he carefully locked. "Comprehendest thou yet, Sibyl?" "Yes, dear sir and father they mistake us for fugitives of mark and importance ; and when they discover their error, no doubt we shall go free. Courage, dear father!" "Me seemeth," quoth Adam, almost merrily, as the good man filled his cup from the wine flagon "me seemeth that, if the mistake could continue, it would be no weighty misfortune ha! ha!" he stopped abruptly in the unwonted laughter, put down the cup his face fell. "Ah, heaven forgive me! and the poor Eureka and faithful Madge!" "Oh, father ! fear not ; we are not without protection. Lord Hastings is returned to London we will seek him; he will make our cruel neighbors respect thee. And Madge poor Madge will be so happy at our return, for they could not harm her; a woman old and alone; no, no, man is not fierce enough for that!" "Let us so pray; but thou eatest not, child!" "Anon, father, anon; I am sick and weary. But, nay, nay, I am better now better. Smile again, father. I am hungered, too ; yes, indeed and in sooth, yes. Ah, sweet St. Mary, give me life and strength, and hope and patience, for his dear sake!" The stirring events which had within the last few weeks di- versified the quiet life of the Scholar had somewhat roused him from his wonted abstraction, and made the actual world a more sensible and living thing than it had hitherto seemed to his mind; but now, his repast ended, the quiet of the place (for the inn was silent and almost deserted), with the fumes of the wine a luxury he rarely tasted operated soothingly upon his thought and fancy, and plunged him into those reveries, so dear alike to poet and mathematician. To the thinker, the most trifling external object often suggests ideas, which, like Homer's chain, extend, link after link, from earth to heaven. The sunny motes, that in a glancing column came through the lattice, called Warner from the real day the day of strife and blood, with thousands hard by, driving each other to the Hades and led his scheming fancy into the ideal and abstract day the theory of light itself; and theory suggested mechan- ism, and mechanism called up the memory of his oracle, old Roger Bacon ; and that memory revived the great friar's hiucs in the Opus Magus hints which outlined the grand invention of the telescope: and so, as over some dismal precipice a bird 426 THF. LAST OF THE BARONS. swings itself to and fro upon the airy bough, the schoolman's mind played with its quivering fancy, and folded its calm wings above the verge of terror. Occupied with her own dreams, Sibyll respected those of her father; and so in silence, not altogether mournful, the morn- ing and the noon passed, and the sun was sloping westward, when a confused sound below called Sibyll's gaze to the lattice, which looked over the balustrade of the staircase, into the vast yard. She saw several armed men their harness hewed and battered quaffing ale or wine in haste, and heard one of them say to the landlord : "All is lost! Sir Geoffrey Gates still holds out, but it is butcher work. The troops of Lord Hastings gather round him as a net round the fish!" Hastings ! that name! He was at hand ! he was near! they would be saved ! Sibyll's heart beat loudly. "And the captain?" asked Porpustone. "Alive when I last saw him; but we must be off. In an- other hour all will be hurry and skurry, flight and chase." At this moment from one of the barns there emerged, one by one, the female vultures of the battle. The tymbesteres, who had tramped all night to the spot, had slept off their fa- tigue during the day, and appeared on the scene as the neigh- boring strife waxed low, and the dead and dying began to cum- ber the gory ground. Graul Skellet, tossing up her timbrel, darted to the fugitives, and grinned a ghastly grin when she heard the news for the tymbesteres were all loyal to a king who loved women, and who had a wink and a jest for every tramping wench ! The troopers tarried not, however, for fur- ther converse, but having satisfied their thirst, hurried and clattered from the yard. At the sight of the ominous tymbes- teres Sibyll had drawn back, without daring to close the lattice she had opened ; and the women, seating themselves on a bench, began sleeking their long hair and smoothing their garments from the scraps of straw and litter which betokened the nature of their resting-place. "Ho, girls!" said the fat landlord, "ye will pay me for board and bed, I trust, by a show of your craft. I have two right worshipful lodgers up yonder, whose lattice looks on the yard, and whom ye may serve to divert." Sibyll trembled, and crept to her father's side. "And," continued the landlord, "if they like the clash of your musicals, it may bring ye a groat or so, to help ye in your journey. By the way whither wend ye, wenches?" THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 427 "To a bonny, jolly fair," answered the sinister voice of Graul " Where a mighty SHOWMAN dyes The greenery into red ; Where, presto ! at the word Lies the fool without his head Where he gathers in the crowd To the trumpet and the drum, With a jingle and a tinkle, Graul's merry lasses come ! " As the two closing lines were caught by the rest of the tym- besteres, striking their timbrels, the crew formed themselves into a semicircle, and commenced their dance. Their move- ments, though wanton and fantastic, were not without a certain wild grace ; and the address with which, from time to time, they cast up their instruments and caught them in descending, joined to the surprising agility with which, in the evolutions of the dance, one seemed now to chase, now to fly from the other, darting to and fro through the ranks of her companions, wind- ing and wheeling the chain now seemingly broken in disorder, now united link to link, as the whole force of tne instrumenta clashed in chorus made an exhibition inexpressibly attrac- tive to the vulgar. The tymbesteres, however, as may well be supposed, failed to draw Sibyll or Warner to the window; and they exchanged glances of spite and disappointment. "Marry," quoth the landlord, after a hearty laugh at the diversion, "I do wrong to be so gay, when so many good friend^ perhaps* are lying stark and cold. But what then? Life i. 1 short laugh while we can!" "Hist!" whispered his housekeeper; "art wode, Ned? Wouldst thou have it discovered that thou hast such quality birds in the cage noble Yorkists at the very time when Lord Hastings himself may be riding this way after the victory?" "Always right, Meg and I'm an ass!" answered the host, in the same undertone. " But my good nature will be the death of me some day. Poor gentlefolks, they must be unked dull, yonder ! ' ' "If the Yorkists come hither which we shall soon know by the scouts we must shift Sir John and the damsel to the back of the house, over thy tap-room." "Manage it as thou wilt, Meg but, thou seest, they keep quiet and snug. Ho, ho, ho! that tall tymbestere is supple enough to make an owl hold his sides with laughing. Ah ! hollo, there, tymbesteres ribaudes tramps the devil's chick- ens down, down!" 428 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. The host was too late in his order. With a sudden spring, Graul, who had long fixed her eye on the open lattice of the prisoners, had wreathed herself round one of the pillars that supported the stairs, swung lightly over the balustrade and with a faint shriek, the startled Sibyll beheld the tymbestere's hard, fierce eyes, glaring upon her through the lattice, as her long arm extended the timbrel for largess. But no sooner had Sibyll raised her face than she was recognized. "Ho! the wizard and the wizard's daughter! Ho! the girl who glamours lords, and wears sarcenet and lawn ! Ho ! the nigromancer, who starves the poor!" At the sound of their leader's cry, up sprang, up climbed the hellish sisters ! One after the other, they darted through the lattice into the chamber. "Theronions! the foul fiend has distraught them !" groaned the landlord, motionless with astonishment. But the more active Meg, calling to the varlets and scullions, whom the tym- besteres had collected in the yard, to follow her, bounded up the stairs, unlocked the door, and arrived in time to throw her- self between the captives and the harpies, whom Sibyll's rich super-tunic and Adam's costly gown had inflamed into all the rage of appropriation. "What mean ye, wretches?" cried the bold Meg, purple with anger. "Do ye come for this into honest folks' hostelries, to rob their guests in broad day noble guests guests of mark ! Oh, Sir John! Sir John! what will ye think of us!" "Oh, Sir John! Sir John!" groaned the landlord, who had now moved his slow bulk into the room. "They 'shall be scourged, Sir John ! They shall be put in the stocks; they shall be brent with hot iron; they " "Ha, ha!" interrupted the terrible Graul. " Guests of mark;-- noble guests, trow ye ! Adam Warner, the wizard, and his daugh- ter, whom we drove last night from their den, as many a time, sisters, and many, we have driven the rats from charnel and cave." "Wizard! Adam! Blood of my life!" stammered the landlord "is his name Adam after all?" "My name is Adam Warner," said the old man, with dignity; "no wizard a humble scholar, and a poor gentleman, who has injured no one. Wherefore, women if women ye are would ye injure mine and me?" "Faugh, wizard!" returned Graul, folding her arms. "Didst thou not send thy spawn, yonder, to spoil our mirth with her gittern? Hast thou not taught her the spells to win love from LAST OF THE BARONS. 429 the noble and young? Ho, how daintily the young witch robes herself ! Ho ! laces, and satins, and we shiver with the cold, and parch with the heat and doff thy tunic, minion!" And Graul's fierce grip was on the robe, when the landlord interposed his huge arm, and held her at bay. ' 'Softly, my sucking dove, softly ! Clear the room, and be off ! " "Look to thyself, man. If thou harborest a wizard, against law a wizard whom King Edward hath given up to the people look to thy barns, they shall burn; look to thy cattle, they shall rot ; look to thy secrets, they shall be told ! Lancas- trian, thou shalt hang! We go we go! We have friends among the mailed men of York. We go we will return! Woe to thee, if thou harborest the wizard and the succuba!" With that, Graul moved slowly to the door. Host and house- keeper, varlet, groom, and scullion, made way for her, in ter- ror; and still, as she moved, she kept her eyes on Sibyll, till her sisters, following in successive file, shut out the hideous aspect; and Meg, ordering away her gaping train, closed the door. The host and the housekeeper then gazed gravely at each other. Sibyll lay in her father's arms breathing hard and con- vulsively. The old man's face bent over her in silence. Meg drew aside her master. ' 'You must rid the house at once of these folks. I have heard talk of yon tymbesteres ; they are awesome in spite and malice. Every man to himself ! ' ' ' 'But the poor old gentleman, so mild and the maid, so win- some!" The last remark did not over-please the comely Meg. She advanced at once to Adam, and said shortly : "Master, whether wizard or not, is no affair of a poor land- lord, whose house is open to all ; but ye have had food and wine please to pay the reckoning, and God speed ye ye are free to depart." " We can pay you, mistress ! " exclaimed Sibyll, springing up. " We have money yet. Here here ! " and she took from her gipsire the broad pieces which poor Madge's precaution had placed therein, and which the bravoes had fortunately spared. The sight of the gold somewhat softened the housewife. " Lord Hastings is known to us," continued Sibyll, perceiving the impression she had made ; "suffer us to rest here till he pass this way, and ye will find yourselves repaid for the kindness." " By my troth," said the landlord, " ye are most welcome to all my poor house containeth ; and as for these tymbesteres, I value them not a straw. No one can say Ned Porpustone is 430 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. an ill ni;in or inhospitable. Whoever can pay reasonably, is sure of good wine and civility at the Talbot." With these and many similar protestations and assurances, which were less heartily re-echoed by the housewife, the landlord begged to conduct them to an apartment not so liable to moles- tation ; and after having led them down the principal stairs, though the bar, and thence up a narrow flight of steps, deposited them in a chamber at .the back of the house, and lighted a sconce therein, for it was now near the twilight. He then insisted on seeing after their evening meal, and vanished with his assistant. The worthy- pair were now of the same mind : for guests known to Lord Hastings, it was worth braving the threats of the tymbesteres ; especially since Lord Hastings, it seems, had just beaten the Lancastrians. But, alas ! while the active Meg was busy on the hippocras, and the worthy landlord was inspecting the savory operations of the kitchen, a vast uproar was heard without. A troop of disorderly Yorkist soldiers, who had been employed in dispers- ing the flying rebels, rushed helter-skelter into the house, and poured into the kitchen, bearing with them the detested tym- besteres who had encountered them on their way. Among these soldiers were those who had congregated at Master San- croft's the day before, and they were well prepared to support the cause of their griesly paramours. Lord Hastings himself had retired for the night to a farmhouse nearer the field of battle than the hostel ; and as in those days discipline was lax enough afyer a victory, the soldiers had a right to license. Master Porpustone found himself completely at the mercy of these brawling customers, the more rude and disorderly from the remembrance of the sour beer in the morning, and Graul Skellet's assurance that Master Porpustone was a malignant Lancastrian. They laid hands on all the provisions in the house, tore the meats from the spit, devouring them half-raw ; set the casks running over the floors ; and while they swilled and swore, and filled the place with the uproar of a hell broke loose, Graul Skellet, whom the lust for the rich garments of Sibyll still fired and stung, led her followers up the stairs towards the deserted chamber. Mine host perceived, but did not dare openly to resist, the foray ; but as he was really a good-natured knave, and as, moreover, he feared ill consequences might ensue if any friends of Lord Hastings were spoiled, outraged nay, peradventure, murdered in his house, he resolved, at all events, to assist the escape of his guests. Seeing the ground thus clear of the tymbesteres, he therefore stole from the THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 43 f riotous scene, crept up the back-stairs, gained the chamber to which he had so happily removed his persecuted lodgers, and making them, in a few words, sensible that he was no longer able to protect them, and that the tymbesteres were now returned with an armed force to back their malice, con- ducted them safely to a wide casement only some three or four feet from the soil of the solitary garden, and bade them escape and save themselves. " 'The farm," he whispered, " where they say Lord Hastings is quartered, is scarcely a mile and a half away ; pass the garden wicket, leave Gladsmore Chace to the left hand, take the path to the right, though the wood, and you will see its roof among the apple-blossoms. Our Lady protect you, and say a word to my lord on behalf of poor Ned." Scarce had he seen his guests descend into the garden, be- fore he heard the yell of the tymbesteres, in the opposite part of the house, as they ran from room to room after their prey. He hastened to regain the kitchen ; and presently the tymbe- steres, breathless and panting, rushed in, and demanded their victims. " Marry," quoth the landlord, with the self-possession of a cunning old soldier, " think ye I cumbered my house with such cattle after pretty lasses like you had given me the inkling of what they were? No wizard shall fly away with the sign of the Talbot, if 1 can help it. They skulked off, I can promise ye, and did not even mount a couple of broomsticks which I handsomely offered for their ride up to London." " Thunder and bombards ! " cried a trooper, already half- drunk, and seizing Graul in his iron arms, " put the conjurer out of thine head now, and buss me, Graul 'buss me ! " Then the riot became hideous ; the soldiers, following their comrade's example, embraced the grim glee-women, tearing and hauling them to and fro, one from the other, round and round, dancing, hallooing, chanting, howling, by the blaze of a mighty fire many a rough face and hard hand smeared with blood still wet, communicating the stain to the cheeks and garb of those foul feres, and the whole revel becoming so unutterably horrible and ghastly, that even the veteran landlord fled from the spot, trembling and crossing himself. And so, streaming athwart the lattice, and silvering over that fearful merry-mak- ing, rose the moon ! But when fatigue and drunkenness had done their work, and the soldiers fell one over the other upon the floor, the tables, the benches, into the heavy sleep of riot, Graul suddenly 432 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. fr.un amidst the huddled bodies, and then, silently as ghouls from a burial-ground, her sisters emerged also from their resting-places beside the sleepers. The dying light of the fire contended but feebly with the livid rays of the moon, and played fantastically over the gleaming robes of the tymbesteres. They stood erect for a moment, listening, Graul with her finger on her lips ; then they glided to the door opened and reclosed it ; darted across the yard, scaring the beasts that slept there ; the watch-dog barked, but drew back, bristling and showing his fangs, as Red Grisell, undaunted, pointed her knife, and Graul flung him a red peace-sop of meat. They launched themselves through the open entrance, gained the space beyond, and scoured away to the battlefield. Meanwhile, Sibyll and her father were still under the canopy of heaven ; they had scarcely passed the garden, and entered the fields, when they saw horsemen riding to and fro in all directions. Sir Geoffrey Gates, the rebel leader, had escaped ; the reward of three hundred marks was set on his head, and the riders were in search of the fugitive. The human form itself had become a terror to the hunted outcasts : they crept under a thick hedge till the horsemen had disappeared, and them resumed their way. They gained the wood ; but there again they halted at the sound of voices, and withdrew them- selves under covert of some entangled and trampled bushes. This time it was but a party of peasants, whom curiosity had led to see the field of battle, and who were now returning home. Peasants and soldiers, both were human, and therefore to be shunned by those whom the age itself put out of the pale of law. At last the party also left the path free ; and now it was full night. They pursued their way they cleared the wood before them lay the field of battle ; and a deeper silence seemed to fall over the world ! The first stars had risen, but not yet the moon. The gleam of armor from prostrate bodies, which it had mailed in vain, reflected the quiet rays : here and there flickered watchfires, where sentinels were set, but they were scattered and remote. The outcasts paused and shuddered, but there seemed no holier way for their feet ; and the roof of the farmer's homestead slept on the opposite side of the field, amidst white orchard blossoms whitened still more by the stars. They went on, hand in hand the dead, after all, were less terrible than the living. Sometimes a stern, upturned face, distorted by the last violent agony, the eyes unclosed and glazed, encountered them with its stony stare ; but the weapon was powerless in the stiff hand ; the menace and the insult came TtttC LAST OF THE BARONS. 433 not from the hueless lips persecution reposed, at last, in the lap of slaughter. They had gone midway though the field, when they heard from a spot where the corpses lay thickest piled, a faint voice calling upon God for pardon ; and, sudden- ly, it was answered by a tone of fiercer agony, that did not pray, but curse. By a common impulse, the gentle wanderers moved silently to the spot. The sufferer, in prayer, was a youth scarcely passed from boyhood; his helm had been cloven, his head was bare, and his long light hair, clotted with gore, fell over his shoulders. Beside him lay a strong-built, powerful form, which writhed in torture, pierced under the arm by a Yorkist arrow, and the shaft still projected from the wound and the man's curse an- swered the boy's prayer. "Peace to thy parting soul, brother!" said Warner, bending over the man. "Poor sufferer!" said Sibyll to the boy, "cheer thee; we will send succor; thou mayst live yet!" "Water! water! hell and torture! water, I say!" groaned the man; "one drop of water!" It was the captain of the marauders who had' captured the wanderers. "Thine arm! lift me! move me! That evil man scares my soul from heaven!" gasped the boy. And Adam preached penitence to the one that cursed, and Sibyll knelt down and prayed with the one that prayed. And up rose the moon! Lord Hastings sate, with his victorious captains, over mead, morat, and wine, in the humble hall of the farm. "So," said he, "we have crushed the last embers of the re- bellion ! This Sir Geoffrey Gates is a restless and resolute spirit; pity he escapes again for further mischief. But the House of Nevile, that overshadowed the rising race, hath fallen at last a waisall, brave sirs, to the new men!" The door was thrown open, and an old soldier entered abruptly. "My lord! my lord! Oh! my poor son! he cannot be found ! The women, who ever follow the march of soldiers, will be on the ground to despatch the wounded, that they may rifle the corpses! O God! if my son my boy my only son ' ' "I w'st not, my brave Mervil, that thou hadst a son in our bands ; yet I know each man by name and sight. Courage ! 434 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. Our wounded have been removed, and sentries are placed to guard the field!" "Sentries! Oh, my lord, knowest thou not that they wink at the crime that plunders the dead? Moreover, these corpse- riflers creep stealthily and unseen, as the red earth-worms, to the carcase. Give me some few of thy men give me warrant to search the field! My son my boy! not sixteen sum- mers and his mother " The man stopped, and sobbed. "Willingly!" said the gentle Hastings, "willingly! And woe to the sentries if it be as thou sayest! I will go myself, and see! Torches there what ho? the good captain careth even for his dead ! Thy son ! I marvel I knew him not ! Whom served he under?" "My lord! my lord! pardon him! He is but a boy they misled him! he fought for the rebels. He crossed my path to-day my arm was raised we knew each other, and he fled from his father's sword! Just as the strife was ended I saw him again I saw him fall! Oh, mercy, mercy! do not let him perish of his wounds or by the rifler's knife, even though a rebel ! ' ' "Homo sum!" quoth the noble chief, "I am man! and, even in these bloody times, Nature commands when she speaks in a father's voice ! Mervil, I marked thee to-day ! Thou art a brave fellow. I meant thee advancement I give thee, in- stead, thy son's pardon, if he lives ten masses if he died as a soldier's son should die, no matter under what flag antelope or lion, pierced manfully in the breast his feet to the foe! Come, I will search with thee!" The boy yielded up his soul while Sibyll prayed, and her sweet voice soothed the last pang; and the man ceased to curse while Adam spoke of God's power and mercy, and his breath, ebbed, gasp upon gasp, away. While thus detained, the wan- derers saw not pale, fleeting figures, that had glided to the ground, and moved, gleaming, irregular, and rapid, as marsh- fed vapors, from heap to heap of the slain. With a loud, wild cry, the robber Lancastrian half-sprung to his feet, in the par- oxysm of the last struggle, and then fell on his face a corpse ! The cry reached the tymbesteres, and Graul rose from a body from which she had extracted a few coins smeared with blood, and darted to the spot ; and so, as Adam raised his face from contemplating the dead, whose last moments he had sought to sooeth, the Alecto of the battle-field stood before him, her knife bare in her gory hand. Red Grisell, who had just left (with THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 435 a spurn of wrath for the pouch was empty) the corpse of a soldier, round whose neck she had twined her hot clasp the day before, sprang towards Sibyll: the rest of the sisterhood flocked to the place, and laughed in glee as they beheld their unexpected prey. The danger was horrible and imminent: no pity was seen in those savage eyes. The wanderers prepared for death, when, suddenly, torches flashed over the ground. A cry was heard: "See, the riflers of the dead!" Armed men bounded forward, and the startled wretches uttered a shrill, unearthly scream, and fled from the spot, leaping over the carcases, and doubling and winding, till they had vanished into the darkness of the wood. "Provost!" said a commanding voice, "hang me up those sentinels at daybreak!" "My son! my boy! speak, Hal speak to me. He is here he is found! " exclaimed the old soldier, kneeling beside the corpse at Sibyll's feet. "My lord! my beloved! my Hastings!" And Sibyll fell insensible before the chief. CHAPTER VI. THE SUBTLE CRAFT OF RICHARD OF GLOUCESTER. IT was some weeks after the defeat of Sir Geoffrey Gates, and Edward was at Shene, with his gay court. Reclined at length within a pavilion placed before a cool fountain, in the royal gardens, and surrounded by his favorites, the King list- ened indolently to the music of his minstrels, and sleeked the plumage of his favorite falcon, perched upon his wrist. And scarcely would it have been possible to recognize in that lazy voluptuary the dauntless soldier before whose lance, as deer before the hound, had so lately fled, at bloody Erpingham, the chivalry of the Lancastrian Rose; but remote from the pavilion, and in one of the deserted bowling alleys, Prince Richard and Lord Montagu walked apart, in earnest conversation. The last of these noble personages had remained inactive during the disturbances, and Edward had not seemed to enter- tain any suspicion of his participation in the anger and revenge of Warwick. The King took from him, it is true, the lands and earldom of Northumberland, and restored them to the Percy, but he had accompanied this act with gracious excuses, alleging the necessity of conciliating the head of an illustrious house, which had formally entered into allegiance to the dy- J V 'I'HE LAST OF THE BARONS. nasty of York, and bestowed upon his early favorite, in com- pensation, the dignity of marquis.* The politic King, in thus depriving Montagu of the wealth and the retainers of the Percy, reduced him, as a younger brother, to a comparative poverty and insignificance, which left him dependent on Ed- ward's favor, and deprived him, as he thought, of the power of active mischief; at the same time, more than ever, he insisted on Montagu's society, and summoning his attendance at the court, kept his movements in watchful surveillance. "Nay, my lord," said Richard, pursuing with much unction the conversation he had commenced, "you wrong me much, Holy Paul be my witness, if you doubt the deep sorrow I feel at the unhappy events which have led to the severance of my kinsmen ! England seems to me to have lost its smile, in los- ing the glory of Earl Warwick's presence, and Clarence is my brother, and was my friend; and thou knowest, Montagu, thou knowest, how dear to my heart was the hope to win for my wife and lady the gentle Anne." "Prince," said Montagu abruptly, "though the pride of Warwick and the honor of our house may have forbidden the public revelation of the cause which fired my brother to re- bellion, thou, at least, art privy to a secret " "Cease!" exclaimed Richard, in great emotion, probably sincere, for his face grew livid, and its muscles were nervously convulsed. "I would not have that remembrance stirred from its dark repose. I would fain forget a brother's hasty frenzy, in the belief of his lasting penitence." He paused and turned his face, grasped for breath, and resumed: "The cause justi- fied the father; it had justified me in the father's cause, had Warwick listened to my suit, and given me the right to deem insult to his daughter injury to myself." "And if, my Prince," returned Montagu, looking round him, and in a subdued whisper, "if yet the hand of Lady Anne were pledged to you?" "Tempt me not tempt me not!" cried the Prince, crossing himself. Montagu continued: "Our cause, I mean Lord Warwick's cause, is not lost, as the King deems it." "Proceed," said Richard, casting down his eyes, while his countenance settled back into its thoughtful calm. "I mean," renewed Montagu, "that in my brother's flight, his retainers were taken by surprise. In vain the King would * Montagu said bitterly, of this new dignity, " He takes from me the Earldom and do- mains of Northumberland, and makes me a Marquis, with a pie's nest to maintain it withal." -Stowe, Edw. IV. Warkworth Chronicle. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 437 confiscate his lands he cannot confiscate men's hearts. If Warwick to-morrow set his armed heel upon the soil, trowest thou, sagacious and clear-judging Prince, that the strife which would follow would be but another field of Losecote? * Thou hast heard of the honors with which King Louis has received the Earl. Will that King grudge him ships and moneys? And meanwhile, thinkest thou that his favorers sleep?" "But if he land, Montagu," said Richard, who seemed to listen with an attention that awoke all the hopes of Montagu, coveting so powerful an ally "if he land, and make open war on Edward we must say the word boldly what intent can he proclaim? It is not enough to say King Edward shall not reign ; the Earl must say also what King England should elect ! " "Prince," answered Montagu, "before I reply to that ques- tion, vouchsafe to hear my own hearty desire and wish. Though the King has deeply wronged my brother, though he has despoiled me of the lands, which were, peradventure, not too large a reward for twenty victories in his cause, and re- stored them to the house that ever ranked amongst the strong- holds of his Lancastrian foe, yet often, when I am most resent- ful, the memory of my royal seigneur's past love and kindness comes over me above all the thought of the solemn contract between his daughter and my son ; and, I feel (now the first heat of natural anger at an insult offered to my niece is some- what cooled) that if Warwick did land I could almost forget my brother for my king." "Almost ! " repeated Richard, smiling. "I am plain with your Highness, and say but what I feel. I would even now fain trust that, by your mediation, the King may be persuaded to make such concessions and excuses, as in truth would not misbeseem him, to the father of Lady Anne, and his own kinsman; and that yet, ere it be too late, I may be spared the bitter choice between the ties of blood and my allegiance to the King." "But failing this hope (which I devoutly share) and Ed- ward, it must be owned, could scarcely trust to a letter, still less to a messenger, the confession of a crime failing this, and your brother land, and I side with him for love of Anne, pledged to me as a bride what king would he ask England to elect?" "The Duke of Clarence loves you dearly, Lord Richard," replied Montagu. "Knowest thou not how often he hath said, 'By sweet St. George, if Gloucester would join me, I would * The battle of Erpingham, so popularly called, in contempt of the rebellious runaways. 438 THF. LAST OF THE BAROXS. make Edward know we were all one man's sons, who should be more preferred and promoted than strangers of his wife's blood."* Richard's countenance for a moment evinced disappoint- ment; but he said dryly : "Then Warwick would propose that Clarence should be king? And the great barons, and the hon- est burghers, and the sturdy yeomen would, you think, not stand aghast at the manifesto which declares not that the dy- nasty of York is corrupt and faulty, but that the younger son should depose the elder that younger son, mark me ! not only unknown in war and green in council, but gay, giddy, vac- illating not subtle of wit, and resolute of deed, as he who so aspires should be! Montagu a vain dream!" Richard paused, and then resumed, in a low tone, as to himself: "Oh! not so not so are kings cozened from their thrones; a pretext must blind men say they are illegitimate say they are too young, too feeble too anything glide into their place and then not war not war. You slay them not they disappear /" The Duke's face, as he muttered, took a sinister and dark ex- pression his eyes seemed to gaze on space. Suddenly recov- ering himself, as from a revery, he turned with his wonted sleek and gracious aspect to the startled Montagu, and said: "I was but quoting from Italian history, good my lord wise lore, but terrible, and murderous. Return we to the point. Thou seest Clarence could not reign, and as well," added the Prince, with a slight sigh ' 'as well or better (for without vanity, I have more of a king's metal in me) might I even/ aspire to my brother's crown !" Here he paused, and glanced rapidly and keenly at the Marquis; but whether or not in these words he had sought to sound Montagu, and that glance sufficed to show him it were bootless or dangerous to speak more plainly, he resumed with an altered voice: "Enough of this: Warwick will discover the idleness of such design; and if he land, his trumpets must ring to a more kindling measure. John Mon- tagu, thinkest thou that Margaret of Anjou and the Lancastri- ans will not rather win thy brother to their side? There is the true danger to Edward none elsewhere." "And if so?" said Montagu, watching his listener's counte- nance. Richard started, and gnawed his lip. "Mark me!" continued the Marquis "I repeat that I would fain hope yet that Edward may appease the Earl ; but if not, and rather than rest dishonored and aggrieved, Warwick link himself with Lancaster, and thou join him as Anne's betrothed and lord, * Hail, THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 439 what matters who the puppet on the throne! we and thou shall be the rulers; or, if thou reject," added the Marquis, artfully, as he supposed, exciting the jealousy of the Duke; "Henry has a son a fair and, they say, a gallant prince carefully tutored in the knowledge of our English laws, and who, my lord of Oxford, somewhat in the confidence of the Lancastrians, assures me, would rejoice to forget old feuds, and call Warwick 'father,' and my niece 'Lady and Princess of Wales.' ' With all his dissimulation, Richard could ill conceal the emo- tions of fear, of jealousy, of dismay, which these words excited. "Lord Oxford! " he cried, stamping his foot. "Ha! John de Vere pestilent traitor, plottest thou thus? But we can yet seize thy person, and will have thy head." Alarmed at this burst, and suddenly made aware that he had laid his breast too bare to the boy whom he had thought to daz- zle and seduce to his designs, Montagu said falteringly : "But, my lord, our talk is but in confidence; at your own prayer, with your own plighted word, of prince and of kinsman, that, whatever my frankness may utter should not pass farther. Take," added the nobleman, with proud dignity "take my head rather than Lord Oxford's; for I deserve death, if I reveal to one, who can betray, the loose words of another's intimacy and trust!" "Forgive me, my cousin, "said Richard meekly; "my love to Anne transported me too far. Lord Oxford's words, as you report them, had conjured up a rival, and but enough of this. And now," added the prince gravely, and with a steadiness of voice and manner that gave a certain majesty to his small stature "now, as thou hast spoken openly, openly also will I reply. I feel the wrong to the Lady Anne as to myself; deeply, burningly, and lastingly, will it live in my mind; it may be, sooner or later, to rise to gloomy deeds, even against Ed- ward and Edward's blood. But no, I have the King's solemn protestations of repentance; his guilty passion has burned into ashes, and he now sighs gay Edward for a lighter fere. I cannot join with Clarence, less can I join with the Lancastrians. My birth makes me the prop of the throne of York to guard it as a heritage (who knows ! ) that may descend to mine nay, to me ! And mark me well ! if Warwick attempt a war of fratricide, he is lost ; if, on the other hand, he can submit himself to the hands of Margaret, stained with his father's gore, the success of an hour will close in the humiliation of a life. There is a third way left, and that way thou hast piously and wisely shown. 440 THE LAST OK THK BARONS. Lot him, like me, resign revenge, and, not exacting a confes- sion and a cry of Peccavi, which no king, much less King Kd- ward the Plantagenet, can whimper forth let him accept such overtures as his liege can make. His titles and castles shall be restored, equal possessions to those thou hast lost assigned to thee, and all my guerdon (if I can so negotiate) as all my am- bition, his daughter's hand. Muse on this, and for the peace and weal of the realm, so limit all thy schemes, my lord and cousin !" With these words the Prince pressed the hand of the Mar- quis, and walked slowly towards the King's pavilion. "Shame on my ripe manhood and lore of life," muttered Montagu, enraged against himself and deeply mortified. "How sentence by sentence, and step by step, yon crafty pigmy led me on, till all our projects all our fears and hopes are revealed to him, who but views them as a foe. Anne be- trothed to one, who even in fiery youth can thus beguile and dupe! Warwick decoyed hither upon fair words, at the will of one whom Italy (boy, there thou didst forget thy fence of cunning!) has taught how the great are slain not, but disap- pear! No, even this defeat instructs me now. But right right! the reign of Clarence is impossible, and that of Lancas- ter is ill-omened and portentous; and, after all, my son stands nearer to the throne than any subject, in his alliance with the Lady Elizabeth. Would to Heaven the King could yet But out on me! this is no hour for musing on mine own aggrandize- ment; rather let me fly at once, and warn Oxford, imperilled by my imprudence, against that dark eye which hath set watch upon his life." At that thought, which showed that Montagu, with all his worldliness, was not forgetful of one of the first duties of knight and gentleman, the Marquis hastened up the alley in the op- posite direction to that taken by Gloucester and soon found himself in the courtyard, where a goodly company were mounting their haquene"es and palfreys, to enjoy a summer ride through the neighboring chase. The cold and half-slighting salutations of these minions of the hour, which now mortified the Nevile, despoiled of the possessions that had rewarded his long and brilliant services, contrasting forcibly the reverential homage he had formerly enjoyed, stung Montagu to the quick. "Whither ride you, brother Marquis?" said young Lord Dorset (Elizabeth's son by her first marriage), as Montagu called to his single squire, who was in waiting with his horse. "Some secret expedition, methinks, for I have known the day THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 44T when the Lord Montagu never rode from his King's palace with less than thirty squires." "Since my Lord Dorset prides himself on his memory," an- swered the scornful lord, "he may remember also the day when, if a Nevile mounted in haste, he bade the first Woodville he saw hold the stirrup." And regarding "the brother Marquis" with a stately eye that silenced and awed retort, the long-descended Montagu passed the courtiers, and rode slowly on till out of sight of the palace; he then pushed into a hand-gallop, and halted not till he had reached London, and gained the house in which then dwelt the Earl of Oxford, the most powerful of all the Lancastrian nobles not in exile, and who had hitherto temporized with the reigning house. Two days afterwards the news reached Edward that Lord Oxford and Jasper of Pembroke uncle to the boy afterwards Henry VII. had sailed from England. The tidings reached the King in his chamber, where he was closeted with Gloucester. The conference between them seemed to have been warm and earnest, for Edward's face was flushed, and Gloucester's brow was perturbed and sullen. "Now Heaven be praised!" cried the King, extending to Richard the letter which communicated the flight of the disaf- fected lords. "We have two enemies the less in our roiaulme, and many a barony the more to confiscate to our kingly wants. Ha! ha! these Lancastrians only serve to enrich us. Frown- ing still, Richard; smile, boy!" " Foi de man dme, Edward," said Richard, with a bitter energy, strangely at variance with his usual unctuous defer- ence to the King, "your Highness's gayety is ill-seasoned; you reject all the means to assure your throne; you rejoice in all the events that imperil it. I prayed you to lose not a moment in conciliating, if possible, the great lord whom you own you have wronged, and you replied that you would rather lose your crown than win back the arm that gave it you." ' ' Gave it me ! An error, Richard ! that crown was at once the heritage of my own birth, and the achievement of my own sword. But were it as you say, it is not in a king's nature to bear the presence of a power more formidable than his own ; to sub- mit to a voice that commands rather than counsels; and the happiest chance that ever befell me is the exile of this Earl. How, after what hath chanced, can I ever see his face again without humiliation, or he mine without resentment?" "So you told me anon, and I answered, If that be so, and THE LAST OF T1IK JiAKONS. your Highness shrinks from the man you have injured, beware at least that Warwick, if he may not return as a friend, come not back as an irresistible foe. If you will not conciliate, crush ! Hasten by all the arts to separate Clarence from War- wick. Hasten to prevent the union of the Earl's popularity and Henry's rights. Keep eye upon all the Lancastrian lords, and see that none quit the realm, where they are captives, to join a camp where they can rise into leaders. And at the very moment I urge you to place strict watch upon Oxford, to send your swiftest riders to seize Jasper of Pembroke, you laugh with glee to hear that Oxford and Pembroke are gone to swell the army of your foes!" "Better foes out of my realm than in it," answered Edward, dryly. "My liege, I say no more"; and Richard rose. "I would forestall a danger; it but remains for me to share it." The King was touched. "Tarry yet, Richard," he said; and then, fixing his brother's eye, he continued, with a half- smile and a heightened color: "Though we know thee true and leal to us, we yet know also, Richard, that thou hast personal interest in thy counsels. Thou wouldst, by one means or an- other, soften or constrain the Earl into giving thee the hand of Anne. Well, then, grant that Warwick and Clarence expel King Edward from his throne, they may bring a bride to con- sole thee for the ruin of a brother." "Thou hast no right to taunt or to suspect me, my liege," returned Richard, with a quiver in his lip. "Thou hast in- cluded me in thy meditated wrong to Warwick; and had that wrong been done " " Peradventure it had made thee espouse Warwick's quarrel?" "Bluntly, yes!" exclaimed Richard, almost fiercely, and playing with his dagger. "But (he added, with a sudden change of voice) I understand and know thee better than the Earl did or could. I know that in thee is but thoughtless im- pulse, haste of passion, the habit kings form of forgetting all things save the love or hate, the desire or anger, of a moment. Thou hast told me thyself, and with tears, of thy offence ; thou hast pardoned my boyish burst of anger; I have pardoned thy evil thought; thou hast told me thyself that another face has succeeded to the brief empire of Anne's blue eye, and hast further pledged me thy kingly word, that if I can yet com- pass the hand of a cousin, dear to me from childhood, thou wilt confirm the union." THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 443 "It is true," said Edward. "But if thou wed thy bride, keep her aloof from the court nay, frown not, my boy, I mean simply that I would not blush before my brother's wife ! " Richard bowed low in order to conceal the expression of his face, and went on without further notice of the explanation : " And all this considered, Edward, I swear by Saint Paul, the holiest saint to thoughtful men, and by St. George, the noblest patron to high-born warriors, that thy crown and thine honor are as dear to me as if they were mine own. Whatever sins Richard of Gloucester may live to harbor and repent, no man shall ever say of him that he was a recreant to the honor of his country,* or slow to defend the rights of his ancestors from the treason of a vassal or the sword of a foreign foe. Therefore, I say again, if thou reject my honest counsels if thou suffer Warwick to unite with Lancaster and France if the ships of Louis bear to your shores an enemy, the might of whom your reckless daring undervalues, foremost in the field of battle, nearest to your side in exile, shall Richard Plan- tagenet be found ! " These words, being uttered with sincerity, and conveying a promise never forfeited, were more impressive than the subtlest eloquence the wily and accomplished Gloucester ever employed as the cloak to guile, and they so affected Edward that he threw his arms around his brother ; and after one of those bursts of emotion which were frequent in one whose feelings were never deep and lasting, but easily aroused and warmly spoken, he declared himself ready to listen to - and adopt all means which Richard's art could suggest for the better main- tenance of their common weal and interests. And then, with that wondrous, if somewhat too restless and over-refining, energy which belonged to him, Richard rapidly detailed the scheme of his profound and dissimulating policy. His keen and intuitive insight into human nature had shown him the stern necessity which, against their very will, must unite Warwick with Margaret of Anjou. His conversation with Montagu had left no doubt of that peril on his penetrating mind. He foresaw that this union might be made durable and sacred by the marriage of Anne and Prince Edward ; and to defeat this alliance was his first "object, partly through Clar- ence, partly through Margaret herself. A gentlewoman in the Duchess of Clarence's train had been arrested on the point of embarking to join her mistress. Richard had already seen and * So Lord Hacon observes of Richard, with that discrimination, even in the strongest censure, of which profound judges of mankind are alone capable, that he was " a king jealous of the honor of the English nation." 444 T1IR LAST OF THE conferred with this lady, whoso ambition, duplicity, and talent tor intrigue were known to him. Having secured her by promises of the most lavish dignities and rewards, he proposed that she should be permitted to join the Duchess with secret messages to Isabel and the Duke, warning them both that War- wick and Margaret would forget their past feud in present sympathy, and that the rebellion against King Edward, instead of placing them on the throne, would humble them to be sub- ordinates and aliens to the real profilers the Lancastrians.* He foresaw what effect these warnings would have upon the vain Duke and the ambitious Isabel, whose character was known to him from childhood. He startled the King by in- sisting upon sending, at the same time, a trusty diplomatist to Margaret of Anjou, proffering to give the Princess Elizabeth (betrothed to Lord Montagu's son) to the young Prince Ed- ward, f Thus, if the King, who had as yet no son, were to die, Margaret's son, in right of his wife, as well as in that of his own descent, would peaceably ascend the throne. " Need I say that I mean not this in sad and serious earnest," observed Richard, interrupting the astonished King " I mean it but to amuse the Anjouite, and to deafen her ears to any overtures from Warwick. If she listen, we gain time that time will in- evitably renew irreconcilable quarrel between herself and the Earl. His hot temper and desire of revenge will not brook delay. He will land, unsupported by Margaret and her parti- sans, and without any fixed principle of action which can strengthen force by opinion." "You are right, Richard," said Edward, whose faithless cunning comprehended the more sagacious policy it could not originate. " All be it as you will !" "And in the mean while," added Richard, " watch well, but anger not, Montagu and the Archbishop. It were dangerous to seem to distrust them till proof be clear. It were dull to believe them true. I go at once to fulfil my task." CHAPTER VII. WARWICK AND HIS FAMILY IN EXILE. WE now summon the reader on a longer if less classic jour- ney than from Thebes to Athens, and waft him on a rapid wing from Shene to Amboise. We must suppose that the two emis- * C-inines, 3. c. 5 ; Hall ; Hollinshed. t " Original Letters from Harleian MSS." Edited by Sir H. Ellis (Second Series). THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 445 saries of Gloucester have already arrived at their several des- tinations the lady has reached Isabel ; the envoy, Margaret. In one of the apartments appropriated to the Earl in the royal palace, within the embrasure of a vast Gothic casement, sat Anne of Warwick ; the small wicket in the window was open, and gave a view of a wide and fair garden, interspersed with thick bosquets, and regular alleys, over which the rich skies of the summer evening, a little before sunset, cast alter- nate light and shadow. Towards this prospect the sweet face of the Lady Anne was turned musingly. The riveted eye, the bended neck, the arms reclining on the knee, the slender fin- gers interlaced gave to her whole person the character of rev- ery and repose. In the same chamber were two other ladies ; the one was pacing the floor with slow but uneven steps, with lips moving from time to time, as if in self-commune, with the brow con- tracted slightly ; her form and face took also the character of revery, but not of repose. The third female (the gentle and lovely mother of the other two) was seated, towards the centre of the room, before a small table on which rested one of those religious manuscripts, full of the moralities and the marvels of cloister sanctity, which made so large a portion of the literature of the monkish ages. But her eye rested not on the Gothic letter and the rich blazon of the holy book. With all a mother's fear, and all a moth- er's fondness, it glanced from Isabel to Anne, from Anne to Isabel, till at length, in one of those soft voices, so rarely heard, which makes even a stranger love the speaker, the fair Countess said : "Come hither, my child, Isabel, give me thy hand, and whisper me what hath chafed thee." " My mother," replied the Duchess, "it would become me ill to have a secret not known to thee, and yet, methinks, it would become me less to say aught to provoke thine anger." " Anger, Isabel ! who ever knew anger for those they love?" " Pardon me, my sweet mother," said Isabel, relaxing her haughty brow, and she approached and kissed her mother's cheek. The Countess drew her gently to a seat by her side " And now tell me all unless, indeed, thy Clarence hath, in some lover's hasty mood, vexed thy affection ; for of the household secrets, even a mother should not question the true wife." Isabel paused, and glanced significantly at Anne, 44 6 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. "Nay see!" said the Countess, smiling, though sadly SAe, too, hath thoughts that she will not tell to me ; but they seem not such as should alarm my fears as thine do. For the moment ere I spoke to thee, thy brow frowned, and her lip smiled. She hears us not speak on." " Is it then true, my mother, that Margaret of Anjou is hastening thither ; and can it be possible that King Louis can persuade my lord and father to meet, save in the field of battle, the arch enemy of our house ? " " Ask the Earl thyself, Isabel ; Lord Warwick hath no con- cealment from his children. Whatever he doth is ever wisest, best, and knightliest so, at least, may his children alway deem!" Isabel's color changed, and her eye flashed. But ere she could answer, the arras was raised, and Lord Warwick entered. But no longer did the hero's mien and manner evince that cor- dial and tender cheerfulness, which, in all the storms of his changeful life, he had hitherto displayed when coming from power and danger, from council or from camp, to man's earthly paradise a virtuous home. Gloomy and absorbed, his very dress which, at that day, the Anglo-Norman deemed it a sin against self-dignity to neg- lect betraying, by its disorder, that thorough change of the whole mind, that terrible internal revolution, which is made but, in strong natures, by the tyranny of a great care or a great passion, the Earl scarcely seemed to heed his Countess, who rose hastily, but stopped in the timid fear and reverence of love at the sight of his stern aspect ; he threw himself abrupt- ly on a seat, passed his hand over his face, and sighed heavily. That sigh dispelled the fear of the wife, and made her alive only to her privilege of the soother. She drew near, and, plac- ing herself on the green rushes at his feet, took his hand and kissed it, but did not speak. The Earl's eyes fell on the lovely face looking up to him through tears ; his brow softened, he drew his hand gently from hers, placed it on her head, and said, in a low voice : " God and Our Lady bless thee, sweet wife ! " Then, looking round, he saw Isabel watching him intently, and rising at once, he threw his arm round her waist, pressed her to his bosom, and said : " My daughter, for thee and thine, day and night have I striven and planned in vain. I cannot re- ward thy husband as I would I cannot give thee, as I had hoped, a throne ! " " What title so dear to Isabel," said the Countess, " as that of Lord Warwick's daughter ? " THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 447 Isabel remained cold and silent, and returned not the Earl's embrace. Warwick was happily too absorbed In his own feelings to notice those of his child. Moving away, he continued, as he paced the room (his habit in emotion, which Isabel, who had many minute external traits in common with her father, had unconsciously caught from him): " Till this morning, I hoped still that my name and services, that Clarence's popular bearing and his birth of Plantagenet, would suffice to summon the English people round our stand- ard that the false Edward would be driven, on our landing, to fly the realm ; and that, without change to the dynasty of York, Clarence, as the next male heir, would ascend the throne. True, I saw all the obstacles all the difficulties ; I was warned of them before I left England : but still I hoped. Lord Ox- ford has arrived ; he has just left me. We have gone over the chart of the way before us, weighed the worth of every name, for and against ; and, alas ! I cannot but allow that all at- tempt to place the younger brother on the throne of the elder would but lead to bootless slaughter, and irretrievable defeat !" "Wherefore think you so, my lord!" asked Isabel, in evi- dent excitement. "You own retainers are sixty thousand : an army larger than Edward and all his lords of yesterday can bring into the field." " My child ! " answered the Earl, with the profound knowl- edge of his countrymen which he had rather acquired from his English heart, than from any subtlety of intellect, " armies may gain a victory, but they do not achieve a throne unless, at least, they enforce a slavery : and it is not for me, and for Clarence, to be the violent conquerors of our countrymen ; but the regenerators of a free realm, corrupted by a false man's rule." " And what, then," exclaimed Isabel " what do you propose, my father? Can it be possible that you can unite yourself with the abhorred Lancastrians with the savage Anjouite, who be- headed my grandsire, Salisbury ? Well do I remember your own words : ' May God and St. George forget me, when I for- get those gray and gory hairs !' ' Here Isabel was interrupted by a faint cry from Anne, who, unobserved by the rest, and, hitherto concealed from her father's eye by the deep embrasure of the window, had risen some moments before, and listened, with breathless attention. to the conversation between Warwick and the Duchess. " It is not true it is not true ! " exclaimed Anne passion- ately, " Margaret disowns the inhuman deed." 448 THE LAST OF THE BAKONS. " Thou art right, Anne," said Warwick ; " though I guess not how thou didst learn the error of a report so popularly believed, that till of late I never questioned its truth. King Louis as- sures me solemnly, that that foul act was done by the butcher Clifford against Margaret's knowledge, and, when known, to her grief and anger." " And you, who call Edward false, can believe Louis true ! " "Cease, Isabel, cease ! " said the Countess. " Is it thus my child can address my lord and husband? Forgive her, beloved Richard." " Such heat in Clarence's wife misbeseems her not," an- swered Warwick. " And I can comprehend and pardon in my haughty Isabel a resentment which her reason must, at last, subdue ; for, think not, Isabel, that it is without dread strug- gle and fierce agony that I can contemplate peace and league with mine ancient foe ; but here two duties speak to me in voices not to be denied : my honor and my hearth, as noble and as man, demand redress, and the weal and glory of my country demand a ruler who does not degrade a warrior, nor assail a virgin, nor corrupt a people by lewd pleasures, nor exhaust a land by grinding imposts ; and that honor shall be vin- dicated, and that country shall be righted, no matter at what sacrifice of private grief and pride." The words and the tone of the Earl for a moment awed even Isabel, but after a pause she said, sullenly : " And for this, then, Clarence hath joined your quarrel, and shared your ex- ile ! for this : that we may place the eternal barrier of the Lan- castrian line between himself and the English throne ! " " I would fain hope," answered the Earl calmly, " that Clarence will view our hard position more charitably than thou. If he gain not all that I could desire, should success crown our arms, he will, at least, gain much : for often and ever did thy husband, Isabel, urge me to stern measures against Edward, when I soothed him and restrained. Mart Dieu ! how often did he complain of slight and insult from Elizabeth and her minions, of open affront from Edward, of parsimony to his wants as prince of a life, in short, humble and made bitter by all the indignity and the gall which scornful power can in- flict on independent pride. If he gain not the throne, he will gain at least the succession, in thy right, to the baronies of Beauchamp, the mighty duchy and the vast heritage of York, the vice-royalty of Ireland. Never prince of the blood had wealth and honors equal to those that shall await thy lord. For the rest, I drew him not into my quarrel long before, THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 449 would he have drawn me into his ; nor doth it become thee, Isabel, as child and as sister, to repent, if the husband of my daughter felt as brave men feel, without calculation of gain and profit, the insult offered to his lady's house. But, if here I overgauge his chivalry and love to me and mine, or discontent his ambition and his hopes, Mort Dieu! we hold him not u captive Edward will hail his overtures of peace; let him make terms with his brother, and return." "I will report to him what you say, my lord," said Isabel, with cold brevity; and bending her haughty head in formal reverence, she advanced to the door. Anne sprang forward and caught her hand. "Oh, Isabel!" she whispered; "in our father's sad and gloomy hour can you leave him thus?" and the sweet lady burst into tears. "Anne," retorted Isabel bitterly "thy heart is Lancastrian; and what, peradventure, grieves my father, hath but joy for thee." Anne drew back, pale and trembling, and her sister swept from the room. The Earl, though he had not overheard the whispered sen- tences which passed between his daughters, had watched them closely, and his lip quivered with emotion, as Isabel closed the door. "Come hither, my Anne," he said tenderly "thou, who hast thy mother's face, never hast a harsh thought for thy father." As Anne threw herself on Warwick's breast, he continued: "And how earnest thou to learn that Margaret disowns a deed that, if done by her command, would render my union with her cause a sacrilegious impiety to the dead?" Anne colored, and nestled her head still closer to her father's bosom. Her mother regarded her confusion and her silence with an anxious eye. The wing of the palace in which the Earl's apartments were situated was appropriated to himself and household, flanked to the left by an abutting pile containing state-chambers never used by the austere and thrifty Louis, save on great occasions of pomp or revel; and, as we have before observed, looking on a garden which was generally solitary and deserted. From this garden, while Anne yet strove for words to answer her father, and the Countess yet watched her embarrassment, sud- denly came the soft strain of a Provencal lute ; while a low yojce, rich, and modulated at once by a deep feeling and an 450 THE LAST Of THE BARONS. ; X'juisite art that would have given effect to even simpler words, breathed. THE LAY OF THE HEIR OF LANCASTER. " His birthright but a Father's name, A Grandsire's hero-sword ; He dwelt within the Stranger's land, The friendless, homeless Lord ! Yet one dear hope, too dear to tell, Consoled the exiled man ; The Angels have their home in Heaven And gentle thoughts in Anne." At that name the voice of the singer trembled, and paused a moment; the Earl, who at first had scarcely listened to what he deemed but the ill-seasoned gallantry of one of the royal minstrels, started in proud surprise, and Anne herself, tighten- ing her clasp round her father's neck, burst into passionate sobs. The eye of the Countess met that of her lord, but she put her finger to her lips in sign to him to listen. The song was resumed: " Recall the single sunny time, In childhood's April weather, When he and thou, the boy and girl, Roved, hand in hand, together ; When round thy young companion knelt The Princes of the Isle ; And Priest and People pray'd their God On England's Heir to smile. " The Earl uttered a half-stifled exclamation, but the minstrel heard not the interruption, and continued: " Methinks the sun hath never smil'd Upon the exiled man, Like that bright morning when the boy Told all his soul to Anne. No ; while his birthright but a name, A grandsire's hero-sword, He would not woo the lofty maid To love the banish'd lord. But when, with clarion, fife, and drum, He claims and wins his own ; When o'er the Deluge drifts his ark, To rest upon a throne THEN, wilt thou deign to hear the hope That blessed the exiled man, When pining for his father's crown. To deck the brows of Anne ! " THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 451 The song ceased, and there was silence within the chamber, broken but by Anne's low, yet passionate weeping. The Earl gently strove to disengage her arms from his neck, but she, mistaking his intention, sank on her knees, and covering her face with her hands, exclaimed: "Pardon! pardon! pardon him if not me!" "What have I to pardon? What hast thou concealed from me? Can I think that thou hast met, in secret, one who " "In secret! Never never, father! This is the third time only that I have heard his voice since we have been at Amboise, save when save when " "Go on." "Save when King Louis presented him to me in the revel, under the name of the Count de F , and he asked me if I could forgive his mother for Lord Clifford's crime." "It is, then, as the rhyme proclaimed; and it is Edward of Lancaster who loves and woos the daughter of Lord Warwick!" Something in her father's voice made Anne remove her hands from her face, and look up to him with a thrill of timid joy. Upon his brow, indeed, frowned no anger; upon his lip smiled no scorn. At that moment all his haughty grief at the curse of circumstance, which drove him to his hereditary foe, had vanished. Though Montagu had obtained from Oxford some glimpse of the desire which the more sagacious and temperate Lancastrians already entertained for that alliance, and though Louis had already hinted its expediency to the Earl, yet, till now, Warwick himself had naturally conceived that the Prince shared the enmity of his mother, and that such an union, however politic, was impossible ; but now, indeed, there burst upon him the full tiiumph of revenge and pride. Edward of York dared to woo Anne to dishonor Edward of Lancaster dared not even woo her as his wife till his crown was won! To place upon the throne the very daughter the ungrateful monarch had insulted; to make her he would have humbled not only the instrument of his fall, but the successor of his purple; to unite in one glorious strife the wrongs of the man and the pride of the father these were the thoughts that sparkled in the eye of the king-maker, and flushed with a fierce rapture the dark cheek, already hollowed by passion and care. He raised his daughter from the floor, and placed her in her mother's arms, but still spoke not. "This, then, was thy secret, Anne," whispered the Coun- tess, "and I half-foreguessed it, when, last night, I knelt beside thy couch to pray, and overheard thee murmur in thy dreams," 452 THE I, AST OF THE BARONS. " Sweet mother, thou forgivest me ; but my father ah, he speaks not ! One word ! Father, father, not even his love could console me if I angered thee ! " The Earl, who had remained rooted to the spot, his eyes shining thoughtfully under his dark brows, and his hand slight- ly raised, as if piercing into the future, and mapping out its airy realm, turned quickly : " 1 go to the heir of Lancaster ; if this boy be bold and true worthy of England and of thee we will change the sad ditty of that scrannel lute into such a storm of trumpets as beseems the triumph of a conqueror, and the marriage of a prince ! " CHAPTER VIII. HOW THE HEIR OF LANCASTER MEETS THE KING-MAKER. IN truth, the young Prince, in obedience to a secret mes- sage from the artful Louis, had repaired to the court of Amboise under the name of the Count de F . The French King had long before made himself acquainted with Prince Edward's ro- mantic attachment to the Earl's daughter, through the agent employed by Edward to transmit his portrait to Anne at Rouen ; and from him, probably, came to Oxford the suggestion which that nobleman had hazarded to Montagu ; and now that it be- came his policy seriously and earnestly to espouse the cause of his kinswoman Margaret, he saw all the advantage to his cold statecraft which could be drawn from a boyish love. Louis had a well-founded fear of the warlike spirit and military tal- ents of Edward IV. ; and this fear had induced him hitherto to refrain from openly espousing the cause of the Lancastrians, though it did not prevent his abetting such seditions and in- trigues as could confine the attention of the martial Plantage- net to the perils of his own realm. But now that the breach between Warwick and the King had taken place ; now that the Earl could no longer curb the the desire of the Yorkist monarch to advance his hereditary claims to the fairest provinces of France nay, peradventure, to France itself while the defec- tion of Lord Warwick gave to the Lancastrians the first fair hope of success in urging their own pretensions to the English throne the bent of all the powers of his intellect and his will towards the restoration of a natural ally and the downfall of a dangerous foe. But he knew that Margaret and her Lancas- trian favorers could not of themselves suffice to achieve a revo- lution j and, they ppuld only succeed under cover of the popu- THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 453 larity and the power of Warwick, while he perceived all the art it would require to make Margaret forego her vindictive nature and long resentment, and to supple the pride of the great Earl into recognizing, as a sovereign, the woman who had branded him as a traitor. Long before Lord Oxford's arrival, Louis, with all that ad- dress which belonged to him, had gradually prepared the Earl to familiarize himself to the only alternative before him, save that, indeed, of powerless sense of wrong, and obscure and lasting exile. The French King looked with more uneasiness to the scruples of Margaret ; and to remove these he trusted less to his own skill, than to her love for her only son. His youth passed principally in Anjou that court of min- strels young Edward's gallant and ardent temper had become deeply imbued wi'.h the southern poetry and romance. Per- haps, the very feud between his House and Lord Warwick's, though both claimed their common descent from John of Gaunt, had tended, by the contradictions in the human heart, to en- dear to him the recollection of the gentle Anne. He obeyed with joy the summons of Louis, repaired to the court, was pre- sented to Anne as the Count de F , found himself recog- nized at the first glance (for his portrait still lay upon hei heart, as his remembrance in its core), and twice before the song we have recited had ventured, agreeably to the sweet customs of Anjou, to address the lady of his love, under the shade of the starlit and summer copses. But on this last oc- casion he had departed from his former discretion ; hitherto he had selected an hour of deeper night, and ventured but be- neath the lattice of the maiden's chamber when the rest of the palace was hushed in sleep. And the fearless declaration of his rank and love now hazarded was prompted by one who con- trived to turn to grave uses the wildest whim of the minstrel, the most romantic enthusiasm of youth. Louis had just learned from Oxford the result of his inter- view with Warwick. And about the same time the French King had received a letter from Margaret, announcing her departure from the Castle of Verdun for Tours, where she prayed him to meet her forthwith, and stating that she had received from England tidings that might change all her schemes, and more than ever forbid the possibility of a recon- ciliation with the Earl of Warwick. The King perceived the necessity of calling into immediate effect the aid on which he had relied, in the presence and pas- sion of the young Prince. He sought him at once ; he fountf 454 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. him in a remote part of the gardens, and overheard him breath ing to himself the lay he had just composed. " Pasquc Dieu ! " said the King, laying his hand on the young man's shoulder, " if tlion wilt but repeat that song where and when I bid thee, I promise that before the month ends Lord Wanvick shall pledge thee his daughter's hand ; and before the year is closed thou shall sit beside Lord Warwick's daugh- ter in the halls of Westminster." And the royal troubadour took the counsel of the King. The song had ceased ; the minstrel emerged from the bos- quets, and stood upon the sward, as, from the postern of the palace, walked with a slow step a form from which it became him not, as prince or as lover, in peace or in war, to shrink. The first stars had now risen ; the light, though serene, was pale and dim. The two men the one advancing, the other motionless gazed on each other in grave silence. As Count de F , amidst the young nobles in the King's train, the Earl had scarcely noticed the heir of England. He viewed him now with a different eye ; in secret complacency, for, with a soldier's weakness, the soldier-baron valued men too much for their outward seeming, he surveyed a figure already masculine and stalwart, though still in the graceful symmetry of fair eighteen. " A youth of goodly presence," muttered the Earl, " with the dignity that commands in peace, aad the sinews that can strive against hardship and death in war." He approached, and said calmly: "Sir minstrel, he who woos either fame or beauty may love the lute, but should wield the sword. At least so methinks had the Fifth Henry said to him who boasts for his heritage the sword of Agincourt." "Oh, noble Earl ! " exclaimed the Prince, touched by words far gentler than he had dared to hope, despite his bold and steadfast mien, and giving way to frank and graceful emotion " Oh, noble Earl ! since thou knowest me since my secret is told since, in that secret, I have proclaimed a hope as dear to me as a crown, and dearer far than life, can I hope that thy rebuke but veils thy favor, and that, under Lord Warwick's eye, the grandson of Henry V. shall approve himself worthy of the blood that kindles in his veins ? " " Fair sir and Prince," returned the Earl, whose hardy and generous nature the emotion and fire of Edward warmed and charmed, " there are, alas ! deep memories of blood and wrong the sad deeds and wrathful words of party feud and civil war between thy royal mother and myself ; and though we may unite now against a common foe, much I fear that the THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 455 Lady Margaret would brook ill a closer friendship, a nearer tie, than the exigency of the hour, between Richard Nevile and her son." "No, Sir Earl; let me hope you misthink her. Hot and impetuous, but not mean and treacherous, the moment that she accepts the service of thine arm she must forget that thou hast been her foe ; and if I, as my father's heir, return to Eng- land, it is in the trust that a new era will commence. Free from the passionate enmities of either faction, Yorkist and Lancastrian are but Englishmen to me. Justice to all who serve us, pardon for all who have opposed." The Prince paused, and, even in the dim light, his kingly aspect gave effect to his kingly words. "And if this resolve be such as you approve if you, great Earl, be that which even your foes proclaim, a man whose power depends less on lands and vassals broad though the one, and numerous though the other than on well-known love for England, her glory and her peace, it rests with you to bury forever in one grave the feuds of Lancaster and York ! What Yorkist, who hath fought at Touton or St Alban's, under Lord Warwick's standard, will lift sword against the husband of Lord Warwick's daughter? What Lancastrian will not forgive a Yorkist, when Lord War- wick, the kinsman of Duke Richard, becomes father to the Lancastrian heir, and bulwark to the Lancastrian throne! Oh, Warwick, if not for my sake, nor for the sake of full redress against the ingrate whom thou repentest to have placed on my father's throne, at least for the sake of England for the heal- ing of her bleeding wounds for the union of her divided people, hear the grandson of Henry V., who sues to thee for thy daughter's hand!" The royal wooer bent his knee as he spoke the mighty sub- ject saw and prevented the impulse of the Prince who had for- gotten himself in the lover; the hand which he caught he lifted to his lips, and the next moment, in manly and soldier-like em- brace, the Prince's young arm was thrown over the broad shoulder of the king-maker. CHAPTER IX. THE INTERVIEW OF EARL WARWICK AND QUEEN MARGARET. Louis hastened to meet Margaret at Tours; thither came also her father Rene", her brother John of Calabria, Yolante her sis- ter, and the Count of Vaudemonte. The meeting between 456 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. the Queen and Rene" was so touching as to have drawn tears to the hard eyes of Louis XI. ; but, that emotion over, Mar- garet evinced how little affliction had humbled her high spirit, or softened her angry passions: she interrupted Louis m every argument for reconciliation with Warwick. ' 'Not with honor to myself, and to my son," she exclaimed, "can I pardon that cruel Earl the main cause of King Henry's downfall! In vain patch up a hollow peace between us a peace of form and parchment! My spirit never can be contented with him, ne pardon!" For several days she maintained a language which betrayed the chief cause of her own impolitic passions, that had lost htr crown. Showing to Louis the letter despatched to her, proffer- ing the hand of the Lady Elizabeth to her son, she asked "if that were not a more profitable party," * and, "if it were neces- sary that she should forgive whether it were not more queen- ly to treat with Edward than with a two-fold rebel?" In fact, the Queen would, perhaps, have fallen into Glouces- ter's artful snare, despite all the arguments and even the half- menances \ of the more penetrating Louis, but for a counteract- ing influence which Richard had not reckoned upon. Prince Edward, who had lingered behind Louis, arrived from Amboise, and his persuasions did more than all the representations of the crafty King. The Queen loved her son with that intense- ness which characterizes the one soft affection of violent nat- ures. Never had she yet opposed his most childish whim, and he now spoke with the eloquence of one who put his heart and his life's life into his words. At last, reluctantly, she con- sented to an interview with Warwick. The Earl, accompanied by Oxford, arrived at Tours, and the two nobles were led into the presence of Margaret by King Louis. The reader will picture to himself a room darkened by thick curtains drawn across the casement, for the proud woman wished not the Earl to detect on her face either the ravages of years or the emotions of offended pride. In a throne chair, placed on the dais, sate the motionless Queen, her hands clasping convulsively, the arm of the fauteuil, her features pale and rigid ; and behind the chair leant the graceful figure of her son. The person of the Lancastrian Prince was little less remarkable * See, for this curious passage of secret history, Sir H. Ellis's " Original Letters from the Harleian MSS.," second series, vol. i., letter 42. t Louis would have thrown over Margaret's cause, if Warwick had demanded it ; he in- structed MM. de Concressault and Du Plessis to assure the Earl that he would aid him to i he utmost to reconquer England either for the Queen Margaret or for any one else he chose (ou pour qui il voudra). For that he loved the Earl better than Margaret or her son. Jir.nite, t. ix. 276. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 457 than that of his hostile namesake, l?ut its character was dis- tinctly different.* Spare, like Henry V., almost to the manly defect of leanness, his proportions were slight to those which gave such portly majesty to the vast-chested Edward, but they evinced the promise of almost equal strength ; the muscles hardened to iron by early exercise in arms, the sap of youth never wasted by riot and debauch: his short purple mante- line trimmed with ermine, was embroidered with his grandfath- er's favorite device, "the silver swan"; he wore on his breast the badge of St. George, and the single ostrich plume, which made his cognizance as Prince of Wales, waved over a fair and ample forehead, on which were, even then, traced the lines of musing thought and high design; his chestnut hair curled close to his noble head : his eye shone dark and brilliant, beneath the deep- set brow, which gives to the human countenance such expres- sion of energy and intellect all about him, in aspect and mien, seemed to betoken a mind riper than his years, a masculine simplicity of taste and bearing, the earnest and grave tempera- ment, mostly allied, in youth, to pure and elevated desires, to an honorable and chivalric soul. Below the dais stood some of the tried and gallant gentlemen who had braved exile and tasted penury in their devotion to the House of Lancaster, and who had now flocked once more round their Queen, in the hope of better days. There, were the Dukes of Exeter and Somerset, their very garments soiled and threadbare many a day had those great lords hungered for the beggar's crust ! f There, stood Sir John Fortescue, the patriarch authority of our laws, who had composed his famous treatise for the benefit of the young Prince, overfond of exercise with lance and brand, and the recreation of knightly song. There, were Jasper of Pembroke, and Sir Henry Rous, and the Earl of Devon, and the Knight of Lytton, whose house had followed, from sire to son, the fortunes of the Lancastrian Rose ; J and, contrasting the sober garments of the exiles, shone the jewels and cloth of gold that decked the persons of the * " According to some of the French chroniclers, the Prince of Wales, who was one of the handsomest and most accomplished princes in Europe, was very desirous of becoming the husband of Anne Nevile," etc. Miss Strickland, " Life of Margaret of Anjou." t Philip de Comines says he himself had seen the Dukes of Exeter and Somerset in the Low Countries in as wretched a plight as common beggars. $ Sir Robert de Lytton (whose grandfather had been Comptroller to the Household of Henry IV., and Agister of the Forests allotted to Queen Joan) was one of the most power- ful knights of the time ; and afterwards, according to Perkin Warbeck, one of the ministers most trusted by Henry VII. He was Lord of Lvtton, in Derbyshire (where his ancestors had been settled since the Conquest), of Knebworth in Herts (the ancient seat and manor of Plantagenet de Brotherton, Earl of Norfolk and Earl- Marshal), of Myndelesden and Langley, of Standyarn, Dene, and Brekesbome, in Northamptonshire, and became, in the reign of Henry VII., Privy-Councillor, Under-Treasurer, and Keeper of the great Wardrobe. 458 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. more prosperous foreigners, Ferri, Count of Vaudemonte, Margaret's brother, the Duke of Calabria, and the powerful form of Sir Pierre de Breze", who had accompanied Margaret in her last disastrous campaigns, with all the devotion of a chevalier for the lofty lady adored in secret. * When the door opened and gave to the eyes of those proud exiles the form of their puissant enemy, they with difficulty suppressed the murmur of their resentment, and their looks turned with sympathy and grief to the hueless face of their Queen. The Earl himself was troubled ; his step was less firm, his crest less haughty, his eye less serenely steadfast. But beside him, in a dress more homely than that of the poorest exile there, and in garb and in aspect, as he lives for ever in the portraiture of Victor Hugo and our own yet greater Scott, moved Louis, popularly called " The Fell." " Madame and cousin," said the King, " we present to you the man for whose haute courage and dread fame we have such love and respect, that we value him as much as any king, and would do as much for him as for man living,f and with my lord of Warwick, see also this noble Earl of Oxford, who, though he may have sided awhile with the enemies of your Highness, comes now to pray your pardon, and to lay at your feet his sword." Lord Oxford (who had ever unwillingly acquiesced in the Yorkist dynasty), more prompt than Warwick, here threw him- self on his knees before Margaret, and his tears fell on her hand, as he murmured " Pardon." " Rise, Sir John de Vere," said the Queen, glancing, with a flashing eye, from Oxford to Lord Warwick. "Your pardon is right easy to purchase, for well I know that you yielded but to the time you did not turn the time against us you and yours have suffered much for King Henry's cause. Rise, Sir Earl." "And," said a voice, so deep and so solemn, that it hushed the very breath of those who heard it, " and has Margaret a pardon also for the man who did more than all others to de- throne King Henry, and can do more than all to restore his crown ?" " Ha ! " cried Margaret, rising in her passion, and casting from her the hand her son had placed upon her shoulder " Ha ! Ownest thou thy wrongs, proud lord ? Comest thou * See, for the chivalrous devotion of this knight (Seneschal of Normandy) to Margaret, Miss Strickland's Life of that Queen, t Ellis's " Original Letters," vol. i., letter 42, second seris- THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 459 at last to kneel at Queen Margaret's feet? Look round and behold her court some half-score brave and unhappy gentle- men, driven from their hearths and homes, their heritage the prey of knaves and varlets ; their sovereign in a prison ; their sovereign's wife, their sovereign's son, persecuted and hunted from the soil ! And comest thou now to the forlorn majesty of sorrow to boast 'Such deeds were mine'?" " Mother and lady," began the Prince " Madden me not, my son. Forgiveness is for the prosperous, not for adversity and woe." " Hear me," said the Earl, who, having once bowed his pride to the interview, had steeled himself against the passion which, in his heart, he somewhat despised as a mere woman's burst of inconsiderate fury " For I have this right to be heard : that not one of these knights, your lealest and noblest friends, can say of me, that I ever stooped to gloss mine acts, or palliate bold deeds with wily words. Dear to me as comrade in arms sacred to me as a father's head, was Richard of York, mine uncle by marriage with Lord Salisbury's sister. I speak not now of his claims by descent (for those even King Henry could not deny), but I maintain them, even in your Grace's presence, to be such as vindicate, from disloyalty and treason, me and the many true and gallant men who upheld them through dan- ger, by field and scaffold. Error, it might be, but the error of men who believed themselves the defenders of a just cause. Nor did I, Queen Margaret, lend myself wholly to my kinsman's quarrel, nor share one scheme that went to the dethronement of King Henry, until pardon if I speak bluntly ; it is my wont, and would be more so now, but for thy fair face and woman's form, which awe me more than if confronting the frown of Coeur de Lion, or the First great Edward pardon me, I say, if I speak bluntly and aver, that I was not King Henry's foe until false counsellors had planned my destruction, in body and goods, land and life. In the midst of peace, at Coventry, my father and myself scarcely escaped the knife of the murderer.* In the streets of London, the very menials and hangmen employed in the service of your Highness beset me unarmed ; f a little time after, and my name was attainted by an illegal Parliament.^ And not till after these things did Richard Duke of York ride to the Hall of Westminster, and lay his hand upon the throne ; nor till after these things did I and my * See Hall (236). who says that Margaret had laid a snare for Salisbury and Warwick Warwick, and " if they had not suddenly departed their life's thread had been broken. k. at + Hall. Fabyan. t "Parl. Rolls," 370 ; W. Wyr, 478. 460 THE LAST OK THK BARONS. father Salisbury say to each other : ' The time has come when neither peace nor honor can be found for us under King Henry's reign.' Blame me, if you will, Queen Margaret ; reject me, if you need not my sword ; but that which 1 did in the gone days was such as no nobleman so outraged and despaired* would have forborne to do, remembering that Eng- land is not the heritage of the King alone, but that safety and honor, and freedom and justice, are the rights of his Nor- man gentlemen, and his Saxon people. And rights are a mock- ery and a laughter if they do not justify resistance, whensoever, and by whomsoever, they are invaded and assailed." It had been with a violent effort that Margaret had refrained from interrupting this address, which had, however, produced no inconsiderable effect upon the knightly listeners around the dais. And now, as the Earl ceased, her indignation was arrested by dismay on seeing the young Prince suddenly leave his post and advance to the side of Warwick. " Right well hast thou spoken, noble Earl and cousin right well, though right plainly. And I," added the Prince, " saving the presence of my Queen and mother I, the representative of my sovereign father, in his name will pledge thee a king's oblivion and pardon for the past, if thou, on thy side, acquit my princely mother of all privity to the snares against thy life and honor of which thou hast spoken, and give thy knightly word to be henceforth leal to Lancaster. Perish all memories of the past that can make walls between the souls of brave men ! " Till this moment, his arms folded in his gown, his thin, fox- like face bent to the ground, Louis had listened, silent and undisturbed. He now deemed it the moment to second the appeal of the Prince. Passing his hand hypocritically over his tearless eyes, the King turned to Margaret, and said: " Joyful hour ! happy union ! May Madame La Vierge and Monseigneur St. Martin sanctify and hallow the bond by which alone my beloved kinswoman can regain her rights and roiaulme. Amen." Unheeding this pious ejaculation, her bosom heaving, her eyes wandering from the Earl to Edward, Margaret at last gave vent to her passion. " And is it come to this, Prince Edward of Wales, that thy mother's wrongs are not thine? Standest thou side by side with my mortal foe, who, instead of repenting treason, dares but to complain of injury? Am I fallen so low that my voice * Warwick's phrase see Sir H. Ellis's "Original Letters," vol. i., second series, THE LAST OF THE feARONS. 461 to pardon or disdain is counted but as a sough of idle air ! God of my fathers, hear me ! Willingly from my heart I tear the last thought and care for the pomps of earth. Hateful to me a crown for which the wearer must cringe to enemy and rebel ! Away, Earl Warwick ! Monstrous and unnatural seems it to the wife of captive Henry, to see thee by the side of Henry's son ! " Every eye turned in fear to the aspect of the Earl, every ear listened for the answer which might be expected from his well- known heat and pride an answer to destroy forever the last hope of the Lancastrian line. But whether it was the very consciousness of his power to raise or to crush that fiery speaker, or those feelings natural to brave men, half of chivalry, half contempt, which kept down the natural anger by thoughts of the sex and sorrows of the Anjouite, or that the wonted irasci- bility of his temper had melted into one steady and profound passion of revenge against Edward of York, which absorbed all lesser and more trivial causes of resentment the Earl's face, though pale as the dead, was unmoved and calm, and, with a grave and melancholy smile, he answered : " M >re do I respect thee, O Queen, for the hot words which show a truth rarely heard from royal lips, than hadst thou deigned to dissimulate the forgiveness and kindly charity which sharp remembrance permits thee not to feel ! No, pnncely Margaret, not yet can there be frank amity between thee and me ! Nor do I boast the affection yon gallant gentlemen have displayed. Frankly, as thou hast spoken, do I say, that the wrongs I have suffered from another alone move me to alle- giance to thyself ! Let others serve thee for love of Henry reject not my service, given but for revenge on Edward as much, henceforth, am I his foe as formerly his friend and maker ! * And if, hereafter, on the throne, thou shouldst remember and resent the former wars, at least, thou hast owed me no gratitude, and thou canst not grieve my heart, and seethe my brain, as the man whom I once loved better than a son ! Thus from thy presence I depart, chafing not at thy scornful wrath mindful, young Prince, but of thy just and gentle heart, and sure, in the calm of my own soul (on which this much, at least, of our destiny is reflected as on a glass), that when, high lady, thy colder sense returns to thee, thou wilt see that the league between us must be made ! that thine ire as wr-oian, must fade before thy duties as a mother, thy affection as * wife, and thy paramount and solemn obligations to the peopJ- thou * Sir H, Ellis's " Original Letters," vol. i., second series. 111K LAST OK THK liAKONii. bast ruled as queen ! In the dead of night, thou shall hear the voice of Henry, in his prison, asking Margaret to set him free ! The vision of thy son shall rise before thee in his bloom and promise, to demand, ' Why his mother deprives him of a crown ? ' and crowds of pale peasants, grinded beneath tyrannous exac- tion, and despairing fathers mourning for dishonored children, shall ask the Christian Queen, ' If God will sanction the unrea- soning wrath which rejects the only instrument that can redress her people?' " This said, the Earl bowed his head and turned ; but, at the first sign of his departure, there was a general movement among the noble bystanders. Impressed by the dignity of his bear- ing, by the greatness of his power, and by the unquestionable truth that, in rejecting him, Mai^aret cast away the heritage of her son, the exiles, with a common impulse, threw themselves at the Queen's feet, and exclaimed, almost in the same words : " Grace ! noble Queen ! Grace for the great Lord War- wick ! " " My sister," whispered John of Calabria, " thou art thy son's ruin if the Earl depart ! " " Pasque Dieu ! Vex not my kinswoman if she prefer a convent to a throne, cross not the holy choice!" said the wily Louis, with a mocking irony on his pinched lips. The Prince alone spoke not, but stood proudly on the same spot, gazing on the Earl, as he slowly moved to the door. " Oh, Edward Edward, my son ! " exclaimed the unhappy Margaret, " if for thy sake for thine I must make the past a blank speak thou for me ! " "I have spoken," said the Prince gently, "and thou didst chide me, noble mother ; yet I spoke, methinks, as Henry V. had done, if of a mighty enemy he had had the power to make a noble friend ?" A short, convulsive sob was heard from the throne chair ; and, as suddenly as it burst, it ceased. Queen Margaret rose not a trace of that stormy emotion upon the grand and marble beauty of her face. Her voice, unnaturally calm, arrested the steps of the departing Earl. " Lord Warwick, defend this boy restore his rights release his sainted father and for years of anguish and of exile, Margaret of Anjou forgives the champion of her son ! " In an instant Prince Edward was again by the Earl's side a moment more, and the Earl's proud k;: bent in homage to the Queen joyful tears were in the eyes of her friends and kindred, a triumphant smile on the lips of Louis and Mar- THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 463 garet's face, terrible in its stony and lock'd repose, was raised above, as if asking the All-Merciful pardon -for the pardon which the human sinner had bestowed ! * CHAPTER X. LOVE AND MARRIAGE DOUBTS OF CONSCIENCE DOMESTIC JEALOUSY AND HOUSEHOLD TREASON. THE events that followed this tempestuous interview were such as the position of the parties necessarily compelled. The craft of Louis, the energy and love of Prince Edward, the rep- resentations of all her kindred and friends, conquered, though not without repeated struggles, Margaret's repugnance to a nearer union between Warwick and her son. The Earl did not deign to appear personally in this matter. He left it, as became him, to Louis and the Prince, and finally received from them the proposals which ratified the league, and con- summated the schemes of his revenge. Upon the Very Cross f in St. Mary's Church of Angers, Lord Warwick swore without change to hold the party of King Henry. Before the same sacred symbol, King Louis and his brother. Duke of Guienne, robed in canvas, swore to sustain to their utmost the Earl of Warwick in behalf of King Henry ; and Margaret recorded her oath to treat the Earl as true and faithful, and never for deeds past to make him any reproach. Then were signed the articles of marriage between Prince Edward and the Lady Anne the latter to remain with Mar- garet, but the marriage not to be consummated " till Lord Warwick had entered England and regained the realm, or most part, for King Henry" a condition which pleased the Earl, who desired to award his beloved daughter no less a dowry than a crown. An article far more important than all to the safety of the Earl, and to the permanent success of the enterprise, was one that virtually took from the fierce and unpopular Margaret the reins of government, by constituting Prince Edward (whose qualities endeared him more and more to Warwick, and were such as promised to command the respect and love of the people), sole regent of all the realm, upon attaining his ma- jority. For the Duke of Clarence were reserved all the lands *Miss Strickland observes upon this interview: "It does not appear that Warwick mentioned the execution of his father, the Earl of Salisbury, which is almost a confirma-- tion of the statements of those historians who deny that he was beheaded by Margaret, 1 ' t Ellis's " Original Letters from the Harleian MSS." letter 42. 464 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. and dignities of the Duchy of York, the right to the succes- sion of the throne to him, and his posterity failing male heirs to the Prince of Wales with a private pledge of the vice- royalty of Ireland. Margaret had attached to her consent one condition highly obnoxious to her high-spirited son, and to which he was only reconciled by the arguments of Warwick : she stipulated that he should not accompany the Earl to England, nor appear there till his father was proclaimed King. In this, no doubt, she was guided by maternal fears and by some undeclared sus- picion either of the good faith of Warwick, or of his means to raise a sufficient army to fulfil his promise. The brave Prince wished to be himself foremost in the battles fought in his right and for his cause. But the Earl contended, to the sur- prise and joy of Margaret, that it best behoved tits Prince's in- terests to enter England without one enemy in the field, leav- ing others to clear his path, free himself from all the personal hate of hostile factions, and without a drop of blood upon the sword of one heralded and announced as the peace-maker, and impartial reconciler of all feuds. So then (these high condi- tions settled), in the presence of the Kings Rene and Louis, of the Earl and Countess of Warwick, and in solemn state, at Am- boise, Edward of Lancaster plighted his marriage troth to his beloved and loving Anne. It was deep night, and high revel in the Palace of Amboise crowned the ceremonies of that memorable day. The Earl of Warwick stood alone in the same chamber in which he had first discovered the secret of the young Lancastrian. From the brilliant company, assembled in the halls of state, he had stolen unperceived away, for his great heart was full to over- flowing. The part he had played for many days was over, and with it the excitement and the fever. His schemes were crowned; the Lancastrians were won to his revenge; the King's heir was the betrothed of his favorite child ; and the hour was visible in the distance when, by the retribution most to be desired, the father's hand should lead that child to the throne of him who would have degraded her to the dust. If victory awaited his sanguine hopes, as father to his future Queen, the dignity and power of the Earl became greater in the court of Lancaster than, even in his palmiest day, amidst the minions of ungrateful York ; the sire of two lines if Anne's posterity should fail, the crown would pass to the sons of Isabel in either case, from him (if successful in his invasion) would descend the royalty of England. Ambition, pride, re* THE LAST Of THE BARONS. 465 venge, might well exult in viewing the future as mortal wisdom could discern it. The house of Nevile never seemed bright- ened by a more glorious star : and yet the Earl was heavy and sad at heart. However he had concealed it from the eyes of others, the haughty ire of Margaret must have galled him in his deepest soul. And even as he had that day contemplated the holy happiness in the face of Anne, a sharp pang had shot through his breast. Were those the witnesses of fair-omened spousailles ? How different from the hearty greeting of his warrior-friends was the measured courtesy of foes, who had felt and fled before his sword ? If aught chanced to him, in the hazard of the field, what thought for his child could ever speak in pity from the hard and scornful eyes of the imperi- ous Anjouite ! The mist which till then had clouded his mind, or left visible to his gaze but one stern idea of retribution, melted into air. He beheld the fearful crisis to which his life had passed, he had reached the eminence to mourn the happy gardens left behind. Gone, forever gone, the old endearing friendships, the sweet and manly remembrances of grave companionship and early love ! Who, among those who had confronted war by his side, for the house of York, would hasten to clasp his hand and hail his coming, as the captain of hated Lancaster ? True, could he bow his honor to proclaim the true cause of his desertion, the heart of every father would beat in sympathy with his ; but less than ever could the tale that vindicated his name be told. How stoop to invoke malignant pity to the in- sult offered to a future queen ! Dark in his grave must rest the secret no words could syllable, save by such vague and mysterious hint and comment as pass from baseless gossip into dubious history.* True, that in his change of party he was not, like Julian of Spain, an apostate to his native land. He did not meditate the subversion of his country by the foreign foe, it was but the substitution of one English monarch for another a virtuous Prince for a false and a sanguinary King. True that the change from rose to rose had been so common amongst the greatest and the bravest, that even the most rigid could scarcely censure what the age itself had sanctioned. But what other man of his stormy day had been so conspicuous in the downfall of those he was now as conspicuously to raise ? What other man had Richard of York taken so dearly to his heart to what other man had the august father said : " Protect * Hall well explains the mystery which wrapped the King's insult to a female of the House of Warwick, by the simple sentence, '' the certainty was not, for both their hon >r, openly known," 466 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. my sons"? Before him seemed literally to rise the phantom of that honored prince, and with clay-cold lips to ask : "Art thou, of all the world, the doomsman of my first-born ! " A groan escaped the breast of the self -tormentor ; he fell on his knees, and prayed: <1 O, pardon, thou All-seeing! plead for me, Divine Mother ! if in this I have darkly erred, taking my heart for my conscience, and mindful only of a selfish wrong ! Oh, surely, no ! Had Richard of York himself lived to know what I have suffered from his unworthy son causeless insult, broken faith, public and unabashed dishonor yea, pardoning, serving, loving on through all, till, at the last, nothing less than the foulest taint that can light upon 'scutcheon and name was the cold, premeditated reward for uniired devotion, surely, surely Richard himself had said : 'Thy honor, at last, forbids all pardon ' ! " Then, in that rapidity with which the human heart, once seizing upon self-excuse, reviews, one after one, the fair apologies, the Earl passed from the injury to himself to the mai-government of his land, and muttered over the thousand instances of cruelty and misrule which rose to his remembrance, forgetting, alas, or steeling himself to the memory, that till Edward's vices had assailed his own hearth and honor, he had been contented with lamenting them, he had not ventured to chastise. At length, calm and self-acquitted, he rose from his self-confession, and leaning by the open casement, drank in the reviving and gentle balm of the summer air. The state apartments he had left, formed, as we have before observed, an angle to the wing in which the chamber he had now retired to was placed. They were brilliantly illumined their windows open to admit the fresh soft breeze of night and he saw, as if by daylight, distinct and gorgeous in their gay dresses, the many revellers within. But one group caught and riveted his eye. Close by the centre window he recognized his gentle Anne, with downcast looks ; he almost fancied he saw her blush, as her young bridegroom, young and beautiful as herself, whispered love's flatteries in her ear. He saw farther on, but yet near, his own sweet Countess, and muttered : " After twenty years of marriage may Anne be as dear to him as thou art now to me ! " And still he saw, or deemed he saw, his lady's eye, after resting with tender happiness on the young pair, rove wistfully around, as if missing and searching for her partner in her mother's joy. But what form sweeps by with so haughty a majesty, then pauses by the betrothed, addresses them not, but seems to regard them with so fixed a watch ? THE LAST OP THE BARONS. 467 He knew by her ducal diadem, by the baudekin colors of her robe, by her unmistakable air of pride, his daughter Isabel. He did not distinguish the expression of her countenance, but an ominous thrill passed through his heart ; for the attitude itself had an expression, and not that of a sister's sympathy and love. He turned away his face with an unquiet recollec- tion of the altered mood of his discontented daughter. He looked again ; the Duchess had passed on, lost amidst the con- fused splendor of the revel. And high and rich swelled the merry music that invited to the stately pavon. He gazed still : his lady had left her place ; the lovers, too, had vanished, and where they had stood, stood now, in close conference, his ancient enemies, Exeter and Somerset. The sudden change, from ob- jects of love to those associated with hate, had something which touched one of those superstitions to which, in all ages, the heart, when deeply stirred, is weakly sensitive. And again, for- getful of the revel, the Earl turned to the serener landscape of the grove and the moon-lit greensward, and mused, and mused, till a soft arm thrown around him woke his revery. For this had his lady left the revel. Divining, by the instinct born of love, the gloom of her husband, she had stolen from pomp and pleasure to his side. "Ah ! wherefore wouldst thou rob me," said the Countess, " of one hour of thy presence, since so few hours remain since when the sun, that succeeds the morrow's, shines upon these walls, the night of thine absence will have closed upon me ? " " And if that thought of parting, sad to me as thee, sufficed not, M'amic, to dim the revel," answered the Earl, " weetest thou not how ill the grave and solemn thoughts of on who sees before him the emprise that would change the dynasty of a realm, can suit with the careless dance and the wanton music? But, not at that moment did I think of those mightier cares ; my tho.ughts were nearer home. Hast thou noted, sweet wife, the silent gloom, the clouded brow of Isabel, since she learned that Anne was to be the bride of the heir of Lancaster." The mother suppressed a sigh. " We must pardon, or glance lightly over, the mood of one who loves her lord, and mourns for his baffled hopes. Well-a-day ! I grieve that she admits not even me to her confidence. Ever with the favorite lady who lately joined her train methinks, that new friend gives less holy counsels than a mother?" "Ha! and yet what counsels can Isabel listen to from a comparative stranger? Even if Edward, or rather his cunning Elizabeth, had suborned this waiting-woman, our daughter 468 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. never could hearken, even in an hour of anger, to the message from our dishonorer and our foe." "Nay, but a flatterer often fosters, by praising, the erring thought. Isabel hath something, dear lord, of thy high heart and courage, and ever from childhood her vaulting spirit, her very character of stately beauty, have given her a conviction of destiny and power loftier than those reserved for our gentle Anne. Let us trust to time and forbearance, and hope that the affection of the generous sister will subdue the jealousy of the disappointed princess." "Pray Heaven, indeed, that it so prove! Isabel's ascend- ancy over Clarence is great, and might be dangerous. Would that she consented to remain in France with thee and Anrie! Her lord, at least, it seems I have convinced and satisfied. Pleased at the vast fortunes before him, the toys of vice-regal power, his lighter nature reconciles itself to the loss of a crown, which, I fear, it could never have upheld. For the more I have read his qualities in our household intimacy, the more it seems that I could scarcely have justified the imposing on England a king not worthy of so great a people. He is young yet, but how different the youth of Lancastrian Edward! In him what earnest and manly spirit! What heaven-born views of the duties of a king! Oh, if there be a sin in the pas- sion that hath urged me on, let me, and me alone, atone and may I be at least the instrument to give to England a prince whose virtues shall compensate for all!" While yet the last word trembled upon the Earl's lips, a light flashed along the floors, hitherto illumined by the stars and the full moon. And presently Isabel, in conference with the lady whom her mother had referred to, passed into the room, on her way to her private chamber. The countenance of this female diplomatist, whose talent for intrigue Philip de Com- ines * has commemorated, but whose name, happily for her memory, history has concealed, was soft and winning in its ex- pression to the ordinary glance, though the sharpness of the features, the thin compression of the lips, and the harsh, dry red- ness of the hair, corresponded with the attributes which mod- ern physiognomical science truly or erringly assigns to a wily and treacherous character. She bore a light in her hand, and its rays shone full o:. the disturbed and agitated face of the Duchess. Isabel perceived at once the forms of her parents, and stopped short in some whispered conversation, and uttered a cry almost of dismay. * Comines, iii., 5 ; Hall, Lingard, Hume, etc. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 469 "Thou leavest the revel betimes, fair daughter," said the Earl, examining her countenance with an eye somewhat stern. "My lady," said the confidant, with a lowly reverence, "was anxious for her babe." "Thy lady, good waiting wench," said Warwick, "needs not thy tongue to address her father. Pass on." The gentlewoman bit her lips, but obeyed, and quitted the room. The Earl approached and took Isabel's hand it was cold as stone. "My child," said he tenderly, "thou dost well to retire to rest of late thy cheek hath lost its bloom. But just now, for many causes, I was wishing thee not to brave our perilous re- turn to England; and now, I know not whether it would make me the more uneasy, to fear for thy health if absent or thy safety if with me!" "My lord," replied Isabel coldly, "my duty calls me to my husband's side, and the more, since now it seems he dares the battle, but reaps not its rewards ! Let Edward and Anne rest here in safety ; Clarence and Isabel go to achieve the diadem and orb for others!" "Be not bitter with thy father, girl; be not envious of thy sister!" said the Earl, in grave rebuke; then, softening his tone, he added: "The women of a noble house should have no am- bition of their own their glory and their honor they should leave, unmurmuring, in the hands of men! Mourn not if thy sister mounts the throne of him who would have branded the very name to which thou and she were born!" "I have made no reproach, my lord. Forgive me, I pray you, if I now retire; I am sore weary, and would fain have strength and health not to be a burden to you when you depart." The Duchess bowed with proud submission, and moved on. "Beware!" said the Earl, in a low voice. "Beware! and of what?" said Isabel, startled. "Of thine own heart, Isabel. Ay, go to thine infant's couch, ere thou seek thine own, and, before the sleep of Inno- cence, calm thyself back to Womanhood." The Duchess raised her head quickly, but habitual awe of her father checked the angry answer; and kissing, with formal reverence, the hand the Countess extended to her, she left the room. She gained the chamber in which was the cradle of her son, gorgeously canopied with silks, inwrought with the blazoned arms of royal Clarence and beside the cradle sat the con- fidant. 470 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. The Duchess drew aside the drapery, and contemplated the rosy face of the infant slumberer. Then turning to her confidant, she said: "Three months since, and I hoped my firstborn would be a king! Away with those vain mockeries of royal birth! How suit they the destined vassal of the abhorred Lancastrian?" "Sweet lady," said the confidant, "did I not warn thee, from the first, that this alliance, to the injury of my lord Duke, and this dear boy, was already imminent? I had hoped thou mightest have prevailed with the Earl!" "He heeds me not he cares not forme!" exclaimed Isabel-, "his whole love is for Anne Anne who, without energy and pride, I scarcely have looked on as my equal! And now, to my younger sister, I must bow my knee pleased if she deign to bid me hold the skirt of her queenly robe! Never no, never!" ' ' Calm thyself ; the courier must part this night. My lord of Clarence is already in his chamber; he waits but thine assent to write to Edward that he rejects not his loving messages." The Duchess walked to and fro, in great disorder. "But to be thus secret and false to my father?" "Doth he merit that thou shouldst sacrifice thy child to him? Reflect! the King has no son! The English barons acknowl- edge not in girls a sovereign;* and, with Edward on the throne, thy son is heir-presumptive. Little chance that a male heir shall now be born to Queen Elizabeth, while from Anne and her bridegroom a long line may spring. Besides, no matter what parchment treaties may ordain, how can Clarence and his offspring ever be regarded by a Lancastrian king but as ene- mies to feed the prison or the block, when some false inven- tion gives the seemly pretext for extirpating the awful race." "Cease cease cease!" cried Isabel, in terrible struggles with herself. "Lady, the hour presses! And, reflect, a few lines are but words, to be confirmed or retracted as occasion suits! If Lord Warwick succeed, and King Edward lose his crown, ye can shape as ye best may your conduct to the time. But, if the Earl lose the day ; if again he be driven into exile; a few words now release you and yours from everlasting banishment; re- store your boy to his natural heritage; deliver you from the insolence of the Anjouite, who, methinks, even dared this very day to taunt your Highness " * Miss Strickland, " Life of Elizabeth of York," remarks : " How much Norman preju- dice in favor of S^lic !AKONS. CHAPTER II. THE MAN AWAKES IN THE SAGE, AND THE SHE-WOLF AGAIN HATH TRACKED THE LAMB. FROM the night in which Hastings had saved from the knives of the tymbesteres Sibyll and her father, his honor and chivalry had made him their protector. The people of the farm (a widow and her children, with the peasants in their em- ploy) were kindly and simple folks. What safer home for the wanderers than that to which Hastings had removed them ? The influence of Sibyll over his variable heart or fancy was renewed. Again vows were interchanged, and faith plighted. Anthony Woodville, Lord Rivers, who, however gallant an enemy, was still more than ever, since Warwick's exile, a formidable one, and who shared his sister's dislike to Hastings, was naturally, at that time in the fullest favor of King Edward, anxious to atone for the brief disgrace his brother-in-law had suffered during the later days of Warwick's administration. And Hast- ings, offended by the manners of the rival favorite, took one of the disgusts so frequent in the life of a courtier, and, despite his office as chamberlain, absented himself much from his sove- reign's company. Thus, in the reaction of his mind, the in- fluence of Sibyll was greater than it otherwise might have been. His visits to the farm grew regular and frequent. The widow believed him nearly related to Sibyll, and suspected Warner to be some attainted Lancastrian, compelled to hide in secret till his pardon was obtained; and no scandal was attached to the noble's visits, nor any surprise evinced at his attentive care for all that could lend a grace to a temporary refuge unfitting the quality of his supposed kindred. And in her entire confidence and reverential affection, Si- byll's very pride was rather soothed than wounded, by obliga- tions which were but proofs of love, and to which plighted troth gave her a sweet right. As for Warner, he had hitherto seemed to regard the great lord's attentions only as a tribute to his own science, and a testimony of the interest which a statesman might naturally feel in the invention of a thing that might benefit the realm. And Hastings had been delicate in the pre- texts of his visits. One time he called to relate the death of poor Madge, though he kindly concealed the manner of it, which he had discovered, but which opinion, if not law, for- bade him to attempt to punish drowning was but the orthodox ordeal of a suspected witch, and it was not without many scru- THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 477 pies that the poor woman was interred in holy ground. The search for the Eureka was a pretence that sufficed for count- less visits; and then, too, Hastings had counselled Adam to sell the ruined house, and undertaken the negotiation; and the new comforts of their present residence, and the expense of the maintenance, were laid to the account of the sale. Hastings had begun to consider Adam Warner as utterly blind and pas- sive to the things that passed under his eyes ; and his aston- ishment was great when, the morning after the visit we have just recorded, Adam suddenly lifting his eyes, and seeing the guest whispering soft tales in Sibyll's ear, rose abruptly, ap- proached the nobleman, took him gently by the arm, led him into the garden, and thus addressed him : "Noble lord, you have been tender and generous in our mis- fortunes. The poor Eureka is lost to me and the world for- ever. God's will be done ! Methinks Heaven designs thereby to rouse me to the sense of nearer duties; and I have a daugh- ter whose name I adjure you not to sully, and whose heart I pray you not to break. Come hither no more, my Lord Hastings." This speech, almost the only one which showed plain sense and judgment in the affairs of this life that the man of genius had ever uttered, so confounded Hastings, that he with diffi- culty recovered himself enough to say: "My poor scholar, what hath so suddenly kindled suspicions which wrong thy child and me?" "Last eve, when ye sate together, I saw your hand steal into hers, and suddenly I remembered the day when / was young and wooed her mother! And last night I slept not, and sense and memory became active for my living child, as they were wont to be only for the iron infant of my mind, and I said to myself: ' Lord Hastings is King Edward's friend, and King Edward spares not maiden honor. Lord Hastings is a mighty peer, and he will not wed the dowerless and worse than name- less girl ! ' Be merciful ! Depart depart ! ' ' "But," exclaimed Hastings, "if I love thy sweet Sibyll in all honesty if I have plighted to her my troth " "Alas! alas!" groaned Adam. "If I wait but my King's permission to demand her wedded hand, couldst thou forbid me the presence of my affianced?" "She loves thee, then?" said Adam, in a tone of great an- guish "she loves thee speak!" "It is my pride to think it." "Then go go at once; come back no more, till thou 478 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. wound up thy courage to brave the sacrifice; no, not till the priest is ready at the altar not till the bridegroom can claim the bride. And as that time will never come never never leave me to whisper to the breaking heart : ' Courage ; honor and virtue are left thee yet, and thy mother from heaven looks down on a stainless child* !" The resuscitation of the dead could scarcely have startled and awed the courtier more than this abrupt development of life and passion and energy in a man who had hitherto seemed to sleep in the folds of his thought, as a chrysalis in its web. But as we have always seen that ever, when this strange being woke from his ideal abstraction, he awoke to honor and cour- age and truth, so now, whether, as he had said, the absence of the Eureka left his mind to the sense of practical duties, or whether their common suffering had more endeared to him his gentle companion, and affection sharpened reason, Adam Warner became puissant and majestic in his rights and sanctity of father; greater in his homely household character, than when, in his mania of inventor and the sublime hunger of as- piring genius, he had stolen to his daughter's couch and waked her with the cry of "Gold!" Before the force and power of Adam's adjuration his out- stretched hand, the anguish, yet authority, written on his face all the art and self-possession of the accomplished lover deserted him, as one spellbound. He was literally without reply ; till, suddenly, the sight of Sibyll, who, surprised by this singu ar conference, but unsus- pecting its nature, now came from the house, relieved and nerved him ; and his first impulse was then, as ever, worthy and noble, such as showed, though dimly, how glorious a crea- ture he had been, if cast in a time and amidst a race which could have fostered the impulse into habit. "Brave old man!" he said, kissing the hand still raised in command, "thou hast spoken as beseems thee; and my an- swer I will tell thy child." Then hurrying to the wondering Sibyll, he resumed: "Your father says well, that not thus, dubious and in secret, should I visit the home blest by thy beloved presence I obey; I leave thee, Sibyll. I goto my King, as one who hath served him long and truly, and claim his guerdon thee!" "Oh, my lord!" exclaimed Sibyll, in generous terror: "be- think thee well remember what thou saidst but last eve. This King so fierce my name so hated! No! no! leave me. Farewell forever, if it be right, as what thou and my father say THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 479 must be. But thy life, thy liberty, thy welfare they are my happiness thou hast no right to endanger them!" And she fell at his knees. He raised, and strained her to his heart ; then resigning her to her father's arms, he said in a voice choked with emotion : "Not as peer and as knight, but as man, I claim my prerog- ative of home and hearth ! Let Edward frown call back his gifts banish me his court thou art more worth than all! Look for me sigh not weep not smile till we meet again ! ' ' He left them with these words, hastened to the stall where his steed stood, caparisoned it with his own hands, and rode with the speed of one whom passion spurs and goads, towards the Tower of London. But as Sibyll started from her father's arms, when she heard the departing hoofs of her lover's steed, to listen and to listen for the last sound that told of /'/, a terrible apparition, ever ominous of woe and horror, met her eye. On the other side of the orchard fence, which concealed her figure, but not her well-known face which peered above, stood the tymbestere, Graul. A shriek of terror at this recognition burst from Sibyll, as she threw herself again upon Adam's breast; but when he looked round to discover the cause of her alarm Graul was gone. CHAPTER III. VIRTUOUS RESOLVES SUBMITTED TO THE TEST OF VANITY AND THE WORLD. ON reaching his own house, Hastings learned that the court was still at Shene. He waited but till the retinue which his rank required were equipped and ready, and reached the court, from which of late he had found so many excuses to absent himself, before night. Edward was then at the banquet, and Hastings was too experienced a courtier to disturb him at such a time. In a mood unfit for companionship, he took his way to the apartments usually reserved for him, when a gentleman mei him by the way, and apprised him with great respect that the Lord Scales and Rivers had already appropriated those apartments to the principal waiting-lady of his Countess, but that other chambers, if less commodious and spacious, were at his command. Hastings had not the superb and more than regal pride of Warwick and Montagu, but this notice sensibly piqued and galled him, 4o Ti!F LAST Ol' THK KARONS. "My apartments as lord chamberlain as one of the captain- generals in the King's army given to the waiting-lady of Sir Anthony Woodville's wife! At whose order, sir?" "Her Highness the Queen's pardon me, my lord," and the gentleman, looking round and sinking his voice, continued "pardon me, her Highness added: 'If my lord chamberlain returns nt ere the week ends, he may find, not only the apart- ment, but the office, no longer free. ' My lord, we all love you forgive my zeal, and look well if you would guard your own." "Thanks, sir. Is my lord of Gloucester in the palace?" "He is, and in his chamber. He sits not long at the feast." "Oblige me, by craving his Grace's permission to wait on him at leisure I attend his answer here." Leaning against the wall of the corridor, Hastings gave him self up to other thoughts than those of love! So strong i&. habit, so powerful vanity or ambition, once indulged, that this puny slight made a sudden revulsion in the mind of the royal favorite; once more the agitated and brilliant court life stirred and fevered him ; that life, so wearisome when secure, became sweet when imperilled. To counteract his foes ; to humble his rivals; to regain the King's countenance; to baffle, with the easy art of his skilful intellect, every hostile stratagem such were the ideas that crossed and hurtled themselves, and Sibyll was forgotten. The gentleman reappeared. "Prince Richard besought my lord's presence with loving welcome"; and to the Duke's Apartment went Lord Hastings. Richard, clad in a loose chamber robe, which concealed the defects of his shape, rose from before a table covered with papers, and embraced Hast- ings with cordial affection. "Never more gladly hail to thee, dear William. I need thy wise counsels with the King, and I have glad tidings for thine own ear." "Pardteu, my Prince, the King, fnethinks, will scarce heed the counsels of a dead man." "Dead?" "Ay. At courts it seems men are dead their rooms filled their places promised or bestowed, if they come not, morn and night, to convince the King that they are alive." And Hast- ings, with constrained gayety, repeated the information he had received. "What would you, Hastings?" said the Duke, shrugging his shoulders, but with some latent meaning in his tone. "Lord Rivers were nought in himself; but his Jady is a mighty heir- THE LAST OF THE BAKONS. 48? ess,* and requires state, as she bestows pomp. Look round, and tell me what man ever maintained himself in power without the strong connections, the convenient dower, the acute, unseen, unsleeping woman-influence of some noble wife? How can a poor man defend his repute, his popular name, that airy but all-puissant thing we call dignity or station, against the pricks and stings of female intrigue and female gossip? But he marries, and lo, a host of fairy champions, who pinch the rival lozels unawares: his wife hath her army of courtpie and jupon, to array against the dames of his foes ! Wherefore, my friend, while thou art unwedded, think not to cope with Lord Rivers, who hath a wife, with three sisters, two aunts, and a score of she-cousins!" "And if," replied Hastings, more and more unquiet under the Duke's truthful irony "if I were now come to ask the King permission to wed " "If thou wert, and the bride elect were a lady, with power and wealth and manifold connections, and the practice of a court, thou wouldst be the mightiest lord in the kingdom since Warwick's exile." "And if she had but youth, beauty, and virtue?" "Oh, then, my Lord Hastings, pray thy patron saint for a war for in peace thou wouldst be lost amongst the crowd. But truce to these jests ; for thou art not the man to prate of youth, virtue, and such like, in sober earnest, amidst this work- day world, where nothing is young and nothing virtuous and listen to grave matters." The Duke then communicated to Hastings the last tidings received of the machinations of Warwick. He was in high spirits; for those last tidings but reported Margaret's refusal to entertain the proposition of a nuptial alliance with the Earl, though, on the other hand, the Duke of Burgundy, who was in constant correspondence with his spies, wrote word that War- wick was collecting provisions, from his own means, for more than 60,000 men; and that, with Lancaster or without, the Earl was prepared to match his own family interest against the armies of Edward. "And," said Hastings, "if all his family joined with him, what foreign king could be so formidable an invader? Mal- travers and the Mowbrays, Fauconberg, Westmoreland, Fitz- hugh, Stanley, Bonville, Worcester " "But happily," said Gloucester, "the Mowbrays have been * Elizabeth secured to her brother, Sir Anthony, the greatest heiress in the kingdom in the dauehter of Ixjrd Scales a wife, by the way, who is said to have been a mere child at the time of the marriage. 48^ THE LAST OF THE BARONS. allied also to the Queen's sister; Worcester detests Warwick ; Stanley always murmurs against us, a sure sign that he will light tor us; and Bonville I have in view a trusty Yorkist to whom the retainers of that house shall be assigned. But of that anon. What I now wish from thy wisdom is, to aid me in rousing Edward from his lethargy; he laughs at his danger, and neither communicates with his captains nor mans his coasts. His courage makes him a dullard." After some farther talk on these heads, and more detailed account of the preparations which Gloucester deemed necessary to urge on the King, the Duke, then, moving his chair nearer to Hastings, said, with a smile: "And now, Hastings, to thyself: it seems that thou hast not heard the news which reached us four days since the Lord Bonville is dead died three months * ago at his manor house in Devon. Thy Katherine is free, and in London. Well, man where is thy joy ? " "Time is time was/" said Hastings gloomily. "The day has passed when this news could rejoice me." "Passed! Nay, thy good stars themselves have fought for thee in delay. Seven goodly manors swell the fair widow's jointure; the noble dowry she brought returns to her. Her very daughter will bring thee power. Young Cecily Bonville, the heiress,f Lord Dorset demands in betrothal. Thy wife will be mother-in-law to thy Queen's son; on the other hand, she is already aunt to the Duchess of Clarence ; and George, be sure, sooner or later, will desert Warwick, and win his pardon. Powerful connections vast possessions a lady of immaculate name and surpassing beauty, and thy first love! (thy hand trembles!) thy first love thy sole love, and thy last!" "Prince Prince! forbear! Even if so in brief, Katherine loves me not.!" "Thou mistakest! I have seen her, and she loves thee not the less because her virtue so long concealed the love." Hastings uttered an exclamation of passionate joy, but again his face darkened. Gloucester watched him in silence; besides any motives sug- gested by the affection he then sincerely bore to Hastings, policy might well interest the Duke in the securing to so loyal a Yorkist the hand and the wealth of Lord Warwick's sister; * To those who have read the Paston Letters, it will not seem strange that in that day the death of a nobleman at his country seat should be so long in reaching the metropolis the ordinary purveyors of communication were the itinerant attendants of fairs. And a father might he ignorant for months together of the death of his son. t Afterwards married to Dorset. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 483 but prudently not pressing the subject farther, he said, in an altered and careless voice: "Pardon me if I have presumed on matters on which each man judges for himself. But as, despite all obstacles, one day or other Anne Nevile shall be mine, it would have delighted me to know a near connection in Lord Hastings. And now the hour grows late, I prithee let Edward find thee in his chamber." When Hastings attended the King, he at once perceived that Edward's manner was changed to him. At first he attributed the cause to the ill-offices of the Queen and her brother; but the King soon betrayed the true source of his altered humor. "My lord," he said abruptly, "I am no saint, as thou knowest; but there are some ties, par amour, which, in my mind, become not knights and nobles about a king's person." "My liege, I arede you not!" "Tush, William!" replied the King, more gently, "thou hast more than once wearied me with application for the pardon of the nigromancer, Warner the whole court is scandalized at thy love for his daughter. Thou hast absented thyself from thine office on poor pretexts ! I know thee too well not to be aware that love alone can make thee neglect thy King thy time has been spent at the knees or in the arms of this young sorceress ! One word for all times he whom a witch snares cannot be a king's true servant! I ask of thee, as a right, or as a grace see this fair ribaude no more ! What, man, are there not ladies enough in merry England, that thou shouldst undo thyself for so unchristian a fere?" "My King, how can this poor maid have angered thee thus?" "Knowest thou not " began the King sharply, and chang- ing color as he eyed his favorite's mournful astonishment "Ah, well!" he muttered to himself, "they have been dis- creet hitherto, but how long will they be so? I am in time yet. It is enough " he added, aloud and gravely "it is enough that our learned * Bungey holds her father as a most pestilent wizard, whose spells are muttered for Lancaster and the rebel Warwick; that the girl hath her father's unholy gifts, and I lay my command on thee, as liege King, and I pray thee, as loving friend, to see no more either child or sire! Let this suffice and now I will hear thee on state matters." Whatever Hastings might feel, he saw that it was no time to venture remonstrance with the King, and strove to collect his thoughts, and speak indifferently on the high interests to which Edward invited him ; but he was so distracted and absent that * It will be remembered ibat Edward himself was a man of no learning. 484 '1'HE LAST OK THE BARONS. he made but a sorry counsellor, and the King, taking pity on him, dismissed his chamberlain for the night. Sleep came not to the couch of Hastings ; his acuteness per- ceived that whatever Edward's superstition and he was a devout believer in witchcraft some more worldly motive actu- ated him in his resentment to poor Sibyll. But, as we need scarcely say that neither from the abstracted Warner, nor his innocent daughter, had Hastings learned the true cause, he wearied himself with vain conjectures, and knew not that Ed- ward involuntarily did homage to the superior chivalry of his gallant favorite, when he dreaded that, above all men, Has- tings should be made aware of the guilty secret which the phil- osopher and his child could tell. If Hastings gave his name and rank to Sibyll, how powerful a weight would the tale of a witness now so obscure suddenly acquire! Turning from the image of Sibyll, thus beset with thoughts of danger, embarrassment, humiliation, disgrace, ruin, Lord Hastings recalled the words of Gloucester: and the stately image of Katherine, surrounded with every memory of early passion, every attribute of present ambition, rose before him, and he slept at last, to dream not of Sibyll and the humble orchard, but of Katherine in her maiden bloom of the tryst- ing tree, by the Halls of Middleham of the broken ring of the rapture and the woe of his youth's first high-placed love. CHAPTER IV. THE STRIFE WHICH SIBYLL HAD COURTED, BETWEEN KATHE- RINE AND HERSELF, COMMENCES IN SERIOUS EARNEST. HASTINGS felt relieved when, the next day, several couriers arrived with tidings so important as to merge all considerations into those of state. A secret messenger from the French court threw Gloucester into one of those convulsive passions of rage to which, with all his intellect and dissimulation, he was some- times subject by the news of Anne's betrothal to Prince Ed- ward ; nor did the letter from Clarence to the King, attesting the success of one of his schemes, comfort Richard for the failure of the other. A letter from Burgundy confirmed the report of the spy, announced Duke Charles's intention of send- ing a fleet to prevent Warwick's invasion, and rated King Ed- ward sharply for his supineness in not preparing suitably against so formidable a foe. The gay and reckless presump- tion of Edward, worthier of a knight-errant than a monarch, THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 485 laughed at the \vordfnvasion. "Pest on Burgundy's ships! I only wish that the Earl would land ! " * he said to his council. None echoed the wish! But later in the day came a third messenger with information that roused all Edward's ire ; care- less of each danger in the distance, he ever sprang into energy and vengeance when a foe was already in the field. And the Lord Fitzhugh (the young nobleman before seen among the rebels at Olney, and who had now succeeded to the honors of his house) had suddenly risen in the north, at the head of a for- midable rebellion. No rn.an had so large an experience in the warfare of those districts, the temper of the people, and the in- clinations of the various towns and lordships, as Montagu; he was the natural chief to depute against the rebels. Some animated discussion took place as to the dependence to be placed in the Marquis at such a crisis; but while the more wary held it safer, at all hazards, not to leave him unem- ployed, and to command his services in an expedition that would remove him from the neighborhood of his brother, should the latter land, as was expected, on the coast of Nor- folk, Edward, with a blindness of conceit that seems almost incredible, believed firmly in the infatuated loyalty of the man whom he had slighted and impoverished, and whom, by his offer of his daughter to the Lancastrian Prince, he had yet more recently cozened and deluded. Montagu was hastily summoned, and received orders to march at once to the north, levy forces and assume their command. The Marquis obeyed with fewer words than were natural to him, left the presence, sprang on his horse, and as he rode from the palace, drew a let- ter from his bosom. "Ah, Edward!" said he, setting his teeth; "so, after the solemn betrothal of thy daughter to my son, thou wouldst have given her to thy Lancastrian enemy. Coward, to bribe his peace ! Recreant, to bely thy word ! I thank thee for this news, Warwick; for without that injury I feel I could never, when the hour came, have drawn sword against this faith- less man especially for Lancaster. Ay, tremble, thou who deridest all truth and honor! He who himself betrays, cannot call vengeance, treason!" Meanwhile Edward departed, for farther preparations, to the Tower of London. New evidences of the mine beneath his feet here awaited the incredulous King. On the dt>or of St. Paul's, of many of the metropolitan churches, on the standard at Chepe, and on London Bridge, during the past night, had been affixed, none knew by whom, the celebrated proclamation, * Com. iii. c. 5. 486 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. signed by Warwick and Clarence (drawn up in the bold style of the Earl), announcing their speedy return, containing a brief and vigorous description of the misrule of the realm, and their determination to reform all evils and redress all wrongs.* Though the proclamation named not the restoration of the Lancastrian line (doubtless from regard for Henry's safety), all men in the metropolis were already aware of the formid- able league between Margaret and Warwick. Yet, even still, Edward smiled in contempt, for he had faith in the letter received from Clarence, and felt assured that the moment the Duke and the Earl landed, the former would betray his com- panion stealthily to the King ; so, despite all these exciting subjects of grave alarm, the nightly banquet at the Tower was never merrier and more joyous. Hastings left the feast ere it deepened into revel, and, absorbed in various and profound contemplation, entered his apartment. He threw himself on a seat, and leant his face on his hands. " Oh, no ! no ! " he muttered ; " now, in the hour when true greatness is most seen when prince and peer crowd around me for counsel when noble, knight, and squire, crave per- mission to march in the troop of which Hastings is the leader noui I feel how impossible, how falsely fair, the dream that I could forget all all for a life of obscurity for a young girl's love ! Love, as if I had not felt its delusions to palling ! Love, as if I could love again ; or, if love alas, it must be a light reflected but from memory ! And Katherine is free once more ! " His eye fell, as he spoke, perhaps in shame and remorse that, feeling thus now, he had felt so differently when he bade Sibyll smile till his return ! "It is the air of this accursed court which taints our best resolves ! " he murmured as an apology for himself ; but scarcely was the poor excuse made, than the murmur broke into an exclamation of surprise and joy. A letter lay before him he recognized tiie hand of Katherine. What years had passed since her writing had met his eye since the lines that bade him ' farewell, and forget ' ! Those lines had been blot- ted with tears, and these, as he tore open the silk that bound them these, the trace of tears, too, was on them ! Yet they were but few, and in tremulous characters. They ran thus : " To-morrow, before noon, the Lord Hastings is prayed to visit one whose life he hath saddened by the thought and the accusation that she hath clouded and embittered his. "KATHERINE UE BONVILLE." * See /or this proclamation, Ellis's " Original Letters," vol. i, second series, letter 42. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 487 Leaving Hastings to such meditations of fear or of hope as these lines could call forth, we lead the reader to a room, not very distant from his own the room of the illustrious Friar Bungey. The ex-tregetour was standing before the captured Eureka, and gazing on it with an air of serio-comic despair and rage. We say the Eureka, as comprising all the ingenious contriv- ances towards one simple object invented by its maker, an harmonious compound of many separate details ; but the iron creature no longer deserved that superb appellation, for its various members were now disjointed and dislocated, and lay pele mele in multiform confusion. By the side of the friar stood a female enveloped in a long scarlet mantle, with the hood partially drawn over the face, but still leaving visible the hard, thin, villanous lips, the stern, sharp chin, and the jaw resolute and solid as if hewed from stone. " I tell thee, Graul," said the friar, "that thou hast had far the best of the bargain. I have put this diabolical contrivance to all manner of shapes, and have muttered over it enough Latin to have charmed a monster into civility. And the ac- cursed thing, after nearly pinching off three fingers, and scalding me with seething water, and spluttering and sput- tering enough to have terrified any man but Friar Bungey out of his skin, is obstinatus ut mulum dogged as a mule ; and was absolutely good for nought, till I happily thought of separating this vessel from all the rest of the gear, and it serves now for the boiling of my eggs ! But by the soul of Father Merlin, whom the saints assoil, I need not have given myself all this torment, for a thing which, at best, does the work of a farth- ing pipkin ! " " Quick, master the hour is late ! I must go while yet the troopers, and couriers, and riders, hurrying to and fro, keep the gates from closing. What wantestthou with Graul?" " More reverence, child ! " growled the friar. " What I want of thee is briefly told ; if thou hast the wit to serve me. This miserable Warner must himself expound to me the uses and trick of this malignant contrivance. Thou must find and bring him hither ! " " And if he will not expound ? " " The deputy-governor of the Tower will lend me a stone dungeon, and, if need be, the use of the brake, to unlock the dotard's tongue." "On what plea?" 4 S8 HIE LAST OF THE BARONS. " That Adam Warner is a wizard, in the pay of Lord War- wick, whom a more mighty master like myself alone can duly examine and defeat." " And if I bring thee the sorcerer what wilt thou teach me in return ? " " What desirest thou most ? " Graul mused, and said : " There is war in the wind. Graul follows the camp her trooper gets gold and booty. But the trooper is stronger than Graul ; and when the trooper sleeps, it is with his knife by his side, and his sleep is light and broken, for he has wicked dreams. Give me a potion to make sleep deep, that his eyes may not open when Graul niches his gold, and his hand may be too heavy to draw the knife from its sheath ! " " Jmmunda detestabilis ! thine own paramour ! " "He hath beat me with his bridle rein ; he hath given a sil- ver broad piece to Grisell Grisell hath sate on his knee-v Graul never pardons ! " The Friar, rogue as he was, shuddered : " I cannot help thee to murder, I cannot give thee the potion ; name some other reward." " I go" " Nay, nay think pause." " I know where Warner is hid. By this hour to-morrow night, I can place him in thy power. Say the word, and pledge me the draught." " Well, well, mulier abominabilis that is, irresistible bon- nibel I cannot give thee the potion ; but I will teach thee an art which can make sleep heavier than the anodyne, and which wastes not like the essence, but strengthens by usage ; an art thou shall have at thy finger's ends, and which often draws from the sleeper the darkest secrets of his heart ! " * "It is magic," said Graul, with joy. "Ay, magic." "I will bring thee the Wizard. But listen; he never stirs abroad, save with his daughter. I must bring both." "Nay, I want not the girl." "But I dare not throttle her, for a great lord loves her who would find out the deed and avenge it ; and, if she be left behind, she will go to the lord, and the lord will discover what thou hast done with the Wizard, and thou wilt hang ! " * We have before said that animal magnetism was known to Bungey, and familiar to th necromancers or rather theurgists of the middle ages. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 489 " Never say, ' Hang ' to me, Graul it is ill-mannered and ominous. Who is the lord ? " " Hastings." "Pest ! And already he hath been searching for the thing yonder ; and I have brooded over it night and day, like a hen over a chalk egg only that the egg does not snap off the hen's claws, as that diabolism would fain snap off my digits. But the war will carry Hastings away in its whirlwind ; and, in danger, the Duchess is my slave, and will bear me through all. So thou mayst bring the girl ; and strangle her not ; for no good ever comes- of a murder unless indeed, it be absolutely necessary ! " " I know the men who will help me, bold ribauds, whom I will guerdon myself ; for I want not thy coins, but thy craft. When the curfew has tolled, and the bat hunts the moth, we will bring thee the quarry " Graul turned ; but as she gained the door, she stopped, and said abruptly, throwing back her hood : " What age dost thou deem me? " " Marry," quoth the Friar, " an' I had not seen thee on thy mother's knee, when she followed my stage of tregetour, I should have guessed thee for thirty, but thou hast led too jolly life to look still in the blossom why speer'st thou f he question ?" " Because when trooper and ribaud say to me : ' Graul, thou art too worn and too old to drink of our cup, and sit in the lap, to follow the young fere to the battle, and weave the blithe dance in the fair,' I would depart from my sisters, and have a hut of my own and a black cat without a white hair, and steal herbs by the new moon, and bones from the charnel and curse those whom I hate, and cleave the misty air on a besom, like Mother Halkin of Edmonton. Ha ! ha ! Master, thou shall present me then to the Sabbat. Graul has the mettle for a bonny witch ! " The tymbestere vanished with a laugh. The friar muttered a pater-noster for once perchance, devoutly ; and after having again deliberately scanned the disjecta membra of the Eureka, gravely took forth a duck's egg from his cupboard, and applied the master-agent of the machine which Warner hoped was to change the face of the globe to the only practical utility it possessed to the mountebank's comprehension ! 490 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. CHAPTER V. THE MEETING OF HASTINGS AND KATHERINE. THE next morning, while Edward was engaged in levying from his opulent citizens all the loans he could extract, know- ing that gold is the sinew of war while Worcester was manning the fortress of the Tower, in which the Queen, then near her confinement, was to reside during the campaign while Gloucester was writing commissions to captains and barons to raise men while Sir Anthony Lord Rivers was ordering im- provements in his dainty damasquine armor and the whole Fortress Palatine was animated and alive with the stir of the coming strife Lord Hastings escaped from the bustle, and re- paired to the house of Katherine. With what motive, with what intentions, was not known clearly to himself ; perhaps, for there was bitterness in his very love for Katherine, to en- joy the retaliation due to his own wounded pride, and say to the :dol of his youth, as he had said to Gloucester : " Time is time was "; perhaps with some remembrance of the faith due to Sibyll, wakened up the more now that Katherine seemed actually to escape from the ideal image into the real woman, to be easily wooed and won. But certainly Sibyll's cause was not wholly lost, though greatly shaken and endangered, when Lord Hastings alighted at Lady Bonville's gate ; but his face gradually grew paler, his mien less assured, as he drew near and nearer to the apartment and the presence of the widowed Katherine. She was seated alone, and in the same room in which he had last seen her. Her deep mourning only served, by contrast- ing the pale and exquisite clearness of her complexion, to en- hance her beauty. Hastings bowed low, and seated himselt by her side in silence. The Lady of Bonville eyed him for some moments with an unutterable expression of melancholy and tenderness. All her pride seemed to have gone ; the very character of her face was changed : grave severity had become soft timidity, and stately self-control was broken into the unmistaken struggle of hope and fear. "Hastings William!" she said, in a gentle and low whis- per, and at the sound of that last name from those lips, the noble felt his veins thrill and his heart throb. "If," she con- tinued, "the step I have taken seems to thee unwomanly f.nd too bold, know, at least, what was my design and my ex- THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 49! cuse. There was a time (and Katherine blushed) when them knowest well that, had this hand been mine to bestow, it would have been his who claimed the half of this ring." And Katherine took from a small crystal casket the well -remembered token. " The broken ring foretold but the broken troth," said Hastings, averting his face. " Thy conscience rebukes thy words," replied Katherine sadly ; " I pledged my faith, if thou couldst win my father's word. What maid, and that maid a Nevile, could so forget duty and honor, as to pledge thee more ? We were severed. Pass, oh, pass over that time ! My father loved me dearly ; but when did pride and ambition ever deign to take heed of the wild fancies of a girl's heart ? Three suitors, wealthy lords, whose alliance gave strength to my kindred, in the day when their very lives depended on their swords, were rivals for Earl Salisbury's daughter. Earl Salisbury bade his daughter choose. Thy great friend, and my own kinsman, Duke Rich- ard of York, himself pleaded for thy rivals. He proved to me that my disobedience if, indeed, for the first time, the child of my house could disobey its chief would be an eternal barrier to thy fortune ; that while Salisbury was thy foe, he himself could not advance thy valiancy and merit ; that it was with me to forward thy ambition, though I could not reward thy love ; that from the hour I was another's, my mighty kins- men themselves for they were generous would be the first to aid the Duke in thy career. Hastings, even then I would have prayed, at least, to be the bride, not of man, but God. But I was trained as what noble demoiselle is not ? to sub- mit wholly to a parent's welfare and his will. As a nun, I could but pray for the success of my father's cause ; as a wife, I should bring to Salisbury and to York the retainers and the stronghold of a baron ! I obeyed. Hear me on. Of the three suitors for my hand, two were young and gallant women deemed them fair and comely ; and had my choice been one of these, thou mightest have deemed that a new love had chased the old. Since choice was mine, I chose the man love could not choose, and took this sad comfort to my heart : '//, the forsaken Hastings, will see, in my very choice, that I was but the slave of duty my choice itself my penance.' " Katherine paused, and tears dropped fast from her eyes. Hastings held his hand over his countenance, and only by the heaving of his heart was his emotion visible. Katherine resumed : '' Once wedded, I knew what became a wife. We met again ; 492 THE LAST OF THE BARONS. and to thy first disdain and anger (which it had been dishonor in me to soothe by one word that said, ' The wife remembers the maiden's love ') to these, thy first emotions, succeeded the more cruel revenge, which would have changed sorrow and struggle to remorse and shame. And then, then weak woman that I was I wrapped myself in scorn and pride. Nay, I felt deep anger was it unjust? that thou couldst so misread, and so repay, the heart which had nothing left, save virtue, to compensate for love. And yet, yet, often when thou didst deem me most hard, most proof against memory and feeling but why relate the trial ? Heaven supported me, and if thou lovest me no longer, thou canst not despise me." At these last words Hastings was at her feet, bending over her hand, and stifled by his emotions. Katherine gazed at him for a moment through her own tears, and then resumed : " But thou hadst, as man, consolations no woman would desire or covet. And oh, what grieved me most was, not no, not the jealous, the wounded vanity, but it was. at least this self-accusation, this remorse, that, but for one goading remem- brance, of love returned and love forsaken, thou hadst never so descended from thy younger nature, never so trifled with the solemn trust of TIME. Ah, when I have heard, or seen, or fancied one fault in thy maturer manhood, unworthy of thy bright youth, anger of myself has made me bitter and stern to thee ; and if I taunted, or chid, or vexed thy pride, how little didst thou know that through the too shrewish humor spoke the too soft remembrance ! For this for this ; and believing that through all, alas ! ^ image was not replaced when my hand was free, I was gratefu! that I might still (the lady's pale cheek grew brighter than the rose, her voice faltered, and became low and indistinct) I might still think it mine to atone to thee for the past. And if," she added, with a sudden and generous energy, " if in this I have bowed my pride, it is be- cause by pride thou wert wounded ; and now, at last, thou hast a just revenge." O terrible rival for thee, lost Sibyll ! Was it wonderful that, while that head drooped upon his breast, while in that en- chanted change which love the softener makes in lips long scornful, eyes long proud and cold, he felt that Katherine Nevile tender, gentle, frank without boldness, lofty without arrogance had replaced the austere dame of Bonville, whom he half-hated while he wooed oh, was it wonderful that the soul of Hastings fled back to the old time, forgot the inter- vening vows and more chill affections, and repeated only with LAST OF THE BARONS. 493 passionate lips : " Katharine, loved still, loved ever mine, mine at last ! " Then followed delicious silence ; then vows, confessions, questions, answers the thrilling interchange of hearts long divided, and now rushing into one. And time rolled on, till Katherine, gently breaking from her lover, said : " And now that thou hast the right to know and guide my projects, approve, I pray thee, my present purpose. War awaits thee, and we must part awhile ! " At these words her brow darkened, and her lip quivered. " Oh, that I should have lived to mourn the day when Lord Warwick, untrue to Salisbury and to York, joined his arms with Lancaster and Margaret the day when Katherine could blush for the brother she had deemed the glory of her house ! No, no (she continued, as Hastings interrupted her with generous excuses for the Earl, and allusion to the known slights he had re- ceived) No, no ; make not his cause the worse, by telling me that an unworthy pride, the grudge of some thwart to his policy or power, has made him forget what was due to the memory of his kinsman York, to the mangled corpse of his father Salisbury. Thinkest thou, that but for this, I could " She stopped, but Hastings divined her thought, and guessed that, if spoken, it had run thus : " That I could, even now, have received the homage of one who departs to meet, with banner and clarion, my brother as his foe?" The lovely sweetness of the late expression had gone from Katherine's face, and its aspect showed that her high and ancestral spirit had yielded but to one passion. She pursued : " While this strife lasts, it becomes my widowhood, and kin- dred position with the Earl, to retire to the convent my mother founded. To-morrow I depart." " Alas ! " said Hastings, " thou speakest of the strife as if but a single field. But Warwick returns not to these shores, nor bows himself to league with Lancaster, for a chance haz- ardous and desperate, as Edward too rashly deems it. It is in vain to deny that the Earl is prepared for a grave and length- ened war, and much I doubt whether Edward can resist his power ; for the idolatry of the very land will swell the ranks of so dread a rebel. What if he succeed what if we be driven into exile, as Henry's friends before us what if the king-maker be the king-dethroner ? then, Katherine, then, once more thou wilt be at the hest of thy hostile kindred, and once more, dowered as thou art, and thy womanhood still in its richest bloom, thy hand will be lost to Hastings." 494 THE I'AST OF THE BARONS. " Nay, if that be all thy fear, take with thee this pledge that Warwick's treason to the house for which my father fell, dissolves his power over one driven to disown him as a brother, knowing Earl Salisbury, had he foreseen such disgrace, had disowned him as a son. And if there be defeat, and flighl v and exile, wherever thou wanderest, Hastings, shall Katherine be found beside thee. Fare thee well, and Our Lady shield thee ; may thy lance be victorious against all foes save one. Thou wilt forbear my that is, the Earl! 1 ' And Katherine, softened at that thought, sobbed aloud. "And come triumph or defeat, I have thy pledge?" said Hastings, soothing her. " See," said Katherine, taking the broken ring from the cas- ket ; " now, for the first time since I bore the name of Bon- ville, I lay this relic on my heart art thou answered ? " CHAPTER VI. HASTINGS LEARNS WHAT HAS BEFALLEN SIBYLL REPAIRS TO THE KING, AND ENCOUNTERS AN OLD RIVAL. " IT is destiny," said Hastings, to himself, when early the next Corning he was on his road to the farm. " It is destiny and who can resist his fate ! " " It is destiny phrase of the weak human heart ! " It is destiny ! " dark apology for every error ! The strong and the virtuous admit no destiny ! On earth, guides Conscience ; in heaven, watches God. And Destiny is but the phantom we invoke to silence the one, to dethrone the other ! Hastings spared not his good steed. With great difficulty had he snatched a brief respite from imperious business, to accomplish the last poor duty now left to him to fulfil to confront the maid whose heart he had seduced in vain, and say, at length, honestly and firmly : " I cannot wed thee. Forget me, and farewell." Doubtless, his learned and ingenious mind conjured up softer words than these, and more purfled periods wherein to dress the iron truth. But in these two sentences the truth lay. He arrived at the farm he entered the house he felt it as a reprieve, that he met not the bounding step of the welcoming Sibyll. He sate down in the humble chamber, and waited awhile in patience no voice was heard. The silence at length surprised and alarmed him. He proceeded farther. He was met by the widowed owner of the house, who THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 495 Was weeping ; and her first greeting prepared him for what had chanced. " Oh, my lord, you have come to tell me they are safe they have not fallen into the hands of their enemies the good gentleman, so meek the poor lady, so fair ! " Hastings stood aghast a few sentences more explained all that he had already guessed. A strange man had arrived the evening before at the house, praying Adam and his daughter to accompany him to the Lord Hastings, who had been thrown from his horse, and was now in a cottage in the neighboring lane not hurt dangerously, but unaLIe to be removed and who had urgent matters to communicate. Not questioning the truth of this story, Adam and Sibyl had hurried forth, and returned no more. Alarmed by their long absence, the widow, who had first received the message from the stranger, went herself to the cottage, and found that the story was a fable. Every search had since been made for Adam and his daughter, but in vain. The widow, confirmed in her previous belief that her lodgers had been attainted Lancastrians, could but suppose that they had been thus betrayed to their enemies. Hastings heard this with a dismay and remorse impossible to express. His only conjecture was that the King had discovered their retreat, and taken this measure to break off the intercourse he had so sternly denounced. Full of these ideas, he hastily remounted, and stopped not till once more at the gates of the Tower. Hastening to Edward's closet, the moment he saw the King, he exclaimed, in great emotion : " My liege, my liege, do not, at this hour, when 1 have need of my whole energy to serve thee, do not madden my brain, and palsy my arm. This old man the poor maid Sibyll Warner speak ; my liege only tell me they are safe promise me they shall go free, and I swear to obey thee in all else ! I will thank thee in the battle-field ! " " Thou art mad, Hastings ! " said the King, in great aston- ishment. " Hush ! " and he glanced significantly at a person who stood before several heaps of gold, ranged upon a table in the recess of the room. " See," he whispered, " yonder is the goldsmith, who hath brought me a loan from himself and his fellows ! Pretty tales for the city thy folly will send abroad ! " But before Hastings could vent his impatient answer, this person, to Edward's still greater surprise, had advanced from his place, and forgetting all ceremony, had seized Hastings by the hem of his surcoat, exclaiming : " My lord, my lord, what new horror is this ? Sibyll ! methought she was worthless, and had fled to thee ! " "Ten thousand devils ! " shouted the King " Am I ever to 496 liiK LAST OF THE BARON >.. be tormented by that damnable wizard and his witch child} And is it, Sir Peer and Sir Goldsmith, in your King's closet that ye come, the very eve before he marches to battle, to spear and glower at each other like two madmen as ye are ! " Neither peer nor goldsmith gave way, till the courtier, nat- urally recovering himself the first, fell on his knee, and said, with firm, though profound respect : " Sire, if poor William Hastings has ever merited from the King one kindly thought, one generous word, forgive now \vhatever may displease thee in his passion or his suit, and tell him what prison contains those whom it would forever dishonor his knighthood to know punished and endangered for his offence." " My lord ! " answered the King, softened, but still sur- prised, " think you seriously that I, who but reluctantly, in this lovely month, leave my green lawns of Shene to save a crown, could have been vexing my brain by stratagems to seize a lass, whom I swear by St. George I do not envy thee in the least ? If that does not suffice, incredulous dullard, why then take my kingly word, never before passed for so slight an occasion, that I know nothing whatsoever of thy damsel's whereabout nor her pestilent father's where they abode of late where they now be and, what is more, if any man has usurped his King's right to imprison the King's subjects, find him out, and name his punishment. Art thou convinced ? " " I am, my liege," said Hastings. " But " began the gold mith. " Holloa, you too, sir ! This is too much ! We have con- descended to answer the man who arms three thousand retainers " " And I, please your Highness, bring you the gold to pay them," said the trader bluntly. The King bit his lip, and then burst into his usual merry laugh. " Thou art in the right, Master Alwyn. Finish counting the pieces, and then go and consult with my chamberlain he must off with the cock-crow but, since ye seem to understand each other, he shall make thee his lieutenant of search, and I will sign any order he pleases for the recovery of the lost wis- dom and the stolen beauty. Go and calm thyself, Hastings." " I will attend you presently, my lord," said Alwyn, aside, "in your own apartment." " Do so," said Hastings ; and grateful for the King's con- sideration, he sought his rooms. There, indeed, Alwyn soon joined him, and learned from the nobleman what filled him at THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 497 Once with joy and terror. Knowing that Warner and Sibyll had left the Tower, he had surmised that the girl's virtue had at last succumbed, and it delighted him to hear from Lord Hastings, whose word to men was never questionable, the sol- emn assurance of her unstained chastity. But he trembled at this mysterious disappearance, and knew not to whom to impute the snare, till the penetration of Hastings suddenly alighted near, at least, to the clue. " The Duchess of Bedford," said he, " ever increasing in superstition as danger increases, may have desired to re-find so great a scholar, and reputed an as- trologer and magician if so, all is safe. On the other hand, her favorite, the friar, ever bore a jealous grudge to poor Adam, and may have sought to abstract him from her Grace's search here, there may be molestation to Adam, but surely no danger to Sibyll. Hark ye, Alwyn, thou lovest the maid more worthily, and " Hastings stopped short, for such is infirm human nature, that, though he had mentally resigned Sibyll forever, he could not yet calmly face the thought of resigning her to a rival. "Thou lovest her," he renewed, more coldly, "and to thee, therefore, I may safely trust the search, which time, and circumstance, and a soldier's duty forbid to me. And be- lieve oh, believe, that I say not this from a passion which may move thy jealousy, but rather with a brother's holy love. If thou canst but see her safe, and lodged where no danger nor wrong can find her, thou hast no friend in the wide world whose service through life thou mayst command like mine." " My lord," said Alwyn dryly, " I want no friends ! Young as I am, I have lived long enough to see that friends follow fortune, but never make it ! I will find this poor maid and her honored father, if I spend my last groat on the search. Get me but such an order from the King as may place the law at my control, and awe even her Grace of Bedford and I prom- ise the rest ! " Hastings much relieved, deigned to press the goldsmith's reluctant hand ; and, leaving him alone for a few minutes, returned with a warrant from the King, which seemed to Alwyn sufficiently precise and authoritative. The goldsmith then departed, and first he sought the friar, but found him not at home. Bungey had taken with him, as was his wont, the keys of his mysterious apartment. Alwyn then hastened else- where, to secure those experienced in such a search, and to head it in person. At the Tower the evening was passed in bustle and excitement the last preparations for departure. 498 THE LAST OP THE BARONfe. The Queen, who was then far advanced towards her confine- ment, was, as we before said, to remain at the Tower, which was now strongly manned. Roused from her wonted apathy by the imminent dangers that awaited Edward, the night was passed by her in tears and prayers by him in the sound sleep of confident valor. The next morning departed for the north the several leaders Gloucester, Rivers, Hastings, and the King. CHAPTER VII. THE LANDING OF LORD WARWICK, AND THE EVENTS THAT ENSUE THEREON. AND Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, " prepared such a greate navie as lightly hath not been scene before, gathered in manner of all nations, which armie laie at the mouth of the Seyne ready to fight with the Earle of Warwick, when he should set out of his harborovve." * But the winds fought for the Avenger. In the night came " a terrible tempest," which scattered the Duke's ships " one from another, so that two of them were not in cornpagnie together in one place"; and when the tempest had done its work, it passed away, and the gales were fair, and the heaven was clear. When, the next day, the Earl "halsed up the sayles," and came in sight of Dartmouth. It was not with an army of foreign hirelings that Lord War- wick set forth on his mighty enterprise. Scanty indeed were the troops he brought from France for he had learned from England that " men, so much daily and hourely desired and wished so sore his arrival and return, that almost all men were in harness, looking for his landyng." f As his ships neared the * Hall, p. 282. Ed. 1809. t The popular feeling in favor of the Earl is described by Hall, with somewhat more eloquence and vigor than are common with that homely chronicler : " The absence of the Earle of Warwick made the common people daily more and more to long, and bee desirous to have the sight of him, and presently to behold his personage. For they judged that the sunne was clerely taken from the world when hee was absent. In such high estimation, amongst the people, was his name, that neither no one manne, they had in so much honor, neither no one persone they so much praised, or, to the clouds, so highly extolled. What shall I say ? His only name sounded in every song, in the mouth of the common people, and his persone (effigies) was represented with great reverence when publique plaies or open triumphes should bee shewed or set furthe abrode in the stretes," etc. This lively passage, if not too highly colored, serves to show us the rude saturnalian kind of liberty th,.t existed, even under a king so vindictive as Edward IV. Though an individual might be hanged for the jest 'that he would make his son heir to the crown (viz., the grocer's shop, which bore that sign), yet no tyranny could deal with the sentiment of the masses. In our own day, it would be less safe than in that, to nr.ake public exhibition " in plaies and triumphes," of sympathy with a mac attainted as a traitor, and in open rebellion to the crown. THE LAST OF THE BARONS. 499 coast, and the Banner of the Ragged Staff, worked in gold, shone in the sun, the shores swarmed with armed crowds, not to resist but to welcome. From cliff to cliff, wide and far, blazed rejoicing bonfires ; and from cliff to cliff, wide and far, burst the shout, when, first of all his men, bareheaded, but, save the burgonot, in complete mail, the popular hero leapt to shore. "When the Earle had taken land, he made a proclamation, in the name of King Henry VI., upon high paynes, command- ing and charging all men apt or able to bear armor, to prepare themselves to fight against Edward, Duke of York, who had untruly usurped the croune and dignity of this realm." * And where was Edward ? afar, following the forces of Fitz- hugh and Robin of Redesdale, who, by artful retreat, - drew him farther and farther northward, and left all the other quarters of the kingdom free, to send their thousands to the banners of Lancaster and Warwick. And even as the news of the Earl's landing reached the King, it spread also through all the town? of the north and all the towns in the north were in " a great rore, and made fires, and sang songs, crying ' King Henry ! King Henry ! a Warwicke a Warwicke ! ' ' But his warlike and presumptuous spirit forsook not the chief of that bloody and fatal race the line of the English Pelops " bespattered with kindred gore." f A messenger from Burgundy was in his tent when the news reached him. "Back to the Duke ! " cried Edward ; " tell hi