THE 
 
 ROMANCE OF HISTORY. 
 E NGLAND.
 
 .a /.A JO XL 2
 
 THE " CHANDOS CLASSICS." 
 
 THE 
 
 ROMANCE OF HISTORY 
 
 ENGLAND. 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY NEELE. 
 
 With Illustrations by T. Landseer. 
 
 LONDON AND NEW YORK 
 
 FREDERICK WARNE AND CO. 
 
 1891
 
 LOKDOK t 
 SRADBURT, AOSKW. t CO. LJMD., PRINTERS, 

 
 PREFACE. 
 
 E Romance of the History of England was the first of a 
 -^ series of historical Tales, including France, Italy, Spain, 
 India, &c., which obtained great popularity when issued. 
 
 The copyright having passed to the present publishers, they 
 have considered that they will add to the literary pleasure of 
 another generation by reproducing them in a compact form, and 
 each complete in a single volume, with the original illustrations. 
 
 The text of the narratives has been left intact, but where modern 
 historical research has shown that the Fiction varies too palpably 
 from the Fact, notes have been added. 
 
 2023871
 
 UN 
 
 JLSOY 'iO 3/.U 3HT 
 
 i 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 
 
 THE NORMAN LINE. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 WULSTAN OF WORCESTER ...... . 3 
 
 THE RED KING'S DREAM ........ 19 
 
 THE CONQUEST OF NORMANDY ; OR, THE MONK'S THREE 
 VISITS ........... 33 
 
 THE LORD OF GREECE . . . . wr)|t*rr ^HT* * 48 
 
 THE PORTRAIT . . . . , \ t .60 
 
 THE SAXON LINE RESTORED. *** 
 
 RYD PENCARN .......... 76 
 
 THE THREE PALMERS ........ 88 
 
 THE KNIGHT OF THE SILVER SHIELD ..... 105 
 
 EARL RANULPH AND HIS PAGE ...... 125 
 
 THE LITTLE BATTLE OF CHALONS . . . . . .141 
 
 THE SPECTRE'S VOYAGE . . . . . . . .161 
 
 THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS ...... . . .172 
 
 THE STARRY TOWER ..... , . , ,182 
 
 THE SPANIARD'S RANSOM . . , ..... 199 
 
 THE PENNON OF ST. GEORGE ....... 231 
 
 THE LINE OF LANCASTER. 
 
 THE ABBOT'S PLOT 
 
 245 
 
 A LEGEND OF AGINCOURT ....... 274 
 
 THE WITCH OF EYE ...... * .*: . 303 
 
 THE PROPHECY .,,.'..,,,. 320
 
 viU CONTENTS. 
 
 THE LINE OF YORK. 
 
 THE WOOING AT GRAFTON .....,< 338 
 
 RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS , , , , , . 357 
 
 THE FAMILIES UNITED. 
 
 THE WHITE ROSE OF ENGLAND . . 3 H T . . .406 
 
 THE RINGS ; A TALE OF THE FIELD OF THE CLOTH OF GOLD 441 
 
 THE OAK OF REFORMATION . . . n^ioV/. 10 if/ . 488 
 
 NUPTIALS AT SARK i^CI a'auivl <ia. . S-io 
 
 CATHERINE GRAY . . . . . & Tsrjoao:.' . 529 
 
 THE UNION OF THE TWO CROWNS. 
 
 THE CAPTIVES 545 
 
 GOODRICH CASTLE ,.- f ..,-,.. , 7- (-)-*** ? *w\* ' ' ^ 2 
 
 A LEGEND OF PONTEFRACT .,..,,. 575
 
 THE NORMAN LINE. 
 
 Behold 
 
 The hand of God ! From that dark day of blood 
 When vengeance triumph'd and the curfew knoll'd, 
 England, thy proud majestic policy 
 Slowly arose ; through centuries of shade 
 The pile august of British liberty 
 Tower'd, till, behold it stand in clearer light, 
 Illustrious. At its base, fell Tyranny 
 Gnashes his teeth and drops the broken sword ; 
 While Freedom, Justice, to the cloudless skies, 
 Uplift their radiant forms, and Fame aloft 
 Sounds o'er the subject seas, from East to West, 
 From North to South, her trumpet. England live, 
 And rule, till waves and worlds shall be no more. 
 
 BOWLES. 
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY. 
 WILLIAM THE FIRST. 
 
 WILLIAM Duke of Normandy, after the deieat and death of Harold at 
 Hastings, marched to Dover and from thence to London, where the divided 
 counsels of the Saxons prevented the further resistance that might have been 
 made to him. The clergy were in his favour, and the Saxon heir, Edgar 
 Atheling, submitted to him. He was consequently crowned king of England, 
 in London, on Christmas-day, 1066. 
 
 He built Battle Abbey, near Hastings, to perpetuate his victory, under the 
 pretence of praying for the souls of those who were slain in the action. He 
 likewise built castles in different parts of England, which he filled with Norman 
 soldiers. 
 
 The King then went over to Normandy, (leaving Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, and 
 William Fitzosborne, Regents in his absence, ) where he stayed several months, 
 till accounts were received by him that the English were revolting in all parts, 
 on which he repaired to England, and quelled the insurrection. 
 
 1068. A new rebellion broke out, which William likewise subdued ; but 
 the cruelties he committed on the English were excessive. Edgar Atheling, 
 
 ENG. B
 
 a WILLIAM THE FIRST. 
 
 the las* heir of the Saxon line, fled to Scotland with Cospatrick, Earl of 
 Northumberland, taking with him his sisters Margaret and Christina, the former 
 of whom was subsequently married to Malcolm king of Scotland. 
 
 William introduced the Feudal Law into England, and divided the whole 
 kingdom amongst his most powerful barons. 
 
 He disarmed the English, and ordered that no light should be seen in their 
 houses after eight o'clock ; for which purpose a bell should ring at that hour, 
 when they were to cover all their fires. This bell was called the Curfew. 
 
 William ordered all the children of England to be taught French, and all law 
 proceedings to be transacted in that language. 
 
 Edgar Atheling returned from Scotland and submitted himself to William, 
 who received him very favourably. 
 
 1077. The King's son, Robert, rebelled, and had nearly made himself 
 master of Normandy, when the King went over there with an army of English ; 
 and in an action Robert wounded his father without knowing him, but the 
 discovery of what he had done had such an effect on him that he immediately 
 submitted. 
 
 William chastised the Welsh for their incursions into England. He after- 
 wards built the Tower of London to keep the city in awe. 
 
 He ordered an exact survey to be taken of every person's estate in the king- 
 dom, the register of which was called Doomsday Book. 
 
 1079. The King depopulated a part of Hampshire above thirty-six miles in 
 compass, now called the New Forest. 
 
 1087. William went over to Normandy, and carried on a bloody war with 
 the King cf France. He was injured by his horse stumbling over the red hot 
 ashes of the town of Mantes, was carried back to Rouen, and died the gth of 
 September, 1087, at Hermentrude, a country house near Rouen. He left 
 Normandy to his son Robert ; England to William ; and a large sum of money 
 to Henry,
 
 Jffitolstan of Wamzitt. 
 
 The Bishop, he could lift his hand 
 
 And bless the kneeling crowd : 
 The Bishop, he could grasp a. brand, 
 
 And chase the barons proud. 
 
 OLD BALI AD. 
 
 T T is in vain it is in vain, my children ! This unhappy kingdom 
 J_ is now experiencing the tender mercies of the Conqueror : our 
 liberties are trampled under foot ; our religion insulted and de- 
 spised; and our reverend prelates selected one by one as lambs 
 for the slaughter. The noble Primate Stigand is deposed and 
 imprisoned ; the Bishops of Selesey and Elmham have shared his 
 fate, and my Lord of Durham has fled the kingdom. I, doubtless, 
 am marked out as the next victim ! To have had the mitre placed 
 upon my brows by holy King Edward, is a crime which by this 
 ingrate Norman will never be forgiven." 
 
 The speaker was a man of a stately figure and Herculean pro- 
 portions. The thin white locks upon his head, and the deep 
 furrows on his cheek, proclaimed his advanced age ; but indicated 
 neither mental decay, nor bodily infirmity. His large bright blue 
 eye gleamed with all the fire and vivacity of youth ; and his step, 
 as he paced the apartment, was firm and bold, although hurried 
 and irregular. His features were agitated with an expression of 
 mingled scorn and sorrow ; and his hand, which bore a silver staff 
 crooked at the top, seemed quite as well fitted to grasp the sword 
 as the crosier. 
 
 " Nay, my good Lord !" said a young man, to whom clung a 
 terrified maiden, and both of whom seemed deeply interested in 
 
 B 2
 
 4 WULSTAN OF WORCESTER. 
 
 the old man's emotions, "do not believe that the Conqueror, 
 haughty and tyrannical as he is, will venture so far to outrage the 
 feelings and opinions of his subjects as to strip your lordship of 
 those dignities which you have worn so honourably. My father, 
 too, stands high in the favour of his sovereign, and will not fail to 
 exert his influence in behalf of our friend : a friend," he added, 
 looking with a smile towards the maiden, who blushed deeply, " to 
 whom we shall shortly be united by ties of a tenderer and yet 
 stronger nature." 
 
 " Walter Fitzwalter," said the prelate, " I doubt not your father's 
 honour or his friendship ; but I know the blind feudal obedience 
 which your Norman laws exact from a subject towards his sove- 
 reign. I know that friendship, and duty, and filial, and parental, 
 and conjugal love, have often been sacrificed by the vassal at the 
 command of his liege lord. Thou, Walter, nevertheless, hast 
 Saxon blood in thy veins, and a Saxon heart in thy bosom : and 
 the sun, which will most gladden these old eyes, will be that which 
 brightens the morning of thy nuptials with my fair child." 
 
 The maiden blushed again, and the youth pressed her more 
 closely to his bosom. She appeared to be two or three years 
 younger than her suitor, that is to say, she had perhaps seen some 
 eighteen or nineteen summers. Her form was tall and stately like 
 her father's ; and although youth and bloom were upon her cheek, 
 and her long auburn tresses fell in rich ringlets down her neck, 
 while his locks were blanched with age, and his broad expansive 
 brow was furrowed with deep wrinkles, still their features bore a 
 remarkable resemblance. She was wonderfully fair ; perhaps, at 
 the period to which this narrative refers, she might be called pale ; 
 for sorrow and suffering had intruded even into the high places of 
 England, and left its traces on her once joyous countenance. Of 
 her kindred, some had fallen in the field, some on the scaffold, and 
 ome were exiles in a foreign land : while her father, who had 
 borne the episcopal staff for several years, with honour to himself 
 and benefit to his spiritual flock, was now waiting in expectation 
 of the command of the Conqueror to resign it to some minion of 
 his own. Her eyes were of a deep blue, and sparkled brightly
 
 WULSTAN OF WORCESTER. 5 
 
 even beneath the tears which now streamed plenteously from 
 them. 
 
 " Dearest father !" she exclaimed, " doubt not that we shall yet 
 be happy. King William, although a Norman, knows how to 
 respect your virtues and your years ; you swore allegiance to him, 
 as soon as you perceived that resistance to his authority would 
 only prolong the civil dissensions of the kingdom without benefit- 
 ing the Saxon cause, and have ever since maintained tranquillity 
 and obedience in your diocese." 
 
 " And did not Stigand, and Agelric, and Agelmare the same," 
 answered the Bishop ; " and what is their reward ? And have I 
 not been spared thus long, only because this head has been some- 
 times known to doff the mitre for the helmet, and this bosom has 
 changed the tunic for the corslet of mail ; and these arms have 
 occasionally been clad in steel instead of lawn ? but, hark ! some 
 one demands admittance." 
 
 A bugle was heard sounding at the gate of the episcopal palace, 
 and presently an armed man, mounted on a stately white charger, 
 was admitted into the court-yard. He was not long in dismount- 
 ing, and was soon ushered into the presence of the Bishop, where 
 having unbarred his vizor, he exhibited features which were well 
 known to all. The prelate extended his hand, the maiden made 
 a lowly reverence, and the young man, sinking on his knee, 
 exclaimed, " Your blessing, my noble father your .blessing !" 
 
 " My Lord Fitzwalter," said the Bishop, " peace be with you !" 
 
 " Wulstan of Worcester," returned the other, "I greet you well." 
 
 "Ha!" said the prelate, "so blunt! It is long since I have 
 heard myself styled plain Wulstan, and I did not expect that, the 
 first time that name again greeted my ears, it should be from the 
 lips of the Baron Fitzwalter." 
 
 " I dare not," said the Baron, "call you my Lord of Worcester, 
 for I am the bearer of the King's command to inform you that you 
 are no longer Bishop of this diocese." 
 
 " Is it even so ?" said Wulstan ; and then turning to the young 
 people, " was I not gifted with the spirit of prophecy ? And pray, 
 my Lord, may I crave to know of what crime poor Wulstan
 
 6 WULSTAN OP WORCESTER. 
 
 of Worcester has been guilty, that his hand, which has borne this 
 pastoral staff so long, may not retain it for the few years which yet 
 remain of his mortal pilgrimage ?" 
 
 "No crime is imputed to you, my Lord; but the King's 
 conscience is troubled by his allowing you to retain the episcopal 
 dignity which was conferred upon you by a usurper. You 
 received your pall from Benedict IX. who was deposed for simony 
 and intrusion into the papacy." 
 
 The features of Wulstan had as yet betokened only wounded 
 pride and mortified dignity, but his lip now writhed with an 
 expression of unutterable scorn. " Death !" he cried, forgetting 
 his sacerdotal character, " the King's conscience was not troubled 
 when he forgot his coronation oath, whereby he swore to protect 
 the Church, to administer justice, to repress violence, and to 
 govern the Normans and the Saxons by equal laws." 
 
 " Pardon me, my Lord," said Fitzwalter, " if I say that I must 
 not listen to these injurious accusations of my sovereign. I come 
 not here to reason with you upon his commands, but to communi- 
 cate them to you. A more reluctant messenger he could not have 
 selected : but as he has entrusted me with this commission, I 
 have no choice but to inform you that you are commanded to 
 appear before our Lord the King, at the Abbey of Westminster, at 
 the Synod to be holden there on Monday next by our gracious 
 Sovereign, assisted by the most Reverend Primate Lanfranc, 
 Archbishop of Canterbury ; where you are to resign your ring and 
 pastoral staff, the King having deposed you from the see of 
 Worcester, and appointed Robert of Orleans in your stead." 
 
 " Oh ! my father !" said Walter Fitzwalter, " surely the King 
 knows not what he is doing, or how generally and deservedly the 
 good Wulstan is beloved. A word, a breath from thee " 
 
 " Peace, inconsiderate boy !" said the Baron, interrupting him. 
 " His Grace of Canterbury, to whom such an office more properly 
 belongs, tells me that he has endeavoured to act the mediator 
 between the King and ray Lord Wulstan, but without effect. His 
 purpose is fixed and unalterable." 
 
 "Then, my sweet Edith," said Walter, turning to his fair com- 
 panion. " although I may not wed the heiress of Worcester's
 
 WULSTAN OF WORCESTER. Y 
 
 dignified prelate, yet the fair and virtuous daughter of good Wulstan 
 shall still rule the heart of Walter Fitzwalter." 
 
 A cloud gathered on the Baron's brow, and his breast seemed 
 agitated by a variety of contending emotions. " My son," he 
 said, " banish these idle feelings from your bosom. When I gave 
 my consent to your union with this fair damsel, her father had not 
 fallen under the displeasure of the King. It would ill become a 
 Fitzwalter to espouse the daughter of a man who has been degraded 
 from his dignities by his sovereign." 
 
 " My Lord Fitzwalter," exclaimed the deprived Bishop, " Wulstan 
 of Worcester, the descendant of a long line of illustrious Saxon 
 ancestors, whose brows were honoured with the mitre by the 
 sacred hands of holy King Edward, was never degraded till this 
 moment, when a Norman adventurer, a baron, the creation of a 
 Duke whose fathers were themselves Norwegian marauders, has 
 dared to consider an union with his family a disgrace. Fare you 
 well, my Lord ; I shall meet the King at Westminster, and trust 
 me, that neither Edith nor I shall in future give you reason to 
 apprehend that your family honour may be tarnished by an union 
 with us." 
 
 As the Bishop spake, his eye flashed fire, and his outstretched 
 arm and haughty brow fully confirmed the truth of his assertion 
 that the steel gauntlet would fit his wrist as well as the lawn sleeve. 
 The Baron seemed startled, and had instinctively grasped his 
 sword ; but as he remembered the years, and the sacred character 
 of the person with whom he conversed, and with whom he had 
 been on the point of being so nearly allied, it dropped again into 
 its scabbard. Edith clung to her father with a grasp of mingled 
 fear and affection, and Waiter stood half-advanced between the 
 angry speakers, for whom he felt an equal veneration, yt was eager 
 and ready to repress the violence of either. The Baron seized his 
 son's arm, and was withdrawing him from the apartment, when 
 Edith exclaimed, " Walter, dear Walter ! leave me not thus." 
 
 The youth sprang towards her and would have clasped her in 
 his arms, but the fathers of both were on the alert to prevent their 
 embraces. 
 
 " Edith ! child !" said Wulstan, " load not my grey head with
 
 8 WULSTAN OF WORCESTER. 
 
 the only dishonour which can fall upon it. Let not my daughter 
 cling to the proud Normans who spurn her !" 
 
 " Walter !" said the Baron, " are thy father's and thy King's 
 displeasure alike contemned ? It were better for thee that thou wert 
 ir ,ny grave, than wedded to the daughter of a man disgraced." 
 
 Wulstan's fury would at this speech have proceeded to violence, 
 had not the Baron hastily retreated from the apartment followed 
 by his son, who hoped that a more favourable opportunity would 
 occur for reconciling these unhappy differences. 
 
 When Edith retired to her chamber that evening, her bosom 
 heaved with a thousand painful reflections. For Walter Fitzwalter 
 she entertained the tenderest and most ardent affection. He was 
 the son of a Norman nobleman of the highest rank and reputation, 
 who had married a Saxon lady, and with whom, until the period 
 of the invasion of England by Duke William, Bishop Wulstan had 
 been upon terms of intimacy and friendship. The addresses of 
 Walter were encouraged both by Edith and her father, and appeared 
 certain of being crowned with success, until the period when the 
 Duke of Normandy preferred his claim to the English crown. 
 That event put an end to all intercourse between Saxons and 
 Normans ; and Walter left the island, to return to it in a short 
 time accompanied by his father, in the army which afterwards 
 achieved the victory of Hastings. The rapid successes of the 
 Conqueror, and the unqualified submission of all England to his 
 sway, induced Wulstan to take the oath of fealty to the man 
 against whom he had not only preached and declaimed, but had, 
 notwithstanding his age and clerical character, actually borne arms 
 on the fatal day which made him lord of the destinies of England. 
 He then began to remember that Walter had Saxon blood in his 
 veins that he sincerely loved and was beloved by Edith and 
 would sometimes even go so far as to argue that the Normans and 
 the Saxons had one common Northern origin, and that the short 
 sojourn of the former in Neustria was not of itself sufficient to cut 
 asunder the bond of consanguinity and amity. The Baron Fitz- 
 walter and his son soon afterwards became once more welcome 
 visitors at the episcopal palace of Worcester, and the youth anr 1 
 the maiden were again formally betrothed to each other.
 
 WULSTAN OF WORCESTER. g 
 
 Edith sat at her casement-window, ruminating painfully on the 
 events which had just occurred. The world, politics, the claims 
 of contending families to the English crown, were nought to her ; 
 and she could not understand why things like these should stand 
 in the way of the love which she and Walter entertained for each 
 other. She gazed upon the broad and rapid Severn, whose waters 
 almost washed the walls of her father's palace, while the stately 
 spires and columns of the cathedral rose on its opposite bank, and 
 the majestic summits of Malvern towered in the distance. She 
 thought how often, on such a night as this, when the tops of those 
 stately hills, the spires of that venerable pile, and the waters of 
 that translucent stream, glittered in the pale bright moonbeams, 
 she had wandered with her lover, entranced in admiration of the 
 enchanting scenery ; while Walter, who was a professor of " the 
 gay science," of no mean reputation, would touch his lute, and 
 raise his voice in celebration of her beauty and his passion. She 
 thought too (and wept) how, like a dream, all that bliss had passed 
 away in an instant, and left nothing but the sorrowful realities of 
 life to fill its place. Tears streamed down her lids, and she had 
 just closed the casement, for the purpose of retiring to her pillow, 
 when a familiar sound met her ear. Surely it was Walter's lute, 
 and it was Walter's hand that touched it. A low sweet prelude was 
 played ; they were the very notes with which, but a few minutes 
 before, her thoughts had been occupied ; and then a voice, in 
 whose tones she could not be mistaken, warbled the following 
 well remembered lines : 
 
 " Love ! * thou hast done me wrong to wage 
 
 Thy war within my heart, 
 Ne'er bringing Mercy * to assuage 
 
 The rankling of thy dart. 
 Where Mercy is not, Love is found 
 
 A tyrant haught and proud ; 
 Love, let thy knee salute the ground, 
 
 At Mercy's footstool bow'd. 
 
 * Love and Mercy were supplicated as divinities among the Troubadours. 
 These lines are actual specimens of Provencal poetry, the first two stanzas 
 Leing imitated from Folquet de Marseilles, and the third from Geoffrev Rudel
 
 io WULSTAN OF WORCESTER. 
 
 Surely the greatest of the great, 
 
 The best among the good, 
 May bid those powers together mate, 
 
 Oh ! lady, calm their feuu. 
 That thou canst blend in union meek 
 
 Things more opposed than they, 
 The white and reel upon thy cheek 
 
 In love's own language say. 
 
 Once on my lip (my bliss to seal) 
 
 Thine own a kiss impress'd, 
 And ever since that time I feel 
 
 Love's pangs within my breast. 
 Give me again that kiss so dear, 
 
 Which my heart's peace betray'd, 
 That kiss which, like Achilles' spear, 
 
 Can heal the wound it made. 
 
 Edith again unclosed the casement. A light skiff was on the 
 rivr : the moonbeams fell directly upon it, and she had no difficulty 
 in recognising Walter, who stood up in the boat, and held a bow 
 and arrow in his hand. He waved his hand towards her, and 
 pointed his arrow at the casement. She immediately stepped aside, 
 and presently the arrow was shot into the apartment. A little 
 scroll was bound to the shaft, which she opened and read. 
 
 " To-morrow, dearest Edith, an hour before noon, your father 
 will depart from the palace, in obedience to the King's summons, 
 to attend the Synod at Westminster. My father will leave his 
 castle about the same time for the same purpose. Within an hour 
 after his departure I will be at the palace gates. The Seneschal 
 knows my plot, and will conduct you to me. I have steeds fleet 
 as the wind, which will bear us speedily to the Abbey of St. Anne. 
 The Abbot is my friend, and will unite us in those bonds which 
 neither Kings nor Synods can dissolve. Kiss but thy hand to me, 
 in token that thou consentest to seal the happiness of 
 
 WALTER." 
 
 The scroll was no sooner read than the maiden re-appeared at 
 the window, and gave her lover the testimony which he required. 
 Walter kissed his hand in return, and then the boat was seen rapidly 
 gliding down the stream, while the youth's lute uttered a few low 
 soft notes of gratitude and benediction.
 
 WULSTAN OF WORCESTER. it 
 
 The next morning was gay and joyous, and all the roads leading 
 to the metropolis were full of life and bustle, occasioned by the 
 throng of persons hastening to the Synod. The good Wulstan had 
 been cordially and affectionately greeted by the multitude, as he 
 and his retinue passed. Some rent the air with their acclamations, 
 others knelt by the roadside and implored his blessing, and not a 
 few breathed curses " not loud but deep," upon the Conqueror and 
 his Normans. The Baron Fitzwalter and his train, as they rode 
 by, were received with respectful silence, unmixed, however, with 
 any demonstration of attachment. Other great peers and prelates 
 had also an opportunity of learning the sentiments which the mul- 
 titude entertained towards them. The popular murmurs, however, 
 were most loudly expressed, as, late in the day, and at a hurried 
 pace, Robert of Orleans, the destined successor of Wulstan, rode 
 through the city of Worcester, escorted by a band of Norman 
 knights. " Wulstan for ever !" " Hallowed be the memory of holy 
 King Edward !" " God defend the good Saxon Bishop !" were 
 the exclamations which rang in his ears as he traversed the metro- 
 polis of his intended diocese. " Death !" he cried, " these Saxon 
 varlets are anxious for another field of Hastings." He proceeded 
 as rapidly as he could over the bridge, and through the city gates, 
 and emerged into the open plain. " Raymond de Caen," he said 
 to the knight who rode next him, and pointing to two equestrians 
 who were a short distance in advance of them, and who 
 seemed to be urging their steeds to increase that distance 
 as speedily as possible, "what read'st thou yonder?" "Tis a 
 stately knight and a gentle maiden, who, methinks, seem to 
 have but marvellous small desire for a more intimate ac- 
 quaintance with us." " Spur ye spur ye, my good friends," said 
 the Bishop-elect, " I would fain understand more of this matter." 
 The Normans urged their steeds to the full extent of their mettle ; 
 but would not have been able to overtake the fugitives, had not 
 the maiden evidently been unable to support the fury of the chase. 
 Once, as the pursuers approached, the youth turned round, and 
 with an expression of menace on his countenance, shook his spear 
 at them ! " By the holy Virgin !" said Raymond, " 'tis the son of
 
 is WULSTAN OP WORCESTER. 
 
 the Baron Fitzwalter; and I would stake my noblest falcon 
 against the vilest coystril in England, that h-is companion is Edith 
 of Worcester, Wulstan's fair daughter, with whom, during the 
 absence of his father, he would steal into the bonds of matrimony." 
 " Say you so ?" said Robert of Orleans : " but I must not have 
 Fitzwalter and Wulstan too nearly allied, or my head may yet 
 ache long for the mitre which I thought was already encircling it. 
 Seize them, and, should they resist, cleave them to the ground." 
 
 " Save ye, good master Walter," said Raymond, as he and his 
 companions surrounded the youth, and wrenched his weapon 
 from his hand. " I little thought to have the honour of your 
 company on the road to Westminster." 
 
 " I travel not to Westminster," said the youth, "but am escort- 
 ing this lady to the Abbey of St. Anne, within whose sacred walls 
 she is going to reside as the safest asylum for her during the 
 absence of her father at the Synod." 
 
 " 'Tis a trim story, master Walter, and well worthy the inven- 
 tive genius of a Provencal poet of thy fame but of a surety, 
 although versed in ' la gaie science,' thou hast no skill in pro- 
 phecy, for 'tis to Westminster that thou must travel, and not to 
 the Abbey of St. Anne." 
 
 " Guard them well," said Robert of Orleans, who at 'that 
 moment came up. " 'Tis a case which the King himself must 
 hear and decide. My Lord Fitzwalter, who will be present at the 
 Synod, will also be anxious, although not much gratified, to learn 
 how his son comports himself in his absence." 
 
 Resistance was vain, and Walter Fitzwalter was not one who, 
 when his arm was shackled, could ease his heart in words. In 
 sullen silence, therefore, he submitted to the dictates of his captors, 
 and rode on in the same direction with them. The terrified maiden, 
 mute and pale, followed the example of her lover. " ' Twas well, 
 my Lord," said Raymond, " that accident detained you beyond 
 your appointed hour. The springald had timed his plot bravely ; 
 and had we been two hours advanced on the road to Westminster, 
 the holy Abbot of St. Anne's had rendered unnecessary the pains 
 which we are now taking."
 
 WULSTAN OF WORCESTER. 13 
 
 On the day on which the Synod was held, the whole population 
 of Westminster, and (notwithstanding the distance between the two 
 cities) of London also, seemed to be assembled in the vicinity of 
 the Abbey. The rumour that Wulstan of Worcester had been 
 summoned to resign his pastoral staff to a Norman, had spread far 
 and wide, and had created an extraordinary sensation. The Bishop 
 was almost idolized among the Saxons. His virtues were numerous, 
 his liberality of an extent correspondent to the princely revenues 
 with which he was endowed ; and, although he was reputed to be. 
 an indifferent scholar, his eloquence was overwhelmingly powerml. 
 He had, moreover, enjoyed the especial favour of the late King, 
 Edward the Confessor ; who, although slighted and neglected in 
 his lifetime, was after his death remembered with the utmost affec- 
 tion and veneration by his people, and even canonized by the Pope 
 As the Bishop moved through the crowds collected outside the 
 Abbey, clad in his episcopal robes, and bearing his silver staff in 
 his hand, the multitude knelt down reverently before him, and 
 bowed their heads to receive his blessing. The soldiers who 
 guarded the entrance to the Abbey, received him very differently. 
 Although they bowed their heads and crossed themselves when a 
 Norman prelate passed, they remained as immovable as statues 
 when any one of the few Saxons, who still retained that dignity, 
 entered the sacred edifice. Wulstan, however, only grasped his staff 
 more resolutely, and trod with a firmer step as he moved between 
 these irreverent sentinels. An expression of applause which burst 
 from the multitude as he entered the Abbey, was instantly silenced 
 by the uplifted spears of the soldiers ; and then a tumult of anxious 
 and half-suppressed whispering pervaded the dense and rapidly 
 increasing crowd. 
 
 Before the high altar, and near the tomb of Edward the Confes- 
 sor, was erected a throne of great splendour and magnificence, under 
 JL superb canopy of state. On it sat a man apparently about five-and- 
 thirty years of age, holding a sceptre in his hand, with the diadem 
 of England on his head, and surrounded with all the insignia of 
 royalty. Without these extrinsic symbols of his rank, however, the 
 lightning glance of his keen blue eye, the haughty but majestic
 
 M WULSTAN OF WORCESTER. 
 
 loftiness of his brow, and the imperious smile with which his lip was 
 curled, sufficiently indicated William the Conqueror. At his right 
 hand, on a seat somewhat lower, sat Lanfranc, a Milanese monk, 
 who had been recently elevated to the primacy, and who, by virtue 
 of his distinguished station, presided over the Synod. Several 
 bishops, abbots, and other dignified ecclesiastics, including Robert 
 of Orleans, sat around him. The Baron Fitzwalter, and other 
 Norman lords, stood on the left hand of the monarch, who, as 
 Wulstan entered, and bowed before the royal presence, stooped 
 down and conversed for a few seconds with the primate. 
 
 " Wulstan, sometime Bishop of Worcester," said Lanfranc, " I 
 am commanded by our Sovereign Lord King W T illiam, to inform 
 you that he has been pleased to remove you from the station 
 which you have so long unworthily occupied, seeing that you are 
 an unlearned and foolish person, ignorant of the French language, 
 and wholly incapable either to instruct the Church or to counsel 
 the King. I therefore call upon you to deliver up your pastoral 
 ring and staff, that I may give them to him whom the King has 
 been pleased to nominate as your successor." 
 
 Wulstan drew himself up proudly to reply, and his tall form and 
 sinewy limbs seemed to expand to colossal dimensions as he 
 spake : " I know, my Lord Archbishop," he said, " that I am 
 entirely unfit and unworthy of so high a station, being undeserving 
 of the honour, and unequal to the task ; and yet I think it unrea- 
 sonable that you should demand that staff of me which I never 
 received from you. However, in some measure, I submit to your 
 sentence, and will resign that staff; but I consider it just to make 
 that resignation to none other than King Edward the Holy Con- 
 fessor, who conferred it on me." 
 
 Thus ending, he rose, and crossed the church towards King 
 Edward's tomb. " Bold traitor !" said the King, " art thou mad? 
 or whither would thy insolence lead thee ?" Wulstan heeded not, 
 and seemed not even to hear the indignant exclamation of the 
 monarch ; but approaching the tomb, he knelt down before it, and 
 said : " Thou knowest, O holy King ! that with much unwilling- 
 ness, and even by force, was I constrained to take this office upon
 
 WULSTAN OF WORCESTER. 15 
 
 me : for neither the desire of the prelates, the petitions of the 
 monks, nor the voice of the nobility prevailed, till thy commands 
 were laid upon me. But now, behold, there are a new King and 
 new Lords ; and a new Bishop pronounces a new sentence. 
 Thee they accuse of fondness for making me a bishop, and me of 
 assurance for consenting to become one. Nevertheless, not unto 
 them, but unto thee, will I resign my staff." 
 
 Thus saying, he rose, and striking his staff with extraordinary 
 force and violence on the tomb, it penetrated above an inch into 
 the solid stone, and remained there fixed. The King, who had 
 risen from his throne, on perceiving the impassioned gestures of 
 Wulstan, sunk back into it again, with a smile of contempt, when 
 he saw that his passion had ended in a display so impotent. 
 " If," he said, " the wounded vanity of the old dotard can be thus 
 alleviated, be it even so. My good Lord Robert of Orleans, 
 pluck, I pray thee, that episcopal staff away, and keep it for thy 
 pains." 
 
 The Norman monk descended from his seat, and proceeded 
 with alacrity to seize upon the symbol of his new honours ; but he 
 might as easily with his single arm have uprooted the oak from its 
 firm foundations, as have removed the staff from the place in 
 which the hand of Wulstan had planted it. " Death !" cried the 
 King, foaming with passion, " have our Norman prelates such 
 girlish muscles, that they cannot unseat the planting of that old 
 driveller's arm. My Lord Archbishop, bring me the staff !" 
 
 Lanfranc, a man apparently of superior strength to Wulstan, and 
 of fewer years, then approached the tomb ; but his efforts were as 
 unavailing as those of his brother monk. The King, with a mix- 
 ture of wonder and contempt in his countenance, derided their 
 imbecile efforts ; and, at length, to punish their effeminacy, pro- 
 mised to confer the bishopric upon him alone of the ecclesiastics, 
 who could remove the staff. The reverend fathers, one and all, 
 laboured painfully, and, no doubt, with hearty good will, but all 
 were at length obliged to abandon the task in despair. 
 
 The King, incensed almost to madness, leaped from his throne, 
 and approaching the tomb, seized the silver staff in his own Her-
 
 1 6 vVULSTAN OF WORCESTER. 
 
 culean grasp. It shook in his sinewy hand ; but to remove it 
 from its place seemed impossible. The big drops started from 
 his brow, and he gasped for breath with the violence of his exer- 
 tions, before he relinquished his hold. 
 
 Wulstan, who had resumed his seat, now again approached the 
 tomb of King Edward, and taking the staff into his hand, removed 
 it as easily as Samson broke his manacles.* The whole assembly 
 seemed panic struck for a moment they gazed on, in breathless 
 silence, and then, " A miracle ! a miracle !" was shouted out by 
 every one present. Some of the populace, who had pressed into 
 the aisles of the Abbey, cried, " Blessed be the memory of good 
 King Edward honour to his servant Wulstan !" and the cry was 
 caught and echoed by the assembled crowd without, until the 
 arches of the Abbey rang with its reverberations. 
 
 " The will of Heaven be done !" said the Conqueror, approach- 
 ing Wulstan. " Keep, my Lord of Worcester, the pastoral staff 
 which your hand has borne so long with honour, and may God 
 pardon us for having listened to evil counsellors who were plotting 
 the destruction of one of his most faithful servants. But, 
 Robert," he said, turning to the disappointed candidate for the 
 episcopacy, "was there not a charge against some persons in your 
 custody to which you would crave our attention ?" 
 
 " Truly, my liege," said the monk, who entertained some hope 
 that he might still remove Wulstan from the monarch's favour ; 
 " such a charge have I to prefer, and it grieves me much to say 
 hat it is a charge in which my Lord of Worcester is implicated." 
 
 " Give it utterance then, reverend father," said the King, resum- 
 ing his seat upon the throne, " and we will listen to it attentively." 
 
 Robert of Orleans then motioned to some of his attendants, 
 who immediately disappeared, and shortly afterwards returned, 
 leading the lovers, to whom the reader has already been intro- 
 duced, into the Royal presence. 
 
 " My liege," said the monk, " I charge my Lord of Worcester 
 with the practice of magic, witchcraft, and other diabolical arts, 
 
 Hollinshe4.
 
 WULSTAX OP WORCESTER. ? 
 
 I charge him that, by means similar to those by which IK has this 
 day, I fear, deceived you and this reverend Synod, he has seduced 
 this youth from his allegiance to his King, and his duty to his 
 father, and fixed his affections upon this damsel, his daughter." 
 
 " Nay," said the King, smiling, " 'tis a comely youth, and a 
 most sweet maiden, and methinks that it needed not much magic 
 to fix the stripling's affections in the place to which they have 
 wandered. But what says my Lord Fitzwalter? doth this match 
 meet with his disapprobation ?" 
 
 " My liege," said the Baron, " I have to crave this reverend 
 prelate's pardon for my late unworthy carriage towards him, and 
 to supplicate his consent to the marriage of his fair daughter with 
 my son." 
 
 " Freely, freely, is that pardon granted and that offence for* 
 gotten," said Wulstan, delighted at being able to seal the happiness 
 of two persons to whom he was ardently attached. 
 
 " Then," said the King, " the first duty which my Lord of 
 Worcester shall now perform on the restoration of his functions, 
 shall be the union of this lovely pair in the bonds of matrimony. 
 Proceed, my Lord, in your holy office ; and as the damsel will 
 want some one to perform the duty of a parent on this occasion, 
 perhaps she will not refuse the services of William of Normandy." 
 
 A shout, which seemed to rend the roof of the venerable pile 
 under which they were assembled, burst from the multitude. 
 Wulstan pronounced the marriage rites, the King gave away the 
 blushing bride, and a day which had been ushered in with so 
 many lamentations and ominous forebodings, closed amidst ex- 
 pressions of general satisfaction and delight 
 
 IM 
 
 ""^^r/f 
 
 EKG,
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY. 
 WILLIAM THE SECOND. 
 
 WILLIAM II. set off for England whilst his father was expiring, his brother 
 Robert being at that time in Germany ; and having got possession of hi* 
 father's treasures, and being aided by Lanfranc, Archbishop of Canterbury, he 
 conquered all difficulties, and was crowned on the 2/th September, 1087. 
 
 1088. William was, if possible, more avaricious than his father ; his 
 exactions on the English were insupportable ; he even kept the benefices 
 vacant for years, and retained the income of them for himself. 
 
 1090. William invaded Robert's patrimony of Normandy ; but in a short 
 time the brothers were reconciled, and entered into an agreement, that if either 
 of them should die without heirs, the survivor should succeed to his dominions. 
 
 1093. Malcolm, King of Scotland, invaded England, but was killed in an 
 action near Alnwick. 
 
 1094. The King again quarrelled with his brother Robert, and not only 
 instigated his barons, by bribes, to declare against him, but prevailed on the 
 King of France to withdraw his protection. But whilst he was thus success- 
 fully employed in Normandy, he was obliged to return to England to repel an 
 incursion of the Welsh, which he soon did without much difficulty. 
 
 1096. Every smaller warfare was swallowed up this year by the Crusade to 
 the Holy Land for the recovery of Jerusalem out of the hands of the Maho- 
 metans. This war was recommended by the Pope, and preached up everywhere 
 by Peter the Hermit. Among those who embarked in this enterprise was 
 Robert, the King's brother, who mortgaged Normandy to William for a sum 
 sufficient to enable him to join the Crusaders. 
 
 1089. William rebuilt London Bridge, surrounded the Tower of London 
 with a thick wall, and built Westminster Hall. 
 
 This year the Crusaders tools Jerusalem, putting forty thousand Saracens to 
 the sword. Duke Robert was offered the sovereignty, but on his refusal it was 
 given to Godfrey of Boulogne. 
 
 I loo. The Earl of Poitiers mortgaged his dominions of Guienne and Poitou 
 to William, to enable him to go to the Holy \Var. 
 
 The King entered into contests with the clergy, particularly with Anselm 
 Archbishop of Canterbury. 
 
 As William was one day hunting in the New Forest, he had with him ona 
 Walter Tyrrel, a Frenchman, who, to show his dexterity, aimed an arrow at a 
 jtag, which, glancing against a tree, shot the King through the heart. On 
 which accident Tyrrel immediately rode to the sea-side and embarked for 
 Normandy. The King's body was found by the country people, and his 
 lervants carried it in a cart to Winchester, where it was privately interred. 
 
 William Rufus died unmarried.
 
 re ei> ping's grwm, 
 
 Gautier Tire), un chevalier 
 Qui en la cort esteit mult chier, 
 line saiete del reis pris 
 Dont il 1'occist si com Ten dist. 
 
 WAGE. 
 
 IS not the morrow Lammas-day?" said King William, (who 
 was surnamed Rufus, or the Red, from the colour of his 
 hair,) as he sat in his banqueting-hall in the Castle of Winchester, 
 surrounded by his peers and courtiers. 
 
 " Even so, my liege," said the Abbot of Westminster ; " and it 
 is a day which our Church has commanded all her children to keep 
 peculiarly holy." 
 
 " Say you so, reverend father ?" rejoined the King ; "then Holy 
 Mother Church shall, for once, own that I am a pious and obedient 
 son : for I mean to keep that day most religiously, by chasing the 
 dappled deer in the New Forest from sunrise to sunset." 
 
 " Heaven forefend, my liege !" said the Abbot, shuddering and 
 crossing himself, " that by indulging in any profane sports on so 
 solemn a day, you should draw down the vengeance of Heaven 
 upon you ; a vengeance of which you have had so many warnings." 
 
 " Now, by the face of St. Luke ! father," said the King, " thou 
 maddest me. How and wherefore have I incurred the vengeance 
 of Heaven ? For not letting a doting old Bishop at Rome give 
 away all the mitres and fat livings in my kingdom ; and for not 
 praying to St. Peter and St. Paul to intercede for me with Our 
 Lord, the first of which I hold to be as bad in politics, as the 
 latter is in religion." 
 
 t( Dost thou not constantly," resumed the Abbot, " even as 
 c a
 
 20 THE RED KING'S DREAM. 
 
 thou hast done just now, scoff and rail at our holy religion ? Dost 
 thou not plunder the religious houses of their treasure ? Hast thou 
 not torn the offerings from the altars, and robbed the chapelries of 
 their holy reliques? Dost thou not, at thy wild wassailings, quaff 
 out of sacramental cups ; and are not thy lewd lemans decked with 
 ornaments that were sacred to the holy Virgin ?" 
 
 " Guilty, most reverend father, guilty, guilty !" said the King : 
 " I will but have the morrow's chase in the New Forest ; and then 
 for that, and all other bygone sins, thou shalt shrive me ; and the 
 rest of the Red King's days shall be spent in piety and penitence. 
 Come what come may, I must hunt to-morrow." 
 
 A shout of applause and delight burst from the King's retainers. 
 11 God pardon you !" said the Abbot, and crossed himself. 
 
 " Amen ! amen !" responded several other ecclesiastics who were 
 seated at the royal table ; and the King rising to retire to rest, the 
 revel closed, and the banqueting-hall was deserted by the gay and 
 motley group. 
 
 " Rouse me to-morrow by daybreak, Walter Tyrrel," said the 
 King : " I will not lose this chase for all the peevish priests in 
 Christendom." 
 
 " I will not fail, my liege," said Tyrrel, " to be with you betimes ; 
 but yonder comes the Lord of Mans, to urge his suit before you 
 retire to your chamber." 
 
 " By the face of St. Luke !" replied the King, " the priests have 
 persuaded the dull dotard that he can only save his soul by en- 
 listing under the banners of Peter the Hermit ; and that I, forsooth, 
 must hold his broad Barony in Normandy as inviolate, when he 
 and his bold knights are on their fool's errand in the Holy Land, 
 as when their spears were planted, in defiance of the invader, before 
 the gates of his paternal city." 
 
 " All health and happiness betide my liege !" said the Baron, 
 approaching the King, and bending his knee before him. " I am 
 about to depart with that army, the object of whose mission is the 
 recoveiy of the Holy Sepulchre from the hands of the Infidels ; 
 and I trust that during my absence in the prosecution of so 
 righteous an enterprise, you will suffer my territory to rest in peace."
 
 7 HE RED KING'S DREAM. 21 
 
 "Go where you will," answered the Red King hastily, "but I 
 will have your city." 
 
 " My liege," answered the Baron, " Mans is mine by hereditary 
 descent ; and if you doubt my title, I am prepared to prove its 
 validity before any competent tribunal." 
 
 " T will plead with you," returned William. " when and where 
 you please ; Dut my lawyers will be swords, and spears, and arrows/ 
 
 The King was about to retire ; but the Baron seized him by the 
 skirt of his robe, exclaiming : " Listen to me, O King ! wilt thou 
 stand between a soldier of the Cross, and his road to the sepulchre 
 of Christ ? I lift not my spear to gratify any selfish feeling I seek 
 not to increase my territory, or to swell my coffers but I lay bare 
 my sword in the cause of Him from whom thou, William the Red, 
 derivest thy authority ; of Him by whom kings reign and princes 
 decree judgment. I will have the sign of the cross marked on my 
 shield, my helmet, my saddle, and my horses ; and thus being 
 enlisted in the service of Christ, I will leave my cause to the pro- 
 tection of Heaven." 
 
 The Baron turned away with a proud step and a haughty brow. 
 The Red King laughed, and unmoved by the solemnity of his tone 
 and manner, answered : " Do as you list, Sir Knight ; I wish not to 
 war with Crusaders ; but by the face of St. Luke ! I will have the 
 land that my father had ; therefore see that you fortify your city 
 well, and put mettle into the hearts of your vassals, for certes I 
 shall shortly knock for admission at your gates, with a hundred 
 thousand lances at my heels." 
 
 That evening the King retired to his chamber, but not to rest. 
 Daring and reckless as he Avas, his mind was sometimes startled at 
 his own impieties, and in the solitude of his chamber he had leisure 
 to reflect on the rapacious and tyrannical career which he was pur- 
 suing on the jealousy and discontent with which his subjects in 
 general regarded his rule and on the power, malice, and wounded 
 feelings of the clergy. That evening, too, some undefined and ill- 
 omened thoughts weighed on his bosom ; he started at his own 
 shadow as he paced his apartment with a hurried and disordered 
 step, and shuddered as he heard the owl shriek, or the bat beat its
 
 22 THE RED KING'S DREAAf. 
 
 leathern wings against the casement. "What means this weakness?" 
 he said : " am I not King of England ? Did not my father's 
 right hand win the crown which he bequeathed to me ? Shall the 
 murmurs of the hungry Saxon varlets, or the curses of the cowled 
 minions of the Bishop of Rome, frighten me from my regal seat ? 
 Those varlets must fight the field of Hastings o'er again, and that 
 bishop exchange his triple crown for a casque like this," (taking up 
 his helmet,) " ere the Red King shall quail either at factious dis- 
 contents or papal anathemas." 
 
 Somewhat calmed by his mental colloquy, and commending him- 
 self to the protection of St. Luke, (a practice which, notwithstand- 
 ing his vaunted contempt for priests and saints, he never, even for 
 a day, omitted,) he endeavoured to compose himself to sleep. 
 His lids fell over his corporeal organs of vision, but his mental sight 
 was more painfully acute than ever : sometimes he fancied himself 
 surrounded by enemies who with furious gestures and naked weapons 
 assailed him, while he felt himself chained to the ground, as if by 
 magical power, and unable to move a limb. Once he dreamed 
 that he saw a noble falcon, with a golden crown upon its head, and 
 with a plumage red as his own locks, attempt to soar into the air, 
 when a large white owl seized upon it and slew it as easily as it would 
 destroy a mouse. But the dream which most haunted his imagination 
 was one in which he fancied himself stretched on his back in the midst 
 of a vast forest, with all the veins in his arms burst, and the blood 
 copiously streaming from them.* Thrice did he awake from this 
 dream, and as often did it return upon him, each succeeding time 
 with a more vivid and painful sensation of reality than before. At 
 length, when the last drop of blood seemed receding from his veins, 
 and the coldness of death seemed invading his heart, he fancied 
 that a voice, dreadful as that of the destroying angel, sounded in 
 his ear, and starting from his sleep he saw the grey light of morning 
 streaming through the latticed casement, and his faithful retainer, 
 Walter Tyrrel, standing by his bedside. 
 
 " Ha ! good Tyrrel," he said/' thou hast awakened me from a 
 weary dream. Methought, Tyrrel, that I lay wounded and bleed- 
 ing but, psha ! why should I tire thy ears, and torture my own 
 
 * Hollinshecl.
 
 THE RED KING'S DREAM. 93 
 
 mind by trying to recall a shadow ? The jargon of those cursed 
 monks has bewildered my senses. But what news of the go*d 
 Abbot of Westminster ? " 
 
 " He is in the chapel of the castle, praying that the wrath of 
 Heaven, which he says that you are about to provoke, may be 
 averted from your royal head." 
 
 " And this is Lammas-day ! " said William, not appearing to 
 notice TyrrePs speech. " By St. Luke ! the blessed sun of heaven 
 appears determined this day to be as profane as the Red King, for 
 he has dressed himself in his brightest beams, and is darting his 
 arrows of light right and left ; and the clouds are speeding away 
 from them, as fast as the deer in the New Forest will flee to avoid 
 my shafts." 
 
 " It is indeed a glorious morning, Sire, and your faithful servants 
 are in attendance, and your stately charger Norman is pawing the 
 ground, and anxious to snuff up the dew upon the greensward in 
 the forest." 
 
 " Tend thee, tend thee, my good Tyrrel ; quickly gird on my 
 doublet so draw on my hose. Ha ! what mean these scurvy 
 hose ? They seem new, but of a marvellous ill-fashion. What 
 cost they, I pray thee, Tyrrel ? " 
 
 " The cost, as I learned from your Highness's gentleman, was 
 some three shillings." 
 
 " The peddling varlet ! " cried Rufus. " Doth a pair of hose of 
 three shillings' price become a King to wear ! Go thy ways, good 
 Tyrrel, and bid him fetch me a pair that shall cost a mark of silver." 1 * 
 
 Tyrrel drew forth another pair of hose, with the appearance of 
 which the King seemed better pleased. " So," he said, " these 
 become me bravely. Now for my forester's cap and my well-lined 
 quiver ; and now, roan Norman, thou shall bear the King of England 
 on thy back." 
 
 Accoutred for the chase, the King descended to the palace gates, 
 where his faithful steed, who uttered a shrill neigh, and pawed the 
 ground in testimony of delight at beholding his master, stood ready, 
 and evidently anxious for the day's sport. 
 
 * Hollinshed.
 
 a* THE RED KING'S DREAM. 
 
 The royal huntsman was preparing to mount, and had one foot 
 in Norman's stirrup, when a bare-footed monk, whose appearance 
 betokened the rigour with which he had kept the vows of his order, 
 rushed towards him, and seizing his arm, exclaimed : " Go not forth 
 to the forest to-day, Sir King ; in the name of the Mother of God, 
 I charge thee, go not forth!" 
 
 "And wherefore not, good Father?" said the King, smiling. 
 
 " It is Lammas-day !" returned the Monk ; " a day which God 
 and good angels enjoin thee to keep holy." 
 
 " Nay, reverend Father," replied William, " does not the sun 
 shine, and do not the birds warble, and the dapple deer bound in 
 the forest on Lammas-day ? and wherefore must the poor King of 
 England be deprived on that day of those pleasures which God 
 vouchsafes to his meanest creatures ?" 
 
 " But I have had a dream," said the Monk solemnly, " a hideous 
 dream ; such as the wise do not see and forget, but ponder deeply 
 and lay to heart." 
 
 " A dream !" said the King ; and as he spake, the high colour 
 in his cheek faded ; " a dream, good Father ! but what have I 
 to do with thy dream ?" he added, forcing a laugh : " thou art a 
 right monk, I warrant thee, and to procure a piece of money, 
 dreamest such things as best suit thy turn. Marry, and each man 
 to his craft ; so give him a hundred shillings, Walter Tyrrel, and 
 bid him dream henceforth somewhat more pleasing, and of better 
 fortune to our person." 
 
 The King's foot was again in the stirrup, and he was motioning 
 with his hand to the retinue to proceed, when the Monk once 
 more arrested his progress. 
 
 " But thou shalt hear my dream, Sir King," he said, " though 
 thou cleave me to the centre for my boldness. I dreamed in 
 my sleep a dream, in which I saw thee, O King ! gnawing the 
 image of Christ crucified. I saw thee take the image in thy rapa 
 cious hands, gnaw it with thy unrelenting teeth, and attempt to 
 tear away the legs." 
 
 The King again tried to force a smile ; but the Monk spoke 
 with an imposing solemnity and energy, while the standers-by
 
 THE RED KING'S DREAM. e 
 
 evidently participated in his feelings, and their countenances told 
 the intensity of the interest with which they listened to his 
 narration. 
 
 " I saw thee, with impious grasp, attempt to tear away the legs ; 
 and as thou didst essay this horrid deed, I saw the image raise its 
 feet and spurn thee to the ground." 
 
 " Twas but a dream, my liege," said Tyrrel, seeing the King's 
 inward emotions depicted in his changing features. 
 
 " Nay, but 'twas wondrous strange, Walter. Peace, peace, I 
 pray thee, peace !" 
 
 " I saw thee fall," continued the Monk. " Blind and grovelling 
 on the ground didst thou lie ; and a flame of fire came out of thy 
 mouth, and such abundance of smoke that the air was darkened 
 thereby.* Now read me my dream, Sir King." 
 
 " Good Father," said the King, " I cannot read it. Enlighten 
 thou my darkness by thy interpretation." 
 
 " That sacred image," said the Monk, " was a type of the holy 
 ordinances of the Church ; and that impious attempt of thine to 
 deface and mangle it, represented thy daily violation of those 
 ordinances, and the impieties which thou art at this moment about 
 to repeat. The rest, impious King, I leave to thee to expound. 
 Now hie thee to the forest, and chase the wild deer, if thou 
 darest." 
 
 The Monk fixed his bright grey eye for a moment on the King, 
 then drew his cloak closer round him, made the sign of the cross 
 on his forehead, and disappeared amidst the assembled multitude. 
 
 "Tyrrel !" said the King, much awed and abashed at this strange 
 interview, but yet gazing wistfully on his huntsmen and archers 
 clad in their forest costume around him, and at his spirited steed 
 now neighing still more impatiently, and seeming to reproach him 
 for his delay : " What say'st thou, Walter Tyrrel ?" 
 
 " Dreams, my liege, are the voice of God," said Tyrrel : " and 
 wise men do not try their truth to their own loss and hindrance." 
 
 " Dismiss the train, Tyrrel," said the King, and sighed \ 
 
 Hollinshed.
 
 36 THE RED KING'S DUE AM. 
 
 "unsaddle roan Norman we will talk of this anon at dinner; 
 till then, farewell !" 
 
 The morning wore away heavily until the hour of dinner arrived, 
 when the King and his courtiers were again seated in the ban- 
 queting-hall. William's mind was still depressed, as well by the 
 loss of the day's sport, as by the recollection of the friar's and of 
 his own dreams, which he could not help thinking portended some 
 evil to him. The Abbot of Westminster and the other ecclesiastics 
 read the thoughts with which his bosom was agitated, and, un- 
 willing to disturb what they considered their salutary influence on 
 his mind, they did not attempt to break the moody silence in 
 which the monarch indulged. The Baron of Mans, Sir Walter 
 Tyrrel, and the other nobles and knights, were infected with the 
 monarch's moodiness, and the banquet passed away in dulness, 
 gloom, and almost silence. By degrees, however, as the cup cir- 
 culated round the table, the coldness of the King's spirit began to 
 thaw. He listened, not displeased, to the jokes with which his 
 returning gaiety inspired his courtiers, and smiled at the antics of 
 the Court fool, whose gibes and jeers had hitherto fallen pointless 
 on his ear. " By Heaven !" he said at length, " I would that this 
 Lammas-day were well over. Fill me another goblet, varlet. Death!" 
 he continued, throwing away the cup from which he had been 
 drinking, and seizing upon one of about double its size: " the cares 
 of such a day as this cannot be drowned in an ordinary bumper." 
 Having drained his goblet, he cried, "Where is Eustace Fitzhard ing, 
 my minstrel ? Ha ; I crave your pardon, my gentle troubadour. I 
 saw thee not ; a song, a song, good Eustace, and let it be a 
 sprightly one." 
 
 The minstrel, who, like the rest of the company, had sat moody 
 and dispirited during the banquet, without having been once called 
 upon by his lord for a specimen .of his skill in " la gaie science" now 
 rallied his spirits, and his eye gleamed brightly, and his cheeks 
 assumed a crimson glow, as he bent over the strings of his instru- 
 ment for a few seconds, and then striking his harp with a powerful 
 and practised hand, warbled the following lines : the concetti with 
 which they abound were more congenial to the taste of the age in
 
 THE RF.D KING'S DREAM. 9J 
 
 which they were written than to that of the period at which they 
 are presented to the reader ; and, accompanied as they were by 
 the exquisite tones which the minstrel struck from his instrument, 
 they were received with considerable applause. 
 
 " I said, ' My heart, how is't you still 
 
 Speak truth whene'er you speak of sorrow ; 
 But when a song of joy you trill, 
 
 Are forced a fair false smile to borrow ? 
 ' Because when you for heart's-ease long,' 
 
 It said, ' you steep the heart in lies, 
 As boys, to hear the linnet's song, 
 
 Put out the linnet's eyes.' 
 
 " I said to Pleasure, ' Changeful fay, 
 
 Who can put hope or trust in you ? 
 Scarce known before you flee away, 
 
 Scarce seen before you fade from view.' 
 'Praise the gods, praise them, ; Pleasure said, 
 
 ' For that, ye foolish mortal elves, 
 If they had me more constant made, 
 
 They would have kept me for themselves.' 
 
 I said to Cupid, ' Little boy, 
 
 You 've stolen my heart, so don't deny it ; 
 Give it me back, or I'll employ 
 
 Some harsher method to come by it.' 
 ' Alas !' he said, ' I gave it to 
 
 A lady who 's a sad deceiver ; 
 I stole it I 'm the thief, 'tis true, 
 
 But black-eyed Myra 's the receiver.' 
 
 " I said to Beauty, ' Flee, oh ! flee 
 
 The cup that sweets with poison tips, 
 Nor let each flatterer, like the bee, 
 
 Steal honey from those rosy lips.' 
 ' Nay, nay,' said Beauty, ' all that bliss 
 
 I gave it not, I but repaid it ; 
 The bee that does the flow'ret kiss 
 
 Deserves the honey, for he made it.' " 
 
 The minstrel's song infused new spirit into the company. The 
 jest and the laugh went briskly round, and the wine-cup was quaffed 
 with exemplary fervour and constancy. 
 
 " Good Eustace," said the King, " canst thou not give us a 
 forest song ? Our reverend father hath forbidden us to loose a 
 shaft to-day ; but, nevertheless, a ditty of the good greenwood 
 will sound grateful to our ears, and in some measure make up fo 
 the loss of our day's sport."
 
 a8 THE RED KING'S DREAM.. 
 
 11 My liege," said the youth, " I was born and brought up in the 
 greenwood, and will try to recall to my memory a lay which I 
 have often heard in my boyish days. Yet, 'tis a lay which was 
 chanted among the humblest of the forest tribe, and is scarcely 
 fitted for the ears of a royal huntsman, and of lordly and knightly 
 archers. 
 
 THE FORESTER'S SONG. 
 
 " ' We are warriors gallant and true, 
 
 But our triumphs are ne'er stained with tears, 
 For our only war-cry is the huntsman's halloo, 
 And the blood that we shed is the deer's ; 
 And the greenwood tree 
 Is our armoury, 
 And of broad oak-leaves our garlands be. 
 
 " We sleep not the sun's light away, 
 
 Nor shame with our revels the moon ; 
 But we chase the fleet deer at the break of day, 
 And we feed on his haunches at noon ; 
 While the greenwood tree 
 Waves over us free, 
 And of broad oak-leaves our garland.j be. 
 
 " We drink not the blood-red wine, 
 But our nut-brown ale is good : 
 
 For the song and the dance of the great v. e ne'er pine, 
 While the rough wind, our chorister rude, 
 Through the greenwood tree 
 Whistles jollily, 
 And the oak-leaves dance to his minstrelsy. 
 
 " To the forest, then, merry men all, 
 
 Our triumphs are ne'er stained with teart, 
 For our only war-cry is the huntsman's call, 
 And the blood that we shed is the deer's ; 
 And the greenwood tree 
 Is our armoury, 
 And of broad oak-leaves our garlands be.' " 
 
 " To the forest, then, merry men all !" shouted the King, rising 
 from his seat. " By the face of St. Luke ! we have listened to th ; s 
 puling Abbot too long. One of thy chansons, Eustace, as far 
 xcels all his tedious homilies as the green leaves and waving 
 branches of the forest do the pitiful Gothic tracery with which the 
 dunce who contrived this hall has striven to mimic them. To the
 
 rHE RED KING'S DREAIL 29 
 
 forest to the forest ! Saddle roan Norman. Tyrrel, Fitzharding, 
 Bevis away with us away !" 
 
 The King's obstinacy and impetuosity were such that no one 
 attempted to reason with him, or to dissuade him from his enter- 
 prise. Besides, the wine and the song had exerted their influence 
 on his followers as well as on himself, and all were eager to 
 indemnify themselves for the loss of their morning's sport by 
 redoubled vigour in pursuing the chase in the afternoon. In a 
 very short time the Red King and his retainers Avere mounted, and 
 on the road to the forest. Many fearful om?ns were remarked as 
 the royal party set out, and all who observed them pronounced 
 the King to be a doomed man. Some affirmed that birds of 
 strange nature and evil aspect were seen hovering about his head ; 
 and it was said, that as he rode in the full glare of the sun, and 
 while his horse cast a strongly marked shadow on the ground, 
 there was no shadow perceptible of the rider. At length the party 
 arrived in the New Forest, their bugles sounded cheerily among 
 the woods, and they were not many minutes before a noble stag 
 was started. " Back ! back !" said one to the King ; " he has an 
 evil eye, and his hoofs and antlers are not like those of a mortal 
 deer." The King heeded not, but setting up a cry of exuberant 
 delight when he beheld the stately creature, he spurred on his 
 steed, a"nd impelled him forwards with so much impetuosity, that, 
 with the exception of Tyrrel, none of his retainers were able 
 to keep up with him. In the mean time the deer held on his 
 course untired, through brooks, over hills, and amidst the recesses 
 of the forest, keeping beyond the reach of the arrows of his 
 pursuers. At length, however, the Red King evidently gained 
 upon him ; the arrow was fixed to the bow, and with unerring eye 
 and certain aim he let fly the winged messenger of death at the 
 animal. The arrow seemed to strike at his heart, and the King 
 exclaimed, " Laurels ! Tyrrel, laurels ! I have hit him ; " but, to 
 his astonishment, he saw the arrow fall harmless to the ground, 
 ind the deer bound along as lightly as before. " By St. Luke I" 
 he said, " 'tis marvellous ; my aim never disappointed me before ;" 
 Wid lifting up his hand to shade his eyes from the sun, he stood
 
 30 THE R&D KING'S bit E AM. 
 
 gazing at the hart to ascertain which way he fled, and the nature 
 of his wound. As he was standing gazing in this manner, another 
 hart darted past him with the velocity of lightning. Sir Walter 
 Tyrrel immediately shot at him ; but his arrow, glancing from its 
 direction, struck the King in his side, which his uplifted arm had 
 left exposed ; and uttering a dreadful groan, the monarch fell 
 from his horse. Tyrrel, immediately dismounting, ran towards 
 him, and saw the paleness of death upon his face. William was 
 unable to utter a word ; but putting his hand to the arrow, he 
 broke oft" that part which protruded from his body, and his head 
 sunk like lead upon the earth. One groan burst from his livid 
 lips, one convulsive throb shot through his whole frame, and then 
 the spirit of the Red King passed away for ever. 
 
 " Curse on my unlucky arm !" said Tyrrel ; " and curse on this 
 evil-omened Lammas-day's chase ! I have struck cold the noblest 
 heart in England ; and should I wait till his followers come up, 
 my body will be made to dangle from one of yonder trees, in 
 reward for my skill in archery. But, grey Lightfoot, my noble 
 palfrey," he added, springing on his horse's back, " thou must now 
 exert all thy mettle and thy strength ; let but thy heels now save 
 thy master's neck, and thou shalt have free pasturage and unbroken 
 ease hereafter." 
 
 He sprung through the forest with the swiftness of one of its 
 dappled denizens ; and before the king's body was found by his 
 attendants, Sir Walter Tyrrel was safe on board a bark which was 
 sailing before the wind for the coast of Normandy.
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY 
 
 HENRY THE FIRST. 
 
 ON the death of William the Second, great disputes arose about the succes- 
 sion. It was not known where Robert was, he having set out some time before 
 on his return from the Holy Land. The nobles in general espoused his cause : 
 tut finding the populace incline to Henry, who was born in England, they gave 
 way, and Henry was crowned King some days after the death of William. 
 
 He began his reign by reforming the abuses of the court, abolishing the 
 curfew, and granting a charter by which he confirmed many of the Saxon laws. 
 
 noi. Henry recalled Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury, who had been 
 banished in the former reign ; and soon afterwards married Matilda, nifice of 
 Edgar Atheling, and daughter to Malcolm king of Scotland. 
 
 Robert, on his return to Normandy, invaded England. He soon entered into 
 a treaty with his brother, by which he was to receive three thousand marks 
 annually. 
 
 Henry was to retain the Crown ; and if either died without heirs, the sur- 
 vivor was to succeed to all his possessions. 
 
 1 103. Great disputes arose between the King and Anselm about the old 
 affair of investitures, which continued for some years. It was at last determined 
 that the Pope should invest, but that the new Bishop should do homage to 
 the King. 
 
 1105. Henry quarrelled with his brother, and invaded Normandy with great 
 success. 
 
 1106. He conquered all Normandy by gaining the battle of Tinchebray, 
 where he took prisoners his brother Robert and Edgar Atheling. The latter he 
 immediately released, but the former he confined in Cardiff Castle for life. 
 
 Anselm convoked a Synod, at which he decreed penalties against any priest 
 who should live in a matrimonial state. 
 
 William Clito, son to Duke Robert, went to different courts and raised a 
 general indignation against his uncle Henry ; who, however, detached Foulk, 
 Earl of Anjou, from the combination, by contracting his eldest son, William, to 
 his daughter. 
 
 1109. Matilda, daughter to the King, was married to the Emperor Henry 
 the Fifth. 
 
 1 1 12. Henry settled a colony of Flemings in Wales, who begged his pro- 
 tection ; having been obliged, by inundations of the sea, to emigrate from their 
 own country.
 
 3 a HENRY THE ft AST. 
 
 1 1 13. Henry went to Normandy, and renewed the marriage contract betwei> 
 his son and Anjou's daughter. 
 
 1115. The Normans, and afterwards the English, swore fealty to William, 
 Henry's son, as his successor in both nations. 
 
 1 120. The King and his son embarked at Barfleur in different ships foi 
 England. The ship, with the Prince and most of the young nobility on board, 
 struck on a rock and split ; by which dreadful accident they were all drowned. 
 The King was never seen to smile after his son's death. 
 
 1127. Henry prevailed on his subjects to swear fealty to the Empress, who 
 was now in England, her husband Henry being dead. 
 
 The King, after this, married his daughter, the Empress Maud, to Geoffrey 
 Plantagenet, eldest son of Foulk, Earl of Anjou. 
 
 1125. The King died at the Castle of Lyons, near Rouen, and was buried 
 at Reading.
 
 lje (toqttest .of 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE MONK'S THREE VISITS. 
 
 Une novele te clirai, 
 Henris iert reis hastivement, 
 Se mes augures ne me ment. 
 Remembre toi de ce qu'ai dit. 
 Que eist iert reis jusque petit. 
 
 WAGE. 
 
 result of the fatal victory of Hastings was for a long time 
 JL severely felt and deeply lamented by the English. The 
 flower of the native nobility perished in that disastrous battle. Of 
 those who survived, the majority were driven into exile, while a 
 few who were induced to accept the terms offered by the Con- 
 queror, soon found that their destruction was only postponed until 
 a more convenient opportunity, and were very speedily conducted 
 to the dungeon or the block. The common people too, expe- 
 rienced their full share of the tyranny of the two Williams. The 
 Norman Barons, who became lords of the soil, looked upon them 
 as their property, and thought themselves justified in the exercise 
 of any act of oppression or cruelty towards them. Resistance was 
 vain, complaint was useless, and the once high-minded people of 
 England, by degrees, sunk into a state of tame and passive 
 submission. 
 
 Nearly half a century had elapsed since the battle of Hastings 
 was fought, although the wounds of the nation were as grievously 
 painful as if they had been inflicted but yesterday, when on<
 
 54 THE CONQUEST OF NORMANDY. 
 
 general expression of joy pervaded the whole realm, on receiving 
 the intelligence of the death of William Rufus. This monarch had 
 succeeded to all the hatred inspired by his father, without attain- 
 ing any of that respect which the military talents of the Conqueror 
 extorted from his bitterest enemies. His profaneness, and open 
 and avowed contempt for the Scriptures and the ordinances of the 
 Church, had also alienated the clergy from him, so that his death 
 was considered both by the ecclesiastics and the people as a judg- 
 ment which he had drawn upon his own head, in the opinion of 
 the former by his profaneness, and in that of the latter by his 
 tyranny. The minds of all were now occupied with the question 
 of who should be his successor. The Normans were anxious to 
 place the crown on the brows of his elder brother, Robert Curt- 
 hose, Duke of Normandy, who indeed, as far as priority of birth 
 went, had a better title to it even than the late king, while the 
 English eagerly turned their eyes towards the young Prince Henry 
 Beauclerc, who was born in England, was one of the first scholars 
 of the age, was accomplished both in mind and person, and had 
 ever shown more sympathy and respect for the sufferings of the 
 people, than his father or either of his brothers. 
 
 Prince Henry had followed in the train of his brother to the 
 chase in the New Forest ; but not being so expert in the sport, or 
 not having so great a taste for it, he had with one or two attendants 
 loitered considerably in the rear of the King. He had seen much 
 in the conduct of his brother, and the disposition of the people 
 towards him, which led him to fear that, however submissive the 
 latter might then appear to be, they could not long patiently 
 endure the yoke under which they laboured, and would seize the 
 first favourable opportunity for throwing it off. As he rode along, 
 his mind thus moodily occupied, some one grasped his horse's 
 reins, and a deep solemn voice exclaimed : 
 
 " Hail ! Henry, King of England !" 
 
 The Prince started, and raising his head, beheld an aged man 
 m an ecclesiastical habit, standing before him. His cowl had 
 fallen from his head, and his long white hair streamed in rich 
 profusion down his shoulders. His face was furrowed deep with
 
 THE CONQUEST Of NORMANDY. 35 
 
 wrinkles ; but even now, at his advanced age, it beamed with a 
 singular expression of intelligence and majesty. His bright blue 
 eye appeared to flash fire ; and his lip was wreathed with a smile. 
 which seemed to betoken a feeling of imperiousness and triumph. 
 
 Henry had grasped his sword ; but on seeing the old man, he 
 let it fall again into its scabbard. 
 
 " What meanest thou, bold traitor ?" said the Prince. " How 
 darest thou call me King of England, while William Rufus lives ?" 
 
 " He lives now," replied the Monk ; " but mark me, Henry 
 Beauclerc," he added, pointing to the west, where the sun was 
 rapidly declining, " ere yonder orb has sunk beneath the horizon, 
 the sun of his life will have set for ever." 
 
 " Cease, cease this idle prattle," said the Prince, endeavouring 
 to extricate his horse's reins from the grasp of the Monk, but 
 without success. 
 
 " Hail ! Henry Beauclerc," reiterated the latter ; " thou shalt 
 speedily be King of England ; thou shalt restore the ancient 
 Saxon line to the throne of these realms ; and with English hearts 
 and hands thou shalt conquer the country of the Conqueror !" 
 
 At that moment a dreadful shriek rang through the forest ; and 
 the Monk, seizing Henry's arm, again pointed to the west. The 
 sun was on the very verge of the horizon, and in an instant 
 afterwards sunk beneath it. The Prince turned wonderingly 
 towards the Monk, but the mysterious monitor had disappeared. 
 
 " 'Tis passing strange," said he to his attendants ; " know ye 
 aught of this person ?" 
 
 " 'Tis the mad Monk of St. John," said a page. " He fought 
 on the side of the Saxons at Hastings, and was left for dead on 
 the field. Some benevolent brothers of Waltham, who went over 
 the field after the battle, in the hope that they might be of service 
 to the wounded, discovered some signs of life in this person, and 
 bore him to the Abbey. There they succeeded in healing his 
 wounds ; but could never prevail upon him to reveal his name or 
 rank. From the richness of his dress, and the value of the jewels 
 which were found upon him, he is supposed to have been a Saxon 
 lord of distinction. He afterwards became a brother of the order
 
 36 THE CONQUEST OF NORMANDY. 
 
 of St. John at Chester, and has rendered himself remarkable by his 
 acts of piety and penitence ; but his misfortunes are supposed 
 to have disordered his intellect." 
 
 " His voice sounded prophetically in my ears," said the Prince, 
 "and that shriek was strangely coincident with the setting of the 
 sun. Heaven shield our royal brother ! Let us scour the forest 
 in search of him." 
 
 The monk's words proved to be prophetic. William Rufus was 
 found dead in the forest ; and within a few hours afterwards, 
 Henry Beauclerc was proclaimed King of England at Winchester. 
 Such were the extraordinary events which followed the monk's 
 first visit to that prince. 
 
 Henry's elevation to the throne was hailed with the acclamations 
 of the whole nation. A few of his brother's partizans endeavoured 
 to advance the interests of the Duke of Normandy, but that 
 prince was then engaged in the Crusade in the Holy Land. He 
 had left his dukedom a prey to civil dissension ; and during the 
 whole time that he had been the ruler of that province, his conduct 
 had been remarkable for nothing but slothfulness and indecision. 
 On his return from the Crusade, however, he resolved to make an 
 effort to win the crown which his father had won, and accordingly 
 landed at Portsmouth with a formidable army. The English began 
 to fear a renewal of the fatal scenes at Hastings. They rallied 
 round their native monarch, and exhibited throughout the country 
 such a spirit of resistance to the invaders, that Duke Robert 
 paused in his enterprise before a blow was struck, and at length 
 determined to leave his brother in quiet possession of the crown, 
 and to return to Normandy. 
 
 Henry, in the mean time, continued to endear himself to his 
 people by his vigour, wisdom, and justice. He repressed violence, 
 abolished the prevalent system of rapine, interposed between the 
 tyrannous barons and their oppressed vassals, and by his decision 
 and impartiality acquired the epithet of the " Lion of Justice." 
 He moreover abolished that odious institution of William the 
 Conqueror, the Curfew; granted his subjects a charter, in which 
 he confirmed to them the privilege which they had enjoyed under
 
 THE CONQUEST OF NORMANDY. 37 
 
 their Saxon kings ; and proclaimed his intention of marrying 
 Matilda, the daughter of the King of Scotland by Margaret the 
 sister of Edgar Atheling, and lineally descended from the ancient 
 Saxon monarchs of England. 
 
 The words of the Monk of St. John had made a deep impression 
 on his mind. One part of his prophecy had been fulfilled he 
 was King of England ; but the other part, that he should restore 
 die ancient Saxon race to the throne, seemed utterly inconsistent 
 with the former, for he was himself of Norman origin, and it was 
 only by virtue of his father's conquest that he could claim any 
 title to the crown of England. It was not until the very morning 
 of his intended nuptials, when he was walking in solemn proces- 
 sion from his palace at Westminster to the Abbey, for the purpose 
 of celebrating them, that the truth flashed upon his mind, that by 
 the act which he was then about to perform, he was accomplishing 
 the Monk's prediction. 
 
 " Tis strange," he said to Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury, 
 who walked on his right hand, " but by this marriage I shall con- 
 firm the prophetic intimation which I received from the Monk of 
 St. John, in the New Forest, on the evening of the death of the 
 Red King : whom God assoil !" he added, crossing himself. 
 
 "It grieves me, my liege," said the Archbishop, "to find that 
 the ravings of a fanatic and an impostor have sunk so deep into 
 your Grace's memory. The events which have come to pass ac- 
 according to his prediction, were in the ordinary course of things. 
 The Red King's violent and heedless course of life promised a 
 speedy termination to it ; and that the wisest and most accom- 
 plished prince in Europe should espouse a princess whose virtues 
 and talents so nearly resemble his own, might surely have hap- 
 pened, although this cowled dreamer had never existed." 
 
 "True, true, good Anselm," said the King; but he said it in a 
 tone which induced the Archbishop to believe that his heart did 
 not yield that acquiescence to his arguments which his lips pro- 
 fessed. 
 
 " The Monk," resumed the Archbishop, " also promised that 
 your Grace should, with English hearts and hands, conquer the
 
 38 TUB CONQUEST OF NORMANDY. 
 
 country of the Conqueror. This is an event which is surely not 
 within the verge of probability, for your Grace and the Duke of 
 Normandy have concluded a peace (which Heaven keep in- 
 violate !) by which you have guaranteed to each other the integrity 
 of your respective dominions, and a free enjoyment of their rights 
 in both realms to your subjects." 
 
 The King answered not j but the project which he had long 
 Tormed of subjecting to his sway the hereditary dominions of his 
 father he could not easily part with, and the feeling of the English 
 people, who were eager for an opportunity to retaliate upon Nor- 
 mandy the injury which William and his followers had inflicted 
 upon England, would, he knew, second him in any attack which 
 he might make upon the territories of his brother. The acclama- 
 tions with which the multitude now greeted him as he passed on 
 to the Abbey, confirmed him in the estimate which he had made 
 of their willingness to support him ; and with a proud step and an 
 exulting spirit, he crossed the threshold of the sacred edifice. 
 
 The Princess Matilda had arrived before him. She was sur- 
 rounded by the Scottish barons who had escorted her from her 
 father's court, and by several beautiful females who were in atten- 
 dance upon her. On her progress she had been greeted with the 
 enthusiastic cheers of the populace. Some invoked St. Edward's 
 blessing on her head ; some exclaimed that the disasters of Hast- 
 ings had now terminated ; and others traced a wonderful resem- 
 blance in her features to the effigies of her illustrious ancestor, the 
 Great Alfred. 
 
 The King and the Princess had both entered the Abbey, amidst 
 the benedictions and applauses of all who beheld them. The 
 Barons and official dignitaries then followed them to the altar, and 
 the Archbishop was about to perform the ceremony, when a 
 stentorian voice from a remote part of the church exclaimed, 
 " Forbear !" All eyes were turned towards the quarter whence the 
 interruption proceeded, and an ecclesiastic, with his features closely 
 shrouded in his cowl, was seen slowly pacing down the eastern 
 aisle. He approached the altar, and removing his cowl, the King 
 and his attendants immediately recognised the Monk of St. John
 
 THE CONQUES1 OP NORMANDY. 39 
 
 ' What new vagary is this, reverend Father ?" said the King, 
 forcing a smile, but evidently feeling more respect for the intrusive 
 Monk than he chose to acknowledge. 
 
 " I say,'' cried the Monk, " to yon Norman priest, Forbear ! 
 This is not an occasion on which, when an English-born Prince 
 weds the last heiress of the ancient and illustrious Saxon race, a 
 Neustrian ecclesiastic should mar, by his officiousness, the auspi- 
 cious ceremony." 
 
 A tumult of applause followed the Monk's address. The Arch- 
 bishop and the Norman barons frowned, but the official persons 
 about King Henry, who were, for the most part, chosen from 
 among the Saxons, and the Scottish nobles who attended the 
 Princess, evidently participated in the pleasurable feelings ex- 
 pressed by the multitude. 
 
 " And where," said the Archbishop proudly, " if a Norman 
 priest must not perform this august ceremony, shall we find one of 
 rank and honour sufficient to entitle him to perform it ? " 
 
 A loud and bitter laugh burst from the lips of the Monk, which 
 resounded through the aisles of the Abbey for several seconds. 
 "Where !" he said, "thou puling priest ! where shall such an one 
 be found ?" and he thrust his hand towards his side and seemed 
 to be seeking a weapon ; but, as his eye glanced on his sacerdotal 
 habit, a cloud gathered on his brow, and his cheek grew pale as 
 ashes. " Peace ! peace ! my heart, be still," he muttered half 
 audibly; " it is not yet the time : but, Sir King, I say to thee, let 
 these Saxon hands tie the indissoluble knot between thee and yon 
 fair princess, and so, perchance, may one, who has been the cause 
 of all his country's evils, make some atonement by becoming the 
 instrument of the cure and solace of those evils." 
 
 The populace renewed their acclamations as the Monk spake : 
 the Norman Archbishop drew back from him abashed, and the 
 King gazed upon him with an expression of mingled awe and 
 wonder. " I know not who or what thou art, mysterious man," 
 said the Monarch, " but I have good cause for believing that thou 
 art in some way more and better than thy garb proclaimeth. Be 
 it, therefore, as thou desirest ; wed me to this fair princess ; and
 
 40 THE CONQUEST OF NORMANDY. 
 
 may Heaven grant that this union maybe as thou sayest the cure 
 and solace of this nation's evils !" 
 
 The Monk united the hands of the two royal lovers, and breathed 
 his benediction with a fervour and enthusiasm which seemed to 
 affect even Archbishop Anselm and his partisans. The King and 
 Queen knelt before the altar, the populace prostrated themselves 
 on the ground, and at the conclusion the choir pealed forth a 
 solemn strain of blended exultation and devotion. 
 
 " And now, O King !" said the Monk, " thou rememberest what 
 passed at our last interview ? " 
 
 " Most distinctly do I remember," said the King, " and not 
 easily shall I forget it." 
 
 " Then did I predict," added the Monk, " that three things 
 should happen to thee, Henry Beauclerc : that thou shouldest be 
 King of England; that thou shouldest restore the ancient Saxon 
 line to the throne ; and that with English hearts and hands thou 
 shouldest conquer the country of the Conqueror. Did not the 
 first event happen almost at the moment that I said it, at my first 
 visit? has not the second prediction been accomplished even 
 now, at my second visit, by the instrumentality of his hands whose 
 lips uttered it ? and when I visit thee for the third time, King 
 Henry, the third event shall come to pass before we part, and then 
 we shall part for ever." 
 
 The Monk uttered these words in a tone of great energy and 
 solemnity ; then, drawing his robes closely round him, and grasping 
 his staff, he proceeded slowly down the aisle by which he had en- 
 tered ; the people made way for him, many falling on their knees 
 and craving his blessing as he passed; and in this way, with 
 downcast head and measured step, he departed from the Abbey. 
 
 " What say you now, my Lord Archbishop?" asked the King, 
 turning towards the astonished and mortified Anselm. 
 
 " My liege," said the Prelate, " he is doubtless an impostor ; 
 albeit when I tried to rebuke him, there was something in his eye 
 and brow which deprived me of the power of utterance. It irks 
 me to see your Grace so worked upon by the arts of gramarye, in 
 which this Saxon Monk is, I doubt not, but too well versed. The
 
 THE CONQUEST OF NORMANDY. 41 
 
 faith of your Grace and your princely brother Robert, are too 
 deeply pledged to each other to allow of the possibility of what 
 this dreamer has predicted ever coming to pass." 
 
 While the Archbishop was speaking, a horn was heard sounding 
 outside the walls of the Abbey ; and immediately a horseman, 
 whose dress and accoutrements proclaimed him to be a herald, 
 entered and rode up towards the spot on which the King stood. 
 
 " How now !" said Henry, who immediately recognised the 
 Norman king-at-arms ; "what says our loving brother?" 
 
 " I must crave your royal pardon," said the Herald, " for what 
 I am commissioned to utter, before I venture to use language 
 which will sound but ill in your Grace's ears." 
 
 " Speak out," said the King : " thou knowest that thy character 
 and thy office sufficiently protect thee." 
 
 " Then," said the Herald, throwing down his gage, " I am com- 
 manded by King Robert, thy king and mine, thy father's eldest 
 son, to hurl his defiance at thee, and to bid thee immediately 
 resign to him the crown of this fair realm, which thou hast wrong- 
 fully and traitorously usurped. What answer shall I bear to thy 
 loving brother?" 
 
 " Nay," said the King, while a bitter smile writhed his lip, "first 
 answer me, I pray thee, where our loving brother is sojourning at 
 present ?" 
 
 " He is at Tinchebray, in Normandy," said the Herald, " where 
 he has collected forces who wait but the signal of his uplifted 
 finger, to pour themselves upon the coasts of this kingdom for the 
 purpose of enforcing his just and reasonable demand." 
 
 " Say you so ?" answered the King ; " then methinks it would 
 be treating King Robert, as thou callest him, uncivilly, seeing lie 
 is so near us, to send an answer to his so courteous communication 
 by a messenger. We will ourselves wait upon him in person at 
 Tinchebray ; and if the arguments which we shall bring with iis 
 shall not convince him that his claim is untenable, we must eVn 
 dofifthe diadem from these poor brows of ours, and place it on his 
 own. What say ye, lords and knights, and ye, not least in our 
 esteem, our gallant yeomen, will ye accompany us to Tinchebray ?"
 
 ^2 THE CONQUEST OF NORMANDY. 
 
 " God save King Henry !" shouted a thousand voices ; " God 
 save Queen Matilda ! Death to the Normans ; victoiy and 
 vengeance !" 
 
 " You have our answer, Sir Knight," said the King, addressing 
 the Herald. " Bear it speedily to our brother, and assure him 
 that we shall lose no time in confirming your intelligence by our 
 presence. What, ho ! there, attend him, and show him such 
 respect as is befitting his rank and office. What say you now, my 
 Lord Archbishop ?" said the King, again addressing the Primate, 
 and smiling but the Archbishop held his peace, and accompanied 
 the royal party back to the palace in silence. 
 
 It was on the i4th of October, 1107, that the English army, 
 under the command of the King, sat down before the castle of 
 Tinchebray, then held by Robert de Belesme for the Duke of 
 Normandy. This was the fortieth anniversary of the battle of 
 Hastings, and of the day (his last birth-day) on which King 
 Harold had lost his kingdom and his life. The sun had not 
 risen above an hour when the King's forces came in sight of the 
 castle, and found that the fortress was not left to its own resources, 
 but that Duke Robert had arrived before them to its relief with a 
 numerous army, which occupied a strong position in advance of it. 
 
 " Seest thou this ?" said a Knight in black armour, riding up to 
 the King, and showing him his shield, which bore the marks of 
 many a lance and arrow upon its disk. 
 
 " Who art thou, friend," asked the King, " who hast so many 
 times intruded thyself upon my notice, since our embarkation 
 from England? I would not willingly disparage thy prowess, 
 although I know thee not ; but I doubt not that there are five 
 hundred in my army who are as good as thou, and who are as much 
 entitled to assume these airs of familiarity with me." 
 
 " It matters not," replied the Knight ; " but this shield guarded 
 this arm at Hastings, and neither arm nor shield has since, until 
 this day, been again exhibited in the field ; then I fought against 
 the Normans, and they conquered England ; now I fight againsl 
 them again this day, and, by God's good g:Mce, will assist thee 
 in conquering Normandy."
 
 THE CONQUEST OF NORMANDY. 43 
 
 " Thou seemest a stalwart and vigorous knight," said the King, 
 " and thy appearance but ill accords with thy assertion, that thou 
 borest arms nearly half a century ago. However, Heaven pardon 
 thee if thou utterest untruths, and visit not our cause with the 
 punishment due to thy falsehoods ! There are now other matters 
 that demand my attention too imperiously to allow me to listen 
 any longer to thy prating." 
 
 The centre of the Norman army was commanded by the Duke 
 in person, the right wing by the Earl of Mortaigne, and the left 
 wing by Robert de Belesme. Their cavalry was not quite so 
 numerous as that of the English, but in their infantry they had 
 greatly the superiority. Robert never appeared to greater advan- 
 tage than on that day ; and before the commencement of the 
 engagement, he was seen in every part of his army animating his 
 soldiers, inciting them to attack, and reminding them that they 
 must this day prove themselves worthy of wearing the laurels which 
 were won at Hastings, or submit to become the vassals of that 
 people who had then been so heroically conquered. The Earl of 
 Mortaigne, and Robert de Belesme also, who were the inveterate 
 enemies of Henry, and had nothing to hope from his clemency in 
 the event of his proving victorious, were indefatigable in their 
 efforts to kindle the martial energies of their followers. The whole 
 army participated in the spirit of their leaders ; and chanting, like 
 their ancestors at Hastings, the song of Rollo, they rushed furiously 
 upon the advanced guard of the English. The assault was 
 iiresistible : the ranks of the English were broken ; and the 
 Norman assailants, shouting victory, advanced upon that part of 
 the main body of the English which was commanded by King 
 Henry himself. Robert de Bclesme cut his way through the ranks 
 of the enemy, shouting the name of Henry, and defying him if he 
 had a particle of honour and valour, to meet him and give him 
 battle. This man, who had the reputation of being an incarnate 
 fiend, excited so much terror by his presence, that all fled before 
 him, and left the King, almost alone, exposed to the assault of 
 Belesme and his myrmidons. The monarch, however, at the head 
 of a small band of friends, defended himself valiantly ; but his
 
 44 THE CONQUEST OF NORMANDY. 
 
 strength was. evidently failing him, and his friends were falling one 
 by one a.t his side. " Englishmen, to the rescue, ho !" he shouted; 
 and renewed his efforts with increased vigour. " Normans, re- 
 member Hastings !" exclaimed De Belesme, and made anothei 
 furious assault, by which the King was unhorsed. " Remember 
 Hastings !" echoed a stentorian voice ; " ay, Englishmen, forget it 
 not !" and immediately the Knight in black armour, whom we 
 have already mentioned, rode up at the head of a party of about a 
 hundred men, and, smiting De Belesme with his sword on the 
 helmet, he shook him from his saddle. " On, Sire," he said, 
 assisting the King to remount ; " the Earl of Mortaigne's division 
 has been repulsed by the Earl of Mayne , Duke Robert is con- 
 tending at fearful odds with the Earl of Mellent ; and now, could 
 we but drive back the followers of De Belesme, the victory and 
 Normandy are ours. Once more, Englishmen, remember Hast- 
 ings !" 
 
 Thus saying, the unknown Knight put spurs to his steed, 
 couched his lance, and rushed into the thickest ranks of the enemy. 
 The King and his followers imitated his example, and the forces 
 of Helias Earl of Mayne, who had driven Mortaigne from the 
 field, speedily joining them, they carried all before them. The 
 slaughter was immense. The English arrows darkened the air, and 
 every English lance was red to the hand-staff with blood. The 
 Black Knight, in particular, traversed the field like the angel of 
 destruction ; wherever he appeared, the enemy sunk beneath his 
 blow, or fled before him. " Remember Hastings !" he shouted at 
 every step that his good steed took ; and this cry, which had ori- 
 ginally been set up by the Norman leaders, to remind their fol- 
 lowers of their ancient triumph, now eagerly spread from rank to 
 rank in the English army, and seemed to give Herculean force to 
 their arms, as they hurled their javelins, or twanged their bows 
 against the enemy. When a part of their forces seemed wavering 
 and dismayed, the shout was " Remember Hastings !" and they 
 rushed on again as if invigorated with wine ; when the English 
 warrior felt the death-wound in his heart, he spent his remaining 
 breath in saying, " Remember Hastings !" to his comrades, and
 
 THE CONQUEST OF NORMANDY. 45 
 
 died with a smile upon his lip : when the Norman captive sued 
 for quarter, the answer was, " Remember Hastings !" and his head 
 rolled in the dust ! 
 
 In the mean time, the Duke of Normandy and his forces were 
 resisting with unequal strength, but undiminished gallantry, the 
 attack of the Earl of Mellent. The two divisions of his army were 
 broken and dispersed, and the main body of the English was ad- 
 vancing against him under the conduct of King Henry. He 
 nevertheless fought on with incredible valour, and had even cut 
 himself a passage through the ranks of bis assailants, and being 
 well mounted, was leaving his pursuers behind him, when he found 
 himself surrounded by the Black Knight and a select band of 
 warriors, who had kept close to him during the whole engage- 
 ment. 
 
 " Yield thee, Duke of Normandy 1" said the Knight ; " yield 
 thee or thy days are numbered." 
 
 " I yield to no one," said the Duke, " merely because he bids 
 me do so. I yield to no one but him whose right hand can 
 subdue me !" 
 
 " Say you so ?" said the Knight ; " then yield to me ;" and di- 
 recting his sword furiously at the breast of his opponent, the latter 
 reeled from the saddle ; and the shouts of the spectators, which 
 were speedily re-echoed over the whole field, proclaimed that the 
 Duke of Normandy was taken prisoner. 
 
 The clamour of the battle instantly ceased. The Normans threw 
 down their arms some fled, some were butchered upon the spot, 
 and four hundred knights and ten thousand soldiers were taken 
 prisoners. 
 
 " Brother," said King Henry, approaching the place where the 
 Duke stood in the custody of his captors ; " you have put us to 
 some cosi and trouble in coming over here to answer your courteous 
 message ; nevertheless, it were ungrateful in us, seeing the result, 
 to grudge either. Since, however, it may not be quite as con- 
 venient in future to answer your messages, we have resolved to 
 place you nearer our royal person ; Cardiff Castle is not so trou- 
 blesome a distance from our palace as Tinchebray."
 
 46 THE CONQUEST OF NORMANDY. 
 
 " I am your prisoner, Henry," said the Duke moodily, " and 
 must submit to the will of Heaven. Do with me as you please ; 
 the curse which our father provoked when he invaded a peaceful 
 kingdom is upon me." 
 
 "But where is the Black Knight ?" asked the King ; " our gallant 
 deliverer, to whom the glorious success of this day is so mainly 
 attributable ?" 
 
 " He stands yonder," said a page, pointing to the left of the 
 King, " and is, I fear me, grievously hurt, for he pants for breath, 
 and seems scarcely able to support his tottering weight." 
 
 " Approach, valiant Sir," said the King ; " I trust that you have 
 sustained no hurt which a skilful leech will not know how to cure ?" 
 
 " I am not hurt," said the Knight, " but my days are numbered. 
 I have lived to see this day ; it is enough and now would I 
 depart in peace." 
 
 The Knight's voice seerned strangely altered : during the battle 
 its stentorian tones had been heard all over the field, but now it 
 was feeble and tremulous. " Unbar his visor," said the King ; 
 " surely I have heard that voice before." 
 
 The Knight's visor was unbarred, and revealed to the wondering 
 eyes of the King and his attendants the features . of the Monk of 
 SL John. 
 
 " Did I not tell thee, O King ! that at my third visit th ethird 
 event which I had prophesied, the conquest of Normandy, should 
 come to pass before we parted ?" 
 
 " True, holy Father," said the King, " and thou hast proved 
 thyself the apostle of truth." 
 
 " I said, too," added the Monk, and his features changed, and 
 his voice grew more tremulous than ever, as he spake, " that when 
 we did part, we should part for ever. Yet I have something for 
 thy ear, and for the ears of the knights and barons who surround 
 thee, which I would not willingly leave the world without disclosing." 
 
 "Support him," said the King; "he is falling !" and two pages 
 hastened to the assistance of the Monk, whose strength was gra- 
 dually failing him. 
 
 " Speak out, old man !" said the King ; " who and what art 
 thou?"
 
 THE CONQUEST OF NOKMANDl 47 
 
 " This," said the Monk, " is the eightieth anniversary of my birth, 
 and the fortieth of my perilous fall and the fall of my country ; but, 
 blessed be heaven ! my country has retrieved that fall ; and I at 
 last can die in peace." 
 
 " Reveal thy name," said the King ; " for as yet thou speakest 
 riddles." 
 
 "My name !" said the old man, and the stentorian strength of 
 his voice seemed to return as he uttered it, " is HAROLD HAROLD 
 the Saxon Harold the King Harold the Conquered !" 
 
 A bitter groan burst from his heart as he pronounced the last 
 epithet ; and he hung down his head for a moment. 
 
 The King and his attendants gazed with the intensest interest on 
 the man who they had thought had been so long numbered with 
 the dead. Even the captive Robert forgot his own misfortunes in 
 the presence of his father's once powerful opponent. Harold at 
 length seemed to overcome his emotion, and gazed once more on 
 the assembled princes and barons. 
 
 " King of England !" he said, rearing up his stately form, and 
 extending his hands over the Monarch's head, " be thou blessed ! 
 thou hast restored the ancient race to the throne ; and thou hast 
 conquered the country of the proud Conqueror. Thy reign shall 
 be long and prosperous ; thou shalt beget monarchs, in whose veins 
 shall flow the pure stream of Saxon blood ; and ages and genera- 
 tions shall pass away, yet still that race shall sit upon the throne of 
 England." 
 
 His voice faltered his eyes grew dim his uplifted arms fell 
 powerless to his sides and he sunk a lifeless corse into the arms 
 of the attendants.* 
 
 * Knighton, from Giraldus Cambrensis, asserts that Harold was not slain at 
 the battle of Hastings, but that escaping, he retired to a cell near St. John's 
 Church, in Chester, and died there an anchoret, as was owned by himself in 
 his last confession, which he made wben dying ; and in memory whereof, his 
 tomb was shown when Knighton wrov.-j The same story is told by a con- 
 temporary, Eadmer, whom Malmsbury stylo " an historian to be praised lor 
 his sincerity and truth."
 
 f orb of 
 
 Be these juggling fiends no more believed 
 That palter with us m a double sense. 
 
 MACBETH, 
 
 THE Lord Alberic, Earl of Northumberland, sat at the case- 
 ment of one of the turrets of his castle of Alnwkk, and 
 gazed at the lovely scenery which presented itself far and wide to 
 h;s view. The sun was now sinking behind the western hills ; 
 but, as if to make amends for his approaching departure, he was
 
 THE L&K> Of GRImCE. 49 
 
 setting in unclouded magnificence, and with his heavenly alchemy 
 transmuting the sky, the hills, and the river which flowed in the 
 middle distance, into objects whose glory and splendour were no 
 unworthy rivals of his own. By degrees, however, the resplendent 
 orb sunk beneath the horizon ; and the glory faded from the sky, 
 and the hills began to cast a dim and gloomy shadow behind them, 
 and the river ceased to show its golden ripples in the valley, and 
 the dews fell from the heavens, and the mists arose from the earth, 
 and darkness was overspreading the face of all things, 
 i " It is thus it is thus," said Earl Alberic, " with the dream of 
 human ambition ! It seems most glorious at the period at which 
 it is about to vanish. The lowliest and the least worthy object of 
 desire the highest and the most unattainable it gilds alike with 
 its false and flattering beams ; and then, while we are yet gazing, 
 it is gone, and the lustre of all those objects is gone with it, and we 
 find the dull cold night of disappointment closing around us." 
 
 The Earl Alberic had not always been in the habit of enter- 
 taining such sad and gloomy thoughts as these. A very few years 
 had elapsed (for he had as yet seen but five-and-twenty summers) 
 since he had walked out at the hour of sunset, amidst the scenery 
 on which he was now gazing, and had given utterance to such 
 reflections as the following : " How glorious and wonderful is the 
 career of yon resplendent orb ! When he rises, he is hailed by the 
 blessings of all, for they know that his rising promises light, and 
 warmth, and fruitfulness to everything on which he gazes ; at 
 noon the promise of his rising is confirmed, and all creation 
 rejoices in his smiles ; and at eventide he sinks to rest in a fuller 
 blaze of majesty and splendour than had attended him during the 
 day. Like him would I spend my days. In youth, like him, be 
 hailed with hopefulness ; in maturity, like him, dispense blessings 
 and excite admiration ; and, like him, when the appointed hour 
 shall come, die surrounded with glory." 
 
 While the Earl Alberic was absorbed in these thoughts, he had 
 wandered farther from the castle than he had been accustomed to 
 do at so late an hour ; the shadows of evening were gathering 
 round him, and the wind \vas making that strange, unearthly, and 
 
 KW. B
 
 SO THE LORD OP GREECE.. 
 
 melancholy, yet withal pleasing and soothing music that so often 
 hymns the dirge of the departed day ; so that the incident which 
 then is said to have befallen the Earl Alberic, might perhaps be 
 but the creation of his own excited imagination. As he walked 
 along, and dreams of glory filled his fancy, and a long vista of 
 fame and honour opened before his mental vision, the following 
 words, in a low and shrill, but very distinct tone, were sounded in 
 his ears : Gratia Dominus eris." He started and looked around 
 him, but no human being was visible. "Ha!" he said, "could 
 my senses deceive me ? Methought I heard a glorious destiny 
 promised to me that I should be Lord of Greece. It was but 
 fancy. I am here alone. The night is closing in, and I must 
 return to the castle." He turned round for the purpose of re- 
 tracing his steps, when the same words were repeated still more 
 audibly and distinctly : " Gratia Dominus eris" 
 
 Again did the young lord gaze around him, and at the distance 
 of about twenty yards, he perceived a strange and uncouth figure 
 about three feet high, but with a head of most disproportionate 
 size, usurping indeed nearly half its dimensions, clad in a thin 
 green robe, and holding a branch of osier in its hand. " What 
 sayest thou, friend?" asked Alberic, advancing towards this myste- 
 rious being ; but the figure, instead of answering him, waved its 
 hand, and with threatening gestures seemed to be warning him 
 away. Alberic, however, continued to approach the spot on 
 which it stood ; but the moment that he arrived there, although 
 the instant before he had seen it distinctly, he found himself alone. 
 
 On his return to the castle, he narrated this strange adventure 
 to his friends and retainers there, who in vain endeavoured to 
 persuade him that the whole was the coinage of his own imagina- 
 tion. He retired to sleep, but not to repose : the strange un- 
 earthly form of the Dwarf haunted his dreams, leading by the 
 hand a female of exquisite beauty, whose fine classical features, 
 her flowing but sable drapery, and the wreath of laurel mixed 
 with cypress on her brows, seemed to point her out as a personifi- 
 cation of Greece in her then state of suffering and resistance. 
 The dream was so strong and vivid that it broke the chains of
 
 THE LORD OF GREECE. 5' 
 
 slumber, and Alberic started from his couch, almost expecting to 
 see the beings of his vision standing in substantial shape before 
 him. He gazed from his casement on the deep blue vault of 
 heaven spangled with innumerable stars. He looked for his natal 
 star, the planet Jupiter ; he gazed towards the East; it was just 
 rising, and, as it rose, its superior brightness dimmed all the neigh- 
 bouring orbs. " 'Tis strange," he said, " that that star should be 
 brightening the East at the very moment that I start from my 
 broken sleep to gaze upon it. What may this portend ?" " Gracicb 
 Dominus eris" said the same shrill voice which he had heard in 
 the woodlands on the preceding evening. " Ha !" he said, " my 
 question is indeed answered my destiny leads me to the East, 
 where the diadem of Greece is ready for my brow. And shall I 
 oppose the will of fate when that will conducts me to pOAver and 
 glory? Shall I throw myself beneath the chariot wheels of 
 Destiny, when I am invited to mount and seize the guiding reins 
 Perish the thought. Grtecia Do minus ero." 
 
 Soothed and tranquillized by the determination to which he had 
 arrived, he again threw himself upon his couch, and a sound and 
 unbroken sleep at length weighed down his eyelids. On the mor- 
 row he called his friends and retainers around him, told them that 
 the truth of the prediction which he had heard on the preceding 
 evening had been confirmed by the events of the night ; that the 
 Greeks were now waging war against the Infidels, and if a knight 
 of fame and prowess were to present himself to them, they would 
 immediately acknowledge him as their chief; and that he was 
 determined to rally his vassals around him, to levy all the treasure 
 that he was then possessed of, and to proceed forthwith on the 
 expedition to the East. His hearers, some lured by the hope of 
 plunder, and others religiously believing the Dwarf's prediction, all 
 professed their willingness to accompany their lord on his chival- 
 rous enterprise ; and scarcely a month had elapsed after this 
 meeting, when Earl Alberic, accompanied by about fifty knights 
 and esquires, well mounted and armed, and followed by near five 
 hundred archers and men-at-arms, was seen issuing from the 
 portals of Alnwick Castle on his way to the metropolis, for the 
 E 2
 
 5 THE LORD OF GKllRCB. 
 
 purpose of paying his respects to King Henry I. previous to his 
 embarkation for the East. 
 
 King Henry smiled when the Earl acquainted him with his 
 romantic enterprise, and added, " Choose not a bride, my Lord 
 Northumberland, among the dark-eyed daughters of the East. So 
 much valour and chivalry must not be lost to my court. When 
 you return, I will endeavour to find a fair partner who shall be 
 worthy of you, if you will be content to abide by my election." 
 
 "I am content, my liege," said the Earl, "and, whether pros- 
 perous or not, I will return to do homage to my sovereign and 
 benefactor." 
 
 The Earl, with his gallant retinue and his treasure, departed full 
 of zeal and hope. Three long years rolled away and no tidings of 
 him arrived in England, until about one month before the period 
 at which this narration commences, a tall and stalwart knight, 
 mounted upon a gallant but worn and weary steed, and clad in a 
 suit of complete armour which showed the dints of many a battle, 
 and the stains of many a day's long and wearisome journeying, and 
 attended only by a single page, wound his bugle before the gates 
 of Alnwick Castle. " And who be ye," asked the porter, " who 
 crave admittance here ? Our lord is absent with his vassals, and 
 there are none but old men and children and women within ; 
 therefore I dare not admit ye until ye tell me who ye are." 
 
 " Knowest thou me not, Walter ?" said the knight, lifting up his 
 visor and showing a face still young and handsome, but furrowed 
 with untimely wrinkles, and haggard, and sorrowful, and wan. It 
 was Earl Alberic. The porter fell upon his knees and craved his 
 master's pardon. " Rise, rise, good Walter," said the Earl ; " it 
 was I who did forget, when I gave credence to a juggling fiend 
 and left my broad earldom in England for a visionary diadem in 
 Greece." 
 
 In truth, the porter might have been forgiven a much greater 
 degree of forgetfulness, for the Earl had become an altered man in 
 person and in mind. He had lost all his retainers, but the single 
 page who accompanied him home, by the sword, or famine, or 
 fatigue ; he had spent or been despoiled of his treasure ; and the
 
 THE LORD OF GREECE. 53 
 
 Greeks, who at first gladly received the aid which his men and 
 money had afforded them, when they found these exhausted, and 
 that the Earl wanted to reign over them, plundered and persecuted 
 him till he was obliged to save his life by flight. Therefore was 
 it, as he sat at the turret casement, and gazed at the setting sun, 
 and saw the glory of the heavens, and the hills, and the river fade 
 away, and darkness overspread the face of all things, that he 
 said : " It is thus, it is thus, with the dream of human ambition. 
 It seems most glorious at the period at which it is about to vanish 
 the lowliest and the least worthy object of desire the highest and 
 the most unattainable, it gilds alike with its false and flattering 
 beams and then, while we are yet gazing, it is gone, and the 
 lustre of all those objects is gone with it, and we find the dull, 
 cold night of disappointment closing around us." 
 
 The Earl held a letter in his hand. It was from the King, 
 congratulating him on his return in safety, and commanding his 
 presence at York on the following day, for the purpose of solemniz- 
 ing his nuptials with the heiress of Abbeford, the bride whom the 
 King, agreeably to his promise, had selected for him. The Earl 
 had now abjured all his ambitious plans, and sighed only for 
 domestic peace : the lady, whom the monarch proposed that he 
 should wed, he had never seen ; but he had heard much of her 
 beauty, and he knew that she was endowed with large possessions ; 
 so that he hoped to repair both his peace of mind and his shattered 
 fortunes by this alliance. He retired early to his couch, as he 
 proposed to start by daybreak on his journey to York. He shortly 
 sunk to sleep, and presently the same dream which had disturbed 
 him three years before presented itself to him. He again saw the 
 strange unearthly form of the Dwarf, leading the same exquisitely 
 beautiful female whose fine classical features had never been erased 
 from the tablet of his memory. The lady, however, instead of 
 wearing sables as before, was clad in bridal robes, and held a 
 nuptial ring in her hand, which she offered to the sleeper. He 
 turned away from her angrily, but she smiled on him with so much 
 sweetness that he could not help once more raising his 'eyes 
 towards her and her companion. The latter suddenly underwent
 
 54 THE LORD OF GREECE. 
 
 a strange transformation. His stature increased to near six feet > 
 his green mantle was changed to a regal robe ; he no longer held 
 a branch of osier, but a sceptre, in his hand ; a golden crown was 
 on his head, and his features were those not of the grim and 
 ghastly Dwarf, but of Henry King of England. Earl Alberic 
 uttered an exclamation of pleasure and surprise, and extending his 
 arms towards his sovereign, with the effort which he made, awoke. 
 
 " Death !" he cried, starting from his couch, " am I for ever to 
 be the dupe of dreams ? It were enough to make a man forswear 
 repose and slumber, and sigh for the sleepless, restless life of 
 the wandering Jew. My unhappy Eastern adventure, and my 
 approaching nuptials, have been strangely jumbled in the dream 
 which I have just had. Ha ! " he added, gazing from the casement, 
 " 'tis a night of wondrous splendour. Just such a night was that 
 that fatal night when here I stood and gazed but, psha ! why 
 should I torture my brain to recall events which it were better I 
 should endeavour to blot entirely from my memory ? Yes, 'tis a 
 glorious night my natal star is now shining brilliantly so did it 
 then, when its prognostics deceived me. Yet now it is not in the 
 East ; 'tis neither rising, nor declining, but shining steadily and 
 brightly, lord of the ascendant. The wise believe the stars the 
 holy and religious say that it is the truth which they utter : if we 
 are led astray, it is that we know not rightly how to interpret their 
 language. Ne'er to my eye did my natal planet shine so brilliantly 
 as it does now : would that I could divine the event which it 
 portends !" " Gratia Dominus eris" said the same voice which 
 had twice before addressed Earl Alberic. " Fiend ! fiend !" said 
 the Earl, stopping his ears, " wake not that slumbering passion in 
 my soul which I had hoped was laid for ever. Avaunt, Sathanas ! 
 break not my repose again." 
 
 Thus saying, he stretched himself once more on his couch, in 
 such a position that he could gaze on the planet Jupiter. That 
 star seemed to be shedding its most benign influences on him, and 
 his eyes continued fixed upon it till their lids fell over them, and 
 he sunk into a gentle and refreshing slumber. 
 
 At an early hour in the morning Earl Alberic was mounted, and
 
 THE LORD OF GREECE. 55 
 
 on his way to York. The day was breaking beautifully. The 
 grey hue of dawn had already been transformed into a light silver) 
 tint, and the clouds were now beginning to catch a golden ting(; 
 from the beams of the as yet unrisen sun. At length the glorious 
 01 b appeared above the verge of the horizon, and a choral shout, 
 as it were from the feathered population of the leafy dwellings on 
 which he gazed, welcomed his return to this breathing world. 
 " Ha 1" said the Earl, while a faint sad smile played upon his lip, 
 " I once hoped to live and die like yonder orb : I drew from every 
 phenomenon which surrounded it omens favourable to myself, and 
 even now my false and flattering heart would prompt me to believe 
 that its glorious rising to-day typifies that my night of sorrow and 
 suffering has passed away, and that peace and joy, if not fame and 
 glory, will hereafter be my lot." At that moment he started, for 
 the well-remembered words, " Grcecicz Dominus eris" again rang 
 in his ears, and turning round he beheld the strange mis-shapen 
 figure of the Dwarf standing before him, clothed and equipped in 
 the same manner as on the evening on which he had before 
 encountered him. 
 
 " Devil ! " said the Earl, couching his lance, and making a furious 
 lunge at his tormentor. The latter, however, uttered a bitter laugh, 
 and was a hundred yards distant in an instant. "Fiend!" said 
 the Earl, " if I am to be, as thou sayest, Lord of Greece, tell me, 
 I adjure thee, when ?" 
 
 " Hodie Grades Dominus eris" said the Dwarf, and immediately 
 vanished. 
 
 " To-day I sayest thou, lying fiend !" exclaimed the Earl : " but 
 wherefore do I allow these agents of the demon of darkness to 
 tamper with me ? I will hasten to York to greet my lovely bride, 
 and in her arms forget the dreams of ambition and the instigations 
 of unholy beings." 
 
 Thus saying, he put spurs to his steed, and in a few hours dis- 
 mounted at the gate of the Minster of York, in which King Henry 
 was holding a synod. "Welcome, noble Alberic," said the 
 monarch, rising from the throne, on which, surrounded with 
 prelates and barons, he sat before the high altar " welcome, my *
 
 SB . THE LORD OP GREECE. 
 
 Lord Northumberland ; and although no Grecian diadem aaorn 
 thy brow, the favour of his King, and the love of a fair and noble 
 lady, should be no inadequate atonement for the disappointed 
 hopes of a true Knight like thee." 
 
 " They are prizes, my liege," said the Earl, " far more precious 
 than that for which I have struggled in vain." 
 
 " Then now," said the King, leading forth a tall and stately 
 lady closely veiled, " do I unite Beauty to Valour, and Heaven 
 prosper the union !" 
 
 " And I," said the Earl, sinking on his knee, and pressing the 
 lady's hand to his lips, " with this true kiss testify alike my loyalty 
 to my King, and my love to my bride." 
 
 The lady gently raised her suitor from his suppliant posture, 
 and throwing back her veil, exhibited to the astonished Alberic 
 the very features of the lovely female whom he had beheld in his 
 dream. J v ;i 
 
 " Ha !" he said, " is't possible ? Can that lovely form be aught 
 more than the dream of a disordered fancy ? Then am I indeed 
 blest, and the diadem of Greece may settle on the brow of him 
 who deems the bauble worth possessing." 
 
 " Then, reverend father," said the King, addressing the priest, 
 who stood ready to perform the nuptial ceremony, " proceed in 
 your holy office; and again I say, may Heaven prosper this 
 auspicious union !" 
 
 The priest then proceeded to perform the ceremony. To the 
 interrogatory " Earl Alberic, wilt thou have this woman to be thy 
 wedded wile ?" Alberic answered with a fervent and enthusiastic 
 " I will !" but the bride's answer was drowned in the exclamation 
 of wonder which burst from the lips of the bridegroom, when the 
 priest asked her, " Lady Grada, wilt thou have this man to be thy 
 wedded husband ?" That answer was, however, in the affirmative, 
 and Alberic repressed any farther expression of his feelings, until 
 after the conclusion of the ceremony.* 
 
 " Now, indeed," he then said, clasping the lady in his arms, "is 
 
 * Jorval. Dugdala.
 
 THE LORD OF GREECE. 57 
 
 the prediction which has rung in my ears so often, accomplished. 
 I am lord of a fairer and nobler territory than that which I ima 
 gined I was destined to possess. Here," he added, taking the 
 lady's hand in his, " on the altar of love and beauty do I abjure 
 the dreams of vanity and ambition." 
 
 The aisles of the Minster rang with the applauses of the 
 assembled multitude; the ecclesiastics pronounced their bene- 
 dictions on the wedded pair, and the King and Barons offered 
 their heartiest congratulations. Earl Alberic then departed with 
 his bride for Alnwick Castle, where he arrived in safety ; not, 
 however, without encountering the mis-shapen dwarf once more 
 on the spot on which he had twice before met him, who cried out 
 in the same shrill voice, as the Earl passed along, " Dominus 
 Grcsdce es," and vanished away. 
 
 

 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY. 
 STEPHEN. 
 
 1 135- STEPHEN, who had been most forward in doing homage to Matilda, 
 instantly on the death of Henry went to England, and by the assistance of his 
 brother, who was Bishop of Winchester, and several others of the principal 
 clergy, wa s crowned. Very few of the Barons attended the ceremony. 
 Stephen granted a charter to the people, containing many privileges. 
 Having seized on the late King's treasures, he brought over with the money 
 a motley crew of foreigners for his protection, being fearful, as yet, to trust 
 the English. 
 
 1137. Stephen gained the friendship of the King of France, by giving up 
 Normandy to his own son Eustace, who did homage for it to that King. 
 
 A revolt of most of the Barons of England took place against Stephen, at 
 the head of which was Robert Earl of Gloucester, the natural son of the 
 late King. 
 
 David, King of Scotland, -invaded the northern part of England in favour of 
 his niece, Matilda ; but an army was raised by the Archbishop of York, and 
 David was defeated near Northallerton. This was called the Battle of the 
 Standard, from a high crucifix which the English placed in a waggon. 
 
 1139. Matilda was invited over by the malcontents. She accordingly 
 arrived, and a bloody war was carried on for some time ; in which Stephen 
 showed himself a man of great bravery and abilities. 
 
 1141. At a battle fought near Lincoln, Stephen's army was defeated and 
 himself taken prisoner. He was immediately sent to Bristol, and ignominiously 
 put in chains. 
 
 Matilda gained over to her party the Bishop of Winchester ; but he soon 
 quarrelled with her, and entered into a conspiracy with the people of London 
 and the Kentish men to seize her person. She fled first to Oxford, and then to 
 Winchester, where she was closely besieged. In her retreat thence, Robert 
 Earl of Gloucester was taken prisoner, and afterwards exchanged for King 
 Stephen. 
 
 1142. Earl Robert went over to Normandy, which had yielded to the Earl 
 of Anjou, Matilda's husband, and persuaded him to send over his son Henry 
 with him to England.
 
 STEPHEN* 59 
 
 1143. The Bishop of Winchester obtained a subsidy for Stephen to car y 
 on the war. 
 
 1144-45-46. During these years the war was carried on with various 
 success ; however, at last, Matilda sent her son over to Normandy, and 
 followed soon afterwards herself. The great support of her cause, the Earl of 
 Gloucester, died in 1146. Stephen, being now left in quiet possession of the 
 throne, endeavoured to get his son Eustace acknowledged as his heir, but found 
 the Barons very averse to his proposition. 
 
 1147. Louis VII., King of France, was divorced from his Queen, Eleanor, 
 daughter and heiress of the Duke of Guienne. Henry, Earl of Anjou, Matilda's 
 son, made successful courtship to the divorced Queen, obtained her hand, and 
 with it all her vast possessions. 
 
 1153. Henry invaded Stephen in England, and gained some advantage over 
 him at Malmsbury ; after which they were preparing for a decisive action, 
 when the great men of both parties set on foot a negotiation, by which it was 
 agreed that Stephen should keep the crown during his life, and that Plenry 
 should succeed him. This negotiation was facilitated by the death of Eustace, 
 Stephen's son. 
 
 1154. October 25, Stephen died after a few days' illness. 

 
 |)0rfraH. 
 
 It is his brow, his eye, the very smile 
 
 Which mantled o'er his features when he gave 
 
 His liberal largess to me, even now 
 
 Plays on the lip. OLD PLAY, 
 
 ' / ~r*IS wondrous like !" said Earl Milo, the Constable o 
 
 _L England, as he sat in his private chamber in Gloucester 
 Castle, and gazed intently upon a portrait which he held in his 
 hand. 
 
 " 'Tis wondrous handsome !" said his lady, who had stolen un- 
 perceived behind him ; "and, methinks, were it female instead of 
 male, I should feel somewhat jealous at the devotion with which 
 you appear to regard it." 
 
 " If you knew whom it represents," returned the Constable, "you 
 would not wonder that I regard it with some interest." 
 
 "And what mysterious being then," inquired the lady, "has the 
 artist immortalized on yonder tablet ?" 
 
 " Tis Alan of Brittany," said Earl Milo. 
 
 " Ha ! the stout Earl of Richmond ! And how comes it that a 
 loyal subject of the Empress Matilda is thus engaged with the 
 portrait of one who is King Stephen's right-hand counsellor, and 
 the most renowned warrior who follows the fortunes of the 
 usurper ?" 
 
 " Listen to me for one moment, girl, and thy loyal fears shall 
 be speedily appeased. The Empress has received certain intelli-
 
 THE PORTRAIT. 61 
 
 gence that Earl Alan is now travelling incognito upon a secret 
 mission from King Stephen to the princes of Wales, whom he 
 hopes to league with his master against the Empress. Our Sove- 
 reign is anxious to be revenged upon this man for all the evils 
 which he has brought upon her, especially for the part which he 
 took in the elevation of King Stephen to the throne, and for the 
 stratagem by which he possessed himself of Fort Galclint. She 
 has accordingly procured portraits of him, which she has dispatched 
 to the governors of all the fortresses on the banks of the Severn, 
 with orders to arrest him and send him to Bristol either alive or 
 dead. The latter, I believe, would be the condition in which such 
 a present would be most acceptable at court, and in which it would 
 be most certainly found soon after its arrival there." 
 
 " Horrible !" exclaimed the lady. "And- these noble features 
 belong to the far-famed warrior whom Earl Milo means to deliver 
 up to the knife of the assassin !" 
 
 " Say not so, gentle Adelaide ; for in those features I recognise 
 a man to whom I am bound by every tie of gratitude." 
 
 The Constable then reminded the lady of an incident which he 
 had often narrated to her before, and with which it is also necessary 
 that the reader should be acquainted. Earl Milo had, some years 
 previously, borne arms in Normandy, under King Henry the First, 
 against his brother Robert, and being reduced to the utmost 
 distress by the loss of his baggage and what money he had taken 
 with him, he had applied to Earl Alan, whom he happened to 
 meet accidentally on his return, and besought him, in a tone, and 
 with a countenance of sufficient modesty, to assist him in his 
 distress. Alan was totally unacquainted with him, but he was 
 touched with pity. Whether he remarked something peculiarly 
 engaging in the countenance of the petitioner, or whether his good 
 genius prompted him to secure a friend whose gratitude and good 
 offices became afterwards so necessary to him, he took from his 
 purse six pieces of gold and gave them to the stranger, with a 
 frankness which made his alms worth much more than they were 
 intrinsically. Milo received them, expressing an ardent wish that 
 he might not die without an opportunity of evincing his gratitude.
 
 <5a THE PORTRAIT. 
 
 Now that opportunity seemed likely to arrive. He had been 
 entrusted with the Empress, and by her brother Robert, Earl of 
 Gloucester, with the chief authority on the banks of the Severn, for 
 the purpose of watching for Alan ; and all the other commanders 
 in that neighbourhood were under his orders. He had accepted 
 this appointment without being aware that he was acting against 
 his benefactor, because Alan, at the time that he bestowed his 
 bounty upon him, had not communicated to him his name. The 
 instant, however, that he received the portrait, he was struck with 
 its resemblance to his friend, and resolved to use his best energies 
 for his preservation. 
 
 "'Tis the face of an angel !" said the lady, after her husband 
 had left the apartment. " 111 befal the man who would do him 
 injury !" 
 
 The lady Adelaide was possessed of extraordinary beauty and 
 accomplishments, and was considerably younger than her husband, 
 with whom she had eloped from a nunnery, where her parents had 
 intended her to remain until such time as they should think that 
 she ought to marry. The novelty of this romantic adventure hav- 
 ing worn off, she began to find that neither the temper nor habits 
 of her husband were more suitable to her than his age. As far as 
 cold courtesy and respectful attention went, she had nothing to 
 complain of; but his days had been passed in camps and fortresses, 
 and the enthusiasm and ardent feelings of Adelaide were things 
 which he either did not understand, or which he looked upon as 
 puerilities and weaknesses. Shut up in the frontier city of Glouces- 
 ter, she saw none but rough grim warriors cased in iron, compared 
 with whom even Earl Milo appeared a model of grace and elegance. 
 She could not help contrasting the sparkling eye, the vivacious 
 expression of feature, and the polished manner which pervaded the 
 portrait of the Earl of Richmond, with the cold repulsive air of all 
 about her. Imminent as was the danger to which Alan would be 
 exposed, should he venture within the city, still she wished for his 
 ai rival; but day followed day, and week followed week, without 
 his making his appearance. Earl Milo began to hope that he had
 
 THE PORTRAIT. 63 
 
 crossed the Severn higher up the river, and had arrived safely in 
 the territory of Wales. 
 
 One evening, as the Constable was walking in the streets of 
 Gloucester, a man passed him closely muffled in his cloak, whose 
 figure reminded him strongly of the person whom he was in search 
 of. He went up and saluted him. The stranger returned his 
 compliment, and removing his cloak displayed features in which 
 Milo could not be mistaken. 
 
 " May I pray you, sir," said the Constable, " to accompany me 
 into yon mansion, as I wish to speak a few words to you." 
 
 " Nay," said Alan, " I do not know that that would be altogether 
 wise ; my hearing is sufficiently acute here to listen to your few 
 words, therefore say on." 
 
 " The intelligence which I have to communicate to you," said 
 Milo, " is of importance ; and I do not wish every eaves-dropper 
 in Gloucester to be privy to it." 
 
 " You look like an honest person," said Alan, taking his hand 
 from his sword, which he had instinctively grasped ; " therefore I 
 will e'en be rash enough to follow you." 
 
 The Constable then led the way into his house, and he and his 
 guest had no sooner entered and seated themselves, than turning 
 round to the latter quickly, he said, " My Lord of Richmond, you 
 are my prisoner !" 
 
 "Say you so?" said Alan, unsheathing his weapon; "then it 
 would not be fair that you should exercise the honourable office of 
 gaoler gratuitously. But eh ! who's this ?" said he, pausing, 
 " surely I have seen these features before ?" 
 
 " Even so," said Milo ; " surely you recollect the poor soldier 
 of King Henry's army, whom you relieved at the little village 
 of Marigny, and who parted from you expressing a hope that he 
 might one day have an opportunity of evincing his gratitude." 
 
 Alan instantly recognised Milo ; and the latter informed him of 
 the vigilance and inveteracy of the Empress towards him, and 
 showed him the portrait. He then urged him to abandon his pe- 
 rilous enterprise, endeavouring to convince him of the impossibility
 
 64 THE PORTRAIT. 
 
 of his pursuing his route without being either slain or made pri- 
 soner. The gallant Alan, however, was deaf to all his remonstrances, 
 saying," That having undertaken to perform the task with which 
 his sovereign had entrusted him, he was determined to persevere in 
 it, whatever dangers or difficulties might attend it." Milo, however, 
 sufficiently proved to him that it would be madness for him to 
 attempt to prosecute his journey for some days to come, as soldiers 
 were scouring the country far and wide in search of him. He offered 
 him an asylum in his house until the heat of the pursuit should be 
 over, and then promised to despatch a trusty page with him, who 
 would conduct him by the shortest and safest route into the Welsh 
 territories. 
 
 Alan, having accepted the Constable's offer, was introduced into 
 his family as an old but long estranged friend, who had just re- 
 turned from the Holy Land. He managed his disguise so adroitly, 
 that notwithstanding the extensive circulation of the portrait, it 
 was scarcely possible to recognise him. The wily Earl had per- 
 formed many feats so much more consummate than the disguise of 
 his own person, that the present crisis appeared to him in the light 
 of a mere pastime. He talked and laughed, and entered so com- 
 pletely into the peculiar humours of all about him, that at last, had 
 he been really discovered to be the Earl of Richmond, it is 
 doubtful whether the most devoted partisans of the Empress in the 
 castle would have had the heart to lay a hand upon him. He had 
 not, however, been in his retreat two days, before he could not 
 help remarking the very peculiar carriage of the Lady Adelaide 
 towards him. Habitually melancholy, especially in the presence 
 of her lord, he observed that she became vivacious and gay when 
 accident left her alone with him, and that, when they parted, her 
 eyes were frequently suffused with tears. At times she seemed 
 on the point of communicating something of importance, when 
 timidity or bashfulness would close her lips. These appearances 
 continued for a fortnight, when the truth flashed on his mind that 
 he had become an object of attachment to this misguided lady, 
 His resolve was instantly made to quit the castle immediately, and 
 at all hazards, The peace and honour of his friend, who had ven-
 
 THE PORTRAIT. 65 
 
 tured so much for his preservation, were now become dearer to 
 him than his own ; and the attractions of the Lady Adelaide were 
 such as to make him apprehensive that he could not remain long 
 within their sphere with safety to himself and to her. 
 
 " I must go, my friend," said he to the Constable ; " I dare not 
 linger here while I have King Stephen's mission to perform, were 
 all the Empress's legions drawn up on my road to intercept me." 
 
 " Not so soon, good my lord," returned Earl Milo, " the dangers 
 which environed you are already considerably diminished ; and I 
 have no doubt that in a few days the Empress will begin to doubt 
 the accuracy of her information as to your route, and to draw of! 
 her troops to stations where they are much more wanted." 
 
 The lady reinforced her husband's arguments, and added the 
 usual commonplace persuasions to delay the departure of her 
 guest ; but her eyes pleaded still more eloquently and beseechingly, 
 although with no better effect. 
 
 " Thanks, worthy host ; thanks, fair hostess," said Alan, " but I 
 must be stirring this very evening." 
 
 "Nay," said the Constable, "if you are determined upon a 
 speedy departure, let it be at least deferred until the morning. 
 Daybreak will be the most favourable season for you to effect your 
 escape, and I will by that time furnish you with a fleet steed, and 
 place a trusty page upon another, who is intimately acquainted 
 both with the routes which you ought to take, and with those which 
 you ought to avoid, and who will, I trust, conduct you safely to 
 your destination. He is a slender, smooth-chinned fellow, but his 
 fidelity and experience may be relied on." 
 
 The reasonableness of this proposition was such as Alan could 
 not object to ; he therefore consented to rest another night in the 
 castle. Having despatched his evening meal hastily, he excused 
 himself to his entertainers on account of the arduous journey which 
 he had to undertake in the morning, and retired to his couch. 
 
 That couch was one of perturbation and restlessness. His 
 feelings were agitated, both on account of his hurried journey, and 
 of the causes which led to it. He was also conscious of the 
 feeling of restraint with which he took leave of his host, and that it
 
 M THE PORTRAIT. 
 
 must have been apparent in his manner. Still, to have entered 
 into any explanation with him would have been to inflict a much 
 deeper wound than that which he should heal by accounting for his 
 own behaviour. These reflections agitated his mind during the 
 greater part of the night ; and he had not long sunk into a really 
 sound sleep, when he was awakened by the voice of the page, and 
 saw the grey light of dawn streaming through the lattice. He, how- 
 ever, speedily equipped himself for his journey, and joined the page 
 in the hall, whose slight and boyish person fully answered the de- 
 scription of his master. 
 
 " Are our steeds ready, my pretty boy ?" said Alan ; " we have 
 many a weary mile to traverse to-day. I am not riding out on a 
 day's hawking with a fair lady, where my hardest task would be to 
 lift her to her stirrup, or smooth the feathers of her falcon when 
 they are ruffled." 
 
 " All is ready," said the boy, " and half a day's hard riding will 
 bring us to a place of safety." 
 
 They were speedily in their saddles. At a sign from the page, 
 the drawbridge was let down, and pacing on it over the yawning 
 gulf beneath, they soon found themselves out of the citadel. 
 The page shortly after produced his master's seal to the sentinel 
 at the city gates, who recognised his authority, and placed them at 
 liberty among the green fields on the banks of the rapid Severn. 
 Alan took a parting glance at the citadel, which he saw towering 
 proudly above the other buildings of the city. He distinguished 
 the turret in which his host and hostess slept, and kept gazing on 
 it so long and so abstractedly that he did not perceive the keen 
 eye of the page fixed intently on his face. 
 
 " 'Tis the Constable's apartment," said the boy. 
 
 Alan started at the sound of his * oice. " True," answered he ; 
 " and long may he possess the authority in that castle which he so 
 honourably maintains now ; and long may he and his fair lady 
 enjoy those blessings of love and domestic peace which no one 
 merits more richly than they do !" 
 
 " 'Tis a bitter cold morning, sir," said the page ; " let us hasten 
 on!"
 
 TUB PORTRAIT 6? 
 
 The page's advice was seasonable, for Alan seemed inclined to 
 linger near the town ; and, now that he had made the desperate 
 effort which placed him beyond her attraction, he could not help 
 thinking how lovely and accomplished the Lady Adelaide was. 
 As the walls and turrets of Gloucester faded from his view, he felt 
 as if he had snapped the last link which connected him with the 
 lovely Adelaide. 
 
 " How long has your lord been married ?" said he to the page. 
 
 " Seven weary years," answered the stripling. 
 
 " Wherefore sayest thou so ?" said Alan. " Is she not as fair a 
 dame as ever graced a court, and her lord as gallant and noble a 
 knight as ever bore arms under any banner ?" 
 
 " Even so, sir ; but a sword as bright as adamant, and a brow 
 as hard, and a heart as cold, may suffice well enough to win the 
 laurel from a foe, but not the heart of a fair lady." 
 
 " Boy, your lip trembles as you speak, and your colour changes. 
 What means this emotion ? Surely you have not been mad enough 
 to nurse a hope that you have any interest in the heart of (the Lady 
 Adelaide ?" 
 
 " She thinks my cheek," answered the page, " as fair as her own ; 
 but it is you, and you only, whom she loves." 
 
 Alan started at this extraordinary declaration, and was about to 
 address the page in no very gentle tone, when he observed his 
 colour change, and his sight fail him ; and had h 2 not immediately 
 caught him in his arms, he would have fallen from his horse. 
 Alan, having lifted him off, and dismounted himself, laid him on 
 the ground in a state of perfect insensibility. The amazed Earl 
 lost no time in procuring water from the river ; and opening his 
 vest, and disencumbering him from his forester's cap, he prepared 
 to sprinkle him with the refreshing element, when, judge of his 
 astonishment at seeing the beautiful bosom of a female, and 
 beholding her dark auburn locks flowing in rich ringlets down to 
 her neck : he also observed that the cheeks and eyebrows had 
 been stained to assist the disguise, and indeed he had no difficulty 
 in recognising the Lady Adelaide. 
 
 It was some time before he succeeded in restoring animation; 
 
 W 9
 
 68 THE PORTRAIT. 
 
 at length her bright black eyes again unclosed, but a sigh was the 
 only thanks which she breathed to her preserver. The perplexity 
 of Alan increased every moment the interruption to his journey 
 in the most perilous part of his road was the least embarrassing 
 part of his dilemma. He could not reconcile himself even to the 
 appearance of clandestinely carrying away the wife of his friend ; 
 neither could he leave her unprotected and alone, and exposed to 
 die resentment of her husband. Whatever plan he could suggest, 
 honour seemed compromised in one case, gratitude and gallantry 
 in another, and safety in all. 
 
 " I perceive," said the lady, observing his irresolution, " that you 
 despise me ; well, there are peace and slumber in the bed of 
 yonder Severn, if there be not mercy and compassion on its banks." 
 
 As she spake these words, she made a frantic movement to- 
 wards the river, but Alan detained her. ' :< For Heaven's sake, 
 madam," said he, "judge me not so harshly. But wherefore take 
 so rash a step as this, or trust to one who is himself a wanderer 
 and a fugitive, to afford protection to so much beauty as this ?" 
 While he was speaking, the sound of horses's hoofs was distinctly 
 heard at no great distance behind them. " Ah !" shrieked the 
 lady, " 'tis Earl Milo, save me, save me ! Let us mount and 
 away, if you would preserve my life and your own." 
 
 The suddenness of this surprise, and the eagerness of his com- 
 panion, left Alan no time for deliberation. They mounted their 
 steeds with what celerity they could, and used their utmost efforts 
 to distance their pursuers. It was evident, however, from the 
 more audible sound of the hoofs, that the latter were gaining 
 rapidly upon them. A sudden turn of the road enabled them, on 
 looking back, to see within a bow's shot of them five men, well 
 mounted and armed, at the head of whom rode Milo. 
 
 " Stop, traitor, coward, robber !" shouted the Governor, pointing 
 a bow and arrow at them, " or you and* your paramour have not 
 an instant to live." 
 
 Alan, seeing that escape was hopeless, reined in his steed, and 
 calmly waited the advance of his pursuer. " My Lord," said he, 
 " I can pardon the epithets which you have just applied to me."
 
 THE PORTRAIT. 69 
 
 " Pardon !*' yelled the other, interrupting him and drawing his 
 s\vord : " have at thy life's blood, dastard ;" and, throwing away 
 his bow, added " this good steel and this right arm will suffice." 
 
 Alan, as he received his assault, stood only on the defensive ; 
 but did it so coolly and steadily, that no sooner had his adversary's 
 weapon clashed with his own, than it flew out of his hand to the 
 distance of fifty paces. 
 
 " Villains !" said the Constable to his attendants, who at that 
 moment came up with him, " surround him, seize him, 'tis Alan 
 of Brittany !" 
 
 The name was echoed by every voice in a tone of exultation 
 and surprise, and in an instant Alan was surrounded and disarmed. 
 He now beheld the crisis of his fate. Even could he succeed in 
 convincing Milo of the injustice of his suspicions (which seemed 
 scarcely possible), still the latter had now gone so far that it was 
 even out of his power, if he wished it, to save him, as the news of 
 his arrest would be immediately communicated to the Empress. 
 
 " The dungeons of Gloucester," said he mentally, as he rode 
 between two of Milo's retainers, " will furnish me a dull sort 
 of lodging for a few days ; and then the steel, or the cord, or the 
 bowl, will open a passage to the other world for all of Alan of 
 Brittany that can disturb the high-minded and generous Empress 
 in this." 
 
 Strictly guarded, the captives, both male and female, rode on 
 towards Gloucester, while the Constable came sadly and moodily 
 behind. The friend for whom, on the preceding evening, he had 
 felt so much veneration and esteem and the wife, to whom, not- 
 withstanding his cold and reserved manners, he had been tenderly 
 attached, he was now driving before him as criminals and prisoners ', 
 and one of them, at least, was devoted to the slaughter. Some- 
 times the incident at the village of Marigny, and the outstretched 
 hand of Alan, and the open, generous expression of his face, would 
 be painted in most vivid distinctness on his memory ; and at others, 
 he fancied that he saw that hand cold and motionless, and that 
 face swollen and discoloured, after a violent and treacherous death. 
 But the destroyer of his domestic peace, the wretch whom he had
 
 TO THR PORTRAIT. 
 
 sheltered at his own hearth, and who had rewarded him by stealing 
 from that hearth its greatest pride and ornam* at, was a being for 
 whom no torture or ignominy too great could be devised. He 
 could now account for the suddenness of his departure, and the 
 embarrassment with which he took his leave of him ; and every 
 feeling of difficulty and distress with which Alan was overwhelmed 
 by his delicacy for the situation of both parties, was immediately 
 attributed to the fears and the remorse of the seducer and the 
 traitor. Pale and silent, and almost lifeless, with drooping head 
 and dishevelled tresses, Adelaide rode between two persons, to 
 whom her lightest word had. usually been a command, and her 
 faintest smile a beam of joy. The dull, monotonous sound of their 
 horses' hoofs was unbroken, except sometimes by a heart-drawn 
 sigh from her, and occasionally by a light Provencal air whistled 
 by Alan ; who, except when he cast a look of commiseration on 
 Adelaide, from whom he was too far apart to communicate by 
 words, seemed to take the whole affair as carelessly as if it had 
 been a party of pleasure. 
 
 As neither the journey to Gloucester, nor the arrival there, pro- 
 duced any incident which is worthy of record, it will be sufficient 
 to inform the reader simply, that Alan was again furnished with 
 lodgings in the castle ; but it was in a dungeon a hundred feet 
 below the level of the Severn, and secured by bars and locks of 
 the strongest and most massive construction. He was not obliged 
 to submit to the indignity of fetters, from which he very naturally 
 conjectured that they did not intend to put him to the trouble of 
 making any very long stay there, or in the world. He, however, 
 remained in this place a whole day, without seeing the expected 
 assassin, and ate heartily of the food which was liberally provided 
 for him, without examining very curiously of what materials it was 
 composed : neither, though he was without conversation, was he 
 entirely without company, for every half hour his gaoler unbarred 
 his prison door, and looked in to see if all were safe. A second 
 day passed in the same manner, and he began to be haunted, not 
 so much by fears for his own life, as by a restless desire to execute 
 the mission with which he was entrusted by his roval master. The-
 
 THE PORTRAIT. 71 
 
 third night came, and weary of waiting for his murderers, he had 
 sunk into a profound sleep, when he was awakened by some one 
 calling upon his name. 
 
 " Ready, ready, for you !" said he, starting up ; " you have been 
 a long time coming." 
 
 " Peace peace not so loud," said the Lady Adelaide ; for as 
 the light of the lamp which she held in her hand fell upon her 
 pale but beautiful features, he discovered that it was she. " I have 
 mastered them in dissimulation. They thought me too weak and 
 feeble even to lift my head from the pillow, and therefore left me 
 unfettered with bolt or key, and with only one female janitor, who 
 is now too soundly slumbering to wake till long after daybreak. 
 You must begone." 
 
 "Show me but how, fair lady, and I would not wait for a 
 second bidding." 
 
 " There are two secret passages from this dungeon ; the one 
 leads to the apartment from which I have just come, and the other 
 (touching a secret spring in the wall, which immediately opened 
 and showed a door and a flight of steps) will conduct you through 
 a subterraneous passage beyond the castle and the town, when you 
 must trust to your patience and your wit to elude pursuit. The 
 Empress's messenger is expected in Gloucester momentarily, with 
 orders for your assassination ; therefore be quick." 
 
 " But how can I leave you surrounded by dangers ? and even 
 if I follow your advice, my wary gaoler will be looking in, in a 
 quarter of an hour, to see that all is right, and the pursuit which 
 will be instantly set on foot, will soon bring me back again to 
 Gloucester." 
 
 " Fear not for me," said she ; " my fate is sealed ; a few days 
 are to restore me to my parents. Give me your cloak, with which 
 wrapped around me, I can supply your place on yonder couch, 
 and so elude the vigilance of the gaoler until the morning, when 
 1 trust that you will be beyond the reach of danger." 
 
 "Thanks, generous fair one," said Alan, eagerly kissing hei 
 hand ; but hearing the gaoler drawing the bolts on the outside, he 
 hastily enveloped her in his cloak and disappeared behind the
 
 73 THE PORTRAIT. 
 
 secret door, while she threw herself on the couch and assumed the 
 appearance of profound slumber. 
 
 " Is the deed done ?" said Earl Milo to the gaoler, as about two 
 hours after daybreak he came to the dungeon door of his prisoner. 
 
 " The Empress's emissary was not delayed an instant more than 
 was necessaiy to enable him to transmit his credentials to you* 
 ]ordship, and to receive your warrant for the deed." 
 
 " And how did the prisoner suffer ?" said the Governor, in a lov 
 and hollow voice. 
 
 " He was in a profound sleep," said the gaoler. " He heaved 
 a deep sigh as the Norman's steel entered his bosom, and then his 
 spirit fled for ever." 
 
 The Constable hid his face in his hands, and uttered a deep groan, 
 while his whole gigantic frame shook like an aspen leaf. " Lead 
 me in to him," he said. " I will once more look upon the face of 
 him who was once my friend, though he died my bitterest enemy." 
 
 The prison door was unbarred, and the murdered person was 
 perceived bathed in blood, with his whole form and face enveloped 
 in his cloak ; but what was the horror of all present, on unmuffling 
 the body, to see the wan and pale, but still beautiful features of 
 Adelaide, from whom life appeared to have escaped so quickly, 
 that scarcely any mark of a violent death was perceptible except 
 the wound upon her breast. 
 
 A few inquiries soon revealed the whole mystery. Adelaide, 
 whom all supposed to have been in such a state of feebleness and 
 exhaustion as to be unable to turn herself on her pillow, had taken 
 advantage of the profound slumber of her attendant (who did not 
 notice her absence until she was roused in the morning to answer 
 the inquiries of the Constable) to find her way through the secret 
 passages of the castle, which were unknown to all but Earl Milo 
 and herself, to the dungeon of the prisoner. There, as the reader 
 has seen, she effected his escape, and, having occupied his place 
 on the prison bed, she sunk into a deep sleep. The emissary of 
 the Empress arrived in the dead of the night with authority to put 
 Alan to death, and Adelaide received the fatal blow which was 
 intended for the man for whom she had ventured so much.
 
 THE SAXON LINE RESTORED 
 
 All hail, ye genuine kings ! Britannia's issue, hail ! 
 
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY. 
 HENRY THE SECOND. 
 
 HENRY was crowned King (January, 1155) at Westminster, by Theobald, 
 Archbishop of Canterbury. 
 
 1157. The Welsh having invaded England, Henry so completely humbled 
 them that they were obliged to deliver up many of their castles, and permit 
 wide roads to be cut through their woods, that he might in future have the 
 easier access into their country. 
 
 1158. The Duke of Brittany having seized Nantes, on the death of Geoffrey, 
 the King's brother, Henry immediately led an army to Normandy, which very 
 soon retook that town. He then concluded a treaty with Conan, Duke of 
 Brittany, by which he contracted his son Geoffrey, then in his cradle, to the 
 Duke's daughter, Constance. 
 
 1162. Henry, in support of his claim to the province of Toulouse, in right 
 of his wife Eleanor, went over to France and besieged the capital of the 
 province ; but Louis VII. threw some troops, commanded by himself, into the 
 town, and obliged Henry to raise the siege. 
 
 Soon after this a peace was concluded, and Margaret, Louis's daughter, who 
 bud been on a former occasion contracted to Henry's eldest son, was sent into 
 England to be educated. On her arrival there, Henry ordered them to be 
 immediately married, though the bridegroom was only seven years of age, and 
 the bride but three. 
 
 The King, desirous of curbing the excessive power of the clergy, took the 
 opportunity of the Archbishopric of Canterbury being vacant, to obtain it for 
 Becket, who had been bred to the law. For this man the King had conceived 
 a great partiality, and made him his Chancellor ; he therefore thought him a
 
 74 ffKNRY THE SECOWD. 
 
 proper person to assist him in his design ; but he found Becket, from th 
 moment he was consecrated, ready to oppose him in everything. 
 
 Henry was so highly exasperated, and so determined on humbling tr4 
 insolence of the clergy, that he assembled the nobles and prelates, and the 
 Constitutions of Clarendon were at length signed, even by Becket himself 
 They were calculated to take all power out of the hands of the clergy. 
 
 Becket, finding that the Pope refused to confirm these Constitutions, declared 
 that he would not conform to them, as he had been forced to sign them, and 
 even did penance for that act. At length his behaviour grew so outrageous 
 towards the King, that Becket, afraid of the consequences, quitted the kingdom, 
 and excited the Pope and the King of France to take part in his quarrel. 
 
 1170. Henry caused his eldest son to be crowned by the Archbishop of 
 Vork, and to receive on the occasion the homage of the Barons of the 
 kingdom. 
 
 Henry was reconciled to Becket, who returned to England. 
 
 1171. The King being in Normandy, still tormented by Becket, exclaimed 
 before his courtiers, " Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest?" The hint 
 was taken ; and in a little time it was known that four of his knights had gone 
 privately to Canterbury, and assassinated Becket at the altar ; soon after 
 which the Pope canonized him, and threatened to excommunicate Henry for 
 the murder. 
 
 Dermot, one of the petty kings of Ireland, craved Henry's aid against some 
 of the other kings of that country ; accordingly, he carried over an army, and 
 very soon subdued the country, which the Pope had long previously bestowed 
 on him by a Bull. 
 
 During his absence the Queen put his mistress, the fair Rosamond, to death, 
 and prevailed on her sons to revolt against him in France ; to forward which 
 design, his eldest son went on a pretended visit to the King of France. The 
 Queen, before Henry's return, had likewise sent over Richard and Geoffrey, 
 for which proceeding she was afterwards closely confined. Another rebellion 
 now broke out, but it was not attended with the success which was expected, 
 the old King defeating his enemies in almost every encounter. In England, 
 Henry's general, the Earl of Bohun, defeated the Earl of Leicester, and 
 afterwards the Scots. William, their King, was taken prisoner, and sent first 
 to Richmond, and afterwards to Normandy. 
 
 The King, on his arrival in England, did penance at Canterbury for Beckett 
 murder, permitting himself to be scourged by the monks of St. Augustine. 
 
 Henry then reduced the remains of his sons' party in England ; and bein? 
 informed that the King of France in his absence had besieged Rouen, put to 
 sea with a body of troops, and saved the place. 
 
 Soon afterwards he concluded a treaty with the French King, notwithstanding 
 the opposition of his son Richard. At last Henry was reconciled to a]) 
 his sons.
 
 HENRY THE SECOND. 75 
 
 1174. Tk e King of Scotland was released, but on very hard terms, being 
 obliged to do homage for his kingdom. 
 
 1176. Henry confirmed the laws of Edward the Confessor, and divided 
 England into circuits, on which the judges were to go at stated times to 
 administer justice. 
 
 1177. The King of France wishing to go on pilgrimage to Becket's tomb, 
 Henry met him at Dover and conducted him to Canterbury. 
 
 1183. Prince Henry went over to Guienne for the purpose, as was generally 
 supposed, of forwarding a revolt, but was taken ill and died there. 
 
 1185. Henry sent over his son John as Governor of Ireland, but his bad 
 conduct obliged him to recall him. 
 
 1 1 86. Prince Richard began to raise disturbances in Guienne; but his 
 father, by threatening to disinherit him, put a stop to his proceedings. 
 
 Geoffrey, Henry's son, was killed at a Tournament 
 
 1187. News was received of the overthrow of the Christians, at Tiberiade, 
 by Saladin, Sultan of Egypt, which occasioned the loss of Jerusalem ; on 
 which the King of France and Henry took up the cross ; but on the eve of 
 their departure they quarrelled, and carried on a bloody war against each other. 
 Richard left his father to join Philip, King of France. 
 
 1 1 88. Henry offered terms of accommodation ; but Philip's proposals were 
 too exorbitant to be complied with. 
 
 1189. The King's affairs growing worse, he was forced to agree to Philip's 
 terms : during the negotiation he found out that his beloved son John had been 
 privy to all Philip's and Richard's plots for dethroning him. In the agony of 
 his mind he pronounced a curse upon both his sons, which he could never i>s 
 persuaded to revoke. 
 
 He died iu August, at Chinon : and was buried at Fontevrault
 
 Whenever you shall see a mighty king with a freckled face make an Srruptioy 
 into the southern part of Britain, should he cross Ryd Pencarn, then know ye 
 'that the might of Cambria shall be brought low. 
 
 MERLIN'S PROPHECY. 
 
 ABOUT a mile and a half south of the town of Newport in 
 Monmouthshire, there is a small stream which was anciently 
 called Nant Pencarn, and which is very difficult of passage, except 
 at certain times, not so much on account of the depth of its waters 
 as from its hollow and muddy bed. The public road led formerly 
 to a ford, called Ryd Pencarn ; that is, the ford under the head of 
 the rock, from Ryd, which in the ancient British language signifies 
 a ford, Pen the head, and Cam a rock. Of this place Merlin Sylves- 
 ter had thus prophesied : " Whenever you shall see a mighty prince 
 with a freckled face make a hostile irruption into the southern part 
 of Britain, should he cross Ryd Pencarn, then know ye that the 
 might of Cambria shall be brought low."* 
 
 In the reign of the English King Henry the Second, South 
 Wales had been repeatedly attacked by that monarch; but his 
 success had ever been merely temporary, the martial spirit of the 
 Welsh continually breaking out and recovering from him the con- 
 quests which he made. The priests and minstrels, who were well 
 acquainted with the prophecy of Merlin, had always watched the 
 approach of this King with the most intense anxiety ; for he seemed 
 
 |f)$;.ss,-. * Giraldus Cambrensis.
 
 RYD PENCARN. 77 
 
 to be the person pointed out by the seer, being not only a mighty 
 prince, but having a freckled face. He had invaded Wales several 
 times, and had twice crossed Nant Pencarn, but never by the ford 
 vhich Merlin mentioned. Indeed, this ford had been long disused, 
 as it led over that part of the river where the current was strongest, 
 and a more modern and easier ford was found higher up the stream. 
 Over this latter ford had King Henry formerly passed for the pur- 
 pose of conquering South Wales, in which purpose, whatever partial 
 advantages might attend the progress of his arms, he was always 
 intimately unsuccessful. 
 
 In the year 1163, during the absence of Henry in Normandy, 
 Rhys ap Gryffid, the immediate heir to the sovereign dignity of 
 South Wales, took the opportunity of throwing off his allegiance to 
 the King of England, and began his revolt by laying siege to the 
 Castle of Llandovery, in Carmarthenshire, of which he soon gained 
 possession. Here he found the beautiful Adelaide de St. Clare, 
 the daughter of the commander of the Castle, Hubert de St. Clare, 
 the Constable of Colchester, who was absent with his sovereign in 
 Normandy. This lady had been betrothed to William de Langualee, 
 a gallant knight, who was also with the King's forces in Normandy, 
 and she was in daily expectation of his return for the purpose of 
 celebrating their nuptials. A noble ransom was offered for her 
 liberation, but Rhys was deaf to every entreaty, and carried her 
 away with him to the mountains. He also subdued the whole of 
 the county of Cardigan ; made successive inroads upon the 
 Flemings in Pembrokeshire; and entrenching himself with a 
 formidable army among the mountains of Brecknock, carried terror 
 and devastation into the neighbouring English counties. Other 
 Welsh princes, animated by his example, threw off the English yoke, 
 and the whole country evinced a spirit of independence and resis- 
 tance, on which Henry and his advisers had not calculated. 
 
 In the mean time Henry no sooner arrived in England, than 
 collecting a vast force of English, Normans, Bretons, and Flemings, 
 he proceeded towards South Wales, for the purpose of subduing 
 Rhys ap Gryffid and his adherents. He was accompanied by the 
 most distinguished barons and knights of those nations, and amongst
 
 7l KYD PENCARN. 
 
 others by the Constable of Colchester, the father, and William de 
 Langualee, the lover of the lady whom the Welsh prince had got 
 into his power. The most serious apprehensions were entertained 
 even for her life ; for the semi-barbarous Welsh, in those days, 
 spared neither sex nor age when they wished to avenge themselves 
 on their enemies. A report had even spread through the English 
 camp that Rhys had given her up to the priests, and that they, who 
 blended many Pagan and Druidical rites with the very imperfect 
 system of Christianity which they professed, intended to offer her 
 up as a propitiatory sacrifice to Heaven, in the hope of thereby 
 averting from their country the calamities which they anticipated 
 from the invasion of King Henry. 
 
 The King's forces were within an hour's march of the town of 
 Newport, and were advancing full of hope and enthusiasm, when 
 they came in sight of the Welsh army, which hung like a dark cloud 
 on the top of the mountain which the English were about to ascend. 
 They had not expected to encounter the Welsh before they crossed 
 Nant Pencarn ; but they were, nevertheless, not ill prepared to repel 
 the threatened attack. Their first attempt to ascend the hill was 
 met by a shower of arrows and stones ; which latter their opponents 
 hurled with tremendous force upon their invaders, and accompanied 
 with fearful and deafening shouts. The English bowmen, however, 
 returned the flight of their foemen's arrows with wonderful precision 
 and effect, and more especially as the Welsh, posted on the summit 
 of the hill, offered a mark which the English archers could scarcely 
 fail to hit. A numerous body of Welsh now descended the hill, 
 armed with long knives, in the use of which weapons they were 
 peculiarly expert, and grappled in close contact with their enemies. 
 The King, wielding his battle-axe, was repeatedly seen surrounded 
 by these assailants ; but he as repeatedly hewed his way through 
 them, dealing death at every blow. At length they were forced to 
 retreat, and make their way with the utmost precipitation towards 
 the summit of the hill, where their main force, dreadfully thinned 
 in numbers by the arrows of the English, seemed to be making one 
 more stand, and had drawn their bows for a final attack upon their 
 invaders. At length they rained down a tremendous shower of
 
 RYD PENCAJtN. 79 
 
 arrows upon the English, and then, turning their backs upon them, 
 descended the hill in the opposite direction. Hubert de St. Clare, 
 who stood next to the King, observed an arrow descending, which 
 some unerring arm had aimed at the person of the sovereign, 
 and stepping between him and the winged messenger of death, 
 was just in time to receive the latter in his bosom. He sank to 
 the ground, pierced to the heart. " Hubert, good Hubert," said 
 the King, bending over him, " I trust, thou art not hurt !" 
 
 " Farewell, my liege !" said the Constable ; " the days of Hubert 
 de St. Clare are numbered but he dies contented, having saved 
 the life of his lord." 
 
 " Nay nay, my noble soldier !" said the King, " I must not lose 
 thee thus. Support him, good William de Langualee. Would 
 that thy fair daughter were here ! She is well skilled in the leech's 
 art, and might perchance heal thy wound." 
 
 " Not so not so," said the old man, on whose eyes the dimness 
 of death was gathering ; " her kindest office would be to pray for 
 my soul. But thou, Sir King, hast named my daughter. May the 
 prayer of a dying man find favour in thy royal ear ?" 
 
 " Name thy petition, good Hubert," said the King : " whatever it 
 may be, I pledge my royal word that it shall be complied with." 
 
 " My daughter, my daughter !" faintly articulated Hubert, grasp- 
 ing the King's hand with an energy intended to supply that emphasis 
 which he had not strength to give to his words. " Promise me, 
 that if she yet live thou wilt be a good lord and protector to 
 her ; and that if she be no more, thou wilt be her avenger." 
 
 " 1 promise thee," said the King, " if she be alive, she shall wed 
 this my excellent knight, William de Langualee, and I will make 
 her portion equal to an Earl's revenue ; and if the savage Welsh 
 have dared to hurt a hair of her head, there is not a town in Cambria 
 that shall not become a monument of King Henry's vengeance." 
 
 The old man's eyes had closed under the weight of approaching 
 death, but the King's words revived him for a moment. He 
 gazed fixedly on the monarch, a faint smile played upon his 
 lip, and his eyes glimmered with a bright but dying lustre until 
 their lids once more and for ever fell over them.
 
 fe> RYD PENCARN. 
 
 During the progress of these events, a band of priests and min- 
 strels had gathered on the southern bank of Nant Pencarn, having 
 the unfortunate Adelaide St. Clare in their custody. As Rhys ap 
 Gryffid with his forces was about to pass the river for the purpose 
 of making that attack upon the English, the unsuccessful issue of 
 which has been just narrated, she had sprung forwards and seized 
 his bridle ere he could cross the ford. 
 
 " Save me, save me !" said Adelaide ; " surely the generous Rhys 
 ap Gryffid the descendant of Roderick the Great delights not 
 in the blood and tears of unfortunate maidens ! Save me, save me ! 
 My father is rich, and will pay a princely ransom ; King Henry 
 is powerful, and will exact a fearful retribution. Prince of Wales, 
 I charge thee, save me !" 
 
 " Maiden, I have no power to assist thee," said the Prince ; " I 
 have given thee into the charge of the ministers of God, who will 
 deal with thee as shall seem to them to be most agreeable to His 
 holy will." 
 
 Thus saying, he put spurs to his horse, and dashing into the 
 stream, landed speedily at the opposite bank. 
 
 " Were it not well to spare the maiden's life ?" said one of the 
 priests to him who seemed to be the chief among them. 
 
 "That," replied the other, "were to spurn and scoff at the 
 favour of God and St. David, who have delivered her into our 
 hands. Her life shall be spared for a time, until either Prince 
 Rhys return victorious from his attack upon the King, or if he 
 should fail in that attack, until the King shall cross Nant Pencarn 
 by the new ford, and so give assurance that the evil spoken of in 
 Merlin's prophecy is not now to fall upon Cambria. In either 
 event it will be proper to testify our gratitude to God, by offering 
 upon bis altar the noblest sacrifice which earth affords a spotless 
 and high-born virgin." 
 
 Of the purport of this conversation, which was held in the ancient 
 British language, Adelaide was ignorant. She had repeatedly en- 
 deavoured by her tears, her gestures, and her suppliant postures, 
 to soften the hard-hearted bigots by whom she was surrounded ; 
 but in vain, for they looked at her with a grim and sullen ex-
 
 RYD PENCARN. 81 
 
 pression of pleasure ; and when her cries and lamentations were 
 loudest, they caused the minstrels or cornhiriets (so called from 
 corti) a horn, and />, long) to sound their trumpets till the shores 
 of the river echoed with their minstrelsy. The priests stood by 
 her side with their bare knives in their hands, and their keen grey 
 eyes anxiously exploring the distance for some signs of the return 
 of their countrymen who had lately crossed the river. At length, 
 some straggling fugitives were seen running in the greatest disorder 
 towards the river, and were shortly followed by more numerous 
 parties, and finally by Rhys ap Gryffid, with the main body of his 
 forces in full retreat, uttering the most pitiable and discordant cries. 
 
 " To the woods ! to the woods !" shouted the Prince, as he 
 once more crossed the river; " all is lost if we are overtaken before 
 we arrive there !" 
 
 One long, loud note of wailing and lamentation from the in- 
 struments of the cornhiriets followed the flight of the Prince and 
 his forces. 
 
 " The fall of Cambria is at hand !" said the Priest, who had 
 already interceded on behalf of Adelaide ; " let us rather seek our 
 own safety than stay here till the proud conqueror comes. Release 
 this maiden ; she has committed no crime ; and Heaven will 
 surely not frown upon us because we refrain from the shedding of 
 innocent blood." 
 
 " Sayest thou that the fall of Cambria is at hand ?" said his 
 superior ; " have we not twice before seen the princely Rhys driven 
 across yonder stream with the blood-thirsty English following him; 
 but has not King Henry always crossed the new ford, and shortly 
 afterwards been driven back defeated and disgraced ? The fall of 
 Cambria is not at hand until Merlin's prophecy is accomplished. 
 Until that proud King shall cross Ryd Pencarn, Cambria, however 
 fortune may frown upon her for a moment, is sure of final victory. 
 Brethren and friends, listen to me ! Here let us wait until King 
 Henry has crossed the new ford and put his foot on the southern 
 bank of the stream. Then testify your gratitude to Heaven for the 
 preservation once more afforded to us, bury your knive? in the 
 maiden's bosom, and flee." 
 
 LXtS,
 
 82 KVD PRNCARN. 
 
 One hoarse murmur of acquiescence and applause followed this 
 address, and the band again folded their arms and gazed sternly 
 across the stream. They had not gazed long before the English, 
 whom the superior swiftness and better knowledge of the country, 
 on the part of the Welsh, had left a short distance behind, appeared 
 in full pursuit. "They come! they come !" exclaimed the priests ; 
 " they approach the new ford ! Minstrels, prepare to celebrate the 
 event which once more ensures the safety of Cambria brethren, 
 be ready to strike the blow which shall testify your gratitude for 
 the deliverance of your country !" 
 
 King Henry rode a considerable distance in advance of his 
 forces, and putting spurs to his horse, plunged into the new ford. 
 At that moment he saw a dozen knives raised on the opposite 
 bank, and then suspended inactive for a moment, as if the wielders 
 waited to observe his further movements, while the trumpets of 
 the cornhiriets blew a blast of exultation and defiance Avith which 
 the woods, the rocks, and the shores of the river loudly resounded, 
 The King's horse, startled by the flash of the knives and the wild 
 and unusual sounds of the instruments, reared and plunged, and 
 refused to obey the spur: in vain did Henry endeavour to impel 
 him through the stream ; he backed until he had nearly throv/n 
 his rider, and then turning suddenly round, he bore him back to 
 the point at which he had entered the river. The King, as soov 
 as his steed had recrossed with him, gathered up the reins in 
 violent wrath ; and as every effort to make the animal pass that 
 ford was unavailing, he hastened lower down the bank, and gal- 
 lopped over by Ryd Pencarn, which he crossed with the greatest 
 rapidity. One long, loud shout of execration and wailing burst 
 from the Welsh, as they saw the King step on the southern bank 
 of the river. The priests let fall their knives, the cornhiriets threw 
 away their instruments, and the whole party fled with the rapidity 
 of the forest deer to the woods, leaving Adelaide St Clare uninjured 
 and alone. 
 
 The main body of the English had now crossed the stream, and 
 directed their course towards the woods for the purpose of over- 
 taking the fugitives. The pursuers were better mounted than the
 
 RYD PENCARN. 83 
 
 * 
 
 Welsh, and were therefore in great hopes of cutting off their 
 retreat. The King, with three or four attendants, rode up to the 
 spot where Adelaide lay almost breathless with anxiety and 
 terror. 
 
 ' Sweet maiden !" said Henry, " lift up your head ; your foes 
 are fled, and there are none but friends around you now Henry 
 Plantagenet is by your side, and craves to know your name." 
 Adelaide raised her head and gazed in the King's face. " Ha ! 
 by Heaven !" added the Monarch, " the fair St. Clare ! Now can 
 I perform the promise which I made to the dying request of her 
 gallant father." 
 
 " Ha !" said Adelaide, whom the King's last words had roused 
 from the stupor into which the fearful trial through which she had 
 lately passed had thrown her ; " is my noble father dead ?" 
 
 " He died, sweet maiden, as he lived, in honour and glory. 
 His breast was his sovereign's shield; he received in his loyal 
 heart that arrow which was destined for my own." 
 
 "Then," said Adelaide, lifting up her hands to Heaven, "dear 
 father ! why should I mourn your death ? Why not rather lament 
 that the knife of the ruthless Welshman has not made me a 
 partaker of your bliss ?" 
 
 " Nay, sweet Adelaide !" said the King, smiling and taking her 
 hand, " why not rather take the earliest opportunity of performing 
 that act the anticipation of which gilded your father's dying features 
 with a smile the celebration of your nuptials with William de 
 Langualee ?" The lady blushed, and gently endeavoured to dis- 
 engage her hand from the King's grasp. At that moment a 
 tremendous shout was heard, and the rear of the English forces 
 was observed to desist from the pursuit, and, turning back, move 
 towards the spot on which King Henry and the Lady Adelaide 
 stood. 
 
 " Laurels, my liege, laurels !" said Sir Alan Fitzwalter, advancing 
 towards them, " for the brave knight William de Langualee I" 
 
 "What is thy news, good Sir Alan?" asked the King, "and 
 what, more especially, of William de Langualee ?" 
 
 " He has taken Rhys ap Gryffid prisoner, iny liege, togethei 
 
 G 9
 
 84 RYD PENCARN. 
 
 with Owen Cyweilioc, Owen Brogyntyn, and the three sons of 
 Madoc ap Meryddyd. All these princes have laid down their 
 amis to him, and are approaching your royal presence to crave 
 pardon for their rebellion and do homage to your Grace." 
 
 The tidings of the last speaker were soon confirmed by the 
 arrival of William de Langualee with his princely prisoners. 
 " First," said the King, " thou gallant knight ! receive the noblest 
 reward which it is in my power to bestow, the hand of the Lady 
 Adelaide de St. Clare." 
 
 William rushed to the lady, whom he had not beheld since his 
 departure to Normandy, and of whose safety, until that moment, 
 he had not been assured. " Dearest Adelaide !" he exclaimed, as 
 he folded her in his arms, " said not King Henry well ?" 
 
 " Sir Knight," she said, turning from him, " is this a time to 
 talk of nuptials, when the blood from my father's death-wound has 
 not yet ceased to flow ?" 
 
 " Lady," said the knight, " the pang of that death-wound was 
 assuaged alone by King Henry's assurance that this white hand 
 and mine should be joined together." 
 
 The lady blushed again, and some annalists say that the tears 
 which she let fall for her father were gilded by a smile for her own 
 true knight. Certain it is, that she did not again attempt to with- 
 draw her hand from his grasp, and heard the following words 
 spoken by King Henry without uttering a single expression of 
 negation or disapproval. 
 
 " Guard the fair prize well, Sir William ! 'Tis thine, alike as 
 the bequest of her sire, and the trophy won by thy own right 
 hand. To-morrow we shall proceed to Cardiff Castle, and see thy 
 nuptials &oiemnized. And now, my Lords and Princes of Wales," 
 lie added, turning to the prisoners, " ye have led us a long and 
 weary journey from Neustria to Cambria ; and, now that we are 
 arrived here, what would ye with us ?" 
 
 " Great King !" said Rhys ap Gryffid, " we acknowledge our 
 fault, and will no longer contend against the power of your Grace 
 and the decrees of destiny. We saw this day that the finger of 
 Heaven was against us, when your Majesty crossed yonder river
 
 KYD PENCARN. 85 
 
 by the ford called Ryd Pencarn; for of that place Merlin 
 Sylvester has prophesied, that when a mighty prince with a freckled 
 face shall make a hostile irruption into Southern Britain, and shall 
 cross Ryd Pencarn, then shall the might of Cambria be brought 
 low." 
 
 " Ha !" said the King, " then was my gallant steed, who refused 
 to bear me by the new ford, of a right English breed. But, Princes, 
 how shall I be assured of your allegiance, and that you will , no 
 more resist my authority, if I restore you to your liberty ?" 
 
 " We are ready, my liege," said Rhys, " to deliver hostages. 
 My two sons shall be given up into your hands, and these princes 
 are prepared with pledges of equal value, to insure their fidelity 
 and allegiance to your Grace." 
 
 " Then," said the King, " I will once more receive your homage, 
 and give you licence to depart free and fetterless." 
 
 Then did the Welsh princes, in the presence of the assembled 
 English knights and barons, kneel down before the King, and 
 placing their hands in his, swear fealty to him, and do him 
 homage, acknowledging him to be their liege lord, and promising 
 in all things to be faithful and true to him and his successors. 
 
 Thus was the prophecy of Merlin accomplished, the might of 
 Cambria brought low, and the sovereign authority of the King of 
 England acknowledged throughout the principality. 

 
 
 s<f jsrnfrnc'J 'io jff;>rm orfr ifrrte font jfinoi 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY. 
 
 RICHARD THE FIRST. 
 
 1189. RICHARD, son of Henry, surnamed Coeur de Lion, a little time after 
 his father's death went over to England and was crowned at Westminster. 
 
 He immediately released his mother, who had been long in confinement. 
 and soon afterwards put her at the head of his affairs. 
 
 Richard gave up the sovereignty over Scotland for a large sum, alienated the 
 crown lands, and exerted every other means in his power to fill his coffers, foi 
 the purpose of enabling him to proceed on a Crusade to the Holy Land. 
 
 1190. He began his expedition, and met Philip, King of France, at 
 Vezelai. They parted on their route at Lyons, but met again at Messina. 
 
 Richard then sailed to Cyprus, where he landed his troops, took possession 
 of the island, and made the King and his daughter prisoners : the foimer he 
 sent a captive to Tripoli ; the latter he took with him to Palestine. 
 
 Whilst Richard was proceeding to the Holy Land, Longchamp his Chan- 
 cellor, whom he had left Regent in England, was, in consequence of his 
 barbarity and rapacity, banished the kingdom, and Prince John assumed the 
 conduct of public affairs. 
 
 Richard gained great glory in Palestine by his martial exploits ; but he 
 affronted the Duke of Austria at the siege of Acre, for which he subsequently 
 suffered very severely. 
 
 1192. Philip, becoming jealous of Richard's great fame, abandoned the 
 Crusade, and returned to France. Saladin was soon after defeated by Richard, 
 who then marched towards Jerusalem ; but being deserted by the Dukes of 
 Austria and Burgundy, he concluded a truce with Saladin for three years, an d 
 then prepared for his return to Europe. 
 
 1193. Richard embarked at Ptolemais for Europe ; but being shipwrecked 
 near Aquileia, from ignorance he travelled towards Vienna, in the Duke of 
 Austria's dominions, where being known, he was seized by the Duke, and 
 delivered a prisoner to the Emperor, who detained him in the hope of acquiring 
 a large ransom. 
 
 The Emperor, to furnish some pretext for his detention of the King of 
 England, carried him before the Diet of the Empire, and charged him with 
 crimes committed by him as Commander of the Christians in Palestine. 
 Richard defended himself so ably, that all the Princes of the Empire interfered
 
 RICHARD THE FIRST. 87 
 
 for his release, which accordingly, in 1 194, took effect, notwithstanding the 
 great offers made by his brother John, and Philip, King of France, to the 
 tmperor, if he would detain him. Richard was obliged to agree to give one 
 Aundred and fifty thousand marks for his ransom, to pay part of this sum in 
 ready money, and to give hostages for the remainder. 
 
 John having, in his brother's absence, endeavoured to possess himself of the 
 crown, his estates were confiscated and himself excluded from the succession. 
 
 1195. Richard went over to France, and carried on a war against Philip 
 with varied success for upwards of four years ; but both Kings being tired 
 of their long contests, they made a truce for five years. 
 
 1199. Richard was killed at the siege of the castle of Chalus in France. 
 
 
 3V 

 
 1-1 ni , 
 ,ndo[ 
 
 jm f almtrs. 
 
 Vo soy Ricardo, que en deciros esto 
 Pienso que esta abonada mi persona, 
 Pues todo lo que valgo manifesto, 
 Y quanto puedo hacer, el nombre abona. 
 
 Jerusalem Conquistada, de LOPE DE VEGA. 
 
 IT was about the hour of noon on a fine autumnal day, in the 
 year 1193, that three men, whom their dresses and the white 
 staves which they bore in their hands proclaimed to be Palmers, 
 entered the little village of Ginacia, which is situated about five 
 miles from the city of Vienna. They seemed worn with toil and 
 travel, their garments were coarse and wretched even for persons 
 of their description, and they had suffered their hair and beards to 
 grow to an immoderate length. He who seemed to direct the 
 movements of the three was very tall, and displayed a figure of 
 remarkably fine proportions. His limbs seemed of Herculean 
 strength, his eyes were blue and sparkling, and his hair of a bright 
 yellow colour inclining to red. As he strode along, a short distance 
 in advance of his companions, his gait and gestures gave him more 
 the air of a monarch or a conqueror than of a meek and pious 
 pilgrim. Occasionally, however, he seemed to recollect the sacred 
 character which he had assumed, and to make an effort to tame 
 down the imperious expression of his features, into something like 
 humility and sanctity. His companions were frequently seen, 
 although with evident deference and respect, to remonstrate with 
 him on his bearing, which he sometimes answered by altering the
 
 THE THREE PALMERS. 89 
 
 mode of his behaviour in the manner above-mentioned ; but more 
 frequently by an obstreperous laugh, by lifting up his brawny hand, 
 which seemed better fitted to grasp the battle-axe than the palmer's 
 staff, or by carolling a stave or two of some popular Provengal 
 ditty. 
 
 Another peculiarity was remarked in the conduct of the Palmers 
 as they travelled from town to town, that instead of soliciting alms, 
 hey seemed to be profusely supplied with money, which they ex- 
 pended freely, and even lavishly. The tall Palmer too for so he 
 was designated took great pains to conceal his features with his 
 hood, and to avoid the castles and palaces of the great, which were 
 the places into which such persons in general were most anxious 
 to obtain admittance. On the present occasion they gave another 
 instance of the strangeness of their conduct, by stopping at the 
 miserable hovel which was the only thing in the shape of an inn or 
 hostelry appertaining to the village of Ginacia, instead of pro- 
 ceeding on to Vienna, where they might procure the best fare and 
 lodging. 
 
 They had no sooner arrived at this hovel, than the contents of 
 their wallet proved that they had not been forgetful of the wants of 
 the flesh. A noble goose was produced and placed upon the spit, 
 and the operation of cooking it was sedulously performed by the 
 tall Palmer himself. The host's recommendations of his wines 
 were not attended to ; but the travellers produced their own flagons 
 from their wallets, remunerating the host, however, in the same 
 manner as if they had partaken of his vintage. 
 
 " By my troth," said the Palmer, as the dinner smoked upon the 
 board, and his blue eyes flashed fire in anticipation of the banquet, 
 " Multon, Doyley, our labour has not been in vain. Holy Palmers, 
 show your piety by your zeal in appropriating the blessings which 
 Heaven has bestowed upon you." 
 
 " Reverend Father," said Doyley, in a tone of deprecation, but 
 following nevertheless the example of good feeding which his tall 
 brother had set him, " methinks that your conversation still savours 
 too much of the vanities and indulgences of this sinful world. I doubt 
 not, that should it please Heaven to restore you to all that you
 
 CO TUP. THRRR PALMERS, 
 
 have lost, you will cherish as ardently as ever what the good Curate 
 of Neuilly called your three daughters Pride, Avarice and Lust." 
 
 " Nay, in verity, holy brother," replied the other, " I have re- 
 solved to part with all three ; and to give the first to the Templars, 
 the second to the Monks, and the third to the Bishops." 
 
 A hearty laugh followed this sally, and the holy men then 
 returned to their repast with redoubled vigour. " Multon, friend," 
 said the tall Palmer, "we must be wary we are watched. The 
 Duke, you know, loves me not ; and were I to fall into his hands, 
 it would be long again ere I should see the merry land in which 1 
 was born. That minstrel who has trod so closely on our heels is a 
 spy, I warrant ye ; and his features and accent, however he may 
 try to disguise them, prove him to be English. Nevertheless, 
 we are here with hearty good cheer before us, and reverend pilgrims 
 though we be, the stirrup-cup and the song must not be forgotten. 
 Let us quaff one cup to the Countess Soir another to the land we 
 are hastening to a third to the confusion of the Paynims ; and 
 then join me in the lay which we trolled out yesternight." 
 
 The cups were quaffed with most laudable alacrity and vigour, 
 and then the three joined in the following ditty : 
 
 " Come, fill up the tankard, the wisest man drank hard, 
 
 And said that when sunk in care, 
 
 The best cure, he should think, would be found in good drink, 
 For where can cures lurk if not there ? 
 
 " Trowl, trowl, the bonny brown bowl, 
 
 Let the dotard and fool from it flee : 
 Ye sages, wear ivy ; and, fond fellows, wive ye, 
 But the bonny brown bowl for me. 
 
 " Let old Time beware, for if he should dare 
 To intrude 'midst companions so blithe, 
 We'll lather his chin with the juice of the bin, 
 And shave off his beard with his scythe." 
 
 While the Palmers were thus piously occupied, they had not 
 observed a minstrel who entered the room, and placing himself at 
 its farthest extremity leaned upon his harp, and gazed intently at 
 them. There was a strange mixture of intelligence and malignity
 
 THE THREE PALMERS. $T 
 
 in the expression of his countenance as he curiously scanned tlu 
 features of the tall Palmer. When the song was concluded, he 
 rose, and, approaching the festive board, made a lowly obeisance. 
 The reverend trio started as if they had seen a spectre. " Ha !" 
 said he who had answered to the name of Doyley ; " 'tis the spy 
 minstrel ! What would ye with us, man ? We are Palmers, with 
 whose reverend characters it would ill accord to listen to the wanton 
 and profane ditties of wandering minstrels." 
 
 " Nay," said the minstrel, " I know many a fytte to which your 
 ears, most holy fathers, might listen, and your cheeks never blush. 
 I can tell you of the exploits of good Christian knights in the 
 Holy Land, of holy Peter the Hermit, of Godfrey of Bulloign, and 
 of brave King Richard of England." 
 
 "Nay, nay," said the tall Palmer, "prithee, begone; we have 
 our frugal meal to despatch, our prayers and penance to perform, 
 and to retire early to our humble beds, that we may be stirring 
 betimes in the morning." 
 
 "Ye are discourteous churls," said the minstrel, " and ye shall 
 one day remember, to your cost, that ye gave the minstrel neither 
 meat nor drink, and would not listen to his ditty." 
 
 Thus saying, the minstrel took up his harp, and with a look of 
 defiance left the apartment. 
 
 Although the meal of the Palmers was not quite so frugal, nor 
 their prayers and penances so exemplary as they wished the 
 minstrel to believe, yet the beds on which they stretched them- 
 selves to pass the night did not belie the humble character which 
 they had ascribed to them. The travellers, however, were well 
 disposed to slumber, and the fatigues of the day's journey, as well 
 as the fumes of the wine cup, combined to transform the three 
 straw pallets which the host had spread out for them in their 
 apartment into very luxurious couches. The tall Palmer's mind 
 was not inactive, although his body was quiescent. A thousand 
 visions of a thousand things, presented themselves to the mind's 
 eye of the sleeper. War and tumult, and ignominy and imprison- 
 ment, and triumph and love, and dominion, occupied by turns 
 his imagination. Once he fancied himself entering a great city
 
 9* THE THREE PALMERS. 
 
 amidst the acclamations of assembled thousands warriors and 
 statesmen and churchmen hailed him as their lord a fair and 
 well-known face welcomed him with smiles a disloyal and 
 treacherous brother threw himself at his feet, craving pardon and 
 expressing penitence and a reverend prelate placed a crown 
 upon his brows, and breathed a benediction on the soldier of the 
 cross. At that moment he thought that the fair lady laid her 
 hand upon his arm ; but her touch, instead of being light and 
 gentle, was so heavy and violent, that it dispelled his drearn ; and 
 starting from his sleep, he found himself in the grasp of an armed 
 man. The tall Palmer, however, was not a person to be easily 
 overpowered. As lightly as the lion shakes the dew-drop from his 
 mane, did he shake off his assailant, and then clenching his 
 unarmed hand, aimed so tremendous a blow at his steel casque 
 that it felled him to the ground. He found, however, that the 
 apartment was full of men similarly armed, and that his two 
 companions were secured and bound. The intruders, for a 
 moment, shrank back, appalled at the gigantic strength of their 
 opponent. "'Tis Diabolus," said one. "Tis he, or that other 
 one whom we seek," returned another, " for no one else could 
 have aimed a blow like that : but close round him ; we are surely 
 too numerous, and too well armed, to be daunted by one naked 
 man." 
 
 The odds against the tall Palmer were indeed fearful, but he 
 defended himself for a long time against his assailants. At length, 
 however, two men, stealing behind him, seized his hands, and 
 contrived to slip a gauntlet over them, by which they made them 
 fast. The Palmer, then seeing that in the game at which he was 
 most expert, fighting, he was foiled, began to resort to means 
 which he much more rarely made use of, expostulation and 
 remonstrance. " How now, my masters," he said ; " what mean 
 ye ? are ye Christian men, to assault three poor religious persons 
 who are travelling on their way home from the Holy Land ?" 
 
 " Nay, nay," said the minstrel, for he was among the number of 
 these unwelcome visitors ; " they are no Palmers ; and when my 
 lord recovers from the effect of that unchristian blow, he will soon
 
 THE THREE PALMERS, 93 
 
 be able to recognise in this holy man a person who has before 
 bestowed his favours upon him." 
 
 " Men and Christians !" said the Palmer, " I charge ye, as ye 
 iv-ould avoid the malison of Heaven and of Holy Church, let us 
 pass our way." 
 
 The threat of ecclesiastical censure seemed to produce some 
 effect upon the grim soldiers ; but the minstrel perceived that the 
 person whom the Palmer had stricken to the ground was recover- 
 ing : " Arise, my Lord," he said ; " once more behold this man, 
 and say if the tale that I told thee is not true." 
 
 The Duke, for such he was, approached the Palmer, and each, 
 by the glare of the torches, gazed on the other, and beheld the 
 features of the individual to whom, of all mankind, he bore the 
 most deadly hatred. 
 
 " 'Tis Richard of England !" said the Duke; "the betrayer of 
 the Christian cause ; the assassin of Conrad of Montferrat ; the 
 friend of usurpers and infidels." 
 
 "Leopold of Austria," said Richard, "thou art a liar and a 
 coward ! Keep on thy case of steel, and unfetter but one of these 
 hands, and then repeat what thou hast now said, if thou darest." 
 
 " Bear him to the Emperor at Hagenau," said the Duke, " with 
 his companions. My good Sir Fulk Doyly, and my Lord Thomas 
 of Multon, did you think that I would allow you to traverse my 
 territories without paying you the courtesy of a visit ?" 
 
 "Thou art a traitor, Leopold !" said Lord Multon; "a traitor 
 to God, and to the holy cause which thou didst swear to maintain 
 in Palestine !" 
 
 "Away with the King," said Leopold; "if he may be called a 
 King whose brother wears his crown, and who is prisoner to a 
 Duke. Away with him, and let the Knight and Baron bear him 
 company." 
 
 The journey from Ginacia to Hagenau afforded no events with 
 which it is necessary that the reader should be acquainted. 
 Arrived in that city, the princely Richard was immediately thrown 
 into a dungeon ; and although he offered the Emperor a large sum 
 for ransom money, that monarch preferred the malignant satisfac-
 
 94 THE THRBS PALME&S. 
 
 tion of holding so renowned and powerful a prince in his custody, 
 to the gratification of his darling passion, avarice. With the news 
 of the capture of the far-famed King of England, spread exag- 
 gerated reports of the strength of his arm and his personal prowess. 
 It was expected that with his own unarmed strength he would be 
 able to tear down the walls of his prison and to effect his escape. 
 Among those who listened most eagerly and with the greatest 
 impatience to these reports was Prince Arthur, the Emperor's only 
 son. The prince was considered the bravest knight and the 
 strongest man in Germany. The narration of the feats of Richard 
 gave him no small uneasiness, and he ardently longed for an 
 opportunity of trying his strength with the English monarch. He 
 had visited the royal captive several times in his dungeon, and it 
 was by his courtesy that the King was treated with the respect 
 and attention which were due to so distinguished a person, even 
 although fallen into adversity. After the English had, by means 
 of the well-known adventure of Blondel, the minstrel, discovered 
 in whose custody their monarch was, and made large offers for his 
 liberation, the Prince endeavoured to persuade his father to accept 
 their terms, but without success. Besides his sympathy for the 
 unmerited sufferings of his father's prisoner, the chivalrous prince 
 was desirous to see him at liberty, that they might meet each other 
 on equal terms, and try fully and fairly the strength of the ; r 
 respective arms. At length, however, he became so impatient 
 of delay, and so emulous of the King of England's reputation for 
 strength, that he wrung from the Emperor his consent that a day 
 should be appointed on which he and Richard should each give 
 and receive a blow in order to ascertain which of them was the 
 stronger. Richard smiled when he received the Prince's challenge 
 to meet him on this occasion, and expressed his willingness to 
 abide the ordeal. 
 
 On the day appointed, the Emperor and Empress, the Princess 
 Margaretta, and the principal persons about the Court, assembled 
 in the great hall of the castle of Hagenau, for the purpose of 
 witnessing this trial of strength. The dark eyes of Margaretta 
 glistened with wonder and delight as the King of England, of
 
 THE THREE PALMERS. 95 
 
 whom she had heard so much, but had never yet seen, strode into 
 the hall. His gigantic form, his sinewy limbs, and the haughty, 
 undaunted expression of his features, rilled her with apprehensions 
 on her brother's account ; and yet there was something in her 
 heart which would not allow her to wish that the latter might be 
 successful. The Prince seemed to entertain no fear for the result : 
 in outward appearance, the combatants seemed pretty nearly 
 matched : the Prince was as tall and muscular as the King ; he 
 had sustained the assault of many a celebrated warrior, and had as 
 yet withstood the blows of the mightiest unmoved. They were 
 neither of them armed, but were clad in silken tunics, and wore 
 Oriental turbans on their heads. 
 
 "Richard of England," said Arthur, "if thou wouldest forbear 
 this trial thou mayest, but acknowledge that thou darest not com- 
 pete with me, and give me that jewel in thy bonnet in token of 
 that acknowledgment." 
 
 " Arthur of Austria," said Richard, " I came not here to prate ; 
 and if the Emperor has only exhibited his prisoner this day that 
 he may listen to the vain vaunrings of his son, the sooner he 
 consigns him back to his dungeon the better. I am ready, Prince, 
 to bear thy blow, but I lack both wit and spirit to listen or reply 
 to thy tauntings." 
 
 "Forbear, forbear, Arthur," said the Princess, "and provoke 
 not this rash quarrel farther ; acknowledge the King of England's 
 superior prowess. Surely an unknown knight like thee may, with- 
 out discrediting thyself, make such an acknowledgment to the 
 most renowned warrior in Christendom." 
 
 " Peace, idle girl," said the Prince. " And now, King Richard, 
 look to thyself. Stand firm, or the fame of thy prowess is eclipsed 
 for ever." 
 
 Thus saying, he raised his arm, clenched his hand, which seemed 
 massy and ponderous as iron, and aimed a blow at Richard's head, 
 which those who beheld it accompanied with a shriek of horror 
 and dismay. The King, however, received it with his arms folded, 
 his eye wandering carelessly round the hall, and unshaken as 
 the trunk of the oak by the gentle breeze of summer. The
 
 96 THE THREE PALMERS. 
 
 shriek was instantly changed into an expression of admiration and 
 wonder. 
 
 " Did the Prince strike me ?" said Richard, turning round to 
 his opponent. " Give me your hand, young sir ; now fare you 
 well, and may you be more successful in the future trials of your 
 strength." 
 
 " Nay, nay, Sir King," said the Prince, detaining him ; " this 
 semblance of courtesy suits me not The proud barons of Eng- 
 land must not say that their King disdained to try his strength on 
 the Almain prince. Here stand I ready to receive thy blow. Thou 
 wilt not ! Then here do I proclaim thee a coward, and no true 
 knight Thy strength consists in resistance, and not in assault. 
 Thou art fearful to try thy arm on me, because thou knowest that 
 thy blow will not produce an effect even equal to that which I 
 have bestowed upon thee." 
 
 The King turned shortly round upon the Prince. There was an 
 expression of determination, but not of violent effort, in his 
 features. He, in his turn, clenched his hand, raised his arm, and 
 darting his blow with the velocity of lightning at the Prince, the 
 latter fell lifeless to the ground. 
 
 " He's slain ! he's slain !" shrieked the Empress ; " the cold- 
 hearted Englishman has murdered my boy !" 
 
 All present instantly crowded round the corpse, and every effort 
 was used, but unsuccessfully, to restore to it animation. " It is 
 in vain it is in vain !" said the Emperor. " Oh, Heaven !" he 
 added, clasping his hands, "he was my only son my only hope." 
 
 The Empress gazed on the body sternly and silently ; then, 
 turning to her husband, " It is the finger of Heaven," she said ; 
 " thy wickedness and violence in detaining this King thy prisoner, 
 have drawn down the wrath of God upon us. Release him and 
 let him go, lest a worse evil befal us." 
 
 " Now, by Our Lady," said the Emperor, " rather will I let him 
 rive the life from me, as well as from my son. Away with him ! 
 Sink him in the deepest and most loathsome dungeon of the 
 castle ; and load those proud limbs with fetters, till their cruel and 
 unnatural strength be reduced to infantile weakness."
 
 THE THREE PALMERS. 97 
 
 Richard cast a grim look of defiance and triumph on his imperial 
 gaoler, and followed his guards silently to his place of durance. 
 
 The Emperor's commands were strictly and relentlessly obeyed. 
 The captive King was thrust into a subterranean dungeon, from 
 which the light and the breath of heaven .were alike excluded ; 
 his limbs were loaded with irons, and neither meat nor drink was 
 provided for him. But the stout heart of Richard Plantagenet 
 was not easily daunted. His guards heard him singing as gaily 
 and as lightly as if his prison were a lady's bower, although the 
 only accompaniment to his music was the dull, heavy clank of the 
 footsteps of his gaoler as he paced backwards and forwards on the 
 outside of the dungeon. 
 
 " Oh lady, lady fair, 
 
 My heart is full of thee ; 
 
 And no frown but the frown of thy dark blue eyes, 
 And no sighs but thy own white bosom's sighs, 
 
 Can ever work sorrow in me. 
 
 " Oh lady, lady fair, 
 
 The Paynim has fled from me ; 
 I have slain the knight who bade me kneel, 
 I have answered the threats of kings with steel, 
 
 But I bend my knee to thee. 
 
 "Oh lady, lady fair, 
 
 A sceptre has pass'd from me, 
 And an empire been reft yet still I command 
 A nobler sceptre thy own white hand, 
 
 And more than an empire in thee." 
 
 As the captive concluded his song, he heard his prison door 
 slowly unbarring ; and shortly afterwards the gaoler entered, hold- 
 ing a torch in one hand, and leading a lady by the other. 
 
 Richard started at this apparition, and gazing on the features of 
 his fair visitor, recognised the Lady Margaretta. 
 
 "And can your mind find leisure, Sir King, in so dismal a 
 lodging as this, to chant, the praises of your lady fair?" asked the 
 Princess. 
 
 " The true knight," answered the King, " can always find leisure
 
 pi THE THREE PALMERS. 
 
 for such an occupation, especially when his lady fair is so near him 
 as mine was." 
 
 As he spoke, he gazed earnestly at the lady, who blushed deeply 
 and hung down her head. The gallant monarch was always 
 ready to make love ; -and although the subject of his song was a 
 lady between whom and him wide seas and lofty mountains were 
 set, yet he did not hesitate to assure Margaretta that it was she, 
 and she only, who occupied his thoughts ; and that ever since he 
 had beheld her in the morning, he had forgotten his own sorrows 
 in the contemplation of her surpassing beauty. 
 
 " I come to free thee,' said the lady : " I come to deserve thy 
 thanks, thy gratitude I dare not say thy love. Yet, if I unloose 
 thy fetters, thou must take under thy protection the helpless being 
 to whom thou wilt owe thy deliverance." 
 
 " Sweetest lady ! I will wander to the end of the world with 
 thee or better, thou shalt flee with me to merry England. There 
 eyes almost as bright as thine will smile on thee a joyous welcome. 
 Fair damsels and steel-clad barons shall alike bless thee for 
 restoring their monarch to them." 
 
 " 'Tis now dead midnight," said the lady : " all the inmates ol 
 the castle, save the sentinels, are sunk in profound slumber. We 
 dare not attempt to pass through the castle gates, but must 
 ascend to my chamber. A ladder of ropes is fastened to the case- 
 ment, by which we may safely descend ; and then we shall find 
 three palfreys, for thyself, for me, and for Rudolph, thy tender- 
 hearted gaoler, who dares not stay behind thee." 
 
 " Thanks, generous damsel," said the King. " A few hours' hard 
 riding will conduct us to the forest, within whose recesses we may 
 devise means of disguise and concealment, and of finding our way 
 to some of the ports in Flanders, in all of which there are vessels 
 from England ready and anxious to facilitate the return of theii 
 king. But these fetters, lady, must not be the companions of our 
 journey." 
 
 Rudolph had, however, provided for that emergency. He 
 speedily unlocked the fetters, and the King of England once more 
 stood up an unshackled, if not a free man. At that moment a
 
 THE THREE PALMERS. 99 
 
 hideous outcry pervaded the castle. The word of alarm was heard 
 passing from sentinel to sentinel, and torches were seen approaching 
 in the direction of the King of England's dungeon. 
 
 " She's gone she's fled !" said a female voice, which was im- 
 mediately recognised to be that of the Empress. " I found her 
 chamber deserted, and a ladder of ropes attached to the casement. 
 This ill-omened violence of thine will prove the ruin of our house." 
 
 " Peace, woman, peace !" said the Emperor : " let us see if our 
 prisoner be safe. Ha !" he added, as with about a dozen followers, 
 who brandished their naked swords above their heads, he came 
 within view of the object of his search. " Behold the traitor with 
 that dishonoured minion in his arms. Smite him ! slay him ! the 
 murderer of your Prince the betrayer of my daughter." 
 
 The myrmidons were not slow in obeying the commands of their 
 master, and advanced towards the unarmed captive. Margaretta, 
 vho was lying in his arms in a state of death-like stupor, seemed 
 roused by the flash of their sabres, and exclaiming " Save him 
 spare him ! back back," rushed between the intended victim and 
 his assassins, and received the weapon of the foremost in her bosom. 
 A dreadful shriek was was uttered by every voice ; the uplifted 
 swords, fell, one and all to the ground ; and Margaretta, bathed in 
 blood, sunk at the feet of her father. 
 
 " Her heart is pierced ! she's dead she's dead !" shrieked the 
 Empress : " woe to our house, woe worth the hour in which violent 
 hands were laid upon the sacred person of a Christian King : woe, 
 woe to me ; my son my daughter where are ye ?" 
 
 The Emperor stood for a moment mute, and still as a statue. 
 The red flush of anger, which had inflamed his features, was suc- 
 ceeded by a livid paleness, and the fierce rolling of his eye seemed 
 to be giving place to the glassy glare of mortality. At length, his 
 brow grew black as night, and his lip quivered with a malignant 
 smile, as he asked, in a low and stifled voice : 
 
 " Is not the den of my Numidian lion situated opposite the 
 dungeon of the prisoner ? " 
 
 " It is my liege," answered an attendant ; " the doors face each 
 other, and are separated only by this narrow corridor."
 
 :6o THE \*aRR PALMERS. 
 
 " Thrust back the traitor to his cell then," said the Emperor, 
 " and let loose the beast upon him. That princely brute shall be 
 my avenger. K 
 
 The Empress caught her husband's arm, and gazed with a look 
 of deprecation in his face. The stern, inflexible expression there 
 seemed to freeze her into silence, and she sunk to the earth. In 
 the meantime, the attendants prepared to force King Richard back- 
 to his dungeon ; but folding his arms, and with .a smile of mingled 
 triumph and contempt on his features, he spared them the effort 
 oy walking tranquilly thither. The door of the lion's den was 
 then immediately unbarred, and the furious animal sprung to the 
 entrance. The glare of the torches arrested his progress for a 
 moment, and as he rolled his red eye round upon them, the spec- 
 tators had an opportunity of observing his dimensions. He was 
 above eight feet in length, and nearly five feet and a half in height. 
 His long shaggy mane extended from the top of the head to below 
 the shoulders, and hung down to the knees. His feet were armed 
 with claws which seemed to be nearly two inches long ; and while 
 his right fore-foot was advanced, he lashed the earth with his tail, 
 and gazed intently into the opposite cell, in which his destined 
 victim awaited his attack. An instant afterwards he uttered a 
 dreadful roar, and sprung towards Richard. He attempted to 
 spring upon him from above ; but the King, with his clenched 
 hand, smote him so violent a blow on the breast, that he reeled 
 back in a breathless state, while volumes of smoke issued 
 from his mouth and nostrils. A murmur of approbation and 
 applause, which was gathering from the assembled spectators, was 
 instantly hushed on beholding the still stern features of the 
 Emperor. Again did the animal spring upon King Richard, and 
 again did the latter, with the same Herculean strength, repel the 
 attack. The animal now stood at the door of his den, as if 
 willing, yet fearful, to renew the assault; he stamped violently 
 with his feet, beat his sides with his tail, erected the hair of his 
 head and mane, and opening wide his mouth, displayed his angry 
 teeth, and again set up a tremendous roar. The Emperor and his 
 attendants shrunk back appalled ; but what was their astonishment
 
 THE THREE PALMERS. toi 
 
 at seeing the King, in his turn, become the assailant, and, rushing 
 from his cell, dart upon the incensed animal, and thrust his arm 
 down his throat. For a moment the lion struggled with his 
 audacious assailant, reared and plunged, and seemed to shake evei\ 
 the strong foundations of the castle with his struggles. Then the 
 death-rattle was heard in his throat ; his limbs, after quivering for 
 an instant, were stretched rigid and motionless on the ground ; 
 and Richard, drawing forth his arm, displayed the heart of the 
 ferocious animal in his grasp. 
 
 " God save King Richard !" burst from the lips of every one 
 present. " The right hand of God is stretched over the Soldier 
 of the Cross. The powers of Heaven fight in the cause of 
 Heaven's chosen servants." Such were the exclamations which 
 rang in the ears of the undaunted monarch, while the beaming 
 eyes and agitated features of the spectators testified their admira- 
 tion and astonishment still more strongly. " The will of Heaven 
 be done !" said the Emperor, approaching his captive. " I have 
 already paid dearly enough, King Richard, for detaining you in 
 my custody, and will not tempt the wrath of Heaven further. Say, 
 is the ransom money ready?" 
 
 " Three hundred thousand marks is the sum demanded," said 
 King Richard scornfully. " Is it not, most generous Emperor ?" 
 
 " Talk not of ransom," said the Empress to her husband, " lest, 
 even while we are speaking, this strong-ribbed castle should totter 
 to its base, and overwhelm us in one general ruin." 
 
 " Nay, nay, madam," said Richard ; " the people of England 
 are not such churls as to deny that sum to purchase the freedom 
 of their King, nor do I wish to be indebted to the generosity of 
 the Emperor Henry. The ambassadors from England are now in 
 ,-his city, prepared to pay down two-thirds of the proposed ransom 
 and to deliver hostages for the remainder. Say, Emperor, shall 
 their demands be acceded to ?" 
 
 " Even so," said the Emperor ; and while his avarice and fear 
 'vrung this reluctant consent from his malignity and cruelty, the big 
 drops rolled from his temples down his cheeks, his lips quivered, 
 and his kne is trembled from the violence of the internal struggle.
 
 roa THE THREE PALMERS. 
 
 The sequel to this history is too well known to be here repeated. 
 King Richard was set at liberty, and, with his two companions 
 who had acted the parts of his fellow Palmers, arrived safely in 
 England on the 2oth March, 1194. He was received by his 
 subjects with demonstrations of unbounded joy ; his exploits be- 
 came familiar topics of conversation amongst all ranks of society, 
 from the highest to the lowest ; and, above all, his adventure with 
 the lion was made the theme of universal wonder and eulogy, and 
 procured for him his popular surname of Cceur de Lion.* 
 
 * This tale is founded on the old metrical romance of Richard Coeur de 
 Lion, published by Mr. Weber.
 
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY. 
 
 JOHN. 
 
 1199 JOHN was crowned in London, by Hubert, Archbishop ol 
 Canterbury. 
 
 The English provinces in France declared in favour of Prince Arthur, the 
 son of John's eldest brother, Geoffrey, and applied to Philip, as their superior 
 lord, for assistance, who took Arthur and his mother Constance under his 
 protection. 
 
 1 202. Philip instigated Prince Arthur and the Earl of Marche to invade 
 John's French provinces ; but John went over to France, defeated, and made 
 them both prisoners, with many others. Arthur he caused to be confined at 
 Rouen ; but the Prince soon afterwards disappearing, it was universally believed 
 that John had himself murdered him, and thrown his body into the Seine. 
 
 John was cited before Philip and his barons, to answer for the murder of 
 his nephew on French ground, where he was only a vassal. Not appearing, 
 he was sentenced to forfeit all the possessions he held of the King of France, 
 a sentence which Philip, with great eagerness, proceeded to execute. 
 
 1204. By this year Philip had restored to the French kingdom all the 
 provinces that John possessed, except Guienne and Poitou. John, for a long 
 time, seemed unaffected by these disasters, and continued to give himself up to 
 pleasure and dissipation. At last he went over to England, where, by his 
 multiplied exactions and cowardice, he so exasperated his nobles, that they 
 only waited for an opportunity to be revenged. 
 
 The succession to the Archbishopric of Canterbury occasioned a quarrel 
 ictwixt John and Pope Innocent III. The Pope laid an interdict on the 
 kingdom, absolved John's subjects from their allegiance, excommunicated and 
 deposed him, ordering the King of France to invade England, an enterprise 
 which Philip very readily undertook. These proceedings, at last, obliged John 
 to have a conference with Pandulph the legate, at Dover, when he promised 
 to submit entirely to the Pope. 
 
 1213. John, on his knees, resigned his crown and sceptre to Pandulph ; 
 and, on their being returned to him, he did homage to Pandulph in the Pope's 
 name for the kingdom, declaring he would pay one thousand marks yearly for 
 his tenure.
 
 Panel ulph, on his return to Rome through France, told Philip that he 
 might disband his army, John having submitted to the Holy See. This, 
 however, Philip refused to do : but all his preparations ended in nothing, 
 owing to the defeat of his fleet by the Earl of Salisbury, natural brother 
 to the King. 
 
 1215. Tht Barcns compelled John to sign Magna Charta, and the Charter 
 c f the Forests ; but he privately hired foreign troops, with whom he marched 
 through and ravaged the kingdom, and induced the Pope to absolve him from 
 his oath. The Barons were so infuriated, that they sent envoys to Philip, 
 Begging him to send his son Louis to England, whom they would acknowledge 
 as their King. 
 
 I2l6. On Louis's arrival from France, all John's foreign soldiers deserted 
 from him ; which put his affairs in so bad a condition, that he went from 
 place to place, carrying his trea ures and crown with him. He lost them all 
 in crossing the Wash, and was thrown, by the distressed situation of his 
 affairs, into a fever, of which he died at Newark Castle. 

 
 Silbcr Sjficfo. 
 
 Then many a knight was mickle of might 
 
 Before his lady gay, 
 But a stranger knight, whom no one knew, 
 
 He won the prize that day. 
 
 SIR CAULINE, 
 
 IT was a bright and balmy summer's morning, and the lovely 
 scenery in which the castle of Whittington is embosomed 
 was basking in the beams of the sun, which had almost attained 
 its meridian height. A gentle and refreshing breeze softly agitated 
 the rich woodlands in the neighbourhood of the castle, and rippled 
 the waves of the rapid river which flowed, glittering in the sun- 
 beams, at its feet ; while in the distance towered the lofty summits 
 of the Welsh mountains, crowned with a rich tiara of clouds, whose 
 variegated hues seemed to rival the resplendent orb from which 
 they had borrowed their brightness. 
 
 The sun, the stream, the hills, the whole face of nature, 
 smiled, but the Lady Mellent, the lovely heiress of Whittington, 
 sat in her bower weeping. It was the third day of the tournament 
 the tournament, which, agreeably to the directions of her father's 
 will, was to be held, within twelve months after his decease, on 
 the plains of Salop, and to the victor in which was to be given the 
 castle and domains of Whittington, and the hand of the Lady 
 Mellent. The lady had delayed fixing a day for the tournament, 
 until the very latest limit prescribed by the will, in the hope that 
 the noble and gallant knight, Sir Fulco Guarine, to whom she had
 
 io6 THE KNIGHT OF THE SILVER SHIELD. 
 
 plighted her hand and heart, would return from the Holy Land in 
 time to be present at it, when she doubted not that the fervour 
 of his passion, and the strength of his arm, would bear away the 
 prize from all his competitors : but days, and weeks, and months 
 rolled away, and no tidings arrived of Sir Fulco. 
 
 The day for the tournament was appointed, and knights and 
 esquires of the highest rank and reputation arrived from all parts 
 of England, Normandy, and Wales, eager to break a lance in 
 honour of the Lady Mellent. The achievements were to be con- 
 tinued three days. On the first, the Lady Mellent shut herself up 
 throughout the whole day, in the chapel of Our Lady in Whitting- 
 ton Castle, bowed her fair head, and bent her gentle knee before 
 the image of the Holy Virgin, and prayed her to send home hei 
 own true knight to rescue her hand from the grasp of the stranger. 
 But, alas ! the silver shield, and the red cross, and the peacock's 
 crest, which were the badges of Sir Fulco, were not seen among the 
 blazonry of any of the knights who entered the lists, and the victor 
 of the day was declared to be the Lord Morice, a distinguished 
 retainer of the Prince of Wales. This lord was tall of stature, bold 
 of heart, and strong of arm ; but he was cruel and tyrannical, 
 sanguinary and barbarous ; and he sought not the hand of the Lady 
 Mellent to be his wedded wife for the love of her own fair cheek 
 and her soft blue eyes, but that he might rule in the stately castle 
 of Whittington, and be lord of the fertile pastures and of the waving 
 woods which surrounded it. The second day of the achievements 
 arrived, and the lists were again crowded with the flower of 
 Europe's chivalry ; but the Knight of the Silver Shield was not 
 there, and the Lord Morice of Wales again vanquished all his 
 competitors. Then did the tears of the Lady Mellent fall faster 
 than before ; then were her gentle knees bent, and her fair head 
 bowed more devotedly than ever before the image of Our Lady; 
 and then did she proffer still more fervent supplications to the 
 Holy Virgin to send her home her own true knight and rescue her 
 hand from the grasp of the stranger. But the third, the last, the 
 fateful day arrived the hour of noon, at which the achievements 
 were to begin, was fast approaching, and yet there were no tidings
 
 
 THE KNIGHT OF THE SILVER SHIELD. 107 
 
 of Sir Fulco Guarine. Therefore, while the sun, the stream, the 
 hills, the whole face of external nature, smiled, did the Lady Mel- 
 lent, the lovely heiress of Whittington, sit in her bower weeping. 
 
 " Woe worth the day !" she said " woe worth the day ! but my 
 heart will break, and I shall die, and sleep quietly beneath the 
 cloisters of Our Lady's chapel, ere this hated Welshman shall wed 
 the heiress of Whittington." 
 
 She said this with a downcast head and streaming eyes ; and a 
 deep sigh burst from her heart, which was immediately echoed by 
 some one close beside her. She lifted up her eyes and saw a 
 stately knight, whose armour was sore stained with the dust of a 
 recent and rapid travel ; but he wore a silver shield, and a red 
 cross, and peacock's crest; and she would have known, even 
 though he had not unbarred his visor, sunk on his knee, and 
 pressed her fair hand to his lips, that her ovrn true knight, Sir 
 Fulco Guarine, was before her. 
 
 " Sweetest Mellent," he said, " I come to your rescue. Many 
 a knight told me of your distress, but I was prisoner to the Soldan. 
 He allowed me personal freedom. I went hither and thither, and 
 was questioned by no man ; but I had plighted the troth and 
 honour of a soldier of the Cross, that I would not depart out of 
 his custody until I could pay for my ransom five hundred marks 
 of silver and who (even did not Heaven forbid it) would abuse 
 the trust and confidence of the princely and courteous Saladin ? 
 But I told him, sweet Mellent, the tale of our loves; and the 
 glitter of his proud eye was darkened by a tear ; and he forgave 
 me my ransom money, and gave me one of his stately steeds, and 
 plucked a jewel from his turban, and thrust it in my hand, to defray 
 my charges to the land in which I was born, and the bower in 
 which my own true lady sat and wept." 
 
 " Now Heaven's blessing light upon the princely Pagan's head," 
 said the Lady Mellent ; " and Love lend the omnipotence of his 
 dart to thy spear, Fulco, to hurl the proud Lord Morice from his 
 seat. But alas ! thou art worn and weary with travel, and he is 
 refreshed with wine and slumber, and his heart swells by reason of 
 his two days' victories. But thou knowest that I am not unskilled
 
 to8 THE KNIGHT OF THE SILVER SHIELD. 
 
 in the leech's art : I have a cordial here which used to restore 
 my gallant father when he returned, panting and breathless, from 
 the battle or the chase. Drink, gallant Fulco," she said, applying 
 a small leathern flask to his lips ; " drink health and strength, and 
 Heaven prosper the knight who strikes in the cause of true love." 
 
 " Thanks, gentle Mellent thanks, my beloved," said the knight , 
 " but my heart has within it a cordial more strengthening to it than 
 even that which thy fair hand has just administered its love for 
 thee ! But, hark !" he added, as a loud but distant bugle-note 
 floated on the western breeze towards them ; " the heralds summon 
 to the lists the knights who would tourney for the prize with the 
 victor of yesterday. If that bugle sounds thrice unanswered, then 
 thou art Lord Morice's bride. But my page and my minstrel wait 
 without for me with my steed, and I will yet win thee, my sweet 
 Mellent, or perish in the attempt." 
 
 Thus saying, the knight wrung the fair damsel's hand, and disap- 
 peared through a small postern which led from the gardens of the 
 castle into the open plain. 
 
 In the meanwhile the lists were prepared for the day's en- 
 counter. The Lord de Lacy, the Constable of Chester, who 
 presided over the tournament, had taken his seat in the gallery 
 appropriated for him, and was surrounded by his yeomen and pages 
 in rich liveries. In the gallery opposite to him, attended by a 
 train of beautiful young damsels, sat his lady, who, in the absence 
 of the Lady Mellent on the plea of indisposition, officiated as the 
 Queen of Beauty and of Love on this occasion, and was to bestow 
 the triumphal wreath on the victor of the day. 
 
 The speakers or managers of the day's solemnities, attended by 
 the heralds and trumpeters, paraded the lists ; and no sooner had 
 the hour of noon tolled, than they shouted with stentorian vehe- 
 mence, " To achievement, Knights ! and Esquires ! to achieve- 
 ment !" A stately knight, clad in a suit of black armour, and 
 mounted on a black charger, rode into the lists, amidst the deafen- 
 ing acclamations of the multitude. The Constable of Chester and 
 his retinue rose, and made him a courteous obeisance as he rode 
 by the gallery in which he was seated, and the Queen of Beauty
 
 THE KNIGHT OP THE SIL VER SHIELD. ic? 
 
 and her fair attendants stood up and waved their kerchiefs to him 
 as he passed. It was the Lord Morice, the conqueror of the t',\o 
 preceding days, whom it was supposed that no knight would this 
 day be found presumptuous enough to encounter. Certain it was 
 that he rode into the lists alone ; and when the speakers once 
 more raised their voices and shouted, " Come forth, Knights and 
 Esquires, come forth !" no one appeared besides the victor of 
 yesterday to answer to the call. 
 
 " Heralds ! sound the Lord Morice's challenge," said the Con- 
 stable of Chester, "once" 
 
 The bugles and trumpets filled the air with their minstrelsy for 
 several minutes, but at length it died away without any answer 
 having been returned to the challenge. 
 
 " Twice" said the Constable ; and the martial sounds again 
 resounded over the plain, but were answered only by the echo of 
 their own defiance. 
 
 " Thrice" said the Lord de Lacy, rising up ; and thrice, in louder 
 and bolder tones than before, did the instruments of the minstrels 
 spread far and wide the sounds which told that, unless some other 
 knight would adventure within the lists, Morice of Wales would be 
 lord of the castle of Whittington, and of the white hand of the 
 Lady Mellent. Those sounds were dying away in a faint and dis- 
 tant whisper, and the Queen of Beauty was rising from her throne 
 to place the wreath of golden laurel on Lord Morice's brows, 
 when a bugle-note was heard, so loud and sonorous that it startled 
 even the doughty Welsh lord on his firm-footed steed, and drowned 
 the acclamations of the multitude which were rising to hail his 
 triumph. All eyes were immediately turned towards the quarter 
 whence this sound proceeded, and a Red-cross Knight, clad ir 
 tthite armour, mounted on a noble Arabian charger, and bearing &, 
 silver shield and a peacock's crest, rode into the lists, attended by 
 A page and a minstrel, who stopped at the barrier as he entered. 
 
 " Herald," said the Constable of Chester, " demand of yonder 
 knight his name and style, and wherefore he appears armed in 
 these lists." 
 
 " My name," said the knight, after the herald had repeated tu
 
 no THE KNJGHT OF THE SILVER SHIELD. 
 
 him the Constable's interrogatory, " is Fulco Guarine, a Knight of 
 the Cross, and servant of the Lady Mellent of Whittington ; and 
 I come hither to dare to combat the Lord Morice of Wales, who 
 ventures to aspire to the fair hand of that lady. In token whereof, 
 behold my gage !" 
 
 Thus saying, he threw down his gage, which Morice was not 
 slow in taking up. " Sir Knight," he said proudly, " I accept thy 
 challenge ; but beware, I pray thee, for thine own sake, how thou 
 persistest in it. This arm has yesterday and the day before un- 
 horsed the noblest and the stoutest knights in Christendom, and 
 thou seemest worn with toil and travel. Revoke thy challenge if 
 thou wilt, and I will forgive thee thy insolence in making it." 
 
 " Peace, malapert Welshman !'" returned Guarine. " Peace ! I 
 have given thee my defiance. If thou wilt not take it, resign to 
 me the lady and the broad manor of Whittington." 
 
 " I have already accepted thy challenge, thou discourteous 
 Knight," said Morice, " and now it is my turn to defy thee to the 
 combat." 
 
 " To achievement then, gallant Knights," cried the heralds 
 " to achievement ! Sound, trumpets sound the onset." 
 
 The trumpets sounded a loud charge cheerily : and the com- 
 batants, having turned their steeds' heads round, rushed towards 
 each other in full career. The Welshman's spear shivered against 
 the silver shield ; but the Crusader sat firm as a rock ; and his 
 spear glancing off from his antagonist's, he continued his course to 
 the farther end of the lists. He turned round and found the Lord 
 Morice, whom one of the Marshal's men had supplied with a fresh 
 lance, again addressed to the fight. Again the trumpets brayed 
 out again the impatient coursers rushed together ; and this time 
 the blows were so well directed, that both the combatants broke 
 their lances to the very handles, and their heads bowed low. Each 
 was, however, too well skilled in the practice of chivalry not to 
 recover speedily ; and, being once more supplied with weapons, 
 they came once more to the charge. The Lord Morice's anger at 
 finding more difficulty than he anticipated from the foe whom he 
 iad too readily despised, roused him to a more desperate exertion.
 
 THE KNIGHT OF THE SILVER SHIELD. m 
 
 He levelled his lance with a furious and deadly intent ; but Sir 
 Fulco, by slightly swerving his fine-mouthed Arabian, avoided the 
 point, and at the same time directed his own spear so fully and 
 fiercely at the Welshman's helmet, that he bore him with irresist- 
 ible force from the saddle, and threw him to the ground, where he 
 lay senseless and stunned, wholly unable to renew the fight, 
 although not seriously hurt. The shouts of the multitude, with 
 whom Lord Morice's success, that mere passport to the applause 
 of a multitude, had not made him a favourite, rent the air. The 
 trumpets bespoke Sir Fulco's victory in a loud flourish, and the 
 neralds prepared their greetings. 
 
 " Honour to valour ! the prize of beauty ! the Knight of the 
 Silver Shield !" were the sounds with which the lists resounded. 
 As the Marshals led Sir Fulco Guarine between them to the gallery 
 in which the Lady de Lacy sat the Queen of Beauty and of 
 L ve he sank on his knee before her, and she, placing the golden 
 chaplet on his brow, said, " Arise, Sir Knight ; the victory is 
 yours ; and this golden wreath, with which I bind your brows, 
 is but a faint and unworthy symbol of the far nobler prize 
 which thou hast won the white hand of the fair Lady Mellent of 
 Whittington." 
 
 The knight made a lowly obeisance to the Queen of Beauty, 
 which was gracefully returned. The same salutations were ex- 
 changed between him and the Constable of Chester ; and then, 
 waving his hand, in answer to the acclamations of the multitude, 
 he rode out of the lists ; while the trumpets sounded a loud, long 
 note of exultation and triumph. 
 
 It was impossible for him, conformably to the customs of 
 chivalry, to quit the scene of his triumph until he had been present 
 at the banquet of the Lord Constable. He occupied the seat of 
 honour, was greeted with stately solemnity by the Lord de Lacy, 
 and most warmly by all the other guests whom the fame of the 
 tournament had drawn together. The heralds announced his 
 name, with all the honour of his recent victory, and the long list 
 of splendid achievements in which his prowess had been dis- 
 tinguished, as well in Christendom as in Heathenesse. The
 
 na THE KNIGHT OF THE SILVER SHIELD. 
 
 minstrels celebrated his fame ; and the liberal knight's largess to 
 these and the other attendants of the banquet, made considerable 
 draughts upon the gold which the Soldan had bestowed on him. 
 
 The night wore away, and, to Sir Fulco's great content, gave him 
 an opportunity of retiring from revels which afforded him no joy. 
 After a few hours of necessary repose, in the earliest light of the 
 morning he was again on his horse, who, although his mettle and 
 spirit were unabated, was yet jaded and harassed with the travel 
 of many preceding days. 
 
 His anxiety, however, to communicate the tidings of his good 
 fortune and of her own deliverance to the Lady Mellent, could 
 scarcely brook the least possible delay > and the Knight of the 
 Silver Shield pricked hastily over the plain towards the Cistle of 
 Whittington. 
 
 " Methought," said the Knight mentally, " that the Constable 
 looked upon me with an evil eye in the midst of all my triumphs, 
 and that glances of strange intelligence were exchanged between 
 him and my opponent before the fight began. I know that the 
 tyrant John loves me not, and that this his minion participates in 
 his feeling ; but I have won the prize. The magic of his evil eye 
 could not unnerve my right arm, or tame the current within 
 my veins." 
 
 As he rode on, wrapt in these reflections, he entered a long, 
 narrow defile, formed of two steep ridges, covered with moss and 
 lichen, and thickly crowned with wood. He thought that he heard 
 the sound of horses' hoofs behind him, as if in swift pursuit, and 
 his suspicions were speedily converted into certainty, " Now, the 
 malediction of all true lovers," he said, " light upon the heads of 
 the officious varlets ! They come to bid me, in the Lord Constable's 
 name, to some new banquet, when all my thoughts and desires are 
 prisoners with the Lady Mellent in the Castle of Whittington. 
 But my noble Arab," he said, patting his stately charger on the 
 rieck, " on, on. I would not lose one moment's smiling of her 
 blue eyes for the noblest banquet in Christendom." 
 
 But the gallant steed was evidently knocked up with the fatigues 
 of the previous day's journey, and the encounter in the lists, and 
 the pursuers gained upon him.
 
 Tff KNIGHT OF TH& StLfER SHI&LD. 113 
 
 '' Death P said Sir Fulco, " I must not be seen fleeing like a 
 poltroon before them ; and 'tis a courteous errand with which they 
 are charged. I will even therefore halt, and give my refusal in as 
 gentle phrase as I can command." 
 
 He turned round his horse's head for the purpose of addressing 
 the group, which consisted of about twenty men, when the leader, 
 levelling his spear at him before he imagined that anything hostile 
 was meant, unhorsed him, and he fell to the ground stunned and 
 senseless with the violence and suddenness of the assault. 
 
 " On, gallants, on to the castle," said the Lord Morice ; for it 
 was he. " Although this man, by the aid of spells and enchant- 
 ments, was able to overthrow me in the tournament, yet fortune 
 still smiles upon Morice of Wales. King John's commission has 
 just arrived at Chester, making me Governor of the Marches, and 
 Warden of Whittington Castle. He knows not, it is true, that 
 Fulco has returned from the Holy Land, and believes him to be 
 either captured or slain ; but it is not for me to dispute his Grace's 
 commission, especially when it sorts so well with my interests. 
 On, on, and seize the castle and the lady ere this springald 
 recovers from his swoon." 
 
 " But, my lord," said a knight in his train, " how shall we gain 
 admittance ? The seneschal and the other servants are devotedly 
 attached to the lady, and will certes keep their gates closed, if we 
 appear before the castle with any show of violence." 
 
 " Why, Leoline, man," answered Morice, " dost think me a bird 
 of such a coystril breed as not to make a surer mark than that ? 
 You must approach the gates to the sound of bugles and trumpets, 
 and proclaim me the victor in this day's tournament ; the servants 
 will show more respect to the directions of their old lord's will 
 than to shut their gates against the man who he has declared shall 
 be lord of the heiress and the Castle of Whittington. This," he 
 added, plucking the golden chaplet from the brows of the yet 
 senseless Fulco, and placing it on his own, " will be a sufficient 
 attestation of the truth of our story. On, gallants, on I the 
 moments are precious." 
 
 JB?* I
 
 ii4 IHR KNIGHT OF THE SILVER SHIELD. 
 
 Thus saying, he put spurs to his steed, and the cavalcade 
 proceeded rapidly in the direction of the castle. 
 
 Jn the meantime, the Knight of the Silver Shield continued in 
 a state of death-like stupor. His gallant steed stood by his side, 
 and neighing shrilly, seemed to be calling for his master. At 
 length a person, whose long gown of Kendal green, red girdle and 
 riband, and the harp which hung by his side, showed him to 
 belong to the minstrel profession, approached the place where 
 Fulco lay. 
 
 " Ha !" he said, " 'tis as I feared. I knew that my ear could 
 not mistake the noble Arabian's neigh. My gallant master ! has 
 the perfidious Morice, who could not stand before thee in fair 
 combat, treacherously assaulted thee at the head of his myrmidons ? 
 But he hath received some hurt," added the minstrel, " which 
 must be looked to speedily." 
 
 Thus saying, he pulled out a small casket or pouch, which hung 
 by his side. The minstrels in those days were frequently well 
 skillad in the knowledge of drugs and the art of surgery, and 
 John of Raumpayne soon discovered a bruise on the Knight's left 
 temple, which had been the occasion of his disaster. He lost no 
 time in bathing this with a medicament of approved virtue, and 
 in moistening his lips with a strong cordial, and soon had the 
 satisfaction to see his patient's eyes unclosed. 
 
 " Ha ! traitor ! dastard !" said the knight, "do you prowl the 
 country at the head of an armed banditti, to entrap the man whose 
 single arm has proved too strong for thee ?" 
 
 " Peace ! gentle master," said the minstrel, " peace ; there are 
 no traitors here. Tis I 'tis John of Raumpayne." 
 
 " Ha ! pardon me !" said the knight, rising " pardon me, 
 gentle minstrel. But where am I ? and was I not" putting his 
 hand to his brow " victor in this day's tournament, and crowned 
 with the golden chaplet by the white hand of the Queen of Beauty 
 and of Love ?" 
 
 " Even so, my noble master," answered the minstrel, " but 
 traitors have conspired against you. The Lord Morice, whom you 
 sent reeling from his saddle, was, is soon as he was recovered,
 
 THE KN2GHI OF THE SILVER SHIELD. 115 
 
 immediately closeted with the Lord Constable ; and you had 
 scarcely left the lists before their conference was interrupted by 
 the arrival of a messenger from King John, bearing his Majesty's 
 appointment of the Lord Morice to be Governor of the Marches 
 and Warden of Whittington Castle." 
 
 " Death !" cried Fulco ; " and the false traitor has passed m 
 on his road to take possession of the strong castle and the fai 
 hand which are mine by all the laws of chivalry and honour. On, 
 on to Whittington ; I will tear the prize from out of his grasR 
 though all the kernes of Wales should surround him and cast 
 defiance in my teeth." 
 
 " Hold, hold, Sir Fulco," said the minstrel ; " do not tempt 
 your destruction by appearing before the gates of Whittington 
 just now. Morice has robbed you of the golden chaplet, for the 
 purpose, doubtless, of making the lady and her domestics believe 
 that he has been victorious in this day's tournament. Leave it to 
 me to undeceive the Lady Mellent. The gates, which will be 
 strictly barred against the steel-clad warrior, will fly open at the 
 sound of the minstrel's harp." 
 
 " Good John of Raumpayne," said the knight, " thou hast ever 
 been my guardian angel but it may be a difficult matter for thee 
 to procure access to the lady. There is one song, however, which, 
 if thou strikest upon thy harp, and she be within hearing, wiHl 
 infallibly bring her to thy side. 'Tis one which I used to sing wit! i 
 her before I went to Palestine. 'Tis a ditty of my own ; goo 1 
 [ohn, thou hast heard it often." 
 
 " 'Tis the Lady and the Minstrel, is it not, Sir Knight?" asked 
 John of Raumpayne. 
 
 " Even the same," answered Sir Fulco. 
 
 " Then fear not," replied the minstrel, " that I shall be unable 
 to come to some conference with the lady. I will endeavour to 
 learn at what hour on the morrow Morice and his retainers will 
 ride forth. In the meantime, good master, thou must carefully 
 conceal thyself. The Constable of Chester loves thee not ; but if 
 once we gain for thee possession of the castle, thou mayest defy 
 him and all thine enemies. Hide thee, therefore, in this forest 
 
 I 2
 
 n6 THE KNIGHT OP THE SILVER SHIELD. 
 
 until nightfall ; then hie thee to the white cottage near the city of 
 Chester, without the western postern ; there lives Robert of 
 Chester, my master and comrade in the art of minstrelsy, and 
 there too wilt thou find Bracy, thine esquire. I possessed them 
 with my plot as soon as I heard the purport of the King's message 
 to the Lord Morice." 
 
 " But what plot," asked the knight, " canst thou have which will 
 enable me, poor and friendless, and just returned from Palestine, 
 to cope with such powerful foes as the Constable of Chester, and 
 the possessor of Whittington ?" 
 
 " Sir Fulco Guarine," said John of Raumpayne, " is dear to the 
 hearts of the minstrels. Both he and his noble sire liberally 
 patronized them, and were themselves well skilled in the gentle 
 art. The bounty bestowed upon the minstrels was never yet cast 
 upon an ungrateful soil. To-morrow will be held the fair of Chester. 
 Thou knowest, that by the charter of Earl Ranulph, no person 
 who shall resort to that fair can be apprehended for theft, or any 
 other misdemeanour, except the crime be committed during the 
 fair. Hence a great multitude of persons will be there to-morrow, 
 of whose honesty I cannot say much ; but we must use such in- 
 struments for our purpose as happen to be in our way. Robert of 
 Chester, myself, and the other minstrels, will be able, by the 
 allurements of our music, to incite them to any enterprise that we 
 purpose. We need but shout, ' To Whittington ! to Whittington ! 
 to the rescue of the fair Lady Mellent, and to restore the noble 
 knight Sir Fulco to his rights !' and such a multitude will speedily 
 be on the road to the castle, as neither the Constable of Chester, 
 nor the Lord Morice of Wales, shall be able to withstand." 
 
 " Thanks, gentle minstrel," said the knight " thanks ; thy device 
 is excellent." 
 
 "But," said John of Raumpayne, " if Morice and his knights 
 ride forth in the morning, the enterprise will be easier we can 
 surround and disarm them on the road, and then push forwards to 
 the castle." 
 
 " Hie thee then, hie thee thither !" said the knight, " and 
 Heaven prosper thine enterprise ?'
 
 THf. KNIGHT OF THE SIL VER SHIELD, 117 
 
 Agreeably to the plan which they had concerted, the minstrel 
 pursued the road to Whittington, and the knight plunged amidst 
 the recesses of the adjoining forest. 
 
 " Well encountered, gentle minstrel," said the porter, as John 
 of Raumpayne appeared at the castle gates ; " the valiant Lord 
 Morice and his brave knights are carousing in the banqueting-hall, 
 and were even now lamenting that there was no one skilled in 
 minstrelsy in the castle. Enter, enter, and tune thy harp, I pray 
 thee, to one of thy gayest chansons." 
 
 " Alas !" said the minstrel, " I am not prepared with any ditty 
 which is fit for lords and knights to listen to. Whenever I have 
 approached these gates, it has been with some gentle and mournful 
 lay, such as I thought would please the ear of the Lady Mellent, 
 my generous patroness." 
 
 " Nay but, minstrel," said the porter, " the Lady Mellent is 
 now ill-conditioned to listen to minstrel lays. She has retired to 
 her chamber in the western turret to weep ; for the stout Lord 
 Morice of Wales has arrived here, after having vanquished in the 
 tournament to-day the good knight Fulco Guarine, whom the 
 Lady Mellent loved tenderly. But come with me to the ban- 
 queting-hall ; thy reward will be princely." 
 
 The minstrel followed the porter to the hall in which the Welsh 
 lord and his companions were carousing. "A harper a harper !" 
 they all shouted. " Unsling thine instrument," said Morice, "and 
 that right speedily, for the contents of the wine-cup are mounting 
 to my brain, and if thou delayest long, thy skill will be exerted to 
 please a listless ear." 
 
 The minstrel took a seat, which the lord of the banquet pointed 
 out to him ; and, after trying his harp strings, and with his wrest 
 or screw tuning them to the proper pitch, he struck them with a 
 bold hand, and chanted in a loud voice the following ballad :-- 
 
 "Say, wherefore is your cheek so pale, 
 
 Lady, lady ; 
 Say, wherefore is your cheek so pale, 
 
 And wherefore fall those tears P' 
 " I've lost my hawk that ne'er did quail, 
 
 Minstrel, minstrel ; 
 I've lost my hawk that ne'er did quail, 
 And sorrow my hea( sears "
 
 Jrt THE KNIGHT OF THE SILVER SHIELD. 
 
 " Your hawk, sure, was not prized so sweet, 
 ; Lady, lady ; 
 
 Your hawk, sure, was not prized so sweet, 
 
 Its loss should blanch your cheek ?" 
 " Oh ! I have lost my palfrey fleet, 
 
 Minstrel, minstrel ; 
 Oh ! I have lost my palfrey fleet, 
 
 And so my heart will break. ' 
 
 '* Your palfrey's loss your heart could bear, 
 
 Lady, lady; 
 
 Your palfrey's loss your heart could bear, 
 Some deeper grief lies there.' 
 " Oh ! I have lost my lover dear, 
 Minstrel, minstrel ; 
 Oh ! I have lost my lover dear, 
 
 Nor can his loss repair." 
 
 *' And how will you your heart's wound cure, 
 
 Lady, lady; 
 And how will you your heart's wound cure, 
 
 And so from sorrow fly ?" 
 " I'll seek the cold, cold grave, be sure, 
 
 Minstrel, minstrel ; 
 I'll seek the cold, cold grave, be sure, 
 And lay me down and die." 
 
 " Why, minstrel, thou chantest that ditty, which should be 
 whispered as gently as the south wind over a bed of roses, loudly 
 and boisterously, as if 'twere a wassailing song or a lay of victory/' 
 said the Lord Morice ; "and I pray that thou mayest not have 
 disturbed the Lady Mellent, whose joy at our sudden presence has 
 overcome her, and obliged her to seek her chamber. But, scurvy 
 minstrel, thinkest thou that such a puling lay as that is fit for lords 
 and knights to listen to, who have this day been striving at the 
 tournament, and who will on the morrow at noon sally forth to the 
 fair of Chester, to attend on the Lord Constable ? Go thy ways, 
 go thy ways ; thy voice is stout enough ; but for the matter of thy 
 ditty, 'tis fit only for the ears of chamber knights and green 
 damsels." 
 
 The minstrel made a lowly obeisance, and retired from the hall, 
 which he was anxious to quit, having obtained the information 
 which he wanted. 
 
 " Hist, minstrel, hist !" said a young damsel, plucking him by 
 the sleeve, as he stepped from under the portal of the banqueting-
 
 THE KNIGHT OF THE SILVER SHIELD. irg 
 
 hall : " my Lady, who has heard thy ditty, bids thee put this purse 
 into thy bosom, and to bring thy harp to the gallery adjoining her 
 chamber." 
 
 The minstrel's eye glistened with delight at the success of his 
 scheme, and the Lord Morice's censure of the stentorian tones in 
 which he had chanted his tender ditty was made amends for, by 
 the fact of their having been loud enough to reach the ears of her 
 to whom they were peculiarly addressed. He entered the gallery 
 where the lady was waiting for him, and, kneeling down before 
 her, placed her hand to his lips. 
 
 " Rise, rise, good minstrel," she said ; " thanks for thy ditty, 
 which has recalled to me the memory of happy days, long, long 
 gone by and never to return. But of whom didst thou learn that 
 ditty, I pray thee ?" 
 
 " From one of the noblest and truest knights in Christendom," 
 said John of Raumpayne, " the victor in this day's tournament." 
 
 " Nay, nay, cruel ; how thou mockest me !" said the lady, burst- 
 ing into tears. " The Lord Morice, woe is me ! is victor this day; 
 who, although a valorous knight, has little taste and less skill in 
 the art of minstrelsy. Him must I wed, or my dead father's curse 
 will follow me to the grave." 
 
 " Lady," said the minstrel, approaching her and addressing her 
 in a suppressed tone " him must thou not wed, and thee shall 
 thy dead father's curse not follow, unless thou refuse the proffered 
 hand of Sir Fulco Guarine ; for the Knight of the Silver Shield is 
 the true victor in this day's tournament, and the Lord Morice is a 
 false traitor and a coward." 
 
 " Ha !" said the lady, as an expression of mingled joy and in- 
 credulity flashed across her features ; " what meanest thou, 
 minstrel ? thou readest riddles to me." 
 
 Then did the minstrel approach still nearer to the lady, and 
 speak to her in a tone of voice still more suppressed. The lady 
 listened to his narration wonderingly. She clasped her hands 
 and raised her eyes to heaven. Tears streamed plenteously down 
 her cheeks ; but even while they were falling, they were brighten ec 
 by \ smile.
 
 t THE KNIGHT OF THE SILVER SHIELD. 
 
 " God prosper the cause, good minstrel !" she said, " and for 
 this thy service, may never minstrel's lay hereafter be heard in 
 vain ! Commend me to my own true love. Haste thee, begone ! 
 the minutes are precious ; and once again I say, God prosper 
 thee 1" 
 
 " Farewell, farewell, sweet lady !" said John of Raumpayne ; 
 " when to-morrow's sun shall have marked the hour of noon, thy 
 deliverance will be at hand." 
 
 The next day was bright and serene as that which had preceded 
 it, and the plumes of the Lord Morice and his retainers floated 
 gaily in the wind, and their well-polished arms shone like mirrors 
 in the sunbeams, as about the hour of noon they crossed the draw- 
 bridge from Whittington Castle and took the road to the city of 
 Chester. 
 
 " Now, by Our Lady !" said Morice, " some men will deem me 
 scarcely wise, after the injury which the Knight of Guarine has 
 sustained from me, to venture forth while he is lurking in the 
 neighbourhood, and to leave my castle unprotected by the presence 
 of myself or any of my valiant knights." 
 
 " Nay, my lord," said Sir Guy of Gisborne, " Fulco is poor and 
 friendless. He wasted all the substance which his father left him, 
 in furnishing forth his expedition to the Holy Land. Before he 
 started on the Crusade, he also managed to quarrel with Prince 
 John while at chess, who, now that he is king, does not seem 
 inclined to forget an insult which the knight then put upon him. 
 But let us hasten to Chester. The Constable will be waiting for 
 our assistance, to enable him to overawe the rabble." 
 
 Sir Guy had hardly uttered these words, before the noise as of 
 an immense multitude approaching, and shouts of merriment, of 
 defiance, and of triumph, mingled with the notes of musical in- 
 struments, were heard. An abrupt turning in the road, by which 
 they emerged from the forest and issued to the open plain, showed 
 them, as far as the eye could reach, the country crowded with an 
 immense concourse of people. They were armed according to 
 the rude fashion of the peasantry of the day, some carrying clubs, 
 some slings, and some javelins. A very few were mounted, and
 
 I'HE KNIGHT OF THE SILVER SHIELD. 121 
 
 two or three wore coats of mail and carried spears in their hands. 
 A numerous party of minstrels preceded the main body, and 
 struck their instruments with an extraordinary animation and 
 energy, which seemed to inspire their followers with an enthusiasm 
 bordering upon frenzy. 
 
 " By Our Lady !" said Morice, " it seems as though the fair ot 
 Chester had disgorged all its rabble on our path ! Hark ! hark ' 
 what is 't they shout ?" 
 
 They did not remain long in doubt as to the nature of the cries 
 which the multitude uttered : " Down with the traitors ! down with 
 the banditti ! Long live the Lady of Whittington ! long live the 
 Knight of the Silver Shield !" 
 
 An immense shower of stones was then discharged at the 
 knights, which knocked several of them from their steeds, and 
 stretched them senseless on the ground. The multitude then 
 closed around them, and with their clubs and staves commenced 
 so furious and irresistible an attack, that the mounted warriors 
 were constrained to abandon their weapons and cry for quarter. 
 The assailants, after dismounting them, and seizing their horses 
 and their weapons, began to abate in their fury, but not before 
 one of them who was mounted had cloven the Lord Morice's helmet 
 asunder, and stretched him weltering in his blood upon the ground. 
 
 "Hold thy hand, Bracy! for the love of Heaven, harm him 
 not !" said another horseman who rode up to him, and was clad 
 in a minstrel's garb, but whose gown of Kendal green unfolding, 
 showed a coat of mail beneath. 
 
 "He's past harming now, Sir Fulco," said the esquire; "he's 
 as dead as King Harold, who was slain at Hastings." 
 
 " I could have wished to have avoided the shedding of blood," 
 said Sir Fulco ; " but he Avas a traitorous and discourteous knight, 
 and scofifed at the laws of honour and chivalry. On with me then, 
 gallants, to the Castle of Whittington, within whose walls the ring- 
 leaders of this brawl shall be screened from the wrath of the Lord 
 Constable, until the King's dispensation shall have arrived, and 
 all shall receive thanks and liberal largess from the Lady Mellent 
 and her affianced bridegroom."
 
 iaa THE KNIGHT OF THE SILVER SHIELD. 
 
 An unanimous shout from the multitude, in testimony of ap- 
 plause and of adherence to his cause, followed the knight's address ; 
 and it was not long before the Castle of Whittington reared its 
 stately head and threw its gates wide open before them ; while the 
 lady and her attendants crossed the drawbridge to welcome the 
 knight, and to put him with her own white hand in possession of 
 the domain which he had fairly and nobly won. 
 
 The minstrels and other leading promoters of this transaction, 
 who were supposed to have made themselves more immediately 
 obnoxious to the Constable of Chester and the other constituted 
 authorities, were safely lodged within the castle, and the rest of the 
 nultitude were nobly feasted, and afterwards liberally remunerated 
 and dismissed. The history of these transactions was speedily 
 communicated to King John, who then held his court at Winches- 
 ter, and who, by the persuasions of his barons andtheirrepresenta- 
 tions of the flagrancy of Morice's conduct, was induced to grant a 
 full indemnity to all concerned in this affair, and to confirm Sir 
 Fulco in the possession of the castle and domains, and of the 
 white hand of the heiress of Whittington.
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY. 
 HENRY THE THIRD. 
 
 1216. HENRY, the son of the deceased King John, was crowned a v 
 Gloucester in the presence of the Pope's legate, the Bishops of Winchester 
 and Bath, and a few noblemen. The Earl of Pembroke was declared Pro- 
 tector of the kingdom ; most of the Barons returned to their allegiance ; and 
 Louis quitted the kingdom, only stipulating for the safety of his adherents. 
 
 Soon after this pacification, the Earl of Pembroke died. Peter de Roches, 
 Bishop of Winchester, and Hubert de Burgh, were appointed Regents. The 
 new Regents were not able to keep the discontented Barons in awe, who by 
 their violence and lawlessness kept the nation in a state of continual tumult. 
 
 1233. The King disgraced his minister Hubert, then Earl of Kent, to the 
 great joy of the turbulent Barons. 
 
 1234. The Barons formed a combination against the violent administration 
 of Peter de Roches, (a Poitevin by birth,) who was a great encourager of 
 foreigners, and Henry was obliged to dismiss him, and to banish all foreigners 
 from his Court. 
 
 1236. Henry married Eleanor, daughter of the Count of Provence. 
 
 1242. Henry went over to France and carried on a war against Louis IX. ; 
 but he was defeated at Taillebourg, and obliged to return to England with the 
 loss of the province of Poitou. 
 
 1255. The Pope having a wish to carry on a war against Sicily, without 
 himself incurring any expense, gave, as Vicar of Christ, the crown to Henry 
 for his second son, Edmund. 
 
 1257. Richard, the King's brother, was elected King of the Romans. 
 
 1258. The Barons, at a parliament convened by Hemy, in the hope of 
 getting money for his Sicilian war, declared that they would not give him anv 
 money till the government was reformed ; and that till then, they would take 
 the affairs of the nation into their own hands. At the head of the discontented 
 Barons was the Earl of Leicester. 
 
 Henry promised that all their complaints should be redressed ; and signed 
 certain articles called the Provisions of Oxford, by which he gave up his royal 
 authority to twenty-four persons twelve chosen by himself, and twelve by 
 the Barons.
 
 IH HENRY THE THIRD. 
 
 1261. The Pope absolved Henry, and those who had taken the oath, from 
 the observance of the Provisions of Oxford. 
 
 1263. The Welsh commenced an invasion of England, which was the 
 signal for the Barons to rise in arms. 
 
 The battle of Lewes was fought between the King and the Barons, and 
 Henry was defeated ; himself, his son, and his brother the King of the 
 Romans, were made prisoners. 
 
 1265. Leicester first instituted the House of Commons, by ordering two 
 knights from each county, and two burgesses from each borough town, to be 
 returned to Parliament. 
 
 Prince Edward escaped from prison, and was soon at the head of an 
 army, by which Leicester was defeated and slain at Evesham, on the 4th 
 of August. The King and his brother were consequently released from thei? 
 confinement 
 
 1270. Prince Edward undertook a crusade to Palestine, where be gained 
 great glory by his heroism. 
 
 1272. Henry died at St. Edmondsbury.
 
 jns 
 
 Four Cknightes of Lewis there was slain, ' 
 Th' Erie of Perche was slain on Lewis syde, 
 And many fled with Lewis sothe agayne. 
 Th' Erie Randolph of Chester knowen wyde, 
 The felde there gate y l daye with mykell pryde. 
 
 HARDYNG. 
 
 THE grave closed over John Lackland at a time when the 
 affairs of his kingdom were in a very critical state. His 
 perfidy and tyranny had alienated from him the affections both of 
 the nobles and the people. Foreign princes took advantage of his 
 situation. The Pope held him in a state of vassalage. The King 
 of Scotland ravaged the northern provinces of England, and the 
 King of France possessed himself of John's continental dominions. 
 Prince Louis, the Dauphin, too, being invited by the discontented 
 Barons to take possession of the crown, landed in England with a 
 formidable French army, marched to London, where the citizens 
 received him with enthusiasm, and did homage to him, and took 
 possession of Dover, Windsor, and other fortified places ; so that 
 John, who, at the time of his accession, was possessed of more 
 extensive dominions than any English monarch who had preceded 
 him, at last acquired the surname of Sans-terre, or Lackland. His 
 death too, at a time when his heir apparent was only nine years of 
 age, confirmed the hopes of his enemies ; and Louis marching 
 triumphantly through the kingdom, almost every city before which
 
 126 EARL RANULPH AND HIS PAGE. 
 
 he appeared opened its gates to him and received him with the 
 utmost enthusiasm. Another circumstance favourable to the in- 
 vader was, that immediately after the death of the King, the young 
 Prince Henry disappeared. Either he had been entrapped and made 
 away with by the malice and cunning of his enemies, or he had 
 been induced, by the caution and prudence of his friends, to seek 
 a place of concealment at a time when the country was overrun 
 by the partisans of Louis, and in an age in which the blackest 
 means were resorted to for the purpose of promoting the projects 
 of the ambitious and the violent. 
 
 Still there were some noblemen who were prevented by personal 
 attachment to the monarch, or indignation at seeing their country 
 possessed by foreigners, from joining the ranks of his enemies, 
 and who remained steadfast in their allegiance. The most dis- 
 tinguished among these was Ranulph Earl of Chester, a nobleman 
 of great talent and personal prowess, who had signalized himself 
 under Richard Coeur de Lion, in the Holy Land and in Normandy, 
 and who, after attending the celebration of his royal master's 
 obsequies in the cathedral of Worcester, threw himself with a for- 
 midable band of warriors into the castle of Lincoln, for the 
 purpose of defending it from the expected attack of the Dauphin. 
 
 The Earl of Chester was short of stature, and his personal 
 appearance altogether was not such as to arrest the attention of 
 the common observer. 
 
 "Robust, but not Herculean to the sight, 
 No giant frame set forth his common height ; 
 Yet on the whole, who paused to look again, 
 Saw more than marks the crowd of vulgar men." 
 
 His forehead was high and pale; his eyes, large, black, and 
 sparkling, in moments of excitement seemed to flash fire ; his limbs 
 were sinewy, muscular and agile ; and in the ardour of battle or 
 debate, his form seemed to expand to Herculean proportions. 
 Indifferent to danger or fatigue, prepared to undergo any extremity 
 in an enterprise which he once embraced ; idolized by the soldiers, 
 and looked upon as something more than mortal by the common 
 people, he seemed a being created expressly for the crisis at which
 
 KARL RANULPH AND HIS PAGE. 127 
 
 the country had arrived. His devotion to the cause of young Henry 
 was only equalled by his hatred of Louis and the French ', and in 
 the ranks of the enemy his name was never pronounced without 
 an expression of detestation and fear. 
 
 On the evening of the funeral of King John, he arrived at the 
 castle of Lincoln, some hours before his retinue, attended only by 
 a single page, with whom, as they rode along the road, he had 
 been observed to converse with an apparent familiarity, which 
 corresponded but ill with their relative situations in life. On arriving 
 at the castle-gates, the warder was astonished to see the haughty 
 Earl dismount first, and then with the most tender carefulness 
 assist his youthful attendant from his saddle. Then, as if suddenly 
 recollecting himself, he strode proudly through the castle-yard ; 
 and the page, bareheaded, and with an expression of the utmost 
 humility on his countenance, followed him. The stripling was of 
 a slight and fragile form, but his features were uncommonly 
 beautiful, and exhibited an air of intelligence which was far beyond 
 his years and station. His long flaxen locks flowed down to his 
 shoulders ; and as he followed his master through the ranks of 
 vassals who marshalled his entrance to the castle, a deep blush 
 mantled on his fair cheek, and his bosom heaved as if agitated by 
 some strong and inexpressible emotions. 
 
 " 'Tis a wench, 'tis a wench," said Adam Forrest the falconer, 
 in a whisper to the warder. " By the holy rood ! I think now that 
 I can guess the reason why our Earl was in such speed to be 
 divorced from the Lady Constance. She was a noble and a most 
 beauteous dame, albeit somewhat cursed in her temper. The 
 deaths of her first husband and of her princely son Arthur (may 
 God assoil the soul of King John for that deed !) drove her nigh 
 to distraction. This wench, doubtless, is to supply her place-, 
 and by'r Lady, the Earl has shown his wonted taste in the 
 selection." 
 
 "Peace, Master Adam," said the warder; "thy wit is ever a 
 mile forwarder on the road than that of thy compeers ; but why 
 should our master bring his bride to the castle in such an unseemly 
 guise as this? 'Tis a right comely stripling, and has doubtless
 
 t*8 EARL RANULPH AND HIS PAG. 
 
 been recommended to the Earl for qualities which will well j ustify 
 the estimation in which he seems to hold him." 
 
 " You may talk, and you may think, as you list, Walter Locksley," 
 returned the falconer ; " whether he means her for his bride I know 
 not ; but may my noblest bird prove haggard, when I have staked 
 a hundred marks on her prowess, if 'tis not a wench that Earl 
 Ranulph has brought to Lincoln Castle. Mark me, when the 
 barons whom he has summoned arrive hither, if the jealous Earl 
 venture to let this seeming page appear in their presence." 
 
 The Earl's subsequent conduct fully confirmed the suspicions 
 of Adam Forrest. Haughty and distant as his bearing commonly 
 was to his inferiors, and barely courteous to those who were his 
 equals in rank, he paid the most respectful and unremitting atten- 
 tions to the young stranger. Occasionally the boy might be seen 
 holding his stirrup, or bearing his lance ; but these were services 
 which the Earl rather endured than enjoined, and received with 
 an ill-disguised feeling of uneasiness and deprecation. Whatever 
 time he could spare from his necessary duties in completing the 
 defences of the castle, and in receiving the numerous messengers 
 who arrived from all parts of the kingdom, was spent in the society 
 of the page. At length the nobles and knights whom he had 
 convened to the castle, for the purpose of deciding upon the steps 
 to be taken for repelling the invaders, and maintaining the rights 
 of young Henry, began to arrive, and Adam Forrest shook his 
 head and looked very wisely at the warder, as he observed that 
 young Master Fitzjohn was no longer to be met with on the terrace, 
 or in the hall, or in any of his accustomed haunts, but carefully 
 confined himself to the seclusion and privacy of his chamber. 
 
 " "Tis a wench, 'tis a wench," said he to the warder ; " what 
 sayest thou now, Master Locksley ?" < 
 
 "Nay, thou art a wonderful man, Master Forrest," replied the 
 other ; " of a surety, thou must deal in the black art." 
 
 The falconer looked wiser than ever, and put his finger on his 
 lip as if to enjoin his companion to secrecy ; for although he did 
 not choose to avow that he was a proficient in studies which were 
 punishable bv hanging and burning, yet he was not willing to
 
 EARL RANULPH AND HIS PAGE. 129 
 
 deprive himself, by a direct denial, of the reputation for sagacity 
 and wisdom which the warder gave him credit for. 
 
 In the course of time the warder whispered the discovery which 
 the falconer had made to the Earl's esquire, and the Earl's esquire 
 whispered it to the esquire of Sir Richard Plantagenet, and the 
 esquire of Sir Richard whispered it to his master, and his master 
 rvhispered it not, but told it outright to his associate knights and 
 oarons, and many and loud were the jokes which it called forth 
 from them at the expense of Earl Ranulph and the lady errant ; 
 disguise. 
 
 " God you good den, my lord," said Plantagenet, as he saw the 
 Earl approaching with anxiety and apprehension depicted in his 
 countenance ; " you seem somewhat troubled this morning. You 
 have been reading the Liber Amoris, and it does not please you as 
 well as it has been used to do. If so, let me advise your lordship 
 to direct your attention to another page." 
 
 An expression of concern and dismay, which was not often seen 
 in the countenance of the Earl of Chester, mantled over his 
 features for a moment ; but it quickly passed away, and he resumed 
 his wonted serenity. 
 
 " You seem unusually merry this morning, Sir Richard," said 
 Ranulph ; " may I crave to be admitted a companion of your 
 mirth ?" 
 
 " Nay, nay, my Lord of Chester," returned Plantagenet, " 'twas 
 of your mirth that we were speaking, and in which none of us are 
 presumptuous enough to seek companionship. We were carousing 
 to the health of young Fitzjohn, the courteous and accomplished 
 page, with whom we marvel that your lordship hath not by this 
 time made us better acquainted." 
 
 " Tis a comely youth," said the Earl, " and one who has seen 
 better days. His father fell at my side while valiantly defending 
 the Castle of Chester against the Dauphin, and with his dying 
 breath commended his orphan to my care. I have made him my 
 page, and will at a fitting age raise him to the rank of my esquire. 
 Nay, I doubt not, so much have I observed of his good qualities, 
 that I shall be able very early to procure him the honour of knight- 
 
 tNG. K
 
 130 EARL RANULPH AND HIS PAGE. 
 
 hood. His great fault is bashfulness, which has prevented him 
 from being about my person while my castle is honoured by the 
 presence of the distinguished persons whom I am now addressing." 
 
 An incredulous smile played on the lip of Plantagenet, and his 
 associates seemed to participate in the feeling which it indicated. 
 Earl Ranulph gazed haughtily upon them, and then hastily added : 
 " But, Lords and valiant Knights, I came not to prate with you on 
 the affairs of my household, or to ask your opinions on the merits 
 of my page. I have matter of graver import for your ear. Prince 
 Louis is on his march towards this city, accompanied by the 
 Count de Perche, the soi-disant Earl of Lincoln, and other nobles, 
 and at the head of a numerous army. They will be here before 
 sunset ; and the rebellious citizens of Lincoln will doubtless be 
 eager to open their gates to them." 
 
 " Say you so. my lord ?" said Plantagenet : " and have you no 
 news yet of the young king?" 
 
 " None yet, Sir Richard ; but I doubt not that he is in a place 
 of safety. My Lord of Pembroke would take charge of that. 
 Concealment is his greatest security. If the foe knew where he 
 could be found, I question whether even the walls of this castle 
 would be strong enough to shelter him from the force or fraud 
 which would be set at work to effect his capture or his death. 
 When once we have struck a decisive blow in his favour, we shall 
 not be long without having his presence among us." 
 
 " True, true, my lord," said the Knight thoughtfully ; " and yet 
 his presence now would be a rallying point for our friends ; 'tis 
 perhaps best, nevertheless, that he should remain concealed for a 
 season. But is the Dauphin to be allowed to enter this city ?" 
 
 " Yes," said the Earl ; " with submission to these noble and 
 gallant warriors, I say yes. The city is not worth the effort which 
 will be requisite for its defence ; and when once the enemy, who 
 is ignorant of our strength, and thinks that this castle is only 
 manned by an ordinary garrison, is encamped within it, the arrows 
 of the archers on our turrets will reach him, and by a well-timed 
 sally we may be able to surprise him, to animate the revolted 
 citizens to return to their allegiance, and to deliver our country 
 frooa the fetters with which these Frenchmen have loaded her,"
 
 EARL RANULPH AND HIS PAGE. I 3 i 
 
 A shout of approbation and applause from the assembled leaders 
 followed the address of the Earl, which had scarcely subsided when 
 one of tenfold loudness and vehemence was heard to pervade the 
 streets of the city. " Montjoie St. Denis! Dieu nous defend et 
 notre Seigneur Louis!" burst from the French forces as they passed 
 the city gates, and was enthusiastically echoed by the populace of 
 Lincoln. 
 
 "They come! they come!" said the Earl: "now, Lords and 
 Knights, to the turrets, and let our ancient word of courage ring 
 in their ears as loudly as their own insulting cry." 
 
 Before, however, the leaders could reach the turrets, the soldiers 
 had sent forth a deafening shout of " God and St. George !" 
 which not a few among the multitude in the now crowded streets, 
 especially such as were within reach of the arrows of the besieged, 
 caught up and repeated with apparent sincerity and zeal. 
 
 " They have taken possession of the cathedral," said the Earl, 
 whose keen eye had carefully watched the proceedings of the 
 enemy ; " but by Our Lady, who is its protectress, they shall not 
 rest long within those holy walls ! Lords and Knights," he added, 
 " I have certain intelligence that the attack upon the castle will 
 not be made until to-morrow, by which time our reinforcements 
 will arrive and enable us to defy them. Meanwhile I will proceed 
 to the cathedral and demand a parley." 
 
 The Earl's resolutions were no sooner formed than executed ; 
 and he was speedily mounted and on his way to the cathedral, 
 preceded by a flag of truce. The people gazed with a mixed feel- 
 ing of admiration and terror as they saw the grim warrior, at whose 
 very name they were appalled, riding quietly and unopposed 
 through the streets then lined with hostile troops. The French 
 soldiery, too, seemed to regret that the laws of honour would not 
 allow them to terminate the war by a single blow ; and as the 
 Earl alighted from his palfrey and advanced up the cathedral aisle 
 amidst the foreign leaders and revolted barons, who were ranged 
 on either side, murmurs of mingled fear and execration met his ear. 
 
 On a throne, erected in front of the high altar, sat the Dauphin, 
 beneath a superb canopy, on which the arms of France and 
 
 K 2
 
 t32 EARL RANULPH AND HIS PAGE. 
 
 England conjoined were embroidered. The Comte de Perche, a 
 renowned warrior and statesman of France, who, at the special 
 request of King Philip, had accompanied his son on his expedition 
 into England, stood on his right hand ; and Gilbert de Gant, an 
 English knight who had revolted from King John, and had been 
 created Earl of Lincoln by Louis, stood on his left. The latter 
 scowled and grasped his dagger as the Earl of Chester approached 
 the throne, and sinking on one knee was received by the Dauphin 
 with extended hand. 
 
 " Rise, valorous Earl ! rise, thrice-renowned Ranulph !" said the 
 Prince. "It gives us great delight to see thee return to thy 
 allegiance, and bend thy knee in testimony thereof at the throne 
 of thy lawful sovereign." 
 
 " Prince," said Ranulph, starting to his feet and drawing himself 
 un proudly, " mistake me not but no, I know thou dost not. I 
 bowed myself before thee, to show my respect for a prince re- 
 nowned for his valour and courtesy. That mark of respect shown, 
 I now, as a loyal subject of King Henry, ask thee why thou 
 traversest his realm, girt with the grim habiliments of war, and 
 why with bands of armed men thou appearest before the gates of 
 the castle which my royal master has committed to my charge ?" 
 
 " Earl Ranulph," said Louis, smiling, " may surely guess the 
 purport of my visit. However, to aid his intellect at arriving at a 
 correct conclusion, I will inform him that I come to demand pos- 
 session of that fortress which was delivered over to him by a 
 sovereign who has been since deposed by the authority of the 
 barons of the realm, and whose crown therefore reverts to me in 
 right of the Lady Blanche, whom I have espoused the niece and 
 lawful successor of the deposed monarch." 
 
 "Prince," said the Earl, " I come not to play the casuist with 
 you : wrong and violence are never in want of arguments where- 
 with to justify the ills which they commit ; and the only reasoning 
 which I shall oppose to that of your Highness, will be such as 
 you may see arrayed upon yon battlements. Still, to my poor 
 illogical brain, it does seem difficult to understand the legality of 
 the authority by which, yon inform me, King John was deposed,
 
 
 EARL RANULPH AND HIS PAGE. 133 
 
 ana still aiore difficult to comprehend, even if he were so deposed, 
 is the argument which makes his niece his successor in preference 
 to his own begotten issue, King Henry, whom God preserve 1" 
 
 " We hear much, Earl Ranulph," said Louis, " of King Henry, 
 but we see marvellously little of him. How are the noble barons 
 of England, by whom I am surrounded, to be convinced that the 
 son of John Lackland is alive, or that the stout Earl of Chester is 
 not pursuing this war in the hope that the diadem may be girt 
 around his own brows ?" 
 
 " Tis doubtless marvellous," said the Earl, with a significant 
 gesture, " that while wolves are prowling o'er the plain, the lamb 
 should seek for a hiding place in the forest. But we lose time " 
 
 " In truth, we do so," said the Count de Perche, advancing, 
 who was somewhat impatient of the courtesy and forbearance with 
 which Louis had received the defiance of the Earl. " Is this the 
 man," he added, scanning with his eye the dimensions of Ranulph, 
 " at whom our wives and children quake for fear this dwarf 
 this puny abridgment of humanity ?" 
 
 " Say you so ! my Lord de Perche," said the Earl, while his eye 
 flashed fire, and his hand grasped his sword : " I vow to God and 
 our Lady, whose church this is, that before to-morrow evening I 
 will seem to thee to be stronger and greater, and taller, than yon- 
 der steeple !"* 
 
 A smile of grim defiance was exchanged between the two in- 
 censed barons ; and Ranulph, making a respectful obeisance to 
 the Dauphin, departed from the cathedral. 
 
 The next morning by daybreak the castle resounded with the 
 busy note of preparation, alike for defence and for assault. Fo r 
 the former, indeed, the fortress was already so well prepared, tl^ 
 the active operations of the Earl and his adherents seemed super 
 fluous, unless a formidable attack was intended to be made upon 
 the enemy. At an early hour the bugle of the invaders was heard 
 sounding cheerily in the streets of Lincoln, and daring the be- 
 sieged to come forth and meet their enemies on equal terms. 
 
 Dugdale,
 
 134 EARL RANULPH AND HIS PAGE. 
 
 " The Count de Perche is braving us," said Plantagenet, " anil 
 loading us with every ignominious epithet that his fancy can sug- 
 gest. Let us sally forth, my Lord of Chester ; our force is fully 
 equal to the encounter, although the insolent foe imagines that we 
 are far inferior to him in numbers." 
 
 " In five minutes, Sir Richard," said the Earl, " we will convince 
 him of his error. Within that time I will be ready to conduct the 
 attack." 
 
 " He has gone to take leave of his Epicene," said Plantagene-;, 
 smiling : " for so stout an Earl, methinks that his heart is one of 
 the softest. Nevertheless, let us proceed towards the sally-port, 
 that we may be ready when occasion calls for us." 
 
 The chieftains proceeded to descend the winding staircase of 
 the turret, which led towards the great yard of the castle. As 
 they passed a chamber-door, which opened upon the staircase, 
 they heard the voices of the Earl and the Page j and although ths 
 nice sense of honour of these knights and nobles would not allow 
 them to pause and listen, yet they did not feel themselves bound 
 to close their ears to the following dialogue ; and then- descent 
 did certainly (although, no doubt, involuntarily) proceed rather 
 more tardily than before. 
 
 " Nay, nay 'tis impossible !" said Ranulph. " It will be a 
 needless exposure of yourself, and can answer no useful purpose. 
 Doubt not but that I will humble the insolent Frenchman, and 
 return to thee very shortly." 
 
 " But I will not, and must not, remain inactive here," replied 
 the Page, "while you aie exposed to so many dangers. I will be 
 at your side to share th< glory or the disasters of the day." 
 
 " 'Tis a noble-hearted wench," said Plantagenet, " and yet a 
 somewhat silly one. They talk now in so low a tone that I 
 cannot catch a syllable. Yet hist ! hist ! the Earl's voice is again 
 audible." 
 
 "If it must be so, then I call God to witness that it is con- 
 trary to my will and counsel ; but if you go forth, you must not 
 go unarmed ; and yet these tender limbs will scarcely support the 
 habiliments of a warrior. I do remember though, that in my boy-
 
 2ARL RANULPH AJVD HIS PAGE. 135 
 
 hood, when I played in mimicry that iron game, which since no 
 one has followed in better earnest than myself, I had a slight and 
 easy suit of mail constructed, which was adapted to my immature 
 strength. Proceed with me, then myself will be your armourer." 
 
 In the mean time the French forces had been endeavouring to 
 concentrate their strength before the castle ; but the arrows of the 
 besieged ma.de such dreadful havoc in their ranks, that they were 
 frequently obliged to retire. Stones and other missiles were hurled 
 upon them from the walls of the castle, and one fell close to the 
 feet of the Count de Perche, and killed a knight who was standing 
 by his side. 
 
 " This cowardly dwarf!" he said ; " he dares not meet us here. 
 His chivalrous spirit will not venture out of those ribs of iron and 
 stone in which it has encased itself. Ha ! by St. Denis, though ! 
 the castle gates fly open. Montjoie ! Montjoie ! On, warriors, to 
 the fight !" 
 
 The attack, however, of the Earl of Chester was so sudden and 
 fierce, that the invaders were driven back a~ considerable distance 
 before they could recover from their surprise. They then rallied, 
 and endeavoured, at first with considerable success, to drive back 
 their assailants. The battle now raged with tremendous fury. 
 The air was darkened by the flights of arrows : the two hosts, 
 alternately pressing forwards and retreating, swayed to and fro 
 like the advancing and receding of the waves ; and the din of 
 battle, composed of the shouts of some, the groans of others, ths 
 clash of swords and armour, and the stentorian ejaculations of the 
 adverse war-cries, " St. George !" and " St. Denis !" seemed like 
 the exultation of some presiding fiend, by whom the elements of 
 anarchy and slaughter had been set in motion. The Earl of 
 Chester seemed to be gifted with ubiquity : at one time he was in 
 the midst of the hostile ranks, dealing forth desolation and 
 carnage ; and in an instant afterwards he was in some parts of his 
 own army, where symptoms of weakness or disaffection had ap- 
 peared, rallying them and inciting them once more to the attack. 
 Now his spear tumbled the Earl of Lincoln from his steed, and 
 his horse's hoofs were on the casque of the vanquished ; and now
 
 I 3 5 EARL RANULPH AND HIS PAGE. 
 
 he snatched the bugle from the herald's hand, and pealed the 
 notes of courage and victory. 
 
 " By Heaven !" said the Count de Perche, " this man is a fiend 
 incarnate : he rides through this hideous battle as lightly and un- 
 concernedly as though he were justing at Windsor or Westmin- 
 ster, in honour of his lady fair ; yet death is in his right hand, and 
 his shield seems the Egis of Pallas. Who is yon stripling who 
 rides by his side, as if the stature of the knight demanded ar 
 esquire of proportionate diminutiveness ?" 
 
 " Tis the page, my Lord," said a Norman knight, " of whom 
 we have heard so much talk, and whose garments, it is said, are 
 the only masculine part about him." 
 
 A dreadful cry of mingled triumph and despair now arose ; and 
 the Count de Perche saw the English division of his army, com- 
 posed of the revolted Barons and their adherents, fleeing towards 
 the city postern, and hotly pursued by Earl Ranulph and the 
 Knight of Plantagenet. 
 
 " By St. Denis ! all is lost," he said, " if we cannot rally those 
 traitors. Ha !" he added, as another shout, louder and more 
 unanimous than any which had preceded it, rent the air, and he 
 saw the assailants and the assailed join their forces, and bear down 
 in one body upon him and the exhausted and reduced band of 
 his own countrymen who surrounded him. " The apostates ! the 
 double traitors ! Frenchmen, one effort more for your own honour 
 and that of your country. Shout, God and St. Denis ! and set 
 upon the foe." 
 
 " God and St. Denis !" shouted the chivalrous Frenchmen, as 
 they encountered the attack of a force now far superior to their 
 own. The Count de Perche maintained his reputation for gal- 
 lantry and strength : on no one did his battle-axe fall whom it. did 
 not cleave to the ground; and no one encountered his spear 
 whom it did not send reeling from his saddle. At length, he 
 perceived the Earl of Chester approaching him. The two war- 
 riors at first eyed each other silently and motionless for a moment ; 
 and then, spurring on their horses, joined in the dreadful conflict. 
 At the first encounter, the spears of each shivered into a thousand
 
 EARL RANULPH AND HIS PAGE. 137 
 
 atoms. The Count then lifted his battle-axe and directed a furious 
 blow at Ranulph ; but the latter received it on his shield with so 
 much force and adroitness, that the weapon flew out of his assail- 
 ant's hand. The Earl, perceiving the unequal terms to which his 
 opponent was reduced, threw his own battle-axe from him, and 
 unsheathing his sword, the Count followed his example. They 
 then closed in a short but deadly struggle. The Frenchman 
 directed a blow at Ranulph which cleaved his shield in two and 
 wounded him in the arm ; when the latter rising in his saddle, and 
 striking him on the head with his sword, the weapon cut through 
 his helmet, and entering his brain, the Count fell, reeking with 
 blood and lifeless, to the earth. 
 
 The French, seeing their leader fallen, became panic-struck, 
 and fled in all directions. The English with shouts of victory 
 pursued them, and the carnage was immense. " On to the 
 cathedral !" said Earl Ranulph ; " the Dauphin is there, and the 
 effort of one minute may now terminate this disastrous war." 
 
 The victorious forces pressed forward to the cathedral just as 
 Louis and the few adherents who remained there with him were 
 endeavouring to force their passage out. Having beaten them 
 back, and sent in some of the soldiery to disarm and secure them, 
 Earl Ranulph and the principal knights and barons in his army 
 dismounted, and entered the sacred edifice. 
 
 " My Lord Dauphin !" said the Earl, approaching the Prince, 
 who was standing near the altar ; " we now meet on somewhat 
 different terms from those on which we met yestereen, and you 
 will scarcely now imagine that I come to tender you my al- 
 legiance. " 
 
 " The fortune of war, Earl of Chester," answered the Prince, 
 " has made me your captive ; and all that, as a captive, I have to 
 hope for is, that having fallen into the hands of so renowned a 
 warrior, he will not sully his fair fame by exercising any unneces- 
 sary rigours towards those whose misfortunes constitute his 
 triumph." 
 
 "Your Highness, and your Highness's friends," answered 
 Ranulph, " are free and fetterless as the wind, upon one condition."
 
 138 EARL RANULPH AND HIS PAGB. 
 
 " Name it," said Louis doubtingly. 
 
 " Swear upon this holy altar, and in the presence of Our Lady, 
 whose church this is, and by the sacred relics upon this shrine, 
 that you renounce all claim to the kingdom of England ; and that 
 you will speedily hasten out of this realm with all your followers ; 
 and that, when you shall be King of France, you will restore 
 Normandy to the crown of England." 
 
 "All this I swear," said Louis ; " and may God prosper me as 
 I keep inviolate my oath !" 
 
 " Amen ! amen !" responded eveiy voice in the cathedral. 
 
 " Then now, noble Lords of England, and valiant and chival 
 rous Knights," said the Earl, " we have but one duty to perform, 
 and that is, to proffer on the same holy shrine on which Prince 
 Louis has sworn, our humble duty and allegiance to King Henry, 
 of that name the Third, our lawful King and Sovereign." 
 
 " Pardon me, my Lord of Chester," said William Longsword, 
 Earl of Salisbury, one of the peers who had just deserted the 
 French party; "we are not prepared to swear allegiance to a 
 person who may not be in existence. Produce the young King, 
 and on our knees we are ready to tender to him our homage." 
 
 " My Lord of Salisbury's returning loyalty," said Plantagenet, 
 " seems to be growing cool again. The King is under the 
 guardianship of the Earl of Pembroke, who no doubt has taken 
 steps to provide for his safety, and will produce him when he 
 knows that his loyal barons wish to behold their sovereign." 
 
 " Nay, nay," said Ranulph, smiling ; " my Lord of Salisbury's 
 objection is most reasonable, but I am prepared to obviate all his 
 scruples. Approach, Sire, and receive the homage of your faith- 
 ful subjects." 
 
 Thus saying, he led the Page into the centre of the circle 
 formed by the assembled barons, and unbarring his visor, the fair 
 face, the blue eyes, and the long flaxen ringlets of young Henry 
 were immediately recognised by all. 
 
 " God save King Henry !" said Earl Ranulph ; and the excla- 
 mation was echoed by a thousand voices. The young monarch 
 was then led to the throne before the altar, which had but a short
 
 EARL RANULPH AND HIS PAGE. 
 
 39 
 
 time before been occupied by Louis ; and the Earl of Chester, 
 delivering to him seizin of his inheritance by a white wand instead 
 of a sceptre, did homage to him for his estates and titles, and his 
 example was followed by the rest of the nobles present* 
 
 IJugdale. Hardyng. 
 
 ^ 
 
 M
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY. 
 EDWARD THE FIRST. 
 
 EDWARD was crowned at Westminster, August igth, 1274, with his Queen 
 Eleanor. He immediately sent commissioners into different parts of England 
 to redress grievances and reform abuses, which gave the people a good opinion 
 of his reign. 
 
 Two hundred and eighty Jews were hanged for clipping and coining, and a 
 short time afterwards Edward ordered all the Jews to be seized and to be 
 transported out of the kingdom. He also confiscated their effects. 
 
 1276. Edward went to war with the Welsh. Their Prince Llewellyn was 
 slain in battle, and Wales was annexed to the English kingdom. 
 
 1291. John Baliol, Robert Bruce, and the other competitors, having agreed 
 to refer their respective claims to the crown of Scotland, to the decision of 
 Edward, the States of Scotland met on the I2th of May, at Norham. Edw.ird 
 then desired them to acknowledge his sovereignty over Scotland : a proposition 
 which astonished them so much, that they were silent. He chose to construe 
 that silence into an acknowledgment of his right ; and all the claimants having 
 allowed his pretensions, every castle in the kingdom was delivered up to him. 
 
 1292. Edward declared Baliol King of Scotland, and delivered him up the 
 fortresses on his doing homage and swearing fealty to him. 
 
 1293. Edward, having forced Baliol by acts of despotism into rebellion, 
 invaded Scotland. 
 
 1296. During this year all Scotland was subdued, its strongholds taken, 
 and Baliol defeated near Dunbar, and sent prisoner to the Tower of London. 
 
 1298. The Scotch having revolted under the conduct of William Wallace, 
 Edward marched an army to the North. The Earl of Warren also collected 
 ni array in England, and marched into Scotland, but was entirely defeated by 
 Wallace at Cambuskenneth. 
 
 1305. Wallace was betrayed into Edward's hands, who sent him in chains 
 to London, where he was executed on Tower-Hill as a rebel. 
 
 Robert Bruce raised forces to resist the English, and drove them entirely out 
 f>f Scotland. 
 
 1307. Edward, while on his way to Scotland at the head of a powerful 
 irmy <iied at Carlisle.
 
 fcbe fitfle gaftle of 
 
 lie played agayne both loud and shrille, 
 
 And Adler he did sing, 
 Oh ! ladye, this is thy owne true love, 
 
 Noe harper 
 
 KING ESTMERR. 
 
 IT was a bright and balmy summer's night, and the moon was 
 pouring a flood of the purest radiance on a landscape of unri- 
 valled beauty. An ancient Gothic castle, embosomed in majestic 
 woods, stood on the brow of a hill, at whose foot flowed the river 
 Marne, glittering splendidly and tranquilly in the moonbeams. 
 The river wound in many a shining link down the valley, and 
 would have bounded the horizon, but that, on its opposite bank, 
 in one dusky solid mass, towered the battlements of the City of 
 Chalons. Beyond the outward wall of the castle was a gay parterre, 
 adorned with innumerable flowers of every hue and odour, and 
 fenced in with wooden palisades, into which opened four wickets. 
 At one of these wickets stood a person clad in the garb of a min- 
 strel, with a harp slung about his waist : but as the night breeze 
 stirred the green mantle which formed his outward garment, the 
 coat of mail beneath it, which it was intended to conceal, glittered 
 brightly in the moonbeams. Two horses, richly caparisoned, were 
 feeding at a short distance from him. He gazed often and 
 anxiously towards the eastern turret of the castle, and at length 
 began to exhibit signs of great anxiety and impatience.
 
 143 THE LITTLE BATTLE OF CHALONS. 
 
 " Perchance," he said, " she doubts that I am true to my engage- 
 ment. I will sing her favourite ditty to my harp, which will assure 
 her that I am here ; and should it be heard by any one else, it 
 will be supposed that some wandering minstrel is greeting the 
 lords of Marne with a lay as he passes by their venerable mansion." 
 
 This resolution was no sooner formed than executed. Th? 
 harper struck his instrument, and with a voice of considerable 
 power and sweetness sang the following serenade : 
 
 " Wake, lady, wake ! the midnight moon 
 Sails through the cloudless skies of June, 
 The stars gaze sweetly on the stream 
 Which in the brightness of their beam 
 
 One sheet of glory lies ; 
 The glow-worm lends its little light, 
 And all that's beautiful and bright 
 Is shining on our world to-night, 
 
 Save thy bright eyes. 
 
 Wake, lady, wake ! the nightingale 
 Tells to the moon her lovelorn tale ; 
 Now doth the brook that's hush'd by day, 
 As through the vale she winds her way, 
 
 In murmurs sweet rejoice ; 
 The leaves, by the soft night-wind stirr'd, 
 Are whispering many a gentle word, 
 And all earth's sweetest sounds are heard. 
 
 Save thy sweet voice. 
 
 Wake, lady, wake ! thy lover waits, 
 Thy steed stands saddled at the gates j 
 Here is a garment rich and rare, 
 To wrap thee from the cold night air ; - 
 
 The appointed hour is flown : 
 Danger and doubt have vanish'd quite, 
 Our way before lies clear and right, 
 And all is ready for the flight, 
 
 Save thee alone. 
 
 Wake, lady, wake ! I have a wreath 
 Thy broad fair brow should rise beneath j 
 1 have a ring that must not shine 
 On any finger, love, but thine ; 
 
 I've kept my plighted vow. 
 Beneath thy casement here I stand 
 To lead thee by thy own white hand 
 Far from this dull and captive strand : 
 
 But where art thou ?
 
 THE LITTLE BA TTLR OF CHALONS. t_l3 
 
 Wake, lady, wake ! She wakes, she wakes ! 
 Through the green mead her course she takes ; 
 And now her lover's arms enfold 
 A prize more precious far than gold, 
 
 Blushing like morning's ray ; 
 Now mount thy palfrey, maiden kind, 
 Nor pause to cast one look behind, 
 But swifter than the viewless wind, 
 
 Away, away ! 
 
 The last stanza was improvised ; for, just as the singer was con- 
 Eluding his song, a person in the habit of a page appeared at the 
 ticket The masculine attire, however, did not conceal the heaving 
 bosom and the flowing ringlets of the seeming page, who sunk, 
 exhausted with fe?r and anxiety, into the arms of the knight ; he 
 in the mean time warbled the concluding stanza of the serenade, 
 and, suiting the action to the word, after tenderly embracing his 
 companion, and assisting her to her saddle, he mounted his 
 own, and both rode away rapidly in an opposite direction to that 
 of the city of Chalons. 
 
 " Sweetest Adelaide," said the knight, " we must instantly pro- 
 ceed to the English camp. King Edward and his knights have, 
 fortunately for us, declined the invitation of the Earl of Chalons to 
 take up their quarters in the city, and preferred abiding in their 
 tents ; there thy habit will effectually conceal thee, and the gentle 
 Adelaide shall for a short season wait upon her own true knight as 
 his page, and that short attendance upon him will he afterwards 
 repay with the service of a life devoted to her." 
 
 " Gallant Eustace," said the lady, " with thee by my side, I 
 ought to feel assured of happiness and safety ; dismal forebodings, 
 nevertheless, weigh down my heart. Oh ! for the hour when the 
 billows of the sea shall roll between me and my treacherous guar- 
 dian, and the hated being with whom he would have me wed." 
 
 " That hour, my sweetest," said the knight, " is near at hand. 
 To-morrow is the third and last day of the tournament ; and on 
 the next day, King Edward and his gallant knights, whose superior 
 prowess on the two preceding days has won them no good will in 
 the minds of the Burgundians, will proceed on their way home to 
 merry England ; there, sweet Adelaide, the bride of Eustace de
 
 144 THE LITTLE BA TTLE OF CHALONS. 
 
 Mortimer will be a welcome guest at the court of the gallant 
 Edward and the good Queen Eleanor." 
 
 While the knight and the lady are pursuing their route to the 
 English tents, we will take the opportunity of putting the reader 
 in possession of some facts with which it is necessary that he 
 should be acquainted. Eustace de Mortimer was a young and 
 gallant Englishman, who was knighted on the field by King Henry 
 the Third, after the battle of Evesham, for his services in contri- 
 buting to that memorable victory ; he afterwards accompanied 
 Prince Edward in his expedition to the Holy Land. The English 
 forces passed through the city of Chalons on their way, where they 
 were joined by a party of Burgundians under the command of the 
 Lord of Marne, to whose daughter Adelaide, Eustace de Mortimer 
 had been betrothed. The lovers took a tender leave of each other, 
 after they had exchanged protestations of constancy and fidelity, 
 and after the Lord of Marne had commended his daughter to the 
 guardianship and protection of his kinsman the Earl of Chalons. 
 
 Edward and his little band of English performed prodigies of 
 valour in the Holy Land. His fame and prowess, and the reputa- 
 tion of his great uncle, King Richard, struck terror into the hearts 
 of the infidels. The withering influence of the climate, and the 
 overwhelming superiority in the numbers of their enemies, never- 
 theless compelled the crusaders to conclude a truce with the Sultan 
 and to return to Europe. The Burgundians preceded the English 
 on their return homewards, after having lost their leader, the Lord 
 of Marne, who was slain at the siege of Joppa. Edward, at the 
 head of about five hundred followers, the wreck of the forces 
 which he had led out of England, proceeded through Italy and 
 France towards his native country. In Sicily he received intel- 
 ligence of the death of his father, King Henry the Third ; and 
 that the Barons had all taken the oath of fealty to him, and desired 
 his immediate presence in England, to take possession of the 
 throne of his ancestors. As he passed through Burgundy, the Earl 
 of Chalons requested his presence at a tournament which was to be 
 made in the neighbourhood of that city, and even sent him a sort 
 of challenge. Though a King of England might have honourably
 
 THE LITTLE BATTLE OF CHALONS. 145 
 
 declined measuring swords with an Earl of Chalons, yet Edward, 
 who had acquired a high character for valour and courtesy, ac- 
 cepted the challenge without a moment's hesitation. The English 
 encamped in the neighbourhood, and a tournament, which was to 
 last for three days, was proclaimed ; to which, attracted by the 
 celebrity of the principal person challenged, the most renowned 
 knights flocked from all parts of Europe. Eustace de Mortimer 
 ^ook this opportunity of seeking out his betrothed bride, for the 
 purpose of condoling with her on the death of her father, and of 
 making arrangements for carrying her with him to England. He 
 found, however, that the Earl of Chalons, who had been appointed 
 guardian of her person and estates by her father, had grossly 
 abused his trust. He had suffered his son, Rudolph de Chalons, to 
 persecute her with his addresses, although she had, with her father's 
 consent, been solemnly betrothed to the English knight ; and on 
 her refusing to consent to receive the addresses of Rudolph, he had 
 shut her up in her own castle, which was on the banks of the 
 Marne, at a distance of about three miles from the city, and seized 
 her estates, and converted the revenues to his own use. It was 
 in vain that Eustace remonstrated with him, and insisted on ob- 
 taining an interview with his bride. 
 
 " Sir Knight," said the Earl, " if you really felt that affection for 
 this unhappy maiden which you profess, you would cease from 
 urging your suit at this moment. Her father's death has so 
 wrought upon her young and ardent mind, that she is bereft of 
 reason, and seclusion and quietness are absolutely necessary for 
 her restoration to a state of mental and bodily health. Proceed, 
 Sir Knight, to England ; and myself will, when the maiden is able 
 to endure the journey, escort her thither, and be present, as the 
 representative of her father, at your nuptials." 
 
 " My Lord," said Sir Eustace, shaking his head incredulously, 
 " I fear that when King Edward and the five hundred good lances 
 which follow him have turned their backs on the city of Chalons, 
 Eustace de Mortimer may wait for his bride till her auburn 
 locks have grown grey, and her bright eyes are dim with age, 
 
 ENC. L
 
 I4 THE LITTLE BA TTLE OF CHALONS. 
 
 and the hue of her cheek resembles more the grave-stone than the 
 rose." 
 
 " Doubtest thou the plighted word of Chalons ?" said the Earl, 
 affecting displeasure, and turning to go away. 
 
 " Nay, my Lord !" said Eustace, intercepting him, " I doubt no 
 longer ; for I know that though that word was plighted to perform 
 the will of her father, who affianced her to me, yet Rudolph de 
 Chalons has been suffered to present himself to her as her suitor, 
 and that the scorn with which she rejected him has been followed 
 by the loss of her liberty." 
 
 " Young sir," said the Earl, " you wear a more imperious brow, 
 and talk in a bolder tone than the Earl of Chalons is accustomed to 
 confront or listen to." 
 
 Thus saying, the Earl abruptly left the apartment in which he 
 had granted an audience to the English knight. " Now, by St. 
 George !" said Sir Eustace, when he found himself alone, " if this 
 be Burgundian faith and honour, Heaven and this right hand alone 
 can work out the deliverance of Adelaide. I must find means to 
 gain admission to the castle ; I must I must speak to her. If I 
 cannot by stratagem procure her liberation, then must I invoke 
 ihe aid of good King Edward to compel this perfidious Earl to 
 perform the will of her father." 
 
 The day after this interview between Sir Eustace de Mortimer 
 and the guardian of his bride, was the first day of the tournament. 
 The lists were erected on the outside of the city of Chalons. Two 
 splendid pavilions were erected for King Edward and the Earl, on 
 one of which were emblazoned the arms of England, and on the 
 other those of Chalons. Queen Eleanor of England and the 
 Countess of Chalons jointly officiated as the fair presidents of the 
 day's sport. The first day was devoted to encounters between in- 
 dividual knights on each side ; and neither the King nor the Earl 
 appeared in the lists on that day. In every encounter the English 
 had the advantage so decidedly, that the Burgundians murmured 
 openly, and did not hesitate to accuse their opponents of having 
 made use of spells and enchantments in order to insure the victory ; 
 although each knight had, previously to entering the lists, taken
 
 THE LITTLE BA TTLE OF CHALONS. 147 
 
 the usual oath administered by the heralds, that he had not re- 
 sorted to any such practices. The most memorable combat this 
 day was that between Sir Eustace de Mortimer and Sir Rudolph 
 cle Chalons. When these two knights entered the lists, they rode 
 up to the place where the heralds were stationed, and took the 
 accustomed oaths. Sir Eustace then held out his hand to Sir Ru- 
 dolph, in token that he combated not by reason of personal hos- 
 tility, but for the pleasure of the ladies, and to perfect himself in 
 martial exercises. 
 
 " Nay, proud Englishman," said Rudolph de Chalons, " I cannot 
 accept thy courtesy, for there lives not the man whom I would 
 more gladly see stretched upon his bier than thee. Thee, there 
 fore, do I challenge, not to an idle feat of arms, but to peril life 
 and limb against me for the hand of the Lady Adelaide of Marne." 
 Thus saying, the Burgundian knight threw away from him the 
 pointless sword which he held in his hand (agreeably to the regu- 
 lations of the tournament, which prescribed that no sharp weapon 
 should be used in the lists), and drew from his scabbard a sword 
 which had been the terror of his enemies in many a well-fought 
 field. 
 
 " Discourteous knight," said Sir Eustace, " I wished not to 
 show you any ill-will, although both the lady whom you have 
 named and I have small cause to love you or any of your house. 
 Neither need I peril life and limb for the possession of the hand 
 of the Lady Adelaide, since that hand is mine by her father's and 
 her own sweet will. Nevertheless, Sir Rudolph de Chalons, do I 
 accept thy challenge; and now God defend the right." 
 
 Thus saying, the English knight also unsheathed his fatal 
 weapon, and both combatants were about to close in a mortal 
 conflict when the herald rushed between them. 
 
 " Forbear, gallant knights," said he, " forbear ! put up your 
 sharp swords, or instantly leave the lists. Neither personal malice 
 nor private quarrel must disturb the chivalrous sports of this day." 
 
 Both knights stood sternly gazing at each other, and both were 
 evidently displeased at the interruption of the herald : for Sir 
 Eustace de Mortimer had by this time become infected with the 
 L a
 
 I 4 8 THE LITTLE BA TTLE OF CHALONS. 
 
 hostile spirit of his opponent. " If it must be so," said Rudolph, 
 sheathing his sword slowly and reluctantly, " I will be content with 
 the disgrace instead of the death of this presumptuous English- 
 man, who dares to aspire to the hand of the Lady Adelaide ot 
 Marne." 
 
 " I cannot war with words, Sir Rudolph," said Eustance ; "and 
 if I could, it would ill become a knight who serves the gallant 
 King Edward of England to emulate thee in thy discourteous 
 speech. To achievement to achievement !" 
 
 The knights then retreated in opposite directions to the extre- 
 mities of the lists ; their pages approached them, and again placed 
 in their hands the pointless weapons which they had thrown aside , 
 and then, at the sound of the trumpet, each rushed towards his 
 adversary and the combat was commenced. 
 
 The contest was long and doubtful ; with skill, strength, and 
 zeal, the competitors seemed to be equally endowed. At one time 
 Mortimer's horse stumbled ; but Sir Eustace at that moment aimed 
 so well-directed a blow at Sir Rudolph's helmet, that it bore him 
 from his, saddl**, and both knights came to the ground together. 
 They then continued the encounter, knee to knee and breast tc 
 breast ; *h^ tremendous blows which they directed at each other 
 excited ji I Aniration in the breasts of the spectators, which was 
 only equaJeu by that caused by the swiftness and dexterity with 
 which they interposed their shields and received those blows as 
 they descended. At length Sir Rudolph's sword broke against the 
 shield of his antagonist, and a shout of applause was rising from 
 the assembled multitude, who thought the combat terminated, 
 when, to the surprise of all, Sir Eustace threw away his own 
 weapon, and once more stood on equal terms with the Burgundian. 
 The combatants paused an instant, and their eyes flashed fire 
 through the steel bars of their visors ; then extending their arms, 
 each seized the other in his vigorous grasp. This portion of the 
 struggle lasted '<& shorter time than was expected. Whether from 
 superior skill and practice in the art of wrestling, or that he had 
 not till then put fort'S his entire strength, Sir Eustace had scarcely 
 Hutched his opponent before he threw him to th/ ground, and
 
 THE. LITTLE BATTLE OF CHALONS. 149 
 
 placing his knee upon his breast, was hailed conqueror by the 
 acclamations of thousands. 
 
 " Sir Knight," said the Countess of Chalons, to whom the task 
 of placing the wreath of laurel on the brows of such English 
 knights as proved victorious devolved, as did that of rewarding 
 the triumphant Burgundians to the Queen of England : " wear 
 this wreath which thou hast won so nobly ; and although my kins- 
 man has fallen beneath the power of thy arm, trust me, that no 
 feelings towards thee but those of respect and admiration exist in 
 the bosom of Maud of Chalons. Nor," she added, turning to 
 the discomfited knight, " will my kinsman, who has lost neither 
 fame nor honour in this encounter, refuse to meet with a friendly 
 grasp the hand of the gallant Englishman." 
 
 " First shall my hand moulder in the grave !" said the Burgun- 
 dian. " I acknowledge him the victor this day. By what means 
 his victory has been obtained, I leave those to judge who have 
 witnessed the success which has attended his countrymen this day. 
 Nevertheless, I defy the foul fiend ! and if this knight will again 
 encounter me on the morrow, I will prove to him that my defeat 
 this day has been owing to accident, or to something worse, with 
 which I will not charge him." 
 
 " The time will come, Rudolph de Chalons," said Mortimer 
 " when thy heart's blood shall pay for these foul aspersions. The 
 combat which thou offerest for the morrow I might by the laws of 
 chivalry decline, having already proved myself thy conqueror; 
 nevertheless, will I waive the exemption which I might claim, and 
 on the morrow will I encounter thee again, if thou darest." 
 
 " Then," said the Burgundian, smiling grimly, " give me thine 
 hand, which I ere now refused ; and know," he added, while he 
 squeezed it in his iron grasp, " that friendship was never plighted 
 with so much fervour and sincerity as I now press thy hand in 
 token of my fixed and irrevocable hate." 
 
 Sir Eustace answered only by the vehemence with which he re 
 turned the hostile pressure of the Burgundian's hand ; and theiv 
 making a lowly obeisance to the fair presidents of the tournament, 
 both knights departed from the lists.
 
 ISO THE LITTLE BATTLE OF CHALONS. 
 
 On that evening a minstrel presented himself at the gates of the 
 Castle of Marne, and was, as the professors of that art usually 
 were, readily admitted into the interior. The porter gazed ear- 
 nestly at the visitor ; for although he did not remember to have 
 seen a minstrel with the features on which he then looked, yet 
 was there something in those features which he thought was 
 familiar to him. 
 
 ' Adam," said the minstrel, " knowest thou me not ?" 
 
 " The glance of that eye," said the old man, " breaks upon me like 
 a light to which I have long been unaccustomed, and the sound 
 of that voice is like long-lost but unforgotten music to my ear." 
 
 At that moment a bugle was heard sounding, and the minstrel, 
 thrown off his guard, instinctively put himself in an attitude of de- 
 fence, and darted his hand to his left side, as if to grasp a weapon, 
 but no weapon was there. 
 
 " Ha !" said the porter, on whom a sudden light seemed to have 
 broken ; " I know thee now Sir Eustace de Mortimer ! Sir 
 Knight, Sir Knight, thine ear must be beyond the blast of bugles 
 and trumpets, and thine eye beyond the flash of sabres and spears, 
 ere the exchange of a steel corslet for a robe of Kendal green can 
 hide thee from the glance either of friend or foe." 
 
 " But what meant that bugle note ?" asked the knight. 
 
 " 'Twas but the warder's salutation to my lady," answered the 
 porter, " as she took her evening walk upon the battlement of the 
 eastern turret." 
 
 " Thy lady !" said Eustace ; " Adam, ' tis with thy lady I would 
 speak." 
 
 "Nay, Sir Knight, not for the wealth of England may'st thou 
 speak with her. I am strictly commanded by the Earl to forbid 
 the admission of any one to her presence." 
 
 "But thy prohibition, good Adam," said the knight, "cannot 
 extend to a wandering minstrel, who comes to lighten her sad 
 heart with his songs ; and especially when that minstrel, instead 
 of craving alms from thee, has wherewith also to lighten the sad- 
 ness of thine own heart, although, perchance, the remedy differs 
 somewhat from that which he would prescribe to thy lady ''
 
 THE LITTLE BATTLE OF CHALONS. 151 
 
 " Tut, tut, Sir Knight !" said the porter, suffering the purse of 
 gold, which the other offered, to sink unresisted into his pouch ; 
 " there needed not this ; the love which I bore to the good lady's 
 father, and which I still bear to her and to you, Sir Knight, had 
 been enough to procure for you a short interview. Besides, I arr 
 not such a churl as to refuse the petition of a minstrel, whom even 
 the grim warrior on the field of blood will smile upon and listen 
 to. If thou be'st not what thou seemest to be, gentle minstrel, 
 Heaven pardon thee ! Mine eyes are dim, and my memory fails 
 me, so that I cannot detect thy knavery." 
 
 Thus saying, with a significant elevation of his finger he motioned 
 the knight to follow him; and leading him along many a long 
 corridor and winding staircase, which, as the passage through them 
 was not distinguished by any incidents worth recording, we shall 
 not minutely describe, they arrived upon the battlements of the 
 eastern turret of the castle. The lady was sitting at the parapet, 
 lost apparently in the contemplation of the surrounding scenery, 
 which we have already attempted to describe. Her cheek was 
 pale and evidently worn with sorrow and anxiety ; but the knight 
 looked on it in vain to discover any traces of that mental disease 
 under which the Earl of Chalons had told him that his ward was 
 suffering. He stole behind and approached so close to her, that 
 her bright auburn tresses mingled with his own ; but still she 
 stirred not, spoke not, and was unconscious that any one was near 
 her. At length the minstrel struck his harp and awoke a low and 
 gentle, and scarcely audible strain, but it was one which effectually 
 roused the lady from her trance. 
 
 " Ha !" she said, starting from her seat and rushing towards the 
 knight, " what is 't I hear who is 't I see ? Eustace, Eustace de 
 Mortimer !" 
 
 She threw herself in her lover's arms. " Sweetest Adelaide," he 
 said, " I come to rescue you from the captivity in which this dis- 
 honourable Earl has placed you ; to claim you for my affianced 
 bride ; to lead you to liberty and peace in merry England." 
 
 " Alas !" said the lady, " how is my liberation to be effected ? 
 The Earl and Sir Rudolph are now here, and intend to pass the
 
 if* THE LITTLE BATTLE Of CHALOttS. 
 
 night here. Every avenue to the castle is narrowly watched ; and 
 even the arrival of a wandering minstrel, as thou seemest to be, is 
 by this time known to every person within these walls." 
 
 " But on the morrow, Adelaide, the Earl and the Knight sup 
 with the King of England in his tent, and pass the night in the city 
 of Chalons. All their retainers will attend them, as well to add to 
 their importance and dignity, as to be near the spot on which the 
 sports of the succeeding day, which will be the last of the tourna- 
 ment, are to take place. The castle will then be left to the guardian, 
 ship of our friend Adam, and a few other domestics, who at the hour 
 of eight, will be regaling themselves in the buttery ; then, should a 
 minstrel sound his harp on the outside of the castle, and a page 
 trip across the parterre to give him alms, wouldest thou, Adam, 
 gaze too curiously on the features of the latter, to ascertain whether 
 they were male or female ?" 
 
 " My eyes are dim with age, Sir Knight," said the porter ; " so 
 that peradventure a cunning disguise would effectually deceive me." 
 
 "Would this disguise be cunning enough for that purpose?" 
 said the false minstrel, opening his wallet, and displaying a pair 
 of hose, a buff jerkin, and a cloak. 
 
 " There is enough there, Sir Eustace," said Adam, " to deceive 
 a wiser and a younger man than I." 
 
 " Then, gentle Adelaide," said her lover, " to-morrow evening, 
 at the hour of eight, disguised in these garments, meet me at the 
 eastern wicket, where I will have two fleet steeds ready to carry 
 us to the English tents; there thou mayest alike laugh at the 
 tyranny of the Earl, and the importunity of Sir Rudolph." 
 
 " Doubt me not, beloved Eustace," said the lady. 
 
 " And thou, Adam," said the knight, "doubt not me, that if thou 
 art faithful to thy old master's daughter and to me in this emer- 
 gency, thou shalt not lack a costly reward. Farewell ! sweet 
 Adelaide ! a sad, but neither a last nor a long farewell." 
 
 The knight bent his knee, the lady waved her kerchief; and 
 then the former, following the guidance of Adam, retraced the 
 steps by which he had approached, and his back was soon once 
 more turned on the walls of the castle.
 
 THE LITTLE BATTLE OF CHALONS. 153 
 
 The next day, being the second of the tournament, was one of 
 great and intense interest both to the Burgundians and the English ; 
 the former being anxious to retrieve the honours which they had 
 lost, the latter to preserve and confirm those which they had 
 acquired. The King of England and the Earl of Chalons both 
 entered the lists this day. The martial appearance of the King 
 excited universal admiration. He was then about thirty years of 
 age. He was tall and remarkably well formed, except that his 
 legs were somewhat disproportionately long, a circumstance whicli 
 procured for him the popular appellation of Long-Shanks. His 
 limbs were bony and muscular, but extraordinarily agile ; and 
 although he possessed almost Herculean strength, his every move- 
 ment was characterized by the utmost ease and gracefulness. The 
 tournament seemed to be indeed a mere sport to him. Every 
 knight he encountered was unhorsed almost as soon as he lifted 
 his weapon : and, while his antagonist fell to the ground exhausted 
 and breathless, Edward rode on in search of a new opponent, 
 apparently unconscious of any exertion or effort. The English 
 knights in general, inspired by the example of their monarch, were 
 with a very few exceptions uniformly successful. Sir Eustace de 
 Mortimer again stretched Sir Rudolph de Chalons breathless at his 
 feet, while the lists rang with the acclamations of the admiring 
 spectators. The Earl of Chalons alone adequately maintained the 
 reputation of his country : he unhorsed several English knights in 
 the course of the day, and maintained his own seat unmoved 
 The anxiety of the spectators was very great to see the King ana 
 the Earl engaged together ; but it so happened that throughout 
 the whole of the day these knights were engaged in different parts 
 of the lists, and had no opportunity of encountering each other. 
 Late in the day, however, the Earl was seen spurring his horse 
 towards the spot on which the King stood with his lance in rest, 
 awaiting his attack ; but just as they were about to close in the 
 combat, the bell tolled the hour at which it was appointed that 
 the tournament should terminate, and then the stentorian voices 
 of the heralds were heard shouting, " Fold up the banners !" 
 
 " Gallant lord," said the King, " I have marked your feats of
 
 IS4 THE LITTLE BATTLE Of CHALONS. 
 
 arms to-day with wonder and delight, and am much grieved that 
 I have not had an opportunity of measuring my strength with 
 yours. To fall by your arm will be no disgrace, while to prove 
 myself your victor will win me a wreath of which even Edward of 
 England may be proud." 
 
 " Your Grace may have that satisfaction on the morrow," said 
 the Earl proudly but courteously. The King waved his hand in 
 testimony of his acceptance of the challenge, and retired to his 
 tent amidst the sound of bugles and trumpets and the acclamations 
 of the multitude. 
 
 That evening, in the English camp, was spent in entertainments 
 and revelry, to which the Earl of Chalons and his knights were 
 invited ; while, as our readers are already aware, it was employed 
 by Sir Eustace de Mortimer in putting into execution the stratagem 
 which he had formed on the preceding day for the liberation of 
 Adelaide. That stratagem having been executed without any 
 obstruction, we shall proceed to narrate the events of the succeed- 
 ing day. 
 
 This day was the only one of the three devoted to a tournament, 
 strictly so called, the sports of the two preceding days having been 
 what were more properly denominated justs. These two ancient 
 amusements, in which our ancestors so much delighted, though 
 often confounded with each other, differed materially. The 
 tournament was a conflict with many knights divided into parties, 
 and engaged at the same time. The just was a separate trial of 
 skill, when one individual only was opposed to another. On the 
 two former days each knight had singled out his opponent, but on 
 the third the collective strength of the English and Burgundians 
 were to be drawn out as it were in battle array against each other. 
 The former headed by their King, and the latter by their Earl, 
 appeared in the lists at an early hour in the morning ; and no 
 sooner did the heralds sound the signal to begin, than the charge 
 was made with all impetuosity, energy, and apparent hostility of 
 a real combat. " St. George ! St. Edward !" shouted the English. 
 "St. George of Burgundy!" returned the Burgundians. Again, 
 however, had the latter the worst of the engagement; and as
 
 
 THE LITTLE BATTLE OF CHALONS. 155 
 
 knight after knight of the Burgundian party was unhorsed and 
 declared incapable of continuing the contest, did he mutter im- 
 precations on the diabolical spells to which he attributed his 
 discomfiture. The hope of this party, however, was the reliance 
 which they placed on the prowess of their yet unconquered Earl. 
 " Let the proud English monarch look to his laurels to-day !" was 
 the often repeated exclamation of his knights as they saw their 
 leader careering through the lists, and bearing every man from hi^ 
 saddle who opposed him. At length he rode full tilt against Kin^ 
 Edward ; with a yell of delight he threw away his sword, cast his 
 arms about the neck of the monarch, and used his utmost endea- 
 vour to pull him from his horse. Edward, on the other hand, 
 finding that the Earl would not quit his hold, put spurs to his 
 horse and drew him from his saddle, hanging about his neck, and 
 then shaking him violently threw him to the ground.* 
 
 The murmur of applause, which burst not only from the sur- 
 rounding spectators, but also from the contending knights, at 
 beholding this feat, was astounding. For a moment all seemed 
 stupified with surprise and admiration ; then a roar of indignation 
 arose from the Burgundian ranks. 
 
 " Death !" said Rudolph de Chalons. " Gallants of France and 
 Burgundy, will ye submit to this ? Are the laws of chivalry to be 
 held inviolate by us, when our opponents have invoked the foul 
 fiend to their aid ? Let others do as they list ; but for me," he 
 added, throwing away his pointless sword, " this bauble shall dis- 
 grace my hand no longer ; but this," drawing another weapon 
 from his girdle, " is an instrument on which he who bears it may 
 rely." 
 
 Thus saying, and before the heralds could interpose their au- 
 thority, he rushed into the English ranks, and singling out Sir 
 Eustace de Mortimer, aimed so tremendous a blow at him that it 
 cut through his helmet and made a deep incision on his head. 
 Eustace, unprepared for an attack from a more formidable weapon 
 
 * WalsJneham.
 
 iS THE LITTLE BATTLE OF CHALONS. 
 
 than the pointless sword appointed to be used on the tournament, 
 stood ready to receive the blow unresisted, and to return it when 
 his opponent was thrown off his guard by the effort which he 
 made. Rudolph's sword, however, had no sooner struck on his 
 helmet than the unfortunate knight, uttering a deep groan, fell 
 from his horse, and sunk, weltering in his blood, to the ground. 
 " Treason ! treason !" shouted the English knights ; and instantly 
 a score of lances were planted in the bosom of Rudolph de 
 Chalons. The engagement now became general. Each party saw 
 one of their number stretched upon the earth, bathed in blood. 
 The lists were broken through, the barriers overthrown, the heralds, 
 and other official persons connected with the tournament, fled dis- 
 mayed from their posts, and the shouts of no fictitious battle were 
 mingled with the shrieks and wailings of females, the trampling of 
 horses, and the groans of the wounded and the dying. How long 
 this carnage might have lasted it is impossible to say, had not 
 King Edward, at the head of about a dozen knights, rushed into 
 the midst of the contending parties, commanded them to lay down 
 their arms, and charged, with his sword in hand, alike English and 
 Burgundians who seemed disposed to resist his authority. At 
 length the slaughter and tumult terminated, and the combatants, 
 with sullen and discontented looks, reluctantly retreated to their 
 respective pavilions. 
 
 " By St. George ! Knights and Esquires," said the King, " never 
 till this day did I gaze upon gallant gentlemen encountering either 
 in the tournament or the field, with feelings of shame and anger. 
 Who began this fray ? I speak, I know, with the concurrence of my 
 noble brother the Earl of Chalons, that whoever he may be neither 
 his rank nor his valour shall shield him from the punishment due 
 to his demerits." 
 
 " He is beyond the reach of your Grace's displeasure," said an 
 English knight ; "having already paid the penalty of his foul tre.i 
 chery. Rudolph de Chalons lies lifeless in the lists." 
 
 " My son, my gallant boy !" said the Earl of Chalons ; " who has 
 dared to lay hands upon thee, the last hope of my house ?" 
 
 " My lord," said the same knight, "he drew his fate down on
 
 1HE LITTLE BA TTLE OF CHALONS. t S7 
 
 lis own head. He treacherously assauked and wounded Sir 
 Eustace de Mortimer with a weapon forbidden to be used at the 
 tournament." 
 
 The Earl hid his face in his hands, and the deep blush which 
 mantled even to his brow, seemed to be the mingled expression 
 of shame and sorrow. 
 
 " Ha !" said King Edward, " the noble Mortimer ! 1 trust that 
 no evil has befallen that gallant knight." 
 
 " Hither he comes, my liege," said the knight, " to express, 
 with his dying breath, his loyalty and devotion to your Grace." 
 
 Four knights now approached, bearing the bleeding and almost 
 lifeless form of Mortimer stretched upon his shield. A page hung 
 over him, supporting the dying man's head upon his breast, and 
 bathing his face with his tears. 
 
 " Justice, my liege," said Mortimer ; " vengeance, justice, for 
 injured innocence, and vengeance upon perjury and treason !" 
 
 " Say on, say on, gallant Eustace," returned the King ; " thou 
 canst not ask that which I will refuse thee." 
 
 " Not for myself, great King, am I with my dying breath a 
 humble petitioner to your grace my days are past and my moments 
 are numbered ; but behold," he added, pointing to the page, " the 
 heiress of the Lord of Marne, your Grace's gallant companion in 
 arms, who is defrauded of her father's heritage ay, and of her 
 affianced husband's life, by the treachery of the Earl of Chalons !" 
 
 " What ! my Lord of Chalons," said the King, his eyes flashing 
 fire, and his hand instinctively grasping his sword, " can this be 
 true that I hear? But I wrong my gallant, dying knight to 
 doubt it." 
 
 " Tis true, most true, great King," said the Earl, falling at his 
 feet. " But am I not sufficiently punished for my treachery ? My 
 son, for whom I committed this wrong, is numbered with the dead, 
 and I am a man dishonoured and disgraced." 
 
 At that moment a dreadful shriek burst from Adelaide de 
 Marne. "Ha! save him save him!" she cried; "talk you of 
 heritage and revenues at such a moment as this ?" 
 
 All eyes were turned towards the shield on which Sir Eustace
 
 I 5 8 THE LITTLE BA TTLE OF CHALONS. 
 
 lay. His lips were quivering with the last breath that hung upon 
 them his cheeks wore that hue which is only succeeded by the cor- 
 ruption of mortality : and his lids fell over his eyes only to unclose 
 once more, and exhibit that chill, glassy glare which startles us 
 from gazing upon the relics even of the most beloved. 
 
 "Alas !" said'the King, " our utmost care will avail the brave 
 knight nothing; but look to the Lady Adelaide." 
 
 The unfortunate maiden had sunk in a state of insensibility upon 
 the lifeless body of her lover. Every effort was made to restore 
 her, and at length with success, but a success which was merely 
 temporary : she again unclosed her eyes for a moment, gazed first 
 on the breathless form of Eustace, then on the Earl ; hid her face 
 in her hand, while a shudder ran through her whole frame ; heaved 
 one long sigh, and then her spirit fled for ever. 
 
 Such was the fearful catastrophe of the memorable tournament 
 of Chalons. Several knights were slain on both sides, and scarcely 
 one escaped without having been severely wounded. The King, 
 eager alike to reach his dominions and to flee from a spot asso- 
 ciated with so many painful recollections, hastened to England ; 
 and the Earl, childless, dishonoured, and broken in spirit, shu<- 
 himself up in a secluded castle in a remote part of Burgundy. The 
 events of that day caused the tournament, which was intended to 
 have been merely an exhibition of martial but innocent sports, to 
 be called " The Little Battle of Chaluns?
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY. 
 EDWARD THE SECOND. 
 
 1307. EDWARD THE SECOND'S first act of power was to recall his favourite. 
 Gaveston, whom his father had banished the kingdom. He heaped unceasing 
 favours upon him, and gave the sole management of the government to him, 
 though a foreigner. The nobility of England were much disgusted by this 
 appointment. 
 
 1308. Edward married Isabella, daughter of Philip the Fair, King of 
 France. The Barons obliged him to banish Gaveston. 
 
 1310. Gaveston was sent out of the kingdom, not as a banished man, but as 
 Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, and was soon recalled by Edward. Gaveston, 
 venting his pride and insolence, not only on the Barons but the Queen, the 
 nobility, headed by the Earl of Lancaster, took up arms. 
 
 1312. Gaveston was made prisoner by the Earls of Pembroke and Warren, 
 at Scarborough, and finally beheaded on Blacklow Hill, near Warwick. The 
 .King and the Barons were afterwards reconciled to each other. 
 
 1314. Edward was defeated by Robert Bruce at Bannockbum, and Scotland 
 again rendered independent of England. 
 
 1319. The Barons again took arms, in consequence of the King's having 
 attached himself to the Spensers, two new favourites. They were banished the 
 kingdom, the King r.ot being able to protect them ; but soon afterwards, on 
 obtaining some successes against the Barons, he recalled them. 
 
 1322. The Earl of Lancaster was beheaded at Pomfret Castle, and many 
 others of his party were put to death. 
 
 1324. The King of France having seized on Guienne, Queen Isabella went 
 over to France to negotiate with her brother, where she met with many ol 
 the Lancastrian faction, and amongst them with Roger Mortimer, who by his 
 person and address soon gained her affections. She entered ardently into 
 all Mortimer's conspiracies against her husband. It was secretly determined 
 lo get Prince Edward into their power, for which reason the King was 
 persuaded to resign Guienne to his son. The Prince was sent over to do 
 homage to Charles, and Isabella entered into a treaty with the Earl of Hainault, 
 to whose daughter Philippa she contracted her son. 
 
 1326- Isabella landed on the coast of Suffolk with a numerous army, and
 
 K,o EDWARD THE SECOND. 
 
 was immediately joined by vast numbers of the common people, and many of 
 the principal nobility. 
 
 Edward was pursued to Bristol, and thence fled into Wales The elder 
 Spenser was taken prisoner by the Queen's army, and hanged, and his head 
 sent to Winchester. 
 
 The King took shipping for Ireland, but was driven back by contrary winds. 
 He then endeavoured to conceal himself in the mountains, but was soon dis- 
 covered, and put under the charge of the Earl of Leicester. Young Spenser 
 was afterwards taken and hanged, without any trial, at Hereford. The King 
 was sent to Kenilworth Castle. 
 
 1327. Isabella called a Parliament, in which the King was formally deposed, 
 and in a few days, was obliged by menaces to sign a resignation ; but every- 
 body now beginning to abhor the Queen for her barbarity to her husband, and 
 infamous conduct with Mortimer, she found that things could not remain quiet 
 whilst the King was alive ; and discovering that the Earl of Leicester (at this 
 time Lancaster) pitied and was kind to him, Edward was removed to K^rkcley 
 Castle under the charge of Maltravers and Gournay, who put him to death, in 
 a Ixubarous mrjmer, on the 2ist of September.
 
 I see a hand you cannot see, 
 That beckons me away ; 
 
 I hear a voice you cannot hear, 
 That will not let me stay. 
 
 r T A HERE is a part of the river Wye, between the city of 
 
 JL Hereford and the town of Ross, which was known for more 
 
 than two centuries by the appellation of " The Spectre's Voyage ;" 
 
 and across which, as long as it retained that appellation, neither 
 
 ENG. M
 
 i6a THE SPECTRE'S VOYAGE. 
 
 entreaty nor remuneration could induce any boatman to convey 
 passengers after a certain hour of the night. The superstitious 
 notions current among the lower orders were, that, at about the hour 
 of eight on every evening, a female was seen in a small vessel 
 sailing from Hereford to North-brigg, a little village, then distant 
 about three miles from the city, of which not even the site is now 
 discernible ; that the vessel sailed with the utmost rapidity in a 
 dead calm, and even against the wind ; that to encounter it was 
 fatal ; that the voyager landed from it on the eastern bank of the 
 river, a little beyond the village ; that she remained some time on 
 shore, making the most fearful lamentations ; that she then re- 
 entered the vessel, and sailed back in the same manner, and that 
 both boat and passenger vanished suddenly as they arrived at a 
 certain part of the river, where the current is remarkably strong, 
 within about half a mile of the city of Hereford. 
 
 This singular tradition, like most stories of a similar character, 
 was not without a foundation in truth, as the reader will perceive 
 who takes the trouble to peruse the following narrative. 
 
 In the turbulent reign of Edward the Second, when the whole 
 of England was one theatre of lawless violence ; when might was 
 constantly triumphant over right, and princes and soldiers only 
 respected the very intelligible, if not very equitable principle, 
 
 '* That they should take who have the power, 
 And they should keep who can ;" 
 
 the city of Hereford was distinguished by the zeal and patriotism 
 of its citizens, and by the unshrinking firmness with which they 
 adhered to the cause of Queen Isabella and the young prince her 
 son, aftenvards the renowned King Edward the Third, in opposition 
 to the weak and ill-fated monarch who then wore the crown, and 
 his detested favourites the Despensers, father and son. Sir Hugh 
 Despenser, the younger, was a man of unquestionable talents, and 
 possessed virtues which, during a period of less violence and 
 personal animosity, might have proved honourable to himself, and 
 useful to his country. The nobles, however, hated him for his 
 obscure birth and his devotion to the service of his prince, who,
 
 THE SPECTRE'S VOYAGE. i3 
 
 however imbecile and unworthy of his high station, was neverthe- 
 less unstained by any flagitious crime, and was possessed of a kind 
 and generous heart, and was especially endeared to Despenser, on 
 account of the wealth and honours which he had prodigally lavished 
 upon his family and himself. The discontents of the Queen and 
 the Barons were not vented in fruitless complaints or idle menaces. 
 They flew to arms. The King of France, the Queen's brother, 
 assisted them with men and money ; the Count of Hainault, to 
 whose daughter, Philippa, the young prince had been contracted, 
 did the same. The King was driven from London, and forced, 
 with the elder Despenser, whom he had created Earl of Winchester, 
 to take refuge in Bristol. Being hotly pursued to this city by the 
 Earl of Kent and the Count of Hainault, at the head of a formid- 
 able army, he was obliged to flee into Wales, leaving the elder 
 Despenser governor of the castle of Bristol. This fortress was im- 
 mediately besieged, and speedily taken, as the garrison mutinied 
 against their governor, and delivered him into the hands of his 
 enemies. This venerable nobleman, who had nearly reached his 
 ninetieth year, was instantly, without trial, or witness, or accusa- 
 tion, or answer, condemned to death by the rebellious Barons : he 
 was hanged on a gibbet ; his body was cut in pieces and thrown 
 to the dogs ; and his head was sent to Winchester, the place 
 whence he derived his title, and was there set on a pole, and 
 exposed to the insults of the populace. 
 
 When the news of this catastrophe reached the younger Despen- 
 ser, he was at the head of a fine army, which had sat down before 
 the city of Hereford, for the purpose of reducing it to obedience to 
 King Edward. The formidable force which he commanded had 
 struck terror into the hearts of the citizens, so that notwithstanding 
 their attachment to Queen Isabella, and their detestation of 
 Despenser, they had shown symptoms of their willingness to yield to 
 the latter upon reasonable' terms ; and he, desirous of obtaining 
 possession of the city without any unnecessary effusion of blood, 
 had granted a truce of a week's duration, to give them time to 
 decide upon the conditions upon which they would open their 
 gates to him. The disastrous intelligence which he received from 
 
 M 2
 
 i64 THE SPECTRE'S VOYAGE. 
 
 Bristol, however, made him doubtful whether he should hold in- 
 violate the truce which he had granted to the besieged. He did 
 not doubt but that the Earl of Kent and his troops, flushed with 
 conquest, would hasten to his destruction, and to the relief of 
 Hereford ; and that unless he could possess himself of the city 
 and castle, and by shutting himself up in the latter be enabled to 
 bid defiance to his enemies, the fate of his father must inevitably 
 be his own. 
 
 The favourite recreation of the inhabitants of Hereford wa^ 
 then, as it is now, to make excursions, either alone or in parties; 
 upon their beautiful river. This amusement had become so much 
 a custom with them, that the most timid females were not afraid 
 to venture alone and at night in a small skiff, with which almost 
 every family of respectability was provided ; and on a bright 
 moonlight night, the bosom of the river was beautifully diversified 
 by white sails glittering in the moonbeams, while sweet female 
 voices would be heard warbling some popular melodies, the subjects 
 of which were, usually, praises of Prince Edward, or execrations of 
 Despenser and those who had corrupted the King. It was on such 
 a night that the incident with which our narrative commences oc- 
 curred. The moon was riding in an unclouded sky unclouded 
 except by those light fleecy vapours which hover round the form 
 of the queen of night, increasing rather than diminishing her beauty. 
 The river seemed one sheet of silver, and numerous little vessels, 
 passing and repassing, gave it a delightfully animated appearance. 
 In one, which seemed to be venturing nearer to the camp of th~ 
 enemy than the others, might be seen a light and delicate female 
 form and on the shore which she was approaching, a little above 
 the village of North-brigg, stood a soldier, whose accoutrements 
 bespoke him to belong to the army of Sir Hugh Despenser. 
 
 The lady landed, and the soldier hastened to meet her. " Dearest 
 Isabel," he said, " blessings upon thy generous trusting heart, for 
 this sweet meeting ! I have much to tell thee, but that my tongue 
 dares not utter all with which my mind is stored ; and if it dared, 
 it is not on such a night as this, so bright, so beautiful, that tidings 
 dark as mine should be communicated." Isabel, who had laid her
 
 THE SPECTRE'S VOYAGE. 165 
 
 head upon his breast when they met, started from him, and gazed 
 with the utmost terror and surprise at the unwonted gloom which 
 darkened his countenance. 
 
 " Walter, what means this ? Come you to break the trusting 
 heart which beats for you alone ? Come you to cancel your vows, 
 to say that we must part for ever ? Oh ! better had you left me 
 to the mercy of the wave, when its work of death was half achieved, 
 if you reserved me only for the misery which waits upon a broken 
 heart and blighted and betrayed affections !" 
 
 " Sweet, dry these tears !" replied the soldier ; " while I have 
 life I am thine. I come to warn thee of sure but unseen danger. 
 The walls of Hereford are strong, and the arms and hearts of her 
 citizens firm and trusty ; but her hour is come, and the path of the 
 destroyer, although secret, is like the stream which hides itself for 
 a time beneath the earth, only to spring forth more strongly and 
 irresistibly than ever." 
 
 " Thy words are dark and dreadful ; but I do not know of any 
 cause for fear, or of any means of avoiding it, if it exists." 
 
 " Fly with me, fly ! with thy heart and hand reward my love, 
 and think no more of those grim walls, and sullen citizens, with 
 souls as iron as their beavers, and hearts as cold as the waters of 
 their river." 
 
 " Oh ! no, no, no ! my father's head is grey ; and, but for me 
 alone, all his affections, all his hopes, are buried in my mother's 
 grave. He hates thee and thy cause. When I told him a stranger 
 had rescued his daughter from the wave, he raised his hands to 
 Heaven and blessed him. I told him that that stranger was a 
 follower of the Despensers : he checked his unfinished benediction 
 and cursed him. But if he knew thee, Walter thy noble heart, 
 thy constant love methinks that time and entreaty would make 
 him listen to his daughter's prayer." 
 
 " Alas ! my Isabel, entreaty would be vain, and Time is already 
 flapping his wings, loaded with inevitable ruin, over yon devoted 
 city and its inhabitants. Thy father shall be safe trust that to 
 me ; and trust me, too, that what I promise I can perform. But 
 thou, my loved one, thou must not look upon the horrid face of
 
 166 THE SPECTRE'S VOYAGE. 
 
 war : and though my power extends to save thy father from injury, 
 it would be easier to save the wall-flowers on the ramparts of the 
 city from the foot of the invader, than one so fair, so feeble, from 
 his violence and lust" 
 
 " Whoe'er thou art," she said, " there is a spell upon my heart 
 which love and gratitude have twined, and which makes it thine 
 for ever ; but sooner would I lock my hand with that of the savage 
 Despenser himself, when reeking with the best blood of Hereford's 
 citizens, than leave my father's side when his grey hairs are in 
 clanger, and my native city when treachery is in her streets and 
 outrage is approaching her walls !" 
 
 These words were uttered with an animation and vehemence so 
 unusual to her, that Walter stood for a moment transfixed with 
 wonder : and before he recovered his self-possession, Isabel, with 
 the velocity of lightning, had regained her skiff and was sailing 
 before the wind to Hereford. " Curse on my amorous folly !" he 
 exclaimed, " that, for a pair of pale cheeks and sparkling eyes, has 
 perhaps ruined a better concerted stratagem than ever entered the 
 brain of the Grecian Sinon. I must away, or the false girl will 
 awake the slumbering citizens to their defence before the deed is 
 done : and yet, must I devote her to the foul grasp of ruffian 
 violence ? No, no! my power is equal to save or to destroy." As 
 he uttered these words, he rapidly ascended the rocks which skirted 
 that part of the banks of the river on which he stood, and was 
 soon lost among the wild woods that crowned their summit. 
 
 We shall not enter into any detailed account of the events of 
 that night The royalists, by means of an unexpected attack during 
 the truce, and aided by internal treachery, hoped to make them- 
 selves masters of the city of Hereford. The citizens, however, 
 had by some unknown means obtained intelligence of the designs 
 of the enemy, and were prepared to repel their attacks. Every 
 street was lined with soldiers, and a band of the bravest and most 
 determined, under the command of Eustace Chandos (Isabel's 
 father), manned the city walls. The struggle was short but san- 
 guinary the invaders were beaten back at every point ; their best 
 troops were left dead in the trenches, and above two hundred
 
 THE SPECTRE'S VOYAGB. 167 
 
 prisoners (among whom was Sir Hugh Despenser himself) fell into 
 the hands of the citizens. The successful party set no bounds 
 either to their exultation or their revenge. The rejoicings were 
 continued for three successive days ; the neighbouring country was 
 ravaged without cessation and without remorse; and all the prisoners 
 were ordered, by a message to that effect received from Queen 
 Isabella, to be treated as felons, and hanged in the most public 
 places in the city. This decree was rigorously and unrelentingly 
 executed. The royalist soldiers, without any distinction as to rank 
 or character, suffered the ignominious punishment to which they 
 were condemned, and the streets of Hereford were blocked up by 
 gibbets, which the most timid and merciful of its inhabitants gazed 
 upon with satisfaction and triumph. 
 
 Sir Hugh Despenser, both on account of his rank and of the pecu- 
 liar degree of hatred with which each bosom beat against him, was 
 reserved to be the last victim. On the day of his execution the 
 streets were lined with spectators, and the principal families in the 
 city occupied stations round the scaffold. So great was the uni- 
 versal joy at having their enemy in their power, that even the wives 
 and daughters of the most distinguished citizens were anxious to 
 view the punishment inflicted upon him whom they considered the 
 grand cause of all the nation's evils. Isabel was not of this num- 
 ber ; but her father sternly compelled her to be a witness of the 
 dismal scene. The hour of noon was fast approaching, and the 
 bell of the cathedral heavily and solemnly tolled the knell of the 
 unfortunate Despenser. The fatal cavalcade approached the place 
 of execution. A stern and solemn triumph gleamed in the eyes of 
 the soldiers as they trod by the side of the victim ; but most of the 
 spectators, especially the females, were melted into tears when 
 they beheld the fine manly form of the prisoner, which seemed 
 better fitted to adorn the royal levee, or a lady's bower, than to 
 undergo the melancholy fate to which he was about to be con< 
 signed. His head was bare, and his light flaxen locks fell in rich 
 profusion down his shoulders, but left unshaded his finely-propor- 
 tioned and sunburnt features. He wore the uniform of the royal 
 army, and a star on his breast indicated his rank ; while he held
 
 i68 THE SPECTRE'S VOYAGE. 
 
 in his hand a small ivory cross, which he frequently and fervently 
 kissed. His deportment was firm and contemptuous, and, as he 
 looked on the formal and frequently grotesque figures of his guards, 
 his features even assumed an expression of risibility. The sight 
 of the gibbet, however, which was raised fifty feet high, seemed to 
 appal him, for he had not been apprized of the ignominious nature 
 of his punishment. "And is this," he said, as he scornfully dashed 
 away a tear which had gathered in his eye, " ye rebellious dogs 
 is this the death to which you doom the heir of Winchester ?" A 
 stern and bitter smile played on the lips of his guards ; but they 
 remained silent. " Oh God !" he continued, " in the field, or on the 
 wave, or on the block, which has reeked so often with the bravest 
 
 and noblest blood, I could have died smiling; but this " His 
 
 emotion seemed increasing, but with a violent effort he suppressed 
 every outward sign of it ; for the visible satisfaction which gleamed 
 on the dark faces around him, at the state of weakness to which 
 they had reduced the proud heart of their foe, was more galling to 
 his soul than the shameful death to which he was devoted. 
 
 By the time he reached the place of execution his face had resumed 
 its calm and scornful air, and he sprang upon the scaffold with an 
 apparently unconcerned alacrity. At the same moment a dreadful 
 shriek issued from that part of the surrounding booths in which the 
 family of Chandos sat ; and in another instant a female, deadly 
 p^le, and with her hair and dress disordered, had darted upon the 
 scaffold and clasped the prisoner in her arms. 
 
 "Walter!" she cried, "Walter! can it be thou ? Oh! they 
 dare not take thy life, thou bravest, best of men ! Avaunt, ye 
 bloodthirsty brood ! ye cannot tear me from him. No ! till my 
 arms grow cold in death, I'll clasp him thus, and defy the world to 
 sever us i" 
 
 " Oh, Isabel !" he said, " it is too much ; my soul can bear no 
 more. I hoped thine eyes had been spared this sight b'Jt the 
 cold tyrants have decreed it thus Oh ! leave me, leave me ! it is 
 in vain unmannered ruffians, spare her !" While he spoke, the 
 soldiers forcibly tore her from him, and were dragging her through 
 the crowd. " My father ! save him ! he saved thy child. W""ter !
 
 THE SPECTRE'S VOYAGE. 169 
 
 supplicate him he is kind." She turned her eyes to the scaffold 
 as she uttered these words, and beheld the form of Despenser writh- 
 ing in the air, and convulsed with the last mortal agony. A fearful 
 shriek burst from her heart, and she sank senseless in the arms of 
 those who bore her. 
 
 Isabel survived this event more than a twelvemonth ; but her 
 reason had fled, and her health was so shattered that final recovery 
 was hopeless. She took scarcely any food, refused all intercourse 
 with her former friends, and even with her father, and would sil 
 silent and motionless for days together. One thing only soothed 
 her mind, or afforded her any gratification ; and this, as she was 
 an experienced navigator of the river, her friends indulged her in 
 to sail from the city of Hereford to that spot on which she used 
 to meet her lover. This she did constantly every evening ; but 
 when she had landed, and had waited a short time, her shrieks 
 and cries were pitiable. This practice one evening proved fatal. 
 Instead of steering to the usual landing-place, a little above the 
 city, she entered a part of the river where the current is unusually 
 strong. The rapidity of its waves mastered and overturned the 
 frail bark in which she sailed, and the unfortunate Isabel sank to 
 rise no more. 
 
 The tragic nature of these events made an impression on the 
 popular mind which two centuries did not efface. The spirit of 
 Isabel was still said to sail every night from Hereford to North- 
 brigg, to meet her lover; and the track across the river which this 
 unearthly traveller pursued, was long distinguished by the name 
 of " The Spectre's Voyage."
 
 - 
 lo arm* orir m zeabanae rfrma site to ,tr0fl -r{ moiYurtr 
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY. 
 EDWARD THE THIRD. 
 
 *327. EDWARD THE THIRD was crowned when only fifteen years of age. 
 A Regency was appointed, but the Queen-mother and Mortimer engrossed the 
 government to themselves. 
 
 Edward married Philippa of Hainault. 
 
 1328. Mortimer concluded a peace with the Scots. David, Robert Bruce's 
 son, was married to Joanna, Edward's sister. Every claim that England had 
 on Scotland was relinquished. 
 
 1330. On the death of Charles, King of France, without sons, Edward laid 
 claim to the crown, in right of Isabella, his mother ; but the Peers of France 
 adjudged it to Philip of Valois. 
 
 1331. The conduct of the Queen-mother and the Earl of March becoming 
 notoriously infamous, the former was sent prisoner to Castle Rising, in Norfolk, 
 and the latter hanged. Edward, afterwards the Black Prince, was born, 
 Edward disapproving of the peace made by Mortimer with Scotland, supported 
 the claims of Baliol to the throne of that kingdom, entered Scotland with an 
 army, defeated the Bruce party at Halidon, and having possessed himself of 
 several of the strongest fortresses in the kingdom, received the oath of fealty 
 from Baliol. 
 
 1334. The Scottish nobles revolted against Baliol, returned to their al- 
 legiance to David Bruce, and expelled almost all the English from the king- 
 dom. 
 
 1344. The battle of Cressy was fought, in which Edward totally defeated 
 the French King, and the young Prince of Wales gained great glory. 
 
 1346. The Scots were defeated by Queen Philippa at Neville's Cross, and 
 their king, David Bruce, made prisoner. 
 
 1354. John, King of France, was defeated and made prisoner at the battle 
 Cf Poictiers, by the Black Prince. 
 
 1359. A peace was concluded between England and France, by which 
 nearly as much French territory was ceded to the former as she had anciently 
 possessed, and King John was set at liberty. 
 
 1361. The Prince of Wales married his cousin, Joanna of Kent.
 
 EDWARD THE THIRD. 171 
 
 1363. The Prince of Wales, being created by his father Prince of Aqnitaine, 
 kept his Court at Bordeaux. 
 
 1366. The Prince of Wales, carrying a numerous army into Spain, gained 
 the battle of Najara, and restored the deposed King of Castile, Pedro, to the 
 throne. 
 
 1369 to 1376. Edward having grown old and infirm, and the Prince of 
 Wales being dangerously ill, Charles, King of France, took advantage of (he 
 incompetency of the generals to whom the affairs of the English in France v/ere 
 entrusted, to recover almost all the provinces which had been ceded to Edward. 
 The Prince of Wales died in 1376. 
 
 1377. King Edward the Third died 

 
 tffcaplei Jfff f earli. 
 
 He was a king indeed ! 
 For wisdom, not a statesman in his realm 
 Could mate with him ; for valour, the right hand 
 E'en of his stoutest warriors never dealt 
 Blows like his own ; yet was the king withal 
 Courteous and gracious to the knights who fell 
 Beneath his weighty arm, like the south wind, 
 Which, when it breathes upon the summer flowers, 
 Lays their heads low and kisses them. 
 
 THE BATTLE O* CRESS, . 
 
 SIR EMERIC DE PAVIA, a valiant Lombard, whom King 
 Edward the Third had made Governor of Calais, was walk- 
 ing moodily on the ramparts of that town ; his step was hurried and 
 impatient. He often raised his hand and passed it rapidly across 
 his brow, as if he would by that act wipe away some torturing 
 recollection from his brain. Sometimes he stamped furiously on 
 the ground, and at others sat down on the battlements ; and while 
 he leaned his head on his clenched hands, the sweat poured from 
 his brow, and his whole frame shook convulsively. At times he 
 looked towards the sun, which had nearly attained his meridian 
 height, and was gilding the broad expanse of ocean, the town 
 and Castle of Calais, and the distant plains of Picardy, with the 
 full effulgence of his beams ; at others, he stretched his eye across 
 the Channel, and looked wistfully, yet fearfully, towards the white 
 cliffs of Dover. So entirely absorbed in his own reflections was
 
 THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 173 
 
 the Governor, that he did not observe a person near him wrapped 
 in a long black cloak, who seemed narrowly to watch his motions. 
 The stranger's face was enveloped in his cloak. At first he seemed 
 to avoid coming in contact with Sir Emeric ; afterwards, however, 
 he crossed his path repeatedly, evidently intending, but still unable, 
 to attract his notice. At length, during one of the most violent 
 of Sir Emeric's paroxysms, the stranger approached him, and. 
 tapping him on the shoulder, said in a low but distinct tone of 
 voice, " Then the tale that was told to me is true." 
 
 " Ha !" said the Governor, starting and grasping his sword, 
 " who and what art thou ? What is the tale that has been told 
 thee ?" 
 
 " That Sir Emeric de Pavia is a traitor !" said the stranger. 
 
 " Dastard and liar !" said the Governor : " who and what, I say 
 again, art thou that darest to call Emeric of Pavia a traitor ?" 
 
 " Behold !" said the stranger, flinging back his mantle, and 
 exhibiting the fine majestic features of a man about thirty-five 
 years of age, which were well known to Sir Emeric. The latter 
 fell on his knees, and in a suppliant tone exclaimed, " Guilty, my 
 most gracious Liege, guilty ! Pardon, pardon !" 
 
 "Emeric," said King Edward, for it was he, "thou knowest 
 that I have entrusted to thee what I hold dearest in this world, 
 after my wife and children, I mean the town and castle of Calais, 
 which thou hast sold to the French, and for which thou deservest 
 death." 
 
 " Ah ! gentle King, have mercy on me !" said the Governor. 
 " All that you have charged me with is true, most true ; but there 
 is yet time to break the disgraceful bargain. I have not yet re- 
 ceived one penny of the filthy lucre for which I agreed to deliver 
 this town and castle to your Grace's enemies." 
 
 " Emeric," said the King, raising him from his suppliant posture, 
 '* I have loved thee well, and even from a child have loaded thee 
 with marks of my favour. Your plot, well and secretly contrived 
 as it was, could not be kept hidden from me. I had certain 
 intelligence of it a month ago. News was then brought to me at 
 Westminster, that thou hadst sold this place to Sir Geoffrey de
 
 i 7 4 THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 
 
 Charni for twenty thousand crowns, and that this day he is to 
 proceed from St. Omers with his forces, and arrive here at mid- 
 night, for the purpose of receiving possession from thee. Was my 
 information true or false ?" 
 
 " It was most true, my Liege," said Emeric, again attempting to 
 throw himself at the King's feet. 
 
 *' Listen to me," said the King, preventing him : " it is my wish 
 that you continue this treaty. When Sir Geoffrey's forces arrive, 
 lead them to the great tower ; and on this condition I promise 
 you my pardon. I have just arrived from England with three 
 hundred men-at-arms and six hundred archers ; but have arrived 
 so privily, that no one knows but thou that I am here. The 
 Prince of Wales and Sir Walter Manny are with me. Go with 
 me, that I may give you directions for placing the men in ambus- 
 cade in the rooms and towers of the castle. Sir Walter Manny 
 shall conduct this enterprise ; and my son and I, who would at pre- 
 sent remain unknown, will fight under his banner." 
 
 Again did the repentant Governor throw himself at the feet of 
 his sovereign, and again did the latter raise him from his suppliant 
 posture, and assure him of pardon, and of an entire oblivion of 
 the intended treason, if he remained faithful to him at the present 
 crisis. 
 
 Sir Geoffrey de Charni, accompanied by the Lord of Namur, 
 the Lord de Crequi, Sir Odoart de Reny, and numerous others 
 of the most distinguished among the French lords and knights, 
 arrived from St. Omers, with all the forces he could collect, crossed 
 the bridge of Neuillet, and sat down about midnight before that 
 gate of the Castle of Calais, which is called the gate of Boulogne. 
 Here he halted, to give time for the rear of his army to come up, 
 and here he found Sir Emeric de Pavia anxiously awaiting his 
 arrival 
 
 " My gallant Lombard !" said Sir Geoffrey, "is all well, and are 
 you ready to deliver up possession of the castle ?" 
 
 " All is well, Sir Knight," said the Lombard, " and the castle is 
 yours on payment of the twenty thousand crowns." 
 
 " Then Sir Odoart de Reny," said Sir Geoffrey, addressing that
 
 THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 175 
 
 knight, who stood by his side, " take with you twelve knights and 
 one hundred men-at-arms, and possess yourself of the castle. That 
 once in our power, we shall soon be masters of the town, consi- 
 dering what strength we have with us that strength, should it be 
 necessary, may be doubled in a few days. Myself will remain 
 with the rest of the army here in silence ; for I mean to enter the 
 town by one of the gates, or not at all." 
 
 Thus saying, he delivered to Sir Odoart the twenty thousand 
 crowns in a bag, with instructions that he should give them to the 
 Lombard as soon as the French forces had crossed the drawbridge. 
 
 " Thou art a very knave, Sir Emeric," said Sir Odoart to the 
 Governor, as they rode together towards the drawbridge, " to turn 
 recreant to so gallant and chivalrous a king as thine. Thou hast 
 earned the crowns, doubtless : but Heaven save me from entitling 
 myself in the like manner to such a booty !" 
 
 " Thou art marvellously honest on a sudden," said the Lombard ; 
 " but to a plain man's apprehension, there seems to be no such 
 wondrous difference between the tempter and the tempted, the 
 briber and the bribed, (especially when the former is breaking a 
 solemn truce,) as to entitle him to plume himself on his superiority 
 over the latter." 
 
 " Lead on, lead on, Sir Emeric !" said his companion, " we are 
 e'en haggards, and thou art but a coystril ; so, as thou sayest, we 
 need not quarrel as to which soars highest." 
 
 At a sign from the Lombard, the drawbridge was let down, and 
 one of the gates of the castle opened. Sir Odoart, having entered 
 with his detachment, placed the bag in Sir Emeric's hands, saying, 
 " The twenty thousand crowns are, I believe, all there. I have not 
 had time to count them, for it will be daylight presently." 
 
 Sir Emeric, taking the bag from his hand, flung it into a room, 
 the door of which he locked. 
 
 " Now, Sir Odoart," he said, " follow me, and I will conduct 
 you to the great tower, that you may the sooner possess yourself 
 of the castle. Behold it there !" he added, pointing to a door 
 before them. " Push back the bolts and enter." Thus saying, he 
 disappeared. Sir Odoart and the French advanced ; the boiu
 
 176 THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 
 
 gave way at their touch, and the door of the great tower flew open 
 At that moment a cry of "Manny, Manny, to the rescue !" rang 
 in their ears, and above three hundred men, armed with swords 
 and battle-axes, rushed upon Sir Odoart and his little band. They 
 seemed to be commanded by a knight in green armour, who ad- 
 vanced before them. "What !" said he to Sir Odoart, who, seeing 
 the impossibility of resisting so disproportionate a force, had giver: 
 up his sword to him, while his followers imitated his example, " do 
 these Frenchman think to conquer the Castle of Calais with such 
 a handful of men." 
 
 " Sir Knight," said Odoart, " that double villain, the Lombard, 
 has betrayed us, or the standard of King Philip of France had 
 floated on the towers of this castle ere now. 
 
 " The standard of King Edward," said the Green Knight, 
 " King of France and England, floats there now, and ill betide 
 the hand that shall attempt to pluck it down. But let us onward 
 to the gate leading to Boulogne : guard well the prisoners. 
 Manny, Manny, to the rescue !" Thus saying, the captives were 
 shut in the tower, and the English, mounting their horses, made 
 for the gate of Boulogne. 
 
 In the mean time, Sir Geoffrey, with his banners displayed, and 
 surrounded by his forces, was awaiting at the Boulogne gate, with 
 joine impatience, the return of messengers from the castle. " If 
 chis Lombard," he said to the knights who stood next him, " delays 
 opening the gate, we shall all die of cold." 
 
 " In God's name !" replied the knight, " these Lombards are a 
 malicious sort of people : perhaps he is examining your florins, 
 lest there should be any false ones, and to see if they be right in 
 number." 
 
 The day was now breaking, and the gate of the castle was dis- 
 tinctly visible to those outside, when on a sudden it burst open, 
 and amidst deafening shouts of " Manny, Manny, to the rescue," 
 a numerous troop of armed warriors, well mounted, galloped 
 towards the French forces. The Green Knight led them on, pre- 
 ceded by the banner of Sir Walter Manny ; and numerous other 
 bannexs, such as the Earl of Suffolk's, the Lord Stafford's, and the
 
 THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. \r, 
 
 Lord Berkeley's, were seen among the English troops. " Betrayed ! 
 betrayed !" said Sir Geoffrey de Charni to those who stood about 
 him. " Gentlemen, if we fly we shall lose all; it will be more ad- 
 vantageous for us to fight valiantly, in the hope that the day may 
 be ours." 
 
 " By St. George," said the Green Knight, who had approached 
 near enough to hear De Charni's words, " you speak truth 
 evil befall him who thinks of flying !" Then retreating a little, the 
 English dismounted from their horses, and advancing on foot, for 
 the most part armed with battle-axes, they attacked the enemy. 
 
 The battle was short, but desperate and sanguinary. The 
 English, incensed at the treachery of the French, and the latter 
 infuriated at the unexpected opposition which they encountered, vied 
 with each other in the fury and zeal with which they contested the 
 victory. Six banners and three hundred archers left the main body 
 of the English army, and made for the bridge of Neuillet, where 
 they found the Lord Moreau de Fiennes, and the Lord de Crequi, 
 who guarded it. The cross-bowmen of St. Omer and Aire were 
 also posted between the bridge and Calais, and met a furious 
 assault from their enemies. They were immediately discomfited 
 and pursued to the river, where more than six hundred of them 
 were drowned. The knights of Picardy for a long time main- 
 tained their post against very superior numbers ; but reinforcements 
 still pouring in to the English from the town, the French were at 
 length obliged to surrender, or seek their safety in flight. 
 
 The Green Knight performed prodigies of valour. He was fre- 
 quently seen surrounded by the enemy, but hewing his way 
 through them with his battle-axe. Sir Geoffrey de Charni, Sir 
 Henry du Bois, and Sir John de Landes were all made prisoners 
 by him ; and scarcely had one knight surrendered to him, before 
 he was seen attacking another, or defending himself from the 
 assault of numbers. He had many times during the engagement, 
 Attempted to come in contact with a French knight, Sir Eustace 
 de Ribeaumont, whose extraordinary prowess struck as much 
 terror among the English, as that of the Green Knight's did in the 
 opposite ranks ; they were scarcely able ever to exchange a blow,
 
 i7 THE CHAPLET Of PEARLS. 
 
 before two large bodies meeting where they were fighting, com- 
 pelled them to break off the engagement. At length, however v 
 the Green Knight and his opponent met without the intervention 
 of any obstacle. The conflict around them was suspended, as if 
 by the mutual consent of the combatants, and the two armies stood 
 by and gazed at the contention between their respective cham- 
 pions. Twice did Sir Eustace de Ribeaumont fell the Green 
 Knight to the ground ; but he rose, like another Antaeus, from his 
 fall each time, apparently with renewed strength and vigour. 
 Their battle-axes were struck from their hands ; their spears, which 
 were then resorted to, shivered into a thousand splinters ; their 
 swords were the only weapons left to them. With these they 
 held, for a long time, a doubtful conflict, until at length that of Sir 
 Eustace de Ribeaumont broke against the shield of the Green 
 Knight ; and the latter, pressing irresistibly upon him, threw 
 him to the ground, and planted his knee upon his breast. A 
 tumultuous shout of applause immediately burst from the ranks of 
 the English ; and the French, who had already, although fighting 
 with the utmost valour, been defeated at every point, threw away 
 their arms, and surrendered themselves prisoners of war. 
 
 " Brave Knight," said Sir Eustace to his conqueror, " I yield to 
 your superior prowess, nor blush to be overcome by strength like 
 yours." 
 
 " Sir Eustace," said the Green Knight, raising his fallen antago- 
 nist, and returning him the sword which he presented him, " you, 
 of all men, have least cause to blush for the events of this day. 
 By St. George ! I have encountered many a tall and stalwart 
 knight in my time, but never one who gave me so much trouble as 
 you have done." 
 
 " May I crave your name, courteous Knight," said Sir Eustace, 
 " that when the friends of Eustace de Ribeaumont learn that he 
 has been vanquished, they may know that it was by the hands of 
 one who has doubtless distinguished himself in many a fiercer field 
 than this." 
 
 " Sir Eustace," said the Green Knight, " fear not that the most 
 fastidious of your friends will think your fame for honour or v?lour
 
 THE CHAP LET OF PEARLS. 175 
 
 tarnished by surrendering yourself to me. As for my name," he 
 added, lifting his beaver, " when next you see these features, you 
 will know it. Shall you remember them ?" 
 
 " They are features, Sir Knight," said De Ribeaumont, " which, 
 when once seen, are not easily forgotten ; but I would speedily 
 pay my ransom money and regain my liberty when, therefore, I 
 pray you, shall we meet again ?" 
 
 " To night at supper, in Calais Castle," said the Green Knight ; 
 and as he spake, the conquerors and the prisoners simultaneously 
 moved towards the gate of Boulogne. 
 
 That evening a superb banquet was given in the Castle of Calais 
 to which the French and English knights were alike invited. There 
 was no distinction made between the guests of the two nations, 
 except that the tables of the prisoners were more superbly deco- 
 rated and more profusely supplied than those of their captors. A 
 table was placed on an elevated platform at the end of the room, 
 the seats at which were not occupied at the time that the princi- 
 pal part of the company was assembled ; but the astonishment of 
 the French knights was extreme when the doors were thrown open 
 and the King of England, the Prince of Wales, and a numerous 
 train of the most distinguished barons and warriors of England, 
 entered the room. Hitherto they had imagined that the most 
 eminent person in the ranks of their opponents had been Sir Wal- 
 ter Manny. The wonder and interest of Sir Eustace de Ribeau- 
 mont were, however, the most intense of all ; for, as he gazed on 
 the features of him who wore the crown, he recognised the Green 
 Knight, and perceived that he had been opposed in single combat 
 to the King of England. 
 
 The banquet passed off cheerfully, with many expressions, on 
 the part of the Frenchmen, of wonder and delight at the distin- 
 guished rank of the persons to whom they had been opposed, and 
 the courtesy with which they were treated. At its conclusion, 
 King Edward rose from his seat, and having laid aside his crown, 
 advanced bareheaded, except that he wore a chaplet of fine pearls 
 around his head, down the hall, attended by his son, and the lords 
 who had sat down at table with him, for the purpose of retiring
 
 i8o THE. CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 
 
 from the assembly. As he moved down the hall, the knights rose 
 up, and he entered into familiar and courteous conversation with 
 them, especially with his prisoners. As he approached Sir Geof- 
 frey de Charni, his countenance altered, and assumed a severe 
 expression. " Sir Geoffrey," he said, " I have but little reason to 
 love you, since you wished to take from me by stealth last night, 
 and during the continuance of a solemn truce, that which had 
 given me so much trouble and cost me so large a sum of money 
 to acquire. I am, however, rejoiced to have detected and frustrated 
 your attempt. You were desirous of gaining Calais town and 
 castle at a cheaper rate than I did, and thought that you could 
 purchase them for twenty thousand crowns ; but, through God's 
 assistance, you have been disappointed." 
 
 This rebuke was given with so much dignity and feeling, that 
 Sir Geoffrey was unable to utter a syllable in his defence, and the 
 King passed on unanswered. The last person whom he addressed 
 was Sir Eustace de Ribeaumont, who stood at the hall door 
 through which the monarch was about to make his exit, and fell 
 on his knees before him. 
 
 " Sir Eustace de Ribeaumont," said the King, extending his 
 hand to him and raising him, " of all men living, you are the 
 knight whom I have found most valiant, as well in attacking his 
 enemy, as in defending himself. I never found any one in battle 
 tvho gave me, body to body, so much to do as you have given me 
 to-day. I adjudge the prize of valour as justly due to you, above 
 all the knights of my court." 
 
 The knight would have expressed his sense of the honour con- 
 ferred ; but the King stopped him by taking the chaplet of pearls, 
 which was very rich and handsome, from his own brows, and plac- 
 ing it on Sir Eustace's head : " Sir Eustace," he added, " I pre- 
 sent this chaplet to you as the best combatant this day of either 
 'party, whether French or English ; and I beg you to wear it this 
 year at festivals, for my sake. You are a personable gentleman, 
 young and amorous, and well accepted among the ladies ; where- 
 fore, if you will only wear it at all festivals, and declare unto them, 
 that the King of England gave it to you as the reward of your
 
 THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 181 
 
 valour, 1 will now release you from your captivity, quitting you 
 wholly of your ransom." 
 
 Thus saying, the King left the hall, after the knight, whose 
 feelings could not find utterance, had knelt down and kissed the 
 monarch's hand in token of gratitude and acquiescence. Not 
 only did Sir Eustace de Ribeaumont, as long as he lived, wear the 
 chaplet in remembrance of the gift of so renowned a prince, but 
 his family ever afterwards bore for their arms three chaplets gar- 
 nished with pearls.* 
 
 Froissart. 
 
 r
 
 * 
 Jfld <3rmhq s 
 
 I tell thee, 
 
 There's not a pulse beats in the human franw 
 That is not govern 'd by the stars above us ; 
 The blood that fills our veins, in all its ebb 
 And flow, is sway'd by them as certainly 
 As are the restless tides of the salt sea 
 By the resplendent moon ; and at thy birth 
 Thy mother's eye gazed not more steadfastly 
 On thee than did the star that rules thy fate, 
 Show'ring upon thy head an influence 
 Malignant or benign. 
 
 MS. DRAMA. 
 
 THE Spanish soil has been the theatre on which, from the 
 earliest period of English history, English valour and 
 chivalry have peculiarly distinguished themselves. In the year 
 1350 Don Pedro, who was the only legitimate son of Alphonso, 
 King of Castile, and who afterwards earned for himself the sur- 
 name of The Cruel, mounted the throne. This Prince began his 
 career with the most unheard-of enormities : tyranny, rapine, and 
 murder, were the most common among the crimes whicli he 
 committed. The beautiful Leonora de Gusman, his late father's 
 mistress, he put to a cruel death : her son, the Grand Master of 
 the Order of St. James, and his father's favourite child, he caused 
 to be assassinated in his presence, and dined in the apartment in 
 which this crime was perpetrated before he would suffer the body
 
 THE STARRY TOWER. 183 
 
 to be removed ; and he sacrificed his wife, Blanche of Bourbon, a 
 princess of the blood royal of France, to the hatred and malice 
 of his mistress, Maria de Padilla, who, having the unfortunate 
 princess once in her power, took care that she should never more 
 be heard of. 
 
 These crimes, together with the oppression and cruelty which 
 he exercised towards all ranks of his subjects, caused a general 
 revolt. Many of the most distinguished nobles, and multitudes of 
 the lower classes, flocked to the standard of Don Henry, Count of 
 Trastamare, the bastard brother of Don Pedro, who entered 
 Castile, backed by a gallant French army under the command of 
 the renowned Bertrand du Guesclin, and caused himself to be 
 proclaimed King. The arms of Henry and Du Guesclin were 
 everywhere successful, although Pedro (among whose vices 
 cowardice could not be reckoned) fought against them with the 
 most determined gallantry and even heroism. The tyrant was 
 defeated in battle after battle, and chased from city to city, until 
 he was driven beyond the frontier, and obliged to take refuge in 
 Bordeaux. Edward the Black Prince then held his Court in that 
 city as Prince of Aquitaine. To this far-famed warrior Pedro 
 applied for assistance to regain his territories and expel the 
 invaders. The Prince saw in him only a legitimate monarch 
 despoiled of his rights, the victim of the rebellion of his disloyal 
 subjects, and of the invasion of the French. He therefore im- 
 mediately led an army of thirty thousand men into Castile, and 
 meeting a very superior force of Spaniards and French under 
 Don Henry and Du Guesclin, engaged and completely defeated 
 them, and reinstated Don Pedro on his throne. 
 
 Don Pedro for a time affected to be overwhelmed with thank- 
 fulness, and to set no bounds to his admiration of the Prince o$ 
 Wales and the English ; but once feeling himself firmly restored 
 to the station and honours which he had forfeited, he began to 
 renew his oppression towards his subjects and to evince the 
 blackest ingratitude towards his preservers. The Black Prince 
 found himself and his army destitute of money and provisions, 
 with which Pedro had repeatedly promised to supply them, and
 
 1 84 THE STARR Y TO WER, 
 
 had as often violated his promise. Want soon bred among the 
 English soldiers a mortality which carried off great numbers; and 
 the fear of losing the rest obliged the Prince to depart from 
 Castile, greatly dissatisfied with the conduct of Don Pedro. He 
 however left behind him a small but gallant band of warriors, 
 under the command of a distinguished knight, Sir Ralph Helme, 
 who was better known by the appellation of "The Green Squire." 
 
 To this knight Don Pedro had particularly attached himself, as 
 well on account of his extraordinary strength and valour as that 
 the magicians and astrologers, in whose science he had great faith, 
 had told him that while the Green Squire lived he should himself 
 be safe. Simon Joseph, a Jew, his principal astrologer, had also 
 informed him that his reign should be long and prosperous, and 
 that he should add new kingdoms to Castile. Several magicians, 
 however, \\hom he consulted as to where he should die, only 
 answered him by saying, ''The King shall die in the Starry 
 Tower."* This prediction for a long time gave him great un- 
 easiness ; but as he knew of no place which was so denominated, 
 and as all the other predictions were favourable to him, he 
 gradually regained his peace of mind and resumed his career of 
 tyranny and cruelty with redoubled vigour and energy. 
 
 In the meantime the Count of Trastamare, who after his defeat 
 had retired to the Court of the Duke of Anjou, heard of the ill 
 treatment which the Prince of Wales had received from Don 
 Pedro, and of the departure of the former from Castile. He 
 again, therefore, applied to the King of France for assistance, and 
 vas soon once more, in conjunction with Du Guesclin, at the head 
 of a formidable French army. These he lost no time in leading 
 into Castile, and was immediately joined by multitudes of Pedro's 
 disaffected subjects. The King saw his nobles and soldiers de- 
 serting from him daily, and at length almost the only troops on 
 which he could rely were the little band of English under the 
 command of the Green Squire. These, however, could effect but 
 littlo against the formidable forces to which they were opposed ; 
 
 Mariana.
 
 THE STARRY TOWER. 185 
 
 battle after battle was gained by the enemy, fortress after fortress 
 surrendered, and Don Henry was almost universally acknow- 
 ledged as King of Castile. 
 
 In this state were the affairs of Castile when, at about the houi 
 of noon, in a sultry autumnal day, an army, or rather, from its 
 appearance, the sad wreck of one, halted in the valley of Azofre, 
 on the banks of the river Montelbana, for the purpose of taking 
 some repose during the noontide heat Of the soldiers some lay 
 stretched on the turf beneath the shade of the spreading alder- 
 trees, some preferred the shelter of then- tents, and some were 
 enjoying the luxury of bathing in the river. The sky was of the 
 deepest and most intense azure, and the sun poured down upon 
 them a blaze of unclouded brightness, but of almost intolerable 
 heat. A perfect stillness reigned, unbroken even by the stirring 
 of a leaf, for not a breath of air swept across the valley. 
 
 The General was sitting in his tent with a map of the sur- 
 rounding country spread before him. He was yet young, tall, and 
 well formed, and his eye still spoke undaunted resolution and 
 fortitude ; but deep furrows were ploughed untimely on his brow, 
 his hair had become prematurely grey, and now, in the solitude of 
 his tent, he did not attempt to repress the deep sobs with which his 
 bosom heaved, or refrain from gnashing his teeth, and beating his 
 forehead with a vehemence which too truly told the bitterness and 
 desperation of his soul. 
 
 To such a state was Don Pedro then reduced, who, but a very 
 few years previously, had mounted the Castilian throne full of 
 youthful ardour and hopefulness ; in those few years, however, so 
 much of crime and misfortune had been crowded into his career 
 as to account sufficiently for the tremendous change which had 
 taken place. He had become more than ever the tyrant c\ 
 his people, aiid the persecutor of his father's children ; he had 
 driven his mother into exile had murdered his wife and was 
 now a fugitive flying from the indignation and vengeance of his 
 revolted people. He had been retreating for some days before a 
 very superior force, under the command of Don Henry, in the 
 hope of being able to effect a junction with the English under
 
 186 THE STARRY TOWER. 
 
 Sir Ralph Helme, who was posted at the town of Alava, before 
 he should be compelled to give battle to his enemy. 
 
 It was while he was in this situation that a messenger arrived, 
 bringing him intelligence of the death of his paramour, Maria de 
 Padilla, the only person to whom he had ever evinced anything 
 like sincere attachment. 
 
 " Is't come to this !" he said, and big tear-drops rolled for the 
 first time down his iron features. " I could have borne all be- 
 sides defeat, disgrace, dethronement, treachery, hatred these 
 
 I could have borne these I have borne ; but this " His 
 
 voice faltered, his limbs trembled, and a pause ensued, during 
 which a thousand varied emotions were pictured in his changing 
 features. " She loved me," he added ; " she was the only being 
 in the world who did so. She died, however, in her bed, without 
 violence, and with every officious tenderness that she could 
 desire. Not so died Blanche of Bourbon ! not so Ferdinand de 
 
 Gusman ! not so " Here he paused, and the cold sweat 
 
 poured down his cheek as he numbered over in his memory the 
 list of his victims. " I am here," he continued, " a fugitive, and 
 almost a captive ; but the stars are with me still. However my 
 destiny may for a season appear adverse, I know that what is 
 written yonder cannot lie. Although clouds may gather in the 
 atmosphere and hide the planets from our gaze, are they therefore 
 less bright ? No, no ; they shine for ever bright, far, far above 
 the clouds which the tempests of this earth engender." 
 
 Soothed, and almost calmed by these reflections, he was about 
 to draw his mantle closer round him, and dispose himself for a 
 short slumber, when suddenly one of the sentinels who kept 
 guard without the tent stood before him, and making a profound 
 reverence, said : 
 
 " Sire, a monk of the order of St. Dominique de la Calcada 
 craves admission into your royal presence." 
 
 " Trouble me not with monks, of whatever order they may be," 
 said the King : " I cannot see him." 
 
 " Sire," returned the soldier, " 'tis the famous Antonio Melen- 
 dez, the holiest of all the fathers of Castile, who says that extra-
 
 THE STARRY TOWER. 187 
 
 ordinary things, which nearly concern your Majesty, have been 
 revealed to him in a dream." 
 
 The superstitious curiosity of the King was awakened by this 
 statement ; and he had, besides, often heard of the wisdom and 
 sanctity of Father Melendez, who was almost canonized by the 
 lower orders of the people. He therefore commanded his imme- 
 diate admission. 
 
 The old man entered pale and trembling, and prostrated him- 
 self at the feet of the sovereign. " Forgive, forgive, Sire," he 
 said, "the humblest, but one of the most loyal, of your subjects, 
 if he be the bearer of evil omens to your royal ear." 
 
 " Ha !" said Don Pedro, his brow darkening as he spoke, 
 " talk not to me of evil omens. I am the King of whom the 
 stars have prophesied that his reign shall be long and happy, and 
 that he shall add new kingdoms to his own. But rise, old man, 
 and let me hear thy tidings." 
 
 " Sire," said the Friar, rising, " it was but last night that the 
 holy patron of our order, the blessed St. Dominick, appeared to 
 me in a dream. The majesty of Heaven itself was in his features 
 and in his gait, and a halo of divine glory surrounded his brow. 
 ' Awake, arise, Antonio Melendez,' he cried, ' and hie thee to the 
 valley of Azofre, on the banks of the river Montelbana, where thou 
 shalt find the King, Don Pedro, with his army. Tell him that 
 Heaven is weary of his crimes, and has delivered him over to his 
 brother, Don Henry, by whose hands he shall die, to avenge the 
 blood of the good and the innocent which he has shed.' " 
 
 " Death, traitor !" cried the King, rising from his seat, and 
 stamping violently, " this to me !" Then he seized the Friar by 
 the throat, and calling to his sentinels, who immediately entered 
 the tent, exclaimed : 
 
 " Erect a stake yonder, opposite the tent, and bind this accursed 
 sorcerer firmly to it. There let him perish in the flames ; and as 
 soon as the pile is lighted, let the order to march be given, lest the 
 rebels should surprise us before we can effect a junction with our 
 friends." 
 
 In vain did the wretched victim shriek for mercy ; in vain did
 
 i88 THE STARRY TO WER. 
 
 he asseverate the truth of what he asserted. The guards dragged 
 him from the royal presence ; while the King gave orders for the 
 drums to beat, in order to drown the cries of the victim. 
 
 A hundred hands were instantly at work in the erection of a 
 thick iron stake, which was therefore very speedily completed. 
 The Monk made a vigorous but hopeless resistance, in spite of his 
 infirmities and his age. His cries and petitions were inaudible 
 for the reason which has been mentioned ; but from his pointing 
 repeatedly towards Heaven, and then towards his knees, he was 
 understood to beg for at least a short respite to enable him to 
 perform his devotions. His executioners were not diverted for a 
 moment from the fulfilment of their stern office, and soon stopped 
 even his signs, by binding his arms closely behind him. He was 
 then made fast to the stake by strong chains of iron bound around 
 him. 
 
 They then rapidly piled faggots all around him, and having set 
 fire to them, the trumpet was heard to sound a march, and imme- 
 diately the whole army was in motion, leaving the miserable man 
 to his fate.* 
 
 " Mercy, mercy ! save me, save me !" shouted the unhappy 
 wretch ; but the martial instruments, playing the gayest and most 
 lively airs, at once stifled his cries and formed the most bitter 
 mockery and contrast to his torments. With a refinement of 
 cruelty worthy of himself, Pedro had ordered that the faggots 
 should be damped before they were placed, in order that the fire 
 might not spread too rapidly, and so make the victim's death less 
 long and lingering than he wished it to be. It was some time, 
 therefore, before it touched even his extremities, and not until the 
 sound of the music was lost in the distance, and the army was 
 hidden from his sight behind the mountain which they had as- 
 cended. Then the intolerable pain caused him to utter loud and 
 lengthened groans, with which the shores of the river echoed ; and 
 his body writhed and twisted about as much as the chains with 
 which it was fastened would permit. The sound of drums and 
 trumpets was heard proceeding from a direction opposite to thaf 
 
 * Mariana.
 
 THE STARXY TOWER. iS;> 
 
 tehich his murderers had taken. " Don Henry's forces approach," 
 groaned out the sufferer ; " speed, speed them hither, O God ! 
 Alas ! the flames spread higher. Is there no hope ?" The in- 
 creasing loudness of the music announced that this friendly force 
 was coming nearer. With an incredible effort he managed to 
 burst one of the links which were twisted around his feet, and 
 thus to free them and his legs from the chains. This enabled him 
 to draw them higher up the stake, and out of the. reach of the 
 flames ; and looking towards the west, he perceived a thick cloud 
 of dust, which the march of a numerous body of men had raised, 
 and which a brisk breeze that had just sprung up, was spreading 
 in every direction. Hope began to animate his breast ; but the 
 breeze had fanned the flames, and they rapidly approached his 
 vitals. His legs dropped from the uneasy situation in which he 
 had placed them ; the fires encircled his body, and just as the 
 last sigh was escaping him, he was conscious of some friendly but 
 unavailing offices which were being performed in his behalf. 
 
 " He's dead, Sire," said a soldier ; " the flames have done their 
 worst, and now all that they can effect will be but the pious office 
 of completely converting into ashes the body which they have 
 tormented." 
 
 " True, Alonzo," said Don Henry, " and peace be to those 
 ashes ! This was doubtless one of my good brother's tender mer- 
 cies, who seems not to have a very long start of us. My poor 
 fellows, however, can proceed no further in the pursuit, and stand 
 in much need of that repose which it appears that he has already 
 taken. We cannot find a better resting-place than this. Let the 
 order for the army to halt be given.' 
 
 To return to Don Pedro : the crisis of his fate appeared to be 
 Mpidly approaching. On arriving at the place where he expected 
 to form a junction with Sir Ralph Helme, he learned that the little 
 body of English under his command had, on their march towards 
 the place of rendezvous, been surprised by the army of Du 
 Guesclin, and so completely cut to pieces, that only the com- 
 mander and four or five followers had been able to effect their 
 escape into th? castle of Montiel. Thither the monarch directed
 
 190 THE STARRY TOWER. 
 
 his steps, but so panic-struck was his army at the news which they 
 had just received, that numbers fell away from him every hour ; 
 and Don Pedro, with a very slender remnant of his forces, entered 
 the gates of Montiel. Here he found Sir Ralph Helme with a 
 very inefficient garrison, which his own few, broken, and dispirited 
 followers did not materially augment. The enemy also rapidly 
 followed his steps, and soon with a numerous and triumphant 
 army invested the town and castle of Montiel. 
 
 The King and Sir Ralph Helme were not men to be easily 
 daunted. They defended the castle for months against the un- 
 wearied assaults of Don Henry. A more terrible foe, however, 
 than had yet assailed them now made its appearance. The stout 
 hearts which had defied the arrows and bullets of the besiegers, 
 began to wither beneath the restless agency of Famine. At 
 length, one evening, Sir Ralph, with agitated looks and hasty 
 steps, sought the King in the turret of the castle which he usually 
 occupied. 
 
 " Sire," said the Green Squire, " it is in vain to attempt to defend 
 the fortress any longer. The few men whom we have left, threaten 
 to mutiny and deliver it up to the besiegers, unless your Majesty 
 can make some terms with them." 
 
 " Terms with the Bastard !" said Pedro, scornfully ; " never, 
 even were it practicable ! Hence, hence, thou glittering bauble !" 
 he added, throwing away the sceptre which he held in his hand, 
 " I have preserved thee in battle, and amidst death : when 
 surrounded by hostile armies, or by concealed traitors, this hand 
 hath grasped thee firmly ; but now I am about to betake myself 
 to an inglorious flight, and the sceptre of Castile must not be the 
 companion of my shame." 
 
 " Sire," said Sir Ralph, " it is in vain to struggle against the 
 decrees of destiny. Your garrison is reduced to a number not ' 
 sufficient to man the outward wall, and there is not so much as a 
 single day's provision left in the castle. It were better that your 
 Majesty and a few of your chosen adherents should escape by 
 flight. To those who remain, the victors will not refuse to grant 
 safe and honourable terms." 
 
 " Is it come to this ?" said Don Pedro, clasping his hands and
 
 THE STARRY TO WER. ty i 
 
 stamping violently on the ground. " Is there not even one poor 
 castle in which the once mighty monarch of Castile can rest in 
 safety ? Where is that deceiver, that Simon Joseph, who promised ms 
 extent of territory and uninterrupted triumphs over all my foes ?" 
 
 " He is here," said the Astrologer, stepping forward and meet- 
 ing the lion-like glance of the King calmly, but boldly and un 
 abashed. 
 
 " Wretch !" said the Monarch, " didst thou not say to me, ' Dor. 
 Pedro, do not hope for peace and quietness,' (and Heaven kno\, s 
 that in that particular thou hast not lied, but didst thou not add) 
 ' thy reign shall be long and prosperous, victory shall wait upon 
 thy banners, and new kingdoms shall be added to Castile ?' " 
 
 " Such," said Simon Joseph, " was the language of the stars ; 
 and as such I faithfully interpreted it, O King, to thee ; but," 
 he added emphatically, " however cold the season may be, he 
 who will plunge into a heated bath must not marvel should he 
 perspire."* 
 
 The King for a moment gazed upon the Astrologer without 
 speaking a word. Then throwing away the dagger which he held 
 in act to bury it in the Jew's bosom, and lifting up his hands 
 towards Heaven, he exclaimed : " It is most true ! However 
 benign the influences which the planets would s-hed upon us, the 
 passions, the inclinations, and the habits of men, are stronger even 
 than the influences of the stars themselves. Sir Ralph Helme, 
 lead on ! I follow thee." 
 
 Thus saying, the fallen monarch passed on amidst the lamenta- 
 tions and tears of his followers, who forgot in the contemplation 
 of his personal bravery, and the resignation with which he met his 
 fate, the cruelties and the vices which had reduced him to so low 
 a condition. Sir Ralph Helme preceded him, and twelve of 
 his most trusty partisans followed. They descended a long 
 winding flight of steps, which ended at a small door, that opened 
 into the great yard of the castle. Don Pedro looked back at the 
 tower which he had just quitted, and inquired by what name it 
 was knowu. 
 
 '"" 
 
 * Mariana. 
 
 '
 
 .<* THE STARRY TOWER. 
 
 " Sire," said one of his adherents, " it is called the Stan 
 Tower." 
 
 " Ha !" said Pedro, smiling, but as he always smiled, grimly and 
 darkly, " then one of the delusive tales of astrology is proved 
 untnie. In my youth I consulted men learned in the occult arts, 
 as to the place where I should die, and they told me that all that 
 the stars revealed to them was that the King would die in the Starry 
 Tower. I have never met with a place so designated, until now 
 that I am quitting it for ever." 
 
 While the King was thus speaking, the Green Squire lifted up 
 the trap-door which led to the subterraneous passage, and the 
 whole party descended. They traversed it for a long time mutely 
 and dejectedly. At length the King broke the silence, and said, 
 " I like not, Sir Ralph, such dark and dreary passages as these ! 
 On such a night as this, I would rather be beneath the canopy of 
 Heaven with my own bright planet shedding down its benign 
 influences on my head." 
 
 " Sire," said the Knight, " let us steadily pursue our course, and 
 light will soon break in upon our path." 
 
 And as he uttered these words, a light was seen gleaming at a 
 considerable distance from them, which by its increasing in size 
 appeared to be approaching them, and the sound of footsteps was 
 heard. 
 
 " Ha !" exclaimed Don Pedro, " betrayed, betrayed !" 
 
 At the sound of his voice the light disappeared, but footsteps 
 were still heard approaching them, and at length a multitude o 
 lights were suddenly flashed upon their faces, and in the stupor 
 which their dazzling effect occasioned, they all found themselves 
 made prisoners by a very superior force. 
 
 Sir Ralph Helme, however, for a long time struggled with the 
 captors. After the King and all his attendants had surrendered 
 he continued to use his sword with no small effect against the 
 French. He had felled three men to the ground, and was about 
 to sheath his weapon in the breast of a fourth, when he icceived a 
 mortal stab in the back, and fell lifeless to the ground. 
 
 " Ha !" exclaimed Pedro, less affected at the death of his faithful
 
 THE STARRY TOWER. X$3 
 
 and gallant adherent than by the recollection of the prophecy 
 which associated his fate so intimately with his own j " is the 
 Green Squire dead ? then is my hour at hand." 
 
 " On with me, fellows," said one, who appeared to be theleadei 
 of the assailants, " and secure the castle." A numerous and well- 
 armed body immediately passed by, carrying dark lanterns in 
 their hands. A smaller party remained to take charge of the 
 prisoners, and bring them along with them. " And now," said he 
 who appeared to have the command of this smaller party, " whom 
 have we here ?" 
 
 " First, sir," said Don Pedro, " may we crave to know who it is 
 that addresses us, and by what authority he detains us ?" 
 
 " I," said their captor, " am the Begue of Villaines, command- 
 ing that part of the army of Henry, King of Castile, which is 
 appointed to guard all the outlets of this castle ; and having 
 learned the secret of this subterraneous passage from a fugitive 
 from the castle this day, I have marched to take possession of it, 
 and to arrest all its inmates." 
 
 " Then," said Pedro, " I am in the hands of a very valiant 
 and noble knight, and I surrender myself your prisoner. I 
 am Pedro, King of Castile, the only legitimate son of King 
 Alphonso." 
 
 A tremendous shout was heard at that moment. " Ha !" said 
 the Begue of Villaines, " our brave fellows have made themselves 
 masters of the castle. Bring King Pedro along with us. Our 
 master little knows how rich a prize we have secured, or he would 
 have halted on his way, and left the castle to remain in the hands 
 of those who then held it." 
 
 From these words Pedro gathered that some person of rank, 
 superior to the Begue of Villaines, had gone forward with the more 
 numerous party to the castle. Various and violent were the emo- 
 tions which agitated his bosom, but resistance was vain, and he 
 quietly paced the dark windings of the subterranean passage until 
 they arrived at its termination, and emerged into the great yard ot 
 the castle. 
 
 " Is Don Pedro secured ?" were the first words addressed to 
 
 ENG. o
 
 T94 THE STARRY TOWER. 
 
 the Begue of Villaines, by the officer who commanded the troops 
 drawn up in the yard. 
 
 "I have him safe," said the Begue. "What are his Majesty's 
 commands ?" 
 
 " He waits his arrival in yonder tower," said the officer, pointing 
 to the Starry Tower. 
 
 " Ha !" said Don Pedro mentally ; " then Henry himself is here, 
 and in yonder tower ;" and an involuntary shudder ran through 
 all his frame. " But," he added, and his thoughts were now 
 audibly expressed, "does not this bastard call himself King 
 of Castile ?" 
 
 " Even so, sir," said the Begue. 
 
 " Then," said the fallen monarch, and a momentary brightness 
 passed over his features, " the King may die in the Starry Tower, 
 and yet Don Pedro be safe. Lead on, Sir Begue ! lead on !" 
 
 The party then ascended the long winding steps which Pedro 
 had heavily and mournfully, but still under happier circumstances 
 than the present, so recently descended. A very short time brought 
 him and his guards into the room which he had lately quitted, and 
 there he found Henry surrounded by his guards, wearing the royal 
 robe, and holding in his hands the sceptre which Pedro had so 
 recently thrown from him in the agony of his despondency. 
 
 " Ha !" said the latter. " Bold traitor, who art thou, who darest 
 to assume the pomp and majesty of the monarch of Castile?" 
 
 " I," said Henry, with a bitter smile, " am he to whom alone 
 that pomp and majesty of right belong. I am the King." 
 
 " Sayest thou so ?" said Pedro, with one of those grim smiles 
 vhich expressed all the malignity of his soul in his features : "then 
 tneet the fate which the stars have destined should befall the King 
 in this tower." 
 
 Thus saying, he sprang upon Henry with all the fury and the 
 agility of a tiger, and, seizing him in his vigorous arms, wrestled 
 with him, and in an instant threw him ; then planting his knee 
 upon his breast, and drawing a dagger from his belt, he was about 
 to plunge it into his bosom, when a soldier who stood by, arid 
 whom, until now, surprise had rendered motionless, held back his
 
 THE STARRY TOWER. tt>5 
 
 hand, and placed his own upon his throat. Don Henry imme- 
 diately sprang upon his legs, and unsheathing his own dagger, 
 drove it to his opponent's heart.* 
 
 " Ha !" said Pedro, " then the prophecy of the Starry Tower 
 was true, and so was that of the villain whom I devoted to the 
 flames. Henry," he added, fixing his eyes upon the Prince, while 
 a bitter smile played upon his lips, " with my latest breath, take 
 my " 
 
 The malediction which he would have uttered was suspended by 
 the death-rattle in his throat, and his head sunk lifeless upon the 
 ground. Still the fierce and bitter smile lived upon his dead lip, 
 and in his eye the cold, stern expression of hatred triumphed even 
 over the glassy glare of mortality. 
 
 " He died, as he had lived," said Don Henry, " pitiless, and 
 without remorse. And now are thy sufferings avenged, Castile ; 
 and your deaths, my beloved and noble-hearted brothers ; and thy 
 injuries also, thy ill-deserved injuries, sweet Blanche of Bourbon ! 
 Rest now, rest in peace, perturbed spirits, for the triumph of the 
 just has arrived, and honour, valour, and beauty may find protection 
 even in Castile." 
 
 The events of that day, fearful and bloody as they were, had no 
 sooner become generally known than they were hailed with rapture 
 throughout the whole kingdom. Don Henry mounted the throne 
 amidst universal acclamations. The neighbouring princes courted 
 his alliance. He swayed the Castilian sceptre with honour to 
 himself and advantage to the nation, and at his death transmitted 
 it to his posterity. 
 
 * Mariana. Froissart. 
 
 O 2
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY. 
 
 RICHARD THE SECOND. 
 
 1377- ON the death of Edward, his grandson Richard was crowned without 
 any opposition, though only eleven years of age. His three uncles, the Dukes 
 of Lancaster, York, and Gloucester, were appointed regents. 
 
 The House of Commons, which was now growing into great consequence, 
 for the first time chose a speaker, Peter de la Mare. 
 
 1378. The war was carried on between England and France, but in a very 
 languid manner, when Charles V. died and was succeeded by his son Charles 
 VI., a minor. 
 
 1381. To assist the Government to carry on the war with France, the 
 Parliament ordered a poll tax, which led to the rebellion of Wat Tyler, Jack 
 Straw, and others, who marched to London at the head of 100,000 men. The 
 King held a conference with Tyler in Smithfield, where the latter was put to 
 death by Walworth, the Mayor of London, upon which his followers submitted 
 to the King. 
 
 The King married Anne of Luxembourg, daughter of the Emperor Wences- 
 laus. 
 
 1385. The Scots, having no cavalry, applied to the regency of France, who 
 sent over John de Vienne with 1500 men ; about the same time an army of 
 60,000 men, with Richard and the Duke of Lancaster at their head, entered 
 Scotland by Berwick. The Scots, leaving their country to be pillaged, entered 
 England by Carlisle, and committed horrid devastations in Cumberland and 
 Westmorland ; but Richard, instead of waiting for the enemy on the west 
 borders, returned to England, to his pleasures and amusements. 
 
 1386. The Duke of Lancaster, having some pretensions to the kingdom of 
 Castile by marriage, carried over the flower of the English army to Spain. 
 
 Great discontents arose in England, amongst the nobles headed by the Duke 
 of Gloucester, against Richard, on account of his unbounded affection for the 
 Earl of Oxford, whom he created Duke of Ireland, and whom he allowed to 
 govern the kingdom as he pleased. Richard retired to Eltham ; but the Par- 
 liament sent him a message, saying, that if he did not return and consent to the
 
 tttCHARD THE SECOND. 197 
 
 banishment of his favourites, they would proceed to choose another King, lie 
 then banished his favourites, but soon afterwards recalled them. 
 
 1387. The favourites stirred up the King to revenge ; on which the Duke 
 of Gloucester and other lords took to arms. The Duke of Ireland fled to 
 Cheshire, and raised some forces, with which he was marching to London to 
 the relief of the King, but was encountered in Oxfordshire by Gloucester and 
 totally defeated. He fled into the Low Countries, where he died in exile a few 
 years after ; his papers, being taken, exposed the King's pernicious designs. 
 A Parliament was assembled, by which several of the King's ministers were 
 sentenced to be hanged at Tyburn, and others banished. To restore peace 
 entirely, the King was persuaded to issue a general pardon. 
 
 1389. The Duke of Lancaster, having sold all right to the crown of Castile, 
 returned to England. 
 
 Richard took the reins of Government into his own hands, and changed the 
 ministry. He made William of Wickham, Bishop of Winchester, his Chancel- 
 lor. 
 
 1392. The Scots made an irruption into England, when a battle was fought 
 near Otterbourne, in which the son of the Karl of Northumberland was taken 
 prisoner, and Douglas, the leader of the Scots, was killed. 
 
 1394. The Queen died; she was a great favourer of the followers of 
 Wickliffe, or Lollards. This sect had been founded for some time, and was 
 gaining ground very fast. 
 
 1396. The English and French courts concluded a truce for twenty-eight 
 years ; and to render the amity between the two crowns more durable, Richard 
 was affianced to Isabella, Charles the Sixth's daughter, though she was only 
 seven years of age. Richard went over to Ireland to quell a rebellion that had 
 broken out there, and to revenge the death of the Earl of March, who had been 
 slain ; he had been declared presumptive heir to the crown, as Richard had no 
 children. 
 
 1398. The Duke of Lancaster died, and his son the Earl of Derby, who had 
 been created Duke of Hereford, and was suffering banishment on account of a 
 quarrel between him and the Duke of Norfolk, succeeded him. Taking ad- 
 vantage of the King's absence in Ireland, he landed in England, at Ravenspur 
 in Yorkshire, with several nobles, pretending that he only wished to be rein- 
 stated in his possessions as Duke of Lancaster. Richard, arriving from Ireland, 
 found that almost the whole nation had joined Henry of Lancaster, for the pur- 
 pose of making him King. E\en the very army which Richard brought from 
 Ireland deserted him. He retired to the Isle of Anglesea, to embark either for 
 Ireland or France; but the Earl of Northumberland got possession of his 
 person, and carried him to Henry, at Flint Castle. Henry immediately con- 
 ducted him to London, where a Parliament was assembled, which formally 
 deposed Richard as unworthy to reign. One of the acts alleged against him, 
 was the seizing his uncle, the Duke of Gloucester, sending him over to Calais, 
 and there having him privatelv murdered.
 
 198 RICHARD THE SECOND. 
 
 Henry laid claim to the Crown as being descended by his mother from 
 Edmund Earl of Lancaster, the pretended elder brother of Edward I., but who 
 had been set aside on account of some deformity in his person. 
 
 The Parliament, having been gained over by Henry, would not examine his 
 pretensions too narrowly ; and on the loth of September, 1399, they declared 
 him King of England and France. 
 
 1400. Richard died in Pomfret Castle. Some historians affirm that he was 
 served to death ; others, that he was assassinated.
 
 He was the soul of honour, 
 And all our praises of him are like waters 
 Drawn from a spring, that still rise full, and leave 
 The part remaining greatest. 
 
 BEN JONSON 
 
 A T the great battle of Najara, in Spain, gained by Edward the 
 X Y. Black Prince over the French and Castilian army, com- 
 manded by Bertrand du Guesclin and the Count of Trastamare, the 
 English performed acts of romantic heroism, which, although less 
 generally known than those by which they distingusihed themselves
 
 too THE. SPANIARD'S RANSOtf. 
 
 at the battles of Cressy and Poictiers, were neither in themselves 
 less splendid nor less honourable to the national character. Among 
 those who, as the reward of their chivalric deeds on this occasion, 
 received the honour of knighthood on the field of battle from the 
 hand of their illustrious commander, were two esquires, named 
 Robert Hawley and John Shackell. These gentlemen had also been 
 fortunate enough to secure a more substantial reward for their valour, 
 by becoming the joint captors of the Count de Denia, a Spanish 
 grandee of the first class, whose ransom-money would be sufficient to 
 render them henceforth free from pecuniary cares. This nobleman 
 having been fairly, by the laws of arms, adjudged their prisoner, 
 they brought him with them to England, where he was held in a 
 state of honourable captivity, being admitted into the presence of 
 the King and the great nobles, until such time as the sum of ten 
 thousand marks, which had been agreed upon as the price of his 
 ransom, should be remitted to him from his own country. Days, 
 and weeks, and months rolled over his head, and still the expected 
 remittances did not arrive. Either there was some difficulty in 
 extracting the stipulated sum from his vassals in the absence of 
 their lord, or, in the then precarious mode of communication be- 
 tween the two countries, there was some hesitation as to the means 
 by which it should be transmitted to England, or danger of its 
 having fallen into improper hands, even although it had already 
 been forwarded thither. The haughty spirit of the Don now became 
 indignant, and impatient of the delays of his vassals ; although his 
 captors, in th? fullest reliance on his honour and generosity, never 
 pressed him for payment of the ransom, and continued to treat 
 him with the utmost respect and courtesy. At length, however, 
 the Spaniard came to an agreement with the two knights, that he 
 should be permitted to return to his own country for the purpose 
 of levying his ransom, leaving his son, a youth of about seventeen 
 years of age, behind him in the hands of the Englishmen as a 
 hostage for the due performance of his engagements with the latter. 
 
 " Farewell, noble Count," said Sir John Shackell, as he assisted 
 his captive to his stirrup : health and prosperity attend thee !" 
 
 Sir John's colleague, Sir Robert Hawley, expressed similar semi-
 
 77/ SPANIARD'S RANSOM. *5l 
 
 nients : while the youth clung to his father's hand, and bathed it 
 with his tears. 
 
 " Farewell, my generous captors," said the Count, "a long and 
 grateful farewell and thou, my son, ere I breathe to thee a shorter 
 adieu, swear, as God and Our Lady shall help thee, swear on thy 
 father's sword that sword which was never yet dishonoured, either 
 by the grasp of cowardice or the breath of perjury that thou wilt 
 remain the true and faithful captive of these knights, nor seek by 
 any means, direct or indirect, to withdraw thyself from their cus- 
 tody without their consent, until the ten thousand marks due to 
 them for thy father's ransom-money shall have been well and truly 
 paid." 
 
 The youth knelt down, took his father's sword, and kissing the 
 handle (a very frequent substitute upon emergencies for a crucifix 
 in those days), exclaimed " All this I solemnly swear, and so may 
 Heaven prosper me in my after days as I shall observe or violate 
 this oath !" 
 
 "And now then," said the Count, throwing his arms round his 
 son's neck, " farewell, my own beloved Guzman ; not long shall 
 the sincerity with which thou canst keep an oath be tried ; yet the 
 honour of De Denia might be trusted, although the period during 
 which it were to be put to the test were to extend throughout the 
 whole duration of his existence. Farewell, my brave boy a sad 
 but not a long farewell !" 
 
 Thus saying, he mounted his gallant steed, which, together with 
 the arms that he had borne in the battle, had been restored to him 
 by his captors, waved his hand once more, in token of his farewell, 
 to Guzman and the knights, and putting spurs to his horse, took 
 the road leading from London to a port on the western coast, 
 which had been fixed upon as the place of his embarkation. 
 
 The young Lord Guzman de Denia, after his father's departure, 
 lived a very retired and secluded life in the house which the knights 
 occupied in Westminster. He never could be induced to accom- 
 pany them to Court, or to mingle in those gaieties and hospitalities 
 in which his father had not scrupled to participate. Even King 
 Richard and the Duke of Lancaster had expressed their anxious
 
 -02 THE SPANIARD'S RANSOM. 
 
 desire that the young Count de Denia should be introduced to 
 them ; but the Spaniard resolutely maintained his privacy. Time 
 lingered on, and still the expected ransom did not arrive from 
 Spain, nor any intelligence of the Count. This delay, however, 
 was sufficiently accounted for by the information contained in ihe 
 public despatches which arrived in England. It appeared that 
 Pedro the Cruel, who had been restored to his throne by the victo- 
 rious arms of Edward the Black Prince, had again by his tyranny 
 and oppression, goaded his subjects to such a state of exasperation, 
 that they had once more taken up arms against him, and proclaimed 
 his bastard brother (Henry Count of Trastamare) King of Castile. 
 The Count de Denia, who had now made his peace with Don 
 Pedro, and entered with the utmost ardour and devotion into his 
 service, had suffered his duty as a subject to supersede for a time 
 his anxiety to procure the liberation of his son, and was engaged 
 in active warfare against the Count of Trastamare and the rebels. 
 That struggle, as the reader has already learned from the perusal 
 of the tale entitled " The Starry Tower," terminated in the over- 
 throw and death of Don Pedro, and the peaceable assumption of 
 the sovereign authority by his rival. The same messengers who 
 brought this intelligence to England, informed the young Count de 
 Denia that his father had been slain while gallantly fighting by the 
 side of his sovereign, and that he was now therefore heir to his title 
 and estates ; but that the new King had seized upon the latter as a 
 punishment for what he called the rebellion of De Denia. Deprived 
 at one blow of his father, his fortune, and his liberty, Don Guz- 
 man resigned himself to the most profound grief, which not all the 
 tender and delicate attentions of the English knights could in the 
 slightest degree alleviate. 
 
 The knights in the meantime, besides their sympathy for their 
 young captive, or rather guest, felt considerably embarrassed on 
 their own account. In the full expectation of shortly receiving the 
 princely sum of money which the Count had agreed to pay for his 
 ransom, they had launched out into expenses, and incurred debts 
 which the slender pay of two simple knights was far from being 
 adequate to meet and answer. Xhe news of the death of the
 
 THE SPANIARD'S RANSOM. 903 
 
 Count de Denia drew a host of clamorous creditors to their doors, 
 and the prospect of beggary and imprisonment stared them in 
 their faces. Still, as long as they held the noble young hostage 
 their hands, they were in hopes that they might still be able to 
 retrieve their fortunes. The Duke of Lancaster, John of Ghent, 
 who had married the Lady Constantia, the eldest daughter of the 
 deceased King Pedro, laid claim to the crown of Castile in her 
 right, and was levying a formidable army in England for the pur- 
 pose of proceeding to Spain and enforcing that claim. Should 
 his invasion prove successful, he would no doubt restore the Count 
 de Denia to the wealth and honours of which he had been deprived, 
 who would then be able to pay them the stipulated ransom. The 
 Duke's claim, however, which had at first revived the hopes of the 
 two knights, ultimately proved the total destruction of them. 
 
 The Duke of Lancaster, to whose scheming and intriguing brain 
 everything conducive to the advancement of his own interest 
 readily suggested himself, soon perceived how materially the object 
 of his expedition into Castile might be furthered by his carrying 
 in his train thither a young nobleman of so ancient a family and 
 such extensive possessions as the Count de Denia ; one too, who 
 had such substantial reasons for wishing to depose the present 
 monarch as the desire to revenge his father's death and recover 
 his own patrimony. John of Ghent's avarice, however, or perhaps 
 his poverty, did not permit him to tender to the two knights the 
 amount of the ransom money which was due to them, but he 
 briefly and peremptorily summoned them to deliver up their 
 prisoner to him upon pain of the King's and his own especial dis- 
 pleasure. The knights, on receipt of this summons, took the pre- 
 caution to remove the young Count out of the way, and returned 
 word, in answer to the Duke's message, that the Count de Denia 
 was by the law of arms their prisoner, and that they would not 
 give him up until he had paid his ransom. As they knew that this 
 answer could not fail to exasperate the Duke of Lancaster, they 
 were prepared to expect the worst ; and accordingly neither went 
 abroad, nor even remained at home, unarmed, except when they 
 retired to rest at night, in order that they might be able to repel
 
 *34 THE SPANIARD'S RANSO&. 
 
 any attempt which might be made to seize their persons. The 
 Duke would have been very willing to overlook the insult which 
 the knights had shown to his authority, could he have discovered the 
 hiding-place of the young Count, who he did not doubt was held in 
 strict and unwilling durance by his captors ; but although he, by his 
 emissaries, made the strictest search and inquiries in every place 
 where it appeared probable that they had secreted their treasure, 
 it was without being able to obtain any satisfactory information. 
 
 Sir Robert Hawley and Sir John Shackell were one afternoon 
 seated moodily and gloomily at a table in the middle of one of the 
 large and superbly furnished apartments of their house at West- 
 minster : the contrast between the scantiness of their present 
 means and their splendid anticipations was marked by the disorder 
 and confusion which reigned around them in the midst of all their 
 finery, the neglected and tarnished state of their rich hangings, the 
 old and worn rushes with which the chamber was strewn, and the 
 single domestic who, instead of the numerous attendants in rich 
 liveries accustomed to wait upon them, now remained in the apart- 
 ment, and who seemed so fully aware of the altered state of his 
 master's fortunes, that instead of standing as befitted his station, 
 he was actually seated at his ease in a chair at the opposite end of 
 the apartment. 
 
 " Our affairs look sufficiently gloomy, Shackell," said Sir Robert 
 Hawley : " Would that we had never seen the Count de Denia, 
 or heard of the battle of Najara ! Yet this robber Duke, who 
 rides through England sword in hand, and demands cur persons 
 and our goods as if King, Lords, and Commons spake by his 
 mouth, must not be tamely suffered to rob us of the prize which 
 we have purchased by our toils and by our blood." 
 
 " Sooner, by Heaven !" said Shackell, " shall the sword which I 
 drew at Najara be sheathed in John of Ghent's bosom. 'Sbiood ! 
 man, while King Richard lives it will be no treason to kill the 
 Duke of Lancaster." 
 
 At that moment a loud outcry was heard in the streets, and the 
 door of the knights' house seemed to be violently assailed with the 
 butt ends of lances, at if some persons were anxiously desiring
 
 THE SPANIARD'S RANSOM. K>; 
 
 admission. Sir Robert Hawleyand the servant immediately drew 
 their swords. 
 
 " They must be resisted to the death," said Hawley. " They 
 are the Duke's men-at-arms, who have come to complete what the 
 Duke's summoners have begun ; and to seize upon our persons 
 and property, in the hope of compelling us to acquiesce in ther 
 injustice of their master." 
 
 " Nay, nay !" said Shackell, " they will not go to that extremity " 
 yet 'Tis but a repetition of the summons. Let us hear them, 
 for perchance we may find that they have somewhat moderated 
 their demands." 
 
 As Hawley seemed tacitly to accede to his companion's propo- 
 sition, the servant left the apartment, and shortly afterwards 
 returned, ushering in two knights armed from head to foot, except 
 that their visors were down, and followed by three men-at-arms. 
 Hawley and Shackell immediately started to their feet and drew 
 their swords. 
 
 " What mean you my masters," said Shackell, " thus cased in 
 iron, and with naked weapons, to intrude upon the privacy ot 
 peaceful and inoffensive men ? Sir Ralph Ferries, we have fought 
 side by side with you at Cressy and Najara ; and you, Sir Alan 
 Buxhall, cannot be ignorant of our reputation and character ; what 
 crime can we have been guilty of, to be subjected to this outrage ?" 
 
 " You look very like peaceful men, indeed, Sir John," said 
 Ferries, " when, even while sitting round your own hearth, you 
 think it necessary to be clothed in armour. Guilt is naturally sus- 
 picious, and fears even the shadow which its own timorous steps 
 cast around it." 
 
 " I am not aware of having committed any crime, Sir Ralph," 
 jetorted Shackell, " unless it be one to have entitled myself to the 
 gratitude of those who wish to bury the recollection of my services 
 in oblivion, and to rob me of their hard-earned recompense.'' 
 
 " Sir John Shackell and Sir Robert Hawley," said Buxhall, "you 
 have contumaciously resisted the King's commands, by refusing to 
 deliver up the Count de Denia into his hands, when even Majesty 
 has condescended to make such a request to you."
 
 206 THE SPANIARD'S RANSOM. 
 
 " Let his Highness," said Shackell, " still further condescend to 
 order the payment to us, from his royal Exchequer, cf the poor sum of 
 ten thousand marks, and the Count is free from all obligation to us." 
 
 "Sir John, Sir John," said Ferries, "do you parley and make 
 terms with your sovereign ? Either discover the Count de Denia's 
 hiding-place, or prepare to accompany us to the Tower." 
 
 "Neither," said Hawley, "will I do voluntarily. Force may 
 compel me to the latter ; but the former will I not do, though you 
 take my heart's blood in lieu of it." 
 
 " Then arrest them, fellows," said Buxhall, turning to his men- 
 at-arms, "arrest them in the King's name." 
 
 The men-at-arms immediately advanced to assail the knights ; 
 but the latter put themselves in a posture of defence, and assisted 
 by their servant, who seemed a vigorous and powerful stripling, 
 parried their blows so dexterously that Ferries and Buxhall were 
 obliged to step forward to the support of their adherents. " Are 
 ye madmen," said Sir Alan, " thus rashly to dispute the King's au- 
 thority ?" But his interrogatory was only answered by a blow from 
 Sir Robert Hawley's sword, which cut through his helmet and 
 extended him on the ground ; while Hawley, rushing past him with 
 the utmost velocity, escaped out of the house. The four remaining 
 assailants then bent all their strength against Shackell and the 
 servant, and soon succeeded in overpowering them. " It is in 
 vain, it is in vain, my trusty Alfred," said Shackell, as he saw the 
 domestic zealously seconding his ineffectual efforts ; " we must for 
 the present yield to the violence of the oppressors ; but if there be 
 law and justice in England that violence shall not go unpunished. 
 A time may come too, my bold-hearted lad, that I shall be able to 
 reward thy fidelity and courage as they deserve." 
 
 " I ask for no reward, my beloved master," said Alfred ; " but to 
 see you restored to liberty, and in possession of the ransom-money 
 which you have so nobly earned." 
 
 "Cease, cease your prattling!" said Sir Ralph Ferries, as he 
 assisted in binding Shackell. " Talk not, Sir Knight, of what 
 rewards you will bestow on your accomplice, until we see how you 
 will yourself be able to answer for your resistance to the King's 
 authority. Go, some of you, and seek for the other culprit How,
 
 THE SPANIARD'S RANSOM. 207 
 
 now, gallant Sir Alan ?" he added, as he raised his companion 
 from the ground ; " I trust that thou art not hurt !" 
 
 " Not much," said the other, wiping the blood from his brow ; 
 " but the villain's blow was well intended. Let not him escape, 
 whatever may become of his fellow-traitor." 
 
 " Bevis and Walters," said Ferries, " are in search of him, and 
 will, I doubt not, soon terminate his travels. Ha ! hither they 
 come. How now, sirrahs ! what means this ? so soon returned, 
 yet unaccompanied by your prisoner !" 
 
 " Sir Knight," answered one of the men-at-arms, " he is not 
 likely to deserve the name of prisoner very speedily. He has taken 
 sanctuary in the adjoining abbey." 
 
 " Now may the foul fiend," said Sir Alan Buxhall, stamping 
 violently on the ground, "retain in his especial keeping the souls 
 of those drivelling monks who first provided for the safety of mur- 
 derers and traitors, by erecting places of sanctuary ! Nevertheless, 
 bring away the prisoner whom we have secured. The secret of the 
 Count de Denia's hiding-place will not be less valuable because k 
 is extracted only from one pair of lips instead of two ; and unless 
 the gallant knight is inclined to dance a caper some fine morning 
 for the amusement of the King's lieges assembled at Tyburn, the 
 secret will not long remain in his own keeping." 
 
 Thus saying, the two knights and their party were moving away 
 with Sir John Shackell in their custody, when Alfred flung himself 
 on his knees before them, and taking hold of Sir Ralph Ferries' 
 hand, earnestly besought that he might be allowed to accompany 
 his master to the Tower. " Back ! back, idiot !" said Ferries, " and 
 thank thy obscurity and insignificance that thou hast escaped from 
 being carried thither as a prisoner along with him. By Heaven ! 
 I have seen a younger neck than thine made acquainted with the 
 gallows, when the head upon its shoulders chose to become too 
 busy in state affairs." 
 
 " Nay, nay, Sir Knight," said Alfred, " will you let a gallant 
 gentleman remain untended in a gloomy dungeon in the Tower, 
 and deny him even the consolation of the kind offices of a faithful 
 servant ?" 
 
 " It must not be, young sir," said Buxhall, " until, at least, the
 
 808 THE SPANIARD'S RANSOM. 
 
 knight shows some disposition to return to his duty and allegiance 
 as a loyal subject of King Richard's. I will not, however, deny to 
 a gentleman, who has distinguished himself in arms, some slight 
 indulgence. If, therefore, thou art willing to bestow upon him one 
 hour's attendance on each day of his confinement, thou mayest 
 visit him at his dinner-hour, the hour of noon, when thy services 
 may be needful to him." 
 
 " Thanks, gallant Knight !" said Alfred, " a thousand thanks ! 
 On the morrow, then, my noble master, expect a visit from your 
 faithful servant." Sir John Shackell had scarcely time to listen to 
 this fre^i evidence of his domestic's attachment and fidelity, before 
 he was hurried away to the place of his confinement. 
 
 That night was passed by the domestic Alfred, in a state of 
 feverish anxiety, which sufficiently evinced his attachment to his 
 master, and the sympathy which he felt for his unmerited sufferings. 
 This youth was tall and elegantly formed ; brawny and muscular ; 
 of a quick fiery eye, and of a dark and even swarthy complexion. 
 As he paced the apartment of which he was now the only occu- 
 pant, he gazed on its splendid decorations with a look of mingled 
 pity and contempt. Sometimes he threw himself on a couch and 
 endeavoured to compose himself to slumber ; but he as often, 
 after a short interval, started up, again paced the chamber with a 
 hurried and uneven step, and seemed to be deeply pondering on 
 some internal schemes or troubles. Occasionally he would wring 
 his hands and sigh heavily, draw his sword from his belt and care- 
 fully examine its point, or with his face resting on his clenched 
 hands, seem sunk for hours in silent and intense meditation. "He 
 must be liberated," he would often say aloud, "he must be 
 liberated, though I should spill my blood in the attempt." As he 
 strode through the apartment, his manly form, his noble coun- 
 tenance, and his expressive features, lighted up by the variety and 
 the intenseness of his emotions, seemed to indicate a being who 
 was not born to the humble station which he then filled. The civil 
 wars, however, at that time had effected so many and such strange 
 reverses in the fortunes of the most distinguished families, that it 
 was by no means a rare occurrence to meet, employed in menial 01
 
 TH& SPANIARD'S JfttAQMft tag 
 
 laborious occupations, persons whose demeanour and language 
 irresistibly suggested the inquiry whether they had not seen better 
 times ; but who only answered the interrogatory with their sighs or 
 their tears. The alacrity, however, with which Alfred had per- 
 formed his services to his masters, and the almost ostentatiour 
 manner in which he showed that he considered himself inrmitelj 
 below them in rank and importance, seemed to preclude the ide 
 that he belonged to the class of persons which has just been 
 described. The look, however, of disappointed pride which he 
 occasionally assumed during the night, as he paced sullenly the 
 floor of his solitary apartment, certainly did not seem in accordance 
 with his menial garb. At length he appeared to be worn out by 
 anxiety and fatigue; and wrapping his cloak round him, he stretched 
 himself on the couch and soon sunk into a profound slumber. 
 
 Sir John Shackell, in the meanwhile, had passed in a little con- 
 fined apartment of the Tower of London a night of still less ease 
 and refreshment. At times he felt inclined to disclose the secret 
 of the Count's retreat to the myrmidons of the Duke of Lancaster, 
 since even the loss of his rich reward was preferable to that of his 
 liberty, or even it might be of his life, of which he now stood in 
 jeopardy. Then he reflected on the improbability of even the 
 lawless John of Ghent going to such an extremity, and also of the 
 injustice of which he should be guilty to Sir Robert Hawley, should 
 he give up their captive without his concurrence in such a proceed- 
 ing. The latjt consideration determined him resolutely to refuse 
 making his oppressors acquainted with the place in which he had 
 concealed the young Count. Early in the morning he was doomed 
 to listen to the importunate solicitations of Ferries and Buxhall, 
 who represented to him the folly and inutility of his opposing the 
 wishes of the King and the Duke, and that by releasing the Count 
 he was losing nothing, because the latter was utterly incapable of 
 ever paying a single farthing for his ransom. Sir John was 
 however inexorable ; and at length, in order to rid himself of theis 
 importunity, told them that he had come to a determination to 
 give them no farther answers, but to maintain an unbroken silence 
 as long as he remained a prisoner a determination which he held 
 
 ENG. P
 
 atD flfE SPAtilARb'S RANSOM. 
 
 inviolate, until, at the hour of twelve, his own servant, the faithful 
 Alfred, entered his apartment. 
 
 " Generous being !" said the knight ; " how have I deserved 
 this kindness at thy hands ? Come to my heart, thou miracle of 
 faithfulness." 
 
 " Nay, nay !" said Alfred ; " I came not to waste these precious 
 moments in idle protestations and endearments. As soon as youi 
 meal is placed upon the table, and your gaolers have left you to 
 my attendance, I have something for your ear." The servants of 
 the Tower soon entered, and having spread the prisoner's meal, 
 disappeared. " Eat, eat," said Alfred, " and that right heartily, 
 lest they should discover that you have had business to attend to 
 of even more importance than that of eating. You must flee from 
 this place and make the best of your way to the sanctuary at 
 Westminster." 
 
 " My good friend," said Sir John, shaking his head, while a 
 melancholy smile moved his features, " now thou mockest me : how 
 or by what means am I to escape from this place ? Were such an 
 adventure possible, trust me that I would lose but little time indeed 
 in finding my way to the sanctuary." 
 
 "Thou and I, Sir John," said Alfred, "are so nearly of a 
 height, and so much alike in form, that wert thou to exchange thy 
 armour for my serving-man's doublet and hose, and shroud thy 
 face in my hood as effectually as I will hide my own in thy visor, 
 thou mightest walk a free man out of the gates of the Tower of 
 London, and leave me behind thee to supply thy place." 
 
 A tear gathered in the knight's eye, and he grasped his servant's 
 hand in token of his cordial gratitude. " Nay, nay, it must not 
 be : thanks, faithful heart, a thousand thanks ; but John Shackell 
 would rather resign the ransom-money, his liberty, and his life, 
 than place thee in such jeopardy. Fare thee well ! if this be thy 
 scheme, thou hadst better leave me instantly, lest I be tempted to 
 act so unworthy a part as to concur in it." 
 
 " Now this is absolute midsummer madness !" said Alfred. 
 " What harm can happen to me ? When they find out the cheat, it 
 will do them no good to retain a poor serving-man cooped up in
 
 THE SPA NIARD ' S RA NSOM. at i 
 
 the Tower of London ; while, if thou remainest, thou wilt be in 
 hourly peril of thy life. A short imprisonment, for the purpose of 
 curing me of such follies in future, will be the utmost penance to 
 which I shall be subjected." 
 
 " True, true," said the knight ; " and hesitate not to secure thy 
 own indemnity, whatever may be the risk to me." 
 
 "Then haste thee, haste thee," said Alfred; "unbuckle, lest 
 your lynx-eyed janitors should enter before these iron accoutre- 
 ments are removed." 
 
 Thus saying, he assisted his master in disencumbering him of 
 his armour, a work of some time, and one in which, to say the 
 truth, he did not seem to be remarkably expert. As he slowly 
 succeeded in removing the basinet, the breast-plate, and the morion, 
 he could not help ejaculating curses on his own unskilfulness. He 
 managed, however, with the knight's own assistance, to disencum- 
 ber him of these ; and was about to take off his cuisses, when, to 
 the dismay of both, they heard the key of the dungeon turning 
 harshly in the wards of the lock, and presently afterwards, Sir Alan 
 Buxhall stood before them. 
 
 " How now, sirrah !" said Buxhall ; " what means this ?" 
 
 " A plague, Sir Knight !" said Alfred, whose self-possession did 
 not desert him for a moment " a plague, I say, on your serving- 
 men of the Tower, for letting Sir John ShackelPs armour remain 
 a whole day unsecured. He would not have been able to have 
 made his appearance before his Excellency the Lord Constable, 
 into whose presence, I have been told, he is to be summoned this 
 day, had not your gracious permission that his faithful servant 
 should pay him a short visit given me an opportunity of putting 
 his accoutrements into a decent plight." Thus saying, he affected 
 to be busily engaged in scouring the pieces of armour of which he 
 had just divested his master, while he seemed to be muttering to 
 himself a continuation of his censure on the unseemly neglect of 
 which the serving-men of the Tower had been guilty. 
 
 " Drivelling idiot !" said Sir Alan, laughing ; " thy master 'vill 
 shortly have other cares to occupy his mind than the brilliancy of 
 his coat of mail, or the gracefulness with which his plume shall 
 p a
 
 2i8 THE SPANIARD'S 
 
 dangle from his helmet I came to inform you that your time of 
 Temaining here is nearly expired ; and that you, Sir Knight, must 
 prepare yourself to appear with me before the Duke of Exeter, 
 the Lord Constable of the Tower." 
 
 "'Twas a critical moment," said Alfred, as Buxhall left the 
 dungeon, and locked the door after him ; " but, by the exertion of 
 a little speed, all will yet be well. Now, Sir Knight, we must 
 exchange characters for a short season, and thou must begin thy 
 offices of a serving-man, by assisting, in thy turn, thy new master 
 to buckle on his armour. Methinks that I feel as easy under its 
 weight as if I were, like thyself, a true knight, and had borne 
 arms at the battle of Najara. Trust me, I do not believe that they 
 will be able to penetrate this disguise." 
 
 As the youth strode about the dungeon, he did indeed seem so 
 well to become his new habiliments, that the serving-man appeared 
 to be in an instant transformed into a knight. Sir John Shackell lost 
 no time in arraying himself in his servant's cast- off apparel, and had 
 scarcely finished his toilet, before the key again turned in the wards 
 of the dungeon, and Sir Alan Buxhall once more made his appear- 
 ance. " Now, troop thee, good friend," he said to Shackell, "the time 
 of thy departure is arrived ; yet ere thou partest, let me search the 
 folds of these garments, lest peradventure thou shouldst be the 
 bearer of some traitorous communication ; or, by Our Lady, thou 
 mayst have that about thee which may assist us in the discovery 
 of this springald Count." Thus saying, he proceeded, with little 
 ceremony, to explore every part of the disguised knight's garments 
 which could possibly be supposed capable of secreting a letter or 
 a packet. The fictitious serving-man stood in no very enviable 
 state of nerves while this scrutiny continued ; but fortunately, Sir 
 Alan was so anxiously engaged in exploring his pockets, that he 
 never once thought of looking into his face. " Thou may'st troop," 
 he said, at length; " myself will safely see thee beyond the precincts 
 of the Tower, that thou may'st have no opportunity of creating 
 spies or emissaries on thy passage. Sir Knight," he added, 
 addressing Alfred, who, clad in Shackell's armour, had sunk down 
 in his seat in a state of the greatest apparent dejection, " I shall
 
 THE SPANIARD'S RANSOM. 013 
 
 speedily return, when thou must accompany me into the presence 
 of the Duke of Exeter." The counterfeit knight made a lowly 
 obeisance, but wisely refrained from using his tongue ; a circum- 
 stance which called forth no observation from his jailor, for Sir 
 John Shackell had, as we have seen already, told him that he 
 should preserve an unbroken silence towards him as long as he 
 remained a prisoner. Buxhall and Shackell then disappeared 
 from the apartment, leaving him in total solitude. 
 
 Nearly half an hour elapsed before Sir Alan Buxhall rejoined his 
 prisoner. " Uprouse ye, Sir Knight," he said, "the Duke of Exeter 
 would question you, as he kindly means to exert his own influence 
 to persuade you to obey the King's commands, before sterner 
 measures are resorted to for the purpose of enforcing your obe- 
 dience. Follow me." 
 
 Alfred slowly and sullenly obeyed this mandate, and followed 
 Sir Alan through the long windings of the ancient fortress, which 
 led from the dungeons to the Constable's apartment. He had 
 determined not to throw off his disguise until he arrived in the 
 presence of the Duke of Exeter, because he knew that every 
 moment during which the discovery was delayed, was adding to 
 the probability of his master being able to effect his escape to the 
 Sanctuary at Westminster Abbey. He had also every hope that 
 the Duke, whose admiration of generous and chivalrous deeds was 
 well known, would be inclined to look with a lenient eye on the 
 offence of which he had been guilty in being accessary to the 
 flight of his master. " By Heaven !" said Buxhall, as every now 
 and then he looked back and saw the stalwart form of his prisonei 
 stalking after him through the gloomy avenues of the Tower 
 " sword-cuts and dungeons do not seem to have tamed this proud 
 knight's spirit. They have made no alteration in him, save that I 
 misdoubt me if he does not now tread with a firmer step and carry 
 a more erect gait than he did yesterday. The Lord Constable, 
 however, may bring him to reason ; if he does not, the only privi- 
 lege granted to him will most likely be simply that of making his 
 choice between Tower Hill and Tyburn." 
 In a chair of state, placed on an elevated platform at the end
 
 8i 4 THE SPANIARD'S RANSOM. 
 
 of a long Gothic apartment whose gloom even during the day re- 
 quired to be dispelled by the large torches which were held by 
 the attendants in various parts of the room, sat the Duke of 
 Exeter. This nobleman was one of the most distinguished 
 warriors of the age, and was doubly allied to the royal family ; 
 he being himself half-brother to the King, Richard the Second, 
 and his wife being a daughter of the Duke of Lancaster. Two 
 secretaries sat at the table below him, while various official persons 
 connected with the despatch of business in the Tower stood 
 around him on the platform ; and on his right hand sat his only 
 daughter, the beautiful and accomplished Lady Elizabeth Holland. 
 This young lady was now just entering her seventeenth year, and 
 to the graces of her person was reported to add endowments of 
 mind and manners of a no less transcendent quality. She was 
 accustomed to take her seat by her father's side, when the dis- 
 charge of his functions, as Constable of the Tower, called upon 
 him to act in a judicial character, and often performed the offices 
 of the Angel of Mercy in tempering the stern and severe, although 
 rigidly just and impartial sentences of her father. 
 
 " Sir Alan Buxhall," said the Duke, " produce your prisoner." 
 Sir Alan immediately stepped forward and produced the disguised 
 serving-man to the Constable. 
 
 " Sir John Shackell," said the latter, in a severe tone, "it grieves 
 me to be called to sit in judgment on so renowned a Knight as 
 you, upon no less a charge than that of treason. You have wil- 
 fully denied and resisted the King's authority, have drawn your 
 weapon upon his Highness's officers while in the execution of 
 their duty, and even now, as I am informed by the good Knight 
 Sir Alan Buxhall, continue contumaciously to reject the King's 
 offers of the kindest terms, by accepting which you may regain 
 your liberty. Speak ! Are ye still determined to reject those 
 gracious offers ?" 
 
 To this wily address, in which the grossest and most outrageous 
 tyranny was coloured as a distinguished piece of grace and favour, 
 the prisoner made no answer. Indeed, the purport of the ad- 
 dress scarcelv deserved an answer, even had his situation been
 
 
 THE SPANIARD 6 AANSOM. MS 
 
 such as to enable him to give one ; but the truth is that neither 
 his critical situation nor the nature of the Duke's harangue was 
 the occasion of the prisoner's silence, for he was wrapt in speech- 
 less wonder as he gazed on the features of Elizabeth Holland. 
 " Speak !" repeated the Duke. " Sir Knight, are ye still deter- 
 mined to reject those gracious offers?" 
 
 " 'Tis she ! 'tis she !" ex-claimed the prisoner. 
 
 "What is't ye mutter?" said the Duke. " Sir Alan, have yft 
 brought me a madman hither ? Neither this demeanour, nor this 
 voice belongs to Sir John Shackell. Unbar his visor let me see 
 his face." 
 
 The Duke's command was instantly obeyed, and the prisoner's 
 visor being unbarred, discovered features which were totally un- 
 known to all but two persons in the apartment. 
 
 " 'Tis the Knight's serving-man !" exclaimed Sir Alan Buxhall. 
 " By Heaven ! this knave has tricked me by smuggling his master 
 out of the Tower, and remaining himself in his place." 
 
 " Say you so !" said the Duke, rising from his seat and stamp- 
 ing violently on the ground, while his lip foamed with wrath 
 " then, by St. Paul ! he shall supply his place in the halter as well 
 as in the dungeon. Away with him to the ramparts ! hang him 
 there till every breath in his serving-man's carcase has mingled 
 with the element that floats above London town." 
 
 " Nay, nay ! gentle father," said the Lady Elizabeth, whose 
 blushes and whose air of surprise when she first beheld the 
 features of the prisoner had fortunately passed unobserved, except 
 by him who had occasioned them, and now faded from her cheek 
 and gave way to an expression of the utmost anxiety and alarm 
 " hear the young man ere you devote him to a cruel and igno- 
 minious death. Speak, young sir," she added, addressing the 
 prisoner, and seeing that her father did not forbid the course 
 which she was pursuing " what were your motives for assisting 
 the prisoner in making his escape from the Tower ?" 
 
 " The prisoner was my master, my patron, my preserver," said 
 Alfred, "and my motives for assisting his escape were gratitude 
 and esteem, in addition to that motive, fair lady, which binds to
 
 i6 TUB SPANIARD'S XANSOM. 
 
 thee so many devoted adorers admiration of excellence and 
 virtue." 
 
 " Prisoner !" said the Duke of Exeter, " your master is a traitor." 
 
 " I am no logician, my Lord Duke," answered Alfred ; " but I 
 will grant you, that if a loyal heart and a valiant arm, and a head 
 grown grey in the service of his country constitute a traitor, that 
 then my master, Sir John Shack ell, is one." 
 
 " Who, in the devil's name, have we here ?" said the Duke. 
 " This is not the language of a serving-man ; nor are those the 
 features of a low-born hind. Sirrah ! tell me thy name who and 
 what art thou ?" 
 
 " My name, great Duke," answered the prisoner, " is Alfred 
 Bohun, and I am the poor slave and serving-man of the valiant 
 knight Sir John Shackell." 
 
 " We will talk to thee more of this anon," said the Duke, whose ad- 
 miration of the self-devotion and bold bearing of the prisoner had al- 
 ready extinguished the feelings of anger and exasperation which had 
 at first been enkindled in his bosom. " In the meantime, Sir Alan 
 Buxhall, see that you take better care of the serving-man than you 
 did of the master. Conduct your prisoner back to his dungeon, 
 and await our farther orders as to his ultimate destination." 
 
 Alfred was again conducted to his place of confinement, again 
 heard the harsh grating of the dungeon locks, and found himself 
 the solitary tenant of the same low, narrow, and melancholy 
 chamber as before. He found his spirits, notwithstanding, com- 
 paratively buoyant and exhilarated, on account of the conviction 
 which he felt of the safety of his master ; and he began to perceive 
 that his own share of punishment was not likely to be very over- 
 whelming. Kis mind, therefore, had now leisure to expatiate on 
 more agreeable ideas than such as had lately occupied it It was 
 now filled with the image of Elizabeth Holland : once, and once 
 &nly, had he beheld that paragon of female beauty their eyes had 
 -net for an instant, but that instant had sufficed to fix the image 
 of each on the soul of the other. That sylph-like form, that 
 sparkling eye, that high pale brow, had lived in the memory of 
 Alfred Bohun ever since, and the perilous adventures in which he
 
 THE SPANIARD'S RANSOM. at> 
 
 had been subsequently engaged had not been able to erase them. 
 The undefinable impression which the first sight of the lady had 
 made on his mind, was deepened by their recent and unexpected 
 interview. To her intercession, too, on that occasion, he was 
 indebted for the preservation of his life. Can it therefore be 
 wondered at, that with a youthful and susceptible heart, with so 
 peerless an object to rouse all that heart's warmest affections, and 
 with the concurrence of so many circumstances of an extraordinary 
 and romantic nature, Alfred Bohun should find himself in love ? 
 He had not long made this discovery of the state of his feelings, 
 before he heard his prison door slowly unbarred, and with a 
 beating heart he beheld by the dim twilight, which was all that 
 now illumined his cell, a female form approaching. The gaunt, 
 grim figure oi Sir Alan Buxhall followed, bearing a lamp in his 
 hand, which he placed on the ground. " Lady !" said Buxhall, 
 "it is impossible to refuse the request of so fair a petitioner. 
 You will, however, be pleased to make your interview with this 
 youth of as short a duration as possible ; and I will wait without, 
 for the purpose of escorting you to your chamber when it shall be 
 over." Thus saying, he retired and left the Lady Elizabeth and 
 Alfred Bohun alone in the apartment. 
 
 " Sweet lady !" exclaimed the youth, " how do I deserve this 
 kindness and condescension ? You have already saved my life, 
 and you now bestow upon me that which, above all things, renders 
 life desirable to me, the bliss of being in your presence." 
 
 " Speak lower, gentle sir, for Heaven's sake !" said the lady. 
 " Misconstrue me not, I beseech you. I fear that I have taken a 
 bold and unmaidenly step in paying you this visit ; but impute it 
 not to any other motive than the interest naturally excited by your 
 extraordinary situation and conduct this day, and a desire to know 
 whether I can in any manner alleviate the situation of one who is 
 evidently far superior to the character which, for a season, he has 
 chosen to assume." 
 
 " And do not thoti misconstrue me, sweet lady," said Alfred, 
 " nor believe that I am any other than what I seem to be." 
 
 <( Nay, nay," said the lady, half smiling ; " credulous an4 con-
 
 218 THE SPANIARD'S RANSOM. 
 
 fiding as our sex are known to be, I am too much of a sceptic to 
 give credence to the story of Sir John Shackell's strving-man. 
 When I first met you, you were coming out of the Palace at 
 Westminster, richly habited, and in the company of a person well 
 known about the Court." 
 
 " I do beseech you, madam," said the youth eagerly, " question 
 me not on that subject. I am for the present what I appear to 
 be ; my honour and my duty forbid me to be otherwise." 
 
 " 'Tis marvellous," said the lady, " that you, who seem fitted to 
 shine at Courts, should choose to be immured in a dungeon ! 
 Tell me thy real name and rank. Perhaps thou art one of those 
 misguided lords whose traitorous designs have lately been dis- 
 covered and frustrated. My father is all-powerful with the King, 
 and I am all-powerful with my father ; I will procure thy pardon. 
 Save thyself, I beseech thee !" 
 
 The lady uttered these words with great animation, and in the 
 warmth of her appeal she seized the youth's hands and pressed 
 them in her own. A deep blush suffused her cheeks as she became 
 conscious of her inadvertency; and she would have withdrawn 
 her hands, but Alfred now retained them in his vigorous grasp. 
 " Gentlest lady ! accept all that Alfred Bohun has to give, his 
 soul-felt thanks for this generous sympathy in his behalf; still let 
 the poor prisoner live in your memory ; and a time may yet come 
 that he may venture to utter from his lips that which you 
 would now think in him an almost impious boldness to have 
 nursed in his heart." 
 
 The lady looked upon him with a stare of assumed vacuity and 
 unconsciousness ; but the blood that rushed to her cheek told 
 that her heart had interpreted, with sufficient accuracy, the mean- 
 ing of his expressions. She shaded her face with her small white 
 hand for a moment ; and when she again exposed it to the youth's 
 view, the intrusive glow had passed away from it, and left it as pale as 
 marble. " If then, sir," she said, " the proffer of my poor services 
 in your behalf is declined, fare you well ! Forget not, nevertheless, 
 should any emergency occur on which they may be useful, that you 
 may rely on the good offices of Elizabeth Holland."
 
 THE SPANIARD'S RANSOM. Big 
 
 " Stay, stay, sweet lady !" said the youth : " leave me not thus. 
 Say that I shall see you yet again if it be but to give me an 
 opportunity, in the presence of so sweet a counsellor, of talking 
 over your proposal. Your reasons may yet convince me. I have 
 need, too, of some one to whom I may confide my sorrows. Say 
 that you will grant me but one more interview." 
 
 " I scarcely know," said the lady, " that I ought to say so much ; 
 yet, having ventured on this boldness, I will even go a little farther 
 in the hope of rescuing you from that which is, I fear, a situation 
 of great peril. On the morrow, therefore, at this same hour, expect 
 once more to meet me." 
 
 " Thanks, generous fair one !" said Alfred, kneeling down and 
 kissing her hand. "All good angels guard the friend of the 
 mourner and the captive !" 
 
 While these events were passing at the Tower of London, the 
 two knights, Sir Robert Hawley and Sir John Shackell, had secured 
 themselves from the violence of the Duke of Lancaster and his 
 emissaries in the Sanctuary at Westminster Abbey. Numerous 
 invitations arrived to them from the King and the Duke ; flatter- 
 ing promises, angry threats, specious arguments, all were unremit- 
 tingly employed to induce them to come forth from the Sanctuary, 
 and to avow in what place their prisoner was to be found. The 
 stout knights, however, remained inexorable ; they said that the 
 prisoner or the ransom-money was theirs ; and that as the King 
 and the laws would not protect them in the maintenance of their 
 just rights, they would continue under the protection of God. 
 Above six months passed over their heads, and still they remained 
 in the Sanctuary, in the neighbourhood of which the Duke's emis- 
 saries continued to prowl, in the hope of being able to catch them 
 straying beyond the sacred boundaries. The principal anxiety 
 which Sir John Shackell had at first felt during this period, was as 
 to the fate of his generous servant, Alfred ; but he afterwards 
 received several communications from him, saying that he suffered 
 no inconvenience at the Tower beyond the restraint upon his 
 liberty ; which, so far from being felt as a grievance by him, was, 
 from circumstances which, he said, he should on a subsequent
 
 290 THE SPANIARD'S RANSOM. 
 
 occasion have an opportunity to communicate to Sir John Shackefi, 
 the source of his greatest earthly comfort. The Duke of Lancas- 
 ter's expedition to Castile was in the meantime fully equipped and 
 on the point of sailing. John of Ghent was, however, very un- 
 willing to quit England unaccompanied by the Count de Denia, 
 whose name, he knew, would be like a watchword in his favour in 
 the ranks of the native Castilians. He therefore determined to 
 venture on the bold step of violating the rights of sanctuary for the 
 purpose of possessing himself of the persons of the two knights, 
 on whom, should it be necessary, he determined even to try the 
 torture for the purpose of compelling them to give up their 
 prisoner. He therefore put his chosen emissaries, Sir Ralph 
 Ferries and Sir Alan Buxhall, at the head of a band of fifty men, 
 and commanded them to proceed to the Abbey, and endeavour, 
 if possible, by persuasion or stratagem, to induce the two knights 
 to surrender themselves to them ; but if they should be unable to 
 do this, to seize them even at the very altar and carry them 
 prisoners to the Tower. These banditti, on arriving at the Abbey, 
 found the knights engaged with the Abbot and the monks at mass. 
 Sir Robert Hawley was in the midst of the worshippers ; but Sir 
 John Shackell was kneeling in the outer circle, and near the very 
 extremity of the boundary line of the sanctorial limits. Both, 
 however, as well as the monks, were so fervently engaged in their 
 devotions, and the solemn strains of religious music which swelled 
 through the long aisles of the Abbey so completely filled the ear 
 and rapt the imagination, that the invaders had marched up to 
 the choir and surrounded Sir John Shackell before any one had 
 observed their presence. 
 
 " Seize him bind him !" was the immediate mandate pro- 
 nounced in the stern, harsh tones of Sir Alan Buxhall. The 
 music of the choir instantly ceased, the sacred symbols dropped 
 from the hands of the terrified worshippers, and the monks would 
 have rushed out of the Abbey, had not the Abbot, in loud and 
 most imperative accents, commanded them to stand firm. 
 
 " What ?" he exclaimed, " do you fear the enemies of the Lord, 
 while ye have hold of the very horns of the altar ? Back, son.s
 
 THE SPANIARD'S RANSOM. 121 
 
 of Belial, back !" he added, advancing his silver crosier above the 
 heads of the soldiers : " profane not the dwelling-place of the 
 Most High with your naked weapons." 
 
 " Most Reverend Father," said Buxhail, bending his knee, and 
 affecting a look of the most profound reverence and humility, "we 
 come only in obedience to the King's command, to seize two arrant 
 traitors. We come to purify the Church, not to offer violence in 
 its holy places. The rights of sanctuary, holy Father, were surely 
 never meant to extend to perjured traitors ?" 
 
 "Sinful brother," said the Abbot, somewhat softened by the 
 knight's respectful tone, " if thou hast erred through ignorance, we 
 will ourself intercede for forgiveness for thee from on high, upon 
 thy expressing penitence and contrition, and releasing the knight 
 whom thou has seized at the very altar, from thy grasp. But, that 
 thou mayst know that he is entitled to the privileges of sanctuary 
 in this place, listen while our brother reads to thee the grant of the 
 blessed King Edward the Confessor." 
 
 Thus saying, he motioned to a monk who stood near the altar, 
 and who, advancing, unrolled an ancient parchment which he held 
 in his hand, and read the following words : 
 
 " Edward, by the Grace of God, King of Englishmen. I make 
 it to be known to all generations of the world after me, that by 
 especial commandment of our Holy Father Pope Leo, I have re- 
 newed and honoured the holy church of the blessed Apostle St. 
 Peter, at Westminster; and I order and establish for ever, that 
 what person, of what condition or estate soever he be, from 
 whencesoever he come, or for what offence or cause it be, for his 
 refuge into the said holy place, be assured of his life, liberty, and 
 limbs : and moreover I forbid (under the pain of everlasting damna- 
 tion) any minister of mine or my successors, to intermeddle them 
 with any of the goods, lands, or possessions of the said persons 
 taking the said sanctuary ; for I have taken their goods and liveli- 
 hood into my special protection ; and therefore I grant unto every 
 and each of them (inasmuch as my terrestrial power will suffice) all 
 manner of freedom or joyous liberty ; and whosoever presumes or 
 doeth contrary to this my grant, I will that he lose his name,
 
 22a THE SPANIARD'S RANSOM. 
 
 worship, dignity, and power ; and that with the great traitor, Judas, 
 who betrayed our Saviour, he be in the everlasting fire of heli. 
 And I will and ordain this, that this my grant may endure as long 
 as there remaineth in England either dread or love of the Christian 
 name." 
 
 Ferries and Buxhall listened with the most profound attention as 
 the monk read, in the hope of being able to find something in the 
 grant on which they could ground a pretence that the two knights 
 did not come within its provisions. " Casuistry will not help us," 
 said Sir Alan to his colleague. " But blows will," said the other. 
 " Is the will of a living king to be thwarted by that of one who 
 has been dead these three hundred years ? Fellows," he added, 
 elevating his voice, and addressing his men-at-arms, "seize Sir 
 Robert Hawley !" 
 
 " Forbear, forbear !" said the Abbot of Westminster, " or, in the 
 name of the holy and blessed Trinity, I pronounce you accursed 
 and excommunicate." 
 
 " Mind not the ravings of these effeminate priests !" said Sir 
 Ralph Ferries. "Soldiers of King Richard, do your duty." 
 
 The soldiers did not hesitate for a moment as to whether they 
 should obey the Abbot or their commander. They advanced, with 
 their pikes fixed, upon Sir Robert Hawley. The monks fled in all 
 directions, leaving the knight standing alone in the middle of the 
 church. " By Heaven !" he exclaimed, drawing his sword and 
 striking aside the first halbert that was presented at him ; " what 
 strength God has given me shall be exerted to resist your unjust 
 and unholy purpose." He then raised his arm and stood in an 
 attitude of defence, when one of the men-at-arms, rushing upon 
 him, struck him a violent blow on the head with his halbert ; and 
 amidst the shrieks of the spectators who now filled the Abbey, the 
 oaths of the soldiers, and the deep muttered anathemas of the 
 Abbot and the monks, the unfortunate Hawley sunk, a bleeding 
 corpse, upon the pavement. 
 
 The indignation of the spectators now seconded the holy horror 
 of the ecclesiastics. " Curse them ! curse them to the lowest pit 
 of Tophet!" they exclaimed. The monks did not need this 
 excitement to urge them to put their threats in execution. The
 
 THtl SPANIARD'S RAXSOM. 223 
 
 consecrated tapers were lighted, and threw a sudden blaze of 
 splendour over the whole church, which seemed almost preter- 
 natural ; while the Abbot read the sentence of excommunication. 
 "In the name of Christ," thus the sentence ran, "we, the 
 Abbot and brethren of the holy church of the blessed Apostle St. 
 Peter, at Westminster, in behalf of the Father and the Son and 
 the Holy Ghost, and in behalf of St. Peter, the chief of the Apostles, 
 and in our own behalf, do pronounce to be excommunicated and 
 accursed, you, Sir Ralph Ferries, you, Sir Alan Buxhall, and all 
 your aiders, abettors, and confederates, who have this day violated 
 the privileges of sanctuary, and committed foul murder in this 
 holy place. Be ye, therefore, excommunicated and accursed, and 
 separated from all the society, and from entering into the Holy 
 Mother Church, where there is forgiveness of sins ; and be you 
 anathema maranatha for ever with the devils in hell. Fiat ! Fiat ! 
 Fiat ! Amen." 
 
 As the Abbot concluded the sentence, the lights were as suddenly 
 extinguished as they had been kindled, and the assembly was 
 enveloped in darkness, while a noisome stench proceeded from 
 the quenched tapers ; and the monks exclaimed, each raising his 
 voice to its utmost pitch, " So may every soul which has incurred 
 this sentence, be extinguished and stink in hell." 
 
 " Let us away, Ferries !" said Buxhall. " I fear that our masters 
 will have little cause to thank us for this day's business. The 
 prisoner whom we have taken alive must be carried to the Tower ; 
 and let the monks, if they will, canonize the carcase of the other." 
 
 Thus saying, the soldiers made towards the gate of the Abbey, 
 with Sir John Shackell in their custody. The mob seemed at first 
 inclined to oppose their departure ; but after a moment's pause, 
 they made way, and even shrunk back from them ; while a general 
 shudder ran through the assembly, as if they were fearful lest their 
 very garments should suffer contamination by coming in contact 
 with the excommunicated persons. Sullenly, and in silence, 
 therefore, and amidst curses, not clamorous and boisterous, but 
 deep and low, the two knights, with their men-at-arms, and their 
 prisoner, passed out of the Abbey. 
 
 The reader must now, once more, direct his attention to the
 
 &*4 ?'// SPANIAKb'S &ANSOM. 
 
 Hall of Justice in the Tower of London, where, on the day after 
 the occurrence of the events which we have just narrated, the 
 Duke of Exeter again presided for the purpose, among other 
 things, of examining Sir John Shackell on the charges of treason 
 which were preferred against him. The Duke wore the same 
 severe and dignified aspect by which he was generally distin- 
 guished ; but traces of personal and private sorrow were visible on 
 his countenance ; his voice was low and broken ; and he often 
 seemed with difficulty to suppress a sigh which struggled in his 
 bosom. The Lady Elizabeth Holland was also there ; but, instead 
 of being seated as formerly at her father's right hand, on the bench, 
 she stood on the floor of the court, in the place appropriated to the 
 accused. She leaned on the arm of a female attendant ; her eyes 
 were red with weeping, and her gentle form trembled like an 
 aspen-tree. Near her was placed Alfred Bohun, with his arms 
 bound behind him, but with head erect, and his stately form drawn 
 up to its utmost stature. At the other end of the bar stood Sir 
 John Shackell, not bound, but in the custody of Ferries and 
 Buxhall, one of whom stood on each side of him with a naked 
 sword in his hand. The background was filled up by the yeomen 
 of the Tower in their scarlet liveries, and with their halberts in 
 their hands ; while some of the domestics, and other inhabitants 
 of the fortress, crowded into the midst, anxious to be spectators 
 and auditors of the proceedings. 
 
 Before, however, the events of that day are narrated, the reader 
 must be informed of what took place in the Tower after the inter- 
 view between Alfred Bohun and the Lady Elizabeth, which we 
 have already described. The lady had, it will be remembered, 
 promised to repeat the interview on the following day, and she 
 was faithful to her promise. That meeting, however, was not the 
 last She found herself more interested in the fate of the prisoner 
 at each succeeding visit; their interviews became longer and 
 oftener repeated. The high spirit, the polished manners, and the 
 cultivated mind of Alfred, combined with his fine form, handsome 
 features, and romantic situation, began to make an impression on 
 the susceptible heart of Elizabeth. The wild notion too that his
 
 THE SPANIARD'S RAKSOM. ttj 
 
 birth and fortunes were superior to his apparent condition, took 
 complete possession of her mind, and she at length resigned her- 
 self to the influence of a passion which she entertained for a 
 person who, she fondly and confidently hoped, was not her inferior 
 in rank and blood. Sir Alan Buxhall became uneasy at these 
 frequent and protracted interviews, and quickly divined the nature 
 of the feelings which the young persons entertained towards each 
 other. Conscious of his own share in the fault committed, and 
 fearful lest the Duke of Exeter should learn from some other 
 quarter that he had been so negligent of his trust, Sir Alan deter- 
 mined himself to inform the Constable of his daughter's visits to 
 the prisoner. The offended pride and indignation of that noble- 
 man raged beyond all bounds. It was with the utmost difficulty 
 that he was restrained from ordering the immediate execution of 
 Alfred Bohun ; and had not Buxhall placed himself against the 
 door of the apartment, so as to prevent his egress, he would have 
 rushed to his daughter's chambar, and buried his sword in her 
 bosom. He at length contented himself by commanding that 
 Alfred should be heavily ironed and his daughter confined to her 
 own room, and that both should be brought before him on the 
 morrow, to receive such sentence as he should pronounce. As 
 Buxhall and Ferries in the evening of that day made Shackell their 
 prisoner, it happened that the knight was arraigned at the tribunal 
 of the Constable at the same time with the two lovers. 
 
 "Sir Knight," said the Duke of Exeter, " although our mind is 
 at this moment oppressed with our own weighty cares ; although 
 a princess, in whose veins runs the blood of Plantagenet, now stands 
 before us, charged with having so far forgotten her father's honour 
 and her own as to place her affection on a vile and low-born 
 hind " here, for a moment, he was unable to proceed, from the 
 violence of his passion "yet," he added, "offences committed 
 against our Lord the King claim our first notice ; and therefore, 
 Sir John Shackell, we again call upon thee, to say whether thou 
 art yet determined to resist the gracious pleasure of his Highness, 
 and to refuse to give up to him the person of the Count de Denia. 
 Thou seest what has already resulted from thy contumacy; blood has 
 
 EKO, p
 
 * THE SPANIARD'S RANSOM. 
 
 been spill within the walls of the holy sanctuary, and the soldiers 
 of the King have been placed under the ban of excommunication." 
 
 " It is too true, O Duke," said Sir John Shackell, " that the 
 holy sanctuary has been violated, and that the blood -of my friend 
 has stained its sacred floor. Peace be with his ashes," he added, 
 crossing himself, " and may thy vengeance, O Heaven ! fall on 
 their heads who have alike profaned thy shrine, and robbed him 
 of his life and me of my liberty." 
 
 "The errors of the past, Sir Knight," said the Duke, "cannot 
 be retrieved ; and the life of a man is as water spilled upon the 
 ground, which cannot be gathered up again. Peace be Avith Sir 
 Robert Hawley's spirit ! Thou, Sir Knight, wilt best show thy 
 attachment to thy deceased friend, by doing that which will pre- 
 vent the recurrence of similar violence. Give up your prisoner, 
 and accept the King's pardon." 
 
 " I have committed no crime ; I require no pardon," said the 
 knight. " My Lord Constable, it is thou who oughtst to sue to me 
 for pardon, for thus holding me a prisoner, in defiance alike to the 
 laws of God and man." 
 
 " Bear him back to his dungeon," said the Duke. " On the 
 morrow at noon, if he does not think better of his determination, 
 let him die the death of a traitor on Tower Hill." 
 
 A dreadful groan burst through the whole assembly as the Duke 
 pronounced the fatal sentence. At the same moment a loud shout 
 was heard from without, mingled with cries of " Make way ! make 
 way ! Room for the Lord Bishop !" The doors at the end of the 
 hall flew open, and the Bishop of London, the Abbot of West- 
 minster, and a number of other ecclesiastics, in their sacerdotal 
 robes, entered the apartment. 
 
 " John Holland, Duke of Exeter, Constable of the Tower of 
 London," said the Bishop, " I demand of thee the body of Sir 
 John Shackell, Knight, unlawfully and impiously carried away from 
 the place of sanctuary in the Church of St. Peter at Westminster." 
 
 " Thou mayest have it on the morrow, my Lord Bishop," said 
 Ihe Constable, " shortly after the hour of noon." 
 
 " Bethink thee, Duke of Exeter," said the Bishop, " to what
 
 THE SPANIARD'S RANSOM. 227 
 
 wrong and scandal thou art lending the sanction of thy high and 
 honourable name." 
 
 " My Lord Bishop," said the Duke, " I am but obeying the com- 
 mands of my master the King, under whom I hold this fortress." 
 
 " In the name of thy master's Master, Duke of Exeter, in the 
 name of the King of kings !" said the Bishop, " I command thee 
 to release this man from thy custody ; otherwise I pronounce thee 
 excommunicated and accursed." 
 
 The Duke changed colour, and his bosom was seen to heave 
 violently beneath his robes. The censures of the Church were in 
 those days such as not even a nobleman of his great power and 
 station could defy with impunity. He seemed to be deliberating 
 for a season on the course which he should pursue ; and as each 
 eye was fixed on his countenance, the most intense silence pre- 
 vailed in the hall, which was at length broken by a loud flourish of 
 trumpets, and shouts of " Make way ! make way ! Room for the 
 King of Castile and Leon !" The hall doors once more flew open, 
 and, bearing a sceptre in his hand, clothed in royal robes, and 
 wearing a crown on his head, John of Ghent entered the hall, 
 followed by a numerous retinue of lordly and knightly adherents. 
 All present rose up to receive this personage ; and the Duke of 
 Exeter, descending from the tribunal, led him up to the seat which 
 he had just occupied, and took his own station on his left hand, 
 a little below him. 
 
 "Sir John Shackell," said the Duke of Lancaster, addressing 
 the prisoner, "we, as well as oui royal master and nephew, are 
 anxious to put an end to the commotions which now afflict the 
 good cities of London and Westminster, by reason of the unhappy 
 events of yesternight. We are also, my good Lord Bishop, 
 anxious to make reparation for the fault committed by our retainers. 
 in the excess of their zeal, and to provide for the repose of the 
 soul of the unfortunate knight who was slain in the sanctuary." 
 
 " Thou speakest like a Christian prince," said the Bishop. "The 
 Holy Church is willing to receive even the most heinous offenders 
 once more into her bosom, on their expressing sincere repentance 
 and repairing the offences which they have committed." 
 Q 2
 
 .'38 THE SPANIARD'S RANSOM. 
 
 The Duke bowed his head with such an expression of penitence 
 and humility as he could mould the haughty and imperious cast of 
 nis features to. " Now, Sir John Shackell," he said, " hear the 
 gracious proposition of our Sovereign Lord the King. Discover 
 and deliver up the Count de Denia, who is doubtless now languish- 
 ing in some miserable obscurity, under the guardianship of your 
 myrmidons, and the King will settle upon you lands to the value 
 of one hundred marks a-year, and pay you down five hundred 
 marks in ready money, in lieu of the noble Count's ransom. The 
 King will also, for the satisfaction of the Church, at his proper 
 charge, erect a chantry of five priests for ever, to pray for the soul 
 of Sir Robert Hawley ! Say, Sir John say, reverend prelates, 
 are ye content ?" 
 
 " In the name of our Holy Mother Church," said the Bishop of 
 London, " I accept the King's offer, and remove the excommu- 
 nication pronounced upon those concerned in the death of Sir 
 Robert Hawley." 
 
 " And I too," said Shackell, " should be content, on being as- 
 sured that these terms proposed shall be truly and faithfully per- 
 formed." 
 
 " By the word of two Kings," said the Duke of Lancaster, 
 unrolling a parchment, " and by the great seal of England, here- 
 unto annexed, art thou assured. Moreover, my treasurer, who 
 stands beside thee, shall on the instant count thee down the sum 
 of five hundred marks as soon as thou sayest that thou art 
 content." 
 
 "Then, may it please your Grace," said Sir John Shackell, " I 
 am content." 
 
 The Duke's treasurer immediately advanced to the knight, and 
 placed a purse of five hundred marks in his hand. 
 
 " Now then, Sir Knight," said John of Ghent, " it remains fa: 
 you to produce your prisoner." 
 
 " He is in your Grace's presence," said Shackell. 
 
 u How ! what sayest thou ?" exclaimed the Duke, looking round 
 the room, " We understand thee not ?" 
 
 " Unloose these vile bonds," exclaimed the knight to those
 
 THE SPANIARD'S RANSOM. BSC 
 
 around him, and advancing towards Alfred Bohun, who, with head 
 depressed and fettered limbs, stood a culprit before the tribunal. 
 " Come forth, thou paragon of honour and fidelity, Guzman Count 
 de Denia, who, rather than break thy plighted oath, hast consented 
 to perform menial services towards a poor knight, to resign thy 
 liberty, and even to endanger thy life." 
 
 " The Count de Denia thy serving man !" exclaimed the Duke 
 of Exeter. "Fellows, unloose his bonds. Pardon, most noble 
 and chivalrous gentleman, the ignorant indignities which I have 
 shown thee !" 
 
 " And welcome, thrice welcome, fair cousin !" said the Duke of 
 Lancaster, descending from his seat and approaching the Count, 
 " on thy restoration to liberty !" 
 
 " Liberty," said the Count, " is now indeed welcome to me, for 
 it has not been purchased at the expense of my honour. If I can 
 by my own efforts, most gracious Sovereign, for the restoration of 
 your royal spouse, the Lady Constantia, to the throne of hei 
 ancestors, repay you for my liberty, I shall feel prouder and hap- 
 pier than if I had never been a prisoner." 
 
 The hall rang with the acclamations of all present ; but the 
 Count de Denia, raising his hand, motioned them to silence. 
 " Peace, gentle friends," he said, " I pray you peace ! I have some- 
 thing for the ear of his Grace of Exeter. My liberty may prove 
 advantageous to the cause of my Sovereign ; but it cannot in any 
 way be conducive to my own happiness, if unaccompanied by 
 another boon the hand," he added, approaching the Lady 
 Elizabeth, and clasping her in his amis, " of this fair lady." 
 
 " Thou hast it, Count," said the Duke of Exeter, " with as hearty 
 good-will as that with which, but half an hour ago, I would have 
 refused it thee." 
 
 " Gentle Elizabeth," said the Count, pressing his blushing but 
 unresisting bride to his heart, " on my return from my first and 
 only visit to the palace of Westminster, in which I accompanied 
 my honoured father, it was my chance to cross thee on thy path. 
 Within the walls of the Tower of London only have I since beheld 
 thee. Let us hope that the acquaintance which was begun within
 
 3 o THE SPANIARD 'S RANSOM. 
 
 sight of a palace and matured in a prison, may continue through 
 many happy years in the ancient and princely mansion of my 
 ancestors in Castile." 
 
 There is nothing to add to the story of " the Spaniard's Ransom," 
 except that the wish thus expressed by the Count de Denia proved 
 prophetic.
 
 penitent .of St. ($jeorgt. 
 
 Hang out your banners. 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 IN the year 1380, when the crown of England was worn by 
 Richard the Second, and that of Portugal by Ferdinand the 
 First, the latter monarch had involved himself in a war with the 
 King of Castile, in which he succeeded so ill, that instead of 
 making conquests upon his enemy, he had drawn him into his own 
 dominions. He immediately applied for assistance to England ; 
 and although that nation was already sufficiently troubled both by 
 foreign and intestine broils, the Duke of Lancaster, who swayed 
 the realm during the minority of the King, and who himself laid 
 claim to the crown of Castile, by reason of his marriage with 
 Constantia, the daughter of Peter the Cruel, was in hopes that, by 
 sending troops into Portugal, they might be serviceable in pro- 
 moting his own affairs. With this view, after the Parliament had 
 approved of the intended expedition, and granted a supply to carry 
 it on, he caused the chief command to be given to his brother the 
 Duke of Cambridge. 
 
 The Duke of Cambridge and his army., composed of English 
 and Gascons, remained for a considerable time with the King ot 
 Portugal at Lisbon. The news of their arrival was of itself suffi- 
 cient to cause the Castilians to retreat. The visitors had therefore 
 leisure to reconnoitre the country, to enter into intrigues, and to 
 form alliances. A marriage which was agreed upon betweer. tht
 
 daughter of the King of Portugal and the son of the Duke of 
 Cambridge, also lengthened their stay in Lisbon and the neigh- 
 bourhood, and drew more closely the ties of intimacy and good- 
 fellowship between the English and the Portuguese. 
 
 One of the most renowned knights in the army of the Duke of 
 Cambridge, both for valour and courtesy, was Sir John Sounder, 
 an illegitimate son of Edward the Black Prince. This knight had 
 already greatly distinguished himself in the wars in France, 
 Flanders, and Spain, and now burned with desire to add to his 
 laurels. He was therefore somewhat annoyed at the state of in- 
 action in which the English army remained at Lisbon, although he 
 stood high in the favour both of the King and the Duke, and both 
 princes took every opportunity of testifying the sense which they 
 entertained of his merits. Circumstances, however, soon occurred 
 which rendered his residence at Lisbon less irksome to Sir John 
 Sounder than it had been, and made him look forward with un- 
 easiness to the period at which it was to terminate. 
 
 In the palace of the King of Portugal, and in attendance upon 
 the Queen, resided the Lady Isabella de Medina, a beautiful and 
 accomplished maiden, who was distantly related to the'royal family, 
 and who formed one of the principal attractions of the court. This 
 lady had been contracted, much against her inclination, to Don 
 Guzman, the brother of the King of Castile ; and the war which 
 soon afterwards broke out, between that monarch and her own 
 sovereign, was hailed by her as the happy means of her deliverance 
 from this detested union Sir John Sounder, young, gallant, and 
 amorous, no sooner beheld the Lady Isabella than he became 
 deeply fascinated v/ith her charms. Her participation in the royai 
 blood of Portugal rendered it little less than madness in the English 
 knight to foster the passion which he felt for her. Illustrious as 
 the arms upon his shield denoted him to be, yet the bar of bastardy 
 there presented what appeared an insuperable obstacle to the 
 completion of his happiness. He, however, had the satisfaction to 
 perceive that Isabella did not regard him with indifference, and 
 that his society seemed to be more than ordinarily acceptable to 
 her. It was a long time before he found any opportunity for a
 
 
 THE P&NtiOti OP St. G&OkGR. 333 
 
 private interview with her, but that opportunity at length occurred. 
 He then disclosed to her the secret of his passion, and received 
 with rapture a declaration from her lips, that she return 5d it with 
 an ardour equal to his own. 
 
 Their interviews now became frequent; although, from prudential 
 motives, they kept them as secret as possible from the rest of the 
 household. The heart of the English knight beat with rapture, 
 and his whole thoughts were turned to the project of effecting his 
 mistress's escape from the palace and solemnizing their nuptials. 
 One evening, however, when the knight met his fair one at the 
 accustomed hour, in that part of the gardens of the palace which 
 were appropriated to her use, his pallid face, the distraction of his 
 speech, and the cloud upon his brow, denoted that some unforeseen 
 misfortune had befallen him. 
 
 " Dearest Knight !" exclaimed Isabella, as she returned the 
 fervent pressure of his hand, " what has happened ? Tell me all ! 
 Ill news flies apace ; and if I must hear it, let it be from the lips 
 of my beloved." 
 
 " We must part, Isabella," said the knight despondingly. 
 " Part ! Oh, never, never !" said Isabella ; " it must not, shall 
 not be ! I will wander over the wide world with thee. I will cast 
 this palace and all its pleasures behind me. Come weal or woe, 
 come wealth or want, I will share them all with thee." 
 
 " Nay, we must part," said Sir John Sounder ; " but only for a 
 time. A few months, or weeks, or perchance days," and his 
 features brightened as he spake, " will restore me to my Isabella." 
 "Days, and weeks, and months !" said Isabella, weeping. "Oh i 
 name not to me Time's odious portions, they never disturbed my 
 thoughts till now ; for while thou wert near to me, life seemed but 
 one long day of happiness and love." 
 
 " Sweetest !" said the knight, " dry these tears. To-night does 
 the Duke of Cambridge leave the city to take the field against the 
 Castilians. The important and honourable command which I hold 
 in his army compels me to acompaiiy him. I shall return, Isabella, 
 and speedily perhaps more worthy of thy love. I go to gather 
 fresh laurels ; to combat for the rights of the good King Ferdinand,
 
 Of ST. 3 
 
 He may, perhaps, when I return, after having bared my sword and 
 shed my blood in the defence of his kingdom, smile upon the 
 hopes which he would now annihilate with his frown ; and every 
 barrier which opposes itself to our happiness, may then be removed 
 for ever." 
 
 Slender as was the foundation upon which this wild hope rested, 
 still it shed a ray of light upon the darkened spirits of the lovers, 
 and almost reconciled Isabella to the departure of her betrothed. 
 At that moment the sound of a trumpet was heard, which was the 
 signal for the followers of the Duke of Cambridge to assemble 
 round their leader. 
 
 " I must away, I must away !" said the knight. " Farewell, 
 beloved ! Thine, thine am I, whate'er betides ; and thou," he 
 added, "art " 
 
 " Thine, thine !" she exclaimed, interrupting him, " for ever, and 
 for ever !" 
 
 These mutual vows they sealed upon each other's lips, a few 
 hasty but fervent embraces were exchanged, and then the knight 
 pressed the hand of his fair one, and disappeared through the 
 wicket by which he had entered. 
 
 Days and weeks and months rolled on, but neither Sir John 
 Sounder nor any intelligence of him reached Lisbon. The war, 
 which it was expected would have been prosecuted with the 
 utmost vigour, languished in an unaccountable manner. It was 
 suspected that the King of Portugal held secret intelligence with 
 the enemy, and the English and Gascon army remained by his 
 express command totally inactive at their quarters in Estremoure 
 and Besiouse, and were expressly prohibited from making any 
 attack upon the Castilians. The King of Portugal, moreover, 
 neglected to furnish his allies with the stipulated pay and provi- 
 sions, so that their camp resounded with expressions of anger and 
 discontent. At length, however, intelligence arrived at Lisbon 
 that the English, becoming weary of their quiescent situation, had, 
 notwithstanding the King's commands, attacked and beaten the 
 Castilians in several desperate skirmishes ; had taken from them 
 the castle of Fighiere, and even menaced the city of Seville, in
 
 THE PENNON OF ST. GEORGE 235 
 
 which the King of Castile had fixed his head-quarters. In one of 
 these skirmishes a small band of English had been surrounded by 
 a very superior force, and either cut to pieces or carried prisoners 
 into Seville. Sir John Sounder was engaged in this encounter ; 
 but no certain intelligence could be gained respecting his fate. 
 He had been seen in the thickest of the fight, performing pro- 
 digies of valour, and it was considered but too probable that he 
 had fallen to rise no more. When the lapse of time, without 
 bringing any information as to his fate, had, in the opinion of all, 
 converted this probability into a certainty, Isabella saw no longer 
 any necessity for keeping her secret, and revealed to the King 
 and the household the passion which she had entertained for the 
 unfortunate English knight. The monarch chid and pardoned 
 her in the same breath, telling her that he scarcely knew how to 
 lament the death even of so famous a knight, since it had pro- 
 bably saved the royal race of Portugal from degradation and dis- 
 honour. He then added that her future welfare had long occupied 
 his thoughts, and that he had at length fixed upon a bridegroom 
 who was her equal in birth. 
 
 "Alas ! my Liege/' she exclaimed, " talk not to me of nuptials 
 and of bridegrooms ! I have no heart to bestow ; it is buried in 
 the grave of the gallant Knight of England." 
 
 " Girl," said the King sternly, " talk not thus. Thou art the 
 first of thy race who ever dreamed of corrupting the pure stream 
 in thy veins by mingling it with baser blood ; the first, too, male 
 or female, who ever made effeminate wailing for the dead, how- 
 ever beloved or however famous." 
 
 " I mourn not for the ignoble and the plebeian," she replied ; 
 " I mourn for the gallant son of the most renowned prince in 
 Christendom." 
 
 " Child," said the monarch, " England may well be proud of 
 the fame and memory of Sir John Sounder. Had his mother's 
 descent been as illustrious as his sire's, his claim to thy hand 
 should have been preferred to all competitors. But for my sake, 
 and for thy country's, as well as for thine own, thou must let him 
 sleep forgotten in his grave. The wounds of Portugal must be
 
 33 ttik PjENtiOK Of ST. GEORGE. 
 
 healed the discords with Castile must be appeased the English, 
 who now overrun the country to distress and ravage both nations, 
 must return to their island. To-morrow Don Guzman of Castile 
 will be here to conclude a treaty between his kingly brother and 
 myself, and to crave an interview with thee for the purpose of 
 renewing that nuptial treaty which the war between the two 
 kingdoms, now so happily about to terminate, has. so long inter- 
 rupted. Treat him as his worth and dignity deserve, and as you 
 value your place in my favour." 
 
 As the King left her apartment, Isabella renewed her vows of 
 eternal fidelity to Sir John Sounder, whether living or dead. The 
 next day the Prince of Castile sought and obtained the interview 
 which he desired. He was young, handsome, accomplished, and 
 Isabella could not hate him. A second interview took place, and 
 she thought that, had she never known Sir John Sounder, she 
 might possibly have loved him. This was followed quickly by a 
 third, and she remembered that the English knight was dead, and 
 that the Castilian prince was living. Pressed by the importunities 
 of her lover, impelled by the commands of the King, and for- 
 bidden but feebly, if at all, by the dictates of her own heart, she 
 at length gave her consent to the proposed arrangement, and a 
 day was fixed for the celebration of her nuptials with Don Guzman 
 of Castile. 
 
 In the meantime, the news of the treaty between the Kings cf 
 Castile and Portugal reached that part of the English army, about a 
 thousand in number, which was encamped at Besiouse, and was re- 
 ceived there with the utmost indignation and surprise. Their pay had 
 been for a long time in arrear, and no notification had been made 
 to them of the negotiations between the kings. At first they were 
 disposed to disbelieve the intelligence ; but the arrival of orders to 
 release their prisoners, and the return of such of their own country- 
 men as had been captured by the enemy, soon confirmed it. 
 Among the latter was Sir John Sounder, who was received with a 
 shout of exultation and wonder by his comrades, they having 
 mourned for him as one numbered with the dead. 
 
 " Gallant knights," he said, " this news concerns us all, but me
 
 THE PENNON OF ST. GEORGE. 3? 
 
 especially ; the ingrate King of Portugal would sacrifice my 
 affianced bride on the altar of his treachery. One decisive step 
 would restore us all to our rights." 
 
 " Name it, name it, noble Sounder !" exclaimed his comrades. 
 
 "The city of Lisbon," he said, " is now unguarded and reposing in 
 security, relying on this dishonourable peace for immunity alike from 
 its enemies and its allies. The marriage between the Lady Isabella 
 and Don Guzman is to take place three days hence, and unless 
 that accursed event be prevented, we shall be expelled by the joint 
 forces of the Kings from the soil, and forced to return to England 
 dishonoured and unrewarded. We are here five hundred archers 
 and as many spears. Gallants of England and Gascony, what 
 hinders us from marching on Lisbon ? We shall reach it by night- 
 fall on the day of the intended nuptials. Myself will penetrate 
 disguised into the palace, while you prepare to force the city gates 
 when you hear my bugle sound. Said I well, gallants, said I 
 well?" 
 
 A murmur of unanimous acquiescence and applause followed 
 the interrogatory with which the knight concluded his address. 
 
 " Form then," he added, "a strict union among yourselves ; hoist 
 the pennon of St. George, and declare yourselves friends to God 
 and enemies to all the world ; for if we make not ourselves feared, 
 we shall not have anything."* 
 
 " By my faith," said Sir William Helmon, " ye say well, and we 
 will do it." 
 
 The pennon of St. George was then hoisted amidst deafening 
 acclamations. The soldiers crowded around the national standard, 
 uttering shouts of exultation and defiance. " A Sounder ! a 
 Sounder !" they exclaimed ; " friends to God, and enemies to all 
 mankind !" 
 
 In the meantime, great and splendid were the preparations 
 which were made at Lisbon to celebrate the nuptials of the Lady 
 Isabella and Don Guzman. Ou the appointed evening, all the 
 apartments of the palace were one blaze of splendour and magnifi- 
 
 * Froissvt
 
 * 3 8 THE PENNON OF ST. GEORGE. 
 
 cence. The tables groaned beneath the weight of the rarest wines 
 and the most delicious viands, and all the rich and noble of the 
 kingdom were assembled under the royal roof. In the principal 
 saloon were gathered together the monarch, the bride and bride- 
 groom the prelate who was to perform the nuptial ceremony, and 
 the more distinguished of the guests. Here the song and the dance 
 delighted the ears and employed the limbs of all. A celebrated 
 poet and minstrel was present, who charmed his auditors by the 
 exquisite manner in which he sang and accompanied himself on 
 the harp, both song and tune being of his own composition. It 
 was during one of the pauses of the dance that the poet, after 
 trying the strings of his instrument with more than his accustomed 
 care, sang and played the following canzonet : 
 
 " Sir Knight, heed not the clarion's call, 
 From hill or from valley, or turreted hall ; 
 Cease, holy Friar, cease for a while 
 The anthem that swells through the fretted aisle ] 
 Forester bold, to the bugle's sound 
 Listen no longer, though gaily wound, 
 But haste to the bridal, haste away, 
 Where love's rebeck is tuned to a sweeter lay. - 
 
 Sir Knight, Sir Knight, no longer twine 
 The laurel-leaf o'er that bold brow of thine ; 
 Friar, to-day from thy temples tear 
 The ivy garland that sages wear ; 
 To-day, bold Forester, cast aside 
 Thy oak-leaf crown, the woodland's pride, 
 And bind round your brows the myrtle gay, 
 While the rebeck resounds love's sweetest lay. 
 
 Sir Knight, urge not now the gallant steed 
 
 O'er the plains that to honour and glory lead ; 
 
 Friar, forget thy order's vow, 
 
 And pace not the gloomy cloisters now ; 
 
 Chase no longer with bow and with spear, 
 
 Forester bold, the dappled deer, 
 
 But tread me a measure as light and gay 
 
 As ever kept time to the rebeck's lay." 
 
 The applause which succeeded the poet's song was astounding, 
 and the company of both sexes were standing up to comply with 
 the mandate at its conclusion, when a stern, solemn voice at the
 
 THE PENNON OF ST. GEORGE, 939 
 
 other end of the room warbled the following lines to the same 
 tune ; 
 
 " Sir Knight, couch thy lance to humble the pride 
 Of the treacherous bridegroom and fair false bride ; 
 Holy Friar, I crave of thee 
 Thy curse upon falsehood and perjury ; 
 Forester, truth to the woodlands is fled, 
 Here fraud and inconstancy dwell instead ; 
 Haste all from the bridal, haste away, 
 Ere the rebeck is turned to a stenier lay." 
 
 The consternation which this unexpected incident occasioned 
 was indescribable. All heard the voice, but none could tell whence 
 it proceeded. The company in general split into little parties, and 
 each was inquiring of his neighbour what each was anxious to learn 
 of him. The bride turned pale as death, the bridegroom red as 
 fire ; and the King was engaged in anxious whispering with those 
 around him. At length Don Guzman, shaking oft" the stupor 
 which his surprise had occasioned, stood up and said, " Let him, 
 whosoever he may be, who, contrary to the laws of courtesy and 
 honour, has disturbed the peace of this fair meeting, come forward, 
 if he dare, and meet the vengeance of Guzman of Castile." 
 
 " That dare I," said a voice from the quarter of the room whence 
 the interruption had proceeded. 
 
 A tall thin figure approached, enveloped in a black cloak. The 
 cloak was quickly thrown aside, and exhibited the features of Sir 
 John Sounder. 
 
 An expression of surprise burst from a hundred voices. The 
 bride hid her face in her hands, and sank into the arms of her 
 attendants ; the bridegroom drew his sword, but his hand seemed 
 paralysed with wonder ; while the King gazed on in astonishment, 
 and Cavanced towards the English knight with looks in which 
 surprise and displeasure were blended. 
 
 " Don Guzman of Castile," said Sounder, "I am here to defy 
 thee with life and limb." 
 
 The Castilian's hand grasped his sword, and he advanced towards 
 the English knight. " Beware, malapert bastard !" he said, 
 " beware how you provoke the wrath of Guzman of Castile 1"
 
 ?4 o THE PENNON OF ST. GEORGE. 
 
 tt 1 fear nought ! I will beware of nought but infamy and dis- 
 honour," retorted the knight. " I claim the hand and heart of this 
 fair maiden, plighted to me by a thousand sacred vows, confirmed 
 by a thousand chaste embraces, and remembered by at least one 
 constant heart, amidst battle and amidst sickness, in famine and 
 in captivity, in suffering and in solitude, and here !" 
 
 "Patience ! patience ! good Sir John," said the King, " and listen 
 to me. The Lady Isabella is the affianced bride of Don Guzman. 
 Yon colours," he added, pointing to the other end of the apartment, 
 where the banners of Portugal and Castile waved together, "which 
 have so long flouted each other in the hostile field, are now unfurled 
 in amity, and this union will cement still more firmly the auspicious 
 peace which has been just concluded !" 
 
 "Perish that inglorious peace!" said Sir John Sounder ; "and 
 Heaven forfend that so unholy an union should take place. At 
 least, O King, the rights of English knights and warriors must be 
 respected, let yonder banners be twined together as closely as 
 ye please !" 
 
 " Speak reverently of the banners, haughty Englishman," said 
 Don Guzman ; " or tell me what standard dare be unfurled in 
 opposition to them ?" 
 
 " The pennon of St. George !" said the knight, in a voice like 
 thunder. Then, stamping violently on the floor, he drew a bugle 
 from his bosom and blew a note, with which the palace rever- 
 berated. This note was soon echoed from without. The clash of 
 sabres and the trampling of horses were then heard, followed by a 
 shout of " A Sounder ! a Sounder ! the pennon of St. George !" 
 and immediately afterwards the gates of the palace were burst 
 open, and a body of armed men, over whose head floated the 
 English banner, forced themselves into the royal presence. 
 
 * ; Ha !" said the King, as he recognised the English knights and 
 commanders among these intruders, " what means this ?" 
 
 "Sire," said Sir William Helmon, " public and private grievances 
 have alike compelled us to intrude, somewhat perhaps unwel- 
 comely. into your Majesty's presence. Since our arrival in this 
 country, we have had neither loan nor payment from you. Who-
 
 Tttd PENNON Of St. GJSOXffS. &4 
 
 ever wishes to obtain the love and service of men-at-arms must pay 
 them better than you have hitherto done, the neglect of which we 
 have some time taken to heart ; for we know not on whom we 
 depend, and have thrown the blame, as it turns out, most unjustly, 
 on our leader, the princely Duke of Cambridge. Now know for 
 a truth, that we will be paid our full pay ; and if you will not pay 
 us, we must pay ourselves from your country." 
 
 The blunt hearing of the English captain seemed to disconcert 
 the monarch not a little. " It is but just, Sir Knight," he said, 
 after a moment's silent reflection, " that you should be paid ; but 
 you have displeased me by making excursions against the Castilians, 
 contrary to my orders, and that too at a moment when I was en- 
 deavouring to bring about a peace with them. Within fifteen days 
 at least, however, ye shall be fully satisfied. My royal truth and 
 honour do I pledge thereto." 
 
 " But, Sire," continued Sir William Helmon, " Englishmen in 
 arms cannot be insensible to the grievances endured by a gallant 
 comrade, and the durance and violence in which a fair damsel is 
 held. Sir Guzman of Castile, we entered this land your enemies ; 
 but we expected to encounter a generous and chivalrous foe, not 
 one who wars upon the affections of fair damsels, and lends himself 
 to the infraction of plighted holy vows." 
 
 " Nor shall your expectations be disappointed, Sir Knight," said 
 Don Guzman. " If this fair lady's hand be not bestowed upon me 
 as freely as the winds of Heaven breathe their blessings on the 
 rose, I renounce it, and Heaven prosper the more fortunate knight 
 upon whom it shall be so bestowed." 
 
 A murmur of applause burst from the lips of all. The King 
 looked uneasy and displeased, but seemed unwilling to be out- 
 stripped in the race of generosity and courtesy. " Speak, Isabella !" 
 he said ; " it is for thee to make thy choice between the brother of 
 the Castilian King and a wandering English knight, who has risen 
 this day from the grave to disturb the evening's festivities." 
 
 " Then here does my choice rest," said the lady, rushing into 
 Sir John Sounder's arms. " Pardon, gallant knight, my fickle- 
 ness ; but I thought that thou wert dead, and importunities and 
 
 EKO. R
 
 24* THE PENNON OP ST. GEORGh. 
 
 commands were not spared to force me into an union with thy 
 rival." 
 
 " Now Heaven's blessing reward thee, sweet Isabella !" said the 
 knight, kissing the fair forehead of the lady. " Return, return, to 
 these arms, dearer to this heart than ever." 
 
 " Princes, and Lords, and Knights," said Sir William Helmon, 
 " then our purpose in making this evening's visit is accomplished. 
 Sir John Sounder, hasten with us to present your fair bride to our 
 prince; and let Portugal, and Castile, and Europe know, that 
 insult and injury must not be offered with impunity to those who 
 fight under the pennon of St. George." 
 
 Thus saying, the Englishman left the astounded monarch. 
 Their pay was punctually received at the period stipulated ; and 
 then, seeing no chance of being able to disturb the peace concluded 
 between Castile and Portugal, they returned to England, when 
 Sir John Sounder presented his fair bride at court, where she was 
 received into great favour by the King, and his newly-married 
 Queen, Anne, the sister of the Emperor Wenccslaus.
 
 THE LINE OF LANCASTER. 
 
 Let him that is no coward nor no flatterer, 
 But dare maintain the party of the truth, 
 Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me. 
 
 SfiAKSFJEARE. 
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY. 
 HENRY THE FOURTH. 
 
 1399. THE Duke of Lancaster was crowned King, by the title of Henry the 
 Fourth, in October. 
 
 The Parliament settled the succession on the House of Lancaster. 
 
 1400. A conspiracy was entered into to assassinate Henry, which was dis- 
 covered to him by the Duke of Aumerle, and suppressed by the vigour and 
 activity of the King. 
 
 Robert III., King of Scotland, refusing to do homage, Henry marched to 
 the North, and ravaged all Scotland. 
 
 Next year the Scots, commanded by Earl Douglas, made an irruption into 
 England ; but they were met and defeated by the Percies at Homeldon, near 
 the borders. Whilst Henry was in the North the Welsh revolted, and chose 
 Owen Glendower, a private gentleman, for their prince ; and in their excursions 
 they took the Earl of March prisoner. 
 
 Emanuel Paleologus, Emperor of Constantinople, arrived in England to 
 crave help against Bajazet, Emperor of the Turks. Henry dismissed him with 
 presents, and promises of aid when his own affairs should be more firmly 
 established. 
 
 1401. Henry, to conciliate the clergy, allowed them to burn William Sautre, 
 a clergyman, for heresy, he being a Wickliffite. This was the first execution 
 on account of religion in England. 
 
 R a
 
 2*4 HENRY THE FOURTft. 
 
 France demanded Isabella, widow of Richard, as the marriage had not been 
 consummated on account of her youth. Henry, not choosing to quarrel with 
 the regents of that nation, complied with their demand. 
 
 Henry marched into Wales ; but was obliged to content himself with destroy- 
 ing the country, as Glendower had retired into the mountains. 
 
 1403. The Earl of Northumberland, who had been very serviceable in 
 placing Hemy on the throne, quarrelled with him concerning some Scotch 
 prisoners, and entered into a league with Owen Glendower ; but falling sick, 
 his troops were commanded by his son Percy, who was encountered by the 
 King (before Glendower could join him) and entirely defeated and slain near 
 Shrewsbury. Northumberland came to the King at York, endeavoured to 
 Accuse his conduct, and was pardoned 
 
 1405. Another insurrection broke out, which was quelled by the Earl of 
 Westmorland. 
 
 The Prince of Wales gained two victories over Glendower. 
 
 1407. Robert, King of Scotland, alarmed for his son James's safety, owing 
 to the violent and turbulent disposition of his own brother, the Duke of Albany, 
 sent the Prince, then about nine years of age, to France for his education ; but 
 the vessel was taken, and the young Prince was carried to Henry, who detained 
 him a prisoner for many years, but gave him an excellent education. 
 
 The Earl of Northumberland, who had again broke out into rebellion, was 
 defeated and slain by Sir Thomas Rokesby, Sheriff of Yorkshire. Soon after 
 this battle Glendower died, and the Welsh insurrection was put an end to. 
 
 The imprisonment of Prince James occasioned the death of his father Robert ; 
 and Henry kept the Duke of Albany, the Regent, in awe, by threatening to 
 release the young King. 
 
 1413. King Henry died.
 
 
 s | lot 
 
 How now, Father Abbot, I heare it of thee 
 That thou keepest a farre better house than met> k 
 And for thy house-keeping and high renown, 
 I fear thou work'st treason against my crown. 
 
 KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY. 
 
 / "T^HE deposition and imprisonment of Richard the Second 
 I having left the throne of England vacant, the Duke of Lan- 
 caster mounted it amidst the acclamations of the nation, and was 
 crowned king by the title of Henry the Fourth. On the day of
 
 24 THE ABBOT'S PLOT. 
 
 his coronation he caused it to be proclaimed, that he claimed the 
 kingdom, first by right of conquest ; secondly, because his prede- 
 cessor had resigned his estate, and designed him for his successor; 
 and thirdly, because he was of the blood royal, and next heir male 
 to King Richard. The last was the most futile and groundless 
 claim of all ; for Edmund, Earl of Mortimer, who was then living, 
 was nearer akin to King Richard than the Duke of Lancaster, 
 and was, in fact, heir presumptive to the throne. When this Earl 
 heard that Henry claimed to be the heir male of the deposed 
 King, he is said to have exclaimed : "Hares ma/us, indeed ! and 
 so is the pirate to the merchant, when he despoils him of all that 
 he possesses." Mortimer, however, saw that the times were not 
 favourable to the prosecution of his claims, and therefore retired 
 to his estates at Wigmore, where he lived a life of seclusion and 
 privacy. King Henry, soon after his coronation, created his eldest 
 son, Henry, Prince of Wales, Duke of Cornwall and Aquitaine, 
 and Earl of Chester; and the Parliament declared him the heir 
 apparent and successor of his father as the King of England. 
 
 King Richard, notwithstanding the follies and vices which had 
 characterised his rule, had nevertheless still many and powerful 
 friends, who looked with great jealousy on the assumption of the 
 sovereign authority by the Duke of Lancaster. The province of 
 Aquitaine, of the chief town of which, Bordeaux, the deposed 
 king was a native, rose simultaneously in his favour ; and it was 
 not until after Henry had sent a formidable force, under the com- 
 mand of the Earl of Worcester, to overawe them, and planted 
 strong garrisons in their principal towns, that he was able to reduce 
 his transmarine subjects to obedience. This difficulty, however, 
 had scarcely been surmounted, when another, still more desperate* 
 and dangerous, threatened the authority, and even the life, of the 
 new monarch. Several noblemen, who had either originally dis 
 sembled, or now repented the assistance which they had given to 
 the advancement of King Henry, conspired together for his 
 destruction. The historians of the time differ as to the motives 
 which led to this conspiracy; whether it resulted from compassion 
 for the fallen fortunes of Richard, or envy of the sudden greatness
 
 THE ABBOT'S PLOT. .; 
 
 Of Henry, or from some slight or affront shown by the latter to the 
 great nobles who entered into it : neither is it ascertained with 
 precision, by what means the conspirators were drawn together, 
 or the secret devices of some imparted to the rest : but the follow- 
 ing narration will put the reader in possession of the details of the 
 plot. 
 
 There was at that time an Abbot of Westminster, remarkable 
 alike for the depth of his erudition and the fervour of his piety, 
 but who was at the same time a bold and daring schemer, and of 
 a haughty, active, and ambitious spirit. His manners were also 
 bland and insinuating ; he was reverenced, and almost canonized 
 by the common people, and was in high favour and reputation 
 with the nobility, especially with such of them as had espoused 
 the fallen fortunes of King Richard. To that Prince the Abbot 
 had ever been warmly attached, and from him had received many 
 marks of consideration and esteem. He also had long cherished 
 in his remembrance a saying which had some years before fallen 
 from the lips of King Henry, when he was but Earl of Derby, and 
 which is supposed to have had no slight influence in alienating the 
 good Abbot from the new King's cause j namely, that princes had 
 too little, and religious men too much. At that time the riches of 
 the Church had increased and accumulated to a vast extent, so 
 that many began to regard the holy persons who benefited by it, 
 with a somewhat unloving eye. What open violence dared not 
 grasp, concealed policy endeavoured to inveigle away. The excess 
 of the Church's wealth was alleged to be dangerous, both to the 
 King and the clergy, " as very likely," says an old author, " to 
 cause want in the one, and wantonness in the other." Many bills 
 were accordingly brought into the Parliaments which were held 
 during the reign of King Richard, for the purpose of repressing 
 the increase of religious possessions. In these measures it was 
 proposed that inquisition and redress might be had against such 
 religious persons as, under the licence to purchase estates of the 
 value of ten pounds annually, extended their purchases to the 
 yearly value of fourscore or a hundred pounds ; and also against 
 such as caused their vilaines to many free women inheritable,
 
 *4* THE ABBOT'S PLOT. 
 
 whereby their lands eventually came into the hands of the clergy. 
 It was even proposed in open Parliament, that the King should 
 seize into his own hands all the temporal livings of religious houses, 
 as being rather a burden than a benefit to religion. On such occa- 
 sions the Archbishops of Canterbury and York were often com- 
 pelled, for themselves and the clergy of their provinces, to make 
 their solemn protestations in Parliament, that if anything were 
 attempted in restraint of the liberty of the Church, " they would in 
 no wise assent, but utterly withstand the same." 
 
 Partly, therefore, from affection to King Richard, and partly 
 from fear lest King Henry should prove as ready to invade as he 
 had been to inveigh against the riches of religious houses, this 
 Abbot was the first fomenter and agitator of this conspiracy. His 
 project was not more boldly and daringly conceived, than it was 
 craftily and subtilly executed. Cautiously and timidly at first he 
 tried the dispositions of the nobles whom he wished to inveigle 
 into his plot. First he observed their tempers and dispositions 
 towards King Henry ; then he searched more nearly and narrowly, 
 but at the same time warily, moulding his speeches according to 
 the disposition in which he found his hearer, and talking so 
 dubiously and equivocally, that if his plans were approved by the 
 person whom he addressed, he could unhesitatingly avow them ; 
 and if otherwise, he could as easily disclaim any sinister intention. 
 At length, on a day in Michaelmas term, he invited to his house 
 such persons as appeared to enter most cordially into his views, the 
 greater part of whom were men whose reputation for loyalty was 
 already somewhat equivocal, and who had in some degree fallen 
 under the censure of the Parliament and the King, but by pardons 
 or mitigated punishments had expiated their offences. These were, 
 John Holland, who had been degraded from the rank of Duke of 
 Exeter to that of Earl of Huntingdon ; Thomas Holland, his 
 brother's son, who in like manner had ceased to be Duke of Surrey, 
 and was now merely Earl of Kent ; and Edward, lately Duke of 
 Albemarle or Aumerle, but at present only Earl of Rutland. To 
 these were added the Earl of Somerset and the Lord Spenser, 
 formerly Marquis of Porset and Earl of Gloucester ; the Earl of
 
 THE ABBOT'S PLOT. 49 
 
 Salisbury, the Bishop of Carlisle, Sir Thomas Blunt, and a priest 
 of the name of Magdalen, who formerly belonged to King 
 Richard's chapel, and so nearly resembled that unfortunate prince 
 in form and feature, that many persons who were well acquainted 
 with the former frequently mistook the latter for him. 
 
 These personages, with a few others, were highly feasted by the 
 Abbot ; and after the banquet was over, they withdrew into a secret 
 chamber to devise the means of carrying their project into execu- 
 tion. The Abbot had disclosed the whole details of his plot to 
 the Duke of Exeter for so we shall style him, and indeed we 
 shall designate the other nobles by the titles of which they had 
 been deprived, as in their conversations they ascribed those titles 
 to each other. This nobleman was the half-brother of the deposed 
 King, and the inveterate enemy of Henry, although he had mar- 
 ried his sister. He therefore entered enthusiastically into the 
 Abbot's scheme, and undertook to expound and advocate it to the 
 confederates. He reminded them of the allegiance which they 
 had sworn to King Richard, of the honours and preferments to 
 which he had advanced them, and of their obligations therefore, 
 both in conscience and in gratitude, to take his part against all 
 men. " Did not,' he added, " this new King, this Bolingbroke, 
 despoil him of the royal dignity of which he has unjustly pos- 
 sessed himself? and did not we stand still, and show neither the 
 obedience of subjects nor the love of friends, as though we were 
 men who knew better how to do anything than to defend, and if 
 need were, to die for our lawful prince and loving patron ? 
 King Henry, having violently invaded, or fraudulently insinuated 
 himself into the kingdom of his natural and liege prince, is but a 
 tyrant and an usurper, and such an one as it is lawful for any man 
 by any means to put down. The laws and examples of the best 
 governed commonwealths, have not only permitted such an action 
 as the overthrow of a tyrant and an usurper, but have highly 
 honoured it with statues, and garlands, and titles of nobility. The 
 deposition of Henry of Lancaster will not only be profitable but 
 necessary for the commonwealth, by extinguishing those wars which 
 the Scottishmen have menaced, the Frenchmen have prepared,
 
 50 THE ABBOT'S PLOT. 
 
 and the Welshmen have already begun upon this occasion and 
 quarrel. I doubt not but that our purpose might be accomplished 
 by open arms ; but I hold it to be more sure for us, and more safe 
 for the public weal, first to put in proof some secret policy. 
 Therefore, noble lords and gallant gentlemen, my counsel is this, 
 that a solemn joust be challenged to be kept at Oxford at Christ- 
 mas, between me and twenty men on my part, and the Earl of 
 Salisbury and twenty men on his part, to which King Henry shall 
 be invited. The occasion will sufficiently account for our gathering 
 together a large number of armed men ; and when Henry's atten- 
 tion is most attracted by the sports, let him be surrounded and 
 slain, and Richard of Bordeaux once more proclaimed King ot 
 England." 
 
 The Duke of Exeter had no sooner concluded his address, than 
 the applauses of all present testified their unanimous assent to the 
 wily scheme which had been projected by the Abbot of Westmin- 
 ster. " Then now, my Lords," exclaimed the Bishop of Carlisle, 
 " what remains but to take the oaths, and to seal the deeds which 
 are to bind us to this righteous and patriotic enterprise?" An 
 oath was immediately taken upon the Evangelists, that each would 
 be true and faithful to the other, even to the point of death ; and 
 indentures by which the lords bound themselves to essay their 
 best for the death of King Henry and the deliverance of King 
 Richard, were sealed and subscribed by all, and a counterpart 
 delivered to each confederate. Then having determined what 
 forces should be drawn together, and by whom they should be 
 commanded, the meeting separated, having ushered through the 
 first stage of its existence the Abbot's plot 
 
 Things being thus contrived, and their minds swelling high with 
 hope, and their imaginations filled with dreams of power and 
 glory, the Duke of Exeter was deputed to attend upon the King 
 at Windsor, and to crave that, for the love which he bore to the 
 noble feats of chivalry, he would vouchsafe to honour with his 
 presence the martial exercise that was appointed between him and 
 the Earl of Salisbury, and to be the judge and arbiter, should any 
 controversies or disputes arise.
 
 THE ABBOT'S PLOT. tjl 
 
 The King not suspecting any treachery, and glad by an act of 
 such easy performance to conciliate the affections of the nobles, 
 readily acceded to the request of the Duke of Exeter. The latter, 
 and the rest of the conspirators, now conceiving their purpose to 
 be half accomplished, returned to their respective homes, and 
 busily bestirred themselves in raising men, and preparing horse 
 and armour for the approaching enterprise. The Duchess of 
 Exeter, King Henry's sister, soon perceived that her husband was 
 engaged in some secret and desperate undertaking. The private 
 conferences with strangers whom she had never before seen at 
 their house, the Duke's long and frequent absences from home, 
 and the abstraction of his manner and demeanour, convinced her 
 that he was engaged in some plot for depriving her brother of the 
 crown, and restoring his own kinsman to the station of which h? 
 had been deprived. The contest between conjugal and fraternal 
 affection in the bosom of this lady was severe and long continued. 
 To discover her suspicions to the King would, in the event of their 
 turning out well-grounded, prove the ruin of her husband. To 
 . lock them in her own breast would be to become an accomplice 
 in the destruction of her brother. " And what," she said, as she 
 one day paced her apartment in solitude, while the tears streamed 
 down her cheeks "is this love then against nature or above it? 
 Shall I be undutiful to my prince, or is there no duty comparable 
 to that of a wife ? In what perplexities am I plunged, to see my 
 two dearest friends in this case of extremity, that one must cer- 
 tainly be rained by the other !" 
 
 At that moment the Duke entered the apartment, and, perceiv- 
 ing her in tears, exclaimed, " What means this, Bess ? why weep 
 you ? take comfort ; all will yet be well." 
 
 " Comfort !" she replied ; " do but give it me, and I will readily 
 take it ; give it me by saying that you are not a party to any 
 design for robbing good King Henry of the crown, and replacing 
 it on the brows of him who has been declared by the voice of all 
 England unworthy to wear it." 
 
 " Sweetest," replied the Duke, " content yourself; whatever 
 happens, evil cannot befal yon, or a worse evil befal myself, than
 
 95* THE ABBOT'S PLOT. 
 
 that with which I am now environed. If my purpose should prevail, 
 and my brother be restored to the throne, both you and I assuredly 
 will never decline ; and if it be prevented, and your brother con- 
 tinue still in his estate, no harm can happen to you, and I shall 
 but then be sure of that destruction of which I am now in continual 
 dread, and the fear of which in expectation is a greater torment 
 than the pain in sufferance." Thus saying, he kissed her, and 
 leaving her a prey to a thousand tormenting thoughts, took his 
 journey towards Oxford, with a great company of archers and 
 horsemen. There he arrived, as had been agreed upon, one day- 
 previous to the expected coming of the King, and found all the 
 confederates and their retainers duly assembled, with the excep- 
 tion of the Duke of Aumerle. 
 
 The non-arrival of this nobleman filled the conspirators with 
 fear and wonder. His near relationship to both Kings made him 
 form an important link in their project; and his having formerly 
 been engaged in a plot for the deposition of Henry and the resto- 
 ration of Richard, had made them calculate certainly on his co- 
 operation. Now, however, they began to fear that he had secured 
 his own safety by the sacrifice of his associates. Some, neverthe- 
 less, only blamed him for tardiness and delay, and despatched a 
 messenger to him to urge his immediate coming. Before, however, 
 the messenger came to the Duke, the latter had departed from 
 Westminster for the purpose of proceeding to Oxford ; but instead 
 of taking the direct road to the latter city, he had called to pay a 
 visit to his father, the Duke of York, at his palace in London. 
 The Duke of York stood high in the favour of King Henry, and 
 had by his intercession procured from that monarch his son's 
 pardon for his former treason. This, however, was only granted 
 on condition of York's becoming security and pledge for Aumerle's 
 allegiance, and of the latter's being degraded from the rank of 
 Duke of Aumerle to that of Earl of Rutland. On this occasion 
 he despatched a hasty meal with his father, and was taking 
 his leave of him, for the purpose of proceeding to Oxford, 
 when the Duke of York espied a seal hanging from his son's 
 bosom.
 
 TH2 ABBOT'S PLOT. $ 3 
 
 "What seal is that, son Edward?" exclaimed the suspicious 
 Duke. " I pray thee, let me see the writing." 
 
 " Tis nothing, my good Lord, 'tis nothing," replied Aumerle, 
 endeavouring to fold his robe over the object which had attracted 
 his father's attention ; his cheek meanwhile first assuming a scarlet 
 hue, and then changing to a deadly paleness. 
 
 " Nothing, sayest thou ?" echoed the Duke of York ; " then 'tis 
 no matter who sees it. I will be satisfied ; Aumerle, show me the 
 writing." 
 
 Aumerle's confusion increased, and his lip stammered as he 
 said, " Pardon me, I beseech you, my good Lord, it is a paper of 
 small consequence, but which, for some reasons, I would not have 
 seen " 
 
 " And which, for some reasons also, I would see," said York. 
 " I fear, I fear, Aumerle. Give me the paper," he added, as, 
 while his son was for a moment off his guard, he darted upon him 
 and snatched a parchment, to which a seal was appended, from 
 his bosom. A single glance sufficed to show the father the nature 
 of this document. It was a counterpart of the indenture which 
 the confederates had sealed at the house of the Abbot of West- 
 minster. " Treason ! foul treason !" he exclaimed : " villain ! 
 traitor ! slave ! Thou knowest that in open Parliament I became 
 surety and pledge, both in body and goods, for thy allegiance ; 
 and can neither thy duty nor my desert restrain thee from seeking 
 my destruction? In faith ! but I will rather help forward thine." 
 Foaming with rage and indignation, he commanded his horse to 
 be got in readiness, and immediately took his departure to Windsor, 
 where the King then was, determined to acquaint Hemy with the 
 treason of his son. 
 
 Aumerle stood for a moment mute and motionless, confounded 
 and astonished at the sudden frustration of the deeply-laid scheme 
 of the confederates, and the jeopardy in which he found himself 
 placed. One moment he cursed his own folly and rashness for 
 involving himself in the scheme of a few disappointed and inte- 
 rested men ; at another his execrations were transferred to the 
 prying curiosity and hasty anger of his father,, but at length hq
 
 254 T ff AEgOT'S PLOT. 
 
 determined to seek his own safety by hastening also to Windsor, 
 and endeavouring to reach that place before his father arrived 
 there, and making his peace with the King, by being the first to 
 discover the plot to him. He needed not excitement to urge him 
 forward ; his youthful blood and his sudden danger supplied wings 
 to his horse swifter than were those of Pegasus ; and long before 
 his father arrived near the castle, he had alighted there. Having 
 entered the castle-yard there, he addressed the seneschal, saying, 
 " Lock straight the castle-gates. Give me the key. Danger press- 
 ing and overwhelming danger is at hand, intelligence of which 
 I must communicate to the King, and no one must be suffered to 
 enter the castle until our conference is at an end." 
 
 The seneschal bowed respectfully, carefully barred and locked 
 the great gate of the castle, and placed the massive key in the 
 hands of Aumerle, whose near relationship to the King rendered 
 his commands as imperative as were those of the monarch himself. 
 He immediately rushed into Henry's presence, whom he found 
 alone ; and falling on his knees before him, seized his hand, which 
 he kissed fervently. 
 
 " What means our cousin ?" said the King, bending a look of 
 surprise upon him, " that he looks thus wild, and rushes into our 
 presence with such a hurried and disordered demeanour ? Rise, 
 cousin Edward, rise, good Rutland, and tell us what brings thee 
 hither?" 
 
 "May my knees grow rooted to the ground, and my tongue 
 cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I rise or speak until I have 
 obtained your Grace's pardon !" 
 
 " Thou hast it, Edward ! thou hast it freely, and on the word of 
 a king. And now, I pray thee, tell me of what offence it is that 
 I have granted thee a pardon ?" 
 
 " One of so deep a dye," said Aumerle, " that there only lives 
 one traitor black enough to commit, and one king gracious enough 
 to pardon it !" 
 
 Aumerle was a man of many and persuasive words ; his tongue 
 was eloquent ; his features were manly and expressive ; his tears 
 could flow at will ; and he could mould his voice and gestures to
 
 THE ABBOTS PLOT. 855 
 
 any expression which he pleased. With these accomplishments, 
 therefore, did lie grace the narrative of the Abbot's plot, which he 
 detailed to the King, protesting his own reluctance and unwilling- 
 ness to enter into the scheme ; but that being taken by surprise, 
 and influenced by persuasions and even threats, he had been 
 induced to enter into the confederacy and sign the traitorous 
 compact ; that his loyalty had returned as soon as the warning 
 voice of conscience was heard, and that now he had come to 
 repair his crime by apprizing the King of the jeopardy in which 
 he stood. The King seemed neither rashly to believe nor negli- 
 gently to distrust Aumerle's report, neither was it politic for him 
 to receive the discovery angrily or discourteously ; he therefore 
 comforted Aumerle with gracious speeches, and said, " If this be 
 true, we pardon you ; if it be feigned, at your extreme peril be it." 
 In the meantime the Duke of York had arrived at the castle 
 gates, but was denied admittance. It was in vain that he told the 
 seneschal that the King's life was in danger, as he received for 
 answer that the Earl of Rutland had already arrived, and was then 
 in private conference with the King, that the key of the castle- 
 gate was in his possession, and that no one could be admitted 
 without his permission. The Duke of York now became alarmed, 
 lest his son should commit some violence on the King while they 
 were closeted together. When, therefore, the conference was 
 ended, and Aumerle permitted the gates to be unlocked, the old 
 Duke rushed into the royal presence with the same precipitation 
 as his son had done before him, and with many exclamations of 
 " treason !" and " perfidy !" he placed the indenture in the King's 
 hand which he had plucked from Aumerle's bosom. Henry, on 
 reading it, perceived the truth of Aumerle's statement, and there- 
 fore, confirmed the conditional pardon which he had pronounced. 
 Then having his mind occupied with deeper thoughts than the 
 observance of tilts and tournaments, he laid aside his intended 
 journey, and resolved to await at Windsor the machinations of his 
 enemies, and watch them in the course which they pursued. In 
 the meantime he directed his letters to the Earl of Ncrthum- 
 beiland, his High Constable, to the Earl of Cumberland, his
 
 a# THE ABBO'fS PLOT. 
 
 High Marshal, and others of his most assured friends, concerning 
 these sudden and unexpected accidents. 
 
 In the meantime, the confederates at Oxford, hearing nothing 
 of Aumerle, and seeing no preparations for the King's arrival, 
 doubted not that their plot had been discovered or betrayed. 
 They were, therefore, in hourly anticipation of a sufficient force to 
 make them all prisoners, and they knew the temper and dispo 
 sition of King Henry well enough to feel assured that their cap- 
 tivity would be very speedily followed by their execution. " 'Tis 
 that vile intriguing priest," said Gloucester to Exeter, " who has 
 involved us in this dilemma. By listening to his cursed counsels, 
 we have only carried our foolish heads to the block, while he and 
 that double traitor Aumerle have purchased not only indemnity 
 but reward by our destruction. Aumerle will doubtless soon re- 
 cover his forfeited honours, and this smooth-tongued Abbot will 
 exchange the mitre of Westminster for that of Canterbury." 
 
 " Since our safety, lords," said the Duke of Surrey, " cannot be 
 provided for, at least let us not perish unavenged. The heads- 
 man's axe shall be welcome to my head, after my sword has made 
 sure of this treacherous Abbot's." 
 
 The swords of all the confederates, except that of the Earl of 
 Salisbury, flew from their scabbards as if to second the determi- 
 nation of Surrey, " Peace, gentle lords," said Salisbury ; " I pray ye, 
 pause a moment ! Our affairs are not yet so desperate as to drive us 
 to the madness of imbruing our hands in the blood of our friend." 
 
 " He is a perjured traitor," said Hugh Spenser, Earl of Glou- 
 cester, " and his blood shall atone for his treachery." 
 
 " My Lord of Gloucester," said Salisbury, " he is none, and his 
 blood shall not be spilt while one drop remains in my veins. He 
 yet hopes that our enterprise may be successful, and I left him even 
 now in earnest conference with the priest Magdalen, concerting the 
 best means of accomplishing it." 
 
 "I will trust no more to the devices of priests," said Surrey; 
 11 our good swords, and the lances of the five hundred followers 
 whom we have brought with us to Oxford, might do something ;, 
 but these peddling intrigues of churchmen "
 
 Tti ABBOT'S PLOT. .57 
 
 " Peace, my good lord !" said the Bishop of Carlisle, " the Abbot 
 approaches, and I see comfort in his looks." 
 
 The Abbot indeed approached with looks of the utmost confi 
 dence and self-satisfaction. He bowed courteously to all, and 
 neither daunted by the lowering brows and half-unsheathed daggers 
 of the lords of Exeter, Gloucester, and Surrey, nor chilled by the 
 aspects of hesitation and doubt worn by Salisbury, the Bishop, and 
 his more immediate friends, he took his seat among the confe- 
 derates, and proceeded to address them with the most perfect ease 
 and self-possession. 
 
 " My good lords and noble coadjutors in this most righteous 
 enterprise, our scheme, as far as we have yet proceeded, has failed." 
 
 " We needed not, my Lord of Westminster," said Surrey, " your 
 high authority and most reverend wisdom, to assure us of that 
 fact ; it has failed, and our disappointment can only be soothed by 
 blood." 
 
 "Thou speakest wisely, Duke of Surrey," rejoined the Abbot; 
 " and blood thou shalt have." 
 
 " The blood of whom," asked the Duke, " if not of thee, thou 
 hoary traitor?" 
 
 " The blood of Henry Bolingbroke and Edward Aumerle," said 
 the Abbot. " Our plot must be instantly avowed, and promul- 
 gated to the people of Oxford." 
 
 " A most sagacious scheme, truly !" said the Duke of Surrey ; 
 " that were to pray the mayor and burgesses of their kind courtesy 
 to enter this apartment, and to place their knives to the throats of 
 the penitent traitors who now humbly offer up their lives in ex- 
 piation of the treason which they have meditated." 
 
 "My lords," said the Abbot, who with unconquerable per- 
 tinacity bore up alike against the execrations and the sneers of 
 the confederates, " the men-at-arms who have followed us to 
 Oxford would be able, backed by the population of the surrounding 
 counties, to tear the usurper from his castled hold at Windsor, and 
 replace the lawful sovereign on his throne." 
 
 An universal shout of derision burst from the confederates. 
 Even Salisbury shook his head despondingly, and said, " My good
 
 2.^8 THE ABBOT'S PLOT. 
 
 Lord of Westminster, if you have no better scheme to propose, I 
 fear that our enterprise is indeed at an end. The population of 
 the surrounding counties, notwithstanding their attachment to 
 King Richard, will not, while they know him to be a close pri- 
 soner in the Tower of London, be willing to make common cause 
 with us, when, at the first intelligence of our insurrection, the 
 captive monarch's head would be stricken off." 
 
 " But if the populace believed that that monarch was no lor.ger 
 captive, but was here in this house, surrounded by his relatives 
 and friends, they would rise, one and all, to make common cause 
 with us. Richard's life, lords, would not be placed in greater 
 jeopardy than it is now by such a movement ; and if we act with 
 promptitude, it might be placed beyond the reach of danger. At 
 any rate, your own safety might be provided for, and the usurper 
 either hurled from his throne, or compelled to yield to such terms 
 as would rescue your lives and fortunes from his grasp." 
 
 " The holy Abbot," said Surrey. " hopes to amuse us with the 
 details of these hopeful schemes until the King's forces shall have 
 invested this house in which we are now tranquilly pent up, as 
 sheep for the slaughter. I say, die, traitor !" 
 
 As he spoke, the Duke rushed with his drawn sword towards 
 the Abbot ; but the Earl of Salisbury, unsheathing his own weapon, 
 parried the blow, saying, " Back, back ; are ye mad, my lord ? or 
 think ye that the blood of this old man will smooth your path to 
 the favour of King Henry ?" 
 
 "My lords," said the Abbot, still undaunted, and even un- 
 abashed, " I have spread through the city a rumour that King 
 Richard is here; the populace are even now approaching the 
 house ; and could we only for a few hours continue them in their 
 error, we are sure of their co-operation in any enterprise which we 
 may project. 
 
 At that moment a tremendous shout was heard of " God save 
 King Richard !" and the hum of voices and the tramp of feet pro- 
 claimed the approach of an immense multitude. 
 
 " Death and destruction !'' exclaimed the Duke of Surrey, " the 
 vengeance of Henry we might possibly have escaped, but how
 
 THL ABBOTS PLOT. 259 
 
 can we shun the fury of an exasperated and disappointed rabble, 
 when they find that King Richard is not here ? How, traitor, can 
 we, as thou sayest, continue them in their error ?" 
 
 " Behold !" said the Abbot, and clapping his hands, a door at 
 the lower end of the apartment flew open, and a person clad in 
 the robes of royalty, wearing a crown upon his head, and bearing 
 a sceptre in his hand, entered the apartment. His tall and stately 
 figure, long flowing yellow hair, light blue eyes, and fair and hand- 
 some, but somewhat pale and pensive countenance, made all the 
 lords, in a tone of joy and wonder, exclaim, " Richard of Bordeaux!" 
 
 " Bold peers of England !" said the seeming monarch advancing, 
 but the arch smile upon his lip, and the removal of his crown and 
 the false hair upon his head, showing a profusion of luxuriant black 
 locks, dissipated the momentary illusion. " 'Tis the priest Mag- 
 dalen," said Surrey ; " but by Heaven, had he not uncovered his 
 pate, and had continued to wear that melancholy smile, I had 
 sworn allegiance to him. Lords, if we, King Richard's near 
 friends, have been deceived by this stratagem, methinks that the 
 rabble will not be keen-witted enough to detect the imposture." 
 
 '"Tis time to try the keenness of their wits, then," said Glou- 
 cester, " for they are thundering at the gates : speak to them, my 
 good Lord Abbot, and unless thy tongue can wind them to our 
 purpose, thy head must pay the penalty." 
 
 The shouts now became redoubled. "Show us the King!" 
 "Long live Richard of Bordeaux!" "Down with Bolingbroke !" 
 Such were the exclamations with which the Abbot of Westminster 
 was greeted as he stepped from the window of the apartment in 
 which the confederates were assembled, on to the open terrace or 
 balcony in the front of the house. " Ye men of Oxford," he said, 
 " Richard of Bordeaux, your lawful King, has escaped from the 
 clutches of his enemies, and he now comes to claim the allegiance 
 of his loving subjects and the assistance of their hearts and hands 
 in replacing him on the throne of his immortal grandsire, Edward 
 the Third !" 
 
 One long, loud peal of approbation and assent rang through the 
 air ; and as it died away, a stentorian voice in the crowd was heard 
 s a
 
 ao fHE A&BOT'S 
 
 exclaiming, "Show us the King convince us that we are not 
 supporting a selfish faction, but are really contributing to the 
 restoration of our lawful monarch, and we will join with you to the 
 shedding of every drop of blood in our veins." 
 
 The most critical part of the Abbot's plot was now to be made 
 trial of. He felt not only that the success of the scheme depended 
 on the personation successfully by Magdalen of King Richard, 
 but that his own life would be immediately sacrificed by the in- 
 censed lords, should the populace detect the imposture. He there- 
 fore retired into the house, but immediately returned to the view 
 of the multitude, leading Magdalen by the hand, and followed by 
 the Dukes of Exeter and Surrey, the King's brothers, and the other 
 lords who were known to be his devoted adherents. One moment's 
 pause followed, it was a moment of fearful and anxious silence, 
 in which the supposititious king was exposed to the jealous scrutiny 
 of a thousand eyes : should one eye in the vast multitude detect 
 the imposture, the conspirators knew that the house in which they 
 were assembled would be razed to the ground, or burst open by the 
 infuriated mob, and their lives sacrificed to their indignation and 
 disappointment The priest Magdalen himself had no small diffi- 
 culty in supporting his part with unshrinking nerves. The critical 
 nature of his situation, however, prevented him from relapsing into 
 that arch smile by which he had discovered himself to Surrey. He 
 gazed on the mob with that mild melancholy look which had of 
 late years become characteristic of King Richard's countenance ; 
 extended his arms towards the populace, in an attitude of affec- 
 tionate supplication, pointed to the well-known relatives and friends 
 of the deposed king who surrounded him ; and at length, when 
 his presence of mind had nearly failed him, and he was about to 
 sink exhausted with anxiety and apprehension to the ground, the 
 welcome cheers of a thousand voices rang in his ears, exclaiming, 
 "God save King Richard!" "We'll die for Richard of Bordeaux 1" 
 " On, on to Windsor, and drag the usurper from the throne !" 
 
 The whole male population of Oxford soon assumed such arms 
 as on the suddenness of the occasion they could provide them- 
 selves with. Knives, daggers, clubs, staves, slings, and arrows,
 
 - ; THE ABBOT'S PLOT. 261 
 
 \\ ere put in requisition ; numbers of associates flocked in from the 
 surrounding towns and villages, as soon as the news was spread 
 that King Richard was at Oxford ; and the Duke of Exeter, who 
 was by acclamation chosen generalissimo, soon found himself at 
 the head of a sufficiently formidable although undisciplined and 
 rudely-armed force, amounting to nearly forty thousand men. The 
 march to Windsor was after a short delay determined on; and 
 breathing threats and slaughter against Henry, shouting the 
 praises of Richard, and stirring up the population of the counties 
 through which they passed to join them, this motley army 
 proceeded towards the royal castle for the purpose of seizing and 
 putting to death him whom they now termed a tyrant and a 
 usurper. 
 
 The rumour of these proceedings, however, spread so widely 
 and so quickly, that King Henry had early intelligence that the 
 Earls of Huntingdon and Salisbury, the young Earl of Kent, and 
 the Lord Spenser, were advancing towards Windsor to seize 
 and murder him ; that they were in sufficient force to take the 
 castle ; that they had with them Magdalen, one of the priests of 
 the chapel royal to Richard of Bordeaux, dressed up as the 
 deposed King, and had caused a rumour to be spread that King 
 Richard had escaped from prison. The person who brought the 
 intelligence said, " Sire, depart hence instantly and ride to London, 
 for they will be here in a short time." 
 
 " But how," asked the King, " can I credit your intelligence ? 
 a knowledge of the details which you have communicated to me, 
 could only be known to some one deeply implicated in the plots of 
 the conspirators ?" 
 
 " They might be known, O King !" said the messenger, " to the 
 grand author and contriver of the plots." 
 
 " Assuredly," answered Henry ; " but it is not possible that he 
 should be disposed to reveal them to me." 
 
 " It is possible, and it is true," said the messenger, throwing 
 back a hood in which he had shrouded his head " behold and 
 believe !" 
 
 The King started, for in the features of the person to whom he
 
 26a 7 HE ABBOT'S PLOT. 
 
 was indebted for this information, he recognised those of his arch 
 enemy, the Abbot of Westminster. 
 
 " The events of one day, Henry of Lancaster," said the Abbot, 
 " have transformed me from your bitterest foe into the implacable 
 enemy of your enemies. Reviled, insulted, and threatened by 
 them with death, the Lords of Exeter, Surrey, and Gloucester, can 
 only atone to me for those injuries by their lives. Flee, I tell thee, 
 to London. Canst thou doubt the truth of what I tell thee ? 
 wherefore should I place myself in thy power? This plot, I tell 
 thee, is my own contrivance, and must prove fatal to thee within 
 an hour, unless thou fleest instantly." 
 
 " Bold traitor !" said the King, " I must not, and will not believe 
 thee. What ho, there !" 
 
 " Beware !" said the Abbot, checking the exclamation of the 
 King ; " provoke not against thyself that same vengeance to which 
 I am now devoting the men with whose hands my own were but 
 yesterday knit in apparently indissoluble bonds of friendship. I 
 have outridden the Duke of Exeter's army, and am scarcely one 
 hour in advance of it. Detain me but one instant, so as to delay 
 me from rejoining it before my departure has been observed, and 
 it will be instantly known that I have betrayed the plot to you ; 
 and your flight to London will be so speedily pursued, that escape 
 will be utterly hopeless. Let me rejoin the conspirators imme- 
 diately. Until the castle is taken, which may hold out a few 
 hours, your flight cannot be discovered, and then you will be so 
 far on the road to London as to be beyond the reach of your 
 pursuers." 
 
 " Away then with thee !" said the King ; " it is but the escape 
 of one traitor which I am risking away with thee !" 
 
 " And away with thee, Henry of Lancaster !" said the Abbot, 
 as he left the apartment, "if thou wouldst keep thy head upon thy 
 shoulders." 
 
 The truth of the Abbot's intelligence was so speedily and cer- 
 tainly confirmed, that Henry, wondering not less at the danger 
 which threatened him, than at the strange manner in which he had 
 been made acquainted with it, mounted his horse and set of?
 
 THE ABBOTS PLOT. *3 
 
 secretly, with a few attendants from Windsor, taking the road to 
 London. 
 
 The army of the insurgents, on arriving before Windsor Castle, 
 proceeded to lay siege to it, and instead of meeting with an obsti- 
 nate resistance, they were gratified at finding, after the lapse of a 
 few hours, and before they had committed or sustained any serious 
 damage, that the besieged threw open their gates and invited them 
 to enter. The Duke of Exeter's rage, however, on finding that 
 the King had effected his escape, amounted almost to frenzy ; and 
 it was with the utmost difficulty that the Abbot of Westminster 
 and the Bishop of Carlisle could restrain him from putting all 
 whom he found in the castle to the sword. " My Lords," he said, 
 " Henry is now in the metropolis. The Londoners are devoted 
 to him, and will speedily raise such a force as will effectually enable 
 him to overpower our rashly-levied and ill-disciplined troops. 
 Had we seized and slain the usurper, we might have marched 
 triumphantly to London ; his death would have struck a panic into 
 the hearts of his adherents, and the gates of the Tower would have 
 been thrown open to restore our long lost captive sovereign to us." 
 
 " Peace, my good Lord," said the Abbot, "and, instead of wast- 
 ing our time in idle lamentations, let us study how to repair this 
 fresh misfortune which has beset us. The King will doubtless levy 
 such a force in London as will render it impossible for us to main- 
 tain our station here. Let us therefore retreat towards the West. 
 The town of Cirencester is well fortified, and would enable us to 
 bid defiance to the usurper, behind its strong walls, even should 
 it not be advisable to give him battle in the field." 
 
 " But Cirencester, my Lord," said the Duke of Surrey, " is 
 under the government of its bailiff, Sir William Beauchamp, King 
 Henry's most devoted adherent, who will not readily open its gates 
 to give us entrance." 
 
 " But Sir William Beauchamp is my brother," returned the 
 Abbot, " and may, I think, when I inform him that King Richard 
 is himself with our army, that Windsor Castle is in our hands, and 
 that Henry has but narrowly escaped from us with his life, be per- 
 suaded to make his peace through my intercession with the restored
 
 9*4 Tim ABBOT'S PLOT, 
 
 King (for such I trust he soon will be), by opening the gates of 
 Cirencester to us. Let rne, therefore, precede you on your march, 
 and I doubt not that, by the time you arrive before that town, you 
 will find the bailiff and garrison your firm friends and supporters." 
 
 " Tis wisely planned," said the Duke of Surrey, who now seemed 
 anxious to atone for his former injurious suspicions, by evincing 
 the most unlimited confidence in the Abbot's fidelity and sagacity. 
 " My Lord of Westminster has already proved our guardian angel, 
 and we cannot do better than resign ourselves implicitly to his 
 guidance." 
 
 The Duke did not observe the Abbot's countenance, until the 
 sinister expression which it had for a moment betrayed was ex- 
 changed for one of the utmost placidity and humility. " The good 
 Duke of Surrey," he said, " is pleased greatly to overrate my humble 
 efforts in the cause for which your lordships are in arms. The suc- 
 cess of our stratagem was ensured mainly by the decision and 
 promptitude with which you concurred in it. But how say you, 
 Lords ? will you entrust me with the management of the negotia- 
 tion between you and the Bailiff of Cirencester ?" 
 
 " Be it so, my good Lord," said the Duke of Exeter, " and speed 
 thee, I pray thee ; for our near neighbourhood to London renders 
 Windsor no safe tarrying place for us, now that Henry has escaped 
 from our hands." 
 
 " The bush was well limed," exclaimed the Abbot, as he rode 
 towards Cirencester ; " the silly fowls are in my snare. Fools \ 
 fools \ Did they think that the spirit which caught fire at a ran- 
 dom expression of Henry Bolingbroke, threatening injury to the 
 Church generally, could tamely suffer personal insult and scorn 
 could pardon being branded with the names of traitor and villain, 
 or forget that naked weapons had been pointed at his breast ? 
 No I no ! no ! Love may be forgotten, gratitude may perish, even 
 contempt may be surmounted, but the fires of hatred, its real 
 genuine fires, once lighted up in the soul, are unquenchable and 
 immortal as the soul itself." 
 
 With such sentiments possessing his bosom, the Abbot presented 
 himself before his brother, the Bailiff of Cirencester. The two
 
 THE ABBOT'S PLOT. 965 
 
 brothers were in temper and disposition as much opposed, as were 
 ihe two political parties which they respectively espoused. The 
 wily, intriguing, malignant, unforgiving Abbot was a perfect con- 
 trast to the unsuspecting, generous, and perhaps somewhat rash and 
 imprudent Bailiff. The tried soldierlike qualities of the latter, 
 and his devoted attachment to the House of Lancaster, had induced 
 King Henry to intrust him with the custody of the important 
 fortress of Cirencester. His surprise was extreme on beholding 
 his brother, from whom he had been for several years separated, 
 and of whose recent plot for seizing on the King's person at the 
 tournament at Oxford, he had just heard. He listened intently to 
 the Abbot's narration, and to the development of his plan for 
 getting the chief conspirators into the power of the King's friends. 
 Notwithstanding that he was well aware of the duplicity of his 
 brother's character, the Bailiff was convinced by his tone and 
 manner that he was sincere in his professions of hatred towards 
 the confederates ; he only stipulated for the safety of the Earl of 
 Salisbury, who had defended him from the violence of the other 
 conspirators. The Bishop of Carlisle had the same claim on his 
 gratitude ; but as the Abbot hoped, that in the event of the Bishop's 
 being sacrificed, he might himself succeed to the vacant epis- 
 copal mitre, he did not scruple to seal the destruction of his friend. 
 
 A few hours after the interview between the Abbot and the Bailiff, 
 the confederates arrived at the head of a force of twenty thousand 
 men, and sat down before Cirencester. They immediately sum- 
 moned the town to surrender, and their summons was answered by 
 a visit from the Abbot, accompanied by the Bailiff and the principal 
 municipal authorities of the place. 
 
 " Most puissant Duke of Exeter," said the Abbot, " and ye other 
 gallant lords and gentlemen now in arms for good King Richard, 
 the loyal town of Cirencester, weary of so long bearing the yoke 
 of an usurper, gladly welcomes you within her walls, and prays you 
 to take possession of her citadel in the name of her legal sovereign." 
 
 " Is it so, master Bailiff ?" asked the Duke of Exeter. " Are 
 even you weary of the usurpation of Bolingbroke, and willing to 
 vield up this fair town to the dominion of your liege lord ?"
 
 366 THE ABBOT'S PLOT. 
 
 u It is even so, my good Lord," said the Bailiff. " I would only 
 crave, in consideration of the readiness with which I welcome King 
 Richard's friends into Cirencester, that you would enter the town 
 with only such a retinue as will be sufficient for your safeguard and 
 attendance, and that your army may remain encamped without 
 the walls." 
 
 " Six hundred men-at-arms, Sir William," answered the Duke, 
 " are the only visitors with which we will encumber your town. In 
 the mean time, Sir Thomas Blunt will command the troops without 
 the walls." 
 
 The Bailiff bowed assent, although the number of the troops 
 which the Duke proposed should be admitted into the city was 
 more than he had calculated upon. All the men whom he could 
 muster in the town, for the purpose of executing the scheme which 
 he had projected, would not amount to two thousand, for the most 
 part ill-armed and ill-disciplined; while the Duke of Exeter selected 
 for the six hundred troops who should accompany him into the 
 town, the bravest and most experienced veterans. The Bailiff 
 would at first have remonstrated against the quartering of so large 
 a number ot troops on the citizens, but the significant gesture with 
 which his brother placed his finger on his lip induced him to ac- 
 quiesce in silence. Accordingly the Duke of Exeter, the Duke of 
 Surrey, the Earl of Salisbury, the Earl of Gloucester, and the Bishop 
 of Carlisle, entered the town at the head of six hundred men, amidst 
 the well-feigned acclamations of the Bailiff and the inhabitants. 
 
 That night the lords were sumptuously feasted by the Bailiff in 
 the town hall of Cirencester. The hospitality and apparent cor- 
 diality of the municipal chief dissipated every particle of mistrust 
 in the minds of the rebel leaders. The Abbot too did not fail to 
 assure them of the zeal and sincerity with which his brother had 
 espoused the cause of King Richard. There were two objects 
 which the wily priest was still anxious to accomplish ; the first was 
 to lessen the number of the troops of the confederates in the town, 
 and the second to prevent the Earl of Salisbury from being involved 
 in the slaughter to which he had remorselessly doomed all his 
 associates. At length, after the Bailiff and the other authorities of
 
 THE ABBO T'S PLOT. 067 
 
 the town had retired from the banqueting-hall, he endeavoured to 
 put in practice a scheme which he thought would ensure both 
 these objects. 
 
 " My Lord of Salisbury," he said, addressing that Earl, " lives 
 not your ancient friend and co-mate, the Lord of Berkeley, in this 
 country ?" 
 
 " Pie hath a fair castle hard by, on the Severn side," returned 
 Salisbury. 
 
 " Would that that Lord," added the Abbot, " could be induced 
 to join in our enterprise ! The whole of the west country, in that 
 event, would range itself under our banners." 
 
 "There lives not the man in England," said the Duke of Exeter, 
 " could so easily win the Lord of Berkeley to our purpose as the 
 Earl of Salisbury." 
 
 "Then why should not the fair Earl," asked the Abbot, "ride 
 down the Severn side, visit his friend, and endeavour to secure 
 his co-operation for the restoration of King Richard ?" 
 
 " It were dangerous, my good Lord," said the Earl, " to travel 
 now without a competent escort. The King's troops are doubtless 
 by this time scouring the country, and our force beyond the walls 
 is not too numerous to repel any attack which may be made upon 
 them, or able to afford me a few hundred men to bear me company 
 on such a journey." 
 
 " But, Peers of England," said the Abbot, " the friendship of 
 the Lord of Berkeley is not a chance to be lightly thrown away. 
 What want we with so large a force as six hundred men within the 
 walls of Cirencester ? The Bailiff and the townsmen are our especial 
 good friends, and deserve of us rather to have their burdens relieved 
 than heightened. Let three hundred men-at-arms depart with 
 the Earl of Salisbury on the morrow for Berkeley Castle, and I 
 doubt not to see them speedily return with the Lord of that fair 
 castle and his retainers in their company." 
 
 " The Abbot counsels wisely," said the Duke of Exeter ; " and 
 Lords, with your leave, the Earl of Salisbury shall, as early as he 
 wills on the morrow, depart with the proposed escort towards 
 Berkeley Castle."
 
 &6I THE ABBOT'S PLOT. 
 
 The lords present expressed an unanimous consent to this 
 arrangement, and then separated for the night ; the Duke of Surrey 
 and the Earl of Salisbury retiring to one inn, and the Duke of Exe- 
 ter, the Earl of Gloucester, and the Bishop of Carlisle to another. 
 
 Early the next morning the Earl of Salisbury, with three hundred 
 men-at-arms, departed from Cirencester ; and the Bailiff having seen 
 them fairly out of the town, and secured the gates after them, sum- 
 moned his followers, by beat of drum through the various streets, and 
 soon found near two thousand men at his command in the market- 
 place. The Duke of Exeter, roused by the noise of the gathering 
 of the Bailiff's followers, hastily drew up the three hundred men 
 who yet remained in the town, and marched to the market-place. 
 " Sir William Beauchamp," he exclaimed, " what means this strange 
 and sudden armament ? Dare you venture to break the faith which 
 you plighted but yesternight ? Know you not that the Londoners 
 have delivered King Richard from the Tower, have placed Henry 
 Bolingbroke there in his stead, and are now marching hitherwards 
 in great force ?" 
 
 " 'Tis false, thou perjured Earl of Huntingdon," said the Bailiff 
 "false as thy own false heart." 
 
 " Huntingdon !" reiterated the Duke. 
 
 " Ay ! Huntingdon !" returned the Bailiff. " Thinkest thou that 
 I'll greet thee with thy forfeited honour of Duke of Exeter ? No ; 
 be content with being addressed by the title which yet for a little 
 while remains to thee, and yield thyself my prisoner." 
 
 " The prisoner of thee, vile traitor ! and of thy scoundrel ale- 
 drinkers !" said the Duke, scornfully. " Peers, and gentlemen of 
 England, and ye, the gallant soldiers of King Richard, hear ye the 
 base churl's proposal ! Answer, as ye are wont to answer the 
 insults of an enemy. Answer as your ancestors answered at Cressy 
 and Poictiers !" 
 
 " Forbear ! forbear !" said the Abbot, who now appeared by his 
 brother's side; "all is lost! There is no hope of effecting the 
 restoration of Richard of Bordeaux, and I for one do hereby ac- 
 knowledge King Henry, of that name the Fourth, my lawful 
 sovereign."
 
 
 THE ABBOT'S PLOT. &> 
 
 " Thrice perjured traitor !" said the Duke of Surrey, " sayest 
 thou so ?" 
 
 " Ay, my good Earl of Kent," returned the Abbot, " ye could 
 bare your weapon at the bosom of an unarmed religious man. How 
 like ye the looks of these good subjects of King Henry, who now 
 resist your efforts to compel them to return beneath the yoke of 
 a tyrant ?" 
 
 " Parley not with the villain, good cousin," said the Duke of 
 Exeter ; " nor fear the array of the brainless, heartless hinds whom 
 he has gathered around him. On, on, bold Peers ! strike for your 
 lawful sovereign ! On, on, brave soldiers ! strike for King Richard 
 and the Commons !" 
 
 The disparity between the numbers of the opposing forces was 
 tremendous ; but the Duke of Exeter's attack was made with so 
 much zeal and judgment, that it drove the townsmen back several 
 paces. The slings and arrows, however, with which that part of 
 the assailed who had formed the garrison was armed, were soon 
 put in requisition, and hurled back on the Duke's forces a fierce 
 Vengeance, while the main body of the townsmen seconded them 
 with their staves and clubs, and speedily succeeded, by the over- 
 whelming strength of their numbers, in breaking the ranks of their 
 enemies. The two Dukes then endeavoured to make good their 
 retreat to their lodgings ; but as they tried to effect this purpose, 
 numbers of their followers fell around them. " Fire the town 
 destroy the dwellings of the traitors !" exclaimed the Duke of 
 Exeter. This command was not slow in being obeyed. A party 
 of soldiers, under the command of the Earl of Gloucester, speedily 
 collected such inflammable materials as they could get hold of, 
 and the whole town of Cirencester seemed in a blaze. The 
 townsmen gazed for some moments in mute and motionless dismay 
 on the destruction of their dwellings, and the Dukes availed them- 
 selves of the opportunity presented by their panic to retreat to 
 their inns. The stupefaction which seized the townspeople was 
 but momentary ; when they recovered from it they gave a yell of 
 savage vengeance, and proceeded to invest the houses in which 
 their enemies had taken refuge. Stones and trrows were showered
 
 270 THE ABBOT'S PLOT. 
 
 in upon them at every pervious place scaling ladders were applied 
 to the windows, and were mounted by the assailants, one after 
 another, although numbers of them were for a long time swept 
 away, as they attempted to advance, by the arrows of the besieged. 
 At length, the weapons which the Dukes had taught their enemies 
 to use, were turned against themselves ; the houses to which they 
 had retreated were set on fire, and the townsmen uttering shouts 
 of savage satisfaction, and pointing their bows at such of the 
 soldiers as were seen endeavouring to stop the progress of the 
 flames, waited calmly watching the destruction of their foes. The 
 Dukes now determined to abandon their places of retreat, and, 
 placing themselves at the head of the wretched remnant of their 
 followers, rushed into the streets, and made one more desperate 
 sally on the Bailiff and his adherents. The carnage was immense ; 
 the life of every soldier that fell was revenged by the sacrifice of 
 that of at least three of his foes. But the disproportion in the 
 numbers of the two contending parties was such as neither strength 
 nor courage could counterpoise ; and the Duke of Exeter being at 
 length slain by a random arrow, his men threw down their arms 
 and fled. The Earl of Gloucester and a few followers contrived 
 to effect their escape beyond the town, in the hope of rejoining 
 their host, which lay encamped in the fields ; but they found that 
 their army, seeing the town on fire, had dispersed and fled, be- 
 lieving that King Henry and his forces had arrived there and taken 
 their leaders prisoners. 
 
 The Abbot of Westminster, at the close of this day's carnage, 
 and after the townspeople had stopped the farther progress of the 
 flames, walked like an exulting fiend over the piles of the dead and 
 dying, M'hich strewed the streets of Cirencester, and smiled with a 
 grin of demoniacal satisfaction as he recognised in the features of 
 any of the slain those of the confederates who had injured him by 
 their threats or their suspicions. The dead bodies of the Duke of 
 Exeter and the Earl of Somerset seemed, from the peculiar ex 
 pression of his features as he gazed upon them, to be objects which 
 gave him peculiar delight. That delight, however, seemed to be 
 heightened to a frenzy of rapture as he approached the yet warm
 
 THE ABBOT'S PLOT, 971 
 
 corpse of the young Duke of Surrey. " Why point ye not your 
 sword at me now ?" he said : " why use ye not that dagger which 
 is yet clutched by your assassin hand ? why call ye me not traitor, 
 and coward, and villain ? I am near enough to hear you !" As he 
 thus spoke, he stooped down and gazed into the sightless balls, 
 when he fancied that he saw a yet remaining ray of life in them, 
 and he felt his hand suddenly grasped by the apparently dead man, 
 who drew him towards him. A sudden fear, as well as the fatigue 
 which he had undergone even in his small share of the battle, 
 deprived the Abbot of the power of motion ; and Surrey, exerting 
 all his remaining strength to retain his grasp of his enemy with one 
 hand, while with the other he pointed his dagger at him, threw 
 himself upon him, and died with the effort which enabled him to 
 bury his weapon in his throat. 
 
 The Earls of Salisbury and Gloucester were soon after taken by 
 the King's forces and beheaded ; the priest Magdalen was also 
 apprehended, as he endeavoured to make his escape into Scotland, 
 and was hanged at Tyburn ; and the Bishop of Carlisle, although 
 he survived the carnage in the streets of Cirencester, soon after 
 died in that town, more from fear than sickness. Thus did the 
 Abbot's plot fail in effecting the ruin of King Henry, and end in 
 the destruction of all its projectors. 
 
 ..-'."',-! '', ,L!i' ; ^' !.".-i T v l?. T"" 
 * 
 
 
 
 tfdflC
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY, 
 
 HENRY THE FIFTH. 
 
 1413. HENRY THE FIFTH began his reign by dismissing his dissolute com- 
 panions, after making them liberal presents, and strictly enjoining them never 
 to appear in his presence till they had convinced the world of their entire 
 reformation. 
 
 Sir John Oldcastle was condemned for heresy, but he escaped from the Tower 
 the day before the time appointed for his execution. 
 
 Henry demanded of the King of France restitution of the provinces which 
 had been ceded to Edward III. 
 
 1415. Henry, having entered into a private treaty with the Duke of Bur- 
 gundy, determined to attack France. Whilst he was embarking his troops at 
 Southampton, he was informed of a conspiracy against his person, which cost the 
 Earl of Cambridge and Lord Scroop their lives. Henry landed in France, took 
 Harfleur, gained a complete victory at Agincourt over the Constable of France, 
 commanding an army five times as numerous as his own, with incredible loss 
 to the enemy, and returned to England, where he was received with joyful 
 acclamations. 
 
 1418. Henry returned to France this year, and was very successful in what 
 he undertook, as the French factions were more intent upon destroying each 
 other, than resisting the common enemy. Sir John Oldcastle, Lord Cobham, 
 was taken and burnt as a heretic. 
 
 1420. The factions still continued in France. The Constable Armagnac 
 was taken and murdered by the Burgundian party. 
 
 The Dauphin and Duke of Burgundy were apparently reconciled, but soon 
 afterwards the Duke was assassinated at a conference held on the bridge of 
 Montereau, which so exasperated the Duke's son that he immediately entered 
 into the strictest alliance with Henry to revenge his father's murder. Henry 
 made very rapid conquests, and France was obliged to conclude the peace of 
 Troye, by which it was agreed that Henry should marry the Princess Catherine^ 
 daughter of Charles VI., who was to keep the crown for his life, and on his 
 demise Henry was to succeed to the throne of France. 
 
 Henry married the Princess, and carried her and her father to Paris, where 
 \tt took on himself the titl cf Regent.
 
 HENRY THE FIFTH. 7 3 
 
 1421. He went to England to meet the Parliament, and left the Duke of 
 Clarence to command against the Dauphin. The Scots, whom the Duke of 
 Albany, Regent of Scotland, had sent over, under the command of the Earl of 
 Buchan, assisted the Dauphin. 
 
 The Duke was soon afterwards defeated and slain in an action at Beauge, it 
 Anjou. The Dauphin made the Earl of Buchan Constable. 
 
 Henry carried over to France a considerable army, with which he was very 
 successful against the Dauphin. 
 
 1422. Whilst Henry was carrying on a successful war against the Dauphin, 
 he suffered so much from a fever that he was obliged to be carried in a litter to 
 the Bois de Vincennes, where he died on the 3ist of August, leaving his 
 brother, the Duke of Bedford, Regent of France, and his brother, the Duke of 
 Gloucester, Protector of England, during his son's minority. 
 
 Henry was carried to England, and buried at Westminster. 
 
 Charles VI. of France did not survive him two months.
 
 Like bonfires of contributory wood, 
 
 Every man's look show'd fed with cither's spirit, 
 
 As one had been a mirror to another, 
 
 Like forms of life and death each took from other j 
 
 And so were life and death mix'd at their heights 
 
 That you could see no fear of death for life, 
 
 Nor love of life for death ; but in their brows 
 
 Pyrrho's opinion in great letters shone 
 
 That life and death in all respects are one. 
 
 CHAPMAN. 
 
 ON the evening of Thursday, the 24th of October, in 
 the year 1415, the hostile armies of France and England 
 occupied stations on the plains of St Omer, at about three bow-
 
 A LEGEND OF AGINCOURT, 75 
 
 shots' distance from each other. Both parties were so close, that 
 the English heard the French calling on their friends, and began to 
 imitate their familiar vociferations ; but King Henry commanded 
 instantaneous silence to be observed, under very severe penalties. 
 Worn down with sickness and hunger, scarcely amounting to a fifth 
 part of the number of their opponents, and in an enemy's country, 
 their escape from which only lay through the opposing myriads 
 from which they were separated but by a narrow valley, the doom 
 of the English army seemed to be fatal and certain. They lay in 
 the midst of an immense wood, and occupied the only narrow 
 passage which led through it. Their flanks being thus protected 
 from the assaults of the enemy, who could only make any impression 
 upon them by attacking them in front, moodily and silently they 
 reposed themselves under the branches of the trees, except the 
 King and a few of the more distinguished leaders, who found a 
 scarcely more enviable shelter in the miserable huts of the adjacent 
 village of Maisoncelles. In the mean time, the autumnal rain fell 
 in torrents ; the pitchy darkness of the night was only illuminated 
 by the numerous watch-fires which the French had kindled in their 
 camp, to enable them to observe the motions of the English, and to 
 prevent their making their escape during the night ; and the only 
 sounds which disturbed the gloomy silence in the ranks of the 
 latter proceeded from the obstreperous carousals of their exulting 
 enemies, who were already celebrating their anticipated triumphs 
 of the morrow. The same night-wind which chilled the veins of 
 the English, bore to their ears the insulting vociferations of their 
 foes ; and the same fires which showed them the ghastly visages 
 and scanty ranks of their comrades, gleamed on the hilarious revels 
 of the myriads to which they were opposed. Still was not the 
 slightest emotion of fear or regret visible in the little English band. 
 They held a stern and indignant silence ; and the feelings which 
 the insults of their enemies called forth were only visibly expressed 
 when some archer tried the strings of his bow with more than usual 
 care and earnestness, or some man-at-arms clutched his dagger 
 eagerly, while his features wore the aspect of one who has his 
 deadliest foe within his grasp. Sometimes, too, a paternoster was 
 T a
 
 276 A LEGENtf OF 4GINCOURT. 
 
 uttered, but in the tone rather of an oath than a supplication ; at 
 others, a less disguised execration burst from some indignant lips ; 
 and occasionally a lighter and more careless heart was indicated 
 in the warble of a note or two of one of those gay ditties which 
 were then so numerous and so much admired in merry England. 
 
 Such were the relative situations of the two armies, when two 
 knights well mounted, and preceded by a herald, were seen crossing 
 the narrow valley which separated them. " It is little less than 
 madness, Sir Piers Capel," said one of them, " in King Henry to 
 send such an answer to the Constable's message as that of which 
 we are the bearers. The enemy are five to one against us ; they 
 are healthy and robust, while we are wasted with sickness and 
 fatigue ; and they are well supplied with provisions, while we can 
 scarcely procure sufficient to support against the approach of famine 
 to-night those bodies which must fall beneath the swords of the 
 Frenchmen to-morrow." 
 
 " The King is wise and right," said Capel ; " let us die on the 
 morrow, if Heaven so wills it, but let us not dishonour the noble 
 enterprise which we have undertaken by submitting to terms of 
 base compromise. There are enow in England to avenge us, should 
 we fall ; and too many to witness our disgrace, should we return 
 from a thriftless and dishonoured enterprise. Neither do I believe 
 that the numbers of our enemies are so overwhelming as the fears 
 of our scouts would make us believe. The gallant Welsh esquire, 
 David Gam, is out upon a reconnoitring party, and till he confirms 
 these disheartening rumours, Laurence Button, I will not believe 
 them." 
 
 "And in good time," said Button, "here comes the brave 
 Welshman, in eager haste, it would seem, to bear his news to his 
 royal countryman. What cheer, brave Gam ?" he added, as a 
 horseman, spurring his steed to its full speed, approached them : 
 " what is the number of the enemy ?" 
 
 " Enough to be killed, enough to be captured, and enough to 
 nm away," cried Gam, as he spurred rapidly past them. 
 
 " Gallant Bavid," said Capel, " if on the morrow a spirit like 
 thine will but animate each individual man in King Henry's army,
 
 A LEGEND OF AGIN COURT. 177 
 
 the fame of the field of Agincourt shall not yield to that of Cressy 
 or Poictiers, be the Frenchmen's numbers what they may. Would 
 that I had no private sorrows to mingle with my solicitude for the 
 public weal, and that amongst those Frenchmen who are my 
 country's foes I did not number one who is the destroyer of the 
 peace, and the unfeeling trampler on the dearest affections of 
 Piers Capel !" 
 
 " Ha !" said Button, " does the old grudge between thee and 
 the Lord de Challeny yet live in thy remembrance ?" 
 
 " Doth it yet live there, askest thou, Sir Laurence Button ?" 
 returned Capel : " are not its most ancient wounds yet fresh and 
 bleeding, and doth not every day infuse fresh torture into its 
 rankling smarts ? Both not that false Lord still hold my affianced 
 bride in durance, and insult me with the taunt that I have not yet 
 proved myself worthy of her hand ? The Lady Margaret, I am 
 assured, does not forget the vows which have been exchanged 
 between us ; and so jealous is her guardian (rather let me call him 
 her gaoler) of an attempt at escape, that he forces her to bear him 
 company in all his expeditions, and she is even now, it is said, in 
 his tent near the village of Agincourt." 
 
 " The morrow's battle, Capel," said his companion, " will end 
 or cure all ; but we have arrived at the Constable's tent," 
 
 Having answered the challenge of the sentinel, by saying that 
 they were the bearers of a message from the King of England, in 
 answer to that which he had received from the Lord High Con- 
 stable of France, they were speedily admitted into the presence 
 of the latter. 
 
 Charles B'Albret, High Constable of France, was one of the 
 most experienced generals and gallant warriors of the age, and had 
 in this campaign been the cause of infinite annoyance to the in- 
 vading army, harassing and intercepting them, cutting off their 
 provisions, and capturing their messengers and scouts. On the 
 present occasion, too, his caution and forbearance, carried, it was 
 thought by his followers, almost to timidity, presented a striking 
 contrast to the reckless confidence and vain-glorious boasting of 
 the chiefs with whom he was associated. While the latter reckoned
 
 rf* A LEGEND OF AGIN COURT. 
 
 King Henry and his troops as already in their power, and imagined 
 (with sufficient appearance of reason, it must be confessed,) that 
 they had nothing to do but to put the immense bodies of men 
 which they commanded into motion, and the English would be as 
 surely crushed as would the reptiles be on which their horses set 
 their hoofs, the Constable, although he was fully aware of the 
 immense disproportion between the strength of the two armies, yet 
 was also well acquainted with the character of Henry and his 
 troops, and remembered, with a somewhat ominous feeling, the 
 events of Cressy and of Poictiers. He had therefore offered terms 
 to King Henry, which were unanimously condemned by his military 
 counsellors as preposterous and unnecessary concessions, but to 
 which he adhered, as being such as the King of England, unless 
 positively afflicted with insanity, could not possibly refuse to 
 accept. These were, that the King and his army should be 
 suffered to pass unobstructed into England ; that the Duchy of 
 Aquitaine, and the whole of the territories which were formerly 
 attached to it, should be ceded to Henry ; and that the Princess 
 Katherine, the daughter of the King of France, should be given 
 to him in marriage, with a dowry of eight hundred thousand 
 crowns. 
 
 When the two English knights entered the tent, they found the 
 Constable, the Duke of Alengon, and the Lord de Challeny there. 
 The first was seated in a corner, anxiously perusing a map of the 
 surrounding country, which was spread out before him. The two 
 latter were engaged at a game of dice in the middle of the tent. 
 
 " You have lost, my lord," said Alengon : " you have lost ! I 
 have won the King of England of you. I will, nevertheless, sell 
 him to you at a reasonable rate. What will you give me in exchange 
 for him ?" 
 
 " You shall have the Dukes of York and Suffolk, and Sir Thomas 
 Erpingham," returned Challeny ; " and I care not if I throw in Sir 
 Piers Capel also, in order to seal the bargain." 
 
 At that moment Challeny's eye rested on the last-named knight 
 and his companion, as they entered the tent. 
 
 y ] or( j s o f F rance> " said Capel, sternly, " you
 
 A LEGEND OP A GIN CO UR T. 79 
 
 seem to participate in the gamesome spirit of your Dauphin ; but 
 rest assured that on the morrow we will teach you a game that 
 shall spoil your taste for dice and tennis-ball." 
 
 "Ha! my fair cousin Capel," said Challeny; "by St. Denis, 
 vrell encountered ! It is a right long and weary period since I last 
 met thee. These unhappy wars sever private friendships, and are 
 by me more regretted on that account than on any other." 
 
 Capel eyed the French lord with an indignant frown ; and was 
 approaching the Constable without taking any further notice of 
 him, when Challeny intercepted him. " Fair cousin," he said, 
 " this is an uncourteous interview after so long an absence." 
 
 " The recollections of my former acquaintance with your lord- 
 ship," said Capel, " may account for the fact that I am not now very 
 solicitous to renew it. Of the man who has profaned the sacred 
 trust reposed in him by his dying friend ; who bestows on the 
 daughter, whom that friend commended to his care, such protection 
 as the vulture gives to the sparrow, and has insulted and injured 
 me in my dearest affections and feelings, I regret that I know so 
 much, rather than wish that knowledge to be increased." 
 
 " These English knights," whispered the Duke of Alengon to 
 the Constable, "have proud but, I fear, marvellously empty 
 stomachs. I could almost pity the fates of these bare-boned 
 gallants for their stout hearts and fearless language. Should this 
 springald fall beneath my sword on the morrow, I would grant him 
 his liberty for a moderate ransom." 
 
 "Thou art too bold and sanguine, cousin Alengon," said the 
 Constable. " These knights, albeit the agency of famine is visible 
 in their features, do not look like men who will lightly suffer them- 
 selves to be placed in such a situation as shall render a ransom 
 necessary." 
 
 " Sir Knight," said Challeny, " thou wrongest me in verity. On 
 the morrow you may perchance show yourself worthy of the hand 
 of my fair ward, should not the game which you may practise then 
 prove less amusing even than the Dauphin's tennis-balls, and 
 render you unable to claim the prize of your valour." 
 
 " My Lord Challeny," said Capel, " I ask no higher favour from
 
 2 8o A LEGEND OF AGIN COURT. 
 
 Heaven than to meet you hand to hand, and steel to steel, on the 
 morrow. Then, trust me, that my own injuries and those of the 
 Lady Margaret shall not go unavenged." 
 
 " The Lady Margaret's injuries, forsooth !" exclaimed Challeny, 
 " to whom I am anxiously performing a father's part, by preventing 
 her from throwing herself away on a thriftless springald; on 
 one, moreover, who is ^now in arms against her father's king and 
 country." 
 
 " Peace, peace ! gentlemen," said the Constable : " what means 
 this idle contention ? The noble knights, doubtless, bear some- 
 thing from our royal adversary of England." 
 
 " Even so, my Lord High Constable," said Sir Laurence 
 Button. " His Grace commends himself to your lordship, of whose 
 fame and valour Europe does not hold a more fervent admirer 
 than he ; but for your proposition, he rejects it with indignation 
 and scorn. He claims the crown and realm of France ; and until 
 these, his rightful and undoubted inheritance, are restored to him, 
 never will he sheathe his sword." 
 
 " He shall not need to sheathe it " said the Constable, " on 
 the morrow, when he is a prisoner in our camp, or a cold and 
 gory carcase on the plains of Agincourt. We are sorry, brave 
 knights, that our proposals for peace, the large concessions con- 
 tained in which were much censured by our most esteemed counsel- 
 lors, have not been more favourably received by King Henry ; on 
 the morrow, therefore, we join in deadly conflict, and God defend 
 the right !" 
 
 "Amen ! amen 1" responded the Englishmen, and were leaving 
 the tent. 
 
 "But, Sir Knight," added the Constable, addressing Capel, "what 
 is the dispute between you and the good Lord Challeny ? We 
 would not that even the grim face of war should be yet farther 
 distorted by features of angry and personal hostility, and would 
 willingly heal the breach between ye." 
 
 " My lord," said Sir Piers, " the Lord de Challeny's deceased 
 kinsman, the Lord St. Foix, left him the guardian of his fair 
 daughter, the Lady Margaret, to whom, with that reoowned lord's
 
 A LEGEND OF AGINCOURT. 281 
 
 consent, I was betrothed ; and it was his dying wish, that as soon 
 as I had acquired a name in arms great enough to wed the heiress 
 of St. Foix, the lady should be mine." 
 
 " It is most true, my lord," said Challeny ; " but certes, that time 
 has not yet arrived." 
 
 " My lord," resumed Capel, " the golden spurs of knighthood 
 have been bestowed upon me by the great King Henry of England. 
 Show me the man in your lordship's army who can produce a nobler 
 evidence of merit." 
 
 " By Heaven ! my Lord Challeny," said the Constable, " the 
 knight speaks sooth. The lady is his, if the terms of her father's 
 will are to be complied with." 
 
 " My lord," said Capel, " the Loid Challeny shall answer it 
 with his heart's blood. The lady he keeps a close and unwilling 
 prisoner he bears her about with him as his bond-slave, and he 
 has forced her even now to accompany him on this expedition." 
 
 "Ha !" said the Duke of Alenc-on, smiling, "by St. Denis ! 'tis 
 the fair page whose tete-d-tete with the Lord Challeny in his tent we 
 yesterday disturbed. The seeming boy, in truth, appeared to be 
 in no gentle humour, and to look with no loving eye on his lord- 
 ship." 
 
 " Doubt not that, my lords," said Capel, " the lady knows and 
 esteems him according to his deserts." 
 
 " Insolent !" exclaimed Challeny, placing his hand on his sword; 
 "dare you to utter calumnies such as these in the presence of these 
 princes? The Lord St. Foix, indeed, knew and esteemed thee 
 according to thy deserts, and to rid himself of thy importunate 
 solicitations for his fair daughter's hand, he promised that it should 
 be thine ; but he accompanied that promise with what he knew to 
 be an impossible condition." 
 
 " Name that impossible condition," said the knight: 
 
 " That thou shouldst prove thyself by thy prowess in the field 
 worthy of the hand, to the possession of which thy presumption 
 prompted thee to aspire." 
 
 " Thou art a maligner and a liar !" exclaimed the knight, draw- 
 ing his sword. " Callest thou that an impossible condition ? Draw
 
 282 A LEGEND OF AGINCOURT. 
 
 draw, thou foul slanderer. By Heaven ! I will have thy heart's 
 blood ere I quit this presence !" 
 
 The Lord Challeny was not slow in accepting the challenge of 
 his rival ; and brandishing their naked weapons they rushed 
 towards each other. The Constable, however, also unsheathed his 
 sword, and darting between them, exclaimed, " Forbear ! or I will 
 strike to the earth the first who continues this unseemly brawl. 
 Peace, I command you, my Lord Challeny, peace ! And do you, 
 Sir Knight, remember that you entered this tent as a peaceful 
 messenger from your royal master. I could have indeed wished 
 that, ere you quitted this tent, I might have persuaded this gallant 
 lord to see the justice of your complaint." 
 
 " My Lord," said Challeny, sullenly sheathing his sword, " I 
 must crave that this conversation be put an end to. My conduct 
 as guardian of my deceased kinsman's child seems to me to be no 
 fitting subject for discussion at this moment. The knight has done 
 his errand as a messenger from his King ; and for the presump- 
 tuous addition which he has dared to make to that errand, the 
 morrow will bring its condign punishment." 
 
 Sir Piers Capel only answered Challeny's threat with a grim 
 smile ; and then, bowing respectfully to the Constable and the 
 Duke of Alengon, he left the tent, followed by Sir Laurence 
 Button. 
 
 " My worst fears and my most sanguine hopes, Dutton," he 
 said, as they retraced their steps across the valley, '' are alike con- 
 firmed. The Lady Margaret is the prisoner of her perjured guar- 
 dian, who wishes himself to obtain her hand ; but she repels his 
 proffer with scorn, and remains constant in her attachment to me." 
 
 Dutton clearly saw the confirmation of his friend's fears, although 
 that of his hopes was not quite so apparent to him ; nevertheless 
 he fed those hopes with words of encouragement, and pointed out 
 to him the probability, should the English arms prove successful 
 on the morrow, of his being able to rescue the Lady Margaret 
 from her captivity. " But those arms," he added, despondingly, 
 " can scarcely be victorious. Our enemies are five to one against 
 us ; a disproportion which is more than doubled by their superior
 
 A LEGEND OF AGIN COURT. 283 
 
 state of health, and the excellent manner in which their camp is 
 provisioned." 
 
 The slight glance which his visit had enabled Sir Piers Capel to 
 take of the hostile army had almost made him a convert to his 
 friend's opinion. The robust forms and joyous countenances of 
 the French were as much contrasted to the squalid figures and 
 emaciated features, as was their numerous array to the thin and 
 apparently feeble ranks of their opponents. Sir Piers, however, 
 shared the feeling which was universal in the army, of confidence 
 in the talents and valour of the King, and (strange as it may now 
 appear) in the justice and righteousness of the cause for which 
 they were contending. Good subject and zealous patriot as he 
 was, the knight's thoughts were nevertheless more occupied in 
 considering the practicability of effecting the escape of the Lady 
 Margaret, than that of achieving a victory over the French. The 
 first event, however, depended so materially on the second, that 
 Capel hardly knew whether it was love or patriotism by which his 
 bosom was principally agitated. 
 
 " Button," he said, " I shall be engaged on the morrow near the 
 person of the King. I would therefore advise you, who will be 
 more at liberty to choose your own course of conduct, should an 
 opportunity offer of attacking the tents of that part of the enemy's 
 army which is commanded by the Duke of Alenc,on to seize it. 
 The treasure which it is rumoured is deposited there will amply 
 repay any effort to make yourself master of it." 
 
 " Indeed," said Button, laughing, " you are a most grave and 
 disinterested counsellor, and I will take care to follow your advice. 
 The treasure which I shall lay my hands upon will, of course, 
 become my own property ; and should chance lead me to the tent 
 of the Lord Challeny, and should I there find disguised in the 
 garb of a page " 
 
 " Nay, nay ! Spare me ! spare me !" said Capel ; " but in very 
 earnest, should an opportunity offer, gallant Button, for rescuing 
 the Lady Margaret from this unworthy lord, promise me that thou 
 wilt pursue it as far as thy duty will permit thee." 
 
 " Fear not that, Sir Piers," said Button, wringing his friend's
 
 284 A LEGEND OF AGINCOURT. 
 
 hand. " Beauty and valour, if the old Greeks speak truth, are 
 not unfrequently seen in conjunction, and I trust that the event of 
 the morrow will prove propitious to them both." ' i 
 
 | At the dawn of the next day, the French were perceived to be 
 arranging themselves in battalions, troops, and squadrons ; and took 
 their position in terrific numbers directly before the English, in 
 the field of Agincourt, across the road that must be passed in the 
 way to Calais. They placed many companies of horse in hun- 
 dreds on each side of their vanguard, to break up the line and 
 strength of the English archers, the van being a line of infantry, all 
 selected from the noblest and choicest in their army. The innu- 
 merable spears and shining helmets, that now caught and reflected 
 the beams of the rising sun, displayed themselves like an immense 
 forest of light. The Constable had formed his army into three 
 great portions. He led the van division himself, with the Princes 
 of Orleans and Bourbon, and the chief nobility of France. The 
 Count of Vendome commanded the left wing of the army, and 
 the main body was led by the Duke of Alengon. 
 
 In the meantime, King Henry, after having heard matins, and 
 had the mass chanted in his army stationed all the horses and 
 baggage in the village under such small guard as he could spare, 
 having resolved to fight the battle on foot. He formed one line of 
 battle, placing the vanguard, commanded by the Duke of York, 
 as a wing on the right hand ; and his rear-guard, commanded by 
 Lord Camoys, as a wing on the left. He interspersed every part 
 with archers, and made them fix their poles before them, to pre- 
 vent their line from being broken through by the enemy's horse. 
 He so chose the ground, that the village protected his rear, and 
 hedges and briars defended his flanks. Cased from head to foot 
 in a suit of resplendent armour, with a large and brilliant helmet 
 on his head, surmounted by a crown radiant with jewels, and hav- 
 ing a tunic thrown over his shoulders adorned with the arms of 
 France and England, he mounted a noble snow-white horse, and 
 rode through the ranks of his small but intrepid army. The shouts 
 with which his appearance was received were astounding, and 
 Beemed to check the ardour of the French, who, after advancing a
 
 A LEGEND OF AGINCOURT. S 
 
 few paces towards the enemy, retired to their original position. 
 The barons and knights, among whom was Sir Piers Capel, who 
 were nearest the King's person, were also arrayed in the most 
 splendid armour. Sir Walter Hungerford, as he cast his eyes 
 along the thin and scanty, although bold and valiant, lines of his 
 countrymen, said in an under tone to Capel, " I would that, in 
 addition to the small retinue which we have here, we had but one 
 ten thousand of those archers from England who would be desirous 
 of being with us this day !" 
 
 " Thou speakest foolishly," said the King, to whom the observa- 
 tion had been audible, although it had not been intended for his 
 ear : " for, by the God of Heaven ! on whose grace I have relied, 
 and in whom I have a firm hope of victory, I would not, even if I 
 could, increase my number by one ; for those whom I have are 
 the people of God, whom He thinks me worthy to have at this 
 time. Dost thou not believe that the Almighty, with these his 
 humble few, is able to conquer the haughty opposition of the 
 French, who pride themselves on their numbers and their own 
 strength, as if it might be said that whatever they willed they could 
 achieve ? and in my opinion, God, of His true justice, would not 
 bring any disaster upon one of so great confidence, as fell not out 
 to Judas Maccabeus until he became distrustful, and thence de- 
 servedly came to ruin. We are indeed," he added, in a louder 
 tone, and addressing the gorgeously caparisoned peers and knights 
 who stood around him, " but few compared with our enemy ; but 
 from this superiority, if God gives us the victory which we hope 
 for, it will be from Him that we shall receive it. From Him then 
 let us expect it. Should He for our sins deliver us to the swords 
 of our foes, the less injury will happen to our country from our 
 loss. Be brave and constant, and fight with all your strength. 
 God, and the justice of our cause, will help us : He will deliver 
 all this boasting multitude into our hands. Let every one who is 
 this day conspicuous for his bodily armour excel all his fellows in 
 the superior fortitude and gallant daring of his mind." 
 
 The mixture of chivalrous and devotional feelings which this 
 speech manifested was strongly characteristic of Henry's mind ;
 
 286 A LEGEND OF AGINCOURT. 
 
 and as he rode through the ranks, his armour, helmet, and diadem 
 glittering in the rays of the sun, he seemed in the eyes of his 
 soldiers to be some glorious messenger from above, and to deliver 
 the words of prophecy from his lips. One simultaneous shout 
 burst from the assembled army, who now indicated a feeling of 
 impatience at the delay of the French in making their attack, 
 which the English had been expecting ever since daybreak. 
 
 The sun was approaching the tenth hour ; the French still seemed 
 unwilling to commence the attack, and the King reflected that not 
 to fight would be more ruinous to him than the worst that could 
 happen from the conflict. He had no more provisions, and no 
 force to detach to collect them; he must perish by famine, or 
 surrender ignominiously, unless he fought and conquered. Every 
 one was convinced of these truths, and every one felt that, as 
 the French would not move to attack, the English must imme- 
 diately become, from necessity, not choice, the assailants. The 
 King then ordered the baggage of the army to the rear of the 
 battle, lest it should fall into the enemy's hands ; for the French 
 plunderers had already their eyes upon it, with an intention of 
 attacking it as soon as they saw both armKS engage. The King 
 then despatched about two hundred archers to the rear of his 
 army, under the command of Sir Laurence Dutton, with orders to 
 post themselves in a field near the van of the French, there to 
 remain quiet until it should be proper time to use their bows. Sir 
 Thomas Erpingham, the marshal of the army, then riding in the 
 front, threw up his truncheon into the air, and exclaimed, " Now 
 strike !" which was the signal for the attack to be commenced. 
 
 Uttering repeated huzzas, and occasionally stopping to recover 
 their breath, the English now rushed upon their enemies. The 
 archers who were hidden in the field re-echoed these shoutings, at 
 the same time discharging their bows, while the main army kept 
 advancing on the French. The archers, amounting to at least 
 thirteen thousand, let off a shower of arrows with all their might, 
 and as high as possible, so as not to lose their effect ; they were 
 for the most part without any armour and in jackets, with their 
 loose hose, and hatchets or swords hanging to their girdles \ some,
 
 A LEGEND OP AGINCOURT. 887 
 
 indeed, were barefooted and without hats. The princes with the 
 King of England were the Duke of York, his uncle, the Earls of 
 Dorset, Oxford, Suffolk, the Earl Marshal, the Earl of Kent, the 
 Lords Cambre, Beaumont, Willoughby, and many other powerful 
 barons of England. When the French observed the English thus 
 advance, they drew up each under his banner, with his helmet on 
 his head ; they were at the same time admonished by the Constable 
 and others of the princes, to confess their sins with sincere con 
 trition, and to fight boldly against the enemy. The English loudly 
 sounded their trumpets as they approached, and the French stooped 
 to prevent the arrows hitting them on the visors of their helmets. 
 Thus the distance was now but small between the two armies, 
 although the French had retired some paces : before, however, the 
 general attack commenced, numbers of the French were either 
 slain or severely wounded by the English bowmen. At length the 
 English gained on them so much, and were so close, that, except- 
 ing the front line, and such of them as had shortened their lances, 
 the enemy could not raise their hands against them. The division 
 under Sir Cluguet de Brabant of eight hundred men-at-arms, whc 
 were intended to break through the English archers, were reduced 
 to seven score, who vainly attempted it. Sir William de Saveuses, 
 who had been also ordered on this service, quitted his troop, think- 
 ing they would follow him, to attack the English, but he was shot 
 dead from off his horse. The others had their horses so severely 
 wounded by the archers, that, smarting from pain, they galloped 
 on the van division, and threw it into the utmost confusion, break- 
 ing the line in many places. The horses became unmanageable, 
 so that both they and their riders were tumbling on the ground, 
 and the whole army was thrown into disorder and forced back on 
 some lands that had just been sown with corn. Others from fear 
 of death fled ; and this caused so universal a panic in the army, 
 that many followed their example. The English took instant 
 advantage of the disorder in the van division, and, throwing down 
 their bows, fought bravely with swords, hatchets, mallets, and bill- 
 hooks, slaying all before them. Thus they came to the second 
 battalion, that had been posted in the rear of the first ; and the
 
 8 A LEGEND OF AG1NCOURT. 
 
 archers closely followed King Henry and his men-at-arms. Duke 
 Anthony of Brabant, who had just arrived, in obedience to the 
 summons of the King of France, threw himself with a small 
 company (for, to make greater haste, he had pushed forward, 
 leaving the main body of his own men behind) between the wreck 
 of the van and the second division ; but he was instantly killed by 
 the English, who kept advancing and slaying without mercy all 
 who opposed them, and thus destroyed the main battalion as they 
 had done the first. They were from time to time relieved by their 
 varlets, who carried off the prisoners ; for the English were so 
 intent on victory, that they never attended to making prisoners nor 
 pursuing such as fled. The whole rear division being on horse- 
 back, witnessing the defeat of the two others, began to fly, except- 
 ing some of its principal chiefs.* 
 
 During the heat of the combat, when the English had gained 
 the upper hand, and taken a vast number of prisoners, news was 
 brought to King Henry that the French were attacking his rear, 
 and had already captured the greater part of his baggage and 
 sumpter horses. This was indeed true ; for several men-at-arms, 
 with about six hundred peasants, had fallen upon and taken great 
 part of the King's baggage and a number of horses, while the 
 guard was occupied with the battle. This distressed the King 
 very much ; for he saw that though the French army had been 
 routed, they were collected on different parts of the plain in large 
 bodies, and he was apprehensive that they would renew the battle. 
 He therefore caused instant proclamation to be made by sound of 
 trumpet, that every one should put his prisoners to death, to pre- 
 vent them from aiding the enemy, should the combat be renewed. 
 The blasts of the trumpets then resounded over the plain so loud 
 and shrill, that it rose above all the noise of the battle, and even 
 arrested the attention of all, whether combatants, pursuers, or pur- 
 sued. As this sound died away a hundred stentorian voices were 
 heard, shouting, " Slay all your prisoners /" The work of mas- 
 sacre then began; shrieks, and groans, and execrations, and 
 
 Monstrelet.
 
 A LEGEND OF AG1NCOURT. 889 
 
 lamentations, and prayers, arose on every side, and formed a 
 medley of sounds more fearful than anything which had been 
 heard during the very height and fury of the combat. In one 
 place might be seen old men, women, and children, butchered in 
 masses, who had crowded to the English tents, and surrendered 
 themselves prisoners, as soon as they saw that the event of the 
 battle would be decisively against their own countrymen, in the 
 hopes of thereby securing the protection of the victors. In another 
 place, a gallant English knight, whom the fortune of war had made 
 maste; of the life and fortune of a Frenchman as gallant and 
 chivalrous as himself, was endeavouring, but in vain, to hurry off 
 his unfortunate prisoner to a place of concealment and security. 
 Others, although actuated by a less worthy motive, were making 
 efforts of a similar nature ; for they knew that the deaths of theii 
 captives would deprive them of the large sums which they expected 
 to receive for their ransom. The commands of the King, how- 
 ever, were peremptory ; and as the fearful words, " Slay all your 
 prisoners !" echoed and re-echoed over the plain, numerous run- 
 agates and fugitives, who had not shown themselves anxious to 
 encounter the perils of the battle, seized with alacrity this cheap 
 mode of acquiring the royal favour ; and brandishing their as yet 
 unstained weapons aloft, they dyed them deeply in the blood of 
 the unarmed and the helpless. Sometimes a French knight would 
 make a formidable but unavailing resistance to his assassins. One 
 even snatched the sword from the grasp of the person who aimed 
 it at him, and stretched him lifeless on the ground ; but he was 
 immediately surrounded and overpowered by a host of fresh 
 assailants, and fell, hacked with innumerable wounds, a mangled 
 and lifeless corpse. So rapidly was the destruction carried on, 
 that in a very few minutes all was hushed, and silent as the grave, 
 in the English tents ; every soldier, even those who had just com- 
 pleted this work of slaughter, being engaged in a distant part of 
 the plain in pursuit of the French, who were now fleeing in all 
 directions. 
 
 The adventures of the persons in whose fate we would princi- 
 pally interest the attention of our readers, now compel us to take 
 
 ENG. U
 
 ego A LEGEND OF AGINCOURT. 
 
 a retrospective glance of some of the events of this memorable day. 
 When the Lord de Challeny, on the previous evening, departed 
 from his tent in the rear of the French army, for the purpose of 
 joining the troop which he was appointed to command, he left 
 strict injunctions with two attendants to guard well his page, and 
 see that he had no opportunity afforded him of effecting his 
 escape, as he much feared that he wished to join the enemy, and 
 carry some important intelligence to the English leaders. 
 
 " If it be so," said Achmet Ali, a Moor who had long been in 
 the service of Challeny, " if it be so," touching his dagger, and 
 giving a ferocious grin, " methinks there were a shorter way !" 
 
 " Nay, on your life !" said Challeny ; " see, too, that not only 
 his safety, but his slightest wants are carefully attended to. Hurt 
 but a hair upon his head, and the gibbet and your neck shall 
 speedily become better acquainted. Guard him well, however, 
 and you shall be liberally rewarded." 
 
 Another grin distorted the dark features of Achmet, as the Lord 
 Challeny rode away. " Fool, fool !" he said ; " he thinks his 
 secret unsuspected, as if the dark glance and heaving breast of 
 woman could be disguised from the eye of Achmet Ali ! Fool, 
 fool ! to let thoughts of love and dalliance mingle with to-morrow's 
 fearful business. And these lords and princes are fools who think 
 that yonder English, now pent between the woods as the lion 
 crouches in his lair, can be crushed as easily as the field-mouse or 
 the mole ; and those English themselves are fools who combat at 
 the best for barren and unprofitable victory ; and Achmet Ali is a 
 fool to waste in bitter reflections on what concerns him not the 
 moments that might be so much better devoted to repose and 
 slumber." 
 
 Thus saying, the Moor wrapped his cloak round him, and, 
 stretching himself beneath a canopy at the door of the tent, soon 
 sunk, notwithstanding the pelting of the autumnal rain, into a pro- 
 found sleep. The other attendant paraded in the front of the 
 tent, to prevent any attempt on the part of the page to escape 
 during the slumber of Achmet AIL 
 
 The page, who, as the reader will probably have guessed, was
 
 A LEGEND OF AGINCOURT. 99. 
 
 no other than the Lady Margaret St. Foix, passed the night in 
 the interior of the tent, sometimes in feverish and unrefreshing 
 slumber, and sometimes in anxious watching and wakefulness. 
 The jealousy of her guardian had compelled her to accompany 
 him during the campaign, and also to assume the disguise of a 
 page. To neither of these mandates had she made as much ob- 
 jection as he had anticipated ; for with the former, a compliance 
 would place her nearer to Sir Piers Capel, and with the latter it 
 would present greater facilities for making her escape. 
 
 During the night her brain was haunted by dreams of peril and 
 slaughter. Sometimes the whole of the morrow's fearful conflict 
 was depicted before her, and she saw her lover and Challeny 
 engaged in single and mortal combat. Sometimes she beheld the 
 former smiling cheerfully upon her, with his brow crowned with 
 laurels, and his hand clasping her neck. At others, the hated 
 Challeny grinned fearfully upon her, showed the gory head of Sir 
 Piers Capel in his hand, and loaded her with his odious caresses. 
 As she started from these broken slumbers, she heard only the 
 heavy falling of the autumnal rain, and occasionally the joyous 
 shouts of Alengon and his merry boon companions, as they were 
 borne on the air from the distant tents in which they were holding 
 their wassails. 
 
 At the earliest dawn of day her slumbers were effectually put 
 an end to by the sound of bugles and the mustering of the troops, 
 but she heard nothing which indicated the speedy approach of the 
 conflict. Occasionally the dark visage of Achmet Ali peered into 
 the tent to see that his prisoner was safe, and the malignant glance 
 of his eye effectually deterred her from a project which she had at 
 one time formed of making him her confidant, and soliciting his 
 assistance in effecting her escape. Hour toiled after hour, and 
 still the day seemed lost in laborious idleness ; the battle did not 
 begin, and the Lady Margaret feared, rather than hoped, that the 
 English had made good their retreat, and that thus all her expec- 
 tations of rejoining her lover were annihilated. At length, how- 
 ever, a distant but tremendously audible shout burst upon her 
 ear ; it was the same with which the English troops answered Sir 
 u a
 
 f -2 A LEGEND OF AGINCOURT. 
 
 Thomas Erpingham's exclamation of " Now strike !" The din 
 of the conflict soon followed. The clashing of swords, the clang 
 of armour, the whizzing of the arrows as they flew in dense volleys 
 through the air, the shouts alike of the assailants and the assailed, 
 execrations, and shrieks, and groans, and cheers, gave fearful evi- 
 dence that the battle was raging in all its fury. The Lady 
 Margaret listened with intense anxiety, although she was not 
 allowed to be the spectator of a single incident. The frail canvas 
 which separated her from the scene of horrors was but a slender 
 protection against its dangers ; yet it was not fear, but anxious 
 and thrilling interest, which she felt. By degrees the noise of the 
 battle became fainter and less audible, and the scene of conflict 
 appeared to be removed to a comparative distance from her. She 
 therefore conjectured that the attack of the English had been 
 repelled, and that the French in their turn had themselves become 
 the assailants. A thousand contending emotions agitated her 
 bosom ; the triumph of that army in which her lover combated 
 would be defeat and disaster to her country. A prayer for France 
 would rise to her lips, but it was speedily converted into a petition 
 for a blessing and prosperity to Piers Capel ; while in this ago- 
 nizing state of uncertainty, she would frequently sink down on her 
 seat, overpowered by the various emotions which distracted her 
 bosom. The din of war, which had for a short time seemed to be 
 receding from her, now rolled back with tenfold vehemence and 
 loudness. " Fly ! fly ! fly ! the Constable is slain !" was shouted 
 by a thousand voices. Fast and far did she hear the trampling 
 of the French cavalry in eager retreat ; and as they passed near 
 enough to the tent in which she was confined, she heard their 
 bitter lamentations on the events of the day, and their curses on 
 their own rash folly and precipitation. At length the tumult again 
 partially subsided, as the flight and the pursuit led to a distant 
 part of the plain ; and Achmet Ali, hastily entering the tent, seized 
 her by the hand. " Thou art mine ! thou art mine ! The Lord 
 Challeny is dead. Away with me." 
 
 "With thee, foul infidel !" she exclaimed. "Whither wilt thou 
 lead me?"
 
 A LEGEND OF AG1NCOURT. 293 
 
 " To love and liberty he who was alike the tyrant of us both 
 is no more." 
 
 As he uttered these words, the Moor approached the lady ; and 
 would have flung his arms around her, but she started from her 
 seat, plucked a dagger from his girdle, and retreating a few paces 
 exclaimed, "Advance one step, and this weapon, which was 
 never before used in so righteous a cause, shall be buried in thy 
 heart !" 
 
 The Moor grinned fearfully. " Child, art thou mad !" he ex- 
 claimed : "throw down that weapon, or thou wilt repent thy bold- 
 ness." 
 
 " Never !" she replied, " until my eyes are no longer afflicted 
 with thy odious presence." 
 
 " Say ye so ?" replied the Moor ; and forming with one brawny 
 arm a shield for his breast, and extending the other, he rushed 
 with all his strength upon the Lady Margaret. Her dagger gored 
 his arm fearfully ; but the force of his assault threw her to the 
 ground. He then snatched the dagger from her hand, threw it to 
 a distance, and twining his black arms around her neck, he covered 
 her with his kisses. " Monster, avaunt !" she exclaimed ; but her 
 exclamations were wasted on the air. The Moor seized her in his 
 vigorous arms, and bore her from the tent. The fiend-like grin 
 upon his cheek was now mingled with the flush of passion ; and 
 the malignant scowl with which she had frequently seen him grasp 
 his dagger as he passed her, would, in her eyes, have been far 
 preferable to the leer with which he now regarded her. Arrived 
 at the exterior of the tent, he gazed a moment around him. Far 
 as the eye could extend, one wide scene of slaughter presented 
 itself. Piles of bleeding carcases rose like ramparts in every part 
 of the field. Showers of fallen arrows strewed the ground. The 
 earth was sodden with the blood of the dying and the dead, and 
 all around in the distance were* seen, pursuers and pursued, 
 scouring the field with the velocity of lightning. The Moor darted 
 across the plain with the utmost speed. The fair but hapless 
 burden which he bore seemed light as a feather in his grasp. 
 Sometimes darting a timorous look behind him, at others stretch-
 
 294 A LEGEND OF AGIN COURT. 
 
 ing his eagle glance to the very verge of the horizon before him. 
 and at others stooping down and imprinting a burning kiss upon 
 the beautiful but pale and horror-stricken features of the captive, 
 he held on his way across the field of battle. Sometimes he 
 stumbled over one of the numerous heaps of carcases on the 
 plain, and the lady felt her face touch the yet warm limbs of the 
 dead. Occasionally, too, an arrow whizzed so near them, that its 
 feather brushed her ear as it passed by them. Not long, however, 
 did she retain her consciousness. The imaginary horrors which 
 crowded into her brain surpassed even those real and substantial 
 ones by which she was surrounded, and she soon became in the 
 arms of the Moor a lump almost as lifeless as those on which his 
 foot was treading. He seemed anxious to gain the recesses of 
 the wood which spread in the rear of the French tents. There 
 was no one near him to prevent his executing his purpose, except 
 a body of archers who were riding in that direction, and who he 
 naturally conjectured had prizes of more importance in their view 
 than two runaway domestics, a Moor and a page. As the archers 
 approached, however, Achmet heard one say to the leader, "They 
 proceed from the Lord Challeny's tent, Sir Laurence perchance 
 it is the page of whom you are in search." The Moor, on hearing 
 these words, doubled his speed. " Discharge your arrows at the 
 slave !" exclaimed the leader. A score of bows were instantly 
 bent at the unfortunate Moor ; not an English arrow had that day 
 missed its aim, and Achmet Ali sunk lifeless on the ground. 
 
 Utterly deprived of sensation, although unhurt, the Lady 
 Margaret, as the dying Moor relinquished his grasp, sunk by his 
 side. Sir Laurence Button rode up to her. " It must be she," 
 he mentally said ; " yet I will not discover her even to my brave 
 yeomen, lest any untoward accident should happen. Here, De 
 Courcy, Fitz-Eustace, bear this fair lad back into the tent. Treat 
 him as you would a prisoner of gentle rank and honour. And 
 Adam Tyrrell, hasten to the Knight of Capel, the gallant Sir 
 Piers, whom you will find about King Henry's person. Tell him 
 that I have taken a prisoner whom he will be glad to see, and that 
 he will find him in the Lord Challenv's tent." Having given these
 
 A LEGEMU Or ^o/.vc^o^i^. *^ 
 
 directions, the knight rode off to resume the pursuit of the flying 
 enemy, followed by all his archers, with the exception of those 
 three for whom he had thus devised employment. 
 
 " Ha ! am I in the custody of the English ?" said the Lady 
 Margaret, as a strangely mingled feeling of terror and satisfaction 
 possessed her. " They are," she said, in a low tone, " the ancient 
 and inveterate enemies of my country the people against whom 
 my father fought so long and so gallantly; but they are the 
 countrymen of Piers Capel, and they bear but small resemblance 
 to him if they can offer violence to the unfortunate and the un- 
 protected." 
 
 " Fair Sir," said De Courcy, who did not quite understand the 
 expression of the boy's features, but saw that some portion of feai 
 and distrust was mingled with it, " you shall be treated nobly, and 
 with all due attention to your safety and your wants. God h?<s 
 this day given the victory to the English, and they will not disgrace 
 their successes by acts of inhumanity or oppression to those whom 
 the fortune of war has placed in their hands." 
 
 The seeming page was once more conducted to the tent, and 
 cordials being administered, regained consciousness and strength. 
 " To whom am I indebted," she asked, " for effecting my delive- 
 rance from the fiend who held me in his grasp ?" 
 
 " Sweet Sir," said De Courcy, a young esquire of gentle blood, 
 and well skilled in the practise of archery: "a noble Knight of 
 England, Sir Laurence Button, happened to behold your distress, 
 and arrived in time to rescue you from the ferocious Moor." 
 
 " Peace, peace ! De Courcy," said Eustace, a grim old bowman 
 who stood by his side ; " we were instructed to take care of the 
 lad ; but not that I remember to prattle with him. Methinks, too, 
 that two persons such as you and I, indifferently well skilled in 
 the science of archery, might have had some more fitting task 
 assigned to us than to watch over the safety of a puling boy." 
 
 "Tis some prisoner of distinction," said De Courcy, "and 
 doubtless our share of the ransom-money will sufficiently requite 
 our pains. We shall, moreover, be released from our charge as 
 soon as Six Piers Capel arrives."
 
 296 A LEGEND OF AGINCOURT. 
 
 " Sir Piers Capel !" exclaimed the Lady Margaret, starting from 
 her seat and seizing the old bowman by the hand : " was not that 
 the name ?" 
 
 " Even so, my springald !" returned Eustace, shaking her from 
 him ; " but I pray thee, none of these woman's tricks for me. I 
 care not to have my hand squeezed like a girl's, even by so hope- 
 ful a stripling as thou art." 
 
 The lady sunk on her knees, clasped her hands, and raising her 
 eyes to Heaven, seemed to be absorbed for some minutes in silent 
 thanksgiving and prayer. 
 
 " The boy is clean mad," said Eustace : " would we were well 
 rid of him !" 
 
 At that moment a tremendous shout resounded over the plain, 
 and the clashing of swords and clang of armour was heard as 
 during the height of the engagement. " By Heaven !" exclaimed 
 Eustace, " these rascal Frenchman are renewing the battle ! Is 
 this a time, De Courcy, to remain idle and inactive?" Thus 
 saying, he rushed from the tent, notwithstanding the efforts of 
 De Courcy to detain him. Soon afterwards, that trumpet blast, 
 which we have already mentioned, sent its loud, shrill notes far 
 and wide, and was followed by the cry, " Slay all your prisoners /" 
 De Courcy started to his feet ; his hand was on his sword ; but as 
 he gazed on the helpless boy before him, it refused to do its office. 
 He had not much time, however, for deliberation ; for Eustace 
 burst into the tent, followed by three or four men-at-arms, with 
 their naked weapons in their hands. " The prisoner must die !" 
 exclaimed Fitz-Eustace, "for such is the King's commandment. 
 The French have attacked our baggage in the rear, and the 
 captives have been assisting them." Thus saying, he suited the 
 action to the word, and pointed his weapon at the bosom of the 
 Lady Margaret. "Save me! spare me !" she exclaimed, sinking on 
 her knees before him. ' "I am not what I seem " but before the 
 reader is informed what effect the lady's supplication had upon the 
 stern bowman, we must once more take a retrospective glance, 
 for the purpose of watching the movements of Sir Piers Capel. 
 
 This knight had been throughout the battle near the person of
 
 A LEGEND OF AGINCOURT. 297 
 
 the King. The latter, by reason of his gorgeous armour and the 
 diadem upon his head, was a conspicuous object, and provoked 
 the arrows of the enemy's archers, and the blows of their men-at- 
 arms. Capel had frequently interposed, and received on his own 
 shield the strokes which were intended for the monarch, and, with 
 a view of still further consulting his safety, had repeatedly 
 requested him to change his helmet and throw a cloak over his 
 dazzling armour. The King, however, heedless of danger, and 
 anxious only to evince his personal prowess, rushed into the 
 thickest of the fight, and exposed himself as much as the meanest 
 soldier. At one time, he met hand to hand with the Duke of 
 Alenc.cn. The conflict was for some minutes desperate and 
 dubious. The King received from the Duke's sword a blow on the 
 helmet, which struck off part of his crown, and made him stagger 
 some paces backwards. Before Capel, however, could rush to the 
 King's aid, he had returned to the charge, struck the Duke to the 
 ground, and was lending his hand to the latter, who had surren- 
 dered himself as his prisoner, to raise him and assure him of his 
 safety. At that instant, however, the guards, who had seen the 
 King's danger, surrounded the Duke, and before Henry could 
 prevent them, put him to death. A more imminent danger still, 
 shortly afterwards, threatened the King. Eighteen French 
 esquires, at the head of whom was the Lord Challeny, had bound 
 themselves by an oath to make him prisoner, or die. In perfor- 
 mance of this vow, they had contrived to surround him in a part of 
 the field, and at a time when there was no one near him but the 
 Duke of York, Sir Piers Capel, and half-a-dozen of the royal 
 guard. A blow from the battle-axe of Challeny, which was aimed 
 at the royal head, was intercepted by the Duke of York, who, 
 however, only saved the King's life at the expense of his own, 
 and sunk, a bleeding corpse, upon the ground. Capel, incensed 
 alike by the death of the Prince and the sight of his own mortal 
 enemy, rushed at Challeny, and aimed such a blow as, but for the 
 interposition of his shield, which it shivered to pieces, would have 
 terminated the existence of his antagonist. The other esquires, 
 now diverted from then- main enterprize by the danger of theii
 
 298 A LEGEND OF AGINCOURT. 
 
 chief, rushed upon Capel, and thus left Henry unexposed to any 
 danger. Th'e King, however, in his turn, flew to the assistance of 
 his faithful knight. The guards, too, exerted themselves manfully 
 in his support, until at length, having slain above half of their 
 assailants, the rest fled. Capel, however, managed to intercept 
 the retreat of the Lord Challeny ; and throwing away his shield, 
 in order to place himself on an equality with his enemy, and 
 drawing his sword, he exclaimed " Now, false traitor, die !" 
 Challeny was not slow in unsheathing his own weapon. The con- 
 flict was short but desperate. National antipathy, personal hatred, 
 and rivalry in love, all served to nerve the arms of the com- 
 batants. The helmets of both were knocked off; their swords 
 shivered in their hands ; they at length twined their steel-clad 
 arms round each other's bodies, and seemed to shake the earth 
 beneath them in their mortal conflict. Once Challeny's strength 
 seemed failing, and he slightly relaxed his hold ; when Capel, 
 tightening his grasp as the snake does round its victim, compressed 
 his enemy almost to suffocation, and then dashed him to the 
 ground. His knee was immediately upon his breast his hand 
 darted to his girdle, and his dagger was in Challeny's throat. 
 " So perish the oppressors of the fatherless, and the violators of 
 their promises to the dying !" exclaimed Capel, as he turned from 
 the lifeless body of his foe. " But ha !" he added, as his eye 
 glanced over the plain, " the victory is ours the Frenchmen flee 
 on every side the Constable's banner is down and the stan- 
 dards of St. George, St. Edward, and the Trinity, wave all over 
 the plain." He was hastening to that part of the field where the 
 glittering crown indicated the presence of King Henry, when a 
 bowman, whom he immediately knew to belong to Sir Laurence 
 Button's troop, came up. 
 
 " Thrice welcome, Adam Tyrell !" said Sir Piers : " how fares 
 your gallant leader ?" 
 
 " Well and victorious, Sir Knight," said the bowman, " and from 
 him I bear a message to inform you that he has taken a prisoner 
 whom you have long wished to see, and whom you will find in 
 the Lord Challeny's tent."
 
 A LEGEND OF AGINCOURT. 999 
 
 " Now, a thousand blessings on the tongue that speaks intelli- 
 gence like thine, good Adam : let us hasten to the tent, and name 
 thy own reward. But ha ! what noise is that ?" 
 
 " By Heaven ! Sir Knight," said Adam, "the French are at- 
 tacking our rear. Ha ! hear you not the shrieks of the boys who 
 were left to guard the baggage ?" 
 
 " Peace, peace ! Adam, the royal bugle sounds." 
 
 The bugle did indeed sound, and was followed by a cry that 
 rang more fearfully than his own death-knell in Sir Piers Capel's 
 ear " Slay all your prisoners /" A dreadful shriek burst from 
 his heart, and he bounded with the velocity of the forest deer 
 towards the French tents. He knew that of the Lord Challeny 
 by the banner bearing three white harts, which floated above it. 
 He darted in, and arrived there scarcely a moment after the lady 
 had fallen on her knees before Fitz-Eustace, to supplicate for her 
 life; but that moment had sufficed the bowman's sword was 
 buried in her bosom. 
 
 Among the numerous tombs which were raised on the field of 
 Agincourt to those who had fallen in that memorable battle, one 
 which excited more than ordinary interest was a simple stone 
 reared in that part of the plain on which the French tents had been 
 planted ; it was sacred to the memory of a French lady, who had 
 fallen during the massacre of the prisoners ordered by King Henry 
 in a moment of alarm, when a party of marauders had pillaged his 
 baggage, and he imagined that the French army was attacking his 
 rear, and of her lover, an English knight, who, after a long ab- 
 sence from her, only arrived in time to close her eyes and die 
 broken-hearted on her corpse. The names inscribed upon this 
 tomb were Piers Capel and Margaret St. Foix,
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY. 
 
 HENRY THE SIXTH. 
 
 1422. ON the death of Henry V., his son, only nine months old, was pro- 
 claimed King of England, and heir of France ; and Charles VI. dying very 
 soon after, he was proclaimed King of France at Paris, and the Duke of 
 Bedford made all the great men who espoused the English party swear alle- 
 giance to him. 
 
 1424. The Duke of Bedford, Regent of France, at Vemeuil, defeated the 
 Dauphin's army, commanded by the Earl of Buchan, who had been made 
 Constable of France. Buchan and many other Scots of note were slain. 
 
 1425. The Regent returned to England (leaving the Earl of Warwick to 
 command), on account of violent disputes betwixt the Duke of Gloucester and 
 the Bishop of Winchester. The Parliament interfering, they were outwardly 
 reconciled. 
 
 1426. The Duke of Bedford returned to France, and by suddenly falling on 
 Brittany, obliged the Duke to renounce the French alliance and swear alle- 
 giance to young Henry. 
 
 1429. A country girl, called Joan of Arc, bom in a village of Lorraine, 
 declared that she had received express orders from God to raise the siege of 
 Orleans, then carried on by the Regent, and to crown Charles VII. at Rheims. 
 Being properly armed, she forced her way into Orleans with a convoy, and 
 next day attacked and carried four of the principal posts belonging to the 
 English, and obliged them to raise the siege, and retreat in such disorder as to 
 lose several of their former conquests. 
 
 By Joan's advice, Charles marched to Rheims, where he was crowned, and 
 on his way took several places, and defeated the English under the command 
 of Lord Talbot, at Patay. 
 
 Owing to this unsuccessful turn of affairs, it was determined that Henry 
 should go to France to be crowned. Before he set out, he was crowned in 
 England, though only eight years of age. 
 
 1430. Joan of Arc was taken prisoner in a sally at Compiegne, and delivered 
 to the Regent, and in 1431 tried and burnt as a witch, in Rouen. 
 
 1431. The English affairs in France were much on the decline, and were 
 made still worse by the death of the Duke of Bedford, at Rouen.
 
 HENRY THE SIXTH. 301 
 
 The Dulce of York was appointed Regent ; but on his going to t ranee, he 
 found Paris in the hands of the enemy. 
 
 1444. A truce was concluded with France for two years, and Henry was 
 married to Margaret of Anjou, daughter of Rene, titular king of Sicily. 
 
 1447. The Duke of Gloucester was thrown into prison, and afterwards 
 found dead in his bed. 
 
 1450. The English were driven out of every part of France, except Calais ; 
 and Charles, employed about the regulation of his government, did not molest 
 England, though there was no truce. 
 
 The people, much discontented with the Queen and her cabal, began to talk 
 of the Duke of York's right to the crown ; which at last ended in a serious rebel- 
 lion in Kent, headed by a man of the name of Jack Cade, who called himself 
 Mortimer, and induced great numbers to join his standard. 
 
 The King was taken to Kenilworth Castle, and the rebellion at last quelled, 
 and Cade killed. 
 
 1452. The Duke of York returned from Ireland, and began to aspire to the 
 crown. In concert with the Earls of Salisbury and Warwick, he raised troops 
 on a pretence of removing the Duke of Somerset and others from the ministry, 
 and reforming the government. 
 
 1453. The Queen's party, finding that they could not at present cope with 
 York, Somerset was sent to the Tower ; and the King being seized with a fit 
 of insanity, York was made Protector of the kingdom. Next year, the King 
 getting a little better, released Somerset from the Tower, and committed the 
 government to him ; on which the Duke of York flew to arms, and defeated 
 the Royalists at St. Albans, where the Duke of Somerset was slain. The 
 King fell into York's hands, who treated him with great respect, and went with 
 him to London. At a Parliament, Richard, Duke of York, was declared 
 Protector till the Prince of Wales should be of age. 
 
 1458. An outward reconciliation took place between the heads of the two 
 factions ; but fresh commotions soon broke out with redoubled violence, and 
 each party endeavoured to raise men in every county in England. 
 
 1459. The Earl of Salisbury, marching a body of troops to join York at 
 Ludlow, in Shropshire, was attacked on the 23rd September, at Blore Heath, 
 by Lord Audley, who was defeated and slain. 
 
 The Royalists, advancing towards the Duke of York, proclaimed a general 
 pardon ; on which most of the Duke's army deserted him, and the leaders were 
 obliged to fly to Ireland and Calais, 
 
 1460. The Earls of Salisbury and Warwick having landed in Kent with 
 troops, and being joined there by Edward Earl of March, York's son, and other 
 friends (York remaining in Ireland), they encountered the Royalists at North- 
 ampton, and totally defeated them. The King was taken prisoner and con- 
 ducted to London. 
 
 A Parliament was assembled, at which Richard Duke of York, having
 
 ya HENRY THE SIXTH. 
 
 returned from Ireland, pleaded his prior right to the crown, as being descended 
 by his mother from the Duke of Clarence, Edward the Third's second son, 
 whereas Henry was descended from the third son ; and then left the assembly 
 to deliberate on his claim. It was settled, with the Duke's approbation, that 
 Henry should keep the crown during his life, and that Richard should succeed 
 him. 
 
 York being informed that Queen Margaret (who had fled into Wales, and 
 Ihen into Scotland with the Prince of Wales, after the battle of Northampton) 
 had raised troops in the North, set out with a small army to meet her, but was 
 defeated and slain near Wakefield. 
 
 1461. Edward, the Duke's son, determined on carrying on the quarrel (the 
 two parties were distinguished by the Yorkists wearing white roses, and the 
 Lancastrians red ones), marched from Wales towards London, and on the way 
 defeated the Earl of Pembroke at Mortimer's Cross, in Herefoidshire. The 
 Queen revenged this disaster (being likewise on her march to London) by de- 
 feating the Earl of Warwick at St. Albans, and releasing the King. Edward 
 being joined by the remains of Warwick's army, which was superior to the 
 Queen's, proceeded to London, the inhabitants of which were his friends, 
 whilst she retreated to the North. 
 
 Edward's friends, declaring that Henry had forfeited his right to the crown 
 by breaking his agreement, proclaimed Edward, March the 5th, by the name 
 of Edward IV. 
 
 Katherine, Henry the Fifth's widow, married a Welsh gentleman, named 
 Owen Tudor, by whom she had two sons, Edward Earl of Richmond, and 
 Jasper Earl of Pembroke.
 
 0f 
 
 
 
 _____ 
 
 His picture made in wax, and gently molten 
 By a blue fire, kindled with dead men's eyes, 
 Will waste him by degrees. 
 
 MlDDLETON. 
 
 y^EAR me not fear me not, good Sir John; the stout heart 
 J7* of Eleanor Cobham will not fail her, albeit that as yet 1 do 
 not choose to be present at these orgies. How ! sayest thou 
 Margaret Jourdmain is there, and assisted by Roger Bolingbroke ?" 
 The person by whom this question was asked was a female, 
 who, although somewhat declined into the vale of years, was still
 
 304 THE WITCH OF EYE. 
 
 remarkable for her stately and majestic gait, and the symmetry 
 and beauty of her features. Her stature seemed to be above six 
 feet; her long, flowing, and once jet black, but now gray tresses, 
 fell in rich ringlets down her back, and her high, pale forehead was 
 singularly contrasted with her dark and fiery eye. Her rank and 
 wealth were sufficiently indicated by the splendour of her dress. 
 She wore a long, flowing robe of silk ; her hair was plaited with 
 jewels, whence pendent drops, composed of precious stones of 
 great value and size, hung upon her forehead ; and a collar of gold, 
 from which hung a chain of the same costly material, was fastened 
 round her neck. She sat in a massive oaken chair, curiously and 
 elaborately carved, and placed in the midst of a large Gothic cham- 
 ber, through whose windows the moonbeams poured a flood of 
 many-coloured light, as they took the tinge of the painted glass 
 through which they streamed. The walls of the apartment were 
 hung with rich tapestry, and the floor was strewed with rushes. A 
 large silver candelabra, bearing lighted waxen tapers, descended 
 from the ceiling, and illuminated the whole apartment. A small 
 table, of similar material and workmanship to the chair in which 
 she sat, stood before the lady, and on it was spread wide open, a 
 large parchment volume, in the perusal of which she appeared to 
 have been very recently occupied. Opposite to her stood a man, 
 whom a shaven crown, beads and cross dependent from his neck, 
 a white cassock and narrow scapulary, proclaimed to be a monk of 
 the Cistercian order. He was of a short and meagre figure, with 
 small red eyes, a sharp aquiline nose, black beard and brows, and 
 an extraordinarily intelligent, but at the same time somewhat 
 repulsive and malignant, expression of countenance. 
 
 " They have been busily engaged, Madam," he said, in answer 
 to the lady's question, " in your Grace's service since the hour of 
 noon. At that hour the waxen image was completed, and the fatal 
 fire was lighted ; and from that hour did Henry, marrow and bones 
 and all, begin to waste and wither away, and shall continue so to 
 do until the throne of England shall be left vacant for a worthier 
 occupant." 
 
 " Thanks, good Sir John," said the lady, unclasping the cellar of
 
 THE WITCH OF EY&. 94 
 
 gold from her neck, and placing it, with the chain attached to it, in 
 the priest's hands ; " a thousand thanks. Do I not well, Sir John ? 
 Heaven knows that it is not for the sake of gratifying any ambitious 
 thoughts of my own, that I enter upon this seemingly unhallowed 
 work, but in compassion of the miseries which the unhappy people 
 of England endure under the sway of the feeble and incapable 
 Henry, who is the unresisting instrument of all their ills, in the 
 hands of that she-wolf of France, and this newly-created Duke of 
 York, Richard Plantagenet." 
 
 " Dost thou not well, Madam, saidst thou ?" echoed the obse- 
 quious priest. " Your Grace is but to blame for having so long 
 delayed to avail yourself of that knowledge and those arts, into the 
 mysteries of which your poor servant has been the unworthy means 
 of initiating you, for the purpose of putting an end to the evils with 
 which our country is overwhelmed. How will the loyal heart of 
 your servant Hume rejoice when he hears the welcome shouts of 
 ' God save King Humphrey !' ' God save Queen Eleanor !' * 
 
 " Peace ! peace ! good Hume," said the lady; " thou talkest idly." 
 But a smile of hope brightened her features at the same time, and 
 belied the expression of her lips. " Heaven knows that there is no 
 one in his realm would pray more fervently for the welfare o! 
 Henry of Lancaster than Eleanor Cobham ; but, that while he lives. 
 England must lie at the mercy of Margaret of Anjou and Richard 
 Plantagenet. Yet, Hume, I would fain receive some more certain 
 assurance as to my future destiny. When wilt thou invoke to my 
 presence the spirit who is to answer such questions as I shall pi o 
 pound ?" 
 
 " Madam," answered Hume, " it is by severe and painful penance, 
 anxious watching, and long fasting alone, that I can prevail upon 
 that invisible power whom I serve, to gratify your Grace's desire. 
 Neither can Margaret Jourdmain nor Roger Bolingbroke assist 
 \ne, for they have not attained such proficiency in the occult 
 sciences as to be able to command spirits to do their bidding. 
 Time, a short but carefully spent time, will empower me to call 
 one before you who shall reveal to your Grace the secrets of 
 futurity." 
 
 ENG. X
 
 3 o5 THE WITCH OP EYE. 
 
 Had the Duchess at that moment fixed her eye upon her chap- 
 lain, she would have detected, in his changing colour, and trem- 
 bling limbs, the hypocrite and the impostor. Whatever might have 
 been the pretensions to occult lore on the part of Jourdmain and 
 Bolingbroke, the only magic of which Hume was master, was the 
 ascendency of a strong mind over a weak one. The Duchess 
 knew him to be a man of vast and various learning and acquire- 
 ments, and had been initiated by him into the study of languages 
 and of the natural sciences. She therefore readily credited his pre- 
 tensions to knowledge of a more profound and mysterious character ; 
 and he, by flattering her ambitious hopes, and pretending to minis- 
 ter to their gratification, contrived to store his own purse at her 
 expense, and to indulge himself in those pleasures from which his 
 straitened means alone, and not his sacerdotal oath, had hitherto 
 debarred him. He had accordingly promised to raise a spirit who 
 should reveal her future destiny to her, and had hired two pro- 
 fessors of the black art to construct a waxen image of the King, who, 
 they pretended, would waste away under the influence of a strange 
 disease, as that image melted before a fire which they had kindled. 
 Hume knew his own pretensions to occult knowledge to be 
 unfounded, and believed those of his associates to be equally so. 
 The death of the King, and the elevation of Dame Eleanor, were 
 not the objects which the crafty priest had in view, but the multi- 
 plication of his own wealth and pleasures, by means of the well- 
 stored purse of the Duchess of Gloucester. 
 
 " Hume !" said the lady, " hasten the period at which my desires 
 may be gratified. In the mean time, receive my thanks for the 
 services which thou hast already rendered me. But give us leave 
 awhile, good Sir John ; my Lord approaches." 
 
 The priest made a lowly reverence, and left the apartment almost 
 at the same moment that the Duke of Gloucester entered. This 
 w.-ts Humphrey, the brother of King Henry the Fifth, who had 
 been left by that heroic monarch the protector of the realm during 
 the minority of the infant King, and who, by his virtues and the 
 mild and equitable exercise of his authority, had acquired the 
 ippelUtion of " the good Duke Humphrey." He entered with a
 
 THE WITCH OF EYE. 307 
 
 hurried and agitated step j his face was pale, his lip quivered, and 
 his eye rolled wildly and fearfully. 
 
 " My gracious Lord," said the Duchess, " what has happened ? 
 I fear some strange and unlooked-for misfortune." 
 
 " Eleanor," said the Duke, " the young King is taken suddenly 
 and dangerously ill. His physicians can neither divine the nature 
 of his malady, nor devise any cure." 
 
 " Ha !" said the Duchess, her eyes sparkling, and her cheek 
 glowing as she spake "Suddenly, Duke Humphrey, sayest thou 
 that the King was thus attacked ? and at what hour, I pray thee ?" 
 
 " At the hour of noon," answered the Duke. 
 
 "At noon at noon," repeated the Duchess to herself, clasping 
 her hands and pacing the apartment in a state of mental abstrac- 
 tion. " It was at that hour, as Hume informed me, that the 
 wise woman's labours were completed Humphrey," she added, 
 turning towards the Duke " the King will die." 
 
 " Now Heaven forefend !" replied Duke Humphrey ; " so young 
 so good so pious." 
 
 " The fitter, Humphrey, for Heaven !" interrupted the Duchess. 
 " For this world, and especially for the station in it which he fills, 
 he is of all men the most incompetent. The monk's cloister or 
 the hermit's cell, indeed, might have found in him a fitting occu- 
 pant ; but the throne of France and England suits him not ; and 
 the sceptre of Henry the Fifth is not adapted to his puny grasp." 
 
 " Alas ! alas !" said the Duke of Gloucester, "he will neither fill 
 the one, nor grasp the other long." 
 
 " The will of Heaven must be submitted to," said Eleanor ; 
 " and the people of England, when they are obliged to exchange 
 King Henry for King Humphrey, must learn to yield in patience 
 to so fearful a visitation." 
 
 "Now by Heaven ! Nell," said the Duke, and an expression 
 of indignation and anger succeeded that of deep distress, which 
 had clouded his fine features, " thou maddest me. Is ours an age 
 at which to nurse the idle dreams of ambition ? and is the malady 
 of a young and virtuous prince like Henry, a fitting subject of exul- 
 tation to his nearest relatives ? I fear, Eleanor, that pride and 
 
 X 2
 
 3o> THE WITCH Of Y. 
 
 ambition have dried up the milk of human charity in thy bosom, 
 I fear, too" here he spoke in a low and stifled tone, while cold 
 big drops stood upon his temples " that thou pursuest unholy 
 and unlawful studies. Beware, Eleanor Cobham, beware ! The 
 public suspicion is awakened against thee ; the Queen loves thee 
 not, the Duke of York thirsts for thy blood, and Humphrey of 
 Gloucester's power to defend and protect thee is becoming 
 smaller and weaker with every waning moon." 
 
 The consciousness of her guilt, and the abruptness and sudden- 
 ness of the accusation, struck the Duchess of Gloucester mute ; 
 while her cheek changed from a fiery red to an ashy paleness, her 
 breath came short and thick, and her limbs trembled under her. 
 "Humphrey, "she at length said, as with a violent effort she re- 
 covered her self-possession, drew her stately figure up to its utmost 
 height, and laid her hand upon the arm of the Duke, " this is cruel 
 and unkind, and, from thee, most unexpected. Because I have 
 devoted myself to study, the ignorant vulgar have charged me 
 with the practice of magic ; and the malignity of those of my foes, 
 whose superior education and station prevent them from being 
 themselves the dupe of so idle an accusation, has nevertheless 
 given sanction and confirmation to it ; but that the Duke of Glou- 
 cester, the most accomplished and learned prince in Christendom, 
 in whose well-stored library I have acquired that knowledge which 
 is now imputed to me as a crime that he should join in the sense- 
 less outcry of the vulgar and the malignant, is a calamity against 
 the occurrence of which I confess that I was not sufficiently pre- 
 pared. Go, Duke Humphrey, denounce me to the King; offer up 
 your wife as an expiatory sacrifice to the wrath of Margaret of 
 Anjou and Richard Plantagenet. Suffolk will smile upon you 
 your good uncle Beaufort will once more admit you to his paternal 
 embrace, and rare and jocund will be the dance and the wassailing 
 over the grave of Eleanor Cobham." 
 
 Thus saying, she rushed out of the apartment, leaving the Duke, 
 over whose feelings she well knew the extent of her influence, 
 penetrated with uneasiness and sorrow at having given her pain or
 
 THE WITCH OF . Y. 309 
 
 oftence, although he could not entirely banish from his mind the 
 suspicions which had been awakened in it. 
 
 To the wonder and joy of the Duchess, and the consternation 
 of Hume, day after day brought news to the Duke of Gloucester's 
 palace, of the increasing malady of the King, and of the inutility 
 of every effort which had been made to stop its fatal progress. The 
 chaplain, who had believed that the associates whom he had en- 
 gaged to assist him in his attack on the Duchess's purse, were no 
 more able to effect the King's death by magic than he was to raise 
 A spirit, began to fear that their diabolical learning was no vain 
 pretension, so strangely coincident was the progress of the King's 
 disease with the work on which the Witch of Eye and Bolingbroke 
 were engaged. Dissolute and avaricious as he was, his heart sunk 
 within him at the idea of being an accomplice in the murder of his 
 sovereign, especially by such means. Remorse for his crime was also 
 mingled with no small portion of fear as to its consequences to him- 
 self ; for it was by no means certain that amidst the contentions of 
 parties, which would necessarily follow the death of the King, his pa- 
 troness would rule the ascendent To add to his perplexity, Eleanor 
 had become importunate with him to raise the spirit who, he had pro- 
 mised should reveal to her her future destiny ; and on his repeated 
 excuses and postponements, had rated him in terms which his 
 wounded pride could ill brook. Moodily and dejectedly pondering 
 over these circumstances, Hume was pacing the great hall of the 
 ducal palace. He had just received an intimation from Boling- 
 broke that their work was proceeding most auspiciously ; that in 
 less than twelve hours the waxen image would entirely melt away ; 
 and that within that time, therefore, King Henry must sink under 
 the influence of his disease. 
 
 " Save me, save me, gracious Heaven !" he exclaimed ; '' where- 
 fore have I sold myself, body and soul to this diabolical confe- 
 deracy ? I will break the hellish trammels in which I am bound ; 
 I will hasten to the Duke of York, reveal all, and, while there is 
 yet time, save the King from the machinations of his enemies. 
 And yet," he added, after a short pause, " this is but an idle fear,
 
 3xe THE \VITCH OF EYE. 
 
 by which I am suffering myself to be unmanned. Strange as it is 
 that the King's illness should happen at the same time that these 
 idle mummeries are practising, it does not therefore follow that it 
 is caused by them ; neither do I yet know that any symptoms have 
 to-day appeared to render the near approach of death probable.' 
 
 At that moment the Duke of Gloucester, with several attendants; 
 passed through the hall. As he passed Hume, the priest made a 
 lowly reverence. " To your prayers to your prayers, good Sir 
 John ; pray for our pious King, whose mortal career is fast drawing 
 to its close." 
 
 " I trust," said Hume, crossing himself, " that his Highness will 
 yet live many years to rule over a happy and loyal people." 
 
 " That hope is vain, Hume," said the Duke ; " I have just re- 
 ceived a message from Queen Margaret, commanding my imme- 
 diate attendance, and informing me that the King has not twelve 
 hours' life in him. Fare thee well, reverend father ! and forget no" 
 to pray for good King Henry's soul." l-| 
 
 Hume gazed on the Duke without answering him, astounded 
 and dismayed. " Twelve hours," he exclaimed, after Humphrey 
 and his followers had disappeared ; " it is the very period which 
 Bolingbroke mentioned as that at which his hellish purpose would 
 be achieved. I will wash my hands of this unhallowed deed. The 
 Duke of York shall know the fiend-like purpose of the Duchess. 
 Yet would I not willingly lead to destruction the woman to whom I 
 owe my rank and fortune I would not lead to the scaffold or the 
 stake " 
 
 At that moment he felt his arm wrung forcibly ; and turning 
 round beheld the very person who principally occupied his 
 thoughts, standing before him. There was an unusual flush on 
 the cheek of the Duchess ; her eye seemed to flash fire, and her 
 stately form appeared to dilate to still more majestic proportions. 
 She looked as though she already grasped the sceptre of France 
 and England, and wore the regal diadem upon her brow. 
 
 "So moody and contemplative, Sir John Hume !" she said; 
 " and at the hour when all our labours are about to be crowned 
 with success."
 
 THE WITCH OF EYE. 3 n 
 
 " I understand your Grace's meaning," said the priest \ " the 
 King is dying !" 
 
 " Even so," said the Duchess ; " thanks to thy powerful arts !" 
 
 Hume shuddered; and lifting his sleeve to his brow, wiped 
 away the drops which had started there. " Gracious Madam, say 
 not so !" he exclaimed ; " I trust that his Highness will yet will 
 at least for a time ; pardon me, pardon me ! I know not what I 
 say ; yet were it not well that these proceedings should be stayed 
 for a time ? The King's disorder may be natural, and then " 
 
 " Peace, peace !" said Eleanor ; " thou talkest childishly. It 
 was the will of Fate that Margaret of Anjou's crown should be 
 transferred to these brows of mine. But Hume," she added, in 
 a determined and somewhat angry tone, " I must see and converse 
 with this spirit immediately. I will not be delayed longer; and 
 if thy art cannot raise him, I must seek the aid of others who are 
 greater proficients." 
 
 "Not yet, gracious Madam, not yet," said Hume; "and I 
 pray thee, again consider whether we are not somewhat too sudden 
 in our machinations for the death of the King. Command the 
 Witch of Eye and Bolingbroke to suspend their operations for the 
 present. If the King's illness is so speedily followed by death, 
 the public will suspect " 
 
 " Peace man !" said the Duchess, whose haughty and imperious 
 temper for a moment got the better of her discretion; and 
 smiting the priest violently on his cheek " peace, doting prattler ! 
 counsel me not, but obey me. Raise me the spirit, or by 
 Heaven " 
 
 At that moment the Duchess's eye caught the expression of 
 Hume's features, and she was startled and awed at the mingled 
 malignity, contempt, and triumph which she read there. Eleanor 
 Cobham, although noted for the violence and impetuosity of her 
 passions, was equally remarkable for the swiftness and adroitness 
 with which she could master and disguise them. In an instant 
 the flush of anger passed from her face, her lip curled with a smile, 
 and her whole countenance seemed lighted up with gaiety and 
 merriment.
 
 3i THE WITCH OF EYE. 
 
 "Why, Hume, man," she said, " thou lookest as if thou believest 
 us to be really offended, and forgetful of the services which our 
 good chaplain has performed on our behalf. But in truth, Sir 
 John, I must converse with this spirit. Gratify the wish of thy 
 Duchess " 
 
 " Of my Queen," said Hume, sinking on his knee, and taking 
 the opportunity of his prostration to mask his features in an ex- 
 pression of becoming reverence and humility. 
 
 " Whether Duchess or Queen," said the lady, " the reward 
 bestowed by Eleanor Cobham on those who obey her will shall be 
 princely." 
 
 " Your Grace's will," said Hume, " is your lowly servant's law. 
 This night, if it so please ye, your wish shall be gratified." 
 
 " Ha !" said the Duchess, "at what hour?" 
 
 " At the hour of eleven, which is just one hour before the charm 
 which is to work King Henry's death will be complete, will I con- 
 duct you to my apartment, where the Witch of Eye and Boling- 
 broke are busily at work. There you shall see and hear the spirit 
 which will reveal to you your future destiny." 
 
 " I will not fail thee, good Sir John," said Eleanor, thrusting a 
 purse into his hand. " At the hour of eleven thou shalt find me 
 ready to accompany thee." 
 
 Thus saying, and waving her hand to the priest, she hurried 
 from his presence. 
 
 "And at the hour of eleven, proud Eleanor Cobham," said 
 Hume, following her slowly with his eye till she disappeared from 
 the hall, " I will raise thee such a spirit as thou wouldest give the 
 wealth of England to lay. There needed but this," he added, 
 while his features assumed an expression of demoniacal ferocity 
 "there needed but this foul blow to wind my spirit to its pur- 
 pose." He paused a moment, but in that moment his flashing 
 eye, his changing brow, and his heaving breast, seemed to indicate 
 thoughts sufficient to occupy his mind for a century. At length 
 wrapping his cloak closely round him, drawing his cowl over his 
 brow, and exclaiming, " I have it ! I have it !" he rushed out of 
 the hall.
 
 THE WITCH OF EY&. 313 
 
 This conversation took place at about the hour of noon ; and 
 the bell had just tolled the eleventh hour, when the Duchess of 
 Gloucester, leaning on the arm of Hume, entered the chamber in 
 which her emissaries were performing, or pretending to perform, 
 their wicked ceremonies. It was a lofty and spacious apartment, 
 which the Duke of Gloucester had specially appropriated to the 
 use of the chaplain, and which was held sacred from the intrusion 
 of every other person. Here, therefore, Hume had an oppor- 
 tunity of pursuing, without interruption or discovery, his studies in 
 those occult sciences to which he had devoted himself, but which 
 were so uncongenial to his sacred office. The Duchess started as she 
 entered; for the pale lurid flame by which alone the chamber was 
 illuminated, cast a fearful and preternatural light over every object 
 on which it glanced. Eleanor Cobham, however, soon suppressed 
 the feeling of fear into which she had at first been betrayed, and 
 advanced into the apartment. The fire from which this ghastly 
 and melancholy light proceeded, glowed on the hearth at the east- 
 ern end of the room. Over it cowered two figures, whose squalid 
 dresses, misshapen forms, and wan and emaciated features, were 
 in fearful unison with the whole scene. One was a woman, bent 
 nearly double with age and infirmity ; a very few tufts or patches 
 of white hair were upon her head ; but the scantiness of hair there 
 was compensated by the profusion with which it grew above her 
 lip and on her chin. Her cheek was sunken and hollow, her lips 
 dry and withered, and as they moved up and down, while she 
 seemed to be mumbling some diabolical prayer or incantation, 
 they showed that the hag could not boast of the possession of a 
 single tooth. Her right hand rested on a stick, while her left was 
 elevated and moved to and fro in accompaniment to the spell 
 which she was muttering. Her companion was a lean and shrivelled 
 old man, whose grey beard swept his breast, and who with a large 
 volume in his hand, which he was attentively perusing, knelt by 
 the fire, and seemed to be examining by his book the accuracy of 
 the lesson which the old woman was repeating. 
 
 The Duchess, bold of heart as she was, could not help shudder- 
 ing, and clasped more firmly the arm of Hume as she gazed upon
 
 3t 4 THE WITCH OF EYE. 
 
 these two fearful beings, especially as she perceived, that although 
 they stood in the full blaze of the fire, their figures cast no 
 shadow on the floor of the apartment. But an object of still more 
 intense interest to her soon diverted her gaze another way. At 
 the opposite end of the apartment stood a large waxen image, 
 which needed not the crown upon its head, or the sceptre in his 
 hand, to tell her that it was intended to represent King Henry, so 
 perfect and faithful a portraiture did it present of that monarch. 
 For nearly a month had this image been stationed opposite the 
 fire which we have described, and which had been kept incessantly 
 burning night and day. During that time the figure had melted 
 and wasted beneath the influence of the heat, and it now presented 
 the appearance of a man emaciated by illness, and fast sinking into 
 the grave. The Duchess, who had on the previous day seen the 
 King, gave a smile of grim delight, as she fancied she saw the evi- 
 dence of the success of her magical practices before her. The most 
 intense silence reigned in the apartment, interrupted only by the 
 low faint mumbling of the hag, and the crackling of the faggots in 
 the blaze. The Duchess, however, soon broke this portentous 
 silence, by advancing towards the fire, and saying to the unearthly- 
 looking beings who stood beside it 
 
 " Rare artists ! accept the thanks of Eleanor Cobham, and doubt 
 not, as soon as the work is accomplished, that your recompense 
 shall be far more substantial." 
 
 The people whom she addressed were Margaret Jourdaiu, or 
 Jourdmain, who was better known by the denomination of the 
 Witch of Eye, from the place of her birth, and Roger Boling- 
 broke, who was, like Hume, a priest, but had devoted his learning 
 and talents to the study of astrology and sorcery. These persons 
 had long been employed by Hume, and paid him the utmost 
 respect and deference, not only on account of the liberal gifts 
 by which he repaid their services, but because they believed him 
 to be a greater proficient in the arts of magic than themselves, 
 and to be able even to raise spirits a degree of proficiency in 
 those diabolical sciences to which they did not pretend. They 
 answered the address of the Duchess, by directing their eyes slowly
 
 THE WITCH OF EYE. 315 
 
 towards her, making the sign of the cross, not upon their fore- 
 heads, but their backs, and then sinking upon their knees before 
 her, and exclaiming, " God save Queen Eleanor !" 
 
 " Thanks, gentle friends, thanks for your unshaken loyalty and 
 unremitting services !" said the Duchess; "but tell me, I pray ye, 
 when the work shall be accomplished ?" 
 
 " When the bell," said the witch, in a discordant tone, or rather 
 shriek, " shall have tolled the midnight hour." 
 
 At that moment the bell of the Ducal palace drowned all other 
 sounds, by tolling heavily and solemnly the first quarter after the 
 hour of eleven. 
 
 "Ha! sayest thou so?" said the Duchess; and as the lurid 
 blaze brightened her features, it showed them still more brightened 
 by the hope of approaching grandeur and sovereignty. 
 
 " Even so," said the hag ; " then will yonder image sink to the 
 ground, destroyed and dissolved in that flame ; and then will the 
 spirit of Henry of Windsor melt beneath the influence of his di- 
 sease, dissolve, and mingle with the elements." 
 
 " Then look to it, Margaret of Anjou ; look to it, Richard 
 Plantagenet," said the Duchess ; " for Eleanor Cobham has been 
 injured, and will be avenged. But still I am troubled ; doubt and 
 uncertainty yet hang over my future fate. Henry may cease to be 
 King, and yet Eleanor not become Queen. These signs and sym- 
 bols may be delusions. Hume, I claim the performance of thy 
 promise. Call up a spirit who shall make answer to such ques- 
 tions as I shall propound." 
 
 " Your Grace," said Hume, " shall be obeyed ; yet pardon me, 
 but I fear your courage may fail." 
 
 "Nay, nay, dotard !" said the Duchess impatiently; "I mean," 
 she added, eager to retract the offensive epithet, "my good Sir 
 John fear not my courage; I have gone thus far, and do not 
 now mean to recede." 
 
 The chaplain then bowed reverentially, and, drawing a white 
 wand from beneath his cloak, advanced into the midst of the 
 apartment. With this wand he described a circle on the floor, 
 which he perambulated three times, pouring from a phial which he
 
 316 THE WITCH OF EYE. 
 
 held in his hand, a blood-red liquor, and chanting, in a low and 
 solemn tone, something which appeared to be a metrical composi- 
 tion, but uttered in a language unintelligible to the Duchess. He 
 then threw himself on the floor, and remained in a posture appa- 
 rently of adoration, and groaning bitterly, for several minutes ; 
 then starting up, he rushed towards the fire, seized the volume 
 which Bolingbroke held in his hand, and returning to the circle 
 began to read loudly and rapidly from it, but still in a language 
 which the Duchess did not understand. At length he closed the 
 volume, bowed reverently three times, and retreated backwards 
 out of the circle. At that moment the bell tolled the second 
 quarter after eleven. A noise like the sound of distant thunder 
 was heard ; the floor of the apartment opened, and a figure, which 
 could not be distinctly seen, but appeared to be tall, and wrapped 
 in a black mantle, stood before them. 
 
 A shriek burst from the lips of the Duchess, and even from 
 those of Bolingbroke and the witch. " For the love of Heaven ! 
 be silent," said Hume in a whisper to the former. " Waste not 
 these precious moments in idle alarms. Demand what ye will of 
 the spirit, but be courageous and be brief." 
 
 " Tell me," said Eleanor, advancing towards the circle, but 
 trembling in every limb " tell me what fate awaits King Henry ?" 
 
 She gazed with dim but anxiously straining eyes on the un- 
 earthly being whom she interrogated, as in a sullen feeble voice 
 the spirit answered 
 
 " When yonder image melts in yonder blaze, 
 Henry shall number out his mortal days." 
 
 "Why, that is well!" exclaimed the Duchess, forgetting her 
 alarm in the confirmation which this prediction gave to her wildest 
 hopes. " But Henry," she added, " is not the only person whose 
 existence gives me uneasiness. Tell me, too, what fate awaits the 
 Duke of York?" 
 
 The spirit answered in the same tone : 
 
 " Plantagenet from earth shall fljr 
 Swiftly and speedily as I."
 
 t HE WlfCti Or rfYE. S*7 
 
 " Why, that," said Eleanor, " is better tidings still : thou wilt 
 vanish in an instant when my bidding is performed. And shall 
 the residence of Plantagenet on this earth be no more permanent 
 than thy own? Happy, happy Eleanor !" 
 
 " For Heaven's sake ! Madam," said Hume, gazing anxiously 
 on a dial on which the flickering light of the fire at that moment 
 fell, telling him that the midnight hour was fast approaching. 
 " This is idle and inauspicious delay. Would you demand aught 
 farther of the spirit?" 
 
 " One, one more question," she exclaimed. " Tell me," she 
 said and then, hesitating for a moment, seemed anxious yet fear- 
 ful to put the question, " Tell me my own future fate the fate 
 of Eleanor Cobham?" 
 
 The answer was not given to this question so speedily as before ; 
 but when it was pronounced, it was in a peculiarly emphatic and 
 impressive tone. 
 
 11 The secrets of thy future fate 
 Let my attending spirits state ; 
 Tell the Dame of Gloucester's doom- 
 Come, attending spirits, come !" 
 
 The spirit, as he finished his prediction, was seen to apply 
 something to his lips, and presently afterwards no unearthly and 
 aerial sound was heard to proceed from them, but the loud and 
 distinct blast of a bugle. A responsive shout was heard to follow 
 it, and then the doors of the apartment were burst open, and a 
 band of soldiers, carrying drawn swords and lighted torches in 
 their hands, rushed in. The pretended spirit advanced towards 
 them, and throwing away the black mantle in which his form and 
 face had been enveloped, discovered to the terrified and astonished 
 Duchess the features of the Duke of York. 
 
 " The fire ! the fire 1" said Hume, darting a look of agony at the 
 dial. 
 
 " Ha 1 I did indeed forget," said the Duke of Buckingham, who 
 was the leader of the soldiers. " Fellows, extinguish that accursed 
 light" 
 
 The soldiers immediately advanced to the fire, and trairvpJing
 
 3 i8 THE WITCH Of EYE. 
 
 upon the now faint and decaying embers, speedily succeeded in 
 extinguishing it. The last spark, however, had scarcely been 
 trodden out before the bell tolled the hour of midnight 
 
 "Heaven be praised!" said Hume; "the accursed deed has 
 been prevented. Had yonder spark retained a gleam of light for 
 an instant longer, the spirit of good King Henry had passed away 
 for ever." 
 
 "Peace, double traitor!" said the Duke of York, "good King 
 Henry is doubtless indebted to thee for his life ; but he has to 
 thank not thy loyalty but thy malignity and avarice. Both how- 
 ever shall be gratified, agreeably to the promise which I made 
 thee. The woman, Duchess though she be, who insulted thee, 
 shall be brought to a terrible expiation of her crimes, and the 
 reward which she promised thee for aiding and concealing her 
 damnable practices shall be more than doubled for having revealed 
 them." 
 
 Eleanor gazed in sullen silence on the scene which had termi- 
 nated all her hopes, and would probably terminate her life. She 
 saw herself too completely in the hands of her enemies for any 
 effort at resistance or escape to be availing, and was too proud to 
 expose the bitterness and humiliation of her feelings by tears or 
 idle upbraidings. One scornful and malignant smile, which she 
 glanced at Hume, was the only expression of her sentiments in 
 which she indulged, and then she left the apartment with her arms 
 bound to those of Bolingbroke and the Witch of Eye, in the cus- 
 tody of Buckingham and the soldiers. 
 
 The events which followed are too well known to require more 
 than a brief recapitulation. The Duchess of Gloucester, Hume, 
 the Witch of Eye, and Bolingbroke, were tried and condemned 
 for the crimes of conspiring the death of the King, and practising 
 the arts of magic and witchcraft. The witch was burned in Smith- 
 field, Bolingbroke was hanged at Tyburn, and the Duchess 
 sentenced to do open penance in four public places within the 
 city of London, and afterwards to be imprisoned for life in the 
 Isle of Man. Hume was not only pardoned, but liberally rewarded, 
 ^his man did not appear really to have possessed any knowledge
 
 THE WITCH OF EYE. 319 
 
 of the occult sciences, but to have imposed on the credulity of 
 the Duchess. That Margaret Jourdmain and Roger Bolingbroke 
 were really magicians and wizards, was religiously believed by a 1 .! ; 
 and the fact that the King, at the very moment that the magical 
 fire was extinguished in the house of the Duke of Gloucester, re 
 covered his full and perfect health at his palace at Westminster, 
 gave support and confirmation to such a belief, however irrational 
 it may now appear. 
 
 The Duke of Gloucester, whatever might be his feelings at the 
 disgrace and punishment of his Duchess, did not attempt any 
 exercise of his authority for their prevention; but, to use the 
 language of an old chronicler,* " toke all these things paciently 
 and saied litle." 
 
 * Hall. 
 
 '
 
 
 T53v art) Js ,n 
 orfj lo o^aorf aril m bsrfxjwgnhra <uw tmt 
 
 -.iff Jy; f!;: ; :jfi Jr.'sln ban Hift ii: Lsi3 
 
 ftlre Jropfcctj, 
 
 ;f ! jfljui.-i'iiiuq bus 
 
 Suffoli, Drones suck not eagles' blood, but rob bee-hives J 
 It is impossible that I should die 
 By such a lowly vassal as thyself ; 
 Thy words move rage and not remorse in me. 
 I go of message from the Queen to France ; 
 I charge thee, waft me safely cross the Channel, 
 
 Second Part of HENRY VL 
 
 THE Prophecy was spoken on a morning of May, in the year 
 1540. The day was gloomy, and the dull grey light which 
 streamed through the window of a little square apartment in the 
 Tower of London, only served to make the place of confinement, on 
 which it shone, more irksome to its inhabitant, by rendering visible 
 its narrow dimensions, the grating through which this melancholy 
 light peered upon it, and the massive iron doer which divided the 
 captive from the world. A stone table, on which were placed 
 some writing materials, and a large oaken chair, formed the only 
 furniture of this desolate chamber. The grey hairs and furrowed 
 features of the prisoner seemed f? indicate a man who had passed 
 the period of middle life. Suffering or age, or perhaps both, ap- 
 peared to have worn down and depressed, but not humiliated him. 
 Pride and haughtiness flashed forth even in the melancholy glance 
 of his eye, and every sigh which burst from his heart was 
 followed by a firmer step, as he paced across his dungeon, as 
 if, like Cassius, " he scorned his spirit that could be moved to 
 sigh at any thing." He wore even in his dungeon a richly em- 
 broidered robe, lined with velvet ; from his neck depended the
 
 THE PROPHECY. pi 
 
 order of St. George, and the Garter encircled his leg, on which 
 gorgeous but unprotecting symbols of his rank, he seemed to gaze 
 with a sort of gloomy satisfaction. 
 
 " And as these robes and this garter," he said, "are wrapped 
 round the person of William de la Pole even in his dungeon ; so is 
 his spirit clothed, even in the hour of his captivity, with high and 
 undaunted resolution, with unshaken allegiance to his sovereign, 
 and with hatred and scorn, as unshaken, for those false friends and 
 treacherous foes to whom he is indebted for his lodging in the 
 Tower." 
 
 William de la Pole, Duke of Suffolk, had long enjoyed the 
 highest place in the favour of King Henry the Sixth, and of his 
 Queen, Margaret of Anjou, of the union between whom he had 
 been the main instrument. In the same proportion, however, as 
 he enjoyed the favour of the sovereign, was he detested by the 
 nobles and the populace. The blackest crimes were laid to his 
 charge : he was accused of a guilty intercourse with the Queen ; of 
 treason, in having sold the provinces of Anjou and Maine to the 
 French ; and of having been an accomplice in the murder of Hum- 
 phrey Duke of Gloucester. Of the truth of these accusations it is 
 difficult to judge at this distance from the period to which they 
 refer; certainly nothing like evidence sufficient to support them has 
 come down to our times. The public voice, however, was expressed 
 so loudly against the Duke of Suffolk, that the King and Queen 
 were constrained, however reluctantly, to obey it, and to commit 
 the Duke a prisoner to the Tower. 
 
 The Duke of Suffolk had found himself ill at ease during his 
 confinement. He knew the power and malignity of his enemies, 
 the weakness and irresolution of the King, and the slender scruples 
 which would be felt as to the mode and manner of his destruction 
 by those who had the inclination, and would very probably soon 
 acquire the power, to put an end to his existence. He was 
 ruminating deeply and painfully on these circumstances, when he 
 heard the bars of his dungeon slowly withdrawn, and shortly after- 
 wards a person, with whose features he was well acquainted, 
 entered the apartment. The visitor was a tall, thin old man, 
 ENG. Y
 
 jaa THE PROPHECY, 
 
 clothed in a robe of black flowing drapery, and holding a white 
 staff in his hand. His hair and his beard were white as silver, 
 and the latter flowed down to his waist. His small grey eyes 
 Sparkled with a peculiar, and, a stranger would perhaps think, with 
 a preternatural brightness. His forehead was high and pale, and 
 his features, though deeply fuirowed with age, were still remark- 
 ably handsome and even majestic, and wore an. expression of un- 
 common intelligence and sagacity. The Duke, started as he 
 entered his prison . chamber ; and then taking his hand, gazed 
 wistfully, but in silence, on his face, as if anxious to receive some 
 information concerning which he could, not summon resolution 
 enough to inquire. 
 
 " Peace be with you, my son !" said the old man ; " and may the 
 heavenly bodies shower their most benign influences on your 
 head !" 
 
 " Thanks, reverend Bracy," said the Duke ; " but what say the 
 stars ? Do the heavenly bodies smile upon me now?" 
 
 " Their language is dubious and mysterious. Thy native planet, 
 Saturn, rose last night enveloped in dark clouds. The influences 
 of Mars and Jupiter were adverse to it ; while Venus, which when 
 last I drew thy horoscope, was in conjunction with it, was no 
 longer visible." 
 
 "And what, good Father, may these signs portend?" asked 
 Suffolk tremblingly. 
 
 " That the King and the Barons," answered Bracy, " are hostile 
 to you, and that the influence of the Queen is no longer able to 
 protect you." 
 
 " Ha !" said the Duke, " sayest thou so ? then De la Pole is 
 indeed lost I" 
 
 " Nay, nay," said Bracy ; " I know not that yet ; if I read aright 
 the prophetic language of the stars, there is yet a hope that you 
 may escape the impending evil." 
 
 " Tell me what hope there is, good Father." 
 
 "You will be safe, my son, if you escape the dangers of the 
 Tower." 
 
 "Jf ; u said Suffolk despondingly ; and his features, which
 
 THE PROPHECY. 323 
 
 for a moment had beamed with hope, again exhibited the paleness 
 of despair. "7/"I escape the dangers of the Tower ! Alas ! those 
 are the only dangers with which I am menaced. Were I once 
 emancipated from these fatal walls, exile, penury, or any evil with 
 which it might please Heaven to afflict me, should be submitted 
 to with resignation and even with cheerfulness." 
 
 While the Duke spake these words the dungeon door again 
 opened, and Sir Anthony Tyrrell, the Deputy Lieutenant of the 
 Tower, stood before him. 
 
 " What news, good Tyrrell ?" asked the prisoner. 
 
 " I have just received a message from the King." 
 
 " And is there aught in that message which touches me ?" 
 
 " Its contents regard your Grace, and no one else," said the 
 Lieutenant. 
 
 "Methinks, Sir Anthony," said Suffolk, "you seem in no great 
 haste to communicate them. Tell me the whole, the worst 
 Are the days of William de la Pole numbered ?" 
 
 " My Lord," said Tyrrell, " my tidings are of a mingled charac 
 ter, good and ill. Your Grace is no longer a prisoner, but at 
 liberty to depart the Tower." 
 
 " Ha !" said Suffolk, while his eyes sparkled, and a mysterious 
 glance was exchanged between him and the astrologer ; " then the 
 dangers of the Tower are escaped. Thanks, Tyrrell, for these thy 
 good tidings. Now tell me what thou hast to say of ill ? Methinks 
 I can bear the worst ?" 
 
 " Your Grace is banished the realm ; and if found in England 
 three days hence, is condemned to die the death of a traitor." 
 
 "Not three hours, good Tyrrell, would I willingly encumbei 
 this ungrateful soil with my presence. But my wife my son " a 
 tear started to his eye, and his frame shook with a sudden emotion. 
 "John de la Pole is young and rash, and surrounded by enemies 
 who will never forgive him the name which he bears. Tarry 
 awhile, good Tyrrell, while I essay to commit to paper the last 
 prayers and wishes of his banished father." 
 
 The Duke then sat down at the stone table which we have 
 already mentioned ; and while a thousand varying emotions made 
 
 Y 7
 
 3 a4 THE PROPHECY. 
 
 their transit over his face, with a firm and unshaken hand, wrote 
 the following epistle : 
 
 " My dear and only well-beloved son, I beseech our Lord in 
 Heaven, the Maker of all the world, to bless you, and to send you 
 ever grace to love Him and to dread Him ; to the which, as far as 
 a father may charge his child, I both charge you and pray you to 
 set all your spirits and wits to do, and to know His holy laws and 
 commandments, by the which ye shall, with His great mercy, pass 
 all the great tempests and troubles of this wretched world. 
 
 " And that also weetingly, ye do nothing for love nor dread of 
 any earthly creature that should displease Him. And whenever 
 any frailty maketh you to fall, beseech His mercy soon to call you 
 to Him again with repentance, satisfaction, and contrition of your 
 heart, never more in will to offend Him. 
 
 "Secondly, next Him, above all earthly things, to be true liege- 
 man in heart, in will, in thought, in deed, unto the King, our high 
 and dread Sovereign Lord, to whom, both ye and I be so much 
 bound, charging you, as father can and may, rather to die than to be 
 the contrary, or to know anything that were against the welfare or 
 prosperity of his most royal person ; but that, as far as your body 
 and life may stretch, ye live and die to defend it, and to let his 
 Highness have knowledge thereof in all the haste ye can. 
 
 " Thirdly, in the same wise I charge you, my dear son, always, 
 as ye be bounden by the commandment of God to do, to love, to 
 worship your lady and mother ; and also, that ye obey alway her 
 commandments, and believe her counsels and advices in all your 
 woiks, the which dread not but shall be best and truest to you. 
 
 " And if any other body would steer you to the contrary, to flee 
 the counsel in any wise, for ye will find it nought and evil. 
 
 " Furthermore, as far as father may and can, I charge you in any 
 wise to flee the company and counsel of proud men, of covetous 
 men, and of flattering men, the more especially and mightily to 
 withstand them, and not to draw or to meddle with them, with all 
 your might and power ; and to draw to you and to your company, 
 good and virtuous men, and such as be of good conversation and 
 of truth, and by them shall ye never be deceived or repent you ofc
 
 THE PROPHECY. 325 
 
 ' Moreover, never follow your own wit in no vise, but in all 
 your works, of such folks, as I write of above, ask your advice and 
 counsel ; and doing thus, with the mercy of God, ye shall do right 
 well, and live in right much worship and great heart's rest and ease. 
 " And I will be to you as good lord and father as my heart can 
 think. 
 
 " And last of all, as heartily and lovingly as ever father blessed 
 his child on earth, I give you the blessing of Our Lord and of me, 
 which of His infinite mercy increase you in all virtue and good 
 living : and that your blood may, by His grace, from kindred to 
 kindred, multiply in this earth, to do His service in such wise as, 
 after the departing from this wretched world here, ye and they 
 may glorify Him eternally amongst His angels in Heaven. 
 
 " Written of my hand, 
 The day of my departing from this land, 
 
 Your true and loving father, 
 
 "SUFFOLK."* 
 
 " Tyrrell," said the Duke, placing the letter in the Lieutenant's 
 hands, and accompanying it with a jewel which he plucked from 
 his bosom, " see that this letter be faithfully delivered to my son, 
 and keep the bauble in token of the once mighty Duke of Suffolk's 
 gratitude for the kindness and forbearance of his gaoler and 
 now, farewell ; the dangers of the Tower are escaped." 
 
 As he spake these words, and was preparing to leave his dun- 
 geon, a tremendous shout was heard, mixed with groans and exe- 
 crations, and one of the yeomen of the guard rushed into the 
 apartment. 
 
 " Save, save yourself, my Lord ! the mob have attacked the 
 Tower, and forced open the great gate. Their cry is, that the 
 King means to defraud them of their vengeance, by sending you 
 
 * Tliis affecting, and, for the period at which it was written, very elegant 
 piece of epistolary composition, is a genuine letter of Suffolk's, and is preserved 
 by Sir John Fenn, in his collection of original letters, written during the reigns 
 of Henry VI., Edward IV,, and Richard III. It does not look like the pro- 
 duction of a man stained with such crimes as have been imputed to Suffolk,
 
 326 THE PROPHECY. 
 
 out of the kingdom. The yeomen are defending the inner gate ; 
 and, notwithstanding the vast numbers of the assailants, they hope 
 to be able to maintain it until they receive a reinforcement. 
 Ha !" he added, as another shout was heard, and the gate gave 
 way with a tremendous crash, " that hope is vain. My Lord 
 Duke, look for mercy in Heaven, for it has fled from you on 
 earth." 
 
 By this time the long corridor leading to Suffolk's dungeon was 
 filled with an infuriated mob, who were advancing with the utmost 
 rapidity to secure their victim. One man of Herculean propor- 
 tions and ferocious countenance, armed with a massive club, was 
 considerably in advance of his companions, and rushed into 
 Suffolk's dungeon, almost before the yeoman had concluded his 
 address. With a frantic yell he darted at the Duke, and with his 
 uplifted bludgeon would have dashed him to the earth, had not 
 Sir Arthur Tyrrell hastily drawn his sword from his scabbard, and 
 sheathed it in the assassin's side. The ruffian uttered one long 
 groan, his weapon dropped hurtless, and he fell, a bleeding corpse, 
 to the ground. 
 
 These events happened in an instant ; but the same instant had 
 sufficed to enable the yeoman to close the door of the dungeon 
 and to turn the key in the massive lock in the inside ; so that 
 when the mob arrived, they found themselves unable to procure 
 admittance. 
 
 " My Lord," said the yeoman, " quickly exchange clothes with 
 this dead ruffian. The door will not resist the attack for five 
 minutes. Help, help, Sir Walter !" 
 
 As he thus spake, the populace hammered against the door of 
 the dungeon with their feet, hands, and clubs, and uttered the 
 most frantic and furious exclamations; while Tyrrell and the 
 yeoman assisted the prisoner to complete the disguise of himself 
 and of the corpse. At length the door was burst open, and Suffolk, 
 brandishing the assassin's club, and rushing towards those who 
 now entered, exclaimed, " Courage, comrades, courage ! the 
 traitor and butcher is no more. Behold him there !" 
 
 One long, loud shout of fiend-like exultation burst from the
 
 THE PROPHECY. 327 
 
 crowd as they beheld the lifeless body wrapped in the robes of the 
 Duke of Suffolk ; and then, wielding their clubs, they wreaked their 
 hatred on the lifeless carcase of their supposed enemy, and by 
 that means very speedily prevented the possibility of the features 
 being identified, or the cheat which had been practised upon thenf 
 detected. 
 
 In the evening of the day on which these events occurred, z. 
 party assembled in one of the most obscure of those taverns which 
 then abounded in the neighbourhood of Eastcheap. It was com- 
 posed of five or six persons, whose dresses and conversation pro- 
 claimed them to belong to the lowest class of London citizens ; 
 but their lowering brows, the gloomy, hateful fire of their eyes, and 
 the gloating exultation, whenever the name of Suffolk was men- 
 tioned, which they expressed at his supposed death, indicated that 
 they belonged to that class of political fanatics who advocated the 
 cause of the White Rose, or York faction. 
 
 " I marvel, Captain Nicholas," said one, a that your brother, to 
 whom it is said that the nation is indebted for this patriotic 
 achievement, has no-t yet joined us !" 
 
 The person addressed was a middle-aged man, tall, and mar- 
 vellously ill-favoured. A sabre-cut above his left brow added to 
 the naturally ruffian-like character of his features. His eyes were 
 small, deep sunk in his head, and sparkled with an unnatural bright- 
 ness. His long, shaggy, grey hair fell in elf-locks on his shoulders, 
 and his dress and accoutrements showed that he was a mariner, 
 or probably what in those days was nearly synonymous, a pirate. 
 
 " Tut ! man ; he has but hastened to the Duke of Yora to make 
 sure of the reward. Yet I would he were here ! for my vessel is 
 under weigh already ; and should any of Queen Margaret's emis- 
 saries surprise us before we set sail, the Duke's gold would be but 
 a sorry recompense for the measure which we must dance under 
 the gibbet by the time that the cock crows on the morrow." 
 
 " Talkest thou of gibbets, Master Walter Nicholas ?" said 
 another of his companions. " Mass ! I blush for thee, that so 
 craven a thought should intrude on thy imagination on so glorious 
 a day as this. The tyrant Suffolk is dead ; the White Rose shall
 
 338 THE PROPHECY. 
 
 soon be planted so high, that its blushing rival shall turn paler than 
 itself for very spite ; and then, hey for the gallant rovers of the 
 sea, when Duke Richard wears the crown of England !" 
 
 " Peace, peace, Whitmore !" said another of the gang : " even 
 stone walls have ears; so think not that a crazy wooden hostelry 
 like this is a place in which to blab the brave Duke's secrets. Let 
 us rather while away the time until John Nicholas arrives, by sing- 
 ing a catch." 
 
 This suggestion being unanimously acceded to, the company 
 joined voices very lustily. The reader will recollect that the 
 catch was a sort of antiquated glee, the chief merit of which lay, 
 not in the words, but the music ; and the humour frequently con- 
 sisted in each singer calling every one of his companions a knave, 
 and receiving the same compliment from him in return. That 
 which was sung on the present occasion ran as follows: 
 
 " Sing, sing we the merryman's stave, 
 And let each man call his fellow a knave : 
 The treble for me, and the tenor for thee, 
 And thy deep voice the bass shall be : 
 
 He's a knave who will not sing out rarely. 
 Trowl, trowl, the wassailing bowl, 
 The juice that it bears is the dew of the soul ; 
 Wherever its generous influence it showers, 
 Wit, humour, and fancy come forth like spring flowers, 
 Let us quaff, boys, and make the rich heritage ours : 
 You're a knave you're a knave 
 You're a knave you're a knave 
 He's a knave who will not drink out fairly." 
 
 " Peace, peace ! you brawling idiots !" said a man, rushing in 
 upon them, whose belted sword and golden spurs proclaimed him 
 to belong to the order of knighthood. " Is this the way in which ye 
 should spend your time when the Duke's enemies are triumphant, 
 and are laughing at the frustration of all his schemes ?" 
 
 " Good Sir Humphrey Arden," said he whom his companions 
 had addressed as Captain Nicholas, " lacking better employment, 
 we were but having a rouse until John Nicholas's arrival." 
 
 "And if your rouse last till then," said the knight, "it will not 
 be finished before the day of judgment." 
 
 " Ha ! Sir Knight," said Nicholas, grasping his sword, " ras the
 
 THE PROPHECY. $29 
 
 Duke dared does he think to hide his crime by despatching his 
 emissary ?" 
 
 " The Duke has slain John Nicholas," said Arden. 
 
 " The Duke of York !" exclaimed Nicholas. 
 
 "Of Suffolk," said the Knight. 
 
 " By Heaven !" added the pirate. " I am cheated I am scoffed 
 at. Did not my brother himself slay that Duke ? Did not I .see 
 him stretched lifeless in his dungeon, with his peacock's feathers, 
 his ducal robes and garter, weltering in his blood ?" 
 
 " It was thy own brother, Walter Nicholas, whose bleeding 
 corpse thou sawest. The Duke slew him as he rushed upon him 
 in his cell ; and then exchanging clothes with his victim, he made 
 his escape through the midst of the assembled populace." 
 
 " Now, by Heaven !" said the pirate, " there wanted not this. 
 Plantagenet's gold was enough to induce me to spill the blood of 
 a better man than De la Pole ; the hatred which I felt for my 
 country's tyrant was a motive of mere surplusage ; but now my 
 brother's blood is on his hands, let him flee whither he will. I'll 
 drag him from the foot of King Louis's throne ; he shall feel my 
 hand at his throat, though surrounded by a thousand Irish kernes ; 
 the trace of his footsteps on the land, of his keel upon the sea, will 
 be visible to the eyes of Walter Nicholas." 
 
 " Gallant-hearted Walter," said Sir Humphrey Arden ; " I knew 
 that such would be thy feeling. The Duke of York commends 
 himself to you and your noble crew. This," taking a bag of 
 gold from his pouch, " is but a small earnest of the reward which 
 he destines for you after you have made Suffolk a headless man. 
 But you hear me not, good Walter," added Arden, observing that 
 the pirate kept his eyes fixed moodily on the ground, and seemed 
 lost in his own reflections. 
 
 " Proceed ! proceed ! I hear thee now ; thou talkest of spilling 
 Suffolk's blood" 
 
 " 'Tis of that I would speak, gentle friend. The traitor is now, 
 as the Duke has learned by sure intelligence, far on the road to 
 Dover. On the morning after the morrow he will embark for 
 Calais; and if thou, Master Nicholas, couldst intercept him"
 
 550 THE PROPHECY. 
 
 " If," said the pirate, starting up, and snatching his cap 
 "Aboard, gallants ! aboard ! Farewell, Sir Knight of Arden. 
 Commend me humbly to his good Grace of York, and say that if 
 the sight of the gory head of Suffolk will contribute to the sound- 
 ness of his slumbers, he shall not long toss upon a restless couch 
 for the want of such a spectacle." 
 
 Thus saying he rushed out of the hostelry, followed by his com- 
 rades, and took the road to the water side, while the Knight, 
 waving his hand to them, pursued his journey in an opposite 
 direction. 
 
 In the mean time, the Duke of Suffolk no sooner found himself 
 out of his gloomy prison, than, sf'H preserving his disguise, he bent 
 his steps towards the house of a faithful retainer of his, named 
 Stephen Basset, which was situated on the strand of the river 
 Thames, between the cities of London and Westminster. Here 
 he found his loyal adherent in an agony of grief, having just heard 
 the report of the Duke's assassination in the Tower. There was 
 little time for the exchange either of congratulations or courtesies, 
 as the indignation of the mob, on the discovery of their error a 
 discovery which could not be long delayed would no doubt rage 
 with tenfold vehemence. Basset had had a carriage and horses 
 for some hours waiting in readiness, to convey his master to 
 Dover : they therefore stepped into this vehicle without delay, 
 which, after four-and-twenty hours' hard travelling, deposited them 
 safely on the evening of the next day at the dcor of Sir Richard 
 Fitzmaurice, the Constable of Dover, a tiled and trusty friend to 
 the Duke of Suffolk. 
 
 " Welcome, my noble Lord," said Fitzmaurice, "thrice welcome ! 
 We have heard strange rumours respecting your Grace's mishaps, 
 and almost feared that the King's clemency had been rendered ol 
 no avail by the bloodthirstiness of a brutal mob." 
 
 " Thanks, good Sir Richard !" said Suffolk, returning the cordial 
 grasp with which his friend greeted him. " I am safe now ; and 
 unless those shining oracles," pointing to the stars, which then 
 shone with a peculiar brightness, " can lie, I am beyond the reach 
 of danger."
 
 THE PROPHECY. 33* 
 
 "It is the book," said Fitzmaurice, gazing on the starry sky, 
 "of unerring wisdom and infallible truth. Tell me what is 
 written in those shining leaves, as to the destiny of my friend." 
 
 " That I shall be safe, Fitzmaurice, when I have escaped the 
 dangers of the Tower." 
 
 " And thou hast escaped them all, noble Suffolk ; but haste thee, 
 haste thee to take such refreshment and brief slumber as the time 
 will allow. At daybreak the vessel sails for Calais ; for, even at 
 this distance from London, your enemies are so numerous as to 
 render it imprudent for you to embark during the broad sunlight. 
 The wind is fresh and fair, and when the tide serves, will waft 
 you speedily to Calais." 
 
 The Duke saw the necessity of following his friend's advice; and 
 after partaking of the refreshment offered him, he repaired to his 
 chamber, and throwing himself on his couch, soon sunk into a 
 profound slumber. His agitation and fatigue had worn out his 
 bodily strength and thrown it into repose ; but his mind was still 
 active and awake, and tortured by uneasy and fearful dreams. He 
 fancied himself once more in the Tower, loaded with fetters, and 
 exposed to the gibes and jeers of his persecutors. Another time 
 he was mounting that fatal hill in the vicinity of his dungeon, for 
 the purpose of laying his head upon the block, while a grim and 
 ghastly figure earned an axe before him. Then the scene changed, 
 and he imagined himself on the sea, speeding with a fair wind and 
 flowing sheet towards Calais. His heart bounded with delight 
 the ramparts of Calais appeared before him " The dangers of the 
 Tower are escaped !" he exclaimed, when, suddenly turning his 
 eyes towards the middle of the vessel, he saw a tall turret rising up 
 from the deck instead of a mast, and although a flag floated from 
 the top, it bore not the colours of the vessel, but was the same 
 gloomy rag which he had seen streaming in the wind as he entered 
 his fearful prison at London. At that moment a voice, which 
 sounded in his ear awfully as the Archangel's trump, cried out 
 "To the block! to the block!" with such distinctness, that he started 
 pale and trembling from his couch, and saw his friend Fitzmaurice 
 by his side, whose voice it was which had roused him from hn
 
 33 THE PROPHECY. 
 
 sleep ; but the words uttered, which his disordered fancy had dis- 
 torted to such a fearful meaning, were "Aboard I aboard /" 
 
 " Despatch ! despatch ! my good Lord, Basset is already on 
 board. The vessel only waits your Grace's arrival to spread her 
 sails merrily before the breeze, and bear you to peace and safety in 
 Calais." 
 
 The Duke had no time to ruminate on the ominous interpreta- 
 tion, which in his dream had been given to the words of his friend; 
 but after hastily wringing his hand, and throwing a rich collar of 
 pearls round his neck, he proceeded to the place of embarkation, 
 rowed to the vessel, and mounting the deck with the utmost 
 rapidity, was speedily on his way toward Calais. 
 
 They had not been on the waters above half an hour, before a 
 strange sail appeared in sight. It was a very large vessel, which, 
 as it approached the Duke's ship, was observed to carry numerous 
 guns, was well manned, and sailed with astonishing swiftness. As 
 she approached Suffolk's vessel, she hung out a black flag, and 
 lowered a boat, while the crew gave three astounding cheers. 
 
 " Death ! my Lord," said Basset, " I fear some treachery. 
 These villains mean us no good." 
 
 "Peace, fool, peace!" said the Duke; "the dangers of the 
 Tower are passed. The worst that can befal us now will be to be 
 attacked by pirates, who, for a slight ransom, will allow us to pass 
 on uninjured. They know not my rank, and therefore will not be 
 exorbitant in their demands." 
 
 By this time, five men from the boat ascended the deck of the 
 Duke's vessel. 
 
 " You have passengers ?" said one. 
 
 " We have two gentlemen," answered the commander, " whom 
 we are carrying to Calais. What would ye with them?" 
 
 " That question is one which our noble Captain Nicholas can 
 best answer. You must on board with us, gallants," he added, 
 addressing the Duke and Basset. 
 
 " Be it so, my friend," said Suffolk ; " your Captain is doubtless 
 no such churl, but that we shall meet and part in good fellowship. 
 On with me, Stephen."
 
 THE PROPHECY. 333 
 
 Thus saying, they descended the gangway, entered the boat, 
 and rowing to the larger vessel, were speedily on deck and intro- 
 duced to the commander and his crew. 
 
 The appearance of the persons in whose power they found 
 themselves was such as might have daunted the stoutest heart ; it 
 exhibited nothing, however, that was not in accordance with the 
 violent and lawless occupation which they followed. 
 
 "Friend," said Suffolk, addressing the Captain, "you shall 
 find us neither misers nor beggars : name but our ransoms, and 
 let me proceed speedily to Calais, and my friend shall remain an 
 hostage to secure payment within an hour after I am set on shore." 
 
 " Your ransom," said the Captain gruffly, and addressing Basset, 
 "is a thousand crowns : are ye content ?" 
 
 " It shall be paid, most noble Captain," said Suffolk ; " and now, 
 of your courtesy, may I crave to know my own ?" 
 
 "Your heart's blood, or your head!" said the pirate, smiling 
 grimly, and following his words with an obstreperous laugh. 
 " Choose ye between them." 
 
 Suffolk started and turned pale ; for, although such lawless 
 characters as stood before him were in the habit of playing off 
 their coarse and ruffianly jokes upon their prisoners, these last words 
 were spoken in a tone of earnestness and feeling which made it 
 difficult for him to believe that they were not uttered in sincerity. 
 
 "Good Captain," he said, "if thou knewest the urgent nature 
 of my business at Calais, thou wouldest not detain me now to 
 listen to thy idle jesting." 
 
 " Jesting ! good fellow, call you it ?" said the pirate. " By Heaven, 
 all jesting shall speedily terminate, since it sorts so ill with your 
 inclination. Comrades, bear this fellow to the long-boat, the side 
 thereof is but an unceremonious sort of block ; but Tower Hill 
 itself could not perform the business more effectually." 
 
 " Off, traitors I" said Suffolk, as the pirate's myrmidons laid 
 hold of him. " Ye know not whom your plebeian hands have 
 dared to touch. I am not what I seem." 
 
 " Certes," said the Captain, "nor so honest a man as poor 
 John Nicholas, in whose garments thca hast wrapped thyself."
 
 334 THE PKOPnEC Y. 
 
 "Ha ! fellow," said Suffolk ; " then thou knowest me." 
 
 " Right well," answered his captor ; " and so well, that I would 
 speedily be rid of thee. Bear him to the long-boat ; fellows, away 
 with him !" 
 
 " Ruffians, avaunt !" said Suffolk, stamping on the deck, and, 
 with the more than natural strength which terror and indignation 
 had given him, breaking from their grasp. " If this ruffian would, 
 without remorse, shed the blood of a prince, you, my good friends, 
 will, I know, not allow him to gratify his butcher's wish. Let me 
 escape ; my friend will remain with you a pledge for my fidelity ; 
 a thousand crowns to each man shall be the price of my safety ; 
 and, for assurance that I have the power to perform what I pro- 
 mise, know that I am the Duke of Suffolk." 
 
 The Duke looked round with a proud glance; but instead of 
 the awe and respect which he anticipated would follow the mere 
 communication of his name, he saw a malignant sneer on every lip. 
 
 " We know you well, De la Pole," said Nicholas, " but not for 
 the Duke of Suffolk, since, before your arrival in our own good 
 ship, we had solemnly tried and condemned you, deprived you of 
 your titles and honours, and sentenced you to the block; there- 
 fore, I pray you, make a short shrift, and bow down your head 
 peaceably, for the Duke of York is but a slippery creditor, and I 
 shall lose my reward unless I claim it speedily." 
 
 "The perjured traitor ! the vile Plantagenet !" said Suffolk, lift- 
 ing up his hands and eyes to Heaven. " But it cannot be," he 
 added, and a gleam of hope again brightened his features. "Be- 
 ware, fellows, how you draw down upon yourselves the vengeance 
 of Heaven. Do not load your souls with the sin of a guilty at- 
 tempt which it is impossible should be successful. The stars can- 
 lot lie ; and it is written in their shining book, that I shall be safe 
 when I have escaped the dangers of the Tower." 
 
 " Despair thy charm," said Nicholas, turning suddenly round, 
 and clapping his prisoner on the shoulder. " Behold ! De la Pole, 
 behold !" 
 
 He pointed towards the stern of the vessel, where the ship's 
 name was painted. Suffolk followed with his eye the direction of 
 his finger; and there, while his hair bristled on his head, and his
 
 THE PROPHECY. 335 
 
 blood curdled in his heart, he read, in characters painfully distinct, 
 the fatal name, " THE TOWER." 
 
 "Oh, God!" he said, sinking on his knee, while the cold 
 drops poured down his brow ; " lost ! lost indeed for ever ! 
 And yet," he added, starting up and rushing towards the vessel, 
 " there is still one hope the dangers of the Tower may yet be 
 escaped." He was springing into the water, but the brawny arms of 
 Nicholas and one of his comrades arrested him. " Bear him to 
 the long-boat," said the former ; " a moment's delay is too tedious 
 a dallying with so precious a prize." 
 
 It was a delay which he did not suffer ; for the pirates, with 
 their unhappy victim in their clutch, darted down the gangway 
 and into the long-boat with the velocity of lightning. Here the 
 prisoner was held down with his head on the side of the boat, 
 while one of the seamen unsheathed his sabre and prepared to 
 strike the fatal blow. 
 
 " Put up your bright, sharp sword, comrade," said Nicholas ; " it 
 is too honourable a weapon for such a traitor to die by. This," he 
 added, picking up an old rusty sword which lay at the bottom of the 
 boat, " is a fitter instrument wherewith to spill his scoundrel blood." 
 
 A roar of savage delight burst from the spectators as the execu- 
 tioner took the proffered weapon with a hideous grin, and let it 
 fall, after aiming a tremendous blow, on the neck of his victim. A 
 shudder pervaded even the ranks of these ferocious pirates, as they 
 saw that the blow had not taken effect, and heard the groans and 
 saw the blood of the yet living prisoner. A second blow descended 
 and cut deeper, but still without being fatal. " Mercy ! mercy 1" 
 groaned out Suffolk, as a third and a fourth blow fell on his neck. 
 The fifth was aimed with better effect ; and at length, by placing 
 Ms foot on the rusty sword, and driving it with all his might 
 through the neck of his victim, the executioner severed the head 
 from the body, and the spirit of Suffolk was placed beyond the 
 reach of his tormentors.* 
 
 Thus was the prophecy fulfilled ; for De la Pole escaped not 
 the dangers of the Tower. 
 
 * Fenn's Letters. Hall's Chronicle.
 
 THE LINE OF YORK, 
 
 For the truth and plainness of the case, 
 I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here, 
 Giving my verdict on the white rose side. 
 
 SHAKSPEAM. 
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY. 
 EDWARD THE FOURTH. 
 
 1461. EDWARD defeated the Lancastrians at Towton. Henry, with hii 
 Queen and son, escaped into Scotland. 
 
 1463. Margaret went over to France to solicit succours : she returned with 
 two thousand men, and then collected a large army, which was entirely defeated 
 by Lord Montague, near Hexham. Margaret, with her son, fled to her father 
 in Anjou. Henry was seized and sent to the Tower of London. 
 
 1464. Edward sent the Earl of Warwick to contract a marriage for him with 
 Bona of Savoy, sister-in-law to the King of France ; but during the Earl's 
 absence, he fell in love with and married Elizabeth Gray. Warwick returned 
 to England full of indignation. 
 
 1466. Louis XL was at war with the Dukes of Burgundy and Brittany. 
 Zclward entered into an alliance with Burgundy, giving him his sister in marriage. 
 
 The Duke of Clarence, Edward's brother, concurred privately in Warwick's 
 animosity to Edward, and married his daughter. 
 
 1469. An insurrection broke out in Yorkshire. The malcontents defeated 
 the royal army, and put its commander, the Earl of Pembroke, and the Earl of 
 Rivers, to death. 
 
 1470. The Duke of Clarence and the Earl of Wanvick levied troops, and 
 <\ eclared themselves at the head of the rebels. They afterwards defeated Edward 
 and took him prisoner. He made his escape, raised another army, and de- 
 feated Loid Wells near Stamford. Clarence and Warwick fled to France.
 
 THE FOURTH. 337 
 
 Louis XI. promised them aid, and sent for Margaret, who was with her father 
 in Sicily. 
 
 Clarence and Warwick landed at Dartmouth, and their army increasing pro- 
 digiously, marched against Edward, who was encamped at Lynn. He being 
 alarmed, and imagining that his army was disaffected, fled on board a vessel to 
 his brother-in-law, the Duke of Burgundy. Clarence and Warwick marched 
 to London, released Henry, and again proclaimed him King. A Parliament 
 declared Edward an usurper, and settled the succession on Henry and his heirs. | 
 
 1471. Ed ward landed at Ravenspur, in Yorkshire, with about two thousand 
 men. Warwick raised an army about Leicester to oppose him ; but Edward 
 arrived in London, which opened its gates to him. Henry was again taken and 
 sent to the Tower. 
 
 Warwick marched towards London : on the road the Duke of Clarence de- 
 serted to his brother with twelve thousand men. Warwick was defeated and 
 slain at Barnet. 
 
 Margaret and her son were defeated at Tewkesbury, the prince killed, and 
 herself sent to the Tower, where her husband Henry died soon after. He was 
 supposed to have been murdered. 
 
 Jasper, Earl of Pembroke, fled with his nephew Richmond into Brittany. 
 
 1475. Edward, having entered into a treaty with the Duke of Burgundy, 
 invaded France ; but finding himself deceived by the Duke, made a peace with 
 Louis XL, and the two monarchs held a conference on the bridge of Montereau, 
 where it was agreed that Margaret should be released on Louis paying fifty 
 thousand crowns for her ransom. 
 
 1478. The Duke of Clarence was accused and committed to the Tov/, 
 where he was found murdered, 
 
 1483. Edward died on the 9th April.
 
 %i 
 
 I cannot Wile 
 
 My love to thee. 5 Tis like the sun concc-aled 
 lu watery clouds, whose glory will break through, 
 And, spite opposure, scorns to be conceal'd. 
 
 HEYWOOD. 
 
 IT was one of those fresh and balmy summer evenings which 
 sometimes succeed a day of scarcely endurable sultriness, 
 The breathless stillness and heat of noon had given place to a 
 refreshing breeze, which rippled the waves of the Ouse, and stirred 
 the countless leaves of the forest, through which the river mean- 
 dered, The sun was setting in unclouded magnificence ; and
 
 THE WOOING AT GRAFTOM. 335 
 
 although his rays had greatly declined in intensity and strength, 
 they had lost nothing of their splendour and their brightness. The 
 birds, whose floods of melody appeared to have been dried up 
 during the day, now poured forth a tide of song so full and resist- 
 less, that it seemed as if they intended during the short interval 
 previous to the hour of roosting to make amends for the silence 
 of so many hours. 
 
 A lady of a stately figure, and features of exquisite beauty, was 
 walking on the banks of the river. She was followed by a female 
 attendant, and led by the hand a youth who seemed to be about 
 nine or ten years of age. She was tall and finely formed ; her 
 eyes were large, black, and bright ; her ringlets, which were as 
 black and almost as bright, fell down to her shoulders ; her com- 
 plexion was exquisitely fair, approaching even to paleness. The 
 tears which streamed down her cheeks, the melancholy ex- 
 pression of her eye, especially when it glanced on the stripling by 
 her side, and the widow's weeds in which she was apparelled, 
 too plainly told that, young as she was, sorrow had outstripped 
 time, and premature clouds had darkened the morning of her 
 days. 
 
 "Adelaide," she said, addressing her attendant, "see'st thou 
 yonder alder-tree, how it gleams and brightens in the rays of the 
 sun? but that sun is setting; into those crimson clouds beneath 
 him that look like a sanguinary sea, he will shortly sink, and then 
 the tree which now gleams and brightens will be surrounded with 
 desolation and darkness." 
 
 " But, to-morrow, Madam " said the attendant. 
 
 " Talk not of the morrow to me," interrupted the lady " to me, 
 on whose darkened fortunes no morrow shall ever dawn. Alas ! 
 like yonder tree I flourished ; brightness was on my head and 
 around my path ; but the sun that shone upon me has set; has 
 set in a sea of blood." 
 
 " Sweet lady !" said Adelaide, " but I will talk to thee of the 
 morrow, for a morrow of joy and gladness shall dawn upon thee 
 yet : King Edward is gallant and generous ; and although Sir 
 John Gray fell fighting the battles of the Red Rose, he will not 
 
 Z 2
 
 340 THE WOOING AT GRAFTON. 
 
 visit on the widow and orphans the transgressions of the husband 
 and the father." 
 
 " Alas ! Adelaide, only this day have I received a letter from 
 my noble mother, who informs me that all her importunities have 
 been in vain. The King has been besieged by her in his palace 
 at Westminster more unremittingly than ever he was by Clifford o 
 Northumberland, or the most zealous Lancastrian, when shut up in 
 some iron fortress which constituted his only territory. The ruth- 
 less Richard Plantagenet, he whom they now call the Duke of 
 Gloucester, stands between him and every generous disposition of 
 his heart. The Lancastrians are devoted to the slaughter ; and 
 the crime of my dead lord, in gallantly supporting to his latest 
 gasp the cause of his lawful sovereign, can only be expiated by the 
 beggary of his widow and his orphans." 
 
 " Would that the gallant King," said Adelaide, " could but once 
 behold that fair face wet with tears, and know that a single word 
 from his lips would suffice to dry them ! methinks that the for- 
 feited estates of your husband would then be soon restored 
 to you." 
 
 " And in truth, gentle Adelaide," said the Lady Gray, " a wild 
 hope that perchance in the course of the chase, which he is to-day 
 following in this neighbourhood, I might come in contact with 
 him, and have an opportunity of falling at his feet and pleading 
 my cause in person, has lured me from Grafton Manor, and kept 
 me wandering by the river-side till the hour of sunset." 
 
 " The dews of evening are descending, Madam, and the chase 
 is over. Let us return, lest we be intruded upon by some of the 
 wild gallants in King Edward's train, who are not very scrupulous 
 in their mode of courtship when they encounter a fair lady alone 
 and unprotected. Trust rather to the continued importunity of 
 your noble morher. The Duchess has a persuasive speech, and 
 the King a susceptible heart. Let us return to the manor, and 
 hope that all will yet be well." 
 
 The lady turned round to retrace her steps, in compliance with 
 the advice of her attendant, when she found herself suddenly 
 seized in the grasp of a man who had followed her unperceived,
 
 THE WOOING AT GRAFTON. 341 
 
 and who now, with very little ceremony, proceeded to overwhelm 
 her with his embraces. 
 
 The author of this outrage was by no means one whose personal 
 attractions could render the violence which he committed less 
 unpalatable. He was a short and meagre figure, humpbacked, 
 with legs of an unequal size, and teeth, or rather fangs, which pro- 
 truded from his mouth, and gave a hideous expression to his face, 
 which otherwise might have possibly been called handsome. His 
 forehead was high and fair, his eyes black and sparkling, and his 
 broad, arched brows gave an expression of intelligence and dignity 
 to the upper part of his countenance which strangely contrasted 
 with the grotesqueness and deformity of his figure. He was very 
 richly habited in a robe of blue velvet, lined with silk, and glit- 
 tering with gold a sword hung by his side, and a cap, adorned 
 with a plume of feathers, and a sparkling diamond in the front, 
 was placed in rather a fantastic and foppish manner upon his head. 
 
 The lady shrieked fearfully when she found herself in the arms 
 of this hideous being. " Silence, Madam, silence," he said, " or," 
 and he touched his dagger, while a cloud as black as midnight 
 gathered on his brow, which, however, instantly gave place to a 
 smile of even bewitching sweetness. " Pardon, pardon," he added, 
 " that one used to war and strife should begin with menaces, even 
 when addressing so fair a creature as thou art !" 
 
 " Unhand me, monster !" said the Lady Gray. 
 
 " Sweet lady," he said, " you must unheart me first" 
 
 " Desist !" said a voice behind them, " or, by Heaven ! your 
 heart shall rue the boldness of your hand." 
 
 With these words, a young man habited in Lincoln green, with 
 a bow and quiver slung over his shoulders, and bearing a drawn 
 sword in his hand, rushed upon the lady's assailant. He paused, 
 however, as his eye encountered that of this misshapen being 
 whether it was that he recognized a face familiar to him, or that 
 he felt an emotion of surprise at the hideousness of the creature 
 which he beheld, was not apparent. The latter eyed him with a 
 sullen and malignant smile, and then uttering a loud and dis- 
 cordant laugh, disappeared amidst the recesses of the forest
 
 343 THE WOOING A T GRAFTON. 
 
 The lady had sunk on the ground exhausted and stupified with 
 terror. Her deliverer hastened to raise her up ; while the boy, 
 whose bosom heaved with sobs, caught her hand, and covered it 
 with his kisses ; and Adelaide sprinkled her pallid and death-like 
 features with water from the river. When she once more opened 
 her eyes, they rested upon a being very dissimilar from him in 
 whose arms she had last found herself. The perfect grace and 
 symmetry of his form was only equalled by the sweetness and 
 noble expression of his features, which, save that the curl of his 
 lip, and the proud glance of his eye, indicated something of a 
 haughty and imperious temperament, approached as nearly as pos- 
 sible to the beau ideal of manly beauty. The simplicity and 
 modesty of his dress were as strikingly opposed to the gorgeous 
 apparel, as were his graces of form and feature to the ghastliness 
 and deformity of his late opponent. 
 
 " Thanks, gentle Sir !" said the Lady Gray " thanks for thy 
 timely aid !" 
 
 " No thanks are due to me, sweet lady ; but to thy fair self I owe 
 unbounded thanks for an opportunity of gazing on so much love- 
 liness. Yet must I be a petitioner for a farther favour permission 
 to escort you home." 
 
 The lady accepted with gratitude the service which was proffered 
 as a boon ; and giving her hand to the graceful cavalier she pro- 
 ceeded under his escort homewards, attended by the stripling and 
 Adelaide. During this short journey, she had an opportunity of 
 discovering that the elegant and accomplished form of her deliverer 
 was but the mirror of his refined and cultivated mind. The wit, 
 vivacity, knowledge of men and manners, originality of thought, 
 and courteous and chivalrous demeanour which he evinced, were \ 
 such that, if they did not positively win the heart of the Lady Gray 
 before this their first interview terminated, they certainly laid the 
 foundation of a passion which, as the reader will subsequently learn, 
 exercised a powerful influence over the destinies of both. 
 
 "And now, gentle Sir," said the lady, as they arrived at her 
 residence, " welcome to Grafton Manor. Will you please to enter?" 
 
 "Not now, sweet Madam!" answered the cavalier j '-'I am in
 
 THE WOOING AT GRAFTON. 343 
 
 the King's train, and my services will be missed. Yet may I crave 
 
 leave to call to-morrow, and inquire after the health of " He 
 
 paused ; but the lady soon concluded his sentence. 
 
 " Of the Lady Gray of Groby," she said, extending her hand to him. 
 
 " Ha I" he said, and started, while a dark frown lowered for a 
 moment over his fine features, " the widow of the Lancastrian 
 knight who fell at St. Alban's." 
 
 " Even that ill-starred woman," said the Lady Gray, while the 
 tears streamed down her features. "Farewell ! farewell ! I see that 
 it is a name which is now unpleasing to all ears." 
 
 " Nay, nay, sweet Madam," said the youth, gently detaining 
 her ; " it is a name which friends and foes ought alike to honour 
 as identified with manly and heroic devotion to a falling cause, 
 
 and " his voice faltered as he added, in a softer tone, " with the 
 
 perfection of female grace and loveliness. You have been a sup- 
 pliant to the King, Madam, for the restoration of your dead Lord's 
 forfeited estates ?" 
 
 "I have been," she replied, "and a most unhappy and unsuc- 
 cessful one." 
 
 "The King, Madam, is surrounded by men who entertain small 
 love for the unhappy adherents of the House of Lancaster. I 
 have the honour to serve his Highness. If Edward March, his 
 poor Esquire, can advance the cause of the Lady Gray, small as 
 may be his abilities to do her good, they shall be all devoted to 
 her service." 
 
 " Thanks ! once more a thousand thanks, generous Sir !" said 
 the lady. " The cause of Elizabeth Gray indeed needs all the efforts 
 of her friends to ensure for it a prosperous issue. If Master 
 Edward March can do aught to serve it, the blessing of the widow 
 and the fatherless will rest upon his head." 
 
 " And the blessing of the widow," thought Master Edward March, 
 after he had taken leave of the lady, and was retracing his steps to 
 the river side, " will be the blessing of the prettiest woman in 
 England. That of the fatherless I could e'en dispense with ; yet, 
 methinks, it is well that they are fatherless, Heaven rest their 
 father's semi !"
 
 344 THE WOOING AT GRAFTON. 
 
 This short interview caused a strange disturbance in the heart of 
 Elizabeth Gray. The interests of her orphan children, and anxiety 
 to obtain for them the restitution of their father's forfeited pro- 
 perty, had for a long time occupied her mind exclusively. Now a 
 new feeling, she would not venture to call it a passion, seemed at 
 least to mingle with, if not to absorb, all other considerations. 
 Yet even this came disguised in the garb of her children's interests, 
 who, she now felt more than ever, stood much in need of a pro- 
 tector to supply the place of their deceased parent. The mother 
 of the Lady Gray was Jaqueline of Luxembourg, the Dowager 
 Duchess of Bedford, who had, after the death of her husband, so 
 far sacrificed her ambition to love, that she espoused in second 
 marriage Sir Richard Woodville, a private gentleman, to whom she 
 bore several children ; and among the rest Elizabeth, who was re- 
 markable for the grace and beauty of her person, as well as for 
 many accomplishments. This young lady had married Sir John 
 Gray of Groby, by whom she had two sons ; and her husband being 
 slain in the second battle of St. Alban's, fighting on the side of 
 Lancaster, and his estate being for that reason confiscated, his 
 widow had retired to live with her mother at her seat of Grafton, 
 in Northamptonshire. The Duchess herself resided principally in 
 London, as well for the purpose of leaving her daughter as much 
 as possible in complete possession of Grafton Manor, as to afford 
 the Duchess, by her vicinity to the palace, opportunities for press- 
 ing upon the King the propriety of restoring to the widow of Sir 
 John Gray the forfeited estates of her husband. These solicitations, 
 however, had as yet been unvailing, and she was in daily expecta- 
 tion of hearing that the estates, which formed the subject of them, 
 had been bestowed upon some adherent of the House of York. 
 
 Such was the posture of her affairs when the Lady Gray became 
 acquainted with Edward March, in the manner which we have 
 narrated. The young esquire called on her the next day, and their 
 second interview confirmed in the bosoms of both the passion 
 which had been excited by the first. March, in addition to his 
 personal attractions, expressed so much anxiety for the interests of 
 the lady and her children, and such i determination, as soon as the
 
 THE WOOING AT GRAFTON. 345 
 
 King returned to London, and was at leisure to attend to business, 
 to press the fair widow's suit upon his attention, that the surrender 
 which the lady made of her heart seemed to her to be no less a 
 matter of policy than affection. The youth was not slow in per- 
 ceiving the impression which he had made on the susceptible 
 bosom of Elizabeth ; and one day, when the parties had scarcely 
 been acquainted a month, he took, like Othello, " a pliant hour," 
 poured into the lady's listening, and not offended ear, a confession 
 of his passion, and made an offer of his Land and heart. 
 
 " Alas ! good Master March," said she, " thou talkest idly. 
 What hopes can a poor Esquire and the portionless widow of Sir 
 John Gray have of future happiness, by uniting their forlorn 
 fortunes together ?" 
 
 " I have a sword, Madam, which has already done good service, 
 and which, I doubt not, will, on the next field in which it is bran- 
 dished, win for me the badge of knighthood." 
 
 " Or the grave of an esquire !" said the lady, mournfully. 
 
 " But, Madam, trust to my persuasions and the King's goodness 
 of heart for the restoration of your children's inheritance. Will 
 you make your promise of sealing my happiness conditional upon 
 that restoration ?" 
 
 The youth's eye flashed fire as he put this question to the lady. 
 Her colour came and went her bosom rose and fell quickly ; her 
 heart beat within it tumultuously, and her whole frame trembled 
 like the aspen tree, as she paused a few moments before she an- 
 swered this question ; and then, sinking into his arms, exclaimed, 
 " I will, I will ! dearest Edward, I am wholly thine." 
 
 " Now Heaven's richest blessings fall upon that fair head !" he 
 said, imprinting a fervent kiss on her forehead. " The King departs 
 for London on the morrow, and I must follow in his train. Trust 
 me, sweet Elizabeth, that thy suit shall not want the advocacy of 
 any eloquence which I may possess ; and I hope that when I next 
 meet thee, it will be to clasp thee to my bosom as my bride." 
 
 The Lady Gray felt more desolate than ever at Grafton Manor 
 after the departure of Edward March from its neighbourhood. She 
 had intrusted him with t tetter to the Duchess of Bedford, in
 
 HS THE WOOING AT GRAFTON. 
 
 ivhich she had simply informed her that the bearer v.-as a gentleman 
 \vho hoped, from his situation near the person of the King, to be 
 able to advance the successful progress of their suit to his High- 
 ness. To this letter she had received an answer, saying that it had 
 been forwarded to her mother by Mr. March, but that he had not 
 himself called upon the Duchess, nor had she received from him 
 any intelligence as to the success of his efforts on the Lady Gray's 
 behalf. Days and weeks rolled on, and the fair widow still re 
 mained in total uncertainty as to the state of her affairs, except 
 that each letter which she received from her mother informed her 
 that she found increasing difficulty in procuring interviews with the 
 King, and that the monarch, at such interviews, appeared colder 
 and more adverse than ever to the object for which they were 
 sought. 
 
 "Alas! alas!" said the Lady Gray, "will Fate ever cease to 
 persecute me ? Even this last fond hope reliance on the affec- 
 tion and on the efforts in my behalf of this young man has failed 
 me. But it was a wild and an idle hope ; and Elizabeth Gray, who 
 has seen so much of the world, ought to have known how delusive 
 are its brightest prospects, and how false its most solemn promises. 
 Edward March has proved inconstant and untrue, and Elizabeth 
 Gray must remain desolate and oppressed." 
 
 These painful thoughts agitated her mind as from a terrace in the 
 gardens of Grafton Manor she gazed on nearly the same scenery 
 which we have described at the commencement of this narrative 
 the winding Ouse, whose every ripple gleamed like gold in the 
 beams of the declining sun ; the massive oaks, which cast their 
 dark shadows round them, but received on their summits and their 
 leaves a share of the glory of the setting luminary ; the stately 
 manor-house in the foreground sending up wreaths of silver smoke 
 into the deep blue sky ; and the distant spire of the village-church 
 of Grafton, catching the latest ray of the fast-declining orb, and 
 terminating as with a finger of glory the horizon. This was a scene 
 whose simple quiet beauty had often served to calm and soothe her 
 wounded feelings, and to give a tinge of its own brightness to her 
 anticipations of the future ; now, however, it only served to bring
 
 THE WOOING AT GRAFTON. 347 
 
 back painful recollections to her mind the interview with March ; 
 the affections and hopes which sprang from it ; and the cruel man- 
 ner in which all those affections and hopes had been blighted and 
 destroyed. 
 
 "Yes," she added; "it is a wild and idle hope, and he has 
 proved inconstant and untrue." 
 
 At that moment a rustling among the leaves of the bower in 
 which she sat aroused her from her reverie ; and starting up, she 
 beheld not as for an instant she had fondly expected, Edward 
 March, but a cavalier df maturer age and less welcome to her eye, 
 yet nevertheless a right noble and valiant cavalier, her father's 
 brother, Sir William Woodville. 
 
 " Gallant uncle!" she said, " right welcome to Grafton Manor! 
 what news from my noble mother ?" 
 
 " Cold news, heavy news, sweet Elizabeth," said the Knight, and 
 he passed his hand across his eyes. 
 
 "Alas! alas!'' she said, sinking back into the seat from which she 
 had sprung a moment before full of hopefulness. "Tell it me 
 then tell it me, however cold and heavy. Methinks my heart has 
 learned to bear so much, that it can yet bear something a little, 
 little more before it breaks." 
 
 "Sweet lady," said Sir William, "I am come to inform you that 
 all our hopes of procuring the restitution of your husband's pro- 
 perty are over: the meddling interference of a young esquire of 
 the name of March has proved fatal to our cause, he having been 
 discovered to be the same individual who had the boldness to draw 
 his sword on the Duke of Gloucester in Grafton forest, when the 
 King and his retinue were last in this neighbourhood following the 
 pleasures of the chase." 
 
 " Ha !" said the lady, wringing her hands and shrieking piteously ; 
 "and has that gallant young gentleman, to whom my thoughts have 
 done so much injustice, involved himself in danger on my account; 
 and was that foul, misshapen being, from whose odious caresses he 
 rescued me, the Duke of Gloucester? I will hasten to London I 
 will throw myself at the feet of the gallant King I will tell him that 
 it was in the holiest cause in the cause of injured innocence and
 
 34 THE WOOING AT GRAFTON. 
 
 helplessness, that Edward March dared to draw his sword. 1 
 will save him I will save him." 
 
 " Sweet cousin," said the Knight, gently detaining her for she 
 had started from her seat as if to perform the journey to London 
 on the instant " it is too late Edward March is no more." 
 
 " Ha !" said the lady, while the blackness of despair gathered on 
 her features ; " tliou art mad to say it, and I am mad to listen 
 to it." 
 
 " Nay, nay, sweet cousin !" said the Knight ; " 'tis sad truth that 
 I utter. Of the details of this young gentleman's fate, I can give 
 you no intelligence. All that I know is, that the same messenger 
 from the court who informed the Duchess that your suit was re 
 jected, added, that the King had found it necessary to terminate 
 the existence of Edward March." 
 
 "The cold-blooded ruthless tyrant!" said Elizabeth. "Why! 
 every hair on Edward March's head was worth a thousand Glouces- 
 ters that bloated spider that viperous deformity that hideous 
 libel on the human form ! Uncle, thou wear'st a sword." 
 
 " Ay, cousin ! and it has done good service in its time. It has 
 dyed the white rose redder than its blushing rival." 
 
 " Now, then, draw it to perform a nobler service than ever. 
 Unsheath it in the cause of murdered innocence unsheath it in 
 the cause of the helpless and oppressed. Rid the world of a mon- 
 ster in mind and form. Search with it for the heart, if he has 
 one, of this Duke of Gloucester." 
 
 "Why, gentle cousin," said the Knight, almost smiling, not- 
 withstanding the heaviness of the news of which he had been the 
 bearer, at the violence of his niece's emotion " what means this ? 
 Surely the loss of your suit to his Highness was not an event so 
 improbable and unexpected, that it should find you thus unpre- 
 pared to meet the consequences ?" 
 
 " But the noble gentleman who has perished in the attempt to 
 serve me !" said the lady, weeping. 
 
 " Peace be with his ashes !" said the Knight, crossing himself . 
 " but, fair Elizabeth, it is vain and idle to lament the past. Let 
 us rather provide for the future. The King may yet be prevailed
 
 THE WOOING AT GRAFTON. 349 
 
 upon to do thee justice. Hasten to the palace ; throw thyself at 
 his feet; show him thy orphan children show him thy sable 
 weeds above all, show him thy own fair face, and, my life for 
 it, the broad acres of Groby are thine own." 
 
 "Wouldst have me kneel at the feet of a homicide? wouldst 
 have me kiss the hand red with the blood of Edward March ? 
 Perish the thought !" said the lady. 
 
 " Then perish the children of Sir John Gray !" said the Knight ; 
 " perish and starve his widow ! Let beggary and desolation cling 
 to that ancient and honourable house !" 
 
 "Nay, nay," said Elizabeth, interrupting him; "thou hast 
 touched me to the quick. I did indeed forget. I will throw my- 
 self at the feet of this crowned barbarian I will dry my tears I 
 will mask my cheek in smiles I will procure for my children 
 the restitution of their inheritance, and then I will hasten " 
 
 " To Groby Castle ?" said the Knight. 
 
 " To the grave ! to the grave !" said the lady. 
 
 Sir William Woodville no sooner saw that his niece acquiesced 
 in his proposition, than he endeavoured to hasten the execution 
 of it, trusting that time would alleviate her sorrow ; and not very 
 well understanding all its violence, for the real cause of her 
 sympathy for the fate of Edward March had not occurred to the 
 imagination of the Knight. "The Court, the Court," he said 
 mentally, " is the atmosphere to dry a widow's tears : the tilt and 
 the tournament, the revel and the masque these are the true 
 comforters of the afflicted. Many a gallant has pierced a lady's 
 heart through the ring, and lured a nobler falcon than ever soared 
 into the air, when he called only to his mounting goshawk." Such 
 were the Knight's reflections as he rode towards London. The 
 lady's, as our readers will easily divine, were of a different antf 
 more painful character. Fear and sickly hope, mingled horror 
 and awe, for the personage whom she was about to supplicate, 
 and cureless grief for the loss of the being who had taken such a 
 chivalrous interest in her fate, were the varying emotions by which 
 her bosom was agitated. 
 
 The journey to the metropolis was concluded without the
 
 350 THE WOOING AT G&APTON. 
 
 occurrence of any incident worthy of record. Elizabeth Gray 
 was speedily clasped in the arms of her mother, who mingled her 
 tears with her own ; and then both ladies, accompanied by Sir 
 William Woodville and the two orphan Grays, proceeded to the 
 palace at Westminster to make a personal appeal to the bounty of 
 the King. 
 
 The monarch was seated in his private chamber, surrounded by 
 the few but distinguished courtiers who had the privilege of access 
 to him there, when it was announced to him that the Lady Gray 
 of Groby craved admittance to the royal presence. 
 
 " Tut ! tut !" said the King ; " this puling widow and her friends 
 think that the King of England has nothing to attend to but the 
 interests of the family of a rebel who died fighting sword in hand 
 against his sovereign. Thrice have I peremptorily refused the 
 supplication of the old Duchess of Bedford ; and now the lady 
 is to play off the battery of her sighs and tears upon me in the 
 hopes of a more prosperous result." 
 
 " And in truth, my Liege," said the Marquis of Montague, " the 
 lady has not been badly advised in trying that experiment, if 
 report speaks truly of her charms." 
 
 " Sayest thou so, cousin Montague ?" said the King ; " then, in 
 God's name, let her enter." And then carefully adjusting his 
 robes, and assuming an air between the dignity of a monarch and 
 the vanity of an Adonis, conscious of his personal attractions, he 
 leaned back on his throne. 
 
 The door of the presence-chamber unfolded, and the suppliant 
 party, attired in deep mourning, approached the foot of the throne. 
 The Lady Gray was led fonvard by Sir William Woodville, while 
 the Duchess and her disinherited grandchildren came behind. A 
 murmur of approbation and surprise passed from lip to lip, among 
 the courtiers, as they gazed on the surpassingly beautiful features 
 of the fair petitioner, whom sorrow had not robbed of one of her 
 charms, but had rather improved and heightened them all. She 
 entered with head depressed and downcast eyes, not daring to 
 look at the person whom she supplicated, and for whom, as the 
 murderer of her lover, and the sovereign of the realm, she enter
 
 THE WOOING A T GRAFTON. 351 
 
 ialned a sentiment in which abhorrence and reverence were 
 strangely mingled. 
 
 " A boon ! a boon ! most dread Sovereign," she said, sinking a;' 
 the monarch's feet. 
 
 " Rise, gentle Lady," said the King, " and name, if thou canst, 
 the boon which thy sovereign will refuse thee." 
 
 " Ha !" said Elizabeth, starting, as though the voice of the dead 
 had sounded in her ears. " Those tones that voice ! surely I 
 am not mad." She lifted her eyes towards the King, and an ex- 
 pression of wonder and delight burst from her lips, as she recog- 
 nized beneath the royal diadem the features of Edward March. 
 That expression, however, was repressed, as a deep feeling of 
 fear and awe came over her ; and sinking again to the ground, she 
 exclaimed " Pardon ! gracious Sire ! Pardon ! pardon !" 
 
 " Pardon ! sweet Elizabeth," said the King, descending from 
 
 the throne, and raising her in his arms; " and wherefore ? 
 
 But thou hast a petition, fair lady, to which thou wouldest crave 
 our answer ?" 
 
 " Even so, dread Sir," said the lady ; " it is to pray of your 
 royal grace and favour to grant to my orphan children the restitu- 
 tion of the forfeited estates of their father, Sir John Gray of 
 Groby. Great King ! good King ! listen to my prayer. Think 
 that the transgressions of the father have been expiated by his 
 death ; and that, whatever they were, his infant sons had no par- 
 ticipation in them. And oh ! gracious Sire, let not the boldness 
 of their mother, at a time when she knew not the illustrious per- 
 son with whom she conversed, stand in the way of your Highness's 
 grace and favour towards the children." 
 
 " Thy petition, fair Elizabeth," said the King, " is granted, and 
 Heaven prosper the gallant house of Gray of Groby ! But now it 
 is my turn to play the supplicant. Thou rememberest a promise 
 made to Edward March a conditional promise, it is true, but the 
 condition is now performed. The poor youth rest his soul ! is 
 no more. When King Edward entered his ancient palac-e of 
 Westminster, he found it necessary to terminate the existence of 
 Edward March."
 
 353 THE WOOING AT GRAFTON. 
 
 " Thus lo\vly," said the lady, " do I once more crave thy royal 
 pardon. Thou who hast proved the husband of the widow, and 
 the father of the fatherless, accept their blessings and their prayers. 
 The land which your highness has restored to them shall be held 
 for the safeguard of your royal person, and the terror of your 
 enemies ; but jest not thus cruelly with your handmaid, and par- 
 don the presumption and boldness of which she was unwittingly 
 guilty." 
 
 " But under your favour, Lady Gray," said the monarch, laugh- 
 ing, " I have not yet proved myself the husband of the widow 
 and the father of the fatherless ; and until I do so, I will not 
 accept either their benedictions or their prayers. As the repre- 
 sentative of the deceased Edward March, I will take care and see 
 that the promise which was so solemnly made by him be per- 
 formed. My Lords and Gentlemen," he added, turning to the 
 wondering courtiers, " behold your Queen !" 
 
 " God save Queen Elizabeth !" exclaimed all present " Long 
 live the noble Queen of England !" 
 
 "And now, my Lord of Canterbury," said the King, "your 
 part in this day's solemnities remains to be performed." 
 
 Thus saying, he led the Lady Gray to the chapel of the palace, 
 followed by her mother and children, Sir William Woodville, the 
 Prelate, and the rest of the courtiers. There the nuptial knot 
 was indissolubly tied between the beggar and the king the 
 monarch and her who had so lately been his humble petitionei.
 
 fl^ >l. 
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY. 
 
 EDWARD THE FIFTH. 
 
 1483. BEFORE Edward the Fourth's death the Court was much divided into 
 parties, owing to the great numbers of the Queen's relations who were pro- 
 moted to the rank of peers, to the great mortification of the ancient nobility. 
 The Prince of Wales, when his father died, was at Lucllow, with his Governor, 
 the Earl of Rivers, the Queen's brother, in order to keep the Welsh in awe by 
 his near vicinity to them. Being proclaimed King in London, the Queen sent 
 to her brother to bring the King to the metropolis. The Duke of Buckingham and 
 Lord Hastings informed Richard, Duke of Gloucester, the King's uncle, who 
 was in the North quelling an insurrection, of these events, and advised him to 
 seize the King, and wrest the government out of the hands of the new nobility. 
 It does not appear that Richard had hitherto formed any design of assuming 
 the crown himself ; but his subsequent conduct shows that he was not averse 
 to such a proceeding. Richard accordingly met young Edward at Northampton, 
 took possession of his person, and sent the Earl of Rivers and two others of the 
 King's principal attendants to Pontefract, where they were soon afterwards put 
 to death. Richard and the Duke of Buckingham escorted the King to Lon- 
 don in great state ; but the Queen, informed of what had happened, fled with 
 her other children to the sanctuary of Westminster. 
 
 Richard, knowing that he could not proceed to the execution of his purpose 
 without having possession of the Duke of York, the King's brother, called a 
 Council, which declared him Protector : and the Archbishop of Canterbury 
 was sent to the Queen to desire her permission for the Duke of York to come 
 and live with the King ; and to acquaint her, that if she refused the sanctuary 
 would be violated. She, with very great reluctance, at last consented, and 
 took leave of her son with tears, foreseeing the melancholy consequences. 
 Richard, under some pretext, now lodged the King and his brother in the 
 Tower, and revealed his project to Buckingham, who heartily entered into it. 
 
 Hastings refused to enter into the views of Richard. The latter pretended 
 that he had entered into a plot against him, and ordered him to be beheaded. 
 
 Jane Shore, who had been mistress to Edward IV. , but afterwards lived with 
 Hastings, was likewise accused of having, by witchcraft, withered the Protec- 
 tor's arm. Richard, not being able to support this accusation, caused her to be 
 ENG. A A
 
 354 EDWARD THE FIFTH. 
 
 prosecuted before the Ecclesiastical Court ; and she was sentenced to do pen- 
 ance before all the people in a white sheet at St. Paul's. 
 
 Richard spread reports that Edward the Fourth's children were illegitimate, 
 and that neither Edward himself nor the Duke of Clarence were the Duke of 
 York's children. The Duke of Buckingham harangued the people in favour of 
 Richard ; but they were all silent, except a few apprentices, who had been 
 hired for the occasion to applaud. Their acclamations were interpreted into a 
 general wish that Richard should be King, and he was accordingly proclaimed 
 on the 22nd of June. 
 
 Richard is generally believed to have sent an order for the assassination of his 
 nephews to Brackcnbury, Governor of the Tower : he refused to execute this 
 bloody commission, and Sir James Tyrrel was appointed Governor for one 
 night, who smotheied them in their beds, and buried them under a staircase. 
 Some writers, (especially Walpole,) have doubted these facts, and attempted to 
 exculpate Richard from the accusations of cruelty and tyranny,
 
 _ 
 
 hr-H 
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY. 
 RICHARD THE THIRD. 
 
 1483. RICHARD began his reign by rewarding all his partisans : but ver) 
 soon after his coronation the Duke of Buckingham, offended at being refused 
 the Hereford estate, to which he laid claim by descent, conspired with the 
 Bishop of Ely to dethrone Richard and place the Earl of Richmond, at that 
 time a sort of honourable captive in the hands of the Duke of Brittany, on the 
 throne. In order to gain over both factions, they proposed that the Earl should 
 marry Elizabeth, daughter of Edward IV. Henry of Richmond's mother 
 (married to Lord Stanley) readily agreed to the proposal. Queen Elizabeth, 
 laying aside her hatred of the Lancastrians, likewise consented to give her 
 daughter to Henry, and sent him over money to raise troops. 
 
 This could not be carried on so privately as to escape the penetration ot 
 Richard, who, suspecting some plot, ordered the Duke of Buckingham to re- 
 pair to Court. Instead of obeying the King's command, the Duke raised 
 forces in Wales, meaning to cross the Severn and join his associates in Eng- 
 land ; but such torrents of rain had fallen as swelled the rivers to a degree that 
 made it impossible for him to cross them, and his troops, being distressed for 
 provisions, dispersed. Buckingham was then obliged to disguise himself, and 
 \ay concealed in the house of an old servant, Bannister, where he was discovered 
 and carried to Richard, who immediately ordered him to be beheaded. 
 
 Henry sailed from Brittany with five thousand men. His fleet was dispersed 
 in a storm, and he arriving on the coast of Cornwall, heard of Buckingham's 
 disaster, and returned to Brittany. 
 
 1484. Richard called a Parliament, and created his son, who was only 
 twelve years of age, Prince of Wales ; the young Prince died soon afterwards. 
 Richard passed several popular acts, in the hope of reconciling the people to 
 his usurpation ; but many were every day joining Henry in Brittany, and per- 
 suading him to lose no time in making another attempt, particularly as Richard 
 had prevailed on Edward's Queen to leave her sanctuary, and even to consent 
 to his marrying her daughter Elizabeth ; to obtain a dispensation for which 
 marriage he had sent to Rome. 
 
 Richard's wife died about this time, and it was generally believed that she 
 had been poisoned by her husband, 
 
 A A 2
 
 RICHARD THE THIRD. 
 
 the Duke of Brittany's minister, intended to deliver up the Earl to 
 Richard ; but the Bishop of Ely informing Richmond of the plot, he fled into 
 France. 
 
 1485. Richmond embarked at Harfleur with about two thousand men, and 
 landed at Milford Haven, where he was soon joined by great numbers, amongst 
 whom was Rice ap Thomas, a powerful Welsh chieftain. The King and the 
 Earl approached each other ; and at the battle of Bosworth, near Leicester, 
 Richard's army was entirely destroyed and himself slain. During the action, 
 Lord Stanley, with his troops, deserted to the Earl of Richmond. 
 
 Richard's body, when found, was carelessly thrown across a horse, carried 
 to Leicester, and buried in the Grey Friars' Church without ceremony. 
 
 An ornamental crown, which Richard had worn in the action, being found, 
 Sir William Stanley put it on Henry's head, and the whole army shouted 
 " Long live Henry VII. 1"
 
 's ffcm f mis, 
 
 I'll read you matter deep and dangerous, 
 As full of peril and adventurous spirit 
 As to o'erwalk a current roaring loud, 
 On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. 
 
 SHAKSPEASB. 
 
 THE fatal wars of York and Lancaster, which for nearly half 
 a century deluged England with the blood of the noblest and 
 the bravest in the realm, were occasioned by the conflicting claims 
 of the descendants of Edward the Third to the crown. Henry 
 the Sixth, during whose reign these contests commenced, was the 
 great-grandson, by the father's side, of John of Gaunt, Duke of 
 Lancaster, the third son of that renowned King ; while Richard 
 Plantagenet, Duke of York, was descended, by the mother's side, 
 from Lionel, Duke of Clarence, the second son of the same King 
 Edward. Nothing, therefore, could be clearer than the superiority 
 of the Duke of York's title over that of King Henry. Still, with 
 the exceptions of some rebellions, hastily raised and speedily 
 quelled, in the reign of Henry the Fourth, and of a plot detected 
 almost as soon as it was engendered, and stifled in the blood of 
 its projectors in that of Henry the Fifth, the crown had been en- 
 joyed in peace and uninterrupted quiet by the grandfather and 
 father of King Henry the Sixth. The prudent and politic admin- 
 istration of the first of those monarchs, and the brilliant military 
 exploits of the second, during his expedition into France, blinded 
 the eyes of the nation to the defects in their title, and it was not
 
 3$8 RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 
 
 until the sceptre was placed in the feeble grasp of an infant of 
 nine months old, and that the realm was distracted by the factions 
 of contending nobles, that the hopes of the House of York began 
 to revive, and its surviving chief, a prince of great talent and va- 
 lour, and of winning and popular manners, thought of putting forth 
 his pretensions to the splendid inheritance of his ancestors. The 
 general discontent in the nation at the loss of all the French pro- 
 vinces under the new King's reign, which had cost so prodigal an 
 expenditure of blood and treasure during that of his predecessor, 
 materially forwarded the designs of the Duke of York. The Earls 
 of Salisbury and Warwick, and other great nobles, espoused his 
 cause ; and at length, having got a numerous army, he took the 
 field against the forces of the King, and openly laid claim to the 
 crown of England. It is of course not our purpose to lead our 
 readers into the details of the disastrous events which followed. 
 Numerous battles were fought ; unnumbered lives were sacrificed ; 
 the competitors for the royal dignity underwent unheard-of rt solu- 
 tions of fortune; and Henry and Richard were alternately monarchs 
 and fugitives ; at one time surrounded with all the pomp and cir- 
 cumstance of royalty, and at another desolate, unfriended, and 
 even petitioners for a meal. The death of the Duke of York, who 
 was slain at the battle of Wakefield, seemed to give a decidedly 
 favourable turn to the affairs of King Henry ; and the successes 
 of that day being followed up by the unvaried efforts of his heroic 
 Queen Margaret, he appeared likely to triumph definitively over 
 his foes. The Earl of March, son to the deceased Duke of York, 
 now, however, assumed the title of King Edward the Fourth ; and 
 being supported warmly by all his father's partisans, and especially 
 by the renowned Earl of Warwick, surnamed the Kingmaker, he 
 took the field, and at length succeeded in totally defeating the 
 Lancastrians, and making himself master of the person of Henry, 
 whom he committed as a prisoner to the Tower of London. His 
 prosperous fortune was not of long duration ; for having sent the 
 Earl of Warwick as his ambassador to the Court of the King of 
 France, to claim for him in marriage the hand of that monarch's 
 Bister-in-law, he nevertheless, while these negotiations were pend-
 
 RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. iffy 
 
 ing, privately espoused the beautiful Lady Gray, the widow of Sir 
 John Gray of Groby. The reader is already acquainted with the 
 particulars of the Wooing at Grafton. This proceeding exaspe- 
 rated not only the Earl of Warwick, but the King of France, and 
 both persons determined to resent the insult, by espousing the 
 cause of Queen Margaret, the consort of the deposed King, who 
 was then at the Court of France soliciting the aid of Louis on 
 behalf of her captive husband. The Duke of Clarence, King 
 Edward's brother, was also exasperated at what he considered 
 his unworthy marriage, and also joined the Lancastrian faction ; 
 the result of all which events was, that in a very short time Henry 
 found himself once more upon the throne of England. 
 
 Among the nobles who on this occasion hastened to London, 
 to congratulate the restored monarch on his restoration to liberty 
 and power, was Jasper Tudor, Earl of Pembroke. This nobleman 
 being the issue of the marriage of Queen Catherine, the widow of 
 Henry the Fifth, with Owen Tudor, a gentleman of Wales, was 
 consequently half brother to the King. He found the monarch 
 keeping his court in the Tower of London, a place metamorphosed, 
 by the events of the last few weeks, from his dungeon into his 
 palace. The Earl of Pembroke was accompanied by his nephew, 
 a stripling of about thirteen years of age, whom he was anxious to 
 present to his royal master and kinsman. The youth was not tall, 
 but was elegantly formed, of a slight and delicate construction of 
 body, with large bright grey eyes, long flowing yellow locks, of a 
 fair and almost pale complexion, and apparently grave and thought- 
 ful beyond his years. The Earl and his nephew had no sooner 
 entered the presence chamber than the eyes of the monarch were 
 instantly riveted on the lad. 
 
 "And who, my Lord of Pembroke," he asked, "is this fair 
 boy?" 
 
 "My Liege," said the Earl, kneeling, "'tis your Highness's ne- 
 phew, Henry of Richmond." 
 
 The King gazed more intently than ever on young Richmond, 
 and the courtiers drew into a narrower circle round the throne, 
 and looked anxiously towards the monarch ; for they knew by his
 
 3 6o RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 
 
 flashing eye, his glowing features, and the solemn smile which 
 moved his lip, that the spirit of prophecy was upon him. 
 
 " I can read the finger of destiny," he said, " on this fair child's 
 brow ; the volume of futurity is unclasped before me. Henry 
 Tudor, listen to me. Dark and dubious is the vision that comes 
 over me. Peril and strife are mingled with power and glory. I 
 see bolts, and fetters, and a throne I see swords, and banners, 
 and a crown. I hear sighs, and wailings, and acclamations. Henry 
 Tudor, thou shalt wear the crown of England if thou escapest three 
 perils." 
 
 "And what, I pray thee, gracious uncle," said the boy, kneeling 
 down, and kissing the monarch's hand, "are those three perils?" 
 
 The King gazed for a moment wildly and vacantly, then passed 
 his hand across his brow and answered: "A fair wind, a false 
 heart, and a boar's tusks." 
 
 " Yet tell me somewhat more ; let me know more distinctly my 
 destiny, good uncle," said Richmond. 
 
 " Tis gone, 'tis past," said the King, sinking back in his seat, 
 and resuming his usual serene, and somewhat apathetic cast ol 
 countenance "the vision has departed from me; yet be sure, 
 young Henry, that what my lips have this day uttered are the 
 oracles of fate, whose predictions must sooner or later be fulfilled." 
 
 These words sank deep into the heart and memory of young 
 Richmond ; and when years had rolled over his head, they were 
 not forgotten. Each succeeding year, however, seemed to render 
 less and less the probability of the fulfilment of the prediction. 
 Perils, it is true, sufficiently fearful and numerous, environed Henry 
 Tudor; but they were not the perils which the King had fore- 
 told ; and as to his wearing the crown of England, that for a long 
 time seemed a dream too wild to enter into any sane imagination. 
 While King Henry and his son, who had married the daughter of 
 the Earl of Warwick, lived, there seemed every probability of along 
 line of successors of the House of Lancaster ; and after the murder 
 of the Prince at Tewkesbury, and of the King in the Tower of 
 London, Richmond's chance of mounting the throne appeared to 
 be more remote than ever; for the H<~>"se of York seemed firmlv
 
 RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 361 
 
 established in the regal dignity. Still the dream of power and 
 glory, which the words of the late King had called up, continued 
 to haunt the imagination of Henry Tudor. He was now the last 
 leaf of the Red Rose-tree ; so effectually had its once wide-spread- 
 ing stalks been thinned by the operation of the sword and the axe. 
 The partisans of that faction still cherished the hope of resuming 
 the ascendancy which they had lost, and looked to Henry as the 
 pole-star which should guide them once more to wealth and honour. 
 Tne Earl of Pembroke, as soon as he received intelligence ot 
 the loss of the battle of Tewkesbury by Queen Margaret, fled with 
 his nephew and a small train of soldiers to Chepstow Castle, in Mon- 
 mouthshire, which he manned and put in as good a posture of de- 
 fence as his slender resources would allow. King Edward, who had 
 heard of the late King's prophecy relative to young Richmond, 
 was unceasingly active in endeavouring to get him into his power. 
 He soon discovered the place of Pembroke's retreat, and employed 
 Robert Vaughan, a person of great influence and power in Mon- 
 mouthshire, to endeavour to entrap the two Earls and send then: 
 prisoners. This scheme was, however, discovered by Pembroke be- 
 fore it was thoroughly ripe for execution ; and he having contrived to 
 get Vaughan into his power, that uafortunate agent of King Edward 
 was condemned to expiate his treachery by the loss of his head. 
 Though Pembroke escaped this danger, he saw that Chepstow 
 was no longer a safe residence for him, as Vaughan was much be- 
 loved in that neighbourhood, and the intelligence of his death 
 would soon bring a force too numerous to be resisted to the siege 
 of the castle. He therefore lost no time in fleeing with his 
 nephew to Pembroke, and fortifying the castle of that town. 
 Here, however, the emissaries of the indefatigable Edward fol- 
 lowed him ; and a commander of the name of Morgan Thomas, 
 with a formidable army, besieged him, and environed the castle 
 with a ditch and a trench, so that his escape thence seemed scarcely 
 possible. After he had been eight days in this critical situation, 
 the arrival of a numerous party of the Earl's *H e nds to his assist- 
 ance induced Morgan to raise the siege, a"H Pembroke and 
 Richmond contrived to make their escape to the port of Tenby*
 
 36a RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 
 
 where they shortly afterwards took shipping, and arrived safely in 
 the territories of the Duke of Brittany. 
 
 When it was once known that Richmond had fled into Brittany, 
 such of the Lancastrian lords as had escaped the perils of the 
 field and the scaffold followed him to his place of refuge, swore 
 fealty to him as their sovereign, and gave some show of dignity and 
 splendour to the little court which he held in the city of Vannes. 
 The Duke of Brittany, a prince of virtue and honour, paid the 
 most delicate and respectful attention to the illustrious refugee, 
 and afforded him and his adherents all the protection which they 
 needed. Being, however, in close alliance with King Edward the 
 Fourth, to whom he was indebted for the protection of his do- 
 minions against the ambitious projects of the King of France, the 
 Duke would give no support or countenance to Richmond's plots 
 for the invasion of England, and the establishment of himself as 
 the representative of the House of Lancaster on the throne of that 
 country. Edward was very anxious to get the young Earl into his 
 power, and used every effort to induce the Duke of Brittany to 
 give him up to him. He sent secret messengers to the Duke, who 
 promised him great rewards if he would but send both the Earls to 
 England. The Duke heard them with great attention ; but when 
 he understood the object of their solicitations, he was only resolved 
 to treat Pembroke and Richmond with greater care and honour 
 than ever. The Duke answered the messengers by saying, that it 
 stood not with his honour to deliver up the two Earls, to whom he 
 was solemnly bound and obliged by his faith and promise ; but 
 he promised, that for the King's pleasure they should be so vigi- 
 lantly watched that he need not be under any apprehension of their 
 attempting anything to his displeasure or prejudice. When the 
 messengers saw that they could not prevail farther with the Duke, 
 they took their leave and returned into England. Edward, imme- 
 diately on receiving their report, wrote to Duke Francis, lovingly 
 requiring him to accomplish with all speed, that which of his own 
 free motion he had offered : promising not only to furnish him with 
 men and money, whenever his exigencies should require them, but 
 yearly to reward him w^h " a full hand and a well-stuffed purse,"
 
 RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 363 
 
 The Duke, seeing that the residence of the two Earls at his court 
 was so productive to him, treated them with increased courtesy and 
 kindness, and was by no means anxious that they should seek 
 for protection elsewhere. 
 
 King Edward, afterwards getting involved in a war with the 
 King of France, and feeling assured that the Duke of Brittany 
 would hold inviolate his promise of not giving any countenance to 
 the schemes of the Earls of Pembroke and Richmond against the 
 crown of England, forgot for a while his fears of the young heir ot 
 the House of Lancaster. After the conclusion of peace, however, 
 with his foreign adversary, and the total suppression of all domestic 
 commotions, he determined once more to solicit Francis, either by 
 gifts, promises, or prayers, to deliver Richmond into his hands. 
 Francis, nevertheless, persisted in his determination to keep un- 
 broken the promise of protection which he had made to Henry, 
 although the King had so far deceived him as to induce him to 
 believe that, in wishing for his presence in England, he was actuated 
 by motives of friendship to the Earl, and an anxiety to reconcile the 
 feud between them, by giving him some post of influence and dignity 
 about his person. In this posture of his affairs, Richmond could not 
 but feel and know, that instead of possessing the substance, he was 
 only mocked with the shadow of royalty and power ; his happi- 
 ness, his liberty, his very life, he knew, was daily intrigued against 
 by his indefatigable enemy, who then wore the crown ; and his 
 only protection against stratagem and violence was his own ever- 
 waking watchfulness, and the honour and integrity of the virtuous, 
 but weak and credulous prince who had given him shelter in his 
 dominions. " Alas ! alas !" he would often exclaim, " why did I 
 ever listen to this lying prophecy ! Why did I suffer myself to be 
 involved in the schemes of the still factious and turbulent, but irre- 
 trievably ruined partisans of the House of Lancaster ! My father's 
 inheritance, my patrimonial mansion, liberty and peace, had then 
 been mine !" 
 
 These bitter reflections formed a melancholy contrast to the 
 brilliant prospect which seemed to be opened before him at the 
 moment that the fateful words fell from King Henry's lips, and on
 
 364 RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 
 
 which his mind's eye, with a strained and anxious gaze, had been 
 constantly fixed for many years. As that hope died a vay, the 
 v ery wish which it had engendered seemed to die with it 
 
 "The sick babe 
 Drooped at the bosom of the famish'd mother." 
 
 Henry Tudor, whose gaiety and vivacity, while that hope 
 existed, had made his little court at Vannes the merriest and 
 sprightliest, if not the most brilliant or most powerful in Europe, 
 now became listless and dispirited, fond of seclusion and solitude, 
 and averse to conversation, especially when the subject was his own 
 pretensions to the diadem of England. Every day brought him 
 intelligence of the increased stability of King Edward's throne, 
 and of the popularity (notwithstanding the sanguinary vengeance 
 taken by him on the party opposed to his elevation to power) 
 which he had gained among all classes of his subjects, by his 
 courteous and graceful manners, his impartial administration of 
 justice, and the splendour and magnificence of his court and 
 household. 
 
 It was while the mind of the Earl of Richmond was occupied with 
 these painful considerations, that a portrait of the Princess Elizabeth, 
 the eldest daughter of King Edward, fell in his way. He was struck 
 by the bewitching beauty of the features, the simplicity and modesty 
 of the mien, and the grace and majesty of the form which were 
 there portrayed. He could scarcely believe that these could be any- 
 thing more than a lovely dream of the artist's imagination, until he 
 was assured, by those who were well acquainted with the fair original, 
 of the astonishing verisimilitude of the portrait. A romantic 
 passion now took possession of his bosom, which banished from 
 it alike the wild and ambitious hopes that he had once enter- 
 tained, and the bitter disappointment that had followed their 
 apparent frustration. The gratification of that passion seemed 
 even more hopeless than the dreams of empire which he had so 
 long cherished. He determined, however, to make the Princess 
 acquainted with the sentiments which the sight of her portrait had 
 awakened in his bosom. By the agency of Sir John Cheulet, a
 
 RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 365 
 
 gallant knight of Brittany, who had taken a great interest in 
 Henry's affairs, and was employed by Duke Francis on a mission 
 at the court of King Edward, the Earl contrived to transmit his 
 own portrait to the Princess, accompanied by a letter in which he 
 declared his passion for her. The portrait was a striking likeness 
 of one of the most handsome and accomplished persons of the age, 
 and the letter was full of eloquent and passionate pleading. Sir 
 John Cheulet, when he delivered both to the person for whom 
 they were intended, took an opportunity of highly eulogizing the 
 original of the first, and of zealously seconding the petitions of 
 the second. On his return to Brittany, the letter which he placed 
 in the hands of the Earl of Richmond in answer to his own, was 
 such as, notwithstanding the maiden coyness and timidity which 
 it affected, was highly flattering to the hopes of the romantic lover. 
 A correspondence then ensued between Henry and Elizabeth, 
 which discovered such a similarity of taste and feeling in these 
 two distinguished persons, that the passion which in so extra- 
 ordinary a manner had sprung up in their bosoms, took a deep and 
 enduring root there, and was confirmed and strengthened by the 
 perusal of each successive epistle. 
 
 Hope again lightened the heart of Richmond joy beamed 
 on his features, and eloquence dwelt upon his lips. Still the 
 means of becoming possessed of the treasure on which his heart 
 was fixed, seemed far removed from him. He knew that he was 
 feared and hated by King Edward and his family, and by all the 
 nobles of the York faction, so that the idea which had once 
 occurred to him, making an open proffer of his hand to the 
 Princess Elizabeth, was instantly dismissed from his mind. He 
 formed a thousand romantic projects for the purpose of conveying 
 Elizabeth to Brittany. At one time he thought of proceeding to 
 England in disguise, and obtaining an interview with her, when 
 he hoped that they might be able to devise some stratagem for 
 escaping together. At others he conversed with Cheulet, who 
 was a frequent messenger between the King and Duke Francis, 
 on the feasibility of his demanding her from her father as the 
 bride of the latter, and, under that pretext, bringing her over to
 
 3 6 RICHMOND'S THREE 
 
 Brittany. While these schemes occupied his thoughts, ha forgot 
 his dreams of empire, and ceased to take those precautions to 
 control the intrigues against his liberty and life, which were con- 
 stantly employed by the father of the very being of whom he had 
 become enamoured. 
 
 Messengers had lately arrived from England on some secret and 
 important mission to the Duke. They had had frequent and long 
 conferences with that prince and his chief minister and favourite 
 Peter Landois, and their looks denoted a degree of satisfaction 
 and success in their negotiations which was generally considered 
 at Vannes to bode no good to the young Earl of Richmond. 
 " Nay, nay, tell me not, good Cheulet," said Henry to his friend, 
 in answer to the affectionate remonstrances of the latter, on the 
 apathy and unconcern with which he treated these ominous ap- 
 pearances " tell me not of peril and danger. I know the truth 
 and honour of Francis of Brittany too well to be infected with 
 your suspicions. He would lay his own head on the block, rather 
 than place mine in peril, by delivering me into the hands of my 
 implacable enemy : alas ! that I am obliged so to call one whom I 
 would rather designate as my father and my friend." 
 
 "My Lord," said Cheulet, "no one doubts the truth and honour 
 of Francis of Brittany ; or if there be any who harbours such 
 doubts, John Cheulet is not among the number. But the Duke 
 is of an easy, trusting spirit and believes the honour and truth of 
 all men to be as invincible as his own. Edward of York, too, 
 resembles the tiger as much in his craft and subtlety as in his 
 thirst of blood and ravenousness, and has employed that smooth- 
 tongued priest, Stillingfleet, to win to his designs the unsuspecting 
 Francis." 
 
 " Ha ! " said Henry, turning pale " is Stillingfleet a party to 
 these negotiations? then am I doomed indeed. To that wily 
 plotter I am well informed that I am indebted for the contrivance 
 and execution of all the plots that have been devised for my de- 
 struction. But I will hasten to Duke Francis I will throw myself 
 on his protection, and bid him beware how he trusts either the 
 crafty doctor, or the dissembling tyrant by whom he is employed."
 
 RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 367 
 
 " Then lose no time, my Lord," said Cheulet ; " the moments 
 are precious ; and it is whispered about the court, that ere the 
 evening closes in, you are to proceed to St. Malo, on your way 
 to England. 
 
 At that moment the door of the apartment flew open, and the 
 Duke of Brittany entered, attended by Peter Landois and accom- 
 panied by Stillingfleet and the two other ambassadors from 
 England. " Welcome, fair cousin !" he said, extending his hand 
 to Richmond. " I would fain exchange a few words with you on 
 a matter which touches you nearly." 
 
 " I am your Grace's attentive and grateful auditor," said Rich- 
 mond coldly. 
 
 " Talk not of gratitude, fair cousin," said the Duke, " for the 
 poor asylum which our dominions have afforded to the princely 
 Earl of Richmond an asylum, too, of which he stood not in need, 
 for neither danger nor enemies threatened him. We have re- 
 ceived a gracious message, my good Lord, from our royal cousin 
 and ally, King Edward, who craves us, of our love both to him 
 and to thee, to expedite thy return to England." 
 
 "And your Grace's reply," said Richmond, "is doubtless 
 that " 
 
 " That so convinced," interrupted the Duke, " are we of his 
 Highness's good intentions and friendly disposition towards you, 
 that you will this day proceed with the good Dr. Stillingfleet to 
 St. Malo, where a vessel is in readiness to convey you to your 
 native land." 
 
 " Duke Francis," said the Earl, " I conjure you, as you would 
 not have the blood of the innocent upon your soul, not to consent 
 to this most cruel and treacherous deed. King Edward is 
 my implacable foe ; and I know that as soon as my foot is planted 
 on English ground aye,, as soon as it has touched the deck of 
 an English vessel, the days of Henry Tudor are numbered. I am 
 in your Grace's hands ; the far-famed honour and probity of 
 Francis of Brittany made me without hesitation place myself in 
 them. I knew not that in so doing I was yielding my neck to tbe 
 blood-thirsty knife of Edward of York."
 
 368 RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 
 
 " My gracious Lord," said Stillingfleet, advancing with thatlooK 
 of deep humility and reverence, mingled with candour and kind- 
 ness, which long practice had taught him so easily to assume, 
 "Your Lordship much mistakes and wrongs my royal master. 
 His Highness has long wished to terminate the disastrous factions 
 by which the kingdom is agitated to blend the White Rose in 
 peace and charity with the Red, and to number Henry of Lan- 
 caster among his nearest and dearest relatives and friends. 
 Accident made him acquainted with the secret of a correspondence 
 between your Lordship and the Princess Elizabeth." 
 
 Henry started at these words ; the blood rushed for a moment 
 to his brow, and then retreating from it as suddenly as it had 
 advanced, left it as pale as marble. 
 
 " Accident, my good Lord," continued Stillingfleet, wearing a 
 smile of raillery upon his features, and not appearing to notice the 
 agitation which his words had occasioned, "made him acquainted 
 with that secret. The joy which animated his princely heart was 
 unbounded the project which for many long years had been 
 formed in his own mind seemed to have grown up simultaneously 
 in yours, and I am now the humble bearer of his Highness's invi- 
 tation to your Lordship to proceed forthwith to the country from 
 which you have been too long an exile, and to consummate that 
 mutual affection which has so auspiciously sprung up in your heart 
 and in that of the lovely Princess." 
 
 " Ha !" said Henry mentally, " dare I in my heart believe the 
 flattering tale? That were indeed a mode by which alike this 
 passion that disturbs my heart might be gratified and the prophecy 
 of King Henry fulfilled. If, good Doctor," he said turning to 
 Stillingfleet, " I dared believe " 
 
 " If ! my Lord," said, the priest, while his eye seemed to glow 
 with the fires of insulted probity and honour. " Doubt you the 
 plighted truth of King Edward ? doubt you the faith of one who 
 is a humble but sincere servant of the cross? doubt you the gua- 
 rantee which is afforded to you by the honour and virtue of this 
 princely Duke Francis of Brittany, whose reputation for unsullied 
 honour and spotless integrity "
 
 KICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 369 
 
 " It is enough, it is enough, Doctor," said the Earl; "for the 
 love which I bear to Elizabeth of York, I would encounter a greater 
 peril than now awaits me. I am prepared to take the journey 
 to St. Malo." 
 
 "Within three hours, then," said Stillingfleet, "we shall be ready 
 to escort your Lordship." 
 
 "The sooner, friends, the better," said Richmond, bowing to the 
 ambassadors ; and then taking a cordial and grateful leave of the 
 Duke, he retired to prepare himself for his journey. 
 
 So infatuated was the heart of Richmond by the influence of the 
 passion with which it was possessed, that the removal to England, 
 which had formerly seemed to him to be only walking into his 
 grave, was now an event which was but too remote from him. 
 The three hours which he had to wait before he was to proceed on 
 his journey, seemed an age of cruel and melancholy procrastina- 
 tion. The three ambassadors, in the mean time, were as anxious 
 as he to be perfectly ready to take their departure by the time that 
 those three hours had expired ; and had the young Earl seen the 
 dark glances which they exchangtd, and heard the half-uttered 
 malignity and triumph of their hearts, the complacency with which 
 he regarded his approaching removal to the shore of his nativity 
 would have been considerably diminished. These circumstances 
 did not pass unobserved by his friend Sir John Cheulet, but were 
 vigilantly noticed by him, and made an impression on his mind, 
 which fully confirmed the opinion that he had previously cherished 
 of King Edward's insincere and treacherous intentions. He there- 
 fore determined to accompany his friend on the first stage of his 
 journey, in the hope of being able to discover from the conduct 
 of Stillingfleet and his associates, such decided indications of 
 their master's motive in getting the person of the Earl into his 
 power, as would, when communicated to the Duke of Brittany, 
 induce that Prince to issue a revocation of the permission which he 
 had granted for the departure of Richmond from his dominions. 
 The Knight's determination was wrought by two most powerful 
 motives his sincere affection and friendship for Henry, and his 
 devoted loyalty to the Duke his master. Should the Earl be 
 
 ENG. B B
 
 370 RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 
 
 made a sacrifice to the jealous fears of King Edward, the Duke of 
 Brittany would, he feared, be considered an accomplice in the 
 crime, and lose that reputation for integrity and honour which he 
 enjoyed throughout all Europe. 
 
 The evening on which the Earl of Richmond departed from 
 Vannes to St. Malo, in the company of the three ambassadors, 
 Sir John Cheulet, and about a dozen attendants, was dark and 
 lowering. A day not, it is true, of splendour and brightness, but 
 of tranquillity and peace, seemed about to be succeeded by a 
 night of turbulence and danger. Those red lurid clouds were 
 gathering in the west which so often precede a storm, and which seem 
 by their unnatural glow to mock the blackness which is to follow 
 them. As Henry gazed upon these appearances, a feeling of omi- 
 nous dread took possession of his mind, and he could not help 
 considering them as typical of his impending fate. " Although," 
 thought he, " I have not been living in magnificence at Vannes, I have 
 enjoyed safety and liberty. These, lured by promises as brilliant 
 and flattering as yon gorgeous clouds which but predict the coming 
 storm, I am about to exchange for troubles and dangers, before 
 which my heart tells me that all my anxious hopes and dreams of 
 power and pleasures will pass away, as certainly and as speedily as 
 the gossamers which are sporting in the beams of the setting sun, 
 will be driven before the breath of the tempest that is even now 
 gathering around them." 
 
 Sir John Cheulet, who accompanied his friend on the first stage 
 of what he continued to consider a fatal journey, observed the 
 mental anxiety which agitated him. "Henry Tudor," he said, "in 
 an evil hour did you consent to place yourself in the power of these 
 men, the agents of a tyrant as base and perfidious as themselves. 
 Observe you not the air of malignant triumph with which this 
 Stillingfleet regards you ? See, too, the cloud which is now gather- 
 ing on his brow at the close conversation which we are holding." 
 
 Henry, as he turned his eyes towards this person, felt all his 
 worst fears confirmed. The features which, in the presence of the 
 Duke of Brittany, were composed to an expression of the most 
 saintly and apostolical character, now wore the moody malignant
 
 RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 371 
 
 look of the assassin. He was seen frequently to grasp his dagger, and, 
 half unsheathing it, return it violently and impatiently into his belt. 
 Occasionally dark and gloomy looks, followed by anxious whisper- 
 ings, were exchanged between him and his two colleagues ; while 
 at times an obstreperous laugh burst from his lips as he eyed his 
 charge, or rather his prisoner, with a look of familiarity and even 
 of contempt, that ill accorded with the deference due to the rank 
 and character of the Earl of Richmond. 
 
 " Sweet Earl," said Cheulet, as they arrived at that part of the 
 road on which it had been agreed that he should retrace his steps 
 to Vannes, then distant about six hours' journey, " here must I 
 leave you. In the mean time, be wary and be watchful; and 
 should any opportunity of escaping out of the clutches of these 
 men present itself, hesitate not to take advantage of it. For me, 
 immediately on my return to Vannes, I will make the good Duke 
 Francis fully acquainted with my suspicions, and trust to be able 
 to induce him to prevent your embarkation with these incarnate 
 fiends for England. While this wind lasts you will be safe upon 
 the shores of Brittany ; but as soon as it proves fair for your na- 
 tive country, this Stillingfleet will hurry you on board." 
 
 " Ha !" said Richmond, as a sudden pang shot across his brow ; 
 "it is the first peril, a fair wind, which King Henry prophesied that I 
 should be doomed to encounter. Brave Cheulet pity me help 
 me ! remain at least by my side, that I may have one faithful 
 heart to advise and sympathize with me." 
 
 "Noble Henry," said the Knight, grasping his friend's hand, 
 "gladly, most gladly would I share your peril, but I think that I 
 can more effectually aid you by hastening to communicate my sus- 
 picions to the Duke. This storm," he added, looking up to the 
 black sky, illuminated at intervals by the forked lightnings, " is 
 your best protection against the danger of an immediate embarka- 
 tion. Before it is over, I trust to rejoin you at St. Malo, and to 
 be the bearer of the Duke's commands for your immediate return 
 to Vannes. Farewell! farewell!" added the gallant Knight, 
 shaking the hand of his friend; " be hopeful, but be wary." Thus 
 saying, he put spurs to his horse, and with the velocity of the 
 B B 2
 
 37* RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 
 
 lightning that was flashing over his head, retraced his steps to- 
 wards Vannes. 
 
 With a bold heart, an iron frame, and an untiring steed, Sir 
 John Cheulet held on his way amidst the storm undaunted. The 
 flashing of the lightnings, the roaring of the thunder, the torrents 
 of rain which inundated his path, and, above all, the strong 
 westerly wind and almost hurricane, against which he and his 
 courser had to strain with all their might ; these accompaniment? 
 of his journey, which to a traveller under ordinary circumstances 
 would have been matter of fear and lamentation, were hailed with 
 the most heartfelt satisfaction by the Knight, as assurances of the 
 continued safety of the Earl of Richmond. His road lay for the 
 most part through a large forest ; and here, as the lightnings at 
 intervals illuminated his path, he saw the trees splitting beneath 
 the forked flash ; and when darkness again involved him, he heard 
 them as with tremendous crashes their roots yielded to the in- 
 fluence of the whirlwind, which stretched the monarchs of the forest 
 on the plain. Sometimes during the pauses of the storm, when 
 the wind sunk into a low shrill murmur, he thought that he could 
 hear the shrieks of travellers in the distance, whom the tempest 
 had overwhelmed, and knew not but that in a moment their fate 
 would be his own. His horse, however, seemed to share the de- 
 votedness of his gallant rider to the cause which he had espoused ; 
 and as both were well acquainted with the road through the forest, 
 they escaped the disasters which on that night befel many less 
 experienced travellers. As the morning dawned, the storm was 
 somewhat abated in its violence. The lightning and the thunder 
 ceased, and the rain descended less rapidly and copiously. Still 
 the wind, Cheulet's grand ally in the enterprise which he had 
 undertaken, blew from the same quarter and with the same 
 violence ; and as at about the hour of six in the morning he pre- 
 sented himself at the gate of the Ducal palace, he hailed as a 
 happy omen the tremendous force with which it swept through 
 the street of Vannes, and gave to its usually populous and busy 
 thoroughfares the appearance of a deserted city. 
 
 The Duke had passed a restless and uneasy night. The violence
 
 RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 37* 
 
 of the storm had combined, with some internal misgivings as to 
 the sincerity of Edward's professions of friendship towards th<? 
 Earl, to rob him of his accustomed rest. He had therefore rise! 
 early, and was seated in his library, endeavouring by the perusa> 
 of a favourite author, to chase away the gloom which overshadowed 
 his mind, when Sir John Cheulet stood before him. The Knight's 
 garments were soiled with dirt and rain ; the lightning had glanced 
 upon his helmet and left traces of its visit there ; and panting for 
 breath and leaning upon his sword, he exhibited very intelligible 
 signs of the rapid and uneasy journey which he had made. As 
 he raised his visor and made his obeisance to the Duke, the latter 
 observed his pale and troubled countenance and the agitation and 
 dejectedness of his manner. 
 
 " Why, how now, good Sir John ?" he asked. " What means 
 this sad and frowning countenance ? Wherefore those sighs, and 
 to what strange chance am I indebted for a visit from you at so 
 unwonted an hour as this ?" 
 
 " Most noble and redoubted Lord," answered Cheulet, " this 
 pale face and these deadly looks prognosticate that the time of 
 my death is near at hand, and I would to Heaven that it had ap- 
 proached before this day ! Had I died before, I should have 
 escaped the shame and sorrow occasioned by an act of yours, 
 which I had not thought it possible for you to do, and by which I 
 feel myself doomed either to an early grave or to a life of per- 
 petual misery. You, my singular good Lord," he added, sinking 
 on his knee and grasping the Duke's hands in his own with a pas- 
 sionate earnestness, " you, by your virtuous acts and noble feats, 
 have achieved an immortal fame ; your praise is on every lip, your 
 blessing is breathed from every heart. But now, alas ! it seems (I 
 pray you, pardon me my boldness) that you begin to be weary of 
 your great name, and having won such high and distinguished 
 honours, you care not to maintain them inviolate and unimpaired." 
 
 " What means this, Cheulet ?" said the Duke, rising from his seat 
 and turning from the Knight with a look of mingled sorrow and dis- 
 pleasure. "You presume too much on my kindnessand forbearance." 
 
 " It means, gracious Sovereign," said Sir John Cheulet, catching
 
 374 RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 
 
 hold of the Duke's robes as he was retiring from the apartment, 
 " that you, forgetting your faith and promise made to Henry, 
 Earl of Richmond, have delivered that most innocent young 
 gentleman into the hands of his enemies, to be imprisoned, tor- 
 tured, and slain ; wherefore, all who love you, and of whom I am 
 one, cannot but mourn and lament when they see openly the fame 
 and glory of your most renewed name tarnished with the reproach 
 of disloyalty and treachery." 
 
 " Good Cheulet," said the Duke, " of what is it that you accuse 
 me? Henry Tudor placed himself voluntarily in the hands of 
 that most reverend and excellent father, renowned alike for piety 
 and learning, Stillingfleet." 
 
 " He did so, most gracious Lord, in consequence of a fair but 
 treacherous promise, sworn to with all solemnity and fervour, but 
 which he would nevertheless not have trusted, but for the protec- 
 tion and guarantee of your most princely word. That promise 
 will be broken, and young Richmond's blood will be spilt." 
 
 " Peace, peace ! Sir John," said the Duke : " I will tell thee 
 that no such chance can happen to the Earl, for King Edward 
 has required him at my hands, for the purpose of transforming his 
 suspected enemy to his fair and loving son-in-law. Is it possible to 
 give a more decisive testimony of his affection and good-will ?" 
 
 " Believe me, my good Lord," said the Knight, shaking his head 
 mournfully, " that Earl Henry is on the brink of perdition. Per- 
 mit him to set one foot out of your Grace's territory, and there is 
 no mortal creature who will be able to save him from death." 
 
 " Thou movest me even to tears, good Cheulet," said the Duke, 
 much agitated and affected. " Heaven knows that I would rather 
 lay my own grey hairs upon the block, than see one of Henry 
 Tudor's injured. Yet I have plighted my word to the King of 
 England ; I have delivered the Earl into the hands of his ambassa- 
 dors, and dare not but at the risk of involving my Duchy in a 
 sanguinary and unequal war, recede from the step which I have 
 taken. But here cornes my chief treasurer, Peter Landois, he 
 is skilled in management and policy, and by his advice will I be 
 governed."
 
 RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 375 
 
 The chief treasurer was a man somewhat past the middle period 
 of life, but retaining all the vigour and activity of earlier years , 
 under whose wise and politic counsels the little Duchy of Brittany 
 had within a few years attained to an unprecedented height of 
 prosperity and power. He was a short, thin, and apparently care- 
 worn man ; premature grey hairs had gathered on his head, and 
 his step was feeble and tremulous ; but his quick flashing grey eye, 
 his haughty and imperious brow, and the careless and confident 
 smile on his lip, indicated a mind whose strength and activity 
 more than compensated for the feebleness of the body. Cheulet, 
 at the command of the Duke, laid before him all his fears and 
 suspicions of the insincerity of King Edward ; described his jour- 
 ney with Richmond and the ambassadors, and told him of the 
 young Earl's own conviction, that the English monarch had deter 
 mined on his destruction. " The honour of Duke Francis," said 
 the Treasurer, after having listened attentively to the Knight's dis- 
 course, " like that of Caesar's wife, must not even be suspected ; 
 therefore the departure of the Earl must be prevented, for Edward's 
 views towards him appear suspicious and insincere. Still must 
 not the safety of Brittany be compromised by any violence or 
 offence offered to the King of England and his ambassadors. 
 Will my gracious Sovereign leave this matter to my management ?" 
 
 " Most willingly, good Landois," said the Duke, " with a thou- 
 sand thanks for relieving me from a weary burden." 
 
 " Then must this gallant Knight," said the Treasurer, " be pre- 
 pared to accompany me within two hours to St. Malo." 
 
 " Tis but a brief time in which to recruit my weary strength," 
 said Cheulet, " but the life and death of the Earl of Richmond 
 depend upon the celerity of our efforts in his behalf. I will attend 
 you at the hour appointed." 
 
 In the meantime the unfortunate Henry became more and 
 more convinced that he had been delivered up as a sheep to the 
 slaughter. The change of demeanour on the part of Dr. Stilling- 
 fleet became still more strongly marked after the departure of Sir 
 John Chculet had deprived the Earl of the only companion in 
 whom he could repose the slightest confidence. The mild, re-
 
 37* RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 
 
 verend, and courteous manner of the priest was exchanged for the 
 reckless and daring, but at the same time cold, cautious, and sus- 
 picious air of a leader of banditti. Henry was for some time 
 absorbed in the painful mental occupation which his own thoughts 
 afforded him, and when he roused himself from his reverie, he 
 found that he was riding abreast of two of the attendants, who 
 had insensibly and by degrees narrowed the respectful distance at 
 which they had kept behind him, and now, stationed one on each 
 side of him, they looked more like companions or gaolers than 
 attendants. The three ambassadors, each followed by a retainer, 
 rode before him, and five or six men with drawn swords in their 
 hands followed in his rear. The storm which raged around them 
 was unheeded and unfelt by Henry, so much more violent and 
 appalling was that which agitated his bosom. Often did he inter- 
 nally reproach the Duke of Brittany with weakness, folly, and 
 even perfidy, for having allowed him to leave Vannes; and as 
 often did he curse his own idle and romantic affection, as having 
 been the prime agent of his destruction. Then whenever his 
 fellow-travellers congratulated themselves on any apparent relaxa- 
 tion of the fury of the storm, did he internally pray that it might 
 increase to tenfold vehemence, so that no vessel might be able to 
 live upon those fatal waters which he felt conscious would only 
 bear him to the dungeon or the block. 
 
 The priest Stillingfleet, with his attendants and his prisoner, 
 reached St. Malo at about the same hour that Sir John Cheulet 
 arrived at Vannes. " The foul fiend himself makes war against 
 us," he cried, as he saw his vess61 idly anchored in the harbour, 
 and beheld the ocean tossing and foaming in the adverse gale. 
 " Will this infernal wind never subside ? To the castle, to the 
 castle ! Since we cannot embark, the time may be worse employed 
 than in taking that rest of which we stand so much in need." 
 
 To the castle, therefore, did they proceed, where the Gover- 
 nor, on Stillingfleet presenting to him the credentials with which 
 he was furnished by the Duke of Brittany, readily admitted them, 
 and provided for their accommodation. Richmond was ushered 
 into a large and lofty apartment, at one end of which was a couch,
 
 RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 377 
 
 and at the other a blazing fire. Having partaken of the refresh- 
 ments offered him, and warmed himself at the blaze of the fire, 
 he was preparing to throw himself on the couch with a wearied 
 frame, and a mind but ill at ease, when Sir Richard Brackley, a 
 Judge of the Court of King's Bench, and Sir Thomas Vaughan, 
 a Knight of the Bath, Stillingfleet's associates in the embassy, entered 
 the apartment, and drawing two chairs close to the fire, took their 
 seats there, and appeared to be composing themselves to repose. 
 
 " What means this intrusion, gentlemen ?" said Richmond. " I 
 was about to retire to my couch for the purpose of taking some 
 rest previous to the embarkation." 
 
 " And we are but doing the same, young Sir," said Brackley, a 
 gaunt and gigantic person, whose features were now distorted by 
 a smile ghastly as that which the poet has ascribed to the last 
 great enemy ; " we who, forsooth ! stand as much in need of rest 
 as you, having, besides encountering the storm, been obliged to 
 watch you very narrowly, lest you should attempt to escape. Trust 
 me, that your conferences with the Breton Knight were not alto- 
 gether unobserved." 
 
 " Escape I" said Henry. " I knew not until now that I was a 
 prisoner, and a prisoner alone can have any wish or motive to 
 escape. I thought myself under the protection of the ambassadors 
 of my cousin King Edward, whose royal word is a sufficient pledge 
 of my freedom and safety." 
 
 "Ay ! ay !" said Brackley, with a diabolical grin, "you are safe 
 enough ; but not perhaps quite so free as you supposed. The King 
 too will take as much care of you when you land in England as 
 we do here, although perhaps his guardianship may not last quite 
 as long as our's seems likely to do. The road," he added, address- 
 ing his companion, and speaking in a tone which was but indistinctly 
 audible to Richmond, " from the Tower to Tower Hill is not quite 
 so long as that from St. Malo to London." 
 
 Vaughan shrugged his shoulders, grinned, and gave a nod of 
 assent ; while Brackley, after giving utterance to an obstreperous 
 laugh, leaned back in his chair, and once more composed himself 
 to slumber.
 
 378 RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 
 
 "For Heaven's sake, Sir!" said Richmond, approaching Vaughan, 
 "what am I to understand by this man's language and behaviour? 
 Your golden spurs proclaim you to belong to one of those orders 
 of chivalry in which none are enrolled but gentlemen of valour, 
 honour, and courtesy. Tell me, why is the privacy of my apart- 
 ment intruded upon, and whether I am a prisoner or a free man ?'' 
 
 Vaughan turned his head towards the Earl, but did not move 
 from his recumbent posture in the chair. His features did not 
 exhibit the same expression of profligacy and malignity which 
 characterized those of Brackley ; but there was an air of dogged 
 and mulish indifference, which was at least as fatal to the hope 
 which had sprung up in the mind of Richmond, of being able to 
 awaken his sympathy and compassion. 
 
 "Young gentleman," said Vaughan, "take an old man's advice 
 for once. Whatever may be your future fate, present rest and re- 
 freshment can do you no harm. As soon as the wind changes and 
 becomes fair for England, which the sailors say will be in a few 
 hours, you must embark. Therefore to your couch ! to your couch ! 
 While you are under my care, you need not entertain any appre- 
 hensions either of treachery or violence." 
 
 Richmond's heart sunk within him as he felt all his worst fears 
 confirmed by the conduct and language of these two men, who 
 now openly assumed the office of his gaolers. Still the advice of 
 Vaughan seemed proper to be followed, as, whatever might be his 
 future trials, rest would be necessary to enable him to meet them 
 with becoming dignity and firmness. With a disturbed and anxious 
 spirit therefore, but a wearied and worn-out frame, he threw him- ' 
 self on the couch, and soon sunk into a profound slumber. 
 
 For above eight hours his rest was undisturbed except by the 
 dreams of peril and trouble which his imagination conjured up 
 before him. Sometimes he fancied that he had fallen from the 
 deck of a vessel into the sea ; that King Edward rescued him 
 from a watery grave, by drawing him by the hair of his head on to 
 the deck again ; then, in a voice of thunder, exclaiming, " Behold 
 the head of a traitor !" he threw him down on a block, and was 
 about to decollate him with his sword, when the scene suddenly
 
 RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 379 
 
 changed, and a new illusion took possession of his senses. At 
 another time he imagined that he was walking in the gardens of 
 the palace at Westminster, by the banks of the river Thawes. On 
 one side towered the venerable Abbey, whose pinnacles seemed 
 to soar into the deep blue sky above them, and blend and mingle 
 with that heaven to whose service they were devoted ; while in 
 the opposite distance rose, in many a gentle elevation, the fair 
 hills of Surrey, on which the sunbeams fell in many a long line of 
 glory. Elizabeth of York was walking by his side ; but while he 
 was listening and gazing, delighted with the music of her voice, 
 and the beauty of her form and features, she suddenly drew a 
 dagger from her bosom and sheathed it in his heart ! At another 
 time he was walking in the midst of the beautiful scenery which 
 environed his own residence in the city of Vannes. An unusual 
 placidity and calmness possessed his soul, and his step was as 
 buoyant and elastic as if he had never felt pain or known sorrow, 
 when suddenly he imagined himself surrounded by a number of 
 soldiers, who by their white uniforms he knew to be in the service 
 of the King of England, and who, seizing his arms, shook him so 
 violently that he started from his sleep. He then, on attempting 
 to move from his couch, found himself in the rough grasp of Sir 
 Richard Brackley, who exclaimed in a harsh and discordant tone 
 of voice " Up, up ! the wind is fair : Sir Thomas Vaughan is 
 already on board, and Dr. Stillingfleet and myself are only waiting 
 for you. Quick, despatch ! too much time has been lost already. 
 A very few hours will now suffice to land us on the coast of 
 England." 
 
 " Now, gracious God !" exclaimed Henry, in an agony of fear, 
 sinking on his knees, " Thou who didst endue Henry of Windsor 
 with the spirit of prophecy, and whose watchful Providence has 
 till now guarded and protected me, save me, I beseech thee, from 
 the peril, from this fair wind which will only waft me to destruction." 
 
 " Despatch, despatch! young Sir," said Brackley ; " what art thou 
 muttering there ? thou canst pray on board, and do good service 
 to us all by petitioning for a continuance of that auspicious wind 
 which is now blowing strongly towards the shores of merry England.' 1
 
 380 RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 
 
 With a heavy heart and reluctant step, Henry prepared himself 
 for the journey, and followed Brackley as his iron tread echoed 
 heavily on the winding staircase by which they descended to the 
 postern of the castle. Here they emerged into the open air, and 
 had scarcely crossed the drawbridge before they saw Stillingfleet 
 in earnest and somewhat angry conversation with some persons, 
 who appeared from their soiled garments and the jaded condition 
 of the steeds from which they had dismounted, to have just arrived 
 from a long and hurried journey. As they approached these new 
 comers, they recognised Cheulet, Landois, and two attendants. 
 
 The Knight and his companions had used all speed in prose- 
 cuting their journey from Vannes to St. Malo. As the former 
 retraced his steps on the road which he had traversed the previous 
 night, he observed, with a failing heart that the storm had greatly 
 diminished, and that the wind, although still somewhat adverse 
 for England, was evidently veering round to an opposite point. 
 " Sir John ! Sir John !" said Landois, " I fear that our exertions 
 will but little avail the unfortunate Earl of Richmond. The wind 
 will be fair for England before we can reach St. Malo." 
 
 " Our cause is just, our steeds good, and there is a Heaven above 
 us, Master Landois," said Cheulet. " I will not despair until I 
 arrive at St. Malo, and see the English masts blending with the 
 sky on the very verge of the horizon." 
 
 " That stout heart of thine, Sir John Cheulet, has often rolled 
 back the tide of war, and made the breath of victory blow from 
 a different quarter to that whence it seemed at first to proceed ; but 
 it cannot turn the tide of the English Channel, or bid the eastern 
 breeze veer to the west." 
 
 Sjir John only answered the Chancellor by spurring his steed 
 more hotly ; and his zeal was eagerly seconded by Landois and 
 the two attendants ; and at length, as we have already seen, they 
 arrived at St. Malo at the very moment that Stillingfleet and the 
 Earl were about to embark. 
 
 The priest eyed the new-comers with a severe glance ; but his 
 features brightened when he saw that they were only four in 
 number. His mind instantly suggested to him that the Duke had
 
 RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 381 
 
 sent to command him not to allow the Earl to embark, a com- 
 mand, however, which he was determined not to obey. " The 
 Earl must proceed to England, gentlemen, forthwith," he said, 
 before Landois and Cheulet had had time to unfold to him the 
 purport of their visit. , 
 
 " Doubtless, good Doctor, he must," said Landois. "You have 
 the Duke's authority to that effect ; but my princely master has a 
 secret communication to make to the Earl before his embarkation, 
 of which Sir John Cheulet is the bearer ; you will therefore be 
 pleased to allow the Earl and the Knight a few minutes' private 
 conversation." 
 
 " Well, well," said Stillingfleet, "let the communication be brief. 
 The wind is at length fair, and we must not lose the precious mo- 
 ments. Sir John Cheulet, the Earl and you may walk aside for a 
 few minutes, that you may have an opportunity of informing him of 
 these private (if private they must be) commands of Duke Francis." 
 
 "Reverend father," said Cheulet, "a very short time will enable 
 me to entrust the Duke's secret to the Earl. By the time that we 
 have walked to the porch of yonder cathedral," pointing to a spire 
 at the distance of about a hundred yards, " and retraced our steps 
 to this place, I shall have said all that I have to say to the Earl of 
 Richmond." 
 
 " Be it so, ;) said Stillingfleet ; " and you will take it not amiss if 
 three of my people follow you at a convenient distance, where 
 they cannot be privy to your conversation, but may prevent any 
 attempt at robbing me of the precious charge with which Duke 
 Francis has entrusted me." 
 
 The Knight bowed in token of acquiescence. The Earl, with 
 an anxious but doubting heart, took his friend's arm. He had 
 hoped, that if Cheulet arrived in St. Malo before the embarkation, 
 he would have been accompanied by a force sufficient to rescue 
 him from the clutches of Stillingfleet ; but now he and his friends, 
 even supposing Landois willing to assist in his rescue, were only 
 five, and opposed to fifteen enemies. Cheulet, however, whis- 
 pered to him to be of good cheer ; and they proceeded towards 
 the cathedral, followed by Stillingfleet's three retainers.
 
 38a RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 
 
 In the meantime, Landois was engaged in earnest conversation 
 with the ambassadors ; and it was evident from the gestures of the 
 latter, that the conversation was no longer of a nature unpl easing to 
 them. Smiles brightened the smooth, seraphic face of Stillingfleet, 
 enlivened the dull, apathetic countenance of Vaughan, and even 
 somewhat softened the ferocious expression of Brackley's features. 
 Landois, a perfect master in the science of dissimulation, had won 
 the attention and lulled the suspicions of the Englishmen. By 
 praising the priest's character for eloquence and sanctity, and ex- 
 pressing his own conviction of his ultimately obtaining a cardinal's 
 hat, if not the triple crown ; by extolling the prowess of the knight, 
 and lifting up his hands and eyes in admiration of the lawyer's 
 learning and acuteness, he made all three forget for a short, but 
 neverthess sufficiently long period, the importance of the charge 
 with which they were entrusted. At length, however, turning his 
 eyes towards the path which the Earl and his companion had taken, 
 Stillingfleet saw his own three followers standing at the church 
 porch, but Henry and the knight had disappeared. 
 
 " Death and destruction !" he exclaimed to those of hit; 
 attendants who were near him, "where is the Earl of Rich- 
 mond ? where is Sir John Cheulet ?" 
 
 " They have entered the cathedral, Sir," said one ; "and the men 
 whom you appointed to follow them are keeping close watch at 
 the porch till they come out again." 
 
 " Ye blind slaves ! ye drivelling idiotic villains !" shrieked Stil- 
 lingfleet, wringing his hands ; " they have taken sanctuary !" 
 
 " Say ye so !" said Vaughan, " then, with as much celerity as 
 they took it, will I take it from them ;" and drawing his sword, he 
 was proceeding towards the cathedral, when both Stillingfleet and 
 Landois interposed. 
 
 " It must not be," said the priest, crossing himself; " the privi- 
 leges of holy sanctuary must be respected, though even the 
 red hand of the murderer sought refuge there. But you, my Lord 
 Landois, how will you and your master answer this treachery to 
 the King ? In his name do I denounce a fearful vengeance and 
 retribution against the ruler and the dominions of Brittany."
 
 RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 383 
 
 " Sir," said Landois, affecting the utmost indignation and sur- 
 prise, "your priestly character protects you, else (touching his 
 sword) should not an aspersion upon my honour, and still less upon 
 that of my Prince, go for a single instant unpunished. I see," he 
 said, bending a look of deference and respect on the priest's 
 colleagues, " that this gallant knight and this most learned Judge 
 do not join in your unworthy suspicions ! and I hope, reverend 
 Doctor, that a moment's reflection will induce you to banish them 
 from your mind. This Breton knight, who is the Earl's especial 
 friend, and seems to entertain some idle and groundless doubts of 
 the King's sincerity, has persuaded Henry Tudor to take sanc- 
 tuary. The laws of God and man alike forbid us to violate the 
 security of that place, in which he has chosen to seek shelter." 
 
 "I doubt not the good Chancellor's honour," said Brackley, "or 
 that of his princely sovereign ; it were an ill requital of Duke 
 Francis's courtesy and kindness towards us, to load him with an 
 unjust suspicion." 
 
 " But the prize for which I have been so long toiling," exclaimed 
 Stillingfleet, "is ravished from my grasp. The money and mer- 
 chandise which we have expended on this enterprise have been 
 lavished in vain." 
 
 " Say not so, good Doctor," returned Landois ; " neither your 
 time nor your treasure have been expended unavailingly. You 
 have won the respect and affection of all who have had the plea- 
 sure of becoming acquainted with you in Brittany ; and when the 
 time shall come, as it must speedily, when those high honours in 
 the Church, to which you are so well entitled, shall be not far 
 removed from your grasp, fear not that the exertions of your friends 
 in this Duchy will be wanting to place them effectually within your 
 reach." 
 
 * "You are a fair-spoken man," said the priest, somewhat softened 
 by the Chancellor's flattering address, and before whose imagina- 
 tion, ever teeming with ambitious dreams, archbishops' mitres, 
 cardinals' hats, and the triple crown, floated on one wide sea of 
 progressive grandeur and power, "you are a fair-spoken person, 
 j":d I have not yet found your actions to be darker than your words.
 
 384 RICHMOND 'S THREE PERILS. 
 
 King Edward, however, must be satisfied that we have not left his 
 affairs in this Duchy worse than we found them. Promise me that 
 Duke Francis will continue to watch with the same vigilance as 
 formerly over the intrigues of this young Earl and his uncle, and 
 that no plots against the crown and dignity of King Edward shall 
 be carried on in his dominions." 
 
 " I have authority," said Landois, " to pled e the Duke's most 
 solemn oath and promise to that effect." 
 
 " Then," said Stillingfleet, giving the Chancellor his hand, " let 
 as part in peace the wind is fair, and we must away." 
 
 " Fare thee well, reverend Father, and my most esteemed 
 friend," said Landois; "andgallantVaughan,and learned Brackley, 
 fare ye well ! The Earl shall be kept so narrowly watched at 
 the Duke's court, that ye shall have no more cause of fear from 
 him than from his shadow." 
 
 The ambassadors then proceeded to embark. The wind, blow- 
 ing strongly, soon carried them out of the harbour into the open 
 sea, and Richmond escaped his first peril. 
 
 In the city of Vannes, and under the protection of the Duke of 
 Brittany, again did Henry Tudor find shelter and peace ; but his 
 hopes of love and glory seemed farther removed from him than 
 ever. King Edward wrote to Duke Francis, expressing his regrel 
 that his kinsman had hesitated to visit him, and disavowing the 
 most remote intention of committing any violence upon his liberty 
 or life. The Princess wrote to Richmond, expressing the same 
 regret ; but assuring him of her unaltered constancy and love. 
 Landois, in the mean time, upon whom, in consequence of the 
 Duke's age, his growing infirmities, and his disinclination to take 
 any active share in public business, the chief management of the 
 affairs of Brittany devolved, carried on a secret corespondence with 
 England, which Richmond, notwithstanding the important service 
 that the Chancellor had rendered him, could not help suspecting 
 as indicative of no good to him. Sir John Cheulet confirmed 
 him in these suspicions, and assured him that Landois, acute and 
 naturally kind-hearted and generous as he was, could not resist 
 ^-e all-potent influence of gold. " Danger or difficulty would not
 
 RICHMOND 'S THREE PEKIL&, 585 
 
 frighten him from your side," the knight would say ; " but King 
 Edward's money-bags are enemies against which I would advise 
 you to guard yourself." King Edward, however was soon gathered 
 to his fathers, and his infant son mounted the throne. Richmond's 
 hopes now began to revive. The nation seemed to be impatient 
 of the sway of a child, and were also fearful of the character of 
 the King's uncle, the Duke of Gloucester, who was made Protector, 
 and who was suspected not only of having been guilty of the mur- 
 der of the late King, Henry the Sixth, and of his son, but also of 
 that of his own brother, the Duke of Clarence. The events which 
 fo 1 lowed are familiar to all the readers of English history. The 
 young King, and his brother the Duke of York, died suddenly in 
 the Tower of London, not without suspicions of having been mur- 
 dered by their uncle. The Duke of Gloucester was proclaimed 
 King, under the title of Richard the Third ; and having quietly 
 obtained possession of the throne, bent all the energies of his 
 powerful mind to the destruction of the only person who advanced 
 an adverse claim to the regal dignity, Henry Earl of Richmond. 
 King Richard, too, attacked Richmond on his most tender point. 
 He made love to the Princess Elizabeth, his niece ; persuaded her 
 mother, the Queen Dowager, to advocate his suit, and sent mes- 
 sengers to Rome for the purpose of soliciting from the Pope a 
 dispensation to enable him to marry his brother's daughter. 
 
 Richmond, however, received letters from Elizabeth, assuring 
 him of her unshaken attachment, and avowing her determination 
 to die rather than wed the murderer of her brothers. These 
 assurances quieted the Earl's anxiety on the score of his affection; 
 but he still found, or fancied, his liberty and life placed in jeopardy, 
 and was obliged to watch with the utmost suspicion and caution 
 the movements of a man whom he had fondly hoped he might 
 number among his friends, Peter Landois. " His, surely," he 
 would say to himself, " is the false heart of which King Henn 
 prophesied." Couriers were continually running, and letters pass 
 ing between King Richard and the Chancellor; ard messengers 
 who appeared to be charged with some secret and important mis 
 sion from the former, arrived in the city of Vannes. Landois, too, 
 
 ENG. C C
 
 3 8 KlCtfMOXb'S TtiRZE PERIL'S. 
 
 kept a state and spent money with a profusion which it was evi- 
 dent that the emoluments attached to the office which he held in 
 so poor a duchy as Brittany could not be sufficient to support. 
 
 One day, while Richmond was moodily brooding over these ill- 
 omened appearances, Sir John Cheulet broke in upon his privacy, 
 leading by the hand a person whose dress and language denoted 
 that he was an ecclesiastic and an Englishman. 
 
 "A messenger, my Lord of Richmond," said Cheulet, "from 
 your firm friend and ally, Morton Bishop of Ely Sir Christopher 
 Urswick." 
 
 " Ha!" said Richmond, moving towards his new visitor, " I have 
 often heard my friend Morton, and others for whom I have an 
 equal regard, speak highly of the virtues and talents of Sir Chris- 
 topher Urswick. But how fares the Bishop ?" 
 
 " As well, my Lord," said Urswick, " as exile and penury, and 
 his grief that your progress towards obtaining the diadem of Eng- 
 land is not more rapid, will permit him to fare. He continues 
 friendless and penniless, but still safe from the malice of his enemies, 
 in his humble sojourn in Flanders; yet he blesses God for all the 
 privations which he has been there obliged to undergo, since they 
 have made him acquainted with the details of a horrible plot against 
 your liberty and life." 
 
 " Say on, say on, good Urswick ; I have often been indebted to 
 my Lord of Ely for his timely intelligence." 
 
 "This very night, my Lord," continued the priest, "has the 
 traitor Landois engaged to deliver you up to the emissaries of 
 King Richard. Every servant in this place is corrupted, except 
 your page Seymour ; and at the hour of midnight, the conspirators 
 will be admitted into your bed-chamber ; you will be seized and 
 gagged, hurried to the scene of your old danger, St. Malo, and 
 thence transported to England. Seymour, who is hated for his 
 attachment to you, will at the same time be banished to France ; 
 lest, while in Brittany, he should communicate the particulars of 
 this scheme to Duke Francis, and so shake the estimation in which 
 Landois stands with his prince." 
 
 "Can I believe it?" said Richmond. "To this very Peter 

 
 RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 387 
 
 Landois I am already indebted for my life; and it seems worse 
 than ingratitude to believe him guilty of treachery against the 
 being whom he has once preserved." 
 
 " Believe him not, trust him not," said Urswick ; " his interests 
 stood not in his way when he last assisted your escape from 
 danger ; but now the gold of England has made him your in- 
 veterate enemy : for one tithe of the silver marks which, as my 
 Lord of Ely has discovered, have been shipped over to him from 
 London, he would barter his own salvation to the great Enemy of 
 mankind." 
 
 "What would you have me do, good Urswick?" asked Henry. 
 
 " Fly from the city," answered the priest, " and that without 
 delay." 
 
 "And whither can I fly?" said Richmond; "I have, neithei 
 friends, nor allies, nor favourers beyond the city of Vannes." 
 
 " You must fly into France," said Urswick ; " the frontier of 
 that kingdom is not above twelve hours' hard riding from this 
 place ; there will you meet my Lord of Ely, and your noble uncle, 
 the Earl of Pembroke, who, immediately on receiving intelligence 
 of this plot, hastened to the Court of King Charles at Langes on 
 the Loire, to solicit that monarch's permission for you to take up 
 your residence in his territories, while they despatched me to you 
 to urge your immediate flight. There is little doubt but that they 
 will obtain, and meet you on the frontier with, the permission 
 which they have begged. Lose therefore no time : when once you 
 are upon the French soil, Landois, though he had twenty thousand 
 men at his heels, dare not follow you an inch farther." 
 
 " Tis now the hour of eight," said Richmond, " and in twelve 
 hours thou sayest that we may reach the frontier. Yet I must be 
 wary, since I am surrounded by spies and traitors, nor let them 
 know that the journey on which I am proceeding is towards 
 France. My friend, Sir Eustace Chatelet, is now lying indisposed 
 at the village of Lavalliere. I will give out that I purpose paying 
 him a visit ; Seymour, whom thou sayest I may trust, shall accom- 
 pany me as my page, and after we have proceeded a few miles 
 beyond the city, we will exchange clothes, that in case of any 
 c c 2
 
 }8* RICHMOND 'S THREE PERIL*. 
 
 pursuit being made at an earlier hour than we calculate upon, 
 Seymour may be made my scape-goat. The myrmidons of I^andois 
 will most likely not be able to recognise my features : the plumed 
 cap and the silken doublet which he will wear will convince them 
 that in him they have secured the Earl of Richmond ; while I, 
 *he poor page, shall not be considered a prize worth the trouble of 
 guarding and taking care of." 
 
 " Tis a trim plot, my good Lord," said Sir John Cheulet, " and 
 I fear that you will most likely have occasion to put the latter part 
 of it in execution. Landois, as I hear, purposes to pay you an 
 early visit this morning, doubtless for the purpose of assuring him- 
 self that the bird is safe in his cage. Should he not feel quite 
 satisfied with the story of your visit to Sir Eustace Chatelet, he will 
 infallibly send half a score of troopers after you. Yet be hopeful, 
 my good Lord, be hopeful ; and as the peril of the fair wind was 
 surmounted, so, I trust, will be that of the false heart also " 
 
 " As soon as you have passed the broad oak on the hill," said 
 Urswick, " which marks the boundary of France and Brittany, you 
 will be safe from your pursuers, however near they may be to you. 
 Landois dares not commit an outrage on the dominions of King 
 Charles." 
 
 " I know the broad oak well," said Richmond ; " for the time 
 has been in which I was as careful to keep on this side of it, as I am 
 now anxious to get beyond it. Mine, my friends, has been an 
 eventful and dangerous career; but I trust in the protection of 
 Him whose captain I account myself, and who will yet, I hope, 
 enable me to reward the exertions of my friends as they deserve." 
 
 Henry wrung the hands of the priest and the knight, and the 
 tears started to the eyes of all as they took leave of each other. 
 V very short period sufficed to place Richmond and his page Sey- 
 mour, who entered eagerly into the plot, in a condition to pursue 
 their journey. The Earl's visit to his friend at Lavalliere, 
 occasioned neither surprise nor comment, and unquestioned, and 
 almost unobserved, he passed the city gates, and took the road to 
 Angiers. 
 
 " Canst thou play an earl's part well, my friend Seymour," said
 
 RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 389 
 
 Richmond lo his page, as they rode along, " should occasion re- 
 quire thee?" 
 
 " Doubt not that, Sir," said the page; " I can sing like a trouba- 
 dour, swear like a knight, swagger like a lord, and imitate anything 
 but the grace and urbanity of Henry Tudor." 
 
 " Thanks for thy compliment, my gentle friend," said the Earl, 
 smiling; "but it is Henry Tudor whom thou must imitate, whether 
 he be graceful and urbane or not, should the myrmidons of Lan- 
 dois overtake us ere we reach the frontier." 
 
 " I will do my best, my Lord," said Seymour. " Your lordship 
 has led so secluded a life, that you are not very likely to be 
 known to Landois' troopers. Some unlucky chance, however, 
 may induce them to cany back the page as well as the master, and 
 then methinks that our goodly plot will profit us little." 
 
 " Yet it is said," returned the Earl of Richmond, " that Landois 
 and his emissaries wish to banish you to France ; so that if my 
 disguise makes them mistake me for you, they will not, when they 
 think that they see you on the high road to that country, without 
 giving them the trouble to send you there, be much inclined to 
 stop you in your journey." 
 
 "True, true !" said the page. " The scheme is worth trying. I 
 will risk every drop of blood in my veins in the cause of Henry 
 Tudor." 
 
 "Thou shalt risk nought," said Henry, "but a few hours' 
 durance. The moment that I am safe on the French territory, I 
 will procure thy liberation, though it should be at the price of a 
 prince's ransom ; but here, methinks, is a convenient place for 
 making that exchange of our garments on which the success of our 
 enterprise mainly depends." 
 
 The exchange was speedily made, and the travellers were re- 
 mounted, and once more moving with the utmost rapidity towards 
 the frontier. Five hours had elapsed, and they perceived no 
 symptoms of pursuit ; but both they and their steeds began to feel 
 the want of rest and refreshment; and therefore, after having 
 penetrated a short way into the forest on the left hand of the road, 
 lor the purpose of procuring alike shelter from the overpowering
 
 390 RICHMOND 'S THREE PERILS. 
 
 beams of the sun, and concealment from their enemies, they 
 spread before them the slender repast with which they had pro- 
 vided themselves previous to quitting Vannes. They had now 
 nearly performed half their journey, and began already to anticipate 
 a favourable issue to their enterprise. The moments, however, 
 were precious : they therefore hastily dispatched their meal, re- 
 mounted their horses, and pressed forwards on their journey. 
 Their steeds now began to appear somewhat jaded by their day's 
 exertion, and toiled heavily and wearily along the road, which in 
 the morning they had traversed with the fleetness of the forest 
 deer. " Alas ! Seymour," said Richmond, " as the day advances, 
 my hopes decline ; my good horse is nearly exhausted ; and hark ! 
 nearest thou nothing that thou wouldst not hear ?" 
 
 " I hear nought, my Lord, but the murmur of the river, and the 
 sound of our horses' hoofs as we traverse its banks." 
 
 " Alas, alas !" returned the Earl, " my ear has been quickened 
 by long misfortunes and anxieties, and even now the distant tramp- 
 ling of our pursuers' hoofs is distinctly audible to me. Let us 
 hasten for our lives." 
 
 They put spurs to their horses, and used every effort to distance 
 their enemies. The sounds which Richmond's ear had first caught, 
 were in a few minutes heard by Seymour ; and as he looked back, 
 a turning in the road showed half-a-dozen well-mounted horsemen, 
 who by their uniform he knew to be Landois' troopers, rapidly 
 descending the hill which he and Richmond had just left behind 
 them. 
 
 " Now, my good Lord," said Seymour, " must we trust to our 
 disguises ; for the swift and powerful steeds on which these fellows 
 are mounted leave us no chance of being able to evade their 
 pursuit. They near us, they near us ! Hark ! what is't 
 they say ?" 
 
 " 'Tis he, tis he !" exclaimed one of the troopers ; " I know 
 him by his waving plume, and by the red dragon embroidered on 
 his doublet. Stand, in the name of the Duke of Brittany, I com- 
 mand you 1" he added, couching his spear, " or, by Heaven ! ye 
 are but dead men 1"
 
 RICHMOND 'S THREE PERILS. 391 
 
 " What mean you, rude companion," said Seymour, " by using 
 such language and gestures to a prince of my rank and character, 
 and by daring to assume the authority of the Duke of Brittany's 
 name, for committing an outrage on the person of his nearest and 
 dearest friend ?" 
 
 " Henry Earl of Richmond," said the leader of the troopers, 
 addressing Seymour, " I arrest thee as an ungrateful traitor to the 
 good Duke Francis, who has so long cherished and protected thee. 
 Unmindful of his protection and favours, thou art fleeing into 
 the territory of his ancient enemy the King of France, in order to 
 plot for the destruction of that treaty of peace and amity which 
 has been so lately concluded between them." 
 
 " Duke Francis," returned Seymour, " says not so, nor has he 
 given any authority to you to detain me." 
 
 " I have the authority," answered the trooper, " of his Grace's 
 Lord Treasurer, the noble Peter Landois, for my proceedings." 
 
 " Peter Landois is a traitor and a slave !" said Seymour. 
 
 " Tut, tut !" interrupted the soldier ; " we came not hither to 
 prate, my spruce springald :" and thus saying he, with the assist- 
 ance of one of his followers, tied the page's hands behind him. 
 He then turned a curious and inquiring glance towards Richmond, 
 who had remained a silent spectator of this scene. 
 
 " I trust," said Seymour, " that if I am to be carried back a 
 prisoner to Vannes, my page will be allowed to attend me ? One 
 faithful servant will not be so formidable a retinue to a captive 
 earl, that Peter Landois need tremble at it" 
 
 There was an expression of acquiescence which for a moment 
 softened the stern features of the trooper; and Seymour began to 
 fear that the request, which he had made that it might be refused, 
 would be complied with. 
 
 " My Lord of Richmond," said his captor, " I wish not to treat 
 you with unnecessary harshness, as long as I feel assured that J 
 have you safely in my custody. Sir Page, may I crave your 
 name ?" 
 
 " My name," said the Earl, " is Henry Seymour." 
 
 " Seymour, Seymour," echoed the other. " Then, by my faith !
 
 j9 RICHMOND 'S THREE PERILS. 
 
 the prisoner is better without your company. Trust me, young 
 Sir, that I do not mean to take upon me the charge of conducting 
 you back to Vannes, that you may be able to plot once more 
 against the interests of Duke Francis and my Lord Landois. 
 Since you are so far on the road to France, be pleased to know 
 that you are banished the territories of Brittany, and that the 
 sooner you cross the frontier the better it will be for you." 
 
 "Thou speakest truth more surely than thou art aware of," 
 muttered Richmond. " Since it must be," he added aloud, " that 
 my noble Lord and I part, here I bid him a sad, but I hope not 
 a long farewell." 
 
 " Farewell, farewell ! my trusty servant," said Seymour. 
 
 " Not so fast, not so fast !" said the trooper. " This young 
 gentleman is mounted upon a gallant steed, which by its trappings 
 I perceive belongs to the Duke of Brittany, and forms a part of 
 that establishment which our ill-requited prince settled upon the 
 Earl of Richmond during his residence at Vannes. Methinks 'tis 
 somewhat strange that the better steed should be ridden by the 
 page, while his lord and master bestrides a somewhat sorry nag in 
 the comparison !" 
 
 This untoward discovery seemed likely to rend in pieces the thin 
 web of Henry's plot. Seymour, however, answered with the 
 utmost readiness and apparent unconcern : 
 
 " 'Tis a fine animal, but he possessed so much mettle, that I, who 
 am just recovered from a long illness, did not venture to bestride 
 him. His fiery pace is better suited to Seymour." 
 
 " It may be so," said the trooper ; " but methinks that a traitor 
 and a banished man may find his way into France on foot ; or, at 
 least, may choose some more fitting conveyance than a steed from 
 the Duke's stables. Dismount, dismount, Sir Page !" 
 
 There was no remedy ; and as Richmond hastily balanced in his 
 own mind the choice of evils, that from which he was delivered, 
 the return to Vannes, seemed to be far greater than that to which he 
 was to be subjected, the prosecution of the remainder of his journey 
 on foot. He therefore obeyed the unceremonious command of the 
 hooper, dismounted, and, amidst the jeers and laughter of his
 
 RICHMOND 'S THREE PERILS. 993 
 
 enemies, proceeded on his pedestrian expedition. As the sound 
 of the horses' hoofs died away in the distance, Richmond began 
 to reflect with feelings of no great satisfaction on his situation. 
 He had still many miles to travel before he could reach the French 
 frontier, a journey which he had hoped to finish before the hour of 
 eight in the evening ; but which, as it was now noon, and he was 
 obliged to travel on foot, he could not expect to complete until 
 after midnight. It appeared probable, too, that Seymour and his 
 captors would arrive at Vannes in time to enable Landois to dis- 
 cover the mistake made by the latter, and to pursue and apprehend 
 Richmond before he was safe on the French territory. With an 
 anxious, but still with a bold heart, however, he plodded on his 
 way. The burning heat of noon was succeeded by the refreshing 
 dews of evening, and the deep azure of the sky was spotted by 
 dusky grey clouds, and yet no interruption was offered to his 
 farther progress. Those grey clouds, too, assumed a yet darker 
 tinge, and the shadows of night closed arpund him ; and these 
 again were illuminated by the silver radiance of the rising moon, 
 and still Richmond had reason to nourish the hope that his second 
 peril was encountered and escaped. The moon was riding high in 
 the midnight heaven ; and not the heart of the dove panted more 
 eagerly once more to behold the ark, after its dreary travel over 
 the desolate abyss of waters, than did that of Richmond to see the 
 oak tree which marked the boundary between France and Brittany, 
 flinging its broad shadow in the moonlight, on the pathway of the 
 now sinking and exhausted traveller. Still an unwonted serenity 
 and calmness reigned in his bosom. The nightingale was trilling 
 her song among the copses by his side, the river rippling in the 
 moonbeams was murmuring at his feet, and the leaves of the forest 
 were rustling in the night wind over his head and filling his mind 
 with a variety of pleasing and soothing emotions. His heart, how- 
 ever, sunk within him as his prophetic ear again caught the distant 
 trampling of hoofs. " The false heart," he exclaimed, " of Peter 
 Landois will triumph, after all. Yet one effort, one more for life 
 and liberty, and the crown ^f England." 
 
 Thus saying, he girded his loins and strained up the hill, on
 
 394 RICHMOND 'S THREE PERILS. 
 
 whose summit he knew stood that fateful tree which marked the 
 boundary line, not only of France and Brittany, but that of life 
 and death to him. His pursuers drew near. A shout from a sten- 
 torian voice, which he instantly recognised to be that of Peter 
 Landois, announced that their hunted prey was in view, and the 
 brisk trot of the pursuers was increased to a full gallop. At that 
 moment Henry beheld the majestic branches of the oak tree wav- 
 ing before him. He sprang with the velocity of the hunted deer 
 towards it the fore-foot of a horse almost touched his heel, and 
 just as the rider was reaching down his arm to grasp his prisoner, 
 the latter darted past the tree, and sunk, faint and almost lifeless, 
 on the soil of France. 
 
 "Back, back, Master Landois," said the Earl of Pembroke, 
 who, with the Bishop of Ely and a few attendants, had been 
 anxiously waiting the arrival of Henry Tudor: "dare to commit 
 the slightest violence on the territory of King Louis, and, by 
 Heaven, you will light a flame which will speedily spread to the 
 gates of your own palace in the city of Vannes ! The Earl of 
 Richmond is now the guest of the King of France, and I bear in 
 my hand his Majesty's permission for him to take his residence at 
 Angiers, and his command to all public functionaries to treat him 
 with the respect and deference due to his rank and worth." 
 
 " Are you there, Jasper Tudor ?" said Landois, in a tone which 
 denoted the bitterness of his exasperation and disappointment. 
 " Fare ye well, fare ye well ! Ye know that I dare not, even for 
 the purpose of apprehending a traitor to my gracious master, vio- 
 late the French territory. Yet your fate is but respited for a short 
 season : the white boar of England will yet gore yon wittol adven- 
 turer with his tusks." 
 
 Thus saying, he turned his horse's head, and, motioning to his 
 attendants to follow him, re-crossed the frontier, and was soon 
 hidden behind the brow of the hill which he had just ascended. 
 Ely and Pembroke then raised the scarce breathing form of Henry 
 Tudor from the ground, and, placing him carefully on a horse, at 
 a slow and easy pace conducted him in safety to the town of 
 Angiers.
 
 RICHMOND'S THREE PEKILS. 995 
 
 Thus did Richmond escape his second peril. 
 
 We will not do more than briefly recapitulate the events which 
 preceded our hero's encounter with his third peril, since they are 
 matters of general history, with which our readers must be suffi- 
 ciently familiar. The French King received him honourably; and 
 being desirous of raising disturbance to King Richard, he secretly 
 encouraged the Earl in the levies which he made for the support 
 of his enterprise upon England. The Earl of Oxford, whom 
 Richard's suspicions had thrown into confinement, having made 
 his escape, here joined Henry, and inflamed his ardour for the 
 attempt by the favourable account which he brought of the dispo- 
 sitions of the English nation, and their detestation of Richard's 
 crimes and usurpation. He also brought a piece of intelligence 
 not less grateful to the mind of Henry, that the Princess Elizabeth 
 continued constant in her attachment to him, and firmly resisted 
 every solicitation to become the bride of the King. 
 
 At length the Earl of Richmond set sail from Harfleur in Nor- 
 mandy, with a small army of about two thousand men, and after 
 a navigation of six days he arrived at Milford Haven in Wales, 
 where he landed without opposition. He directed his course to- 
 wards that part of the kingdom, in the hope that the Welsh, who 
 regarded him as their countryman, would join his standard, and 
 enable him to make head against the government. Nor were his 
 hopes disappointed. Numbers joined him every day; and he had 
 some reason to think that Lord Stanley, who commanded a con- 
 siderable force, and occupied a position between the armies of the 
 Earl and the King, would throw off his allegiance to the latter, and 
 join in the enterprise of the former. Such was the situation of 
 affairs on the night when Richmond encamped on the field of 
 Bosworth, near the city of Leicester, expecting that the enemy 
 vould give him battle on the morrow. 
 
 The morning dawned slowly and heavily; and with the first 
 t/reak of day arrived intelligence to Richmond of the near ap- 
 proach of the King, with an army of twenty-six thousand men, 
 being nearly double the force which the Earl had to oppose to 
 him He also he,W ^at Lord Stanley and Sir William Stanley
 
 3$6 RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 
 
 were at the head of a body of eight thousand men, and were niO' 
 mentarily expected to join the army of the King, who, to secure 
 the fidelity of Lord Stanley, had detained his son, Lord Strange, 
 as an hostage ; and had sworn that, on the slightest indication of 
 treachery on the part of the father, the son's head should be 
 stricken off. In no way disheartened by this intelligence, but 
 relying on the justice of his cause, the zeal and valour of his 
 troops, and the probability of Lord Stanley forming a junction 
 with him instead of with King Richard, Henry ordered his troops 
 to be mustered ; and after riding through the ranks, cheering and 
 encouraging them, he mounted a little hill, on which he could be 
 seen by the whole army, and harangued them in a style of great 
 eloquence and feeling. 
 
 " If ever God," he said, "gave victory to men righting in a just 
 quarrel ; or if He ever aided such as made war for the benefit of 
 their own native country ; or if He ever succoured such as adven- 
 tured their lives for the relief of the innocent and the suppression 
 of tyranny and crime ; no doubt, my fellows and friends, but He, 
 of his bountiful goodness, will this day send us triumphant victory 
 over our arrogant adversaries. I doubt not that God will rather 
 aid us ay, and fight for us than see us vanquished by such as 
 neither regard him nor his laws, nor yet regard justice and honesty. 
 Our cause is so just, that no enterprise can be of more virtue, 
 both by the laws divine and civil ; for what can be a more honest 
 or godly quarrel than to fight against a homicide, and a murderer 
 of his own blood and progeny, a destroyer of the nobility, and tc 
 his and our unhappy country and its people a deadly evil, a fire 
 brand, and an intolerable burden ? Consider, too, who are his 
 associates and followers ; such as by murder and falsehood have 
 disinherited me and you, and wrongfully usurp our lawful patri- 
 mony and lineal inheritance. He who calls himself King keeps 
 from me the crown of this most noble realm, contrary to all justice 
 and equity. His mates and friends occupy your lands, cut down 
 your woods, and destroy your manors, letting your wives and 
 children range abroad for their living-. Those persons, for their 
 punishment, will, I doubt not, be delivered by God into our hands
 
 RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 397 
 
 as a. great gain and booty ; or, being grieved by the stinging of 
 their corrupt consciences, will flee from before us, and will not 
 abide the battle. Besides this, I assure you that there are yonder, 
 in that great battle, men brought thither for fear and not for love; 
 soldiers by force compelled, and not with good- will assembled ; 
 persons who desire the destruction rather than the triumph of 
 their master and captain. And finally, there is a multitude, of 
 which the greater part is our friends, and the smaller part our 
 enemies. If this cause be not just, and this quarrel godly, let 
 God, the giver of victory, judge and determine. We have, thanks 
 be given to Christ ! escaped the secret treasons in Brittany, and 
 avoided the subtle snares of our fraudulent enemies there, passed 
 the troubled sea in safety, and are now come to the place which 
 we have so much desired to reach, for we have long sought the 
 furious Boar, and now we have found him. So that here," he 
 added, " we stand as sheep in a fold, between our enemies and 
 our doubtful friends. Therefore, let all fear be set aside and let 
 us unite like brethren ; for this day shall be the end of our labours, 
 either by honourable death or by famous victor)'. Remember, 
 that victory is not gained with the multitude of men, but by the 
 courage of hearts and the valiantness of minds. The smaller our 
 number is, the greater will be our glory if we vanquish ; and if we 
 are overcome, yet no praise will be to be attributed to the victors, 
 considering that three men will have fought against one. And of 
 this one thing I assure you, that in so just and good a cause and 
 so notable a quarrel, ye shall find me this day rather a dead carrion 
 upon the cold ground, than a free prisoner on a carpet in a lady's 
 chamber. And now advance forward, true men against traitors, 
 pitiful persons against murderers, true inheritors against usurpers, 
 the scourges of God against tyrants ! Display my banner with a 
 good courage ; march forth like strong and robust champions ; 
 and begin the battle like hardy conquerors. The battle is at hand, 
 and the victory approaches ; and if we shamefully retreat or cow- 
 ardly fly, we and all our followers shall be destroyed and dis- 
 honoured for ever. This is the day of gain, and this is the time 
 of loss ! Get this day victory, and be conquerors ! Lose this
 
 398 RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 
 
 day's battle, and be slaves ! Therefore, in the name of God 
 and Saint George, let every man courageously advance forth his 
 standard!"* 
 
 At these words, one loud and universal shout burst from the army 
 which had as yet stood listening in breathless attention ; a thousand 
 banners were unfurled to the breeze, displaying the favourite colours 
 of the House of Tudor, red and white, with a red dragon painted 
 on them ; and spears were couched and swords unsheathed ir 
 readiness for the approaching conflict. The van of King Richard's 
 army was just then seen on the brow of the opposite hill ; and 
 their standards, bearing on them the King's favourite badge, a silver 
 boar with tusks and bristles of gold, were seen floating in the air, 
 in proud rivalry of the red and white banner of Richmond. 
 Henry gazed anxiously on this ominous banner, and a sudden light 
 flashed upon his mind. " Ha !" he said, " it is the third and last 
 peril which Henry of Windsor told me that I should encounter, and 
 which if I escaped I should wear the crown of England. Now 
 then, to thy protection, God of Battles, I commend myself ! And 
 now, mj gallant friends, to the charge ! God and St. George for 
 England !" 
 
 Both parties were now prepared for action. A wide morass 
 intervened between the hostile armies ; and Richmond, first leading 
 his troops forward, posted them judiciously with their right flank 
 upon this barrier, placing them at the same time with their backs 
 towards the sun, which shining with dazzling radiance full upon the 
 front of the enemy, blinded their eyes with excess of light, while 
 it gave a clear and distinct view of every object to the more shaded 
 Lancastrians. No sooner had the Earl passed the morass, than the 
 King gave directions for the attack. Amidst the blast of the 
 trumpets and the clamour of the shouting soldiers, the King's 
 archers rained down on the advancing enemy their fatal shower. 
 The Earl's bowmen were not slow in returning it, and, from their 
 more favourable situation with respect to the light, with far more 
 precision and effect. After this fearful prologue to the terrible 
 
 * Hall.
 
 THREE PERILS. 599 
 
 drama which approached, the two armies joined, each evei and 
 anon casting an anxious glance towards the north, where the 
 Stanleys' troops were seen advancing slowly, cautiously, and appa- 
 rently irresolute and undetermined with which of the two contend- 
 ing parties they should form a junction. 
 
 In the meantime the Earl of Oxford, who commanded the van 
 of Henry's army, perceived the amazing strength of King Richard's 
 centre ; and fearing that he should be surrounded by the multitude 
 of his enemies, he commanded that no man should go more than 
 ten feet from the standard ; which commandment being once known, 
 they knit themselves closely together, and the division being thus 
 concentrated in the form of a wedge, ceased the attack for a while, 
 and awaited the moment of successful action. The enemy, suddenly 
 abashed at this manoeuvre, also ceased firing, and fell back a little ; 
 when Oxford, directing all his strength to one particular point, and 
 cheering on his forces, rushed into the midst of the enemy, broke 
 their lines, and drove them before them. At that moment, shouts 
 of " A Lancaster ! a Lancaster !" were heard ; and the Lord 
 Stanley and his forces approaching the combatants, joined the ranks 
 of the Earl of Richmond. 
 
 " Off with George Strange's head !" was heard shouted in the 
 loud and angry tones of King Richard, and reverberated over the 
 field. It reached the ear of the unhappy father ; but the die was 
 cast, and it only served to nerve the arms of himself and his fol- 
 lowers more firmly, and to inflame their hearts with a more invin- 
 cible determination to pull down the proud tyrant from the throne 
 which he had so long and so unworthily occupied. 
 
 That day King Richard performed prodigies of valour. Who- 
 soever he encountered fell beneath the apparently preternatural 
 strength of his arm ; the enemy against whom he spurred his steed 
 was quickly trampled beneath its hoofs ; the head on which his 
 sword descended, rolled, a gory ball, in the dust; the victim 
 on whom his eye was fixed was as certainly doomed as if he had 
 met the fatal gaze of the basilisk. With an activity, too, which 
 was only rivalled by his prowes 51 and strength, he seemed at the 
 same moment of time to be in different and distant parts of the
 
 406 XrctfMOA'D'S THREE PERILS. 
 
 field, dealing death and destruction around him, so that he ap- 
 peared to the terrified foe to be gifted alike with omnipotence and 
 ubiquity. Wherever an advantage was to be improved, or a dis- 
 aster to be repaired ; an attacking enemy to be repelled, or a 
 retreating one to be pursued ; the fainting hearts of some of his 
 troops to be inspirited, or the rash impetuosity of others to be 
 restrained, there was Richard to be seen brandishing his reeking 
 weapon, with his golden crown upon his head, and the regal 
 purple floating over his armour, attacking, defending, pursuing, 
 withstanding, cheering, or forbidding, and acting to the life the 
 part which was indeed his own that of the presiding genius, the 
 author and invoker of the terrific storm that raged around him. 
 Although the insignia of royalty which he carried ostentatiously 
 upon his person made him an obvious mark for the arrows and 
 shots of the enemy, yet he seemed to bear a charmed life. The 
 fatal missiles passed close by him on the right hand and on the 
 left, but they touched him not ; the sword that descended on his 
 helmet, flew out of the hand of him who wielded it ; and the spear 
 which was pointed at his breast shivered into a thousand splinters, 
 as he interposed his shield between him and its aim. The Duke 
 of Norfolk fell at his right hand, and Sir Thomas Lovell at his 
 left ; and thrice did the horses which he rode fall to the ground, 
 pierced by the fatal weapons to which their rider seemed invulne- 
 rable ; but as often did the monarch spring with the speed of light- 
 ning on some other steed, which the officious attentions of his 
 followers presented to him, or which rushed past him without its 
 rider, of whom the chances of the day had deprived it. 
 
 The battle raged long and dubiously. The defection of Stanley 
 and his followers seemed to be more than compensated by the 
 King himself, before whose single arm numbers fled panic-struck. 
 " The Boar's tusks/' thought Richmond, " have fastened upon me. 
 Oh ! grant, great Heaven, that I may but escape this peril, and 
 the glory and the honour shall be all Thy own !" At that moment, 
 a tremendous shout was set up by his retainers ; a large body of 
 the enemy went over -to his party, and a still larger body, under 
 the command of the E r l f Northumberland, withdrew from the
 
 RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 401 
 
 ranks of King Richard, and, retiring to a convenient distance, 
 awaited in calm neutrality the issue of the combat. 
 
 The King's friends then saw that the victory was certainly 
 wrested from them, and urged him to mount a swift horse and 
 seek his safety in flight. 
 
 " Not one foot will I fly, Catesby," said Richard ; " this day 
 shall end all my battles, or terminate my life. I will die King of 
 England ! Let me but meet this bastard Welshman, this Henry 
 Tudor, hand to hand, and one thrust of my good sword shall ter- 
 minate the conflict at a blow." 
 
 " Then, my liege," said Catesby, " behold, behold !" and pointed 
 to a small company of men-at-arms at a short distance from them, 
 in the midst of whom stood one, who by his curiously engraved 
 armour and the red dragon emblazoned upon his shield, Richard 
 immediately knew to be the Earl of Richmond. 
 
 " Treason, treason, treason !" shouted the King, and dashing 
 out of the line, he rode with his spear in rest towards his enemy. 
 The first who attempted to check his progress towards the Earl 
 was Sir William Brandon, Richmond's standard-bearer ; but one 
 blow from the King's battle-axe stretched him dead upon the 
 earth. Hand to hand he then encountered Sir John Cheyney, a 
 man of gigantic stature and strength, and for a moment the issue of 
 their meeting seemed doubtful, but the knight soon was borne from 
 his saddle. " St. George, St. George for England !" shouted the 
 King ; " down with the dragon !" and as he rushed on towards 
 Richmond, he seemed to be the personification of that far-famed 
 champion whom he named, and to be about to realize the 
 legendary victory which had been ascribed to him. Richmond, 
 however, sat firm in his saddle, prepared to enter into personal 
 and mortal conflict with his grand enemy. But this combat was 
 prevented ; for the King, whose impetuosity had hurried ^im 
 far out of the ranks of his own retainers, found himself alone 
 and unassisted in the midst of his enemies. Brandishing his 
 battle-axe, however, in his hand, he for a long time maintained 
 this unequal warfare, now cleaving to the earth an enemy, now 
 warding off a blow, until at length, hacked with a hundred weapons, 
 
 ENG. D D
 
 4oa RICHMOND'S THREE PERILS. 
 
 he fell from his horse, and sunk blood-drenched and lifeless to the 
 ground. 
 
 " Victory, victory ! the King is slain !" " The devouring boar is 
 conquered !" " God and St. George for England !" Such were 
 the acclamations with which the whole field of battle rang ; to 
 which Lord Stanley added, as he rode up to the spot where Rich- 
 mond stood receiving the congratulations of his friends, " God 
 save King Henry !" This last shout was immediately caught 
 by the assembled multitude, and re-echoed by every voice. 
 Stanley, then stooping down, plucked the crown from the brows 
 of Richard, placed it on those of Henry, and amidst the shouts of 
 the soldiers, the martial sounds of victory from the trumpets and 
 clarions, and cries of " Quarter, quarter !" from the baffled foes, 
 who now submitted themselves to his mercy, the new king paraded 
 the field, and received the unanimous fealty and homage of his 
 subjects. 
 
 Thus were the Three Perils of Richmond encountered and 
 escaped, the crown of England firmly placed upon his head, and 
 the prophecy of King Henry the Sixth fulfilled. A few days after- 
 wards introduced him to his long-admired, but till then unseen 
 bride. Henry and Elizabeth were united in the holy bands of 
 matrimony, and the fatal wars of York and Lancaster terminated 
 for ever.
 
 'i !><-. .--< 
 
 THE FAMILIES UNITED. 
 
 ______ 
 
 We will unite the White Rose with the Red. 
 Smile, Heaven, upon this fair conjunction, 
 That long hath frown'd upon their enmity ! 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY. 
 HENRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 1485. AFTER the battle of Bosworth, Henry advanced by slow marches to- 
 wards London. On his march he sent the young Earl of Warwick, the Duke of 
 Clarence's son, from the Castle of Sheriff Hutton, where he had been confined 
 by Richard III., and shut him up in the Tower of London. Henry was 
 crowned the soth of October. 
 
 1486. Henry married Elizabeth, but entertained such a rooted aversion to 
 the family of York, that though his wife behaved to him with the greatest 
 obsequiousness, he always treated her with indifference. A rebellion broke 
 out, headed by Lord Lovel, a favourite of Richard's, which was soon quelled, 
 and Lovel withdrew from the kingdom. 
 
 Simon, a priest at Oxford, set up Simnel, a baker's son, a youth about 
 fifteen, to personate the Earl of Warwick, (who, it was rumoured had escaped 
 from the Tower, ) and carried him over to Ireland. The Irish revolted and 
 crowned the young man as Edward VI. 
 
 1487. The Earl of Lincoln, nephew to Edward IV., whom Richard had 
 declared presumptive heir to the crown, went over to Flanders, and prevailed 
 on the Duchess Dowager of Burgundy to countenance Simnel. She was sister 
 to Edward and Richard, and hearing of Henry's invincible hatred to her 
 family, determined on assisting the person whom they affected to believe the 
 Earl of Warwick, though the true one had been publicly shown in St Paul's 
 church. 
 
 Lincoln and Lovel carried to Ireland two thousand Germans, hired by the 
 D D 2
 
 4<H HbNRY THE SEVENTH. 
 
 Duchess of Burgundy, and being joined there by Simnel and some Irish, they 
 proceeded to England, and landed in Lancashire. The armies of Lincoln and 
 King Henry met at Stoke, near Newark, where the rebels were defeated, 
 Lincoln slain, and the priest and Simnel taken prisoners. The former was 
 confined, and Simnel was employed in the King's kitchen as a turnspit, and 
 afterwards became one of the royal falconers. 
 
 Charles VIII. of France attacked Brittany, and the English Parliament 
 granted a subsidy for the defence of that duchy. Henry put the money thus 
 procured into his own coffers. The French, in July 1488, entirely defeated the 
 Duke of St. Aubin. 
 
 1492. Henry, under pretence of a French war, which was always a favourite 
 theme in England, obtained a subsidy from Parliament, and a benevolence 
 from his subjects. He went over to France so late as October, vaunting that 
 he meant to make a conquest of that nation, though at that time a private 
 treaty of peace was carrying on. On his arrival he concluded a peace at 
 Estaples, and immediately returned to England, having obtained by this sham 
 war all that he wanted, a large sum of money. 
 
 1493. The Duchess of Burgundy was continually contriving means for 
 giving Henry trouble. She incited Perkin Warbeck, the son of a converted 
 Jew, of Tournay, but who had resided a long time in London, to personate the 
 Duke of York, who, she caused it to be rumoured, had escaped from the 
 Tower when his brother Edward V. was murdered. Warbeck went over to 
 Ireland, and assumed the name of Richard Plantagenet ; and being very like 
 Edward's family, he was generally looked upon as the real Duke of York. The 
 King of France invited him to Paris, and treated him as a prince till the peace 
 of Estaples, when he refused to deliver him up to Henry, but sent him out of 
 his dominions. Warbeck then went to the Duchess of Burgundy, and was 
 joined by many people from England ; but Henry, by steadiness and per- 
 severance, and the vigilance of his spies, discovered all Warbeck's history, 
 which he made public to the nation, and then put some of the principal con- 
 spirators to death. 
 
 1495. Warbeck went to Scotland, where King James received him kindly 
 and honourably. James even gave him Lady Catherine Gordon, daughter of 
 the Earl of Huntley, a relation of his own, in marriage. 
 
 James made an irruption into England, to try how far Warbeck would be 
 supported ; but no part of the population offering to rise, he retired after 
 ravaging Northumberland. Finding that he could never have a permanent 
 peace with Henry whilst he countenanced Warbeck, he sent the latter and his 
 (fife over to Ireland. 
 
 1498. A peace was concluded with Scotland, negociated by the Spanish 
 Ambassador. 
 
 Warbeck went to England, and, being joined in Cornwall by between three 
 and four thousand men, laid siege to Exeter. On the King's advancing against 
 him his adherents immediately dispersed, and he was obliged to take refuge iiv
 
 HENRY jffE SEVENTH. 405 
 
 the sanctuary of the monastery of Beaulieu, in Hampshire ; and being offered his 
 pardon if he surrendered, he placed himself in the King's hands and was sent 
 to the Tower. 
 
 1499. Warbeck entered into a plot to escape from the Tower with the young 
 Earl of Warwick. This plot being discovered, Warbeck was hanged at 
 Tyburn, and the Earl of Warwick beheaded. 
 
 1500. The plague raging in England, Henry and his family resided for 
 some time at Calais. 
 
 1501. Prince Arthur, Henry's eldest son, married Catherine, fourth daughter 
 of Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain. He died in April 1502, and the King, 
 not liking to part with Catherine's dowry, obliged his son Henry to marry 
 her. 
 
 1503. The Queen, Elizabeth, died. 
 
 The King, during the subsequent years of his reign, being at peace with all 
 the world, spent his time in the indulgence of his favourite passion, avarice, 
 and by exactions and imposts amassed immense riches. He died in 1509. 
 
 

 
 m\]ih gos* of 
 
 Methinks I see it in thy face 
 
 What thou shouldst be : the occasion speaks thee, anj 
 
 My strong imagination sees a crown 
 
 Dropping upon thy head. 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 IT was towards the close of a fine autumnal day, and while the 
 sun was gilding with his brightest beams the domes and spires 
 of the city of Ghent, and the rich and fertile scenery which sur- 
 rounds it, that two ladies, young, lovely, and richly habited, were 
 seen walking on the banks of the river Scheldt, and engaged in 
 earnest conversation. Although both seemed persons of distinction, 
 one appeared, from the deference and respect which her com- 
 panion paid her, to be of superior rank and importance. She 
 seemed about twenty years of age, was exquisitely fair, tall, and 
 finely formed, with features of almost perfect regularity, large blue 
 eyes, long flowing auburn hair, and a gait that seemed to unite the 
 majesty of the swan with the lightness and gracefulness of an aerial 
 being. Her companion would, in the absence of her superior, 
 have been considered exquisitely beautiful. She was of shorter 
 stature, and of a somewhat rounder figure ; at least, as she stood 
 by the side of her friend, her form suffered in comparison with the 
 perfect symmetry and elegance of the latter. Her complexion was 
 dark, and her eyes and hair of a jet black hue. She appeared to 
 be exerting her powers of raillery at the expense of her companion, 
 and yet seemed at times to be agitated by a deeper feeling, and to 
 bo personally interested in the subject of their conversation.
 
 THE WHITE ROSE OF ENGLAND. 407 
 
 " Nay, gentle Eleanor !" said the fair lady, " spare me, I 
 beseech you. I said but that the youth was handsome, and of 
 manners and deportment far superior to his apparent condition ; 
 and that since I have been on this visit to the Duchess, he is 
 continually haunting the neighbourhood of the palace. When I 
 go out, he is at the gates he crosses my path in my most retired 
 and distant walks ; and when I return, I find him at the gates 
 again. Thinkest thou, Eleanor, that I, with the royal blood of 
 Scotland in my veins, can be mad or weak enough to cherish 
 affection for a nameless, an unknown, perhaps an infamous person, 
 especially when I have by my side so noble an example as thou, 
 who, being the daughter of a Scottish Baron, wast too proud to 
 wed an English Knight, Sir Robert Clifford ?" 
 
 " Nay, nay, Madam," said Eleanor, " nameless and unknown 
 he is, but I will not believe that he is infamous. He has features 
 that seem formed to be surmounted by a diadem, and a step that 
 would mount a throne with becoming majesty and grace ! I said 
 nought to disparage the youth, Lady Katherine ; neither when I 
 rejected the proffered hand of Sir Robert Clifford, was his inferior 
 rank the only cause that prompted my refusal." 
 
 The zeal and fervour with which Eleanor disclaimed any in- 
 tention of disparaging the merits of the youth were such, that had 
 the Lady Katherine really entertained an affection for him, they 
 might have awakened jealousy in her mind. She did not, how- 
 ever, seem distinctly to hear her friend's words, nor to notice the 
 tone and manner in which they were spoken, her attention being 
 at that moment diverted to another object " Behold ! Eleanor." 
 she said, " behold !" pointing to a tuft of white roses, which grew 
 low down on the shelving bank of the river " those beautiful 
 flowers ! never did I behold such fair white roses since I last visited 
 the country in which they grow in the greatest perfection, merry 
 England." 
 
 " They have the real English hue and fragrance, Madam," said 
 Eleanor, "and have doubtless been transplanted from that 
 country." 
 
 " Then I will win and wear them, Eleanor," said the Lady
 
 408 THE WHITE ROSE OF ENGLAND. 
 
 Katherine : " I love England and its white roses. Would, would 
 that the latter flourished there in the high places as heretofore !" 
 
 Thus saying, the Lady Katherine began to descend the steep 
 bank of the river, for the purpose of gathering the roses which 
 grew about midway between the path on the top of the bank and 
 the bed of the stream. " Stay, stay, gentle Madam," said Eleanor, 
 endeavouring to detain her. "Know you not the tradition relative 
 to your noble house 
 
 ' 111 shall betide the Gordon fair, 
 
 Who would the White Rose of England wear? ' " 
 
 " Idle girl !" exclaimed the Lady Katherine, laughing. " Have 
 you brought your old wives' Scottish traditions to haunt us in the 
 palace of the Duchess of Burgundy ? I will wear the white rose, 
 Eleanor, come what come may." 
 
 Thus saying, she sprang towards the fair flowers, for the purpose 
 of gathering them, and planting them in her fairer bosom ; she, 
 however, advanced with incautious haste towards them, and just 
 as she had plucked them from their stem, her foot slipped, and she 
 was precipitated into the river. 
 
 Eleanor uttered a dreadful shriek, and was looking around for 
 help, but none appeared in sight Suddenly a young man sprang 
 from a neighbouring thicket, rushed hastily past her, and plunged 
 into the river. At that moment the Lady Katherine, who had 
 sunk beneath the wave, emerged from it. The youth, who appeared 
 to be a dexterous swimmer, immediately caught her in his arms, 
 and, supporting her head above the water, bore her towards the 
 bank. Terror seemed almost to have deprived her of life ; but 
 she clung as it were instinctively to her deliverer, who soon reached 
 the edge of the river, and leaped on shore with his lovely burden 
 in his arms. Eleanor ran to embrace her mistress, and to join her 
 in expressions of gratitude to her preserver. The terror and alarm 
 of the ladies, great as they were, were however not sufficient to 
 hide the deep blush which mantled over the cheeks of both, as 
 they recognised in the young man the person who had so recently 
 formed the subject of their conversation. The graces of his person
 
 THE WHITE ROSE OF ENGLAND. 409 
 
 fully accounted for the interest which he appeared to have excited 
 in the hearts of Katherine and Eleanor. He was somewhat above 
 the middle size, slightly but elegantly formed, of a fair and ruddy 
 complexion, and his features were not only remarkably handsome, 
 but wore such an expression of dignity and majesty as struck the 
 beholder at once with admiration and awe. He was plainly and 
 neatly, but not richly, dressed ; and to the romantic imagination 
 of the ladies, appeared to be an emperor in the disguise of a peasant. 
 
 " Lady !" said the youth, gazing passionately on the wan but 
 still beautiful features of Katherine Gordon, " I trust that you 
 have sustained no injury ?" 
 
 " My greatest hurt," replied the lady, " has been the terror that 
 I have suffered ;" but her heart told her that her lips spoke false ; 
 for her greatest hurt was there. The affection which had been 
 long growing in her bosom, although she was herself scarcely con- 
 scious of it, for this unknown youth, was strengthened and con- 
 firmed by the incident whic'n. had just now occurred. The jealous 
 eye of her attendant soon discovered this fact, and read it in the 
 manner in which she encountered his gaze, and the tone in which 
 she answered his inquiry. 
 
 " It is growing late, Madam," said Eleanor ; " and the best cure 
 for the alarm that you have undergone will be repose and slumber. 
 Let us hasten to the palace." 
 
 " The lady counsels well, Madam," said the youth. " The chilly 
 night dews are descending, and your immediate return to the 
 palace will be your best precaution against any injurious results 
 from your accident." He did not with his lips ask permission to 
 accompany her, but his eyes pleaded so eloquently as he proffered 
 his arm, that the lady placed her fair hand within it, and followed 
 by Eleanor, proceeded with a beating heart, in which a thousand 
 various emotions were at war, towards the palace. Arrived there, 
 the youth, after having procured permission to call on the following 
 day, for the purpose of inquiring after the health of the Lady 
 Katherine, took a respectful leave, and bent his steps moodily, 
 and dejectedly towards his own humble dwelling in the suburbs 
 of the city.
 
 4 to THE WHITE ROSE OF ENGLAND. 
 
 The Lady Katherine Gordon was one of the most celebrated 
 persons in Europe for her beauty and her accomplishments. She 
 was also of illustrious birth, being daughter to the Earl of Huntley, 
 and a near kinswoman of James the Fourth, King of Scotland. 
 The King of Scotland was at that time a firm friend and ally of 
 the Lady Margaret, the Dowager Duchess of Burgundy. This 
 lady was sister to the deceased King of England, Edward the 
 Fourth, and consequently an inveterate foe of the House of Lan- 
 caster, and of the reigning monarch of that country, Henry the 
 Seventh, who, to add fuel to her anger and hatred, was reported to 
 behave with great neglect, unkindness, and even severity, to her 
 niece, Elizabeth of York, whom, as a matter of policy, he had 
 espoused. The whole business of her life seemed to consist in 
 devising measures for the annoyance of Henry, and rendering his 
 seat upon the throne uneasy, if not insecure. She had encouraged 
 the Earl of Lincoln in his rebellion, and assisted him with men 
 and money. She had also countenanced the imposture of Lam- 
 bert Simnel, who had personated the Earl of Warwick, son to the 
 deceased Duke of Clarence. Both these schemes having failed of 
 success, her restless brain was now teeming with some new intrigue. 
 She caused it to be reported, that the Duke of York, the second 
 son of King Edward the Fourth, who was commonly supposed to 
 have been murdered at the same time with his unfortunate brother, 
 Edward the Fifth, had escaped from the assassins, was still living, 
 and would shortly appear at the court of his aunt, the Duchess of 
 Burgundy, for the purpose of claiming her assistance and that of 
 her friends in recovering his inheritance, the crown of England. 
 She was only in want of some fit agent, to personate this Duke, 
 whose years, character, and capacity, would correspond with the 
 history which she intended to invent for him. She strove anxiously 
 to secure the friendship of the neighbouring princes, and especially 
 that of the King of Scotland, whose enmity to Henry, and the 
 contiguity of whose dominions to those of the latter, rendered him 
 a most important ally. She invited his kinswoman, the Lady 
 Katherine Gordon, to her court, where she treated her with the 
 utmost respect and distinction. This lady was accompanied by
 
 THE WHITE ROSE OF ENGLAND. 411 
 
 Eleanor Lyndsay, the daughter of the deceased Baron of Glenloch, 
 who, having been left portionless by her father, had entered into a 
 sort of honourable service on the Lady Katherine. Her poverty 
 did not make her forget her high birth, of which she was so tena- 
 cious, that when Sir Robert Clifford, a wealthy English knight, who 
 stood high in the favour of King Henry, tendered her his hand, 
 she rejected it with scorn. Love, however, could make her forget 
 her birth, although power and riches could not. While Katherine 
 and Eleanor were at the court of the Lady Margaret, it was im- 
 possible for them not to observe the attentions of the young man 
 who has been already introduced to the reader, and which atten- 
 tions each lady imagined were directed to herself. The youth was 
 evidently in a humble walk of life. The timidity and hesitation 
 of his gaze showed that he feared he was guilty of unpardonable 
 presumption when his eye wandered towards the Lady Katherine 
 and her companion. The lovely form and features of the former 
 had arrested his attention at the first glance. It happened that he 
 was among the crowd at the moment that she and her attendant 
 landed at the quay. He formed one of the admiring crowd who 
 followed her to the palace gates, and long after every other in- 
 dividual of that crowd had returned to his home, he was still there 
 watching and waiting for the reappearance of that fair and high- 
 born lady, for whom it seemed little less than madness in a person 
 in his situation to nourish a feeling of affection. The next day he 
 was again at the palace gates, anxiously expecting to catch a 
 glimpse of the Lady Katherine. That day, however, overcome 
 by the fatigue of the yesterday's journey, she did not venture out; 
 but on the ensuing day she proceeded from the palace, in company 
 with the Lady Margaret, and attended by Eleanor Lyndsay, to 
 participate in the diversions of the chase, in the woods which 
 adorned the environs of the city of Ghent. The love-stricken 
 youth was at the gate when she came forth, and soon afterwards 
 was seen near her in the chase, well mounted, and eager in pursuit 
 of the deer. As Eleanor was always near the person of her 
 princely mistress, her mistake in ascribing the attentions of the 
 youthful inamorato to herself is easily accounted for. She soon.
 
 jia THE WHITE ROSE OF ENGLAND. 
 
 however, perceived that Katherine also was smitten with the 
 personal charms of the youth, and jealousy began to exercise its 
 influence over a bosom in which heretofore love and loyalty 
 towards the person to whose service she had devoted herself had 
 held undivided rule. Hence arose the conversation with a short 
 reference to which this narrative began, and which was followed 
 by the events already detailed, the accident which happened to the 
 Lady Katherine, and her rescue from its effects by the interposition 
 of the person who had formed the subject of that conversation. 
 
 The youth, after taking his leave of the two ladies at the gates 
 of the palace of the Duchess of Burgundy, directed his steps 
 homewards. Arrived there, he threw himself on his couch, and 
 gave vent to the feelings which agitated his bosom. " Alas ! 
 alas !" he said, " wherefore do I allow this fatal passion and these 
 wild hopes to disturb my peace ? How dare I, the son of an 
 humble clothworker in the town of Tournay, drawn to Ghent in 
 the hope of obtaining a situation in the army of the Duchess of 
 Burgundy, lift my affections so high as the princely heiress of the house 
 of Huntley, in whose veins runs the blood royal of Scotland ? Yet 
 an irresistible destiny seems to impel me towards her. Some un- 
 seen being seems to whisper in my ear, that her fortunes and mine 
 are indissolubly linked together. Are they the oracles of fate, or 
 the juggling counsels of some lying fiend that I am listening to ? 
 Surely the hopes that swell my bosom, the visions of power and 
 glory that rise before my imagination like things of celestial birth 
 dropt suddenly from heaven, the crown that appears to encircle 
 my brow, the sceptre that I so often seem to grasp surely these 
 ore glimpses at the volume of futurity, which some superior and 
 benevolent being has opened to my gifted eye." His mind con- 
 tinued to brood over such ideas as these ; wealth, and dominion 
 and pomp seemed to surround him ; but, amidst all these dreams 
 of splendour, the lovely form of Katherine Gordon appeared to 
 mingle as the presiding deity of the whole, and he felt that, to be 
 possessed of her, he could resign all the other glittering phantoms 
 that presented themselves to his imagination. 
 
 At an early hour of the next day he proceeded, in pursuance of Mic
 
 THE WHITE ROSE OF ENGLAND. 413 
 
 permission granted him by the Lady Katherine, to inquire after 
 the health of the person whom he had been so fortunate as to 
 rescue from a watery grave. He was immediately ushered into a 
 stately chamber, whose costly decorations were in perfect accord- 
 ance with the magnificence and opulence of the princely owner of 
 the palace. Here he found at the upper end of the chamber, seated 
 on an elevated platform beneath a canopy, a lady who, although 
 evidently considerably advanced in years, still retained much of 
 personal grace and beauty. Her long flowing locks were white as 
 silver; her face, although time had planted his wrinkles there, wore 
 an extraordinary expression of mingled majesty and sweetness ; 
 and her large black eyes seemed yet to sparkle with the fires of 
 youth, and bent a glance on the youth, as he approached, that 
 appeared to penetrate his very soul, and seemed to denote a mind 
 of dimensions correspondent with those of her tall and almost 
 gigantic form. By her side sat the Lady Katherine Gordon, whose 
 slender and elegant figure was advantageously contrasted to the 
 dignified and majestic, but somewhat masculine deportment of the 
 Duchess of Burgundy. Behind the former stood Eleanor Lyndsay; 
 while on the chair of the latter leaned an old man with pale and 
 withered features, a low and sunken but sparkling grey eye, and 
 diminutive form, and whose curled lip and lowering brow indicated 
 the practised intriguer and wily politician. To this person the 
 Duchess whispered, while a mingled expression of surprise and 
 pleasure mantled over her features, as the young man bent his 
 knee before her. 
 
 "Tis the youth, may it please your Grace," said the Lady 
 Katherine, " to whom I was yesterday indebted for the preser- 
 vation of my life." 
 
 " And right welcome, fair cousin," said the Duchess," " is he 
 into our presence, were it but for thy sake ; yet his noble features 
 and his princely demeanour carry, methinks, with them their own 
 recommendation. He is wondrous like my brother, Frion," she 
 added, turning to the old man behind her chair, and speaking in 
 the EnglTsh language, whereas she had as yet expressed herself in 
 French,
 
 414 THE WHITE ROSE OF ENGLAND, 
 
 11 He is the very person," replied Frion, speaking in the same 
 language, " of whom we have been so long in want. If his mental 
 powers equal his personal endowments, (and, methinks, if I have 
 any skill in physiognomy, that they do,) this is the bolt that, 
 hurled by your vigorous hand, shall dash the tyrant from his 
 throne." 
 
 " By Heaven !" said the Duchess, who, during this colloquy had 
 narrowly watched the expression of the youth's feature's, "he 
 comprehends the nature of our conversation. Young man," she 
 added, turning towards him, " you understand English ?" 
 
 " Even so, Madam," said the youth ; " it is indeed my native 
 tongue. My father's business drew him for awhile to reside in the 
 famous city of London, in the days of your royal brother, King 
 Edward the Fourth, of glorious memory. There his wife brought 
 me into the world, and the King, out of a religious nobleness, 
 because my father was a Jewish convert, stood godfather to his 
 child." 
 
 "Ha !" said the Duchess, her eye flashing still more brightly at 
 every syllable which the youth uttered. " Tell me thy name and 
 age." 
 
 " My name," he said, " is Perkin Warbeck ; and at my next 
 birthday I shall be twenty-three years of age." 
 
 " By the Mother of God !" said the Duchess, again turning to 
 her aged counsellor, "'tis the very age which my nephew the 
 Duke of York would have attained had he been now living. 
 And what," she added once more addressing Warbeck, "is your 
 business in Ghent?" 
 
 " My parents," he replied, " by whose industry I was supported, 
 are dead. I cannot bend myself to the trade which they followed. 
 I burn to distinguish myself in arms ; and hearing that your Grace 
 was raising an army against the English tyrant, Henry Tudor, who 
 has usurped the throne of my royal godfather, I bent my steps to 
 Ghent in the hope that you will permit me to enlist myself in your 
 service." 
 
 " Gallant spirit !" said the Duchess : " it is indeed the very 
 being whom I have been so long seeking. Fair cousin," she
 
 THR WHITE ROSE OF ENGLAND. 415 
 
 added, addressing the Lady Katherine Gordon, and putting a chain 
 of gold of exquisite workmanship around Warbeck's neck, " per- 
 mit me to present this testimony of regard to your brave preserver, 
 and to hope that a more substantial reward is yet awaiting him. 
 Young man, we will talk to you more anon. My secretary, Frion, 
 shall call on you at your residence, and acquaint you more at 
 large with my intentions towards you. It is in your own power," 
 she added, in a lower tone, which was audible only to Warbeck, 
 " if you follow implicity my counsels and instructions, to become 
 the foremost man in Europe. Away ! and remember that wealth, 
 and power, and dignity, attend on those who are honoured with 
 the friendship of Margaret of York ; but that ignominy and destruc- 
 tion are their lot who slight her favours and reject her benefits." 
 
 Warbeck bent his knee, made a lowly obeisance, and then retired 
 from the apartment and the palace. The wild dreams which he 
 had entertained seemed to be converting themselves into realities j 
 the dubious and uncertain hopes that agitated his bosom, to be 
 expanding into substantial certainties : the cloud that had stood 
 darkling between his present obscure state and his ambitious 
 visions of futurity, to be melting away, and revealing in all its 
 brightness the glorious destiny which was reserved for him. Dark 
 and mysterious as Avere the words of the Lady Margaret, the san- 
 guine youth could not help hoping that they pointed at the pro- 
 bability of an union between the fair Katherine Gordon and 
 himself. An alliance with the royal family of Scotland seemed 
 indeed a destiny sufficiently illustrious for the son of a poor cloth- 
 worker, but it was love of the purest and most disinterested kind 
 that filled the bosom of Perkin Warbeck, notwithstanding the dis. 
 tinguished rank of its object. The fair face and gentle spirit of 
 Katherine would have won his heart, although she had been born 
 in a station as lowly as his own. Ambition indeed was a leading 
 feature in his character, but it was now subdued, and rendered but 
 a secondary feeling by love. " Could I but make thee mine, sweet 
 lady !" he mentally said, " my good sword and my proud spirit 
 should soon prove me worthy of thy choice." Such were the 
 thoughts which occupied the mind of Warbeck during the whole
 
 4 iS TXE WHITE ROSE OF ENGLAND, 
 
 of that and the succeeding day, while he was anxiously expecting 
 the promised visit from the Duchess's secretary, Frion. In Frion 
 he fondly hoped to meet the messenger of love, who would inform 
 him that his passion was returned by the Lady Katherine, and ap- 
 proved of by the Duchess of Burgundy. On the evening of the 
 third day, the secretary made his appearance : Warbeck flew to 
 meet him, his heart overflowing with hope and love. 
 
 " Young man," said Frion, " lend me your attention for awhile. 
 I have matter of serious import to communicate to you. Endea- 
 vour to elevate your mind to the height of the glorious destiny 
 which the Duchess is preparing for you." 
 
 "Say on, say on," exclaimed Warbeck, "my mind is already 
 prepared ! I burn with desire to know the beneficent intentions of 
 the Duchess." 
 
 " In your interview with the Lady Margaret," said Frion, " you 
 expressed your hostility to Henry Tudor, and your desire to see 
 the injuries of the House of York avenged." 
 
 " I would shed the dearest blood in my veins," said Warbeck \ 
 " I would endure captivity and famine, ignominy and death, to 
 attain such a consummation." 
 
 " You are not asked," said Frion, " to undergo all or any of 
 these sufferings to attain that end. On the contrary, you are asked 
 to accept of wealth and honour, to encircle with a diadem your 
 brows, to place the regal purple on your shoulders." 
 
 "What mean you?" said Warbeck, in a tone of mysterious 
 wonder. " She whom I adore may boast indeed that the blood of 
 kings runs in her veins ; but she is far distant from any prospect 
 of wearing the diadem on her brow, or the regal purple on her 
 shoulders." 
 
 It was now the secretary's turn to wear a look of wonder. 
 " Young man," he said, " you seem not to understand my mean- 
 ing. I must be more explicit. You have heard of the adventures 
 and fate of Lambert Simnel." 
 
 "The young protege" of the priest Simon," said Warbeck, "who 
 was mad enough to assume successively the characters of the Earl 
 of Warwick and the Duke of York ; one of whom is now a priscnei
 
 THE WHITE ROSE OP ENGLAND. 417 
 
 hi the Tower, and ten long years have rolled over the grave of the 
 other." 
 
 " Ten long year': have rolled over the grave of the Duke of 
 York, says't *hou?" said Frion. "Who ever saw his grave, or 
 knows th^t he ever descended into it ? That madness of Simnel's, 
 a= Uiou callest it, would have shaken King Henry from his throne 
 had the youth possessed thy genius, thy aspiring mind, and thy 
 wonderful resemblance in form and feature to the deceased King, 
 Edward the Fourth." 
 
 Warbeck started, as a sudden light seemed to flash upon his 
 mind, the precursor of the storm by which in an instant afterwards 
 his whole frame was agitated. He sunk into his chair, and hid 
 his face for several minutes in his hands, while his breast heaved 
 tumultuously, and the cold drops poured down his brow. Frion 
 fixed his keen, soul-searching gaze upon him, and was silent until 
 he saw that his pupil's emotion was somewhat moderated. 
 
 " These, Master Secretary," said Warbeck, starting from his seat, 
 and pacing hurriedly up and down the apartment, " are dark and 
 mysterious words. I comprehend them not. I expected a message 
 of a different import from you. I pray you, speak no longer in 
 riddles; show me your meaning undisguised." 
 
 " Then know, young man," answered Frion, " that the people 
 of England are weary of their tyrant and his Lancastrian myrmi- 
 dons. They believe that the Duke of York is yet alive, and in 
 some place of concealment, under the maternal care of the Lady 
 Margaret. Let any person assuming his name come forward, 
 acknowledged by the Duchess of Burgundy, and assisted by the 
 Kings of France and Scotland, and his road to the royal throne of 
 England is easy and sure." 
 
 " And where," said Warbeck, " can you find an impostor bold 
 enough to attempt an enterprise so wild and perilous ?" 
 
 " I can find him, I think," said Frion, " in one whose aspiring 
 soul even now spurns his inglorious station ; in one whose lofty 
 and ardent mind is well typified in his princely and majestic person ; 
 in one whose first presence opened to him a place in the heart 
 and affections of Margaret of Burgundy ; in Perkin Warbeck !" 
 
 Ea. E E
 
 l* THE WHITE ROSE Of- ENGLAND. 
 
 Though Perkin had now for some time anticipated the design 
 *o which Frion's discourse was tending, yet when the avowal came, 
 ne again felt his soul shaken to the centre by the daring boldness 
 of" the enterprise which was proposed. He again strode hastily up 
 and down the chamber; his face was a volume in which a thousand 
 unutterable and incessantly varying thoughts might be read ; his 
 hair bristled on his head, as though a troop of spectres passed 
 before his eye, and the hue of his cheek was changeable as the 
 effect of sunset on the Alps ; one moment glowing red as volcanic 
 fires, and the next pale as molten silver. At length, the mental 
 struggle seemed to subside ; his eye assumed the steady glance of 
 determined resolve ; his lips ceased to quiver ; and approaching 
 Frion, he said : 
 
 " Never, never, never ! It is true that aspiring thoughts have 
 crossed my mind ; that dreams of ambition have disturbed my 
 imagination. I have sighed to attain power and fame and glory, 
 but I have never chalked out for myself any other path towards 
 their attainment than that through which honour led. I have 
 wished to give distinction to the name of Warbeck, not to play 
 the part of a vile impostor. No more, no more !" he added, in- 
 terrupting Frion, who was about to remonstrate with him ; " my 
 resolution is made. My name may descend with me to the grave 
 unknown to fame, but it never shall be tarnished with dishonour !" 
 
 As the young man spake, his flushing cheek, his fiery eye, his 
 imperious brow, and his expressive gait and gesture, struck the 
 secretary with admiration, and, while they convinced him that 
 Warbeck would not lend himself to the Duchess's enterprise, 
 proved that he was the very person fitted to prosecute such an 
 enterprise with effect. "Warbeck/' he said, "I will communicate 
 your determination to the Duchess, whom the interest which she 
 takes in your welfare has alone prompted to make this proposal to 
 you. Promise me, therefore, that the zeal, perhaps the imprudent 
 zeal which has animated her in your behalf, shall not in any way 
 tend to the prejudice of herself or her friends ; and that you will 
 hold the fact of this interview a sacred secret in your breast, never 
 to be divulged. I ask but your plighted word to this effect, which,
 
 THE WHITE ROSE OF ENGLAND. 419 
 
 when once given, will, I am persuaded from what I have this day 
 observed, be held inviolate." 
 
 " Thou hast it, thou hast it !" said Warbeck ; " but, I pray thee, 
 let me never more be importuned upon this subject. Thou hast 
 roused a demon in my heart, which I had thought was too pure to 
 hold such an inhabitant. That I have been able to quell it, I 
 owe to the existence of a passion there, spotless as the snow upon 
 the untrodden summits of the Alps ; although its object is as far 
 beyond my reach, as distant, as unattainable." 
 
 "Gracious Heaven !" exclaimed Warbeck, when the departure 
 of the secretary had left him in solitude, " through what fearful 
 vicissitudes of feeling have I passed, and in how short a period ! 
 Love, ambition, hope, fear, self-contempt, and self-approval, by turns 
 have agitated my bosom. Yet what am I now ? A friendless and 
 houseless wanderer, who has implacably offended the only per- 
 son who ever showed a disposition to serve him ; and besides, 
 nurses a fatal passion in his heart, which it is worse than madness 
 to entertain. Wherefore was I not born to attain power and 
 greatness at a court, or Katherine to be content with poverty and 
 humility in a cottage ! Yet love has been known ere now to level 
 ranks ! The heart wears no diadem ; the affections cannot be 
 clothed in purple robes. That she regards me with a feeling of 
 gratitude, I know ; that a tenderer emotion mingles with that 
 feeling, I believe. Presumptuous Warbeck ! darest thou nurse so 
 wild a hope !" 
 
 As he thus spake, he rushed into the streets of the city of Ghent, 
 as though he sought in the refreshing coolness of the evening to 
 relieve the fiery temperament both of his mind and body. He 
 walked along for a considerable time in a state of perfect mental 
 abstraction, from which he was only aroused by feeling his elbow 
 gently pulled, and finding a paper in his hand. He turned round, 
 but could see no one. He stood alone in one of the principal 
 squares of the city. The night had now set in, and thick darkness 
 had gathered over all things. He therefore returned hastily home, 
 where, on his arrival, he lost no time in examining the contents of 
 the paper of which he had become possessed in so mysterious a
 
 40 THE WHITE ROSE OF ENGLAND. 
 
 manner. With a beating heart he unfolded it, and read fbe 
 following words : 
 
 " Lose no time in proceeding to the Palace. The lady on 
 whom you have placed your affections, notwithstanding the dis- 
 parity of rank, returns your passion with equal ardour. She offers 
 you her hand and heart, and is ready to accompany you to the 
 church of St. Gudule, where the good priest Arembert waits to 
 unite you in the holy bands of matrimony. Present yourself at 
 the eastern gate of the Palace. Be speedy and be secret." 
 
 Warbeck's eyes ran over with the tears of joy and wonder as he 
 perused this epistle. " Perish all the Duchess's ambitious pro- 
 jects I" he exclaimed; "my self-denial is rewarded infinitely 
 beyond its merit in the triumph of my love. The husband of 
 Katherine Gordon needs not envy the occupant of the English 
 throne." 
 
 Warbeck ran, or rather flew, to the eastern gate of the palace. 
 There he found the person whom he sought waiting for him, but 
 muffled up in coarse garments and with her face closely veiled. 
 An exclamation of rapture was bursting from his lips, but she 
 caught his arm and whispered in his ear " Be silent or we shall 
 be discovered." Warbeck could easily understand the motive of 
 the Lady Katherine's desire for secrecy and silence. Should the 
 Duchess, or should any of the haughty Scotch nobles who accom- 
 panied their sovereign's kinswoman to the Burgundian court, 
 discover her intention to contract so mean an alliance, they would 
 doubtless take effectual measures to prevent her from accomplish- 
 ing that intention. He therefore placed her arm silently in his, 
 and with noiseless steps and mute lips they proceeded towards the 
 cathedral. They were challenged by one sentinel as they passed, 
 whom Warbeck knew to be a Scotchman, and well acquainted 
 with the features of the Lady Katherine. He was therefore in an 
 agony of fear, when he saw him lift the lady's veil and gaze on her 
 face. He immediately, however, let the veil drop, and motioned 
 them to pass on ; and Warbeck's heart beat high as he found that 
 they were beyond the precincts of the palace, and that the entrance 
 to the cathedral was before them. They entered : the lady grasped
 
 THE WHITE ROSE Of ENGLAND. 421 
 
 his hand more firmly than ever; and after they heard the cathedral 
 doors close behind them, she threw herself into his arms, and 
 uttered an exclamation of joy. Warbeck pressed her fondly to 
 his heart. A monk approached, holding a lighted torch in hio 
 hand. " Remove," said Warbeck, " this now unnecessary cloud, 
 which veils the features of so bright an orb !" Thus saying, he 
 lifted up the veil, and was about to imprint a kiss on the lips of 
 the Lady Katherine, when he started back full of wonder and 
 disappointment, as he found that the fair burden in his arms was 
 no other than Eleanor Lyndsay. 
 
 His surprise had so far overcome his gallantry, that he relin- 
 quished his grasp, and the lady would have sunk on the pavement 
 of the cathedral, had not the monk rushed forward and received 
 her falling in his arms. 
 
 "Dearest Perkin!" said Eleanor, as she saw his changing fea- 
 tures, "are you ill?" 
 
 " I am bewitched ! bewildered ! in a dream 1" he exclaimed. 
 " Where is the Lady Katherine ?" 
 
 "The Lady Katherine!" ejaculated both the lady and the priest; 
 " Heaven forefend that she should be near us at this moment !" 
 
 "What then am I to understand by this?" asked Warbeck, 
 drawing the paper from his bosom. 
 
 " ; Tis my appointment with you," said Eleanor, "which you flew 
 on the wings of love to honour." 
 
 The youth now perceived his error, and drawing the father aside, 
 briefly explained to him the mistake. 
 
 We will not attempt to describe the feelings or the conduct of 
 Eleanor, when she became acquainted with the situation of em- 
 barrassment in which she was placed. Insulted love turned to 
 hatred, jealousy, revenge all took possession of her bosom, and 
 she rushed from the cathedral in a state bordering upon frenzy. 
 It had occasioned no small effort to tame down her proud spirit 
 so far as to acknowledge, even to herself, that she returned the 
 affection which she imagined that young Warbeck entertained for 
 her. When she found, however, that all those symptoms of affec- 
 tion which she had discovered in him, were directed towards the
 
 422 THE WHITE ROSE OF ENGLAND. 
 
 Lady Katherine, and not to her, she determined if possible to 
 effect the ruin of both those young persons. She was so fortunate 
 as to regain her chamber in the palace without her absence having 
 been perceived, and passed an anxious and restless night in re- 
 volving in her mind the best mode of effecting her revenge. She 
 came at length to the determination of denouncing them both to 
 the Duchess of Burgundy ; one as being guilty of overweening 
 and even traitorous presumption, and the other of unworthy for- 
 getfulness of her high birth and station. Such accusations, she 
 had no doubt, would awaken the anger and indignation of the 
 Duchess, and end in the Lady Katherine's being sent over, dis- 
 graced and a prisoner, to Scotland, and occasion the permanent 
 loss of Perkin's liberty, and perhaps even of his life. At an early 
 hour, therefore, in the morning, she sought an interview with the 
 Lady Margaret, before whom she laid her discovery, without how- 
 ever informing her of the manner in which she had made it. She 
 told her, that being commissioned by the Lady Katlierine to 
 bestow on Warbeck a gold chain in token of her gratitude, the 
 youth had avowed to her that he looked for a yet higher reward, 
 that he was enamoured of the Lady Katherine, and that the 
 attachment was mutual. She added, that from what she had ob- 
 served of the lady's manner and demeanour, she was convinced 
 that the youth's assertion was no vain boast, but that the royal 
 blood of Scotland was in danger of being contaminated by a mix- 
 ture with the base stream that flowed in the veins of the offspring 
 of a Flemish clothworker. The Lady Margaret heard her narra- 
 tive with unaffected surprise, but with an apparent sorrow and 
 indignation by no means equally sincere. She saw that she had now 
 discovered the spring by which she might move Perkin Warbeck 
 to her purpose ; she saw that his principles of honour were suffi- 
 cient to fortify his mind against the blandishments of power and 
 glory; but she hoped that they were not sufficiently powerful to 
 cope with the omnipotent influence of love. She therefore thanked 
 Eleanor for her intelligence, told her that she \vould take prompt 
 and effectual measures for preventing the family of her royal ally 
 from being so disgraced ; but immediately on her departure sent
 
 THE WHITE. ROSS OF ENGLAND. 423 
 
 for her secretary Frion, to consult with him on the best means of 
 applying this unexpected discovery towards the furtherance of her 
 plot for disturbing King Henry upon his throne. The result was? 
 that Frion was once more dispatched to Perkin, with instructions 
 to bring him immediately into the presence of the Duchess of 
 Burgundy. 
 
 " Young Sir," said the Lady Margaret, as the youth once more 
 appeared before her, " you seem to value but lightly the favour of 
 princes and sovereigns. We have already deigned to acquaint you 
 with our wishes, and you spurn them as though a beggar petitioned 
 you to grant him a mercenary alms." 
 
 " Pardon me, gracious Madam," said Warbeck ; " my heart is 
 penetrated with your kindness ; but I dare not, must not listen to 
 the proposal made to me by your Grace's secretary. I am of 
 humble birth, of slender talent, and aspire to no higher destiny 
 than that of serving in your Grace's ranks against the tyrant of 
 England, or in any other service that your Grace may be pleased 
 to assign to me." 
 
 "Thou aspirest to no higher destiny?" said the Duchess. "Then 
 what a lying fiend must that have been that whispered in my ear 
 that Perkin Warbeck. of such humble birth and slender talent, had 
 the presumption to aspire to become the possesser of the hand and 
 heart of Katherine Gordon, the near kinswoman of the royal ma- 
 jesty of Scotland !" 
 
 The blood rushed to Warbeck's cheek, yet he did not hesitate 
 for a moment in his reply. " It is most true, princely Margaret ! 
 it is most true that my heart, though rocked during its infancy in a 
 peasant's cot instead of a monarch's palace, is not insensible to 
 the charms and the merits of the Lady Katherine. It is also true 
 that that heart is so sensible of the unapproachable distance be- 
 tween itself and the object of its passion, that it is already preparing 
 itself for the grave, in which alone it can cease to nurse the 
 feelings that consume it." 
 
 " Thou art right, Warbeck, thou art right !" said the Lady 
 Margaret; "for how canst thou, the poor, despised offspring of an 
 humble tradesman of Tournay, persuade the princely James of
 
 424 THE WHITE ROSE OF ENGLAND. 
 
 Scotland to bestow his lovely kinswoman upon thee ; she who is 
 fitted to adorn a throne, and who, if I read the stars aright, is 
 infallibly destined to sit upon one." 
 
 Warbeck sighed, for he knew that the Lady Margaret was skilled 
 in divination and astrology; and the words she had just uttered 
 seemed to place an impassable barrier between his hopes and 
 their fulfilment. 
 
 " But," said the Duchess, approaching him, and taking his hand 
 in hers, " wert thou to appear before the royal James as Planta- 
 genet and the Duke of York, with the troops of France and 
 Burgundy in thy train, and acknowledged by the sister of King 
 Edward as entitled to assume that character, then would the King 
 of Scotland smile graciously on thy suit, and then might Perkin 
 Warbeck himself sit upon a throne, with the Lady Katherine, his 
 princely consort, by his side." 
 
 Perkin lifted up his eyes ; they encountered the Lady Margaret's. 
 He seemed fascinated as by the gaze of a basilisk, fell upon his 
 knees, seized her hand, pressed it to his lips, and exclaimed : 
 " Do with me as you will, I devote myself to your guidance ! I 
 am Plantagenet, York, Richard, what you please. Make but the 
 Lady Katherine mine, and Perkin Warbeck is your pliant instru- 
 ment for ever !" 
 
 The Duchess drew up ner stately figure to its utmost height : 
 and as she gazed in a mirror before her, was conscious of the 
 smile of mingled contempt and triumph that mantled over her 
 features. She instantly tamed down the offensive expression of 
 her countenance, before it had been observed by Warbeck, and 
 taking his hand in her's, said " My royal nephew the White 
 Rose of England for such shall henceforth be thy designation, I 
 congratulate thec on the glorious determination at which thou 
 bast arrived. The Lady Katherine is thine. A word, a breath 
 from me will be to her royal kinsman and guardian as the oracles 
 of fate. In a few days, however, she must take her departure for 
 Scotland : and it will be well that, until thou hast better perfected 
 thyself in the part which thou hast to play, thou should'st not have 
 farther converse with her. In the meantime, the King shall
 
 THE WHITE ROSE OF ENGLAND. 425 
 
 know that I shortly expect my restored nephew at my court, and 
 that I claim the fair daughter of the Earl of Huntley for him as 
 his bride." 
 
 The events which followed are matters of history which are 
 very generally known. The reader must, however, be presented 
 with a brief summary of them, in order to render this narrative in 
 itself intelligible and complete. " The Lady Margaret," says Lord 
 Bacon, in his History of King Henry the Seventh, " viewing Perkin 
 well, and seeing that he had a face and personage that would 
 bear a noble fortune, and finding him otherwise of a fine spirit 
 and winning behaviour, thought that she had now found a curious 
 piece of marble to carve out an image of the Duke of York." She 
 kept him by her a great while, but with extreme secrecy, instructing 
 him by many private conferences, first in princely behaviour 
 and gesture, teaching him how he should keep state, and yet with 
 a modest sense of his imputed misfortunes. Then she informed 
 him of all the particulars and circumstances concerning the person 
 of the Duke of York, whose name and character he was to assume ; 
 describing the individuals and features of the King and Queen, of 
 his pretended brother and sisters, of various other individuals 
 who were near the Duke of York in his infancy, and many inci- 
 dents, some secret and some well-known, which were likely to 
 have lived in a child's memory until the death of King Edward. 
 Then she added the particulars of the time, from the King's death 
 until the Duke of York and his brother were committed to the 
 Tower. As for the history of the two princes' residence in the 
 Tower, the death of Edward, and the pretended escape of Richard, 
 she knew that they were things in which very few could detect 
 him. She therefore taught him only to tell a smooth and probable 
 tale of those matters, warning him not to vary from it. It was 
 agreed likewise between them what account he should give of 
 his adventures abroad, intermixing many things which were true, 
 and to which others could bear testimony, for the credit of the 
 rest, but still making them to hang together with the part which 
 Warbeck was to play. She taught him likewise how to avoid cap- 
 tious and tempting questions ; but in this she found that she might
 
 4^6 IHR WHITE ROSE OF ENGLAND. 
 
 safely rely on his own wit and readiness. Lastly, she raised his 
 thoughts with present rewards and farther promise, setting before 
 him the glory and fortune of a crown, if things went well ; a sure 
 refuge at her court, if the worst should befall ; and above all, the 
 certainty of an union with the Lady Katherine Gordon, as she had 
 received letters from the King of Scotland, assuring her of the 
 pride which he felt in the prospect of an alliance between the two 
 families. It was resolved that as soon as a war broke out between 
 England and France, Perkin should land in Ireland ; but the 
 Duchess knew that if he went immediately from her court thither, 
 he would be suspected for a new impostor of her setting up. She 
 therefore sent him into Portugal, where he remained above a year 
 under the care of the Lady Bampton, an English lady, and some 
 other emissaries of the Duchess. At length Henry the Seventh 
 declared war against the King of France. Perkin Warbeck landed 
 in Ireland, and proclaimed that he was Richard, Duke of York, 
 the second son of King Edward the Fourth, and announced his 
 arrival to the Earls of Desmond and Kildare, who, with other 
 powerful nobles and their retainers, joined his standard. 
 
 He did not, however, remain long in Ireland, finding that no 
 arrangements had yet been made there to enable him to assert his 
 claim with success. Being invited by the King of France to visit 
 his court he left Ireland, and arrived at Paris, where the French 
 King treated him with great distinction, addressed him as the Duke 
 of York, and lodged and accommodated him in great state. Sir 
 George Neville, Sir John Taylor, and about a hundred other Eng- 
 lishmen of quality, also repaired to him there, and made him a 
 tender of their services. Peace, however, being soon afterwards con- 
 cluded between England and France, Perkin found that the latter 
 was no longer a safe asylum for him. He therefore went to 
 Flanders, to the court of the Duchess of Burgundy, pretending 
 that, having been variously tossed by fortune, he directed his 
 course thither as to a safe harbour. The Duchess received him 
 with apparent suspicion and coldness, pretending that she had 
 learned wisdom by the example of Lambert Simnel, and would not 
 easily again be deceived by a counterfeit. She pretended at the
 
 THE WHITE ROSE Of ENGLAND. 427 
 
 first, in the presence of others, to examine him with great caution, 
 and put questions to ascertain whether he were really and truly the 
 Duke of York. Seeming at length to receive full satisfaction from 
 his answers, she then feigned to be transported with joy and 
 wonder at his miraculous deliverance, receiving him as if he were 
 risen from death to life, and inferring that God, who had in so 
 wonderful a manner preserved him from death, had likewise pre- 
 served him for some great and prosperous fortune. The Duchess, 
 therefore, did him all princely honour, always calling him her 
 nephew, and, as the last scion of the House of York, giving him 
 the delicate title of " The White Rose of England." She also ap- 
 pointed him a guard of thirty halberdiers to attend his person. 
 
 Warbeck's heart, however, was still occupied with his passion 
 for Lady Katherine Gordon ; and in private he took frequent 
 opportunities of reminding the Duchess that he acceded to her 
 scheme, on the express condition that he should be speedily united 
 to that lady. The Duchess, on these occasions, always assured 
 him that she had not forgotten the condition, and was taking steps 
 for its fulfilment. One day she came unexpectedly, and in a 
 hurried and disordered manner, into Warbeck's chamber, and ex- 
 claimed, " My Lord of York, I have letters from Scotland ; you 
 must proceed immediately thither." 
 
 " Transporting news !" said the Duke of York, for so we must 
 for the present style him ; " yet what say your letters touching my 
 suit to the fair Gordon ?" 
 
 " King James," said the Duchess, " is anxious that the espousal 
 between the Duke of York and the Lady Katherine should take 
 place your friends, both English and Scotch, have an equal 
 
 anxiety on that subject but for the Lady herself " Here 
 
 the Duchess paused, and seemed fearful to conclude her sentence. 
 
 " Torture me not, I beseech you," said the Duke ; " let me 
 know the worst ! When I see the extent of my calamity, I may 
 perhaps learn to bear it ; but while it is involved in darkness and 
 obscurity, I start at shadows that otherwise I should despise." 
 
 " Then know that the Lady Katherine refuses to listen to the 
 proposed union with the Duke of York ; and that her attendant,
 
 428 THE WHITE ROSE OF ENGLAND. 
 
 Eleanor Lyndsay, has acquainted the King with a secret passion 
 which she entertains for another person." 
 
 "Death to my hopes !" exclaimed the Duke. " Farewell, thrones, 
 and sceptres, and dignity, and power, unless Katherine Gordon 
 participate with me in their enjoyment. Yet tell me, who is that 
 supremely blest person on whom she has bestowed her affection ?" 
 
 " Tis a poor wandering Fleming," said the Duchess, " whom 
 she accidentally saw in Ghent while she was a visitant at my court, 
 one Perkin Warbeck." 
 
 " Ha !" said the Duke, " is't possible ?" 
 
 " Tis even so," said the Duchess ; " the accusation of h -r 
 attendant was made so abruptly in the presence of the King and 
 of herself, that she was constrained to admit its truth. She, how- 
 ever, disclaimed any intention of corrupting the royal blood in her 
 veins by an union with a person so far her inferior in birth, but 
 protested that she could never bestow her hand and heart on 
 any other." 
 
 " Hasten, gracious Lady !" said the Duke, falling on his knees, 
 and pressing the Lady Margaret's hand to his lips, " hasten my 
 departure to Scotland !" 
 
 "All things are now ready for your departure. Frion shall 
 accompany you. I have also letters from England which bring us 
 cheering intelligence. The people there are incensed against the 
 King. The loss of Brittany, the peace of France, his injurious 
 treatment of your sister his wife, his exactions and his tyranny, 
 have roused against him a host of enemies. Nor are these dis- 
 contents vented in mere murmurings Sir William Stanley, his 
 Lord Chamberlain, the Lord Fitzwalter, Sir Simon Montfort, and 
 Sir Thomas Thwaites, have entered into a secret conspiracy la 
 favour your title. Their active agent, Sir Robert Clifford, is now 
 in Edinburgh, as well for the purpose of soliciting assistance for 
 you from King James, as to advance a private suit of his own. He 
 has long been enamoured of the fair Eleanor Lyndsay, the Lady 
 Katherine's companion, who has rejected his suit with scorn. She 
 will wed no one under the rank of a peer. It will be in your 
 power, when recognised by the royal James as King of ^
 
 THE WHITE ROSE OF ENGLAND. 419 
 
 to bestow upon him that dignity, and so to prosper his suit to the 
 fair Eleanor, and to bind him still more firmly to your cause." 
 
 Perkin felt as though he listened to the temptation of a fiend, to 
 whom he had sold himself, body and soul. He felt the danger and 
 rashness of his enterprise ; but he also felt that if he abandoned 
 it, he abandoned all hopes of becoming the husband of Katherine 
 Gordon. He therefore wholly resigned himself to the guidance of 
 the Duchess, and on the following day set sail for Scotland with a 
 numerous and well-appointed army of Burgundians and English, 
 resolved to gratify at once his ambition and his love, or to perish 
 in the attempt. 
 
 In the mean time, the Lady Katherine resided in the palace of 
 Holyrood, a prey to the deepest melancholy and distress. The 
 death of her father having left her to the guardianship of the King, 
 her fate was entirely in his hands, and at the last interview which 
 she had with him, he had insisted, with much sternness and severity 
 of manner, on her accepting the Duke of York, whose arrival in 
 Edinburgh was daily expected, as her husband. " Would," she 
 said, as she was one day walking solitarily in the gardens of the 
 palace, " that I had been born a peasant ! then might my hand 
 have been bestowed according to the dictates of my heart ; no 
 odious state policy had stood in the way of my affection, and happy 
 and humble I had lived and died." 
 
 As she spoke, a rustling in the leaves of the bower in which she 
 sat, attracted her attention ; and lifting up her eyes, whose gaze 
 had, during her soliloquy, been directed to the ground, she beheld 
 Perkin Warbeck standing before her. 
 
 A deep blush mantled the lady's cheek, as her eye encountered 
 that of the very person by whom her thoughts had been just oc- 
 cupied. She saw the same noble and majestic face, the same 
 brilliant and soul-searching eye, and the same stately and well- 
 proportioned form which had won her heart on the banks of the 
 Scheldt. Instead, however, of the mean habiliments which he then 
 wore, he was now clothed in silk and purple, the insignia of the 
 order of St. George was round his neck and on his leg, and a 
 coronet sparkled in his cap. He approached her, nevertheless,
 
 43$ THE WHITE ROSE OF ENGLAND. 
 
 timidly and respectfully ; and, sinking on his knee, placed a letter 
 in her hand, in the superscription of which she recognised the 
 writing of the Lady Margaret. 
 
 " Ha !" exclaimed Katherine, holding the letter in her hand, 
 unperused, and keeping her eyes fixed upon Perkin, " who is't that 
 I behold?" 
 
 " Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York," said the youth, " or, if 
 that name offend thine ear, Perkin Warbeck ; but whether Warbeck 
 or Plantagenet be the name by which thou wouldst rather designate 
 him, believe that it is thy own true lover who stands before thee." 
 
 " Thou Richard Plantagenet ! thou Duke of York !" exclaimed 
 Katherine ; " it cannot be !" 
 
 " Read, gracious lady, read," said Warbeck ; " the letter of my 
 aunt of Burgundy will inform you of my wondrous destiny." 
 
 " Thy aunt of Burgundy !" said Katherine, with a look of in- 
 credulous wonder. She then broke the seal of her letter, and soon 
 became so absorbed in the interest excited by its perusal, that she 
 seemed for a time to have forgotten that the person whose mar- 
 vellous history it narrated stood before her. Warbeck fixed his 
 gaze upon her, and anxiously watched the expression of her 
 changing features as she read the letter. At first, he could read 
 only the most unyielding incredulity there. Soon, however, these 
 unwelcome symptoms became softened, and he could see that 
 wonder took possession of her soul. As she read on, her bosom 
 heaved ; the letter trembled in her hand ; the tears gathered in her 
 eyes ; and letting the epistle drop to the ground, she exclaimed, 
 " Merciful Heaven ! inscrutable are thy ways, and thy decrees past 
 finding out !" She then sunk on her knees before Warbeck, and 
 said : " Pardon, most mighty Prince, any ignorant boldness that I 
 may have committed in thy presence. I knew not as yet that I 
 was indebted to the Duke of York for my preservation from a 
 watery grave ; or that the person whose services I tasked with sc 
 much freedom was heir to the throne of England." 
 
 " Rise, gracious Madam !" said Warbeck, lifting her from the 
 ground ; " I beseech you rise ; and now," he added, himself sink- 
 ing on his knees before her, and taking her hand in his, " it is my
 
 THE WHITE ROSE OF ENGLAND. 431 
 
 turn to supplicate. Scorn not the proffer of a heart that beats but 
 for you ; listen, and accede to the wishes of the gracious King 
 James ; fulfil the wishes of all the friends of the House of York 
 and let Katherine Gordon be the bride of Richard Plantagenet." 
 
 The lady blushed ; Perkin felt her hand tremble in his, and 
 read in her soft blue eyes the confession which could not find 
 utterance from her tongue. He started to his feet, pressed her in 
 his arms, and imprinting a kiss upon her lips, the compact which 
 made them indissolubly one was instantly and irrevocably sealed. 
 
 " Sweetest Katherine !" said Warbeck, " farewell for a short in- 
 terval. I have but this moment arrived in Edinburgh, nor have I 
 yet been presented to the King. I hastened first on the wings of 
 love to the place where I learned that I might gaze on the star that 
 rules my destiny." Thus saying, he once more pressed his lips to 
 hers, placed her fair hand upon his heart, and disappeared. 
 
 The news that the Duke of York was in the Scottish capital, 
 was to be assisted by the King with men and money to enable 
 him to recover his inheritance, and was to marry the beautiful 
 Katherine Gordon, soon spread far and wide. Many were incre- 
 dulous as to the identity of the young adventurer with Richard 
 Plantagenet; but all agreed, that if the King did indeed assist 
 him in his enterprise, and give him his young kinswoman in mar- 
 riage, he must have received the most convincing evidence 
 to assure him, that he was indeed the person whose name and 
 character he assumed. The news that Perkin Warbeck and the 
 Duke of York were one and the same person, was listened to with 
 the utmost wonder and interest by Eleanor Lyndsay ; the fires of 
 hatred and jealousy now burned with tenfold vehemence in her 
 bosom. She determined, if possible, to effect the destruction of 
 both the lovers ; and she was not long before she found a fit asso- 
 ciate to enable her to carry her enterprise into effect. 
 
 Robert Clifford, the chief agent of the English malcontents in 
 Scotland, had, as the reader has been already informed, been an 
 unsuccessful suitor for the hand of Eleanor Lyndsay. His hopes, 
 however, had never been entirely extinct ; and now that he found 
 himself once more near the lady, he began to renew his solicita-
 
 43 THE WHITE ROSE OF ENGLAND. 
 
 tions. From the peremptory repulse which he had formerly tin 
 dergone, he was prepared to meet with no very gracious reception ; 
 his surprise was therefore great, to find that the lady not only 
 treated him with courtesy, but gave much tacit encouragement to 
 his suit. 
 
 The lady dropped mysterious hints as to the reward to which 
 her affection had a claim, and sighed for the days which were 
 gone, when a lover held the slightest wish of his lady to be en- 
 titled to more respect than the commands of monarchs, or the 
 interests of nations. Clifford was so infatuated with his passion, and 
 felt so grateful for the change in the demeanour of his once haughty 
 and distant, but now kind and condescending mistress, that he fell 
 at her feet, entreated her to acquaint him with her wishes, and 
 vowed that no power on earth should stand between them and 
 their accomplishment, if he possessed the means of effecting it. 
 Eleanor then informed him that she could not wed a partisan of 
 Perkin Warbeck ; and that if he hoped to become possessed of 
 her hand, he must make King Henry acquainted with the details 
 of the plot which was brewing against him, and with the names of 
 those persons in his own court who were nearest and dearest to 
 him, that had entered into the conspiracy. The knight was deeply 
 pledged to assist the enterprise of Warbeck ; but the fascinations 
 of Eleanor Lyndsay worked upon him like a spell. She offered 
 the cross of pearls which hung around her neck, for him to swear 
 upon it that he would perform her wishes. The knight took the 
 oath, and the cause of Perkin Warbeck was irretrievably ruined. 
 
 The doubts which were entertained as to the course which King 
 James meant to pursue, were entirely dissipated on the day when 
 he gave a public reception to the young adventurer. Seated on 
 his throne, in the presence of the great nobles of the kingdom 
 and the ambassadors from foreign states, with the Lady Katherine 
 Gordon placed on his right hand, he commanded his master of the 
 ceremonies to inform the Duke of York that the King waited his 
 coming. Warbeck immediately entered the presence-chamber, 
 followed by a goodly retinue of knights and lords of England, 
 France, and Burgundy. The king uamediately descended from
 
 THE WHITE ROSE OF ENGLAND. 433 
 
 his throne, and after having embraced him, resumed his seat. 
 Warbeck then bowed gracefully to the monarch, and after retiring 
 a few paces backwards, with a loud voice, and animated and ex- 
 pressive gestures, spake the following words : 
 
 " High and mighty Kii?s ! your Grace, and these your nobles 
 here present, may be pleased benignly to bow your ears to hear the 
 tragedy of a young man, that by right ought to hold in his hand 
 the ball of a kingdom ; but, by fortune, is made himself a ball 
 tossed from misery to misery, and from place to place. You see 
 here before you, the spectacle- of a Plantagenet, who hath been 
 carried from the nursery to the sanctuary, from the sanctuary to 
 the direful prison, from the prison to the hand of the cruel tor- 
 mentor, and from that hand to the wide wilderness, as I may truly 
 call it for so the world hath been to me. So that he that is born 
 to a great kingdom hath not ground to set his foot upon, more 
 than this where he now standeth by your princely favour. Edward 
 the Fourth, late King of England, as your Grace cannot but have 
 heard, left two sons, Edward, and Richard Duke of York, both 
 very young. Edward, the eldest, succeeded their father in the 
 crown, by the name of King Edward the Fifth ; but Richard Duke 
 of Gloucester, their unnatural uncle, first thirsting after the 
 kingdom through ambition, and afterwards thirsting for their blood 
 out of desire to secure himself, employed an instrument of his, a 
 confidant to him as he thought, to murder them both. But this 
 man that was employed to execute that execrable tragedy, having 
 cruelly slain King Edward, the eldest of the two, was moved, 
 partly by remorse and partly by some other means, to save 
 Richard his brother ; making a report, nevertheless, to the tyrant, 
 that he had performed his commandment to both brethren. This 
 report was accordingly believed, and published generally ; so that 
 the world hath been possessed of an opinion that they both were 
 barbarously made away with : though truth ever hath some 
 sparks that fly abroad, until it appear in due time, as this hath had. 
 But Almighty God, that stopped the mouth of the lion, and saved 
 little Joash from the tyranny of Athaliah, when she massacred the 
 King's children, and did save Isaac when the hand was stretched
 
 434 THE WHITE ROSE OF ENGLAND. 
 
 forth to sacrifice him, preserved the second brother : for I myself, 
 that stand here in your presence, am that very Richard Duke of 
 York, brother of that unfortunate Prince, King Edward the Fifth, 
 now the most rightfnl surviving heir male to that victorious and 
 most noble Edward, of that name the Fourth, late King of England. 
 For the manner of my escape, it is fit it should pass in silence ; or 
 at least, in a more secret relation ; for that it may concern some 
 alive, and the memory of some that are dead. Let it suffice to 
 think, that I bad then a mother living, a Queen, and one that ex- 
 pected daily such a commandment from the tyrant for the murdering 
 of her children. Thus, in my tender age escaping by God's 
 mercy out of London, I was secretly conveyed over sea ; where, 
 after a time, the party that had me in charge, upon what new fears, 
 change of mind, or practice, God knoweth ! suddenly forsook me ; 
 whereby I was forced to wander abroad, and to seek mean condi- 
 tions for the sustaining of my life. Wherefore, distracted between 
 several passions, the one of fear to be known, lest the tyrant should 
 have a new attempt upon me ; the other of grief and disdain to be 
 unknown, and to live in that base and servile manner that I did ; 
 I resolved with myself to expect the tyrant's death, and then to 
 put myself into my sister's hands, who was next heir to the crown. 
 But in this season it happened that one Henry Tudor, son to 
 Edmund Tudor, Earl of Richmond, came from France and entered 
 into the realm ; and by subtle and foul means obtained the crown 
 of the same, which to me rightfully appertained : so that it was 
 but a change from tyrant to tyrant. This Henry, my extreme and 
 mortal enemy, so soon as he had knowledge of my being alive, 
 imagined and wrought all the subtle ways he could to procure my 
 nnal destruction ; for my mortal enemy hath not only falsely 
 surmised me to be a feigned person, giving me nicknames so 
 abusing the world ; but also, to defer and put me from entry into 
 England, hv^?. oft, red large sums of money to corrupt the princes 
 and their ministers with whom I have been retained, and made 
 importune labours with certain servants about my person, to 
 murder or poison me; and others to forsake and leave my 
 righteous quarrel, and to depart from my service as Sir Robert
 
 THE WHITE KOSE Of ENGLAND. 435 
 
 Clifford and others. So that every man of reason may well per- 
 ceive that Henry, calling himself King of England, needed not to 
 have bestowed such great sums of treasure, nor so to busy himself 
 with importune and incessant labour and industry, to compass my 
 death and ruin, if I had been such a feigned person. But the 
 truth of my cause being so manifest, moved the most Christian 
 King Charles, and the Lady Duchess Dowager of Burgundy, my 
 most dear aunt, not only to acknowledge the truth thereof, but 
 lovingly to assist me. But it seemeth that God above, for the good 
 of this whole island, and the knitting of these two kingdoms of 
 England and Scotland in a strict concord and amity by so great an 
 obligation, hath reserved the placing of me in the imperial throne 
 of England for the arms and succours of your Grace. Neither is 
 it the first time that a King of Scotland hath supported them that 
 were bereft and spoiled of the kingdom of England as of late in 
 fresh memory, it was done in the person of Henry the Sixth. 
 Wherefore, for that your Grace hath given clear signs that you are 
 in no noble quality inferior to your royal ancestors, I, so distressed 
 a Prince, was hereby moved to come and put myself into your 
 royal hands, desiring your assistance to recover my kingdom of 
 England ; promising faithfully to bear myself towards your Grace 
 no otherwise than if I were your own natural brother ; and will, 
 upon the recovery of mine inheritance, gratefully do you all the 
 pleasure that is in my utmost power."* 
 
 This address, graced as it was with the rich, full tones of 
 Warbeck's voice, the varying expression of his noble and majestic 
 countenance, and the natural and unforced, but at the same time 
 graceful and appropriate, action with which he accompanied it, 
 wrought with wonderful effect on the feelings of his auditors. 
 Occasionally a deep hum of sympathy and approval was heard, 
 sometimes an ejaculation of indignation, and at others the clash 
 of steel, as some zealous partisan half-drew forth his dagger, and 
 then returned it violently into its sheath. When Perkin had 
 concluded his address, every sword leaped from its scabbard, 
 
 ft Bacon. 
 F F 2
 
 436 THE WHlTll ROSE OF ENGLAND. 
 
 and almost every voice shouted, "God save King Richard the 
 Fourth !" 
 
 The King of Scotland, who evidently participated strongly 
 in the feeling which Warbeck's oration had excited, now once 
 more descended from his throne, and taking the youthful orator by 
 the hand, said : " My Lord of York, the long-hidden, but now 
 happily discovered, White Rose of England, I greet you well ! 
 Trust me, fair sir ! that you shall never have cause to repent that 
 you placed yourself in my hands : and, in token of the love that 
 I entertain for you, behold ! I give you the fairest flower in Scot- 
 land to grace your enterprise. Sweet cousin," he added, addressing 
 the Lady Katherine Gordon, and placing Warbeck's hand in hers, 
 " wear the White Rose of England in your bosom ; and may its 
 future blossoms be numerous and long-enduring !" 
 
 Warbeck clasped the lady to his heart ; and though a pang shot 
 through it as he thought of the unworthy imposture which he was 
 practising upon her, yet he felt that he had now an imperative 
 motive to continue that imposture, if it were but to reward with a 
 throne the trusting heart which had implicitly relied on his truth 
 and honour. " Come what come may," he mentally said, " now will 
 I wear the diadem of England, or perish in the attempt !" 
 Katherine, too, felt some misgivings as she sunk into the arms oi 
 her lover. The mysterious warning rang in her ears 
 
 " 111 shall betide the Gordon fair, 
 Who would the White Rose of England wear." 
 
 - < >' ' V. a-iic^jjiv:"' ^'H.niv viJ' 'J* 
 " But," she thought, " it is she who would, and not she who 
 
 doth wear the fair flower, against whom the fatal prophecy is 
 directed." And as Warbeck wound his arms around her neck, 
 she felt assured that the ominous saying could not have any 
 reference to her. 
 
 Three years elapsed after the marriage between Warbeck and 
 his lovely bride, before the ill-boding prediction was fully accom- 
 plished ; and then, among the memorials of the dead in the church 
 of Saint Margaret at Westminster, on a plain unornamented tablet, 
 might be read the name, " Katherine Gordon." Spirit-humbled, 
 
 \
 
 THE WHITE ROSE OF ENGLAND. 437 
 
 heart-broken, and exhausted by the vicissitudes of evil through 
 which she had passed, this unfortunate lady, while a captive in the 
 power of Henry the Seventh, sank into a premature grave. The 
 events which led to this catastrophe are well known : Clifford 
 betrayed all the secret details of Warbeck's plot ; and accordingly, 
 when the King of Scotland entered England, with a small but 
 gallant army, to enforce his claim, expecting to be joined by 
 numerous partisans in the counties through which he passed, 
 before Henry was aware of his expedition and prepared to repel it ; 
 and expecting also to hear that Stanley, Fitzwalter, and the other 
 friends of the supposed Duke of York, in London, had openly 
 revolted and seized the person of the King, he found that the 
 English, instead of joining him, treated the pretensions of Warbeck 
 with indifference or ridicule ; had to encounter a numerous and 
 well-appointed army under the Earl of Surrey ; and received intel- 
 ligence that Fitzwalter, Stanley, and their associates, had expiated 
 their intended treason by the forfeiture of their heads. Peace was 
 soon afterwards concluded between the Kings, Henry and James. 
 Warbeck found that the dominions of the latter could no longer 
 afford him an asylum, and after enduring various vicissitudes in 
 England and Ireland, finally perished ignominiously on a scaffold 
 at Tyburn, having first read to the assembled populace a full con- 
 fession of his imposture.
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY. 
 HENRY THE EIGHTH. 
 
 HENRY VIII. and his Queen Katharine were crowned in June liJog. 
 
 Thomas Wolsey, a butcher's son, at Ipswich, who was bred to the Church, 
 was introduced at court by Bishop Fox, and soon gained ground in the King's 
 favour. 
 
 1512. The King declaring war against France, the Parliament granted a 
 subsidy to carry it on. 
 
 1513- Wolsey was made prime-minister, and had the preparations for the 
 French war committed to him. 
 
 Henry carried over his army to France, and laid siege to Terouenne, which 
 he took, after beating the Duke de Longueville at Guinegate. This engage- 
 ment was called the Battle of Spurs, from the French flying so quickly. 
 Instead of advancing towards Paris, he lost his time in taking Toumay ; the 
 Bishop of which being dead, he bestowed the administration of the see on 
 Wolsey, and then returned to England, taking the greatest part of the army 
 with him. When Henry went to France, the King of Scotland raised an army 
 and ravaged Northumberland, but was defeated and slain by the Earl of Surrey, 
 At Flodden Field. 
 
 1514. Henry made peace with Louis, King of France, and gave him his 
 sister Mary in marriage. 
 
 1515. Pope Leo X. created Wolsey a cardinal. 
 
 1520. The Emperor Charles V. paid the King a visit in England. The 
 King went over to Calais, and had an interview with Francis, King of France, 
 betwixt Guines and Ardres ; where there was so much magnificence displayed, 
 that it was called the Field of the Cloth of Gold. f : 
 
 1521. The political jealousy betwixt Charles and Francis broke out into 
 hostilities, though both pretended that they wishe i for peace ; for which reason 
 a congress was held at Calais, where Wolsey proided, to try to accommodate 
 matters ; but without effect. Wolsey then had an interview with Charles at 
 Bruges, where he formed a league with him and the Pope, against France, and 
 contracted the Princess Mary to him. Henry wrote a book in defence of the 
 Catholic religion, against Luther, which he sent to the Pope ; who, in return, 
 bestowed upon him and his successors the title of " Defender of the Faith." 
 
 1524. The English and Imperialists invaded France. Francis, nevertheless,
 
 HENRY THE EIGHTH. 439 
 
 sent an army, under Admiral Bonnivet, into Italy ; but being deserted by the 
 Swiss, he was obliged to retreat into France, with the loss of all the duchy 
 of Milan. 
 
 1525. Francis laid siege to Pavia, where he was defeated and taken prisoner 
 by the Imperialists, and was soon afterwards removed to Madrid, where the 
 Emperor then resided. 
 
 Henry entered into an alliance with the Regent of France. 
 
 1526. Francis, to recover his liberty, entered into a very disadvantageous 
 treaty with Charles j but as soon as he arrived in France he refused to fulfil it. 
 The Pope and many other powers, joined Francis in a league against the 
 Emperor. 
 
 1527. The Imperial army attacked and plundered Rome, and took the 
 Pope prisoner. 
 
 Henry and Francis declared war against Charles. 
 
 The King began to affect to have scruples about the validity of his marriage 
 with Katharine, his brother's widow ; which were not a little assisted by the 
 charms of Anne Boleyn, maid-of-honour to the Queen. 
 
 On the Pope's being applied to, he privately seemed inclined to grant a 
 divorce ; but durst not speak out, as he was at that time the Emperor's prisoner. 
 He was soon afterwards released, on Francis sending an army to Italy under 
 the command of Lautrec. 
 
 1^28. The Pope threw various obstacles in the way of the divorce, being 
 afraid of the Emperor, who constantly threatened him. He associated Cardinal 
 Campeggio with Wolsey, as legates, to inquire into Henry's reasons, but with 
 private orders to delay the divorce as much as possible. 
 
 1529. Whilst Henry was in hopes of seeing the affair of the divorce finally 
 settled by the two legates in England, the Pope made peace with the Emperor, 
 recalled his commission, and evocated the cause to Rome. Henry was so much 
 exasperated at these proceedings, that laying the whole blame of them on 
 Wolsey, he seized on all his riches, and banished him from court ; but after- 
 wards restored him to some small degree of favour. 
 
 Peace took place among all the powers of Europe. 
 
 1530. Wolsey was banished to his see of York, whence the Earl of 
 Northumberland in a short time was ordered to conduct him to London, in 
 order that he might be tried for high treason : but he died at Leicester Abbey, 
 on his way to the metropolis. 
 
 1532. The King determined on withdrawing from all subjection to Rome. 
 He procured his marriage with Katharine to be annulled in England, and 
 publicly married Anne Boleyn. The Pope declared Henry's marriage with 
 Anne null and void. 
 
 1534. The Parliament abolished all Papal authority, and only allowed the 
 Pope the title of Bishop of Rome. 
 
 J535. Pope Paul III. excommunicated Henry.
 
 440 HENRY THE EIGHTH. 
 
 1536. Three hundred and seventy-six monasteries were suppressed. 
 
 A translation of the Scriptures into English was ordered. 
 
 The King grew jealous of Anne Boleyn, caused her to be beheaded, and 
 married Jane Seymour. 
 
 The Queen died a few days after the birth of her son Edward. 
 
 1538. Henry suppressed all the remaining monasteries. 
 
 1540. Henry married Anne of Cleves ; but contrived in a short time to be 
 divorced from her ; and she lived in England on a pension, during the rest of 
 her life. Cromwell, Earl of Essex, was disgraced and beheaded. 
 
 The King married Catherine Howard, niece to the Duke of Norfolk. 
 
 1541. The King created six new bishoprics, and endowed them out of the 
 revenues of the suppressed monasteries. 
 
 1542. The Queen was tried for adultery, found guilty, and beheaded. 
 
 1543. The King married Catharine Parr, widow of Lord Latimer, and 
 daughter of Sir Thomas Parr, of Kendal. 
 
 1546. A peace was concluded betwixt England, France, and Scotland. 
 
 The Pope made a league with the Emperor against the Protestants ; the cUief 
 patrons of whom were the Elector of Saxony and the Landgrave of Hesse, 
 
 1547. The King died on the 28th of January.
 
 mot? cfi l\').: .II.'G/JY/ * 
 
 . 
 
 v/,r 
 
 ffr* Sxnas: 
 
 d o * ; 
 
 A TALE OP 
 
 THE FIELD OF THE CLOTH OF GOLD. 
 
 1 
 , ... 
 
 Her honour first drank poison, and her life, 
 Being fellows in one house, did pledge her honour. 
 CYRIL TOURNEUR. 
 
 Those twin glories those two lights of men, 
 Met in the vale of Ardes. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE, 
 
 - 
 
 IT was a fine autumnal morning in the year 1520, and the sun 
 was riding high, and gilding with its brightest beams one of 
 the loveliest prospects in all France. The castle of Chateaubriant, 
 on the banks of the river Vilaine, in the province of Brittany, then 
 towered in all the grandeur of feudal strength and majesty, and its 
 massive walls and lofty battlements became softened into gentle- 
 ness and beauty, in the picture which they reflected on the still 
 and expansive bosom of the river. Vineyards, groaning under 
 the wealth with which they were loaded, extended along the high 
 banks of the river down to the water's edge. Behind the castle 
 spread an enormous forest, whose myriads of leaves were tinted 
 with an infinite variety of hues by the autumnal sun, while a ridge 
 of lofty but fertile hills, waving with yellow cornfields and purple 
 vineyards, and placed in strong relief against the deep blue sky, 
 t-crminated the horizon. At the castle-gate stood two steeds, and 
 on each side of the noblest and most richly caparisoned was a
 
 44 THE RIN'GS. 
 
 cavalier, one of whom, from his style and bearing, as well as from 
 his costume, appeared to be of a rank very superior to the 
 other. Between him and a lady of a majestic figure, and such a 
 face as poets and artists have grown mad in contemplating, a 
 conversation of intense interest appeared to be passing. 
 
 " Sweet Franchise !" he said, " dry these tears. I go not now 
 on any enterprise of peril, to dye my sword in the blood of the 
 infidel or of the Spaniard, nor to humble the haughty Islanders 
 who flout us in our own fair town of Calais ; I go to swell the 
 train of our gallant King in the vale of Ardres, to kiss the hand 
 which laid on my shoulder the badge of knighthood, to make a 
 short and a reluctant sojourn amid scenes which have now lost for 
 me all their attractions, and then to return to those arms, the dear 
 ark within which all my happiness abides." 
 
 "Farewell, then! farewell, Henry!" replied the lady ; "but you 
 will write to me often?" 
 
 A cloud came- over the cavalier's brow as he grasped his lady's 
 hand, and said in a suppressed tone, " I will write, Frangoise ; but 
 trust not, believe not, obey not, aught that I may write upon that 
 subject about which we conversed yesterday, until I send the token. 
 The atmosphere of courts is deceitful and betraying. The tongue 
 utters what the heart does not dictate. The smile that plays upon 
 the lip there costs a more painful effort than the tear that flows in 
 solitude and seclusion and the pen traces characters at which the 
 soul revolts as at ignominy and falsehood. My letters, although 
 Addressed to thee, are intended for the eyes of others, unless 
 accompanied by this ;" and then he touched a ring of a singular 
 workmanship, which he wore upon the forefinger of his left hand. 
 
 As he spake these words he parted the dark locks which 
 shadowed the fair forehead of the lady, gazed upon her fondly, 
 and imprinted a lingering kiss on her lips. Then springing into 
 the saddle, and motioning to his attendant, he waved his hand to 
 the lovely mourner, and followed by other horsemen, proceeded 
 at a rapid pace down the long avenue of trees which led from the 
 castle to the road. Often and anxiously did he look back to re- 
 turn his lady's signal, and he sighed as her white kerchief
 
 rHh RINGS. 443 
 
 Ies3 and less in the increasing distance. At length emerging from 
 the avenue, he lost all sight of the mansion of his ancestors, and 
 found himself on the high road which led to the town of Chateau- 
 briant. 
 
 The day was fine, and the scenery through which the travellers 
 passed was full of that melancholy beauty which autumn impresses 
 upon every object. The fragrance which they inhaled was the 
 last of the year ; the leaves which rustled over their heads denoted 
 by the very beauty and variety of their tints how soon they were 
 to perish ; and many, at the very moment that they were glowing 
 under the influence of the autumnal sun, were shaken from their 
 branches and scattered by the somewhat fresh breeze. 
 
 "We all do fade as a leaf!" mentally exclaimed the cavalier ; 
 " we spring up like trees ; but the statelier and nobler we become, 
 the broader is the shadow which is thrown around us. We put forth 
 our most precious hopes and affections only to perish like leaves 
 upon the branches. Some are nipped in the spring-tide of their 
 lives by an untimely blast; some in their summer-strength are 
 plucked away by the hand of violence ; myriads fall in the autumn, 
 just as they arrive at beauty and maturity ; and a few linger out a 
 cold and lonely existence through the winter of their days, until 
 the blast which tears them up by the root, levels all in undistinguish- 
 ing ruin." 
 
 This train of thought was becoming painful, and our traveller 
 was about to seek relief from the oppression of his own mind by 
 entering into conversation with his attendant, when a sudden turn- 
 ing of the road brought him into contact with a person richly 
 dressed and well mounted, who was travelling at a very rapid 
 pace. The stranger was about to bow slightly as he passed ; but 
 as he caught the eye of our hero, he checked his steed, and 
 exclaimed, in a tone of mingled pleasure and surprise, " Chateau- 
 briant !" 
 
 "St. Foix!" exclaimed the latter, "what lucky chance brings 
 you into our poor province of Brittany ?" 
 
 " No lucky chance," replied St. Foix, " but a good steed, and a 
 king's message to the most noble Count de Chateaubriaijt,"
 
 444 THE RINGS. 
 
 Another of thoue dark clouds which would sometimes steal 
 across the fine open brow of Chateaubriant, and which had even 
 thrown a gloom over the parting interview with his beautiful 
 Countess, now gathered on his features, and it was not without 
 some difficulty that he contrived to suppress his emotions as he 
 said to St. Foix, " With me, his Majesty's pleasure needs only be 
 known to be obeyed." 
 
 " The King," returned St. Foix, " commands me to express his 
 sorrow and surprise at the last intelligence which he received from 
 you. He trusts, notwithstanding, that your lady will accompany 
 you to Ardres. It will look neither seemly nor loyal, that on an 
 occasion when all the rank and beauty in France will surround the 
 throne, the place of so distinguished a lady as the Countess de 
 Chateaubriant should remain vacant." 
 
 " I have used, my lord," said Chateaubriant, " every effort in 
 my power to induce her to accompany me, but she remains in- 
 exorable. Indeed, her rustic manners and natural timidity are 
 but ill fitted for such a sphere. You know, St. Foix, that I stooped 
 much below my rank when I married ; for, although distantly re- 
 lated to the house of De Foix, she was herself born of humble 
 parents, and has but little to boast of on the score of education 
 and accomplishments." 
 
 Although Chateaubriant had completely recovered his self- 
 possession, St. Foix saw, or fancied he saw, a sinister expression 
 on the features of the attendant while his master was speaking, 
 which led him to doubt the truth of the excuse which the latter 
 made for the non-appearance of his lady at court. 
 
 " I am sorry, Count," he said, " to inform you that the King 
 takes this matter much to heart, and that he considers it as a slight 
 put upon himself. In order to convince him of your sincerity in 
 endeavouring to overcome the inflexibility of your wife, it might 
 be as well for you to send a letter to her by me, once more urging 
 the propriety of her accompanying you to the court." 
 
 The attendant, who continued within hearing, and had listened 
 with great apparent interest to this conversation, now fixed his 
 eyes with much curiosity upon Chateaubriant, as if anxious to
 
 445 
 
 ascertain the effect which this proposition would have upon his 
 master. His own features denoted considerable surprise at per- 
 ceiving those of the latter brighten, and assume an air of gratifica- 
 tion at the proposal. 
 
 "Most willingly, noble St. Foix," answered Chateaubriant, 
 " will I give my sovereign this proof of my zeal and loyalty. We 
 are now within half a league of the town of Chateaubriant ; and 
 if you will turn your horse's head the same way with my own, I 
 will, on my arrival there, give you the letter which you desire." 
 
 They had no sooner arrived at the town, and entered the man- 
 sion of Chateaubriant, than the latter redeemed his promise by 
 writing the following letter, and putting it into the hands of St. 
 Foix : 
 
 " The bearer, beloved Franchise, is the Viscount St. Foix, one 
 of my oldest and most valued friends, who brings a message from 
 our gracious Sovereign, requiring you to accompany me to Ardres. 
 As you value my peace and favour with the King, hasten to this 
 place, whence I will provide means for escorting you to Picardy." 
 
 " What think you now, Pierre ?" said St. Foix to the attendant, 
 as the latter helped him to his saddle ; " is not the twig well 
 limed ?" 
 
 " I know not, my lord," answered Pierre ; " the bird may be 
 warier than either of us imagines." 
 
 " Well ! continue faithful and secret, and you shall be well re- 
 warded. Some persons may think that you might be more honestly 
 employed ; but what task can be nobler and more chivalric than 
 that of rescuing a fair lady from a dull castellated prison 
 in Brittany, and transplanting her into the harem of the gallant 
 Francis ?" 
 
 " The dull fool thinks my conscience needs a salve," muttered 
 Pierre, as St. Foix struck his spurs into the horse's flanks, and 
 bounded from his view. " No, no ; if gold were not sufficiently 
 powerful, what cannot hate fixed, invincible, irrevocable hate 
 achieve !" 
 
 " What ! soliloquizing, Pierre, and at the gate of an hostelry ?
 
 44$ THE RINGS. 
 
 It is a goodly place, truly, to whisper to the world your secret 
 machinations !" 
 
 T he person who uttered these words was a female of apparently 
 little more than twenty years of age, of a slight but pretty figure, 
 and a face in which might be traced the remains of beauty ruined 
 by early sorrow or dissipation, or probably by both. While she 
 was speaking, a melancholy smile played over her wan features, 
 which was quickly succeeded by an expression of a darker and 
 more malignant character, as she added : " You are surprised to 
 see me here ; but I bring news rare, invaluable news !" 
 
 " Tell it me, sweet girl ! Have our plans succeeded ?" 
 
 " Nay, not so fast, Pierre ! But know, that though Chateau- 
 briant may write, and that often and angrily, Francoise will not 
 leave Brittany, and her lord will smile upon her the more sweetly 
 for her disobedience." 
 
 " Thou talkest riddles, Therese ; I pray thee unravel them." 
 
 "I can unravel them but in part," she replied ; " but this I have 
 gathered from the Countess, that Chateaubriant carries about him 
 some token, unaccompanied by which all his letters are but wasted 
 ink, and all his mandates are empty air." 
 
 " Thanks ! a thousand thanks, Therese ! for this timely intelli- 
 gence. St Foix, who has just started with a letter from Chateau- 
 briant to the Countess will have but a fruitless errand : but it shall 
 be my care that the next journey speed better; and I trust that 
 ere I have been long in Picardy, I shall extract from the easy, 
 confiding disposition of the Count all that is necessary for me to 
 know. In the meantime, Therese, be faithful be secret !" 
 
 " Away 1" she exclaimed indignantly. " Are not my wrongs 
 heavy as thy own ? The vengeance of Therese never never 
 will be appeased, until she sees him a widower and a murderer, 
 howling over the mangled corpse of Francoise." 
 
 There was a tone of truth and earnestness in this avowal of 
 unslaked revenge, which removed every suspicion from the mind 
 of Pierre, if he had before harboured any. He clasped Therese 
 in his arms : but she repelled him with firmness, and even dignity. 
 " Avaunt ! begone !" *ke said ; and then added, in a more melan-
 
 THE KINGS. 447 
 
 choly tone lC No, no ! never more shall human lover press these 
 lips j the cold worm alone shall revel there. There is no false- 
 hood in his embrace : the heart-ache does not follow it ; and the 
 pillow which we shall press together will never be wetted with my 
 tears." 
 
 The hard heart of the ruffian who was coolly plotting his master's 
 dishonour was melted by this involuntary ebullition of feeling. He 
 took her hand, and gazed silently in her face, while tears stood in 
 his eyes. 
 
 " Pierre," she said, withdrawing her hand, as if she feared that 
 the touch of humanity would soften her from her purpose, " the 
 world is over for me. Hope, fear, sorrow, joy, love, all the 
 emotions of the heart, have perished within me ; and what am I but 
 a lifeless corpse, into which Revenge, like a fiend, has entered, 
 and imparted to it a transient animation ? The Demon will go 
 out of me when his work is accomplished, and then I shall 
 sink into the grave, which has been too long defrauded of its 
 prey." 
 
 She looked earnestly at Pierre as she uttered these words ; then 
 drew her dark mantle over her face, and gliding down the street, 
 vanished from his sight. 
 
 The conversation between Pierre and Therese will have enabled 
 the reader to divine that the Viscount St. Foix returned from his 
 mission without having been successful in its object. The result 
 almost led him to believe in the sincerity of Chateaubriant and 
 the pertinacity of his lady ; but the short interview which he had 
 with the latter convinced him that what her husband had alleged 
 of her mind and manners was untrue, while her beauty beggared 
 the wildest pictures which his imagination had portrayed. He 
 rejoined his friend at the town of Chateaubriant, where they both 
 passed the night, and in the morning St. Foix took the direct 
 road to Picardy ; while Chateaubriant, whose affairs required him 
 to pass through the metropolis, made the best of his way to Paris. 
 
 As nothing of moment occurred between the departure of the 
 Count from Chateaubriant and his arrival at Ardres, we shall avail 
 ourselves of the interval, by acquainting our readers with some
 
 448 THE RINGS. 
 
 particulars in the history of the personages 'who have been intro- 
 duced to them. 
 
 The Count de Chateaubriant was one of the most gallant and 
 accomplished noblemen of France. He had served in Italy, 
 Navarre, and the Low Countries, and had been desperately 
 wounded at the battle of Ravenna. He was not more distin- 
 guished for his prowess in the field, than for his polished manners, 
 and the grace and suavity with which he mingled in the gaieties of 
 the Court, and among the refined society of the French metropolis. 
 During the intrigues which Francis carried on after the death 
 of the Emperor Maximilian, Chateaubriant, finding no employment 
 either civil or military to occupy him, retired to his beautiful 
 domain in Brittany ; and soon afterwards his late associates of the 
 Court were astonished by the intelligence that he had given his 
 hand in marriage to a person of very inferior rank, without fortune 
 or anything to recommend her but her personal charms. Of the 
 latter, exaggerated reports circulated in every direction ; and when 
 the election of the King of Spain as Emperor, left Francis once 
 more at leisure for his darling pursuit, gallantry, he heard of 
 nothing more frequently than the beauty and accomplishments of 
 the Countess de Chateaubriant. The curiosity of the King, as 
 well as some less venial passions, were excited by these accounts ; 
 and when Chateaubriant hastened to Paris to do homage to his 
 Sovereign, the latter inquired after the health of his Countess, and 
 begged that she might be introduced at Court. Chateaubriant, 
 who knew the amorous and intriguing disposition of the King, and 
 foresaw in this introduction the death-blow of his happiness, ex- 
 cused his lady on the ground of her naturally shy and timid dispo- 
 sition, her unpolished manners, and the invincible repugnance 
 which she felt to mingling in public life. The King, who instantly 
 saw through Chateaubriant's excuses, was not so easily baffled. 
 He set on foot secret inquiries, from which he learned that the 
 mind and manners of the Countess were not surpassed even by her 
 beauty. A deep and uncontrollable passion for this unseen object 
 fired the heart of the King, and he determined to possess himself 
 of the prize at any hazard. In the Viscount St. Foix, an ancient
 
 THE RINGS. ^y 
 
 comrade and bosom-friend of Chateaubriant when at court, he 
 found a ready and pliant instrument. This man, to great talents 
 and a polished exterior, joined a most depraved mind. His 
 knowledge of human nature was profound, and his influence ovei 
 Chateaubriant unlimited. He perceived, however, that to execute 
 his plan thoroughly, he should want confederates, and it was not 
 long before he found in Pierre, the favourite servant of his friend, 
 the very man of whom he stood in need. 
 
 This person had been reared from boyhood in the family of the 
 Count, and had been always treated with peculiar favour, and ad- 
 mitted into extraordinary confidence by his master. He had 
 formed an early attachment to a beautiful peasant girl of the name 
 of Annette Delville, who resided in the neighbourhood of the 
 castle. Pierre had been accepted both by the girl and her parents 
 and a day was fixed upon for their nuptials, when, unhappily for 
 the lovers, Annette caught the eye of Chateaubriant The youth 
 the beauty, the wealth and accomplishments of the courtier, soon 
 triumphed over the virtue of the fair peasant girl ; she remained 
 for some time the avowed mistress of the Count, who at length 
 however, grew weary of his easy prize, and neglected her. The 
 beautiful Frangoise de Foix soon eclipsed the humbler charms oi 
 the poor peasant girl, and in process of time became the Countess 
 de Chateaubriant. Annette no sooner heard the rumour of the in- 
 tended marriage than she became moody and melancholy, and 
 one morning was missed from her accustomed chamber in the 
 castle. A long and anxious search was made for her, for Chateau- 
 briant himself became sensible of his unworthy conduct, but 
 without success. The river in the vicinity was dragged, couriers 
 were despatched to make inquiries in the adjacent towns and 
 villages, and large rewards were offered for the slightest intelli- 
 gence, but neither Annette nor the faintest clue to her move- 
 ments, could with all their exertions be discovered. 
 
 It may be imagined that these events made no slight impression 
 on the mind of Pierre. From exerting the utmost devotion and 
 fidelity to his master, he became his bitterest and most implacable 
 enemy. His o>a wrongs, as well as those of Annette, for whom 
 
 ENG. G C
 
 450 THE RINGS. 
 
 all his fondness revived when he perceived the altered conduct of 
 the Count towards her, goaded him to revenge. He did not, 
 however, let his master perceive this alteration in his feelings, but 
 affected to laugh at the loss of Annette, as a prize too worthless to 
 be regretted. He professed still more devotion than ever to the 
 interests of Chateaubriant, in whose favour and confidence he con- 
 tinued to make rapid advances. 
 
 In this state of mind he was discovered by the wily St. Foix, 
 while in attendance on his master at Paris. The King's gold, 
 added to the deep-rooted sense of his own injuries, was irresistible, 
 and the ruin of the Countess was determined on. When he found 
 Chateaubriant inflexible in opposing his wife's journey to Paris, 
 Pierre resolved to do what he could towards corrupting her mind 
 at home. For this purpose he introduced a female attendant to 
 her, who was entirely under his influence. He found little diffi- 
 culty in prevailing on his master to accept the services of any person 
 whom he recommended, and the wishes of the Count were received 
 as laws by his lady. Theresa was accordingly received into her 
 service and confidence. 
 
 Against this triple and secret league, it may easily be imagined 
 that the unfortunate Chateaubriant found it a task of no slight 
 difficulty to defend himself. To the repeated requests, and even 
 commands of his sovereign, he was obliged to reply by excuses 
 and evasions, which had been practised so often that he could 
 scarcely hope that they would continue to be successful. At length, 
 the period arrived when all the nobility of France were required to 
 attend their sovereign to the Vale of Ardres in Picardy, on his ex- 
 pected interview with the King of England. Chateaubriant, aware 
 that he would be more sorely pressed than ever to exhibit his 
 hidden treasure to the wondering gaze of the King and courtiers, 
 and that nothing would satisfy the former but a written mandate 
 under his own hand to the Countess, resolved upon defeating his 
 purpose by an ingeniously conceived stratagem. He had two rings 
 made, of an ordinary appearance, but of so very peculiar a con- 
 struction, that it was impossible that they could be mistaken by 
 those acquitted with the secret for any others. One of these he
 
 THF. RINGS. 45/ 
 
 kept in his own possession, and he gave to the Countess its coun- 
 terpart, enjoining her, at the same time, not to obey any message 
 which he might send, nor any letter which he might write, unless 
 it was accompanied by the ring which he had reserved to himself. 
 The Countess promised to comply with this request, and Chateau- 
 briant left his paternal mansion lighter of heart than he had felt 
 himself for a considerable time previously. 
 
 It was not until the very morning on which the memorable in- 
 terview of the Field of the Cloth of Gold was appointed to take 
 place, that Chateaubriant arrived in the Vale of Ardres. He found 
 himself at an early hour of that morning about half a league from 
 the town of Guisnes, and in front of a most magnificent square cas- 
 tellated palace, whose walls were apparently of freestone, raised 
 upon a deep plinth, or basement of red brickwork. Chateaubriant 
 started as if some magical illusion had presented itself to his eyes ; 
 for, although he was well acquainted with the vicinity of Guisnes, 
 and had very recently visited this spot, he had never before beheld 
 the stately edifice on which he was now gazing. It seemed to be 
 near two hundred feet in height ; the grand gateway, or entrance, 
 was formed by an arch, whose archivault rested on the capitals of 
 two Corinthian pillars, forming the architrave which covered the 
 jambs of the doorway. On each side of the gateway were two large 
 transome bay windows, separated from each other by a square free- 
 stone tower, which was carried up above the battlements of the 
 parapet, and terminated by a large projecting moulded cornice. 
 The walls were kernelled at the top, and fortified at their angles, 
 as also on each side of the grand gateway, by a circular tower of 
 brickwork, pierced with loop-holes. 
 
 The building was ornamented by several freestone statues in 
 various attitudes. Above these ornaments was a grand armorial 
 escutcheon, charged with the arms of France and England 
 quarterly, supported by a lion and a dragon. The initial letters 
 H. and R. were placed one on each side of the escutcheon, and 
 the whole was surmounted by an imperial crown. 
 
 On the plain before the castle stood two superb conduits, placed 
 at a small distance from each other ; both were running with red 
 r o a
 
 4S THE RINGS. 
 
 wine, and surrounded by a populace which was availing itself, 
 with the least possible loss of time, of the festivity allowed to them 
 on the occasion of the approaching ceremony. 
 
 " Heavens, Pierre !" said Chateaubriant, " sure some necro- 
 mancer has been waving his wand over this place, and has called 
 from the entrails of the earth yonder gorgeous pile." 
 
 " No necromancer, my lord," replied the valet ; " but Sir 
 Edward Belknap, by the assistance of the three thousand cunning 
 artificers who accompanied him from England, has reared this pile. 
 This must be the building which my Lord St. Foix informed us was 
 to be sent over by King Henry on the occasion of his interview 
 with our gallant sovereign." 
 
 Pierre's account was correct. The building, which was of tim- 
 ber, had been sent ready framed from England. The outside was 
 covered with canvas, painted in imitation of freestone and nibbed 
 brickwork, and the interior was ornamented with a variety of sculp- 
 tures. Chateaubriant, who was gazing in stupifying amazement, 
 was roused from his trance by the report of a cannon which was 
 fired from Guisnes, and was answered after a short interval by 
 another from Ardres. 
 
 This was the signal for the two monarchs to proceed to the 
 place of interview; and presently afterwards Chateaubriant per- 
 ceived, both to the right and left, indications of the approach of a 
 numerous cavalcade. 
 
 He turned his eyes in the first instance towards the town of 
 Guisnes, whence the English procession issued. The advanced 
 part of the procession was the Yeomen of the Guard, mounted on 
 bay horses, and carrying halberts in their hands. These were fol- 
 lowed by three ranks of men on foot, five in each rank, and all of 
 them unarmed. Five persons on horseback next appeared; the 
 middlemost was dressed in a black gown, and bore in his right 
 hand a cross ; on his right was a person in a scarlet gown, carry- 
 ing a cardinal's hat on a cushion. The two persons on the right 
 and left of these were dressed in black, and wore massy gold 
 chains hanging down from their shoulders, while he on the extreme 
 right was habited in a white linen surplice. These, who, as Cha-
 
 THE RINGS. 453 
 
 teaubriant afterwards learned, were officers in the household of 
 Cardinal Wolsey, were succeeded by two horsemen clothed in 
 orange-coloured gowns, and supported on their right and left by 
 a mace-bearer clad in crimson. Then followed two other 
 horsemen, supported in the same manner, with black bonnets 
 on their heads and gold chains round their necks. The thicken- 
 ing crowd, as well as the increasing interest depicted in every 
 countenance, gave Chateaubriant to understand that the more 
 distinguished personages of the cavalcade were approaching. A 
 cry of " Garter ! Garter !" resounded over the plain, as a gallant 
 cavalier pricked past him, mounted upon a piebald charger richly 
 trapped and caparisoned, whose high mettle he found great diffi- 
 culty in restraining within the solemn pace of the procession. He 
 was bareheaded, wearing the tabard of the Order of the Garter? 
 and was supported on his left hand by a mace-bearer mounted 
 upon a black horse. These were indications which enabled 
 Chateaubriant to recognise Sir Thomas Wriothesley, the English 
 King at Arms. 
 
 He was followed by a nobleman, also bareheaded, mounted on 
 a beautiful dun horse, and carrying in his hand the sword of state 
 in a sheath, upright. He was superbly dressed in a gown of 
 cloth of gold, and by the side of his horse ran a brace of milk- 
 white greyhounds, with collars round their necks. 
 
 Shouts of " Vive le Roi I" intermixed with cries of " Largess, 
 largess !" now resounded on every side ; and the Yeomen of the 
 Guard on foot, carrying their partisans on their shoulders, as well 
 as two of the King's henchmen, also on foot, indicated the 
 approach of royalty itself. 
 
 Henry was mounted on a stately white courser, most gorgeously 
 caparisoned ; the trappings, breast-plate, head-stalls, reins, and 
 stirrups being covered with wrought gold and highly embossed. 
 On his head was a black velvet cap with a Ayhite plume, and 
 studded with rubies, emeralds, and other precious stones. He 
 wore a damask garment of cloth of gold, thickly ribbed with silver, 
 over a jacket of rose-coloured velvet ; from his shoulders hung a 
 beautiful large collar, composed of rubies and branches of pearl
 
 454 THE RINGS. 
 
 set alternately, and on his breast was a rich jewel of St. George 
 suspended by a ribbon of the order. His boots were of yellow 
 leather, and he held a small whip in his hand. 
 
 Abreast of the King, mounted on a bay horse, rode Cardinal 
 Wolsey. He was habited in the full robes of a cardinal, and the 
 magnificence of his dress surpassed even that of his master ; while 
 innumerable multitudes crowded around him, some waving their 
 caps, and some prostrate on their knees craving his blessing. In 
 his right hand he held a small ivory crucifix, which he pressed to 
 his bosom, while his left was outstretched, as if dispensing his 
 benediction to the populace. He tortured his features into an ex- 
 pression of excessive mildness and humility ; but master as he was 
 of the art of dissimulation, he had not been able to tame the fiery 
 eye, or to curb the writhed lip, which too plainly indicated his 
 haughty and imperious temper. 
 
 A long train of noblemen, knights, and gentlemen of distinction 
 brought up the rear of the procession. Their fine forms, their 
 gorgeous apparel, and the beauty and spirit of the noble animals 
 upon which they were mounted, beggared all description. The 
 whole collected wealth of England appeared to have been lavished 
 on the Vale of Ardres. Here and there, a nobleman of more 
 than ordinary distinction was followed by the principal officers of 
 his household and a numerous body of his tenantry, who made the 
 welkin ring with their shouts of "A Howard I" "a Percy!" or "a 
 Clifford !" Occasionally a prelate rode by, amid the prayers and 
 genuflexions of the assembled populace; and sometimes a renowned 
 warrior, followed by their deafening acclamations. 
 
 Chateaubriant's attention had been so much engage. I by the 
 splendid cavalcade to the right, that he had not observed what 
 was going fonvard at a short distance from him on the left. He, 
 however, now spurred his steed towards the French procession, 
 followed by his valet. The van of the procession, consisting of 
 the great officers of state and other distinguished persons, with 
 their retinue, had already passed by ; and was now forming into 
 r-nks on the left h?.nd of the palace, in front of the English, who
 
 THE RINGS. 455 
 
 were ranged on the opposite side : but the deafening acclamations, 
 the delight and eager interest visible in every face, and the in- 
 voluntary movement by which the whole crowd appeared to be 
 simultaneously swayed, announced the near approach of the King 
 of France. 
 
 Francis was less gorgeously apparelled than his brother monarch, 
 and indeed his whole appearance, as well as that of the gallant 
 steed on which he rode, evinced a less eager love of pomp and 
 magnificence, but at the same time indicated a finer taste and 
 greater simplicity of feeling. His train was as numerous, and 
 composed of persons of as high rank and distinction, as that of 
 nis brother monarch. 
 
 As the King rode past Chateaubriant, the latter fancied that 
 St. Foix whispered in the monarch's ear. An indefinable expres- 
 sion played upon the King's features, and our hero hardly knew 
 whether it was one of displeasure or surprise. The King's eye, 
 however, soon caught his, and a smile played upon his lip as he 
 beckoned Chateaubriant towards him. He instantly rode up to 
 the King and saluted him. " Ye have been long coming, my 
 Lord, but ye see that I have kept the post of honour vacant for 
 you. Ride on my right hand ; and although my retinue is not 
 graced with the presence of a cardinal, I shall not feel ashamed to 
 meet King Henry, with one of the gallantest peers of Europe in 
 my train." 
 
 A blush of mingled bashfulness and pride mantled the cheek 
 of Chateaubriant, as he made his obesiance to his sovereign, and 
 fell into the ranks of the procession in the order in which he 
 was commanded. He thought that he heard something like a 
 murmur among the peers of higher and more ancient rank, who 
 rode behind him ; and although he could not restrain a certain 
 feeling of exultation in his breast, he was not without some fearful 
 misgivings at this distinguished proof of his sovereign's favour. 
 
 " Frangoise," he mentally said, " is this meant as the price " 
 
 with an involuntary shudder he endeavoured to break off from the 
 painful train of feeling which was suddenly awakened in his breast ;
 
 45* THE RINGS, 
 
 and apparently with so much success, that during the remainder of 
 the day, 
 
 " Ilis brow belied him if his heart was sad." 
 
 At a signal from Cardinal Wolsey, the grand master of the cere- 
 monies, the bugles sounded, and the two monarchs rode briskly 
 towards each other Henry attended by a young English 
 nobleman, and Francis by Chateaubriant ; shouts of " Henri !" 
 "Francois !" " Les deux Grands Rois !" arose on every side. 
 
 The Kings of France and England were esteemed the two 
 most handsome and accomplished men in Europe, and none who 
 witnessed their appearance on that memorable day could feel dis- 
 posed to question the accuracy of the general opinion. Both 
 were then in the flower of their age, had given signal proofs of 
 their personal gallantry and prowess, were liberal patrons of the 
 fine arts and their professors, and one, Henry, had himself 
 evinced a talent for poetry. Their personal appearance was such 
 as must have claimed the approbation of the most sullen enemy of 
 royalty. The form and features of each were remarkable for 
 manly beauty, and yet were finely contrasted with each other. 
 The bluff, round, ruddy face, blue eyes, and well-proportioned, yet 
 somewhat bulky figure of Henry, were equally admired, although 
 strongly opposed to the keen and intelligent, but, perhaps, too 
 sallow features, the dark fiery eye, and the spare but elegant 
 figure of Francis. 
 
 The two monarchs saluted on horseback; then dismounted, 
 and, after having embraced each other with great apparent cor- 
 diality, amidst the clang of bugles, the roll of drums, and the 
 deafening shouts of the assembled multitude, retired into the tent 
 which we have described, preceded by Wolsey, and followed re- 
 spectively by the young English nobleman and the Count de 
 Chateaubriant. 
 
 Of the political matters which transpired during this memorable 
 interview, the historians of the age have given full details. We 
 have nothing new to lay before our readers on the subject, and we 
 do not mean to inflict upon them the thrice-told stones of the
 
 THE RINGS. 4pr 
 
 ancient chroniclers. The most Vnemorable incident which oc- 
 curred was the circumstance of Henry, when he began to read the 
 proposed treaty, stopping at the words " /, Henry, King" and 
 then merely adding, "of England" without subjoining "and 
 France" the usual style of the English monarchs. Francis re- 
 marked this delicacy, and expressed by a smile his approbation of 
 it. The treaty was signed and ratified at the same time by both 
 sovereigns; and although attended by fewer and less solemn 
 formalities than the treaties of modern times, it turned out, as our 
 readers well know, to be as hollow and faithless, and as mere 
 waste-paper a contract as ever received the signature of pleni- 
 potentiary or potentate. 
 
 " And now," said King Henry, after the mere business of the 
 interview was concluded, and as he surveyed with an approving 
 smile the manly form and gallant bearing of Chateaubriant, 
 "having received and returned the friendly greeting of our royal 
 brother, may we crave to know the name of him by whom he is 
 so worthily attended ?" 
 
 " It is Henry de Chateaubriant, Sire," said the Count, bending 
 his knee, " who has the honour to approach your Majesty's 
 presence." 
 
 " By the mother of God !" said the King, using his favourite 
 oath, " the gallant Breton ! the possessor of the noblest mansion 
 and the fairest lady in all Armorica ; a lady, my Lord," he added, 
 turning tc his youthful attendant, " who, if report say true, would 
 prove a dangerous rival to thy far-famed Geraldine." 
 
 " Sire," said Wolsey, " the charms of the Countess de Chateau- 
 briant, it would seem, are such as stand in no need of the paltry 
 homage of puling poets, whatever those of the paragon of Kildare 
 may do." 
 
 "Ha! ha!" shouted the monarch, as a hearty laugh discom- 
 posed the gravity of his bluff features, " my Lord Cardinal looks 
 somewhat askew at the whole tribe of poets, since that rascal 
 Skelton treated him so scurvily. But my Lord Chateaubriant," he 
 added, as he put upon the Count's finger a large and precious 
 emerald, which had sparkled upon his -n. "wear this ring for
 
 45? THE RINGS. 
 
 my sake, and tell your fair Countess that Henry of England wishes 
 her well." 
 
 Chateaubriant knelt down and kissed the monarch's hand in 
 token of respect and gratitude. " Thanks, my brother," said 
 King Francis, " for my gallant servant's sake ; but I take shame 
 to myself that I have allowed you to outstrip me in this race 
 of courtesy. My Lord of Surrey," he added, as he plucked a 
 jewel from his bonnet and placed it in the hands of the noble 
 bard, " wear this for my sake. I knew not until now that I stood 
 in the presence of him whom the united voice of Europe acknow- 
 ledges as the first poet, as well as the most accomplished chevalier 
 of his age. Wear it, and let it sometimes bring to your remem- 
 brance Francis of France, who knows and admires the efforts 
 of your genius, although not fitted by being, like your own 
 sovereign, accomplished in the same divine art, to appreciate them 
 duly." 
 
 Surrey knelt down, and received the French King's courtesy 
 with due grace and thankfulness ; while Henry, whose eye at first 
 flashed with the fires of jealousy, was tamed into good humour by 
 the compliment to himself with which Francis concluded. The 
 latter and his attendant then took their leave of the English monarch, 
 and shortly afterwards the bugle was heard announcing the return 
 of the French cavalcade to Ardres. 
 
 On the evening of the same day, as Pierre was assisting his 
 master to his couch, he observed on the finger of the latter the 
 precious ring which had been given to him by King Henry. 
 
 "Put this, Pierre," he said, "into my escritoire, and lay the 
 key beneath my pillow. It is a King's gift, and must be guarded 
 carefully." 
 
 " It is indeed, my Lord," said Pierre, " a jewel of great price 
 and most exquisite workmanship ; and methinks becomes your Lord- 
 ship's finger far better than the poor toy which you used to wear 
 at Paris." 
 
 Chateaubriant looked at his finger, and a sudden emotion of 
 distress and surprise appeared to overwhelm him. "Almighty 
 God !" he exclaimed, and turned as pale as ashes.
 
 THE RINGS. 459 
 
 " What ails your Lordship," said Pierre, hastening to the assis- 
 tance of his master. 
 
 " Ruined, Pierre ! ruined past redemption. That ring, that toy, 
 as thou callest it, was more precious in my eyes than all the 
 wealth in the united treasuries of France and England. It is the 
 talisman which protects my honour and my peace ; it is the magic 
 circle within which all my happiness and my hopes abide, and, 
 like a gaudy fool, hastening to sport my bravery amidst these 
 mummeries on the plains of Picardy, I have left my treasure 
 behind me at Paris." 
 
 " Nay, my Lord, if that be all, it is safe enough where you have 
 left it ; and if not, methinks you are compensated for its loss a 
 thousandfold by the splendid gift of King Henry." 
 
 " Pierre," said Chateaubriant, " thou art ignorant of the precious 
 prize which is staked upon this cast ; and trusty though I know 
 thee to be, I will not even breathe into thy ear the secret of my 
 bosom's happiness. But haste thee, ere the hour-glass is once more 
 turned, to Paris ; purchase the noblest and fleetest steed in all 
 Guisnes, and keep it for thy pains ; take this key, which will un- 
 lock the casket that contains my treasure, bring it to me safely 
 and speedily; and then, to show thee how highly I prize thy 
 service, King Henry's ring shall be thine own." 
 
 Pierre gazed at his master for a moment in a stupor of mingled 
 astonishment and delight; then, suddenly recollecting himself, 
 made a low obeisance and retired. 
 
 " It is done ! it is achieved !" exclaimed Pierre. " Vengeance, 
 thou dear delicious cup which I have thirsted for so long, I now 
 shall quaff thee till my full soul is saturated with the delightful 
 dew ! Oh God ! oh God ! how am I changed ! A few short 
 months ago, and for this man this Chateaubriant, whom I am 
 now hurrying to perdition, I would have bared my neck to 
 the headsman's axe to save a hair upon his head from injury. 
 Annette ! Annette ! thou who wert the angel of my peace, 
 art now a phantom haunting me to destruction, a fiend beckon- 
 ing me to the same precipice where thou thyself wert lost; 
 and by thy wrongs, and by my hatred, and by the invincible
 
 460 THE RINGS. 
 
 spirit of revenge, I will not fail to do thy bidding. I come ! I 
 come !" 
 
 The next moment saw him in close conference with St. Foix , 
 and shortly afterwards the fleetest steed that could be selected 
 from the King's stables bore him proudly on its back towards 
 Paris. 
 
 The reader's attention must now be diverted from the plains of 
 Picardy to the forest in the neighbourhood of Chateaubriant's castle 
 in Brittany, in which, as, at the close of a fine autumnal day, 
 Therese was wandeiing solitary and lost in the contemplation of 
 her own thoughts, she gave utterance to the following soliloquy : 
 
 " Am I turned fiend, to plot the destruction of one so good, so 
 gentle, so beautiful ? Ha ! my heart, wilt thou betray me once 
 again ? Hast thou not already paid dearly enough for thy fatal 
 softness? Have not hatred, and injury, and scorn been thy re- 
 ward? Is there not poison in these veins, and madness in this 
 brain, and misery on this brow ; and do I not see her beloved, and 
 blessing and being blest ? Am I turned fiend, did I say ? Rather 
 should I ask, am I not relapsing into infantile imbecility ? Can I 
 forgive ? can I forget ? Forget ! It is a word that is blotted from 
 my vocabulary. It is a word unknown in heaven and in hell, and 
 among the loftier spirits of the earth. Forget? Therese forget 
 her love or her hatred, her injuries or her revenge ! Ha ! ha ! ha !" 
 
 As she concluded this incoherent soliloquy, Therese made the 
 forest in which she was wandering ring with her maniacal laughter. 
 It was repeated in a still louder tone by a voice which seemed to 
 belong to a more substantial organ than that of the echoes of the 
 forest, and turning round she beheld Pierre at her side. 
 
 " Has the passionate expression of my sorrows conjured up a 
 fiend indeed ? Welcome, thou unwearied minister of my revenge ! 
 welcome to thy native woods !" 
 
 " And welcome, a thousand times welcome, sweet Therese, to 
 this devoted bosom." 
 
 " Unhand me fool ! What have we to do with the vanities of 
 love ? I tell thee, Pierre, again, my heart is shut to every human 
 emotion, save one. Attempt to disturb that master-passion, or to
 
 THE RINGS. 
 
 461 
 
 enthrone a feebler in its place, and, by Heaven ! its lightning, 
 although directed mainly at a loftier head, shall not disdain to fall 
 upon thy own." 
 
 " Well, well," said Pierre, moodily, "thou art right; thy heart is 
 constant to its purpose, nor deem that mine has wavered ; our 
 work is finished, our vengeance is achieved." 
 
 " He is not dead ?" asked Therese anxiously ; and her face 
 grew black as night as she made the inquiry. 
 
 " No, no," said Pierre, " I have not done our work so bung- 
 lingly; he lives to writhe in tortures more exquisite than the 
 malignant wit of man ever invented. The bolt has not yet fallen ; 
 but a sign, a breath, a word, Therese, and our feet are upon the 
 neck of our victim." 
 
 " Now, thou Almighty Destiny ! I will accuse thy purposes no 
 more. Bitter is the cup which thou hast made me quaff, but how 
 does it enhance the sweetness of revenge ! Tell me, Pierre, tell 
 me all ; my thirsty soul gasps for the delicious draught." 
 
 " Behold this ring," said Pierre, taking Chateaubriant's treasure 
 from his bosom ; " this is the token, unaccompanied by which, as 
 thou toldst me, all his letters to the Countess are but wasted ink, 
 and all his mandates empty air." 
 
 " Is't true, is't possible ? My senses stagger ; I dare not, must 
 not believe it." 
 
 " Then listen to me, girl." 
 
 Pierre then related to her the circumstances which led to his 
 mission to Paris, and informed her of his becoming possessed of 
 the precious ring. 
 
 " A cunning artificer of Paris, Therese, made such a copy of it, 
 that thy own blue eye bears not more resemblance to its fellow, 
 than this did to its original. The counterfeit I gave to Chateau- 
 briant ; the original is the talisman which must lure his Countess 
 to the embraces of King Francis." 
 
 "And did he truly reward thee with King Henry's precious gift?" 
 
 " Behold it here ! take it, Therese, 'tis thine ; a mean reward for 
 thy services in our common cause." 
 
 " Mean indeed !" she said, as she returned the ring indignantly
 
 4 6a THE RINGS. 
 
 " take back your bauble, Pierre ; I want no reward but one s and 
 that I shall grasp speedily." 
 
 " Speedily, I trust," replied Pierre. " I have come to Brittany 
 in attendance upon the Viscount St. Foix, who is the bearer of a 
 letter from Chateaubriant to the Countess, and have ridden in 
 advance to announce his coming to your lady. His letter contains 
 an earnest request to her to set off with us for Guisnes in the 
 morning ; a request her compliance with which will be secured 
 when she sees this ring." 
 
 " And when thou hast conducted her to Guisnes, what hast thou 
 done, but led her to the longing arms of her husband ? Faithful 
 as the turtle dove in his absence, thinkest thou that his presence 
 will tempt her to inconstancy ?" 
 
 " We must trust to the blandishments of the court, to the arts of 
 Francis, and to the weakness and vanity of a woman's heart," re- 
 turned Pierre. 
 
 " Peace, peace, babbler !" said Therese : " what knowest thou of 
 woman's heart of what it can achieve, or what it can endure ? 
 Chateaubriant must be removed from Picardy, or our vessel is 
 wrecked even in sight of port. Give me the ring." 
 
 " The ring, Therese ! what ring ?" 
 
 " King Henry's ring. The bauble has within a few short minutes 
 acquired a value in my eyes. Adieu !" 
 
 "Adieu, sayest thou? Whither art thou going?" 
 
 " To the plains of Picardy." 
 
 " Surely thou art not mad !" said Pierre, as he attempted to 
 stop her. 
 
 "And if I were and if I were," exclaimed Therese, lifting her 
 hands and eyes to heaven, "have I not cause? But Heaven 
 is not so merciful. It has given me the tortures of madness, with- 
 out its Lethean balm. I am going to Picardy ; ask not when, cr 
 how, or wherefore ; delay the departure of the Countess but one 
 day, and then the victory is our own." 
 
 " This is illusion," said Pierre, as he gazed upon the slight figure 
 of Therese disappearing amidst the recesses of the forest; '' mad- 
 ness is in her eye and on her lips ; but her actions, strode and
 
 THE RIXGS. 6.i 
 
 inscrutable as they appear, have tended to one object, and have 
 ever accelerated the completion of our design." 
 
 "Why, Pierre," said St. Foix, as he came up with the valet, 
 " thou hast forgotten thy accustomed diligence. I thought that, 
 ere this, thou hadst announced my arrival at the castle : wherefore 
 hast thou loitered thus ?" 
 
 " I met Therese, my lord, in the forest, to whom I unfolded the 
 history of our plot, and who, I fear, for very joy has gone dis- 
 tracted. She snatched King Henry's ring from off my finger, and 
 darted from my sight to go, as she told me, to the plains of 
 Picardy." 
 
 " Fear her not, Pierre ; her heart has meditated too long and too 
 intensely on her wrongs to suffer her to deviate from the high road 
 which leads to the accomplishment of her revenge. But now, 
 Pierre, as we are so near to the castle, we may as well proceed 
 together ; only, as we must not be seen in its neighbourhood in- 
 dulging in too much familiarity, do thou fall a little in the rear." 
 
 They now continued their journey towards the castle in silence. 
 Each was too much occupied with his own thoughts, to feel 
 inclined to intrude upon the taciturnity of the other. Pierre 
 especially, who with all his dark passions and too well remembered 
 injuries, had more of human feeling in his composition than the 
 heartless courtier, was wrapt up in the contemplation of the busi- 
 ness in which he had engaged. " I am a robber, and a traducer, 
 and shall be a murderer !" It was thus that he conversed with his 
 own dark thoughts ; " but I cannot arrest the wheels of destiny in 
 their course that course in which they will eventually crush me 
 as well as mine enemy me, whom they have already bruised so 
 fearfully. Had I never been injured had this snake, this reptile 
 of the court, this Chateaubriant, never crawled between me and 
 my love had he never defiled that couch on which I had hoped 
 to rest my heart and head together, I had not been what I am 
 now, a blighted branch, a cankered flower, poisoning the air in 
 which I breathe, killing the sweet shrubs which grow around me. 
 And ye* I mar the sanctity of my hatred, I profane the righteous- 
 ness of my revenge, by taking bribes to spur me on, by rec^ng
 
 464 THE RINGS. 
 
 fees from this St. Foix and his master. Therese, thy purpose is as 
 black as mine, but thou walkest towards it in a holier road. I am 
 a villain, a sordid villain but this trash," he added, as he took 
 from his bosom a bag of gold, and surveyed it wistfully, "although 
 love alone could sweeten the cup of life, this trash may help to 
 soften its acidity." 
 
 With such reflections as these, in which hatred, revenge, avarice, 
 and self-contempt were mingled, but without the slightest feeling 
 of relentfulness or remorse, was his bosom occupied until the 
 lofty turrets of the castle of Chateaubriant met the gaze of the 
 travellers. 
 
 Something of a softer feeling came over his heart as he looked 
 at the birth-place of himself and his father ; but the sight of a 
 little white cottage at the entrance of the avenue of elms which led 
 to the castle gate, seemed to turn all the blood in his veins to 
 poison. " Vengeance is at hand," he exclaimed ; " blood must 
 atone for lust bitter remorse and torturing agony must be the 
 price paid for unhallowed joys and violated oaths I" 
 
 The Countess de Chateaubriant had, since the absence of her 
 lord, remained strictly immured within the castle and its adjacent 
 grounds, and had neither paid nor received any visits, except the 
 one short audience which she had given to St. Foix, when he was 
 the bearer of her husband's letter. Her principal attendant and 
 favourite was Therese, with whom she felt more than ordinarily 
 interested on account of her superior intelligence, far beyond her 
 station, and of the indications which she displayed of deep internal 
 suffering, occasionally mixed, as the Countess feared, with symptoms 
 of insanity. The kindness and attentions of the Countess only 
 appeared to root the melancholy of Therese more deeply. Some 
 slight compunctious visitings, not of remorse or of irresolution 
 for she never once wavered from her purpose but of sorrow, 
 would come across her, that she was obliged to doom to shame 
 and misery a being whom she felt that, under happier circumstances, 
 she could have revered and loved. Could the ruin of Chateaubriant 
 have been effected as completely and signally in any other way, 
 Therese would gladly have saved the Countess. But she was the
 
 THE RINGS. 46$ 
 
 casket which contained all the jewels of her husband's soul his 
 hopes, his fears, his joys, his love, his honour. Poverty, or banish- 
 ment, or disgrace, or death would be nothing in comparison to 
 the loss of that affection and innocence which he found enshrined 
 in the pure bosom of Franchise. 
 
 As these thoughts passed in her mind, Therese became more and 
 more confirmed in her purpose. " She shall die," she said, " but 
 not yet : and he shall be tortured into frenzy, but it shall be by 
 degrees." The pensive and melancholy expression which deep 
 thought now cast upon her brow more than ever interested the 
 compassion of the Countess, who little thought that the gloom 
 which she so much commiserated was only a shadow from those 
 machinations which were plotting for her own destruction. Therese 
 was much addicted to solitary wanderings, and the forest in the 
 neighbourhood of the castle, with whose mazes she appeared to be 
 acquainted in an extraordinary degree, considering the short period 
 of her residence there, was her favourite haunt. Here she would 
 frequently spend whole days, from the earliest hour in the morning, 
 and return at night, sinking with hunger and fatigue. 
 
 Such was the state of affairs in the castle, when St. Foix and 
 Pierre stood before the Countess. She received the first with much 
 coldness, remembering the purport of his last mission ; but her 
 eyes sparkled with delight, which she neither wished nor was able 
 to conceal, when she encountered those of Pierre. 
 
 " Welcome, good Pierre ! welcome ! Tell me, how fares my 
 lord ? What think the gallants, who are assembled in Picardy, 
 of Henry de Chateaubriant ? What says King Francis of his 
 gallant subject ?" 
 
 " My honoured lord is well, Madam," returned Pierre, " and as 
 happy as he can be while separated from you. The cavaliers, both 
 of England and France, acknowledge him the most accomplished 
 knight in Christendom, and both monarchs vie in testifying the 
 favour which they bear him." 
 
 " Now may all good angels shield thee for being the bearer of 
 such happy tidings ! And what message sends my lord to me, 
 Pierre ?" 
 
 ENG, 8 H
 
 65 n 
 
 "That, Madam, the letter of which my Lord St. Foix is the 
 bearer will best inform you." 
 
 A cloud came over the lady's brow. " No message, Pierre ?" 
 she asked, faintly ; " I would rather listen to ten words warm from 
 his heart, and preserved warm in the memory of a faithful servant, 
 than peruse all the frigid epistles that ever were indited !" 
 
 Our fair readers will possibly not agree with the Countess, in 
 her comparative estimate of the value of a lover's message and his 
 letter ; but they will remember that Frangoise had her lord's own 
 word to assure her that his letters were compositions to which, 
 although penned by his hand, his heart was an utter stranger. 
 
 " Madam," said St. Foix, " I have once more the honour to be 
 the bearer of my Lord Chateaubriant's letter to your ladyship ; and 
 the message for which you vainly inquire of Pierre was also en- 
 trusted to me : that you would read his heart's undisguised 
 sentiments in that letter, and that he hoped you would lose no 
 time in complying with the request which it contained." 
 
 A melancholy and incredulous smile played over the features of 
 the Countess, as she took the letter and began listlessly to read its 
 contents \ and tears gushed from her eyes when she had finished 
 her perusal. 
 
 " Heavens, Madam !" said St. Foix, " why this emotion ? My 
 lord, I believe, merely requests that you will put yourself under 
 the protection of me and Pierre, who are to be your escort to 
 Guisnes." 
 
 " And it is a request, my Lord St Foix," returned the Countess, 
 " to which I have only the same answer to make as on the last 
 time when you honoured the castle with your presence. I cannot 
 comply with it. Adieu, my lord, adieu !" 
 
 St. Foix now saw that it was necessary to make use of the ring, 
 which he was anxious, if possible, to avoid doing, in order to escape 
 the necessity of making any explanation to Chateaubriant. 
 
 " Nay, Madam," he said, as he gently prevented her exit from 
 the apartment ; " his lordship's valet is the bearer of a token 
 which, I believe, will silence all your doubts." 
 
 Pierre approached the Countess, and bending on one knee, he
 
 467 
 
 tuok her hand, which he kissed respectfully ; and then placed the 
 ring upon her finger. 
 
 " Is it possible !" she exclaimed ; " can I believe mj eyes !" and 
 she looked alternately at both rings. " It is indeed the token 
 which I have so anxiously looked for, and which is to reunite me 
 to my lord. My Lord St. Foix, I pray you, pardon my apparent 
 coldness. But solitude, and hope deferred, and trembling anxiety 
 have made me cautious and suspicious. Pierre, saddle the fleetest 
 steeds in my lord's stable ; we will depart instantly !" 
 
 " Nay, Madam," said St. Foix, smiling, " you will stand in need 
 of repose, before you take so long a journey ; and Pierre and I, 
 I fear, would scarcely at this moment be a competent escort. On 
 the day after to-morrow, if your ladyship pleases, we will bid adieu 
 to Brittany." 
 
 " Methinks it is an age, a dreary age," said the Countess ; " but 
 I am indeed forgetful of the fatigues incurred by my honoured 
 guest and my lord's faithful servant. Therese shall bring some 
 refreshment; and then, my lord, I have a thousand anxious 
 questions with which to weary your patience." 
 
 She clapped her hands, and a female servant entered. " Where 
 is Therese ?" inquired the Countess. 
 
 "Therese, Madam, has been missing all the day. She was 
 observed to be more thoughtful than usual last night, and this 
 morning her chamber was found deserted." 
 
 " Poor Therese !" said the Countess; "it is thus that she will 
 wander for hours together. She has borne my lord's absence 
 even more painfully than I." 
 
 A bitter smile played on the features of St. Foix, and a cloud 
 gathered on those of Pierre, while the Countess spake. The former 
 was incapable of any deeper feeling than malignity ; but a thousand 
 varied emotions agitated the breast of the latter, while they followed 
 the Countess into the refectory. 
 
 The day's residence of St. Foix at Chateaubriant afforded no 
 
 incident worth recording, except that during that period an anxious 
 
 but fruitless search was made for Therese, whom the Countess 
 
 wished to accompany her to Guisnes : and on the second morning 
 
 H H 2
 
 4 68 2 HE RINGS. 
 
 after the arrival of the confederates she departed for Picardy in a 
 travelling carriage, escorted by St. Foix and Pierre on horseback. 
 The English, and even the French reader, in the present halcyon 
 days of travelling, will be surprised to hear that the journey from 
 Chateaubriant to Picardy occupied four days, and that it was not 
 until the morning of the fifth that the travellers found themselves in 
 the plains between Ardres and Guisnes. Here the Countess, whose 
 heart as well as her limbs had been shut up in her husband's 
 chateau, and whose wildest wishes never roamed beyond it, except 
 during the absence of Chateaubriant, was positively bewildered by 
 the gayscenes through which she passed. The accomplished and gor- 
 geously apparelled cavaliers the beautiful and still more splendidly 
 attired females the gallant steeds the gay equipages thepassage 
 of heralds and messengers between the two Kings the magnificent 
 tents or temporary dwellings erected by the English the stirring 
 effect of the martial music resounding on every side, and the 
 banners which waved around her, displaying all the colours of 
 the rainbow, altogether formed a scene in which her senses were 
 overpowered with astonishment and delight. 
 
 Only one cloud passed over this atmosphere of pleasure, and 
 that was gone in a moment. A carriage, closely guarded by an 
 equal number of French and English soldiers, and apparently con- 
 taining a prisoner of distinction, came up to them ; and as it passed 
 the equipage of our heroine, she heard a dreadful shriek from some 
 one within, and saw an attempt to let down the carriage window, 
 which was prevented by the guards. 
 
 " Alas ! " said she to St. Foix, who was riding by her carriage 
 window, "what unfortunate person is that?" 
 
 " I know not, Madam," said St. Foix. " It is probably some 
 maniac who has been disturbing the festivities, and whom the 
 King has thought proper to send to Paris." 
 
 " Alas ! " thought she, as she sank back in her seat, " even amid 
 scenes of gaiety and magnificence like these, madness and misery 
 will intrude, to teach kings that they are subject to the accidents 
 of mortality, and to breathe into the ears of pleasure the harsher 
 but truer lessons of pain." 
 
 These thoughts filled her mind witlr ssHnass, and she sank into
 
 THE &/.VGS. 469 
 
 a reverie, from which she was not roused until she heard the 
 carriage wheels rattling over the paved entrance of the fortifica- 
 tions of Ardres. 
 
 In the mean time, tilts and tournaments, and every varied species 
 of amusement had been going on in the Plains of Picardy. The 
 nobility of France and England vied with each other in pomp and 
 magnificence ; and such was the profuse expenditure of all who 
 accompanied the two Kings in this memorable interview, that the 
 spot on which it took place acquired the name of " Le Champ du 
 Drap d'Or" 
 
 There were still many cautious ceremonials when the two Kings 
 met, indicative of mutual suspicion and distrust, which shocked 
 the frank and generous temper of Francis. " The number of 
 their guards and attendants," says Hume, " was carefully reckoned 
 on both sides ; every step was scrupulously measured and adjusted; 
 and if the two Kings intended to pay a visit to the Queens, they 
 departed from their respective quarters at the same instant, which 
 was marked by the firing of a culverin ; and the moment that 
 Henry entered Ardres, Francis put himself into the hands of the 
 English at Guisnes." 
 
 Francis determined to put an end to these ungenerous forms, 
 by an incident which strongly marked his romantic and chivalrous 
 character. Accordingly, on the day before that on which the 
 Countess de Chateaubriant arrived at Ardres, the guards at 
 Guisnes were much surprised at seeing the King of France ride up 
 to the gates, attended only by a single cavalier. " You are all my 
 prisoners!" he exclaimed; "carry me to your master." The 
 guards, as soon as they recovered from the stupefaction occasioned 
 by their surprise, opened their gates, and admitted the monarch 
 and his attendant The news spread with great rapidity, and the 
 whole population of the town had thronged around the illustrious 
 visitor before he arrived at the palace gates. " Chateaubriant," 
 said the jocund king for it was our hero by whom he was ac- 
 companied " go from us to our brother England, and tell him 
 that we summon him to yield himself and the garrison of this fair 
 town our prisoners ; and exhibit in thy own person the mighty 
 armament which we have equipped, in order to compel him to
 
 470 THE RINGS. 
 
 obedience." The Count made his obeisance, alighted from his 
 steed, and was ushered into the presence of the King of 
 England. 
 
 He found Henry seated under a canopy of state, with Cardinal 
 Wolsey at his right hand, and several yeoman of the guard behind 
 him. He was richly dressed in a garment of cloth of gold edged 
 with ermine. The sleeves Avere crimson and the doublet and 
 hose of the same colour, and the badge of the Order of the Garter 
 was suspended from his neck by a collar of pearls of inestimable 
 value. 
 
 " A messenger from the King of France, may it please your 
 Majesty," said the usher. " craves admittance to your royal 
 presence." 
 
 " Let him enter," said King Henry, in a tone of surprise ; and 
 immediately Chateaubriant was on his bended knees before 
 him. 
 
 " Ha !" ejaculated the King, while his large eye glowed like a 
 ball of fire, and his brow grew black as midnight. Signs of in- 
 telligence passed between him and Wolsey, and the latter 
 whispered one of the yeomen, who immediately left the apart- 
 ment " Rise, my Lord," said the King to Chateaubriant ; " what 
 is our royal brother's pleasure ?" 
 
 " He bids me, Sire, in his name, demand of your Majesty the 
 surrender of your person and of the garrison of this town, as his 
 prisoners. He has himself arrived in Guisnes to enforce this 
 demand with a powerful armament, the whole of which is at this 
 moment in your Majesty's palace." 
 
 " Ha !" said Henry, and a hundred varied emotions made their 
 transit in an instant over his capacious brow. 
 
 " Is King Francis now in Guisnes ?" 
 
 " He is, may it please your Majesty." 
 
 "And how, say you, attended?" 
 
 " By the pomp and power, Sire, which reside within the limbs 
 which are now prostrate before your Majesty. ' 
 
 " By St. Thomas of Canterbury ! " said Henry, as he again 
 extended his hand to raise Chateaubriant from his knees, " we are
 
 fHE RINGS. 471 
 
 fairly outstripped in this race of courtesy. Hasten, my lord, 
 to your master, and tell him that his prisoner waits to surrender 
 himself into his custody." 
 
 Francis was soon in the presence of his brother monarch. " My 
 brother," said Henry, "you have here played me the most 
 agreeable trick in the world, and have showed me the full con- 
 fidence I may place in you. I surrender myself your prisoner 
 this moment." He then took from his neck the precious collar 
 of pearls of which we have already spoken, and putting it about 
 Francis's, he added, " I pray you to wear this for the sake of your 
 Drisoner." 
 
 Francis received the collar, which was valued at 15,000 angels, 
 but at the same time took a bracelet from off his own wrist which 
 was worth double that sum, and putting it on Henry's, he said, 
 " My prisoner must wear this manacle, the badge of his captivity." 
 
 "And now," said King Henry, turning to Chateaubriant, "I 
 marvel, my lord, that you should have come into our presence 
 without that ring which we placed upon your finger when we saw 
 you last. It was a king's gift, and methinks a fitter occasion could 
 not have been found for wearing it than the present." 
 
 Chateaubriant's colour changed. The ring he had given to 
 Pierre, and he was fearful of incensing the King of England by de- 
 claring that fact, as well as of exciting the curiosity and suspicion 
 of his own sovereign, as to the nature of the service which could 
 have called for so costly a reward. 
 
 " I own myself in fault, may it please your Majesty," said Cha- 
 teaubriant confusedly ; " but I trust it may be excused in consi- 
 deration of the hasty and unexpected summons which I received 
 from my gracious Lord here to attend him this morning." 
 
 The eyes of both Kings being fixed upon Chateaubriant as he 
 spoke, increased his embarrassment and confusion. " I trust, my 
 lord," said Wolsey, " that you have not considered the King of 
 England's present so trifling a bauble as to part with it to any 
 loose companion of your hours of dalliance, to any frail female 
 who may have been unable to resist your fascinations and 
 solicitude."
 
 4?a THE KINGS. 
 
 Chateaubriant, whom the first part of this address had some- 
 what alarmed, felt reassured by the conclusion of it, and he gave 
 an emphatic negative to the accusation which it implied. 
 
 " Call in the witness ?" said King Henry ; and immediately the 
 yeoman, who had retired from the presence on Chateaubriant's 
 arrival, re-entered, leading by the hand a female, whose face was 
 muffled in her cloak, but by whose dress and figure Chateaubriant 
 easily recognised Therese. 
 
 " Know you that female ?" asked Henry, in a voice rendered 
 almost inaudible by passion. 
 
 "I do, Sire," said the Count, "she is an attendant upon my wife." 
 
 " When did you last see her ?" 
 
 " At the castle of Chateaubriant, before I had the honour of 
 my first admission into your Majesty's presence." 
 
 " Sirrah," said Henry, " you are an attendant upon my royal 
 brother, or I would on the spot make you repent the utterance of 
 so insolent a falsehood to a King. Did you not give the ring which 
 I presented to you to that girl ?" 
 
 "My last answer, Sire," said Chateaubriant, firmly, "is an 
 answer also to this question I never did." 
 
 King Henry's face became swollen with fury. " Death ! 
 traitor !" he exclaimed ; " do you mean to assert that you are 
 innocent of the crime of triumphing over the innocence and virtue 
 of your wife's servant ?" 
 
 " I am most innocent," said Chateaubriant ; " so help me 
 Heaven and all its saints !" 
 
 " Thou art a liar and a slave !" said Therese, throwing back her 
 hood, " wert thou twenty times Count de Chateaubriant." 
 
 Chateaubriant retreated several paces, as though he had seen 
 a spectre, and his face assumed the gastly hue of death, while every 
 limb quivered with astonishment and fear. Therese's hair and 
 brows, which had always been of a jet black hue, were now of a 
 bright auburn colour ; and her face, instead of that swarthy glow 
 which denoted an oriental origin, was exquisitely fair. She wore a 
 necklace of pearls, which Chateaubriant recognised as his own 
 gift, ixmnd her neck, and King Henry's ring upon her finger, while
 
 THE ff/NGS. ^ 73 
 
 her dress, being the same as she had uniformly worn before her 
 disguise, completed the edaircissement, and revealed to the eyes of 
 the astonished Count the form of the injured Annette Delville. 
 
 The behaviour of our hero was construed by both the Kings 
 into a confession of his guilt, and Henry's eyes sparkled with the 
 expression of a wild beast's when it has secured its prey ; while 
 Francis, whom surprise had hitherto kept mute, said, " I perceive, 
 my brother, that your princely gift has been most unworthily ap- 
 preciated. The Count de Chateaubriant is your prisoner, to be 
 disposed of as you may think fit." 
 
 " Did he owe allegiance to me, my brother, his sentence should 
 be more severe," said Henry ; " but your attendant and confidant, 
 however unworthy of his honours, demands some consideration 
 from me. I will therefore beg that he may be sent back a close 
 prisoner to his own castle, under the surveillance of an equal 
 number of French and English guards." 
 
 " Be it so," said Francis ; and Henry immediately motioned to 
 the yeomen of the guard to take Chateaubriant into custody. 
 
 The Count, whom the sudden apparition of Therese had struck 
 dumb, now attempted to speak, but could not obtain a hearing. 
 "Away with him !" shouted the tyrannical Tudor; "and on the 
 morrow, with our royal brother's approbation, he shall be escorted 
 to his place of exile." The sentence was one with which Cha- 
 teaubriant felt rather pleased than otherwise, as it would restore 
 him to the society of his Countess ; and believing that he should 
 have an opportunity of vindicating his honour to the satisfaction 
 of his own sovereign, he did not make any further attempt at an 
 explanation, but bowed respectfully to both monarchs, and retired. 
 
 " Farewell, my noble lord, most upright and honourable Count 
 de Chateaubriant," whispered a female voice in his ear, when 
 he had proceeded about twenty yards from the royal chamber. 
 He turned round, and beheld Therese. 
 
 " Annette," he said mournfully, " perhaps at your hands I have 
 deserved this. And yet think not that the heart of Henry de 
 Chateaubriant has ever been indifferent to your welfare. I have 
 suffered much on your account, and my bosom is relieved of half
 
 474 THE RINGS. 
 
 its sadness by seeing you again. But tell me, Annette, tell me 
 truly, how did you become possessed of that ring ?" 
 
 A bitter laugh was the only answer to this inquiry. 
 
 "You have dishonoured me before two Kings. You have 
 driven me from their presence with the brand of ingratitude and 
 perjury fixed to my name : and yet," he added smilingly, " I can 
 scarcely complain, for you have been the occasion of sending me 
 some months earlier than I expected to the castle ofChateaubriant, 
 the casket which contains the jewel of my soul." 
 
 Annette grasped his hand, while a fiend- like smile played upon 
 her lips. " Sayest thou so, fond fool !" she exclaimed. " Go then, 
 go to the valleys of Brittany ; you will find the casket safe enough, 
 but the jewel is stolen from it." 
 
 " Ha ! sayest thou so !" said Chateaubriant, in an agony of sur- 
 prise : " what meanest thou ? Tell me, for the love of Heaven !" 
 he added, endeavouring to detain her, but she eluded his grasp ; 
 and as she glided from his sight, he heard the long corridor through 
 which she disappeared echoing with her boisterous laughter. 
 
 That night Chateaubriant remained a close prisoner in one of 
 the English tents ; and the brutal Henry refused him even those 
 indulgences and attentions which were suitable to his rank. His 
 mind, however, in consequence of what he had heard from 
 Therese, was in a state which rendered him incapable of feeling, 
 and still more of resenting, this petty malignity. He was far, 
 however, from giving implicit credence to the intelligence of 
 Annette. He knew that the ring was still in his own possession; 
 and as he gazed at it on his finger, he smiled at the durance in 
 which he was held, since with it he had purchased the safe pos- 
 session of the precious token. 
 
 " It is only a malignant invention of Annette's," he said, " fabri- 
 cated either for the purpose of disturbing my repose, or of defaming 
 the reputation of my sweet Franchise ; only a few hours, heavy 
 and tedious hours indeed, but still only a few, and all my fears 
 will be removed, and all my torturing anxiety will be allayed by 
 the certainty of bliss." 
 
 Still his mind was in a state of too great excitation to allow him
 
 THE A'/A US. 
 
 475 
 
 a moment's repose during the night, and it was not until the noon- 
 day sun was pouring its radiance into the tent, that he was disco- 
 vered asleep by the commandant of the escort which was to 
 convey him to Chateaubriant. 
 
 " We wait for you, my lord," said this officer, awakening him. 
 " We have King Henry's commands to lose no time in conveying 
 you to Brittany." 
 
 " I shall not give either King Henry or you, Sir," said Chateau- 
 briant, " much trouble by delaying you in the execution of his 
 orders. I have seen enough of courts and kings to return without 
 a broken heart to my own peaceful mansion, on the banks of the 
 Vilaine." 
 
 " Doubtless, doubtless," said the officer, shrugging up his 
 shoulders, as if expressing a concurrence of opinion ; " but it was a 
 dangerous thing in you, my lord, to part with the King's present 
 as you did. Had you been an English subject," added he, look- 
 ing cautiously round the tent, " your head would have been in a 
 much more precarious situation than it is at present." 
 
 " I am innocent, Sir, of the crime which has called forth King 
 Henry's displeasure, and am at this moment ignorant of the way 
 in which the ring came into the girl's possession." 
 
 The officer shook his head incredulously, and then, with a wag- 
 gish smile, asked, " Am I to have the honour of escorting the 
 young lady as well as your lordship ?" 
 
 " No, Sir," said Chateaubriant haughtily. " I am now at your 
 service ; and as I perceive that I am addressing a person who 
 doubts my word, I beg that we may converse during the journey 
 as sparingly as possible." 
 
 Thus saying, they proceeded to the travelling carriage which 
 stood at the door of the tent, and in which Chateaubriant seated 
 himself. The officer then mounted a horse which stood abreast of 
 the carriage, and giving the signal to the six men under his com- 
 mand, three of whom were French and three English, they pro- 
 ceeded on their journey. 
 
 Chateaubriant, whose temper had been considerably ruffled by 
 the short conversation which we have just related, was now left to
 
 47* THE RINGS. 
 
 his own thoughts, which again began to assume a painful character 
 He was soon roused from his reverie by the noise of wheels, and 
 he was panic-struck, as he looked through the carriage-window, to 
 see his own family carriage, which he had left in Brittany, ap- 
 proaching at a rapid pace. He almost doubted the evidence of 
 his senses, until he saw his friend St. Foix riding abreast of it, and 
 Pierre at a short distance ; and as it passed him he saw the Coun- 
 tess in the inside apparently buried in deep thought. The horrible 
 conviction of Annette's veracity, and of the cause of his present 
 captivity, flashed upon his brain, and he uttered a heart-piercing 
 scream as he endeavoured to let down the carriage-window. In 
 this he was prevented by the commandant, who placed one hand 
 on the window, and with the other brandished his sword. 
 
 " Beware ! Count," he said ; " give me but another instance of 
 a refractory disposition, and I have orders which I shall be com- 
 pelled, however unwillingly, to execute." 
 
 " For God's sake !" said Chateaubriant, " pursue that carriage. 
 I'll make the fortune of the man who arrests its progress." 
 
 " Nay, Sir, nay," replied the other ; " the men at present under 
 my command have other duties to perform ; and as it was formerly 
 your desire, so it is now mine, that we should converse as sparingly 
 as possible we will, therefore, drop this subject." 
 
 Chateaubriant's distress was too great for resentment or anger to 
 find a place in his bosom for a moment : he supplicated the officer 
 in language more humiliating than his pride had ever allowed him 
 yet to use, but the latter was inexorable. In the meantime, the 
 distance between the two carriages widened, and at length 
 Chateaubriant, exhausted by the violence and variety of his emo- 
 tions, sank back in the carriage in a state of listless stupor. 
 
 Years rolled over the grey turrets of Chateaubriant's castle, but 
 the lovely Countess was no longer seen within its walls, enlivening 
 by her beauty, grace, and intelligence, the gloom around her, or 
 wandering, " herself a fair flower," through the beautiful planta- 
 tions which were attached to the old castellated mansion. The 
 result of the treachery which lured her to Paris may easily be 
 divined. Exposed to the arts, the fascinations, and (for, if neces-
 
 THE KINGS. 477 
 
 sary, such would not have been spared) the violence of Francis ; 
 receiving no answer to the letters which she almost daily addressed 
 to her lord, but which of course were never suffered to reach their 
 destination, and believing from this circumstance, as well as from 
 having received the fatal ring, and from the protracted absence of 
 Chateaubriant, that he had made a base barter of her freedom and 
 her honour, and was no longer worthy of her regard, she at length 
 fell into the net which was everywhere spread around her. 
 
 The Count in the meantime continued in the mansion of his 
 ancestors. For above a twelvemonth he was a close prisoner ; but 
 on a war breaking out with England, Francis did not feel himself 
 obliged to keep one of his own nobles in captivity as the prisoner 
 of his enemy. Long before the period of his liberation, however, 
 Chateaubriant had heard of the dishonour of his Countess ; and 
 Paris, which in the early part of his durance he had panted 
 ardently to revisit, was the place which of all others he abhorred. 
 He therefore continued voluntarily shut up in his castle, where his 
 only solace was the society of his daughter, a beautiful child of 
 about nine years of age. Although her extraordinary resem- 
 blance in feature, voice, and manner, to her mother served only 
 to feed his melancholy, still he was never so calm as when in her 
 company. She retained also a strong recollection of her mother, 
 and of the affectionate parting embrace which she had received 
 from her about three years before j and the artlessness and sim- 
 plicity of the inquiries which she would occasionally make after 
 her wrung the unfortunate Chateaubriant to the heart. 
 
 At length the King of France set out on his Italian wars, and, 
 at the fatal battle of Pavia, was made prisoner by the forces of the 
 Emperor of Germany. Of the three brothers of the Countess de 
 Chateaubriant who followed him on that expedition, two were 
 made prisoners and one was slain. Deprived thus of the protec- 
 tion both of her royal paramour and of her relatives, she found 
 herself in a very forlorn and destitute situation. Among the 
 females, she whom they had once envied now became their scorn ; 
 the men persecuted her with addresses, which she received with 
 abhorrence and disgust ; and the family of the monarch looked
 
 4?8 THE RIXGS. 
 
 upon her as an object which they were bound to consign to infant}' 
 and contempt. At length the King's mother, the Countess oi 
 Angouleme, who was regent of the kingdom during her son's cap- 
 tivity, determined to send her home to her husband, and directed 
 a mandate to the Count, requiring him to receive her into his 
 castle. Passive obedience was the order of those days. The 
 Count bowed submissively and kissed the royal mandate, although 
 his heart recoiled at its contents ; and Fran9oise became once more 
 an inmate of the mansion which had been the scene of her happi- 
 ness and felicity. 
 
 Chateaubriant, with a mingled feeling of horror at her crime 
 and dread of her fascinating influence, resolved never to admit 
 her into his presence, but assigned her a suite of apartments, 
 where she lived more like a prisoner than an ordinary occupant. 
 Pierre took care to confirm him in this resolution, dreading nothing 
 so much as an interview, except the eclaircissenicnt to which he 
 naturally expected it would lead. This fiend in human shape was 
 also continually goading his master to the destruction of the un- 
 happy Countess, a course towards which he felt but too much 
 inclination ; but the recollection of his daughter always intervened 
 like a guardian angel between this purpose and its perpetration. 
 Nevertheless, to carry his designs of revenge and punishment into 
 execution as much as possible, he caused her to be confined in an 
 apartment hung with black, and with a singular refinement in the 
 art of mental torture, he hung upon this gloomy tapestry numerou 
 portraits of the King, so that wherever she turned her eyes the 
 encountered an object of shame and painful recollection. 
 
 Fran^oise, finding all her entreaties for an interview wit 
 Chateaubriant of no avail, begged at least that she might be pe 
 mitted the society of her daughter. Pierre even opposed this in 
 dulgence ; but the remonstrances of his wife's female attendan 
 and the tears and entreaties of the child, triumphed over th 
 resolution of Chateaubriant. 
 
 In the society of this beautiful, and indeed improved, miniatur 
 copy of herself, Francoise forgot half her sorrows. Her daughte 
 had but a very indistinct knowledge of her mother's history ; bu
 
 THE RINSS. 479 
 
 she saw that she was unhappy, and her heart soon believed that 
 she was ill-used. 
 
 The child became more and more attached to her mother, while 
 for her father she gradually learned to entertain feelings ap- 
 proaching to hatred. The pictures with which the room was hung 
 particularly excited her attention, and she would often ask the 
 Countess if the King was as beautiful and as finely formed as his 
 portraits represented him to be, and added that she had a great 
 desire to see him, and that when he returned from Spain she 
 would ask her father to take her to court. 
 
 To observations of this nature, Madame de Chateaubriant could 
 only reply by sighs ; but feelings of a still bitterer and more poig- 
 nant nature would often be excited by the artless inquiries of the 
 child. " Wherefore does not my father come to see you ? and 
 why do you never go to him ? Why are you always shut up in 
 this chamber, instead of walking out in yonder beautiful wood 
 with us ?" Then she would throw herself on the neck of her 
 mother, and with tears in her eyes beseech her to take a walk 
 with her, or to tell her why she refused. 
 
 " It is the will of Heaven, my dearest child," said the Countess, 
 "and we ought to submit patiently to all which that will ordains." 
 
 " Nay, nay," answered the child, " I know that it is my father 
 who orders this ; but I will so besiege him with my supplications 
 and my tears that he shall grant my request, or I will never see 
 him any more, and will always remain with you." 
 
 In vain did the Countess beg her to abandon her intention ; on 
 the very day on which it was formed it was executed. As she 
 every evening related to her father all that had passed between 
 her mother and herself, she that night reproached him with his 
 cruelty, and begged that he would release her mother from her 
 confinement, and that they might all go together to visit some rela- 
 tions in Dauphiny. 
 
 The Count regarded her with a severe glance, and bid her, as 
 she valued his favour, to speak no more upon the subject. 
 
 "Speak no more upon it!" she exclaimed; "then must not I 
 see you more ; for whenever my eyes behold my mother's perse-
 
 4 So THE RINGS. 
 
 cutor, my tongue shall not be silent upon my mother's wrongs." 
 Thus saying, with a lofty brow, but with tears in her eyes, she 
 rushed from the apartment. 
 
 " The brat is well tutored, my lord !" said Pierre. " Doubtless 
 you have chosen for her the society of a person well fitted to inspir : 
 her with sentiments of filial affection and respect towards yourself '.'' 
 
 "Thou sayest truly, Pierre," said Chateaubriant; " she shall no 
 longer visit Fran?oise I mean, that woman. Let her durance 
 be sad and solitary, as her shame was open and avowed." 
 
 " Durance !" said Pierre " durance !" and then, fixing his eyes 
 upon his master, he added, in a subdued tone, " methinks there 
 were a shorter way." 
 
 " Rouse not the fiend within my, bosom, Pierre. How could 
 the murderer of the mother bear to gaze upon the face of the 
 daughter ?" 
 
 It was, however, determined that that mother and that daughter 
 should be separated. The former bore her fate with more resig- 
 nation than had been anticipated, but with the child it was far 
 otherwise ; the green stalk of her life 
 
 "was snapped, 
 And the flower drooped, as eveny eye might see." 
 
 She turned away with disgust from every attempt to amuse her, 
 and took scarcely any nourishment. The efforts of her father to 
 console her only redoubled her despondency ; and at length a 
 fever ensued, which terminated in an affection of the brain. During 
 her paroxysms, she was continually calling for her mother ; and 
 when the Count approached her bed, she hid her face from him, 
 and only answered his inquiries by saying that she wanted to 
 see her mother. At length his heart was softened, and he gave 
 his consent once more to an interview between them. 
 
 Both mother and daughter derived great consolation from this 
 interview, and the former continued in the sick-chamber until the 
 evening of the day on which it took place. Chateaubriant then 
 caused her to be removed to her own apartment, and himself 
 visited the mvenile sufferer. He found his child in a state of still
 
 THE RINGS. 48.1 
 
 greater danger than she had ever yet been : the violence of her 
 fever increased rapidly, and after passing several hours in great 
 agony, she expired in the arms of her father. 
 
 Thus early did the grave close over the ill-starred existence of 
 the heiress of Chateaubriant. The minds both of the father and 
 mother immediately experienced a revolution. The latter found 
 herself more than ever alone in an unhospitable world, and 
 the former gave himself entirely up to the demon of revenge 
 which raged in his bosom, and which had -hitherto been only 
 restrained by his affection for his daughter. The intelligence 
 that the King had returned from his long captivity, which arrived 
 about the same time, gave wings to his design, and Pierre at 
 length obtained from him an authority for the destruction of his 
 Countess. 
 
 On the evening of the day on which this deed of blood was to 
 be achieved, Chateaubriant was pacing his apartment with hurried 
 step and faltering bosom, in expectation of the arrival of his trusty 
 valei with the announcement. At length the dark visage of Pierre, 
 with an expression of malignant delight upon it, appeared at the 
 door of the chamber. 
 
 " Is the deed done, Pierre ?" asked Chateaubriant, in a low and 
 stifled tone. 
 
 " She has not an hour's life in her,** returned the other. 
 
 " There, there, take thy reward !" said Chateaubriant, throwing 
 a purse to him, " I thank thee ; but never let me see thee more." 
 
 As soon as Pierre had left the apartment, Chateaubriant sunk 
 down into his seat, and covered his face with his hands ; cold 
 drops of sweat stood on his brow, and his whole frame shook 
 with the violence of his emotions. 
 
 " Poor Fran9oise !" he exclaimed, " thy crime is expiated. I 
 could now look upon thee and curse thee not ; I could weep in 
 very fondness over thee ; I could press thy lips to mine as I used 
 to do. Gracious God !" he added, and started up, " was it for this 
 that I watched so tenderly over thee ; that I suffered not the wind to 
 blow too rudely on thee, lest thy fair and fragile frame should suffer 
 injury? Yet, wherefe?* should I mourn, save that one tomb will 
 I I
 
 482 THE RINGS. 
 
 not contain us both : that whilst thou goest down at once into 
 the silent depths of the grave, I must rot piece-meal on the stag- 
 nant waters of life, and only know that I exist by the keenness 
 of my misery." 
 
 A low, rustling sound attracted his attention, and he started as 
 if he had seen a spectre, when he beheld Franchise enter the 
 apartment. 
 
 Chateaubriant fancied that she had never looked more beautiful, 
 although the paleness of death was upon her face. The exquisite 
 fairness of her features was no longer relieved by the blooming 
 roses on her cheeks ; but her full black eyes, although wet with 
 tears, sparkled more brilliantly than ever, and her stately figure 
 was drawn up to its utmost height, and appeared to dilate amidst 
 the dubious shadows of the approaching twilight. 
 
 " Henry !" she said, in a mournful tone, " I was told that you 
 were about to leave the kingdom, and I came before your departure, 
 not to ask for your blessings, or even your forgiveness, but for your 
 pity Chateaubriant, your pity !" Tears streamed down her cheeks 
 as she uttered these words. 
 
 " Thou hast it, Frangoise, thou hast it : my compassion, my for- 
 giveness, my blessing, thou hast them all ; and may the God which 
 is to judge thee be equally merciful !" 
 
 " Amen, amen '" responded Fraii9oise. " Noblest of men, 
 farewell !" 
 
 Chateaubriant gazed at her as she was about to leave the apart- 
 ment, with feelings of the bitterest anguish. Cold sweat mingled 
 with his tears ; his knees knocked against each other, and a feeling 
 of suffocation was in his throat. All the strength he could com- 
 mand was exhausted in calling "Fra^oise!" and he sunk feebly 
 into his seat. 
 
 She approached at first timidly ; but seeing the violence of his 
 paroxysm, she ventured to draw nearer, and supported his head 
 upon her bosom. 
 
 " For the love of Heaven, Fran9oise !" he exclaimed, " waste 
 not these precious moments in idle cares for me." 
 
 " What mean you ?" she said ; and then drawing back, added,
 
 THE RINGS. 483 
 
 "true true, I am not worthy ! And yet, Chateaubriant, but for 
 you this bosom might now have afforded you as pure a resting- 
 place as when it pillowed your head in our own peaceful mansion 
 of Brittany." 
 
 "Woman," he exclaimed sternly, "no more of this! I would 
 not now utter one reproachful word. That mansion might, how- 
 ever, have been peaceful still, if you had not deserted it" 
 
 " And never, never would I have deserted a home so dear ; but 
 your strong bidding, accompanied by the fatal token, lured me to 
 destruction." 
 
 " I pray thee, Fran9oise, do not do not mock me now ! Thou 
 knowest not why I touch so tenderly upon thy frailties ; but soon, 
 very soon, the secret will be revealed to thee." 
 
 He gazed wistfully in her face. She approached him once more, 
 and with one hand grasping his, held up the other, on which 
 sparkled both the fatal rings. 
 
 " God of my fathers !" he exclaimed, and started up, " this is 
 delusion it cannot be !" He then rushed with frantic haste to 
 the cabinet in which he had deposited the counterfeit token, burst 
 it open, and taking out the ring, compared it with those on the 
 finger of the Countess, Away from its prototype it was impossible 
 to discover the cheat ; but when placed in juxtaposition it soon 
 became apparent. A conviction of the horrible truth soon flashed 
 on the mind of Chateaubriant. 
 
 " Treason ! sacrilege !" he shrieked ; " Oh, Frangoise, how have 
 we been betrayed !" 
 
 " Did you not write to me, requiring my attendance at court ? 
 and was not Pierre the bearer of your letter?" 
 
 " It is most true say on." 
 
 " And did you not entrust him with this ring, in token that you 
 wished the mandate of that letter to be obeyed ?" 
 
 " Never, never ! Villain ! heartless, remorseless, treacherous 
 villain !" 
 
 She wrung her hands in agony, and sank upon the ground. 
 Chateaubriant leaned over her in speechless horror. A dreadful 
 pang shot through her whole frame.
 
 484 THE RINGS. 
 
 "Support me! save me ! Oh! whence proceeds this torture ? 
 I cannot, will not bear it." 
 
 " Oh, Frangoise ! it is now my turn to sue. Pity me ; pardon 
 me ! The wine which you just now drank was poisoned !" 
 
 A dreadful shriek burst from her lips, which was quickly suc- 
 ceeded by another of those convulsive pangs. 
 
 " Oh ! save me save me, Henry ! Do not let me die ! Have 
 mercy on me mercy !" 
 
 The poison seemed to have imparted a supernatural strength to 
 her, and it was with the utmost difficulty that Chateaubriant held 
 her in his arms. This, however, soon gave way to more than 
 feminine weakness. Her colour varied from black to red, and 
 thence to a mortal paleness. Her eyes, which at first gleamed 
 with an unnatural brightness, became glazed and filmy, and the 
 throes with which her bosom heaved became fainter and fainter, 
 until she lay perfectly motionless in the arms of her husband. 
 
 " She's dead ! she's dead !" he shrieked, and throwing himself 
 upon the body, gave vent to his agony in tears. He had not been 
 long in this situation before he drew back with redoubled horror ; 
 for the corpse, instead of exhibiting those appearances which 
 wait upon " soft natural death," was swollen and distorted, and 
 the face was spotted over like a leper. A bitter fiend-like laugh 
 rang in his ears at that moment, and turning round he beheld 
 Therese. 
 
 " What means this intrusion ?" he said indignantly ; but added, 
 on perceiving who the intruder was, and remembering that she had 
 not before been seen in the castle since her abrupt departure, 
 " Whence and wherefore come you now ? Is not thy insatiable 
 spirit of revenge at length satisfied ?" 
 
 " It is, it is !" she shouted wildly : " and now, thou base and 
 earth-born clay, yield a passage for the inhabitant who has too long 
 endured thy galling fetters." 
 
 As she spake these words she produced a poniard, which was 
 instantly sheathed in her bosom. She fell bathed in blood at the 
 feet of her seducer, who recoiled with horror at the sight of this
 
 THE X/NGS. 485 
 
 second tragedy. The wretched girl, however, evinced no feeling 
 but that of exultation ; and the last sound which she uttered was 
 a faint and stifled laugh. 
 
 Such, gentle reader, is the history of " The Rings," for little 
 remains to be added. Chateaubriant, as may be easily imagined, 
 felt little attachment to the scene in which so dismal a drama had 
 been acted, and spent the remainder of his days in exile. Of 
 Pierre nothing more was heard : and St. Foix lived to a grey old 
 age in the enjoyment of honour and opulence. 
 

 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY. 
 EDWARD THE SIXTH. 
 
 1547. EDWARD was only nine years of age when he succeeded to the 
 throne. The Earl of Hertford, his maternal uncle, was declared Protector 
 during his minority, and created Duke of Somerset. He encouraged the 
 Reformation, and allowed no-one to be about the young King who was not of 
 the Protestant persuasion. Bishop Gardiner opposed the progress of the 
 Reformation, but to very little purpose. 
 
 About two months after Henry's death, Francis, King of France, died, and 
 was succeeded by Henry II., a prince of abilities, but who, being much 
 governed by the Duke of Guise and the Cardinal Lorraine, listened to their 
 advice, and sent immediate assistance to Scotland, where the Reformation was 
 making rapid progress. Cardinal Beaton burnt one of the most popular of the 
 Protestant preachers, Wishart ; for which a few days afterwards he was assas- 
 sinated in his palace. Somerset, determined on adhering to Henry's wish, of 
 uniting Edward to the young Queen of Scotland, matched an army into Scotland ; 
 but being strongly opposed by the Queen-mother and the Catholic clergy, 
 a battle ensued at Pinkey, in which the Scots were entirely defeated ; after 
 which the Protector, hearing that some cabal was carrying on in England 
 against his authority, returned to London. 
 
 1548. About 6,000 French, under D'Esse, arrived in Scotland ; but not 
 being able entirely with that number to check the English, the young Queen 
 was sent over to France, and contracted to the Dauphin. 
 
 Lord Seymour, the Protector's brother, being of a violent, ambitious temper, 
 and having married Henry VIII. 's widow, formed many projects against 
 the Duke : and his wife dying, he was in hopes of marrying the Princess 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 1549. Seymour was attainted and beheaded. 
 
 An act passed forbidding images in churches, commanding the service to be 
 performed in English, and allowing the priests to marry. 
 
 The King of France attempted to take Boulogne, but without effect. 
 A conspiracy was entered into against Somerset, which obliged him to resign 
 the Protectorship. The Earl of Warwick, who then governed the aftairs of the 
 nation, supported the Reformation.
 
 EDWARD THE SIXTH. 487 
 
 1550. A peace was concluded with France, in which Scotland was com- 
 prehended. Boulogne was restored, on payment of four hundred thousand 
 crowns. 
 
 The Princess Mary, a determined Catholic, was supported by the Emperor, 
 who threatened to declare war if she was not allowed liberty of conscience. 
 
 1551. Gardiner and some other prelates were deprived of their benefices 
 for not conforming to the Protestant religion. 
 
 Warwick was created Duke of Northumberland, and finding Somerset still 
 popular, had him arrested and tried for treason and felony, for intending to 
 assault him, being a privy counsellor. He was acquitted of the treason, but 
 condemned for the felony. 
 
 1552. Somerset was beheaded on Tower Hill, much regretted by the people. 
 
 Northumberland persuaded the young King to exclude his sisters, Mary and 
 Elizabeth, from the succession to the crown, and to nominate Lady Jane Grey 
 as his successor. 
 
 Tonstall, Bishop of Durham, was deprived of his bishopric for not conforming 
 strictly to the Protestant religion. 
 
 1553. The young King visibly declined in health. A Parliament was drawn 
 up settling the succession on the heirs of the Duchess of Suffolk, the descendants 
 of Henry VIII. 's sister Mary. 
 
 The King died of a consumption, brought on by a violent cold, on the 
 6th July.
 
 
 dDah jof ef0rmaft<m, 
 
 Up T?\sh Street ! down St. Magnus corner ! kill and knock down. Throw 
 them into Thames. 
 
 Second Part of K. HENRY VI. 
 
 DURING the reign of Edward the Sixth, the insurrections of 
 the common people, the astonishing success which for 
 a considerable time attended them, and the ease with which they 
 were finally put down and punished, are the most romantic inci- 
 dents which occurred. Of these insurrections, perhaps the most 
 remarkable was that which took place in the county of Norfolk, 
 and which was headed by John Ket, a tanner of Wimondham. 
 The motives which impelled the leaders of this insurrection are by 
 the annalists of the time represented to have been similar to those 
 which influenced Jack Cade and his associates in the reign of King 
 Henry the Sixth, who were indignant at the discovery that the 
 King's council were not good workmen, and that the nobility thought 
 it scorn to go in leathern aprons. The gentry of the county, how- 
 ever, were accused by the insurgents of inordinate avarice and 
 pride, and of exercising rapine, extortion, and oppression upon 
 their tenants and poorer neighbours. The numerous inclosures 
 of common land too were loudly complained of, and the first act 
 of open violence committed by the insurgents was the breaking up 
 of some hedges and ditches, which had been made by a person of 
 the name of Green, near the town of Altiborough, for the purpose 
 of inclosing a part of the common pasture belonging to that town. 
 This riotous act was speedily followed by others of a similar
 
 THE OAK OF REFORM A TfON. 489 
 
 nature : the numbers of the rebels daily increased ; and John Ket, 
 a tanner, of Wimondham, and a man of great boldness and enter- 
 prise, was unanimously chosen their leader. They then advanced 
 to the little town of Bowthorp, destroyed all the hedges and ditches 
 in the neighbourhood, and encamped in the town during the night 
 Here Sir William Windham, the High Sheriff of Norfolk, came to 
 them, proclaimed them traitors and rebels, and in the name of King 
 Edward commanded them to disperse. This proclamation, in- 
 stead of awing them, exasperated them to a state of absolute fury, 
 and they attempted to possess themselves of the person of the 
 Sheriff. Sir William Windham, being well mounted, broke through 
 the ranks of the mob which surrounded him, and made his escape 
 unhurt into the city of Norwich, which was not above a mile 
 distant. During the night, a vast number of the lower orders, or 
 as Holinshed calls them, " lewd people," joined the rebels from 
 Norwich and the surrounding country, bringing with them weapons, 
 armour, and artillery. 
 
 The next day they established themselves on St. Leonard's hill, 
 where the Earl of Surrey had built a stately mansion called Mount 
 Surrey, and took up their quarters in the house and the adjacent 
 woods. In the meantime, the Mayor and Aldermen of Norwich 
 having consulted together whether it would be best to attack the 
 rebels immediately, or to wait until they had apprised the Duke of 
 Somerset, who was then Protector of the realm during the King's 
 minority, of all that had occurred, determined on pursuing the 
 latter course, and immediately despatched a messenger to London. 
 The insurgents continued to plunder and burn houses, obstruct 
 high roads, stop up ferries, and by lighting beacons and ringing 
 bells drew a great multitude from Norfolk and Suffolk and the ad- 
 jacent parts to join them. They had in the course of their enter- 
 prise made many prisoners, among whom was the Vicar of St. 
 Martin's, in Norwich, whom by threats and violence they com- 
 pelled to officiate as their chaplain, to perform the church service 
 every morning, and to pray to God to prosper their undertaking- 
 They also got Thomas Cod, the mayor of Norwich, Robert 
 Watson, a clergyman, and Thomas Aldrick, a gentleman of some
 
 49? THE OAK OF REFORM A T1ON. 
 
 property, into their custody. These they compelled to be present 
 at all the councils which they held, and to take upon themselves, 
 jointly with Ket, the administration and government of the affairs 
 of the council. Their offices, however, were merely nominal, Ket 
 being in fact the sole dictator ; but the names of his associates 
 being subscribed to all proclamations and other documents, ensured 
 extraordinary respect and obedience to them. Among other 
 papers to which their signatures were affixed, was one which ran as 
 follows : 
 
 " We, the King's friends and deputies, do grant licence to all 
 men to provide and bring into the camp at Monsold, all manner 
 of cattle and provision of victuals, in what place soever they may 
 find the same, so that no violence or injury be done to any honest 
 or poor man ; commanding all persons as they tender the King's 
 honour and royal majesty, and the relief of the Commonwealth, 
 to be obedient to us the governors, and to those whose names 
 ensue." 
 
 By virtue of such commissions as this, many persons of rank 
 and wealth were seized upon in their houses, and brought prisoners 
 to the camp ; also the ditches and hedges by which the commons 
 in that neighbourhood had been inclosed, were destroyed, and many 
 persons were warned and called upon from various parts, to come 
 forward and assist those who committed these outrages. 
 
 The citizens of Norwich, in the meantime, remained in great 
 perplexity and anxiety, not having received any answer to their 
 application for relief from the Protector. The cause of that noble- 
 man's delay was, that he was at that time sufficiently occupied in 
 quelling the insurrections which had broken out in other parts of 
 the country nearer the metropolis. The power and numbers, there- 
 fore, of the Norfolk rebels increased so much, that there were 
 assembled in Ket's camp above sixteen thousand men, provided with 
 artillery, powder, and other implements of war, of which they had 
 plundered ships, gentlemen's houses, and other places that had 
 sustained their attacks. They also scoured the country far and 
 wide, and brought in cattle, corn, and wine, so that they were 
 abundantly supplied both with weapons, and provision?
 
 THE OAK OF REFORM A TION. 49! 
 
 The spoils, however, were sometimes not very equitably divided ; 
 many provided for themselves at the expense of the commonwealth, 
 and Ket, determined to remedy this inconvenience, decreed that 
 a place should be appointed where judgments might be pronounced 
 as in a judicial hall. For this purpose they selected a great old 
 oak tree, where Ket, or some other person having authority, was 
 accustomed to sit and hear and determine the disputes of their ad- 
 herents. This tree they called "The Oak of Reformation." 
 
 The mayor, Aldrick, and others who had been received into the 
 number of governors, would often mount this tree and harangue 
 the multitude, in the hope of inducing them to cease their violent 
 and outrageous proceedings. Many clergymen also would come 
 from the city of Norwich, and other parts of the country, and 
 exhort them to return to loyalty and obedience. These, among 
 v:hom was Doctor Matthew Parker, afterwards Archbishop of Can- 
 terbury, were commonly received and listened to with much 
 respect. Parker, on one occasion, coming into the camp, found 
 the insurgents assembled round the Oak of Reformation, and 
 listening to the Vicar of St. Martin's, who was reading the litany. 
 At its conclusion, Dr. Parker went up into the tree, and preached 
 a sermon, which he divided into three several parts. In the first, 
 he exhorted his hearers to use with moderation the victuals with 
 which they had provided themselves, and not riotously to waste 
 and consume them. In the second, he advised them not to seek 
 revenge for private injuries ; not to chain or keep in irons those 
 persons whom they detained in their custody, and not to take 
 away any man's life. Lastly, he wished that they would have 
 regard to their own safety, and leave off their rashly begun enter- 
 prise, giving ear to such heralds or other messengers as came from 
 the King, and showing such honour to his majesty in his young 
 and tender years, as that they might live under his rule when 
 grown up, in virtue, with great joy, comfort, and gladness. The 
 multitude for a long time listened with great attention, and even 
 apparent emotion, and the Doctor began inwardly to felicitate 
 himself on the success of his appeal to their better feelings, when 
 9 stentorian voice from among them shouted out, " How lon
 
 49 THE OAK OF REFORMATION. 
 
 shall we suffer this hireling Doctor, who, receiving his wages from 
 gentlemen, is come hither with his tongue, which is sold and tied, 
 to serve their purpose? Notwithstanding all their prating words, 
 let us bring them under the orders of our law." 
 
 This was firing a train which, although it had hitherto appeared 
 perfectly quiet and harmless, needed but a spark to make it ex- 
 plode in all directions. Some grasped their swords, others pointed 
 their bows, and one exclaimed, " It were well that for his fair tale 
 we should bring him down with a mischief with our arrows and 
 javelins." Doctor Parker began to repent his rashness, and 
 fancied that he heard the clash of weapons immediately under 
 him. The Vicar of St. Martin's, however, at that moment relieved 
 him from his fears, by beginning, with the help of some choristers 
 who were with him, to sing the canticle, " Te Deum." The multi- 
 tude, diverted from their anger by the sound of singing, almost 
 unanimously joined in the canticle; and Parker, scarcely observed 
 by a single eye, slipped down from the tree, and made his way 
 towards the city, in which he arrived somewhat terrified, but unhurt. 
 
 The rebels, proceeding from one outrage to another, after they 
 had plundered the neighbouring gentry of their goods, began to 
 seize their persons, and to bring them by force into their camp ; 
 so that such as were fortunate enough to make their escape, were 
 glad to hide themselves in woods and caves. Even the King's 
 authority was used to sanction the proceedings of the insurgents ; 
 for commissions having been directed under the great seal to 
 various gentlemen of the county, empowering them to put down 
 the rioters, Ket got these commissions into his possession, and 
 tore off the seals, which he fastened to the documents signed by 
 himself and his associates. They plundered the country in all 
 directions, seizing cattle, breaking into parks, killing deer, and 
 destroying woods. Their prisoners were treated with great bar- 
 barity ; some were brought to trial before the Oak of Reformation, 
 and the judges asking the multitude what should be done with 
 the prisoners, the unanimous answer was, "Hang them, hang 
 them !" and the sentence was usually as summarily executed as 
 h was pronounced.
 
 THE OAK OF REFORM A TION. 493 
 
 A citizen of Norwich, named Leonard Southerton, being very 
 obnoxious to the rebels, felt that his life was in danger, and fled to 
 London. There he was examined before the Privy Council as to 
 the state of the country. He then detailed all that he had seen 
 and heard of the outrageous proceedings of the rebels, but 
 declared that it was well known that there were many among them 
 #ho would be glad to abandon their associates and return to their 
 allegiance, if they were but assured of receiving the King's 
 pardon; and that if the King would issue a proclamation, 
 promising a pardon for what had passed, to all those who would 
 quit the camp and return quietly to their homes, he had no doubt 
 that the insurrection would be speedily quelled. His suggestion 
 was immediately acted upon, and he was sent, accompanied by 
 a herald and several other citizens of Norwich, to the camp of 
 the rebels. 
 
 The herald entered the camp attired in his official dress ; and, 
 standing before the Oak of Reformation, proclaimed with a loud 
 voice the King's free pardon to all such as would on the instant 
 depart to their homes, and laying aside their arms, give over their 
 traitorous enterprise. After he had ended the proclamation, the 
 multitude cried out, " God save the King !" Many fell upon their 
 knees, and with tears in their eyes, expressed their sense of the 
 lenity wi.h which they were treated. Ket, alarmed at these indica- 
 tions of returning loyalty, mounted the Oak of Reformation, and 
 harangued them with a zeal and eloquence which, combined with 
 the habitual respect which they had learned to entertain for him, 
 turned the feelings of the multitude once more in his favour. He 
 told them that kings and princes were accustomed to grant pardons 
 to such as had offended, and not to others ; that they had com- 
 mitted no crimes, and therefore had no need of pardon; and, 
 therefore, he besought them not to forsake him, but to remember 
 his promise, that he was ready to lay down his life in their quarrel. 
 The herald then proclaimed John Ket a traitor, and commanded 
 the sword-bearer of Norwich to attach him for treason. Then 
 began a great tumult among the multitude ; they crowded round 
 Ket for his defence, and innumerable arrows, javelins, and swords
 
 194 THE OAK OF REFORM A TION. 
 
 were pointed at the herald and his associates. The herald, then 
 perceiving that the favourable effect which the proclamation had 
 produced had been entirely dissipated by Ket's harangue, deter- 
 mined to leave them, and cried out with a loud voice, " All ye 
 that be the King's friends, come away with me !" The Mayor of 
 Norwich, Aldrick, and a few others who had been unwillingly de- 
 tained in the camp, followed him, but the multitude only answered 
 his invitation with jeers and threats, although no act of violence 
 was offered to him or any of his party. 
 
 The Mayor, on his return to the city, caused the gates to be 
 shut, and such gentlemen as the citizens, during his absence, awed 
 by the vicinity of the rebels, had committed prisoners to the 
 castle or other places in the city, to be set at liberty. He soon, 
 however, found that many in the city were in secret league with 
 the rebels, of whom great numbers, notwithstanding his precautions 
 to keep them out, were admitted within the gates. He therefore 
 thought that his friends would be most secure by being once more 
 shut up in prison, lest the rebels, finding them abroad, should 
 murder them. At length he contrived to eject all the disaffected 
 from the city, and then began to see that the gates were properly 
 watched and defended, to plant ordnance, and to take all necessary 
 measures for resisting the insurgents. 
 
 The city and the camp now began to exchange shots ; but the 
 rebels finding that their artillery, planted on the summit of the 
 hill, did but little injury to the city, removed it lower down, and 
 thence began to batter the walls. Shortly afterwards, Ket sent 
 messengers to the Mayor, to treat for a short truce, and to request 
 that, during its continuance, the insurgents might have free ingress 
 and egress to and from the city to procure provisions, a great want 
 of which began to be felt in the camp. This request was perempto- 
 rily refused by the Mayor and aldermen, who protested that they 
 would not permit any traitors to have passage through the city. 
 
 The rebels, incensed at this answer to their application, poured 
 down in myriads from the hill, and assaulted the gates, but were 
 beaten back by the arrows of the besieged. Such a determined 
 spirit, however, prevailed among the insurgents, that it is related
 
 THE OAK OF REFORM A TION. &$ 
 
 that even die boys and lads plucked the arrows with which they 
 were galled out of their flesh, and gave them to their bowmen to 
 be returned upon the enemy. 
 
 In the meantime, while the Mayor and his forces were thus en- 
 gaged on one side of the city, an alarm was raised that the rebels 
 had entered at the other. The citizens immediately left the posts 
 at which they had hitherto been stationed, and rushed to defend 
 this new point of attack, but they discovered that they had been 
 tricked by a false alarm. The place where the real assault was 
 made being thus left undefended, the rebels rushed into the river 
 which ran before the gate called Bishop's Gate, burst the gate 
 open, and entered the city almost unresisted. The citizens, panic- 
 struck at this unexpected event, having hid themselves in their 
 houses, the rebels marched through the streets, possessed them- 
 selves of all the implements of war which they could lay their 
 hands on, and removed them to their camp. The herald, being 
 yet in the city, came into the market-place, and commanded all 
 persons, in the King's name, immediately to lay clown their arms 
 and depart to their homes ; promised a free pardon to such as 
 should obey that commandment ; and threatened the punishment 
 of death to such as should disobey it. The rebels heard the pro- 
 clamation patiently ; but at its conclusion told the herald that " it 
 was not his fair offers, nor his sweet flattering words, that should 
 beguile them, since they made no account of such manner of 
 mercy that, under a colour of pardon, should cut off all their 
 safety and hope of preservation."* The herald, seeing that they 
 were not to be moved either by the fear of punishment or the hope 
 of pardon, departed from the city. The rebels, after his departure, 
 made strict search for Leonard Southerton, but he contrived to 
 elude their vigilance. They then seized upon the persons of the 
 Mayor, and others of the inhabitants who had been most active 
 in resisting their attack, and abandoning the city, carried them 
 prisoners to Mount Surrey. 
 
 The Council, upon the herald's return, were convinced that the 
 
 llolinshed.
 
 496 THE OAK OF REFORM A TION. 
 
 Norfolk rebels could only be reduced by force ; and therefore sent 
 the Marquis of Northampton with an army of fifteen thousand 
 men to Norwich, to act against them. The Marquis was accom- 
 panied by Lord Sheffield, Lord Wentworth. Sir Anthony Denny, 
 Sir Gilbert Dethwicke, who held the office of Norroy King-at- 
 Arms, together with many other persons of distinction, and a 
 small band of Italians, under the command of a captain named 
 Malatesta. The Marquis was joyfully received by the inhabitants 
 of Norwich, and on the night of his arrival, supped and lodged 
 in the city, but he and all his comrades kept their armour on all 
 night, that they might be prepared to repel any sudden attack of 
 the rebels. He appointed diligent watch to be kept at the gates 
 and on the walls ; and the soldiers, kindling a large fire in the 
 market place, which illuminated the whole city, remained there all 
 night, well armed and prepared to resist the attempts of any 
 enemy. 
 
 About midnight the rebels began to discharge their artillery 
 upon the city, but with very little effect, as the shot passed over 
 the heads of the inhabitants, without doing much injury. The 
 Marquis of Northampton, who had retired to rest, was roused by 
 the noise of artillery, and immediately summoned a council of 
 officers, for the purpose of deliberating with them on the measures 
 necessary to be taken for the defence of the city. It was deter- 
 mined that the gates which were on the contrary part of the town 
 from the rebels' camp, and also such part of the walls as had 
 fallen to decay, should be made secure ; so that if the enemy 
 should assault the city, he might the more easily be repelled. 
 
 While this determination was being carried into effect, the whole 
 multitude of the insurgents sallied from their camp, and with loud 
 shouts and yells rushing towards the city, attempted to fire the 
 gates, to climb over the walls, to pass the river, and to enter the 
 city at those parts of -the walls which were decayed and ruinous. 
 The parties within repelled this attack with great constancy and 
 valour. The battle raged furiously for the space of three hours ; 
 the rebels making incredible efforts to possess themselves of the 
 city, and the Marquis and his v>ldiers using equal exertions to
 
 T&n OAK OF KEFORMATtOX. 497 
 
 them bark. The courage and zeal of each party seemed 
 equal, but the better discipline of the Marquis's troops at length 
 prevailed over their opponents, who retreated in confusion to 
 their camp. 
 
 The next day the Marquis received information that many of 
 the revolters in Ket's camp would gladly desert their leader if they 
 were certain of receiving the King's pardon ; and that at Pokle- 
 thorpe Gate, there were near five thousand men, who were willing 
 to lay down their arms on being assured that the royal mercy 
 would be extended to them. The Marquis immediately dispatched 
 Norroy King-at-Arms and a trumpeter to that gate, with instruc- 
 tions to proclaim a free pardon of all past offences to such of the 
 insurgents as should immediately lay down their arms. There 
 was no one to be seen at the gate when Norroy and the trumpeter 
 arrived there ; but on the latter sounding his trumpet, a vast 
 multitude came running down the hill, headed by a man of the 
 name of Flotman. The latter demanded wherefore he and his 
 friends were thus called together by sound of trumpet ? 
 
 " Go thy ways," said Norroy, " and tell thy company from my 
 Lord Marquis of Northampton, the King's Majesty's Lieutenant, 
 that he commanded! them to cease from committing any further 
 outrage; and tell them that if they obey his commandment, all 
 that hath passed shall be forgiven and pardoned." 
 
 Flotman, who in violence and desperation scarcely yielded to 
 Ket himself, answered that he cared nought for the Marquis ; that 
 he and the rest of the insurgents were earnest defenders of the 
 King's royal Majesty; and that they had taken up arms not 
 against the King, but in his defence, since they sought but to 
 maintain his royal estate, the liberty of the country, and safety of 
 the commonwealth. To conclude, he utterly refused the King's 
 pardon, and said that he and his comrades would either restore 
 the commonwealth from the decay into which it had fallen, being 
 oppressed by the tyranny and covetousness of the gentlemen, or 
 that they would die like men in the quarrel.* 
 
 Holinshed. 
 ENG. K K
 
 #3 I HE OAK OF REFORMATION 
 
 While Flotman and the King-at-Arms were thus parleying at. 
 the gate, a body of rebels entered the city by the hospital, and 
 began to commit great devastation ; but being encountered by 
 some soldiers under the command of the Marquis, a dreadful 
 fight ensued, which was fiercely contested by both parties. During 
 .the heat of the engagement, the Lord Sheffield rushed into the 
 midst of the enemy's ranks, and with his single arm committed 
 great havoc among them; but as he was about to turn his 
 horse's head, he fell into a ditch, and the rebels, encompassing 
 him, prepared to kill him. He declared his name and rank, and 
 offered them a large booty if they would spare his life. His 
 enemies, however, were implacable ; and as he pulled off his 
 head-piece and showed his features, which were well known, to 
 convince them that he was really the person whom he represented 
 himself to be, a butcher of the name of Fulks struck him a blow 
 on the head with a club, which immediately deprived him of life. 
 
 The death of Lord Sheffield, which was speedily followed by 
 the slaughter of several other persons of distinction, greatly dis- 
 pirited the royalist party, and infused fresh courage into the rebels, 
 who, advancing through the streets, drove the Marquis and his 
 soldiers before them, and finally compelled them to abandon 
 Norwich, and leave it to the mercy of the conquerors. Many 
 prisoners were taken ; and the Marquis, and such as effected their 
 escape, fled with all speed to London. The rebels then set fire 
 to Norwich, which, but for the timely fall of great abundance of 
 rain, would have been utterly consumed. Many buildings, never- 
 theless, fell a prey to the flames ; of the citizens, some fled with 
 as much gold and silver as they could carry with them j others 
 hid their goods in wells and other secret places ; and the rebels, 
 entering the houses of such of those as were reputed to be the 
 most wealthy, seized upon all articles of value that they could 
 find, and carried them away. The firing of artillery, the shouts 
 and execrations of the rebels, the howling and groans of the 
 wounded and dying, and the weeping and shrieking of the 
 women and children, formed a dismal accompaniment to the 
 t v as':dy that was acting in every street.
 
 THE OAK OF KFOKMATIO.V. 499 
 
 The Mayor's deputy (the Mayor being himself a prisoner in 
 the camp) shut himself up in his house, aud beheld the destruc- 
 tion of the city, but durst not venture out. At length, a great 
 multitude of the rebels surrounded his house, and endeavoured 
 to break open the doors ; but finding their strength not equal to 
 such a task, they began to fire the house ; when the Deputy, 
 seeing that all resistance was vain, threw open his doors, and the 
 lawless rabble rushed in and seized upon him. plucked his gown 
 from off his back, called him traitor, and threatened to kill him if 
 he did not tell them where the Marquis of Northampton had 
 hidden himself. 
 
 The Deputy informed them that the Marquis had certainly made 
 his escape, and was then far on the road to London. The insurgents, 
 enraged at this information, affected to disbelieve him, searched 
 every chamber in the house, and laying their hands on such valu- 
 ables as they could possess themselves of, at length took their 
 departure. Many of them, afterwards, partly pacified by presents 
 of money, and partly moved by the reproofs of the better dis- 
 posed among them, gathered together vast quantities of the booty 
 which they had seized, and threw them into the shops of those 
 houses out of which they had previously taken them : still there 
 were many of the citizens who were spoiled of all that they 
 possessed, by the persons who entered their houses under the 
 pretence of searching for the Marquis of Northampton and his 
 adherents. The houses of all those citizens who had fled were 
 plundered and ransacked, for the insurgents branded them with 
 the names of traitors and enemies to their King and country, that 
 thus had forsaken their houses and dwellings in a time of such 
 necessity. Many of the citizens, however, bringing forth bread, 
 beer, and other victuals, for the lefreshment of the rebels, some- 
 what calmed their fury, and so escaped their violence. 
 
 Ket having thus got possession of the city, and chased from it 
 all who were hostile to his purposes, began to take precautions for 
 his defence, and set a watch of citizens at each of the gates, theaten- 
 ing their 1'ith a shameful death if they did not faithfully execute 
 the trusts which he reposed in them. In the meantime, the Pro- 
 K K a
 
 5o THE OAK OF REFORMATION. 
 
 tector and the Council, incensed at the defeat of the Marquis of 
 Northampton, and alarmed at the example of successful insurrec- 
 tion, which the rebels of Norfolk set to the rest of the nation, 
 determined to employ a numerous army, both of natives and 
 foreigners, which had been destined, under the command of the 
 Earl of Warwick, for the invasion of Scotland, in the suppression 
 and punishment of these outrages. 
 
 The rumour of the intended attack upon them soon reached 
 the ears of Ket and his rebellious army. They therefore concen- 
 trated all their strength, and full of hope from their past successes, 
 prepared to abide all the hazards which the fortune of war 
 might bring. The Earl of Warwick was speedily on his march, 
 and arrived at Cambridge, where he was met by the Marquis of 
 Northampton and the wreck of his discomfited army. Here also 
 he met many of the exiled citizens of Norwich, who falling on 
 their knees before him, besought him to be "good lord unto 
 them," and to take pity upon their miserable and destitute situ- 
 ation. Conscious that many among them had, either by cowardice 
 and negligence, or by actual connivance at the designs of Ket, 
 materially contributed to the success of his enterprise, they prayed 
 that, if in the grievous extremity to which they and their city had 
 been reduced, they had through fear or ignorance committed any 
 thing contrary to their dutiful allegiance, it might please the Earl 
 to pardon them, for that " if any thing were amiss on their parts, 
 the same came to pass sore against their wills, and to their extreme 
 grief and sorrow."* 
 
 The Earl of Warwick answered that he knew, indeed, the 
 dangers and sufferings to which they had been exposed, and that 
 he was disposed to overlook many offences. " They had," he 
 said, " committed one grievous fault in not, at the commencement 
 of these disorders, steadily resisting the rebels ;" he added, " that 
 having, nevertheless, humbly submitted themselves to his clemency, 
 be would grant them all the King's merciful pardon." He then 
 commanded them to provide themselves with armour and 
 
 * Holinshed.
 
 THE OAK OF REFORM A TION. 501 
 
 weapons, and appointed them to march forth with his army. There 
 were in this army, under the Earl of Warwick, many persons of 
 high rank and character, lords, knights, esquires, and gentlemen 
 in great numbers. Among them were Ambrose Dudley, and 
 Robert Dudley, the Earl's son and brother, the Marquis of North- 
 ampton, and many of his former associates, desirous to be re- 
 venged of their late repulse, and the Lords Willoughby, Powii, 
 and Bray. 
 
 The Earl of Warwick marched from Cambridge towards Nor- 
 wich, and came to Wimondham, where he was joined by all the 
 gentlemen of Norfolk and the adjacent parts, who had not faller 
 into the hands of the rebels. On the day after his arrival, he 
 showed himself on the plain betwixt the city of Nonvich and 
 Eiton wood, and took up his own quarters at Intwood, a houst 
 belonging to a knight of the name of Tresham, which was about 
 two miles distant from Norwich. Thence he sent a herald to the 
 rebels in the city, to summon them either to open the gates that 
 he might quietly enter, or else to look for war at his hands, and 
 such reward as rebels, who wilfully withstand their sovereign, 
 ought to receive. 
 
 When Ket understood that the herald had arrived at the gates, 
 he appointed the Mayor's deputy, Augustine Steward, and two 
 of the principal citizens, to go to him and demand the nature of 
 his errand. They having heard the herald's message, answered 
 that they were the most unhappy men in existence, since, having 
 endured so many calamities, they were not now at liberty to 
 declare the loyal duty which they bore, and ought to bear, to the 
 King ; that they accounted themselves most unfortunate, since their 
 hard hap was to live in times when they must put either their lives 
 or their reputations, as good and loyal subjects, in jeopardy : that 
 they trusted that the King would be gracious to them, since they 
 had given no consent to the wicked rebellion which had been 
 raised against him ; that so far as in them lay, they had endea- 
 voured to keep the citizens in good order and dutiful obedience, 
 and that they humbly desired of the Earl of Warwick one thing, 
 since there were in Ket's arirjv many unarmed persons who weie
 
 5 * THE OAK OF RLFORMA T1ON. 
 
 weary of the work which they had been compelled to undertake, 
 th-at the Earl would once again offer them the King's pardon, 
 which they strongly hoped would be gladly accepted, and the 
 insurrection quelled without more bloodshed. The herald returned 
 to the Earl of Warwick, and communicated to him the answer 
 which he had received from the citizens. The Earl, alike desirous 
 to terminate the contest peaceably, and to deliver the prisoners 
 who were in the hands of the rebels from the perilous situation in 
 which they stood, sent Norroy King-at-Arms to offer a general 
 pardon. The King-at-arms accordingly entered the city, and the 
 trumpeter who proceeded him sounding his instrument, a great mul- 
 titude immediately surrounded him. They, however, with accla- 
 mations and shouts, made room for him by standing on each side 
 of the way, and then pulling off their caps cried " God save King 
 Edward !" 
 
 Norroy then proceeded to address them. He reminded them 
 how often, since they had first taken arms, the King had by 
 offers of pardon endeavoured to reclaim them from their unlawful 
 and rebellious courses, and that nevertheless they had shown 
 themselves wilful and stubborn, in refusing his mercy freely 
 offered to them, and despised the messengers whom he had sent to 
 pronounce their pardons. Then he proceeded to sum up the 
 outrages of which they had been guilty ; reminded them of the 
 punishment to which they had exposed themselves, and assured 
 them that the King was determined no longer to suffer such law- 
 less acts to be committed in the very centre of his realm ; " for," 
 he added, " he has appointed the Right Honourable Earl of War- 
 wick, a man of noble fame and approved valiance, to be his 
 General Lieutenant of this his royal army, to persecute you with 
 fire and sword, and not to desist until he has utterly dispersed and 
 scattered your wicked and abominable assembly. Such, neverthe- 
 less, is the exceeding greatness of the King's bountiful mercy and 
 clemency, that he who was appointed by him to be a revenger of 
 your heinous treasons committed against his Majesty, if you con- 
 tinue in your obstinate wilfulness, is also the interpreter and 
 minister of his gracious and free pardon to so many as will accept
 
 THE OAK Of RE FOR MA TIO.V. 563 
 
 of it. Unless you now embrace the mercy which is offered you, 
 the Earl has made a solemn vow that you shall never have it 
 offered to you again, but that he will persecute "ou until he has 
 punished every one of you, according to your just deserts."* 
 
 The herald's address seemed to soften many of the multitude, 
 who began to be fearful of the consequences of revolt, and their 
 eyes glistened at the prospect of pardon and mercy. The greater 
 part, however, were highly offended at his discourse, and some 
 cried out that he was not the King's herald, but some one tricked 
 out by the gentlemen of the county in a gay coat, patched together 
 with vestments and church stuff, being sent only to deceive them 
 in offering them pardon, which would prove nought else but 
 halters ; and that therefore it were well done to thrust an arrow 
 into him, or to hang him up immediately. Others, however, who 
 served in Scotland and at Boulogne, and had seen Norroy there, 
 recognised him, and assured their fellows that he was indeed the 
 King's herald. This assurance had the effect of preventing them 
 from offering him any injury ; but the pardon which he tendered 
 them they utterly refused, saying, as before, that they had been 
 guilty of no crime, and therefore needed no pardon. 
 
 The Earl of Warwick, on hearing from the King-at-arms, that his 
 offers of pardon had been rejected, and receiving a secret inti- 
 mation from the Mayor's deputy, that if he preseuted himself at 
 Westwick Gate with his forces, it would be thrown open to him, 
 proceeded to that gate, and in a very short time the Deputy re- 
 deemed his promise. 
 
 Warwick and his army immediately rushed into the city, and, 
 rinding no resistance, proceeded to the market-place. There they 
 made about three score of the rebels prisoners, whom they imme- 
 diately put to death. Shortly afterwards the carriages belonging 
 to the army were brought into the city by the same gate at which 
 the Earl had entered, and passing through Norwich, were, by 
 negligence and want of proper instructions being given to those 
 who had the charge of them, passed through the city and carried 
 
 * Holinshed. Hayward.
 
 504 THE OAK OF REFORM A TIOX. 
 
 out at the opposite gate. The rebels immediately poured down 
 from Mount Surrey, possessed themselves of this booty, and drove 
 away the carts laden with artillery, powder, and other ammunition, 
 to their camp, where they were received with great joy, Ket being 
 much in want of such things. Although the Earl had entered the 
 city, he found that the rebels were too strong for him to make 
 them prisoners, and therefore his efforts were chiefly exerted with 
 a view to drive them to their camp. Many of them placed them- 
 selves in the cross-streets, and assailed the soldiers and committed 
 great slaughter. The Earl, however, succeeded in driving them 
 out of the city, after a great loss had been sustained on both sides. 
 He then ordered all the gates to be closed up, with the exception 
 of one or two which stood towards the enemy's camp, where he 
 planted several great pieces of artillery. 
 
 The rebels understanding that the Earl of Warwick wanted 
 ammunition, and perceiving that the persons appointed to guard 
 the great pieces of artillery were not very numerous, and therefore 
 not able to resist any great force, came suddenly down the hill in 
 vast numbers. The first shot which they fired slew one of the 
 Earl's principal gunners, whose death infusing fresh courage into 
 the rebels, they made a fierce onset, drove back those who 
 guarded the artillery, which they seized upon, and bore away in 
 triumph to their camp. This success was a matter of no small 
 importance, since they were in great want of artillery. The next 
 day they crossed the river, and contrived to set a part of the city 
 on fire, and to consume nearly the whole of two parishes. So 
 great was the rage of the fire, that catching hold upon a house in 
 which were laid up such goods as were brought by the merchants 
 of Norwich to their city from Yarmouth, the house, with a great 
 store of wheat and other riches, was speedily consumed. 
 
 Fortune thus seeming to crown every effort of the rebels, some 
 of the Earl of Warwick's followers, despairing of the whole success 
 ot their expedition, represented to him that since the city was 
 large, and their company small, (for the whole appointed numbers 
 had not yet arrived,) it was impossible to defend it against such a 
 huge multitude as were assembled in Ket's camp, and therefore
 
 THE OAK OF REFORM A TION. 503 
 
 besought him to regard his own safety, to leave the city, and not 
 to hazard the lives of so many gallant men upon so uncertain an 
 issue. 
 
 The Earl answered, " Do your hearts fail you so soon ? do you 
 think that, while any life rests in me, I will consent to such dis- 
 honour? Rather than leave the city, and heap shame on myself 
 and on you, I will suffer whatsoever fire and sword can work 
 against me." Having uttered these words in a determined tone, he 
 drew his sword. The weapons of all who stood around him imme- 
 diately flew from their scabbards, and all the soldiers present made 
 a solemn vow, that they would not abandon their enterprise till 
 they had vanquished their enemies, or lost their lives in the 
 attempt. Shortly afterwards, the Earl was joined by a reinforce- 
 ment of 1400 men. The rebels were nevertheless not discouraged, 
 for they relied upon the fulfilment of certain prophecies, in which 
 they had great faith. The principal of these was the following : 
 
 " The country gnuffes, Hob. Dick, and Hick, 
 
 With clubs and clouted shoone, 
 Shall fill up Dussindale with blood 
 Of slaughtered bodies soon." 
 
 Upon the faith of this prophecy they determined to remove to 
 the place pointed out by it. They accoidingly set fire to their 
 camp, and marched down to the valley called Dussindale. 
 
 The Earl of Warwick, perceiving that they had abandoned their 
 stronghold on the hill, marched with all his forces against them. 
 Before he came in sight of them, he sent Sir Edward Knevet, Sir 
 Thomas Palmer, and others, to ask them whether they would even 
 now submit themselves and receive the King's pardon, which he 
 offered to the whole multitude with the exception of Ket and a 
 few others. This offer they unanimously refused, and the Earl in 
 consequence commenced the attack. The rebels put themselves 
 in such order of battle, that their prisoners, among whom were the 
 chief gentry of the county, were placed in their foremost rank, in 
 order that they might be killed by their own friends who came to 
 effect their deliverance. 
 
 The Earl caused 9 whole volley of artillery to be discharged at
 
 506 THE OAK OF REFORMATION. 
 
 the rebels, and the foot soldiers getting near them, assailed them 
 with their arquebusses, and broke their ranks. The prisoners, 
 for the most part, escaped their danger, as the Earl endeavoured 
 so to direct his fire that it did not touch them ; but some were 
 slain by the foreign troops in the Earl's army, who knew not who 
 they were. The Earl's light horsemen at length made so furious 
 a charge on the rebels, that they were obliged to take to flight. 
 The horsemen, following in chase, slew them in heaps, as they 
 overtook them, to the number of above 3500 men, and the pro- 
 phecy on which they so much relied was literally fulfilled, but not 
 in the way which they expected, being filled up with the slaugh 
 tered bodies, not of their enemies, but of themselves. 
 
 The Earl of Warwick, having driven them into their trenches, 
 sent once more the King-at-arms to them, to renew his offers of 
 pardon, if they would throw down their weapons and yield ; and to 
 threaten that if they still refused to accept those offers, there should 
 not a man of them escape the deserved punishment. They 
 answered, that if they might be assured that their lives would be 
 saved, they could be contented to yield ; but that they could have 
 no trust or confidence that that promise should be kept with them ; 
 and that notwithstanding all such fair offers of pardon, they 
 believed that it was only intended to entrap them into the hands 
 of their enemies, and to put them to death. 
 
 The Earl of Warwick, seeing the desperate resolution of the 
 rebels to refuse all offers of mercy, reinforced his army by drawing 
 from the city such forces as he left there for its defence, and once 
 more put his troops, both horse and foot, in order of battle. 
 Before, however, he renewed his attack upon the rebels, he sent 
 to them to inquire whether, if he himself came among them and 
 pledged his own word that they should receive a free pardon, they 
 would lay down their arms and disperse. They answered, that 
 they had so much confidence in his honour, that if he would pledge 
 his own word, they would believe him and submit themselves to 
 the King's mercy. He then went immediately to them, and com- 
 manded Norroy to read the King's pardon freely granted to all 
 who would yield, with the exception of Ket and a few others ; on
 
 7 HE OAK OF REFORMATION. yyj 
 
 which every man threw down his weapon, and a unanimous shout 
 of " God save King Edward !" burst from the vast multitude. 
 
 Thus were the Norfolk rebels at length subdued by the high 
 prowess, wisdom, and policy of the Earl of Warwick, but not until 
 after the sacrifice of many lives. 
 
 The next day, the Earl was informed that Ket, having crept 
 into a barn to hid r himself, had been discovered and made pri- 
 soner. He was in ^ ediately brought to Norwich, and after under- 
 going a very sumrtary examination or trial, was hanged, together 
 with several of his most flagitious associates, upon the branches of 
 the Oak of Reformation. 
 
 The above details of the Norfolk insurrection, strange and im- 
 probable as they may appear, are faithfully drawn from the ancient 
 chronicles, and are unalloyed with the slightest intermixture of 
 fiction. 
 
 '. 
 ' 
 
 
 
 
 
 nslC. 
 
 - tas '.-; ^
 
 . 
 Ijjru; ion Jml ,;J>r/ncY/ To h/:H brf] "to TJI!' 
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY* 
 MARY. 
 
 1553. THE death of Edward was kept secret for some time by Northumber- 
 land, who hoped to get the Princesses Mary and Elizabeth into his power ; but 
 Mary, on her way to London, being made acquainted with the event by Lord 
 Arundel, fled to Framlingham, in Suffolk ; on which the Duke ordered Lady 
 Jane Grey to be proclaimed Queen, much to her own dissatisfaction. 
 
 Mary raised troops in Suffolk, which the Duke went to oppose ; but being 
 deserted by his soldiers, he was taken prisoner, and, on Mary's arrival in 
 London, condemned to death. Thus ended Lady Jane's reign of ten days. 
 
 Mary released from the Tower the Duke of Norfolk (who had been con- 
 demned at the end of Henry the Eighth's reign), and many prelates confined 
 there on account of religion. The latter she reinstated in their benefices, and 
 issued a proclamation to prevent every person from preaching who had not 
 her licence. 
 
 Mary sent Cardinal Pole to Pope Julius III. to assure him of her wish to 
 reconcile her kingdom to the Holy See. 
 
 The Emperor was very unsuccessful against France ; but he entered into 
 measures with Mary to marry her to his son Philip, then a widower. 
 
 1554. The mass was everywhere performed, and the established religion 
 totally changed. 
 
 Mary was married by proxy to ' '.ilip II. An insurrection, headed by Sir 
 Thomas Wyatt, broke out in Kent ar. 1 other counties, but was in a short time 
 suppressed, and Wyatt was taken and executed. 
 
 The Queen treated her sister Elizabeth with great harshness and severity ; 
 and, on her refusing to marry the Duke of Savoy, confined her under a strong 
 guard at Woodstock. 
 
 Lady Jane Grey, her father (the Duke of Suffolk), and her husband, Lord 
 Guilford Dudley, were beheaded. 
 
 Philip landed at Southampton. Mary was married to him at Winchester ; 
 after which, they proceeded to London. He disgusted the nobles very much 
 by his formal and supercilious behaviour. 
 
 Pole arrived in England, as legate, and absolved the kingdom on its return 
 to the subjection of the Pope.
 
 MARY. 
 
 SC9 
 
 1555. Violent persecutions and cruelties were practised on the Protestants 
 by Philip and Mary, and their Chancellor, Bishop Gardiner. 
 
 Philip went over to Flanders. 
 
 1556. The Emperor Charles resigned all his dominions to his son Philip, 
 and retired to the monastery of St. Just. 
 
 Archbishop Cranmer was burnt. 
 
 1557. Philip, being at war with France, went to England, to prevail on 
 that kingdom to enter into the war ; and the Queen obtained the consent of the 
 Parliament to that effect, and sent 10,000 men to the Low Countries. 
 
 1558. The French, under the Duke of Guise, took Calais f-om the Eng^sh. 
 
 Q'iccn Mary died on the I7th of November. 
 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 lo r 
 
 - 

 
 fTupttals at Sarft, 
 
 m: .rforoii jirfT .8jji 
 
 Ruffian, let go that rude, uncivil touch ! 
 Two GENTLEMEN OF 
 
 IN the latter part of the reign of Queen Mary the government 
 of the little island of Sark was committed to Sir Robert 
 Dudley, a very valiant knight, of an ancient and honourable 
 family, who was equally distinguished by the accomplishments of 
 his mind and person, and by the brilliancy of his military achieve- 
 ments. He did not find the duties of his government very arduous. 
 The island was defended by a fortress which was impregnable, 
 except in one part, where the ascent was steep and difficult, and 
 so narrow that only two persons could walk abreast. The place, 
 too, being very barren, and the inhabitants zealously loyal to the 
 Queen of England, there was nothing in it, with the exception of 
 its commodious harbour, to tempt the approach of an invader. 
 With a little garrison, therefore, of only twenty men, Sir Robert 
 Dudley found himself sufficiently strong to bid defiance to any 
 enemy, and sufficiently at leisure to seek such pleasure as so lonely 
 and barren a rock as the island of Sark could offer. At first, the 
 knight murmured much at what he called his banishment. His 
 reputation as a chivalrous warrior, and his alliance with several 
 noble houses, seemed to justify the hope which he had entertained 
 of being appointed to a much more distinguished and profitable 
 command. In time, however, letters of complaint were much less 
 frequently received from him by his friends in London ; and the 
 rest of the garrison in the island imagined that the symptoms of
 
 NUPTIALS A T SARK. 5, , 
 
 disappointment and dissatisfaction which usually clouded his 
 countenance were becoming every day more faintly visible. Its 
 barren soil, its rugged rocks, and the boisterous waves which 
 roared around it had not been able to banish love from the Isle ol 
 Sark. 
 
 Annette Dalbret, a young and beautiful orphan, was the heiress 
 of the only family of anything like wealth or importance in the 
 island. Slender as was the revenue which she derived from the 
 few productive acres which the isle produced, still it raised her 
 so far above the condition of her neighbours, that she was 
 familiarly known by the appellation of the Queen of Sark. She 
 was descended from an ancient and illustrious family, which had 
 held large possessions in Normandy ; but as her ancestors had 
 always adhered to the fortunes of the sovereigns of England, the 
 conquest of that province by the French (who had recently taken 
 from Queen Mary the last remnant of her transmarine dominions, 
 Calais), deprived them of all their ancient patrimony, except what 
 they held in the Isle of Sark. Annette had been educated in 
 England ; and although her straitened fortunes obliged her to hide 
 her head on a rock in the British Channel, yet her high spirit, her 
 well-stored mind, and her beautiful person, would have graced the 
 proudest and most polished court in Europe. She was about the 
 middle height, slightly but gracefully formed, with large, bright, 
 grey eyes, a complexion of the most dazzling fairness, and long, 
 shining, auburn locks, which streamed in rich profusion down her 
 shoulders. Her charms were such, that there was not a heart in 
 the island which had not, in a greater or less degree, felt their 
 influence ; but there was only one who was presumptuous enough 
 to aspire to the possession of the hand of the Queen of Sark. 
 This was her own cousin, Clement Amiot, the son of a deceased 
 sister of her father's. This young man had been born after the 
 death of his father, and his mother terminated her existence a few 
 hours after his birth. His destitute condition had induced the 
 Sieur Dalbret to send for him from Rouen, the place of his nativity, 
 and to take him under his own protection at Sark. As the youth 
 advanced in years, he exhibited great courage, address, and intre-
 
 5t2 NUPTIALS AT SARR. 
 
 pidity, mingled, however, with a brutal and sanguinary disposition, 
 a violent temper, and a contempt of all restraint and control. 
 The charms of his beautiful cousin were alone able to soften his 
 obduracy, and for her he soon entertained a violent passion, which 
 was not looked upon with the slightest degree of favour, either by 
 the object of it, or her father. The mild and gentle spirit of 
 Annette shuddered at the violence and impetuosity of Clement j 
 and Dalbret, who saw how ill assorted an union between two such 
 persons would be, was anxious that Amiot should be removed 
 from Sark. An attempt which the young man made to carry off 
 Annette from the island, soon afforded Dalbret a favourable 
 pretext for sending him back to his father's relatives at Rouen. 
 There he distinguished himself only by his violent conduct and 
 wild debaucheries ; but in a short time he obtained a commission 
 in the service of the King of France, where his fiery and impetuous 
 spirit found itself in its proper element. He soon obtained 
 advancement and honour by acts of daring and romantic valour, 
 and, for a time at least, appeared to forget the Isle of Sark, and 
 the bewitching being who had been the occasion of his banishment 
 from its shores. She, in the meantime, who was a stranger to 
 the passion of love, congratulated herself on her escape from a 
 troublesome and importunate suitor, whose solicitations she could 
 not flatter with any prospect of success, and found herself suffi- 
 ciently happy in the affection of her father, who doated upon his 
 beautiful child. His death, however, which happened at the siege 
 of Calais, deeply saddened her naturally joyous and cheerful tem- 
 perament, and the tears which streamed down the fair cheeks of 
 Annette Dalbret were regarded with a more than ordinary 
 sympathy ; because, like the weeds which Yorick Clucked from 
 the grave of the courteous monk, they seemed to have no 
 business there." 
 
 Spirits, the lightest and gayest, have been known to feel the 
 influence of misfortune more deeply than those of habitual gloom 
 and melancholy, as the shadow of the thunder cloud is more in- 
 tensely visible on the waters of the calm, bright, summer sea, than 
 on the turbulent and storm-tossed wave. So fared it with Annette.
 
 NUPTIALS AT SAKfC. ,, 3 
 
 'Hie death of her father was the first and most fearful interruption 
 to the simple, quiet current of her thoughts. She had often before 
 taken her leave of him on his departure for battle, but she had 
 as often welcomed him back crowned with honour and glory. 
 The probability of his death was a thought that had never intruded 
 itself on her mind. The last time, however, that he left the island, 
 an ominous sadness weighed down her spirits. " Father ! dear 
 father !" she said, as she wrung his hand at parting; but her sobs 
 rendered the rest of the sentence inaudible. 
 
 " Weep not, my fair child !" said the Sieur Dalbret, " but hope 
 that I shall soon return to clasp you in my victorious arms." 
 
 "Have not those arms, my father," she said, "been already 
 sufficiently victorious ? Remain with me, and my unwearied love 
 shall find them employment enough in returning the affection of 
 your daughter's heart." 
 
 " Sweetest, it must not be," said her father, smiling, and kissing 
 away her tears. " This once, once only, must I again face the 
 enemy, who threatens to deprive the Queen of the last poor 
 remnant of her ancestors' splendid heritage in France. I will soon 
 return, if Heaven pleases, alive and well ; but if not, I shall have 
 earned an honourable grave. My royal mistress will not bury 
 the remembrance of my long services in my tomb. No, no; 
 my coffin may prove more serviceable to my daughter than my 
 life." 
 
 "Talk not of thy coffin, brave old soldier," said Sir Robert 
 Dudley; "and for thy daughter, trust her to my protection. 
 Would that we could find," he added in a lower tone, " a bride- 
 groom worthy of her." 
 
 The old man pressed the Governor's hand and smiled, while the 
 lady hung down her head and blushed. Dudley then gently led 
 her from the place of her father's embarkation, and Dalbret was 
 speedily on board the vessel which was to convey him to Calais. 
 
 At the period at which this narrative commences, neither the 
 grey-headed warrior nor his coffin had arrived at Sark ; but the 
 fatal intelligence had been received, that he had been killed while 
 making a sally on the besieging forces, and had been buried on 
 
 ENG. I* L
 
 Jf4 NUPTIALS AT SARK. 
 
 the ramparts of Calais. Dudley, since his departure, had decidedly 
 become what he had for some time suspected himself to be, the 
 passionate admirer of the Queen of Sark, and had flattered himself 
 that he was gaining some ground in her affection, when the arrival 
 of the news of her father's death rendered the further prosecution 
 of his suit indecorous, and compelled him to exchange the language 
 of love and compliment for that of sympathy and consolation. 
 Love, however, is a dexterous manceuvrer, and can carry on his 
 assaults as well in the sable habiliments of sorrow, as when 
 crowned with roses. The knight, as .he checked her sighs and 
 wiped away her tears, awakened emotions in her heart, compared 
 with which the paroxysms of grief seemed to be tranquillity and 
 peace ; and while he plucked away from it the arrows of sorrow, 
 he planted those of a still more potent deity there. Although a 
 decorous period elapsed after her father's death before Annette 
 admitted that she understood the meaning of her lover's attentions, 
 yet their result may be narrated in a single sentence. The knight 
 was indefatigable and importunate, but delicate and respectful in 
 his solicitations. The lady sighed, and blushed, and wept, and 
 smiled, and at length consented ; and finally a day was fixed for 
 the celebration of the nuptials of the enamoured pair in the chapel 
 attached to the fortress of Sark. 
 
 All was joy and gladness in the hearts of the three or four 
 hundred inhabitants of the island when the glad news was pub- 
 lished that Sir Robert Dudley was about to wed the beautiful 
 Queen of Sark. The gloom which had hung on the spirits of al 
 tince the death of the Sieur Dalbret was immediately dissipated , 
 the merry peal of bells and the joyful report of the cannon of the 
 fortress proclaimed a day of jubilee, and young, old, and poor (for 
 there were no rich in the island) hastened to the chapel to be 
 jritnesses of the celebration of this auspicious union. The chapel 
 tfas a small, neat, Gothic edifice, of great antiquity, and capable 
 of holding nearly two hundred persons, so that it was fully 
 adequate to the supply of the spiritual wants of the island. At 
 the altar stood the pastor of this insular flock, a venerable man, on 
 whose forehead time had planted innumerable wrinkles, and whose
 
 NUPTIALS AT SARK. j I$ 
 
 long, white beard swept the volume from which he pronounced the 
 marriage rites. The bride stood on his right hand, closely veiled ; 
 the bridegroom on his left, wearing his military dress, but without 
 his sword. The rest of the garrison (with the exception of one 
 sentinel, who remained to guard the ascent from the sea of which 
 we have already spoken) also were present, and had laid aside 
 their weapons before joining in the celebration of so holy and 
 peaceful a ceremony. They, as well as a few male and female 
 domestics attached to the fortress, stood near the altar, while the 
 area of the sacred edifice was occupied by the rustic inhabitants 
 of the island, who had crowded in to witness an event which ex- 
 cited universal interest. At length the priest joined the hands of 
 the youthful pair together, and was about to pronounce the words 
 which pledged them to the irrevocable compact, when a loud 
 tumult was heard at the chapel door, shouting, and the clash of 
 weapons ; and a party of soldiers, wearing the French uniform, 
 and carrying drawn swords in their hands, rushed into the chapel. 
 
 " Forbear !" said their leader, advancing to the altar, and point- 
 ing his sword at the priest's breast ; " in the name of King Henry, 
 I command you to forbear !" 
 
 Dudley and the rest of the garrison instinctively put themselves 
 in attitudes of defence ; but they were totally unarmed, and could 
 only oppose their naked breasts to the swords of the Frenchmen. 
 An appalling silence for a minute pervaded the assembly, which 
 was broken by Annette, who, clinging to her lover, and with a look 
 of horror hiding her face in his bosom, exclaimed, " 'Tis Clement 
 Amiot ! Save me, save me !" 
 
 "Who, and what are you, sir?" asked Dudley, advancing 
 towards the leader of the intruders; "and by what authority do 
 you justify this intrusion ?" 
 
 " Fair sir," said the other bowing courteously, " methinks that 
 Sir Robert Dudley should not have yet to learn that in time of 
 war strength and numbers form an authority sufficient for taking 
 possession of an unguarded fortress of the enemy. My name is 
 Clement Amiot, a captain in the service of the Most Christian 
 King, and by virtue of the good swords in the hands of myself 
 L L 2
 
 5i NUPTIALS AT SARK. 
 
 and comrades, and of sundry pieces of gold drawn across the 
 itching palm of your solitary sentinel, we have, while you have 
 been dreaming of love and beauty, made ourselves masters of the 
 Isle of Sark, and of the persons of its garrison." 
 
 " The perjured traitor ! the base-minded, mercenary scoundrel !' ! 
 exclaimed Dudley in an agony of surprise and indignation. 
 
 "Kay, nay, gentle Governor," said Amiot, " wrong not the 
 honest man with your injurious language, who has now become a 
 soldier of King Henry. He stipulated for the lives and freedom 
 of all the garrison before he consented to deliver up the fortress ; 
 and there is now a vessel in the harbour, in which you are all at 
 liberty to embark for Guernsey." 
 
 " Sir," said Dudley, " the terms which you offer us are frank and 
 honourable ; and were they othenvise, we have no choice left us 
 but to accept them. We must to Guernsey, gentlemen," he added, 
 addressing his comrades ; " and mine must be the task of excusing, 
 as well as I can, to our Sovereign, the unfortunate circumstances 
 under which this capture has been made. In the meantime, 
 Captain Amiot, suffer the ceremony which your presence has 
 interrupted, to be solemnized ere this fair lady and I take our 
 departure from the Isle of Sark." 
 
 " Pardon me, fair sir," said Amiot ; " I said nought touching 
 the departure of the lady; my promise only extended to the 
 persons of the garrison. The lady is a native of this island, and 
 therefore owes allegiance to King Henry. She is, moreover, my 
 affianced bride ; and fortune has now put it in my power to compel 
 the performance of those solemn and numerous promises which 
 she has made me." 
 
 " Thy words are as false as thy conduct is base and wicked," 
 said Annette ; " no promise to thee ever passed my lips, except 
 that as long as the blood flowed in my veins I would despise and 
 hate thee." 
 
 "Gentle madam," said Amiot, "your memory is somewhat 
 treacherous. Mine, thank Heaven ! is more faithful to me. That 
 fair hand must instantly be linked with mine, unless you would be 
 provided with a lodging in one of the dungeons of the fortress." 

 
 NUPTIALS AT SAItJf. 517 
 
 " Villain !" exclaimed Dudley, snatching a sword from the hand 
 of one of the French soldiers who stood near him, and rushing 
 towards Amiot. His blow, however, was coolly parried by the 
 latter, and he was instantly surrounded by above a dozen French' 
 men, who beat the weapon from his hand, and being assaulted on 
 all sides, he sunk, faint with the loss of blood, to the ground. 
 " He is disabled from doing farther mischief for the present," 
 said Amiot; "see to his wounds and bind them up, that he may 
 be able to undertake the journey to Guernsey instantly. Ye, I 
 presume, gentlemen," he added, turning to the officers of the 
 garrison, " are content to accept the terms which I offer, and to 
 retire from the island without loss of time ?" 
 
 "We are content, Captain Amiot," said one who was second in 
 command to Sir Robert Dudley : " our commander is exhausted 
 from the loss of blood, but his hurts do not seem to be of a critical 
 or dangerous nature." 
 
 " For the love of Heaven, Clement," said Annette, rushing to- 
 wards him, " let me depart with them." 
 
 " For the love of thee, fair cousin," said Amiot, " I answer,No." 
 
 " Then thus " she said, taking up the sword which had been 
 
 stricken out of the hand of Dudley, and pointing it at her bosom. 
 "Thus," interrupted Amiot, snatching the weapon from her 
 hand, " thus do you make an exhibition of folly and madness, 
 which would justify my resorting to the severest measures to bring 
 you back to reason, but that as your kinsman and your lover," 
 (here his features assumed an expression of tenderness from which 
 she turned away with abhorrence and disgust) " I must take but 
 too much delight in pardoning whatever fault you may commit 
 Farewell, Gentlemen, farewell ! commend me to the gallant knight 
 who now rules in Guernsey, and tell him that Clement Amiol 
 hopes shortly to pay him a visit." 
 
 The Englishmen bowed slightly to their victor, and, supporting 
 the insensible form of Dudley in their arms, departed from the 
 chapel. " See them fairly out of the harbour, good Eustace," 
 said Amiot ; " and should they evince any disposition to linger 
 near the island, point the guns of the fortress at them : And now,
 
 si3 NUPTIALS A r SARK. 
 
 Madam," he added, turning to Annette, who, pale and trembling 
 leaned her head against a pillar, while the tears streamed dowr 
 her cheeks, and fell upon her heaving bosom, "now is Clement 
 Amiot once more at your feet to prefer his suit. No longer youi 
 father's humble protege, but a soldier (and not one of the leas* 
 renowned) of King Henry of France, he is still your passionate 
 admirer, and offers his hand and heart for your acceptance." 
 
 " And that hand," said the lady, " red with the blood of the 
 gallant Dudley, and that heart which has prompted you to offei 
 violence to the daughter of your deceased patron and protector, 
 do I reject with scorn and indignation." 
 
 Amiot's lip moved convulsively, and his dark eye shot fire as 
 he listened to Annette's answer to his addresses. "Girl," said 
 he, in a hollow, suppressed tone of voice, and approaching his 
 lips so close to her ear that his words were inaudible to all present 
 but herself, " trifle not with me ! I love thee with a passionate 
 a desperate, ay, it may be, with a deadly fervour. Thou art in 
 my power. For thee have I resigned an honourable and lucrative 
 command, in order to lead the attack on this barren rock, hearing 
 that this day thou wert to wed yon wittol Englishman. Torture, 
 imprisonment, death all these it is in my power to inflict on 
 thee and by Heaven ! " 
 
 "Away, ingrate and blasphemer!" said Annette; "call not 
 Heaven to bear witness to thy atrocious intentions. Torture, 
 imprisonment, death; all, all will Annette Dalbret suffer, ere 
 Clement Amiot shall call her wife." 
 
 " Bethink thee, Annette," said Amiot in a low and calm, but 
 firm and decided tone. 
 
 " I have bethought me," she exclaimed. " Traitor and parri- 
 cide, who, while yet the ashes of my father and thy benefactor 
 are scarcely cold, offerest insult and violence to his daughter, how 
 can I think of thee but with hatred and scorn ?" 
 
 The shadow of his demon spirit mounted to Amiot's face as he 
 unsheathed his sword, and rushed upon Annette. One of his own 
 comrades, however, rushed between them, and turned aside his 
 weapon. " Gallant Captain," he said, " are there not stout Eng-
 
 NUPTIALS A T SARK. S tj 
 
 llsh hearts enough on which to exercise thy sword ? or, tell me, 
 arc thou mad ?" 
 
 " It may be, it may be !" said Amiot, as he smote his forehead 
 with his hand, and quietly suffered the interference of his comrade. 
 " Eustace, I have loved her with a constancy and truth which she 
 has only requited with contumely and scorn. She was the mom- 
 ing star of my life ; the being on whom my youth was spent in 
 fond and passionate gazing. I could not touch the luce or the 
 harp to please her ear ; I could not weave a garland of wild 
 flowers for her brow ; I could not tread a light lavolta to charm 
 her eye ; but I could hunt the wild wolf to his lair, and lay his yet 
 warm and panting heart at her feet ; I could and did rush into the 
 wave and snatch her fragile form from what seemed an inevitable 
 death. I would have devoted all that I possessed ; health and 
 youth, and life itself, to win a smile from her, and she spurned me, 
 she hated me. she despised me !" 
 
 Beating his forehead with his clenched hand, and pacing hur- 
 riedly backwards and forwards, while the big drop?, poured down 
 his temples, he uttered these incoherent words, The horror and 
 dismay which his attempted violence had at first excited in the 
 bosoms of all present, now gave way to a general feeling of sym- 
 pathy, in which even Annette appeared to participate. " Clement," 
 she said, " I ever knew you to be bold and daring as the lion, and 
 I had hoped as generous and noble-hearted too. He, it is said, 
 will not prey upon a defenceless maiden, but will exert his resist- 
 less strength in her defence." 
 
 " Sweet Annette !" said Amiot in a beseeching tone, and appa- 
 rently somewhat soothed by the mildness and gentleness with 
 which she spake; "say but the word, bid yon reverend man 
 unite us in those holy bonds " 
 
 '* Never, never !" interrupted Annette : " my heart is Robert 
 Dudley's, and with him only shall this hand be united in those 
 holy bonds." 
 
 " Your bolts, your bolts, good heavens !" exclaimed Amiot, tear- 
 his hair, and pacing about the little chapel with frantic gestures ; 
 " why fall they not on my headon hers, on both ? Away with
 
 5*0 NUPTIALS AT SARK. 
 
 her, away with her ! I dare not trust my heart or my hand in her 
 presence. The love which lives in the one, prompts the violence 
 of the other. Annette, if you will not be my bride, you must for 
 the present be my prisoner. Time and solitude, and consideration, 
 may sway you from your cruel determination : your captivity shall 
 be a gentle one, and happier, far happier, than the freedom of him 
 who dooms you to it." 
 
 " But less, far less happy," said Annette, " than that grave in 
 which my father sleeps. Thanks, thanks, ye pitying heavens !" 
 she added, falling on her knees, " that he has not lived to see 
 this day." 
 
 " Name not thy father, girl !" said Amiot sternly. 
 
 " Does his name appal thee ?" exclaimed Annette. " Well it 
 may ! Ha ! now I do remember that when last he parted from 
 me, he said that his coffin might prove more serviceable to his 
 daughter than his life. Surely he meant that his memory, when 
 dead, would be more revered by thee than his presence while 
 living. Then, by my dead father's ashes, Clement Amiot, I do 
 conjure thee, spare his daughter. Suffer me to depart and join 
 my affianced husband, and, in requital of thy kindness, possess 
 thyself, if thou wilt, of whatsoever in this island poor Annette 
 Dalbret can call her own." 
 
 " Thyself, thyself! Annette, art all that I would possess," said 
 Amiot. " Take her away from me let not my eyes at present 
 encounter hers. See that she be committed into safe, but kind 
 and gentle keeping." 
 
 Shut up in a lonely chamber, in the fortress of Sark, Annette 
 spent a week in utter solitude, which was unbroken, except by the 
 occasional presence of a French soldier, who placed her meals 
 before her. Amiot hoped thus to tame down her obdurate spirit, 
 and that the prospect of a restoration to liberty and society 
 would induce her to favour his addresses. Her spirit, however, 
 only grew stronger and prouder from the efforts that were made 
 to subdue it, and the replies which she sent to several notes 
 addressed to her by her persecutor, breathed only the most uncon- " 
 querable firmness and determination. " The memory of my 

 
 NUPTIALS A T SAKJf. 53, 
 
 father, my plighted troth to my affianced bridegroom, my scorn 
 for the base and malignant spirit which wars upon a fatherless and 
 unprotected female, and my determination to endure captivity 
 and death, rather than cease to cherish that memory, than break 
 that troth, than mitigate that scorn, render the further addresses 
 of Clement Amiot needless." Such were the brief but emphatic 
 terms of the last answer which she condescended to return to 
 Amiot's letters. The Frenchman's resentment was exasperated to 
 a degree that bordered upon madness. He swore by all the saints 
 in the calendar to have her hand, or her heart's blood, and sent a 
 peremptory message to her, bidding her meet him in the chapel 
 of the fortress on the ensuing day, at the hour of noon, when the 
 priest would be ready to unite her to him in the holy bonds of 
 matrimony. 
 
 The chapel of the fortress of Sark, therefore, on the following 
 day, presented a scene very similar to that which we have already 
 described. The same bride, the same priest, and, for the most 
 part, the same spectators, were there; but the men who composed 
 the garrison, and who were also present, wore the uniform of the 
 French instead of the English monarch ; and in the countenance 
 of the bridegroom, instead of the frank, open, and joyous features 
 of Sir Robert Dudley, were traced the fierce, gloomy glance, the 
 lowering brow, the quivering lip, and the pallid complexion which 
 denoted the mingled anxiety, malignity, fear, and conscious guilt 
 by which the bosom of Clement Amiot was agitated. Annette 
 stood at the right hand of the priest, as on the former occasion ; 
 but instead of having her features closely shrouded as they were 
 then, she had thrown back her veil, and exhibited to the gaze of 
 the assembled multitude a face, pale indeed and sorrowful, but 
 still surpassingly beautiful, and her features wore an expression of 
 insulted dignity and unshaken resolution. Amiot held out his 
 hand towards her, in the hope that she would take it into her own; 
 but she stood silent and immovable as a statue, and as often did 
 his unclasped hand seek his sword, which he half drew from his 
 scabbard, while he gnashed his teeth, stamped violently on the 
 ground, and darted on Annette a glance of fire.
 
 52s NUPTIALS A T SARR. 
 
 "Tis stra.ige, reverend father," said Amiot, addressing the 
 trembling priest, " that a maiden, on whom I wish to bestow the 
 highest mark of favour and esteem that is in my power to confer, 
 should thus contumaciously resist my kind intentions in her 
 favour. The heart of Clement Amiot, however, can nurse resent- 
 ment as well as affection, and within one half hour, unless Annette 
 Dalbret consents to become his 'bride, she shall taste the bitter- 
 ness of the vengeance which she has provoked. Here," he added, 
 fixing the point of his sword on the ground, and resting on its 
 hilt, " will I for that period await her determination." 
 
 A solemn silence succeeded this address. The spectators gazed 
 anxiously, sometimes on the features of Amiot, and sometimes on 
 those of Annette, but in neither could they discover any relaxa- 
 tion of the unyielding determination which was expressed in both. 
 Annette's bosom heaved, it is true, more and more as the minutes 
 wore away, but she betrayed not the slightest indication of an 
 intention to yield to the wishes of her persecutor. Before, how- 
 ever, the time limited by Amiot had half expired, a soldier 
 approached him, and informed him that there was a Flemish 
 vessel in the harbour, some of the passengers of which craved 
 permission to land on the island. 
 
 " Who and what are they, fellow, and wherefore would they 
 land ?" asked Amiot, angrily. 
 
 "They are English soldiers, Sir," answered the soldier, "who 
 bring the dead body of the Sieur Dalbret from Calais, whose last 
 wish was that his bones might be interred by those of his wife, 
 in the chapel of the fortress of Sark." 
 
 " Away with thee, fellow !" said Amiot, " it cannot be. No 
 English soldier must land here while I am governor of the island." 
 
 " My father's coffin !" exclaimed Annette. "And wouldst thou, 
 ingrate, spurn his bones from his native shore, in which they only 
 crave a place of sepulture ?" 
 
 "They have agreed," said the soldier, "that before they are 
 permitted to land with the coffin, they will submit to the strictest 
 search for the purpose of ascertaining that no weapons are con- 
 cealed upon their persons. They have promised a present of
 
 NUPTIALS AT SARK, 503 
 
 one hundred marks in money, and of goods now in their ship, to 
 the value of two hundred marks more, if their friend may be 
 buried in the spot in which, with his dying breath, he requested 
 that he might be laid, and if twenty of his ancient comrades may 
 follow his remains to the grave." 
 
 "Grant them their request, Amiot," said Annette, "somayest 
 thou in some slight degree, expiate thy offences to God and me." 
 
 Amiot's heart, although principally occupied by ambition and 
 love (if the furious passion which he entertained for Annette 
 deserved that name), had still room in it for avarice. The stern 
 rigidity of his features relaxed when mention was made of the 
 three hundred marks. 
 
 " One hundred marks in money, sayest thou, Eustace?" 
 
 " Even so, Sir," answered the soldier, producing a bag, " which 
 I am authorized to place in your hands, and farther to conduct so 
 many persons as you shall appoint to the vessel for the purpose 
 of taking possession of the goods." 
 
 " My garrison consists but of twenty men, Eustace, of whom 
 four must proceed to the vessel to secure the treasure : and twenty 
 Englishmen are to land. Nevertheless, methinks that fourteen 
 well armed Frenchmen will be a match for twenty men who will 
 have nothing but their clenched hands to oppose to our sabres 
 and pistols. Let them land, Eustace, and do thou with three 
 comrades proceed to the vessel. Be sure, however, that the 
 rogues have not so much as a knife about them, and that the 
 goods are of the full value which they assign to them. We will 
 hold the mourners as hostages until your safe return." 
 
 Eustace, with three other soldiers, having left the chapel, Amiot 
 flashed another of those glances, which sometimes lighted up his 
 stern, repulsive features to an almost demoniacal expression, upon 
 Annette : "Prepare to share your father's coffin, unless, after the 
 .solemnization of these funeral rites, you join your hand with mine." 
 
 "I am prepared," she said, lifting up her eyes to Heaven. 
 " Holy Virgin, pray for me ! My father predicted, that by his 
 coffin I should be released from my sorrows. He meant that 
 they and I should alike be consigned in it to repose."
 
 5*4 NUPTIALS AT SARK. 
 
 As she thus spake, the mourners entered the sacred edifice. 
 Four of them bore the coffin of the old man upon their shoulders, 
 and the others followed it. They wore long bla-ck cloaks, which 
 instantly attracted the jealous gaze of Clement Amiot. 
 
 " Search them once more !" he exclaimed. " My knaves, per- 
 chance, have been negligent in the execution of their duty. 
 Those cioaKS may hide something more than the forms of these 
 lachrymose mourners beneath them." 
 
 A very strict search was then immediately made upon the 
 persons of the Englishmen, but not even a knife could be found 
 upon them. " All is safe," said Amiot ; " they may proceed, but 
 stand, soldiers of King Henry, to your arms." 
 
 The Englishmen then descended with their mournful burthen 
 to the vault which held the ashes of a long line of ancestors of 
 the Dalbret family. Annette would have joined them, but Amiot, 
 in a stern, harsh tone, commanded her to remain by his side. 
 She sunk, however, on her knees, joined her hands in the attitude 
 of prayer, and mentally supplicated Heaven for the repose of her 
 father's soul. 
 
 " Have they dispatched their work so quickly?" said Amiot, as 
 after an unusually short interval, he heard the mourners reascend- 
 ing the steps which led them into the body of the chapel. "Well, 
 well, soldiers, make brief work of these mummeries. Ha ! by St. 
 Denis !" he added, " betrayed, betrayed !" 
 
 These last words were uttered, as, having divested themselves 
 of their cloaks, with pistols stuck in their belts, and drawn swords 
 in their hands, the twenty Englishmen showed themselves at the 
 entrance of the vault, and rushed upon Amiot. 
 
 The Frenchman stood upon his guard manfully, cut a passage 
 through his assailants, and made his way to the other end of the 
 chapel, where his own comrades had stood panic-struck for a 
 moment, but immediately afterwards joined him in endeavouring 
 to beat back their enemies. Although the Englishmen mustered 
 only four more than their opponents, yet that was a fearful dispro- 
 portion where the numbers on both sides were so small, added to 
 the sudden and unexpected nature of their attack, which gave
 
 NUPTIALS A T SAKA. 533 
 
 them an overwhelming advantage. Two Frenchmen were struck 
 to the ground almost at the moment that the attack commenced. 
 Amiot, however, contrived to rally his little party, and stood 
 boldly on the defensive, until a thrust from the sword of the Eng- 
 lish leader pierced him to the heart, and he fell lifeless to the 
 ground. 
 
 " Quarter ! quarter !" cried the surviving Frenchmen, throwing 
 down their arms. " Soldiers of England, the citadel is yours." 
 
 " And a richer prize," said the English leader, walking up to 
 Annette, who had already recognised in her preserver the features 
 of Sir Robert Dudley " a richer prize than the citadel is mine, 
 the hand and heart of Annette Dalbret." 
 
 Annette, overwhelmed with surprise and joy, leaned her face 
 upon her lover's bosom, while tears, but not of bitterness, coursed 
 each other down her cheek, and her beating heart throbbed au- 
 dibly. 
 
 " Thy father's coffin has saved thee, Annette," said Dudley; " it 
 contained not the lifeless relics of the brave old soldier, but these 
 good swords which have rescued thee from the power of the 
 tyrant. Wilt thou be mine, sweet Annette ?" 
 
 "Thine thine for ever!" she exclaimed, grasping his hand. 
 The lovers approached the altar, the priest pronounced the 
 marriage rites, and the Nuptials at Sark, after having been sub- 
 jected to so fearful an interruption as that which has been narrated 
 in these pages, were at length happily solemnized.
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY. 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 OF the events of this long ami important reign, our historical summary 
 must, of necessity, be unsatisfactorily brief. In 1558 Elizabeth was proclaimed 
 Queen. 
 
 1559. The Protestant religion was re-established. 
 
 The Dauphin, and his wife Mary, Queen of Scots, assumed the titles of 
 ing and Queen of England. 
 
 1560. Civil dissensions raging in Scotland, a French army landed there for 
 the purpose of putting them down. Elizabeth sent troops to the assistance of 
 the malcontents. A treaty was signed at Edinburgh, by which it was stipulated 
 that the French troops should evacuate Scotland, and that Francis arid Mary 
 should cease to assume the titles of King and Queen of England. 
 
 The Presbyterian form of religion was established in Scotland. 
 
 1561. Mary, Queen of Scots, on the death of her husband, Francis the 
 Second, King of France, returned to her own kingdom. 
 
 1562. Elizabeth assisted the Huguenots in France, who put Havre de 
 Grace into her hands. 
 
 1563. Elizabeth concluded a peace with France. 
 
 1564. Mary married Lord Darnley, the Earl of Lenox's son. 
 
 James, Prince of Scotland, who afterwards became King of Great Britain, 
 was born. 
 
 1567. Darnley was assassinated, and Mary was generally believed to be an 
 accomplice in the murder. 
 
 1568. Mary being deposed by the Scots, and her son James proclaimed 
 King, sought refuge in England. Elizabeth sent her to Jedburgh Castle, and 
 afterwards to Coventry, where she was kept in close confinement. Elizabeth 
 refused to see her until she had cleared herself from the charge of being 
 concerned in her husband's murder. 
 
 1569. Elizabeth entered into a treaty with the Czar of Muscovy, who 
 granted many privileges to English merchants. 
 
 1570. Murray, the Regent of Scotland, was assassinated, and the Earl of 
 Lenox appointed his successor. 
 
 1571-2. A plot being discovered for the release of Mary, and the subversion
 
 ELIZABETH. 527 
 
 of Elizabeth's Government, in which the Duke of Norfolk was implicated, the 
 Duke was tried, condemned, and beheaded. 
 
 1574, Elizabeth privately assisted the Huguenots of France and the 
 Netherlands with money 
 
 *577- The Seven United Provinces having offered the sovereignty over 
 them to Elizabeth, she refused it ; but assisted them with money, and entered 
 into an alliance with them against Spain. 
 
 1580. The Spaniards invaded Ireland, but were defeated. 
 
 Drake returned from a vovige round the world. The Queen dined on board 
 his ship, and knighted him. 
 
 1582. Elizabeth carried on negociations of marriage with the Duke oi 
 Anjou, but suddenly broke off the match. 
 
 1584. A conspiracy against the Queen's life was discovered ; on which the 
 Spanish Ambassador was ordered immediately to leave the kingdom. 
 
 1585. The Queen formed a treaty with the States, and sent them 500 men, 
 under the command of the Earl of Leicester, and a fleet under Sir Francis 
 Drake, against the Spanish West Indies. 
 
 1586. A conspiracy was discovered, carried on by Babington and others, 
 to murder Elizabeth, and totally overturn the religion of the nation, in which 
 Mary, Queen of Scots, was supposed to be implicated. The Council determined 
 to try Mary for treason ; she was accordingly removed to Fotheringay Castle, 
 in Northamptonshire, where she was tried, convicted, and sentenced to death. 
 
 1587. On the 8th of February Mary was beheaded. 
 
 Philip, King of Spain, preparing great fleets to invade England, Drake was 
 sent to the Spanish coasts and did them much mischief. 
 
 1588. Philip determined to make a serious attack on England, and em- 
 ployed three years in equipping a more formidable fleet than had ever before 
 appeared, which was called the Invincible Armada. In July, this fleet, under 
 the command of the Duke of Medina Sidonia, appeared off the English 
 coast ; but storms and hurricanes, and the prowess and vigilance of Lord 
 Howard, who commanded the English fleet, destroyed it. 
 
 1590. The United States were very successful against Philip. Elizabeth 
 assisted Henry IV. King of France, against the League and Philip. 
 
 1593. Several expeditions against the Spanish coast, at the expense of 
 individuals, were carried on. 
 
 Henry IV. embraced the Catholic religion ; on which Elizabeth wrote him 
 a very angry letter ; but she accepted his apology, finding it necessary to enter 
 into an offensive and defensive treaty with him against the League and the 
 King of Spain. 
 
 IS97 ._This year Lord Effingham and the Earl of Essex took and plundered 
 the town of Cadiz, and destroyed a vast number of ships. 
 
 1 599. A rebellion, under Tyrone, having broken out in Ireland, Essex was 
 sent thither ; but instead of acting with vigour against Tyrone, he at last
 
 S s? ELIZABETH, 
 
 granted him a trace, for which the Queen wrote him a very angry letter, which 
 made him return to England without leave, when he was put under ariest IB 
 his own house. " 
 
 1601. Essex, being of a violent temper and exceedingly ambitious, entered 
 deeply into very dangerous designs, and, amongst others, into one for seizing 
 the Queen's person. His treason being discovered, he was sent to the Tower, 
 and at last beheaded. 
 
 Philip III. sent some Spanish troops to Ireland ; but Lord Mountford, who 
 commanded there, entirely defeated Tyrone, and compelled the Spanish troops 
 to evacuate Ireland by a treaty, as he besieged them in Kinsale. He then 
 harassed Tyrone in such a manner as obliged him to submit to the Queen's 
 clemency. 
 
 1602. To keep the Spaniards employed at home, Elizabeth sent a fleet on 
 their coast, under Levison and Monson, who made some rich captures. 
 
 1603. The Queen died on the 24th March. She aimed the King o/ 
 Scotland as her successor.
 
 Caijjmue 
 
 Cover her face mine eyes dazzle- 
 She died young. 
 
 WEBSTER. 
 
 /CATHERINE GRAY was the second surviving sister of the 
 \*_s unhappy Lady Jane, who perished on a scaffold in the be- 
 ginning of the reign of Queen Mary. She was heir not only to the 
 talents and the virtues, but to the misfortunes of her sister; for she 
 inherited the same pretensions to the English crown, and conse- 
 quently became an object of fear and jealousy to the reigning 
 sovereign, although her quiet and unambitious character could not 
 furnish the slenderest pretext for subjecting her to violence or 
 restraint. Mary too found that the system of terror which she pur- 
 sued, and her matrimonial alliance with the King of Spain, had 
 established her throne on the firm foundation, not indeed of the 
 love, but of the fear and obedience of her subjects. She was con- 
 sequently satisfied with the contempt and oblivion into which the 
 pretensions of the House of Suffolk had fallen, and did not think 
 it necessary to resort to any farther measures of severity against the 
 members of that unhappy family. It was not, therefore, until after 
 the ascension of Queen Elizabeth, that the Lady Catherine Gray be- 
 came fully aware of the misery which was entailed upon her by the 
 tact of her being the child of her own parents. She was also guilty 
 of the same crime for which the Queen of Scots afterwards forfeited 
 her head that of being in the graces of form and feature infinitely 
 Elizabeth's superior. The Queen nevertheless saw that her rival, 
 
 M M
 
 530 CA THERlNli GRA Y. 
 
 or rather the phantom of a rival which her imagination had con- 
 jured up, was of all persons, in temper and disposition, the least 
 likely to disturb her by her pretensions to the English crown, but 
 she dreaded the event of those pretensions being transferred by 
 her to a husband or a child. She therefore determined to prevent 
 Catherine from entering into any matrimonial engagement, and 
 resolved at first to banish her to a distance from the court, and to 
 place her under the surveillance of her spies. The latter part of 
 this resolution, however, she subsequently altered ; and thinking 
 that the mistress would keep a more vigilant watch than the most 
 zealous hirelings, she kept her about her own person in a state of 
 exalted, but strict captivity. 
 
 This measure, however, defeated its object ; for the Queen 
 served but as a foil to the beautiful Catherine Gray, who attracted 
 the admiration and won the hearts of all the courtiers. Among 
 others, the gallant and accomplished Edward Seymour, the son of 
 the unfortunate Duke of Somerset who was beheaded in the reign 
 of Edward the Sixth, became captivated by her charms. Of this 
 person it was believed that the Queen was herself enamoured. 
 She, although very chary of conferring honours and dignities, had 
 restored Seymour to the forfeited estates of his father, and created 
 him first a knight, afterwards Baron Seymour, and at length Earl 
 of Hertford. 
 
 The young Earl repaid his sovereign's benefactions by mani- 
 festing the utmost zeal and devotion in her service. So chivalrous 
 and delicate in those days were the attentions paid by the courtiers 
 to their Queen, that she often mistook the manifestations of respect 
 and loyalty for those of tenderness and love. Believing that the 
 latter were the feelings which the Earl of Hertford entertained 
 towards her, her vanity and her affection became both too deeply 
 interested to enable her to exert her ordinary watchfulness over 
 the movements of Catherine Gray. That lady, of a naturally 
 delicate and feeble constitution, having latterly discovered symp- 
 toms of an alarming illness, obtained more easily than she ex- 
 pected, the Queen's permission to retire to her country-house in 
 Hertfordshire. Indeed, her royal cousin was so much pleased
 
 CATHERINE GRAY. .,31 
 
 with the appearance of her decaying health, that she did not feel 
 the least inclination to refuse her request. Catherine, therefore, 
 was suffered to remain in retirement for nearly twelve months, un- 
 disturbed by the fears and petty jealousies of Elizabeth. 
 
 The Queen, however, soon discovered a new source of an- 
 noyance. She saw, or fancied she saw, that the young Earl of 
 Hertford came less often to her court than usual ; and that when 
 there, he was no longer the same gay and light-hearted cavalier 
 that he was wont to be, but was moody and reserved, and seemed 
 anxious to make his escape as quickly as possible. In a paroxysm 
 of hasty displeasure, she appointed him to a very subordinate situa- 
 tion in the embassy to Paris, and ordered his immediate departure. 
 The visible reluctance which Hertford showed to undertake this 
 mission, only confirmed Elizabeth in the determination at which 
 she had arrived ; and uttering threats of the most signal marks of 
 her displeasure if he delayed his departure for a single week, she 
 dismissed him from her presence. 
 
 Near twelve months had, as we have already informed the 
 reader, elapsed before Elizabeth's attention was again directed to 
 Catherine Gray, and then the intelligence sounded in her ears like 
 a thunderpeal, that that lady had given birth to a son. Astonished, 
 and for a long time incredulous, she at length received the confir- 
 mation of this report, with a mingled feeling of satisfaction and 
 contempt. " The wittol harlot !" she exclaimed ; " she has at 
 length eased me of all my fears. The high-born and virtuous 
 Catherine Gray might, by intermarrying with some powerful noble- 
 man, have rendered my throne insecure ; but who will now link 
 his hand with the lewd leman who has listened to the blandish- 
 ments of some obscure paramour ? Her gallant is unknown ; 'tis 
 perchance, some low-born groom, who, when discovered, will yet 
 farther overwhelm her with infamy and disgrace." 
 
 Elizabeth considered that this opportune discovery would furnish 
 her with a pretext for doing that which she had long desired, com- 
 mitting the Lady Catherine to safe custody, and so placing it 
 \ utterly out of her power to disturb her on the throne. Catherine, 
 I however, being so nearly her kinswoman, she resolved, in the first
 
 S3* CATHERINE GRAY. 
 
 instance, to grant her a private audience, as well to show her own 
 apparent graciousness and condescension, as to gratify the real 
 malice and tyranny of her nature. She was holding her court in the 
 Tower of London at the time that her unfortunate cousin was 
 again introduced to her ; and seated on a chair of state in a small 
 private chamber, and surrounded by a few of her most confidential 
 counsellors and maids of honour, she received the trembling 
 culprit, who (followed by a single female attendant, bearing the 
 new-born infant in her arms) entered, and threw herself at the 
 Queen's feet. 
 
 " Pardon ! gracious Madam, pardon !" said the Lady Catherine. 
 
 " Pardon, woman !" reiterated Elizabeth ; " darest thou offend 
 the ears of a virgin Queen with a petition for pardon for a crime 
 of so odious and black a dye ? By God's head ! we could have 
 sooner pardoned an offence against our own crown and dignity 
 than the crime of dishonouring the royal blood in thy veins. Thou 
 mis': to the dungeons of this fortress, Madam, and there learn to 
 cool your hot blood, and by prayer and penitence, and the perusal 
 of such holy works as I shall take care abundantly to supply you 
 with, know how to bear that life of captivity to which you are now 
 irrevocably doomed." 
 
 " Say not so, great Queen," said the Lady Catherine ; " th 
 Princess Elizabeth once passed some months of wearisome ca] 
 tivity at Woodstock. Let her think of the horrors which wi 
 attend a life so spent in the Tower of London." 
 
 " Peace, saucy Madam !" said the Queen ; " when Elizabet 
 commits your crimes, she must learn to bear your punishment. 
 Away with her to her dungeon ! and let her congratulate herse 
 that, instead of her limbs being confined in the Tower, her guilt 
 head is not exhibited on its walls." 
 
 " It cannot be," said Catherine, breaking from those who hac 
 laid hands on her, " that my royal cousin means to execute he 
 threats. Here, here, great Queen," she added, taking her infan 
 in her arms, and approaching Elizabeth, " is one whose beaut 
 and innocence will plead my cause with an eloquence to whic 
 thy kind and princely heart will not fail to listen."
 
 CATHERINE GRAY. 533 
 
 " Away with her !" shouted the Queen in a voice of thunder, as 
 with an expression of disgust she turned away from the child. 
 "Yet, ah!" she added, as the smile upon the infant's features 
 caught her eye, and her lip quivered, and her cheek turned pale, 
 "surely I have seen features that resemble these. Tell me, I 
 charge thee, woman, ere I revoke that mercy which declared that 
 thy life should be spared," (as she spake these words, she rose 
 from her seat, and extended her clenched hands towards 
 Catherine,) " who is the father of thy child ?" 
 
 "And wherefore," said Catherine " wherefore should 1 conceal 
 his name, when that name designates all that is good, and brave, 
 and generous, Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford." 
 
 " God of my fathers !" exclaimed Elizabeth, lifting up her hands 
 and eyes to heaven, and compressing her lips, while her cheek 
 grew pale as marble, and large, heavy drops poured down from 
 her brow. " Said I, my Lords, that her life should not be for- 
 feited ?" 
 
 " Even so, Madam," said Walsingham, bowing reverently, 
 " your royal word is pledged." 
 
 "Wretch!" exclaimed Elizabeth; "could not thine own vile 
 passions be gratified without corrupting the noblest and most ac- 
 complished cavalier in my court ? Could none but Seymour be 
 made the accomplice of thy infamy?" 
 
 " Madam," said the Lady Catherine proudly, " although a 
 Queen speaks, the names neither of Seymour nor of Grey must be 
 branded with infamy." 
 
 " Ha ! say'st thou ? impudent harlot !" ejaculated the Queen. 
 
 " Neither a harlot, nor a harlot's daughter, Queen of England !'" 
 said Catherine significantly, " is now addressing your Majesty. I 
 am the child of Frances Brandon, and am the lawful wedded wife 
 of the Earl of Hertford." 
 
 Queen Elizabeth gazed on her for a moment with unutterable 
 wonder and rage. Every syllable of her exculpation, and the 
 successive discoveries that Catherine Gray was delivered of a child, 
 that the child was the offspring of the Earl of Hertford, and, at 
 length, that it was born in wedlock, had only more and more ex-
 
 534 CATHERINE GRAY. 
 
 asperated the royal mind. Elizabeth's schemes of policy and of 
 love were alike baffled, and the scene which she had got up for 
 the purpose of exhibiting Catherine as " a mark for the finger of 
 scorn " to point at, had ended in her own mortification and dismay. 
 The changing features of the Queen were watched with the utmost 
 anxiety by all present. Walsingham, who was profoundly read in 
 the royal physiognomy, discovered the most fatal and desperate 
 resolution there ; but as often as her eye met his, she read with 
 equal ease his disapproval of the violent measures to which she 
 wished to resort. Elizabeth seldom acted in opposition to the 
 counsels of that statesman; and fearing, as she did on this occasion, 
 to lay open to him the secret weakness of her heart, she did not 
 seek any private conference with him for the purpose of endea- 
 vouring to win him over to her scheme. After standing, therefore, 
 for some minutes silent, while the struggle in her mind was visibly 
 depicted in her features, she put an end to the suspense of her 
 attendants with an effort of clemency which evidently cost her 
 much, and exclaimed, " Away with the harlot to her dungeon !" 
 
 The unhappy Catherine, who had been in momentary expectation 
 of hearing a sentence of decapitation pronounced upon her, then 
 walked unresistingly out of the presence-chamber, and was soon 
 afterwards, with her infant, consigned to one of the gloomy apart- 
 ments of that fortress, which had been so often familiarised with 
 the presence of royal and noble prisoners. 
 
 The captivity of the Lady Catherine was followed by a royal 
 mandate to the Earl of Hertford, requiring his immediate presence 
 in London. The news of his wife's being confined in the Tower 
 having previously been received by him, he had left Paris before , 
 the Queen's command reached him ; and Elizabeth, who had 
 feared that he would endeavour to flee from her authority, received, 
 with some surprise, the intimation that he was already in her 
 capital. The Earl vainly petitioned for an interview with his 
 royal mistress, in which he hoped to be able to place the whole 
 history of his courtship and marriage with the Lady Catherine 
 Gray before her, in such a light that she would extend her pardon 
 to both. The Queen, however, was inexorable, refused to admit
 
 CA THERMS GRA Y. 53 
 
 him to her presence, affected to laugh at his allegation that 
 Catherine and he were actually married, and finally committed 
 him to the Tower, and gave strict injunctions that his lady should 
 not be permitted to visit the apartment in which he was confined. 
 Sir Edward Warner, the Lieutenant of the Tower, promised the 
 moft implicit obedience to his sovereign's commands; and although 
 of a naturally compassionate disposition, he resisted the prayers 
 of both his captives, who incessantly assailed him with their 
 solicitations, that he would grant them but one single interview. 
 Elizabeth, in the meantime, felt uneasy at the existence of the 
 issue of this unhappy amour, and instituted proceedings in the Star 
 Chamber, before the Archbishop of Canterbury, to inquire into 
 the validity of the marriage between Catherine and the Earl. 
 These proceedings were conducted with the greatest appearance 
 of justice and equity. A day was appointed, before which time 
 the prisoners were to produce proofs of the alleged matrimonial 
 union between them. When that day arrived, they were not able 
 to bring forward the necessary witnesses, and by an unusual 
 stretch of indulgence the inquiry was remitted to a future time. 
 The second period also expired, and also a third, to which the 
 final settlement of the inquiry had been still farther postponed, yet 
 neither the captives nor their friends could discover the minister 
 or any of the other persons whom Catherine and Hertford asserted 
 to have been present at their marriage. The judgment of the 
 Star Chamber was then pronounced, declaring the connexion 
 between the Earl of Hertford and the Lady Catherine Gray 
 adulterous and traitorous, condemning both the offending persons 
 to perpetual imprisonment in the Tower of London, and fining 
 the Earl, moreover, a sum of fifteen thousand pounds, he being 
 considered the greater criminal in having debauched a princess of 
 the blood royal. 
 
 The bitterness of their doom was yet farther aggravated to the 
 wretched prisoners, by the fact that, on the day after the sentence 
 was pronounced, the witnesses, whose testimony would have re- 
 stored them to love and liberty, were seen publicly in the street* 
 of London. The sentence of the Star Chamber was, however, ir-
 
 53 CATHERINE GRAY. 
 
 revocable, and the public were only left to their own conjectures 
 as to the reason of the sudden disappearance, and the as sudden 
 reappearance, of these much sought after witnesses. Some 
 believed that by bribes and threats, Elizabeth had kept them out 
 of the way ; and others, that Hertford and Catherine, conscious 
 that the evidence of these people could not benefit them, had 
 resolved to appeal to their testimony, when they knew that it could 
 not be procured ; having themselves taken care that they should 
 not be forthcoming when called upon. 
 
 In the meantime, Elizabeth could not entirely stifle either her 
 love for Seymour or her fears of Catherine. The hope that the 
 confinement of the former, and his separation from the latter, 
 might in time alienate his affections from her, and, combined with 
 the hope of regaining the Queen's favour, might prevail upon him at 
 length to disown his alleged marriage, induced the Queen still to 
 retain him in custody ; although her heart, as well as her conscience, 
 often smote her when she recalled to her mind the graceful form 
 and manly features of her prisoner, and reflected on the in- 
 justice which she was committing. Still the reports which the 
 Lieutenant of the Tower made to her of the state and conduct 
 of the Earl of Hertford, evinced neither change nor coldness in 
 his affection. He was continually soliciting Sir Edward Warner 
 to grant him an interview with his wife, and as often received the 
 Lieutenant's assurance that the extension of such an indulgence 
 towards him was impossible. For his liberty he expressed not the 
 slightest anxiety, but said that the whole world would be but one 
 gloomy prison to him if deprived of the society of Catherine. The 
 Queen, who held her court in the same building which contained 
 his dungeon, sometimes made inquiry twice or thrice in the 
 course of the day as to Hertford's behaviour, and the only reply 
 which the gaoler could make, was to the effect which we have 
 stated. The Queen's love and hatred were alike goaded almost 
 to madness by this information. Sometimes she determined to 
 sacrifice the life of the Lady Catherine Gray secretly ; but from 
 this she was as often deterred by the obvious impolicy of such an 
 act, and often, very often, did she resolve to visit her ingrute
 
 CATHERINE GRAY. S3y 
 
 favourite in his prison, to unbosom her secret soui to him, and to 
 adjure him by his duty, his loyalty, ay, even his love to his Queen, 
 to spurn Lady Catherine from his heart, and to enthrone there a 
 far more illustrious being in her place. 
 
 Catherine continued incessantly to assail the Lieutenant with 
 importunities that she might be allowed to visit her husband, or 
 that he might be permitted to see her in her place of confinement 
 The lady was, as the reader has already been informed, young and 
 beautiful ; she was also eloquent, at least her suppliant posture, 
 her streaming eyes, the thrilling tones of her voice, and the mild, 
 pale, beseeching expression of her countenance, had the effect of 
 eloquence upon Sir Edward Warner. 
 
 "Sweet Madam," he at length exclaimed, "your suit is granted. 
 It is a fearful responsibility which I am incurring, yet surely even 
 Queen Elizabeth may pardon that so slight a boon should have 
 been extorted from me, by the charms of that face whose beauty 
 makes her tremble on her throne." 
 
 " Sayest thou my suit is granted ?" said Catherine, falling on her 
 knees before him, and pressing his hand to her lips. " Now, may 
 the blessing of the distressed and of the captive light upon 
 your head !" 
 
 " Cease, cease these transports, gracious Madam. Even stone 
 walls and iron bars have betrayed the most important secrets in 
 these gloomy vaults. Stay thy fluttering heart for a short season, 
 and thou shalt clasp the Earl of Hertford in thy arms." 
 
 Short was the period which elapsed between the Lieutenant's 
 departure from Catherine's apartment and his return, leading the 
 Earl of Hertford in his hand ; but that short period seemed to the 
 lady to be an age of longer duration than the entire term of her 
 captivity which had preceded it. No newly imprisoned bird ever 
 fluttered more wildly in its cage, than did the Lady Catherine Gray 
 hurriedly and impatiently pace up and down the low-roofed and 
 narrow apartment in which she was imprisoned, whose small 
 dimensions seemed painfully to confine the beatings of her heart 
 At length, however, the door of her dungeon flew open, and the 
 Earl of Hertford rushed into her arms.
 
 S3 CATHERINE GRAY. 
 
 We will not attempt to describe the rapture of that meeting, to 
 enumerate the caresses, nor to repeat the passionate exclamations 
 of joy and love which accompanied so unexpected, though so long 
 sought, an interview. We will therefore accompany Sir Edward 
 Warner, who, after beseeching the lovers not to make the expression 
 of their delight too vociferous, and to expect a very speedy sepa- 
 ration, proceeded to the presence-chamber of the Queen, from 
 whom he had just received a summons, commanding his immediate 
 attendance upon her. He found Elizabeth alone, moody and 
 agitated, and he thought that he could even trace the marks of 
 tears upon her eyelids. 
 
 " Master Lieutenant," she said, " I am about to take a step that 
 might probably expose me to the censorious prattle of impertinent 
 curiosity were it necessary to reveal it to any one but yourself, on 
 whose discretion and prudence I can rely." 
 
 The Lieutenant bowed profoundly, and then assumed the atti- 
 tude of a respectful and attentive listener. 
 
 " Heaven knows, good Sir Edward," resumed the Queen, " that 
 in the government of my kingdom I have endeavoured to temper 
 justice with mercy, and even in the case of the unhappy persons 
 who have lately been committed to your custody, I would rather 
 bring them to a conviction of their guilt by persuasion and re- 
 monstrance, than by the measures of severity which have been 
 already pursued towards them." 
 
 " Persuasion and remonstrance, gracious Madam," said the 
 Lieutenant, somewhat alarmed at the course which the Queen's 
 conversation seemed to be taking, " have been already tried and 
 found unavailing." 
 
 " With my infatuated cousin," said the Queen, " I believe that 
 every attempt to induce her to acknowledge her crimes, and to 
 throw herself on my mercy, will be without effect. The young 
 Earl of Hertford, however, will not, I think, continue to 
 sully his fair fame, and to shut himself up in the gloomy 
 dungeons of this place, for the love of one who is so unworthy 
 of him." 
 
 " Would your Majesty commission me," said Warner, " to reasor,
 
 CATHERINE GRAY. S39 
 
 with the Earl, and to inform him of your Majesty's gracious 
 intentions towards him ?" 
 
 " Nay, Master Lieutenant," said the Queen ; " I would reason 
 with him myself, and will visit him in his dungeon, to see if his 
 proud spirit can be tamed down by the condescension of a Queen. 
 This very moment shalt thou lead me to him. With my features 
 enveloped in my hood, I shall be unknown to all but you. Thus, 
 good Sir Edward, do I entrust you with a state secret, to which 
 neither Cecil nor Walsingham is privy." 
 
 The blood faded from Warner's cheek, his knees knocked against 
 each other, and so violent was the agitation of his whole frame, 
 that he was for some time unable to utter a syllable in reply to the 
 Queen's address. 
 
 " How now, Master Lieutenant !" asked Elizabeth ; " what 
 means this ? My resolution is perhaps a somewhat singular one ; 
 but surely there is in it nothing so appalling that it should banish 
 the blood from your cheek, and prevent your limbs from performing 
 their functions. Lead on, I say " 
 
 " Gracious Madam !" said Warner, " pause a moment ere you 
 take this step." 
 
 " Not an instant, Sir Edward," said the Queen. " How ! do you 
 dispute the commands of your Sovereign ?" 
 
 " Then, most dread Sovereign," said the Lieutenant, seeing that 
 it was impossible to preserve his secret, and throwing himself at 
 the Queen's feet, " pardon, pardon, for the most guilty of your 
 Majesty's subjects." 
 
 " Ha !" said the Queen, using the favourite interjection of her 
 father, while his own proud spirit flashed in her kindled eye and 
 lowered in her darkening brow ; " what dost thou mean ?" 
 
 " The Earl of Hertford is not in his dungeon." 
 
 " What, escaped ! Traitor slave hast thou suffered him to 
 csrape ?" 
 
 Warner grovelled on the ground in the most abject posture at 
 Hie Queen's feet, and his frame trembled in every fibre as he said, 
 " He is in the Lady Catherine's apartment." 
 
 " What, ho there !" shouted the Queen, as the white foam
 
 $4 CATHERINE GRAY. 
 
 gathered On her lip, and her whole frame became agitated, though 
 not with fear, but with uncontrollable anger. " Guards, seize the 
 traitor !" 
 
 Several yeomen of the guard immediately entered the apartment, 
 and seized the Lieutenant of the Tower, binding his arms behind 
 him, but not depriving him of his weapons. The Queen, acting 
 on the impulse of the moment, commanded one of the guards to 
 conduct her to the dungeon of the Lady Catherine Gray, and 
 ordered the others to follow her with Sir Edward Warner in their 
 custody. Anger, hatred, fear, jealousy, all lent wings to her steps. 
 The dungeon door was soon before her ; the bolts were withdrawn, 
 and with little of the appearance of a Queen in her gait and gestures, 
 excepting that majesty which belongs to the expression of highly 
 wrought feelings, she rushed into the dungeon, and found Catherine 
 Gray in the arms of Hertford, who was kissing away the tears that 
 had gathered on her cheek. 
 
 "Seize him away with him to instant execution !" said the Queen. 
 
 The guards gazed for a moment wistfully on each other, and 
 seemed as if they did not understand the command. 
 
 " Seize him ! I say," exclaimed the Queen. " I have myself 
 taken the precaution to be present, that I may be assured that he 
 is in your custody, and led away to the death that he has taken so 
 much pains to merit." 
 
 The guards immediately surrounded the Earl, but they yet 
 paused a moment ere they led him out of the dungeon, when they 
 saw the Lady Catherine throw herself on her knees before 
 Elizabeth, and seize the skirt of her robe. 
 
 " Have pity, gracious Queen !" she cried, " have pity !" 
 
 " Away, minion !" said the Queen ; " he had no pity on him- 
 self when he ventured to break prison, even in the precincts of 
 our royal palace. His doom is fixed." 
 
 " Not yet, great Queen, not yet !" said Catherine, still grasp- 
 ing Elizabeth's robe. " Can nought save him ?" 
 
 " Nought, save my death," said the Queen ; and then she added 
 in an under-tone, which she did not seem to intend should be 
 audible, while a dark smile played on her lip, " or perchance thine." 
 
 Catherine's ear caught the last part of the Queen's sentence, and
 
 CATHERINE GRAY. 54! 
 
 with the quickness of lightning she exclaimed, "Thy death or mine, 
 oh Queen I then thus," she added, plucking from the belt of Sir 
 Edward Warner, who stood by her side with his hands bound behind 
 him, a dagger, and brandishing it aloft, " thus may his life be spared !" 
 
 A cry of "Treason ! treason !" pervaded the dungeon, and the 
 guards advanced between Catherine and the Queen, whose life 
 she seemed to threaten ; but ere they could wrest the dagger from 
 her hand, she had buried it in her own bosom. 
 
 " Now, now do I claim thy promise, oh Queen !" she said, as 
 she sunk to the earth, while the blood poured in a torrent from 
 the wound. " Catherine Gray can no longer disturb thee spare 
 the life of the princely Seymour." 
 
 Her last breath was spent on these words her last gaze was 
 fixed upon the Queen and pressing the hand of her husband, 
 who was permitted to approach her, in her dying grasp, the spirit 
 of Catherine Gray was released from all its sorrows. 
 
 The sacrifice of the unhappy lady's life preserved that for which 
 it had been offered up. The Queen, touched with the melancholy 
 termination of her kinswoman's existence, revoked the despotic 
 and illegal order which she had given for the execution of Hert- 
 ford, but ordered him to be conducted back to his dungeon, where 
 he remained in close custody for a period of more than nine years. 
 The death of Elizabeth at the expiration of that period, released 
 him from his captivity; and then, although he was unable to 
 restore the Lady Catherine to life, he took immediate steps to 
 re-establish her fair fame. In these efforts he was perfectly suc- 
 cessful : he proved before the proper tribunals the validity of his 
 marriage, and transmitted his inheritance to his son, who was the 
 issue of that ill-fated union. 
 
 The catastrophe of this tale is purely fictitious, and, in fact, it varies in many 
 points from historical truth. At the period that Catherine Gray married Lord 
 Hertford, Robert Dudley (the Earl of Leicester) was in the height of the 
 Queen's favour. No known partiality on her side existed towards Seymour ; 
 her objection was to Catherine's marriage with any person, as she was in the 
 direct line of succession to the throne. Catherine lived with Hertford in the 
 Tower, and had a second son born there ; moreover her death was caused by 
 decline, and took place at the house of Sir Owen Hopton, (Lieutenant of the 
 Tower,) Cockfield Hall, Suffolk. She was buried in the chancel of Yoxford. 
 rhurch. [Edit.]
 
 THE UNION OF THE TWO 
 CROWNS. 
 
 The world the temple was, the sea the ring, 
 The spoused pair two realms, the priest a king. 
 BEN JONSON. 
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY. 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 1603. JAMES the Sixth, King of Scotland, was proclaimed King of Eng- 
 and, by the title of James I. 
 
 The Queen arrived in England with her three children, Henry, Elizabeth, 
 and Charles. 
 
 A conspiracy was detected against the Government in favour of the Lady 
 Arabella Stuart, for which many suffered ; amongst others, Sir Walter Raleigh 
 was condemned, but reprieved, though not pardoned ; he was confined in the 
 Tower for many years. 
 
 The King entered into a treaty with France, to support the United States of 
 Holland against Spain. 
 
 1604. Great disputes arose among the Episcopalians and Puritans; but 
 James adhered to the former, and continued to uphold the Church of England. 
 
 James took the title of King of Great Britain ; and English and Scotch Com- 
 missioners were appointed to inquire on what terms an union between the two 
 nations might be effected. 
 
 A peace was concluded with Spain. 
 
 The United States lost Ostend after a siege of above three years, and a sacri- 
 fice of 120,000 lives. 
 
 1605. The Gunpowder Plot was detected on the 4th November, the day 
 previous to that on which it was to be executed. 
 
 1606. .AH the conspirators who were apprehended were executed ; and
 
 JAMES THE SIXTH. S43 
 
 the Parliament ordered the 5th of November to be kept as a day of thanks- 
 giving. 
 
 1607. The House of Commons opposed the King in all his attempts to 
 stretch his prerogative, and issued an order for the regular printing of their 
 journals. 
 
 1609. The Spaniards, after a war of half a century's duration with the 
 United States, agreed to a truce with them for twelve years, and negotiated 
 with them as an independent people. 
 
 1610. James created his son Henry, who was very much esteemed by the 
 English, Prince of Wales. 
 
 Henry IV. of France was assassinated, by Ravaillac, in his own coach, in 
 the streets of Paris. 
 
 1613. Prince Henry died, to the great regret of the whole English nation. 
 
 Frederick V., the Elector Palatine, arrived in England, and was married to 
 the Princess Elizabeth. 
 
 Robert Carre became a great favnirite with the King, who created him 
 Viscount Rochester, and afterwards Earl of Somerset. He fell in love with the 
 Countess of Essex ; and after living with her some time, caused her to procure 
 a divorce from her husband and marry him. Sir Thomas Overbury, having 
 remonstrated with the latter on his connexion with the Countess, was thrown 
 into the Tower, and afterwards poisoned. The Earl and Countess were tried 
 and found guilty of the murder. The King spared their lives and granted 
 them a small pension ; but they languished out the remainder of their days in 
 obscurity and infamy. 
 
 James and his Parliament disagreeing, and the latter refusing to grant the 
 King money, he created the order of baronets, and raised two hundred persons 
 to that rank, from each of whom he received a considerable sum of money. 
 
 1615. George Villiers rose high in the King's favour, and in the course of 
 a few years was created Viscount Villiers, Earl, Marquis, and Duke of 
 Buckingham. 
 
 Mr. Hugh Middleton, a citizen and goldsmith, having obtained a patent, 
 brought water by means of pipes into all the streets of London. 
 
 1616. James being in great want of money, and not choosing to call a Par- 
 liament, gave up to the Dutch, for 250,000, the towns which they had placed 
 in the hands of Queen Elizabeth, to secure to her the repayment of a loan 
 from her of three times that amount. 
 
 1617 Sir Walter Raleigh, who had been confined in the Tower for twelve 
 years, asserting that he had discovered, on a former voyage to the coast of 
 Guiana, a gold mine, was at last released, but not pardoned ; and undertook 
 this voyage, with many other adventurers : but finding no mine, and plunder- 
 ing St. Thomas, a Spanish settlement, he was on his return committed to the 
 Tower. 
 
 1618. The Spanish Ambassador, Gondemar, complaining of Raleigh's con-
 
 544 JAMES THE SIXTH. 
 
 duct, in committing aggressions on the Spanish ships and colonies, the King, 
 to please the Spanish court, with whom he wished to ingratiate himself, ordered 
 Sir Walter to be beheaded on his former sentence. 
 
 1619. The Protestant States of Bohemia, who had taken up arms against 
 the Emperor Matthias, in defence of their religion, still persevered against his 
 successor, Ferdinand II., and declaring their kingdom elective, chose Frederick 
 V., the Elector Palatine, their King ; who, pleased with his new title, marched 
 his troops there, without consulting either the King of England, his father-in- 
 law, or the Prince of Orange, his uncle. James so highly disapproved of this 
 step, that he would not allow him to be prayed for in the churches by the title 
 of King of Bohemia. 
 
 1620. Ferdinand raised a great army, and gained an important victory at 
 Prague ; and Frederick and his family were forced to retire to Holland. 
 
 1621. The Parliament granted the King two subsidies to assist the Elector 
 Palatine ; and then, among other grievances which they preferred, they accused 
 the Lord Chancellor Bacon of having taken bribes. They sent him to the 
 Tower, and declared him incapable of ever being employed again. 
 
 1623. A marriage was negotiated between the Prince of Wales and a 
 daughter of the King of Spain, which was delayed for some time by the death 
 of the Pope. Buckingham, having ingratiated himself with Prince Charles, 
 persuaded him to go over to Spain to bring home the Infanta. They wrung a 
 very unwilling consent from the King, and departed for Spain, where they were 
 received with great attention and cordiality ; but the proper dispensation from 
 the Pope was delayed by the death of Gregory XV. They both left Spain 
 without having concluded the marriage. 
 
 1624 The Parliament granted the King money to carry on a war with 
 Spain, and to recover the Palatinate. 
 
 A league was concluded with Louis XIII. of France against the whole House 
 of Austria ; and a treaty of marriage set on foot betwixt Prince Charles and 
 Henrietta Maria, Louis's sister, whom he had seen on his way to Spain. 
 
 1625. The King was seized with a Tertian fever, which proved fatal to him 
 on the 27th March. 

 
 
 M A grave, a grave," Lord Barnard cried, 
 
 " To putt these lovers in ; 
 But lay my lady on the upper hand, 
 For she comes of the better kin." 
 
 LITTLE MUSGRAVE AND LADY BARNARD. 
 ' ' - 
 
 " 
 
 IN the year 1611, Higbgate, which is now almost a suburb of 
 the metropolis, was a remote and secluded village, far from 
 the hum of business and the toils of state, and separated from the 
 great city by numerous fair and smiling meadows and cornfields, 
 many a gentle elevation and fertile valley, and a few scattered 
 cottages and farm-houses, presenting an appearance of as perfect 
 and simple rusticity as is now to be found in the most distant 
 provinces of the island. On the brow of Highgate Hill, surrounded 
 by extensive pleasure grounds, and commanding a noble view of 
 London and the adjacent country, stood a stately mansion, the 
 dwelling-house of Sir James Croft. This knight was a naval 
 officer, whose achievements had raised him to a high place in the 
 favour of King James the First, but who, having grown old in the 
 service of his country, and having a taste for rural life and the fine 
 arts, had retired to his house in Highgate, where he spent the 
 evening of his days in tranquillity and seclusion. His house and 
 grounds were decorated with the utmost taste and refinement. 
 The art of landscape-gardening was then beginning to emancipate 
 1 itself from the fetters of formality with which it had been so long 
 | loaded and disgraced ; and although the grounds of Sir Jaraei 
 
 ENG. N N
 
 546 THE CAPTIVES. 
 
 Croft could not vie with the enchanting landscapes which the 
 magic wands of Brown and Kent afterwards called into existence, 
 yet they presented a scene with which, for taste and beauty, few 
 of the residences of the most exalted and opulent in the nation 
 could compete. The genius of Inigo Jones, then at the summit 
 of royal and popular favour, had been employed upon the mansion, 
 and the numerous discoveries which were daily being made in the 
 New World, had filled the knight's museum with rare gems, shells, 
 plants, and other curiosities, which excited the admiration and 
 delight of all who gazed upon them. One day in the week the 
 good knight allowed his house and grounds to be viewed by 
 strangers, to whom he had much satisfaction in pointing out the 
 beauties and rarities with which they abounded. 
 
 It was on one of these days, a bright and balmy afternoon of 
 June, when the grounds were unusually crowded with visitors, that 
 a poor pedlar appeared at the gates, apparently attracted thither 
 by the hope of finding some purchasers for his goods. He seemed 
 very old and infirm. His long, grey beard swept his breast, and 
 his bent form appeared scarcely able to sustain the pack which he 
 carried on his back. With one hand he grasped a long staff, and 
 with the other he shaded his eyes as he peered anxiously through 
 the gate, and seemed to be in search of a customer from amongst 
 the motley multitude. 
 
 " I am weary of watching and waiting," he said ; " yet my en- 
 terprise must not be lightly abandoned. Hist ! gentle damsel, 
 hist !" he added, as a female domestic passed near the gate, and 
 within hearing of his voice. 
 
 " What would you have with me, old man ?" asked the Abigail. 
 
 " I have rare commodities to sell," said the pedlar ; " silks and 
 satins of the finest quality, tapes and laces, all kinds of head-gear, 
 bugle bracelets and amber necklaces, lawns and cambrics ; more- 
 over, I can furnish a lady who is about to travel with everything 
 that it is fitting she should be provided with ere she undertakes 
 her journey." 
 
 " But I am not about to travel neither do I want any of your 
 wares."
 
 THE CAPTIVES. 547 
 
 " But thy fair mistress, the Lady Arabella, travels on the mor- 
 lovv to Durham. "Tis a long and weary journey, gentle damsel. 
 Lead me to her, that I may supply her wants, and I warrant that 
 she will thank thee heartily." 
 
 " Lead thee to the Lady Arabella !" said the damsel, with a 
 stare of indignation and surprise. " How knowest thou that she 
 departs on the morrow for Durham ? or what fiend of impudence 
 prompted thee to think that thou mightest be admitted to her 
 presence? Away with thee ! I must begone." 
 
 She was about to return into the mansion, but the pedlar called 
 after her in a tone of so much earnestness, and so different from 
 the feeble and tremulous manner in which he had before addressed 
 her, that she stopped, and once more asked, " What would you 
 with me, old man ?" 
 
 " I would beg of thee to bear this ring to thy lady, and tell her 
 that he to whom it belongs waits to be admitted to her presence." 
 
 " Not for the wealth of England dare I grant your request. I 
 am placed to watch as well as to wait upon my lady ; and Sir James 
 Croft has strictly charged me to take care that she holds no com- 
 munication with any one beyond these walls." 
 
 " Didst ever see, fair damsel," said the pedlar, pulling a pair of 
 bracelets out of his pack, " aught so beautiful as these ? They 
 belonged to the Princess of El Dorado, and were given by her to 
 Sir Walter Raleigh, who brought them to England. The Queen of 
 England might be proud to wear them." 
 
 The Abigail's eyes glistened, and she gazed wistfully at the old 
 man as he displayed the Princess of El Dorado's bracelets before her. 
 
 " They are rare, and doubtless costly, good man," she said, in an 
 inquiring tone. 
 
 " They are not so costly, fair damsel," said the pedlar, "but llial 
 they may be thine at a very easy rate." 
 
 " Mine !" said the damsel " that is impossible." 
 
 " Lead me to thy lady, and they are thine." 
 
 " I dare not must not. My lady has retired to her chamber 
 to avoid the company with which the house and grounds are this 
 day filled. The poor lady's sole consolation in her sorrows is to 
 N N 2
 
 548 THE CAPTIVES. 
 
 sit and weep alone. I dare not permit any one to intrude on her 
 privacy." 
 
 "Then bear her this ring with the message which I have already 
 spoken." 
 
 " There cannot be much harm," said the damsel, " in that, and 
 the poor lady has, doubtless, sadly neglected the adornment of 
 her fair person. She can scarcely be provided with sufficient geai 
 for her journey to Durham. Give me the bracelets and the ring, 
 old man. I will do thy bidding." 
 
 The pedlar placed the trinkets in her hand ; and then, light of 
 heart and foot, she tripped away, and was soon lost to his sight in 
 the windings of the garden grounds. 
 
 The person so often mentioned in the course of the above con- 
 versation was the Lady Arabella Stuart. This lady was first cousin 
 to King James I., being the daughter of Charles Stuart, Earl of 
 Lenox, the younger brother of Lord Darnley, King James's father, 
 and was by many supposed to have a better title to the crown than 
 the reigning monarch, whose legitimacy they disputed. In the 
 year 1603, the conspiracy which was called " Raleigh's Plot," and 
 at the head of which were Lord Cobham, Lord Grey, Sir Griffith 
 Markham, and Sir Walter Raleigh, was formed for the purpose of 
 deposing James and setting Arabella on the throne. This plot 
 was detected and frustrated, and the conspirators were sentenced, 
 according to their respective shares in it, to various degrees of 
 punishment. The Lady Arabella, who was of a retired and 
 pensive disposition, and attached to literature, had no participa- 
 tion in this plot, although the conspirators made use of her name. 
 She immediately, however, became an object of suspicion and 
 jealousy to the King, who determined that whatever pretensions 
 she had to the crown should die with her. He therefore affected 
 to believe that she was an accomplice in Raleigh's plot, and com- 
 mitted her for a time to close custody ; but at length released and 
 pardoned her, on condition that she should never marry, so that 
 her claims to sovereignty might not descend to her posterity. 
 
 Poor Arabella was indeed guiltless of having cherished any 
 ambitious thoughts, but her heart was not insensible to the
 
 THE CAPTIVES. 549 
 
 influence of love. William Seymour, the grandson of the Earl 
 of Hertford, had from his earliest years, been passionately 
 attached to the Lady Arabella. The affection was mutual ; and 
 the lady no sooner regained her liberty, than she made use of it 
 to break the condition upon which it was granted. Seymour and 
 Arabella were speedily, and, as they hoped secretly married, and 
 were concerting a scheme for effecting their escape into France, 
 where they might openly live in the relation of man and wife, 
 when they were arrested and carried for examination before the 
 Privy Council. By what means the King became acquainted 
 with their marriage the annalists of that period do not state ; but so 
 general and well-regulated was then the system of espionage 
 throughout tho country, that the ears of the monarch soon heard 
 the faintest whisper that was uttered against him, and his eye 
 detected the slightest motion that was prejudicial to his interests. 
 The lovers, on appearing before the Council, instead of affecting 
 to deny the crime with which they were charged, boldly avowed 
 that they were man and wife, denied the right of any one to prevent 
 them from living in that relation, and claimed the protection ol 
 the laws in their behalf. The President of the Council having 
 vainly endeavoured to convince them of the heinousness of theii 
 crime, and to extort from them a confession that their marriage 
 was illegal, and that the connexion between them was unlawful 
 and adulterous, committed Seymour to close custody in the 
 Tower of London, and ordered the Lady Arabella Stuart to be 
 confined in Sir Thomas Parry's house at Lambeth. The latter, 
 being shortly afterwards detected in carrying on a correspondence 
 with her husband, was removed from Lambeth to Highgate, and 
 placed under the surveillance of Sir James Croft. The knight 
 pitied her misfortunes ; but so devoted was he to the service ol 
 his sovereign, and so paramount did he consider the interests ol 
 the state to all private considerations, that he would not have 
 hesitated to sacrifice her ease, her happiness, or even her life, 
 if he could be convinced that they stood in the way of the 
 public welfare. 
 
 The Lady Arabella bore the restraint upon her own personal
 
 550 THE CAPTIVES. 
 
 freedom patiently, but she shuddered as she thought of the 
 perils to which Seymour was exposed. In the reign of James the 
 First, few on whom the gates of the Tower of London once 
 closed, ever recrossed that fatal threshold. This monarch was 
 not so fond as his predecessors of exhibiting his victims on the 
 public scaffold ; but the work of death, although more secretly, 
 was not less certainly accomplished than heretofore. 
 
 " I shall never see him more," thought the Lady Arabella, and 
 wept as she sat alone in her chamber, and cast a melancholy 
 glance on the preparations which had been made for her morrow's 
 journey to Durham. " Alas, alas ! what have I done to be thus 
 early consigned to misery and despair ? Fortune smiled on my 
 birth. I was born a princess. Sages prophesied that I should 
 live long and happily. Lovers surrounded me numerous lovers 
 from among whom my heart told me whom to select. Love and 
 Death are (doubtless) nearly allied ; for ever since the moment 
 that I plighted the nuptial vow, I seem to have been travelling 
 rapidly to the grave." 
 
 As she thus spoke, she took up her lute, and touched upon it a 
 few sad querulous notes, which appeared to be in unison with the 
 state of her feelings. A thousand painful recollections seemed 
 to be awakened in her mind, tears streamed down her face, and 
 then once more touching her lute, she drew from it notes of the 
 most ravishing harmony, to which she \varbled the following lines :* 
 
 " I stood by the towers of Ardenveile, 
 And the bells rang forth a jocund peal ; 
 Loudly and merrily rang they then 
 O'er field and valley and sylvan glen, 
 And each cheek look'd bright as the blush of morn, 
 And each voice sounded gay as the huntsman's horn, 
 And each heart was glad for an heiress was born. 
 
 "I stood by those time-worn towers again 
 And prancing forth came a gallant train ; 
 And there was the priest in his robes of white, 
 And there was a lady youthful and bright-, 
 
 * This ballad has already appeared in print, but it was originally intended 
 for the situation which it occupies in these pages.
 
 THE CAPTIVES. 55, 
 
 And a gallant knight rode by her side, 
 
 And the sounds of joy echoed far and wide, 
 
 For the heiress was Rudolph de Courcy's bride. 
 
 M And again by those portals proud did I stand. 
 And again came forth a gallant band ; 
 And I saw that same priest, but sad was his pace ; 
 And I saw that same knight, but he shrouded his face , 
 And I saw not that maiden in beauty's bloom, 
 But a pall and a bier and a sable plume, 
 For the heiress was borne to her forefathers' tomb. 
 
 "And such is human life at best, 
 A mother's, a lover's, the green earth's breast, 
 A wreath that is formed of flow'rets three, 
 Primrose, and myrtle, and rosemary, 
 A hopeful, a joyful, a sorrowful stave, 
 A launch, a voyage, a whelming wave, 
 The cradle, the bridal-bed, and the grave." 
 
 As the lady concluded her strain, she lifted up her eyes and 
 saw her faithful attendant, Alicia, standing before her. Arabella's 
 eyes were suffused with tears, and her face so wan and woe-begone, 
 that the tender-hearted Abigail could not disguise the sympathy 
 which she felt, for her sorrows. 
 
 " Gentle mistress," she said, "be of good cheer ! I had hoped 
 to find you in better health and spirits, for I have a message 
 for you." 
 
 " A message, Alicia ! What ! has my kind royal cousin altered 
 his purpose, and determined that instead of being banished to 
 Durham, I shall lay my head upon the block ? I am ready, I 
 am ready \" 
 
 " Nay, nay, sweet lady ! I am commissioned to present you 
 with this ring, and to tell you, that he to whom it belongs waits to 
 be admitted to your presence." 
 
 " Ha !" exclaimed the Lady Arabella, " 'tis my husband's ring, 
 the ring which on that happy day (yes, I will still call it happy !) 
 I exchanged for that which I now wear. Where is he from whom 
 you received it?" 
 
 " He waits your pleasure, Madam, at the garden gate." 
 
 " Is he young, handsome, stately as the pine ?"
 
 55 THE CAPTIVES, 
 
 " Nay, Madam ; old, decrepit, and twisted like the fibres of the 
 time-worn oak." 
 
 "Alas!" said the Lady Arabella, "down, down, my sanguine 
 heart ! But lead him to me, Alicia ; I would fain see him, for 
 the token which he has sent me is a precious memorial of the 
 bliss which I possessed for so short a time, and have now lost 
 for ever !" 
 
 Alicia, with a duly grateful remembrance of the Princess of 
 El Dorado's bracelet, hastened to obey her mistress's injunctions. 
 She found the old pedlar overjoyed at the narration which she 
 gave of her mistress's reception of the ring, and hastened to lead 
 him to the lady's chamber. 
 
 " If thy presence," she said, "produce an effect proportioned to 
 that produced by thy message, thou art a made man ; for, though 
 the Lady Arabella is a prisoner, she is rich and generous, and 
 well able to reward those who are fortunate enough to secure her 
 favour." 
 
 The pedlar did not seem to heed the prattle of Alicia, but 
 followed her in silence, and at a quicker pace than could have 
 been expected from one afflicted as he was by age and infirmity, 
 until he arrived in the chamber of the Lady Arabella. The latter 
 gazed for a moment, silently and in a bewildered manner, in the 
 old man's face ; then an exclamation of wonder and delight burst 
 from her lips ; and then to the utter astonishment of Alicia, she 
 threw herself into the pedlar's arms. 
 
 " Seymour, my own ! my best beloved !" she cried, " how is 
 it that we meet thus ?" 
 
 "Sweetest, calm these transports," said the pedlar, throwing 
 down his pack, and starting up neither old nor decrepit, but 
 youthful and stalwart ; while his white beard dropped from his 
 chin, and his long raven locks escaped from under the artificial 
 scalp which covered his head. "Heaven has enabled me to 
 escape from my gloomy prison. In this disguise did I quietly and 
 without suspicion walk out of the great western gate of the Tower, 
 following a cart that had brought me billets. Thence did I walk 
 to the Tower-wharf, and by the warders of the south gate to the
 
 THE CAPTIVES. 553 
 
 Iron gate, where I found our faithful serrant, Rodney, who was 
 acquainted with my scheme, in waiting for me. He has a boat 
 there ready to convey us to Gravesend, where we shall find a 
 French bark waiting to carry us to Calais. You must away with 
 me, sweet Arabella, instantly !" 
 
 " Alas, Seymour !" said the lady, clinging to his neck, " escape 
 is for me hopeless ; so suspicious and vigilant is Sir James Croft. 
 But do thou ensure thy own safety. Yet to part thus soon, after 
 so long-wished but little hoped for an interview ; my heart will 
 break !" 
 
 She was sinking on the ground, but Seymour supported her in 
 his arms. " Listen to me, Arabella, listen ! This fair damsel " 
 as he thus spake, he placed a rich necklace round Alicia's neck 
 " will not, I am sure, interpose to prevent the escape of two lovers, 
 who have shown her no ill-will, and whose present guerdon is but 
 a faint earnest of what they mean to do in reward of her connivance 
 arid assistance. Behold !" he added, unloosing his packet, and 
 displaying a pair of great French-fashioned hose, a man's doublet, 
 and peruke with long flowing flocks, a black hat, black coat, russet 
 boots with red tops, a rapier, in short, the complete accoutre- 
 ments proper for a young gentleman of wit and fashion about 
 town ; " shroud thy fair face and form, Arabella, in this disguise, 
 and not even the lynx-eyes of old Croft himself will be able to 
 detect the cheat. Then slip into the garden, mix for a short time 
 with the gallants who are in the grounds promenading, and then 
 thou mayest walk unquestioned out at the gate. Meet me there, 
 therefore, in half an hour. I have two horses, fleet as the wind, 
 ready to bear us to the water-side ; and soon, very soon ! I trust 
 that we shall both land in peace and safety on the coast of 
 France." 
 
 " Tis a rare scheme !" said Alicia, in whom the passion for 
 plotting and intriguing natural to a waiting-woman, added to the 
 influence of the trinkets presented to her by Seymour, and also, it 
 must be confessed, to her sympathy and affection for the Lady 
 Arabella, overbalanced her loyalty to Sir James Croft " tis a rare 
 scheme, and in its furtherance my assistance shall not be wanting."
 
 554 THE CAPTIVES. 
 
 Seymour then picked up his discarded pack, adjusted his 
 fictitious beard and scalp, resumed his staff, and crawling out of 
 the chamber at the same pace at which he had entered it, left 
 Alicia to assist her mistress at her unusual toilet. 
 
 The Lady Arabella had been reduced by anxiety and sickness 
 to a state of great weakness ; and although the unexpected meeting 
 with her husband had infused a momentary strength into her frame, 
 she soon relapsed into her former feebleness and lassitude, and it 
 was with gi-eat difficulty that she was able to complete her disguise. 
 Equipped, however, at length, in the habiliments of a young 
 gallant, she (to use a theatrical technicality) looked the character 
 passably well, except that her very pale cheeks were not calculated 
 to win her a formidable imputation for strength and valour. Never- 
 theless, encouraged by Alicia, and sensible of the critical position 
 in which she was placed, she managed, like Rosalind, to 
 
 ' ' Have a swashing and a martial outside, 
 As many other mannish cowards have, 
 That do outface it with their semblances ;" 
 
 and sending Alicia before her to perform the office of a scout, she 
 passed unobserved from her chamber into the gardens, where, 
 mingling with the numerous visitors who were admiring the taste 
 and liberality of Sir James Croft, she attracted no notice. She 
 loitered for a short time in the grounds, appearing to take the 
 same interest with the other visitors in the plants and waterfalls, 
 the temples and statues, with which they abounded ; and then 
 summoning all the courage within her, she strode boldly down the 
 grand avenue, and passed through the gate which opened into the 
 London road. 
 
 There she found Seymour waiting for her in a new disguise, that 
 of a groom, and holding two horses, one of which he assisted her 
 to mount. She then took the road to the metropolis, and her 
 husband followed her on the other horse, as her attendant. As 
 soon as they had proceeded such a distance from the house that 
 their movements could not be observed by the inmates, he rode 
 up to her, and found that his attentions were much wanted to sup-
 
 THE CAPTIVES. 
 
 555 
 
 port and encourage the lady, and to enable her to sustain her part 
 in this adventure. Her feebleness and weariness appeared to 
 increase every moment, and compelled them to travel at so slow a 
 pace, that Seymour began to fear that ere they should be able to 
 reach London, their plot would be detected and prevented. He 
 knew that his own escape from the Tower must by this time be 
 discovered, and that the flight of the Lady Arabella could not be 
 kept concealed for more than a very few hours. The increasing 
 illness of the lady, however, obliged them, after they had scarcely 
 travelled a mile and a half, to stop and put up at a little public-house 
 en the road-side. Here the pale face and trembling form of 
 Arabella so much attracted the notice of the ostler who tended 
 their steeds, that he told Seymour, with whom, in consequence of 
 his assumed character, he felt himself entitled to converse on terms 
 of familiarity, that the young gentleman would scarcely reach 
 London. An hour's resting, however, seemed to re-invigorate 
 Arabella, and to show that her illness was rather the result of 
 fatigue and anxiety than of absolute disease. Being once more 
 mounted, the stirring of the horse brought the blood into her 
 cheek ; and cheered by the converse of Seymour, and the hopes 
 of ultimate safety, which grew strongs* as the distance between 
 them and the water side diminished, she arrived safely, and not 
 very seriously fatigued, at Blackwall, at about six o'clock in the 
 evening. Here they found two male and two female attendants 
 waiting for them, and two boats lying in the river, one of which 
 was filled with their trunks, and the other was ready to convey 
 them to Gravesend, where the French vessel which was to take 
 them to Calais was at anchor. The tide was strongly against 
 them ; but the watermen, for a double fare, engaged to row them 
 thither. 
 
 Slowly, therefore, and tediously did they pull against the stream, 
 the boatmen frequently urging that the farther prosecution of the 
 voyage should be postponed till the morning, and Seymour and 
 Arabella conscious that every hour's delay might be fatal to their 
 hopes. Arrived at Gravesend, they learned to their inexpressible 
 dismay, that the French vessel had gone on to L^e, and was theie
 
 55 THE CAPTIVES. 
 
 waiting for a fair wind, which was every hour expected to spring 
 up, to proceed to Calais. Seymour used the most pressing 
 entreaties, and promised the most liberal rewards to the boatmen, 
 to induce them to carry them to Lee, but for a long time unsuc- 
 cessfully. At length, however, for a treble fare, and after a delay 
 of an hour at Gravesend, for the purpose of resting and refreshing 
 themselves, they agreed to row them to Lee, at which place they 
 arrived, and placed their passengers on board the vessel at about 
 the hour of daybreak.* 
 
 " Sweetest Arabella !" exclaimed Seymour, clasping her in his 
 arms, " we have at length escaped our perils ! Did the cold- 
 hearted, short-sighted tyrants think that aught but death could 
 separate two hearts which have loved so long and fervently as 
 ours ?" 
 
 The lady sunk on his breast, overcome alike by anxiety and joy. 
 The excitement of the flight had enabled her to bear up against 
 the sickness and weariness that oppressed her ; but now, being in 
 a slate of comparative safety, and her mind partially relieved, her 
 weary frame required repose and tranquillity. She therefore retired 
 to the cabin of the vessel, and soon forgot her fatigues and her 
 cares in the enjoyment of a profound slumber. 
 
 Some writers of the period imagine that the King of France 
 was privy to the flight of Mr. Seymour and the Lady Arabella, and 
 that he hoped to place the latter on the British throne, and so to 
 restore the Catholic religion, to which she was supposed to be 
 attached. The devotedness which the captain of the French 
 vessel evinced to their cause, and the zeal and anxiety which he 
 showed to land them speedily at Calais, gave rise to such a con- 
 jecture; but perhaps these may be sufficiently accounted for by 
 the fact that he had been long and intimately acquainted with 
 Seymour, who, during the reign of Elizabeth, had served on board 
 the French navy in the war against Spain. Whatever was his 
 inducement, however, M. de Ligny no sooner received the 
 fugitives on board, than, although the wind was adverse, and his 
 
 Winwood's Memorials.
 
 THE CAPTIVES. 557 
 
 crew wished him to wait until it was broad daylight, he steered 
 immediately towards Calais. For two hours they crept lazily 
 along ; and when the morning was sufficiently advanced to enable 
 them to discern objects at a distance, they had not entered the 
 Channel. At this time, Seymour, whose naturally keen eye was 
 sharpened by the anxiety and peril of his situation, was the first 
 to see that which overwhelmed him with dismay, and seizing the 
 Captain's arm, he exclaimed : " De Ligny, crowd all sail ! An 
 armed pinnace is in chase, and gaining upon us rapidly." 
 
 De Ligny gazed in the direction to which Seymour pointed, 
 and saw too certain a confirmation of his intelligence. " We 
 will try, Seymour," he said, " what superior sailing can effect \ 
 and if in that game we are beaten, we must e'en stick to our 
 guns." 
 
 The superior sailing, was however, on the part of the pursuers, 
 or rather the followers : for as yet it did not appear that any 
 hostility was intended against the French ship, and the pinnace 
 might perhaps be only in search of pirates, great numbers of whom 
 then infested the Channel. It, however, continued to gain upon 
 De Ligny ; and when arrived within reach of the guns, a shot was 
 fired as a signal for him to bring to. The pinnace was of a 
 vastly superior size and weight to his own, and seemed to have at 
 least thrice its complement of men. He therefore, stood on, 
 crowding all sail, towards Calais ; but the pinnace at length came 
 alongside of him ; and the commander, in whom Seymour imme- 
 diately recognised Sir James Croft, exclaimed, " Deliver up the 
 persons of the Lady Arabella Stewart and William Seymour, or I 
 will sink your vessel I" 
 
 De Ligny immediately poured a broadside into the pinnace , 
 which was answered by another that did far more certain and ter- 
 rible execution than his own ; and Croft and his crew proceeded 
 to board the French bark. Their attack was irresistible, and car- 
 rying all before them, they poured into the enemy's vessel, at the 
 moment that the Lady Arabella, roused by the noise of the engage- 
 ment, rushed, full of anxiety and terror, on the deck. She arrived 
 just in time to sea her husband receive a thrust from a sword in
 
 553 THE CAPTIVES. 
 
 his breast, and sink lifeless on the pile of dead bodies beside him.* 
 She uttered a piercing shriek, threw herself upon his corpse, and 
 closed her eyes in that sleep which it was fondly hoped by those 
 who beheld her, could only be disturbed by the trumpet of the 
 archangel. 
 
 The sequel of this melancholy history may be speedily told. 
 The Lady Arabella was recovered from the death-like swoon into 
 which she had fallen, and consigned to the same gloomy apart- 
 ments that had been so recently occupied by her husband in the 
 Tower of London. It was soon discovered that, although her life 
 was restored, her reason had fled for ever. Four long years did 
 that part of the dismal fortress in which she resided resound with 
 the incoherent ravings of the lovely maniac, and then she sunk 
 into the grave, not without some suspicion being excited of her 
 end having been hastened by the care which her royal cousin took 
 of the quality of her diet. 
 
 * In this tale also historical truth has not been preserved. The Lady 
 Arabella's escape differed in many particulars from the relation here given of 
 it. She escaped with two servants disguised as a man, but Seymour 
 was not with her. He was to have joined her on board the French 
 vessel engaged for her escape, but missed the time, and the captain, in spite 
 of her entreaties, sailed without him. The vessel was overtaken by the 
 Adventure, the King's ship, and Arabella brought back and sent a prisoner 
 to the Tower, where she remained till her death, partially insane. But Sey- 
 mour survived her for forty-five years. He was Governor of Charles I. 
 when Prince oi Wales, and was created by him, after he became King, Marrpis 
 of Hertford.
 
 HISTORICAL SUMMARY. 
 CHARLES THE FIRST. 
 
 1625. THE first act of Charles's reign was to call a Parliament at Oxford ; 
 bv.t he soon dissolved it, as, instead of granting him supplies, it presented him 
 with petitions for the redress of grievances. 
 
 1626. The Parliament exhibited articles of impeachment against Bucking- 
 ham, whom they petitioned the King to remove from his councils. Charles 
 dissolved this Parliament ; and soon afterwards, for the purpose of assisting the 
 King of Denmark, levied ship-money on his subjects by his own authority. 
 
 1627. Charles declared war against France. 
 
 1628. The King called a Parliament, which voted him five subsidies ; but 
 would not pass the grant into a law, until the King assented to the Petition of 
 Right. 
 
 Buckingham was murdered by Felton. 
 
 1629. Peace was concluded with France and Spain. 
 
 1629 to 1636. During all these years Charles never called a Parliament, 
 but raised money by his own authority. 
 
 1638. The Scots abolished episcopacy, raised an army to defend themselves 
 against the King's violence, and appointed Leslie their General. 
 
 1640. The King raised an army, which marched to the North ; but the 
 Scots entering England, defeated Lord Conway at Newburn, and proceeded to 
 Newcastle ; shortly after which, Charles agreed to a treaty with them. He 
 also was obliged to call a Parliament. 
 
 The Commons impeached Lord Strafford and Archbishop Laud, of attempts 
 to subvert the constitution of the Government, and introduce arbitrary power. 
 Strafford was beheaded in the next year, and Laud in 1645. 
 
 1641. The King granted all the demands of the Scots, and went into Scot- 
 land to conclude the negotiations. During his absence in that kingdom, a 
 rebellion broke out in Ireland, and more than 40,000 Protestants were 
 massacred. The King was accused of having given orders for this slaughter. 
 
 1642. Charles impeached and endeavoured to seize Lord Kimbolton, 
 Hollis, Hasting, Pym, Hampden, and Strode. The Parliament protected 
 them as their leaders, and voted that the King had infringed their privileges. 
 Charles went to York, taking with him the Prince of Wales and the Duke <i 
 York, and prepared for what was unavoidable, a civil war.
 
 560 CHARLES THE FIRST. 
 
 The King and the Parliament both levied forces, and the battle ol Edge 
 Hill was fought, in which both parties claimed the victoiy. 
 
 1643. The civil war raged with various success ; but no decisive advantage 
 was gained on either side. 
 
 1644. The King constituted a Parliament of his adherents at Oxford, and 
 ordered the Parliament assembled at Westminster not to be obeyed as such. 
 
 The Scotch army, under the Earl of Leven, entered England and joined 
 Fairfax, the Parliamentary General, in Northumberland. 
 
 Prince Rupert was totally defeated by Fairfax and Cromwell, at Marston 
 Moor. 
 
 The King defeated the Earl of Essex at Lostwithiel, and prepared to march 
 to London ; but being himself defeated at Newbury, he retreated to Oxford. 
 
 Parliament abolished the use of the Book of Common Prayer. 
 
 1645. The King was totally defeated by Fairfax and Cromwell, at the 
 Battle of Naseby. 
 
 He shut himself up in Oxford during the winter. The Scotch army took 
 Carlisle, and advanced towards the South, while Fairfax conquered all the 
 West. 
 
 1646. Fairfax advanced to besiege Oxford. The King fled from that city, 
 and placed himself in the hands of the Scotch army before Newark. 
 
 The Scots, on being paid ^400,000 in lieu of all their arrears, agreed to 
 deliver up the King to English Commissioners. 
 
 1647. The King, being delivered to the Earl of Pembroke, was removed to 
 Holdenby, in Northamptonshire. He was afterwards conveyed to the army 
 at Taplow Heath, near Cambridge. 
 
 The army advanced to St. Alban's, by which the Parliament was so much 
 awed, that the Independents secured the entire authority in that assembly, 
 The army afterwards retired to Reading, taking the King with them. 
 
 On a tumult happening in London, the army took that opportunity of advan- 
 cing to the metropolis. They lodged the King at Hampton Court, whence he 
 made his escape ; but found himself obliged to trust to Colonel Hammond, 
 Governor of the Isle of Wight, a creature of Cromwell's, who, with much out- 
 ward respect, made him, in reality, a prisoner in Carisbrook Castle. 
 
 1648. The House of Commons voted that no more addresses or messages 
 should be received from the King : all his servants were dismissed, and himseH 
 made a close prisoner, and in fact dethroned. 
 
 The Scots, finding that the Independents meant to destroy the Presbytery, 
 levied troops in favour of the King, with which they entered England under 
 the Duke of Hamilton, to assist the Royalists, who were combining together in 
 many parts of the country. The Presbyterians now got the lead in Parliament, and 
 immediately entered into negotiations with the King at Newport, which were 
 never concluded upon, as Charles would not give up episcopacy. In the mean 
 time, Cromwell defeated Langdale, near Prestoa, and afterwards Hamilton,
 
 CHARLES THE FIRST. 561 
 
 whom he took prisoner. He then entered Scotland, and put everything 
 into the hands of Argyle, the head of the rigid Presbyterians, who would not 
 assist the King until he signed the League and Covenant. 
 
 During these troubles, part of the fleet declared for the King, and sailed to 
 Holland. The Prince of Wales went from Paris, and took the command of it. 
 
 The Duke of York escaped from St. James's and reached Holland. 
 
 The army remonstrated with the Parliament for treating with the King. 
 Their remonstrance not being received with much respect, they seized on the 
 King at Newport, and conveyed him to Hurst Castle. They then marched 
 into London, and purged the House of Commons, turning out every member 
 who was not a determined Independent. The House then voted that the King 
 should be brought to a public trial for having made war on the Parliament. 
 They also instituted a High Court of Justice. The Peers rejected the vote, and 
 adjourned. 
 
 1649. Colonel Harrison was sent to bring the King to London, who being 
 produced three times before the High Court of Justice in Westminster Hall, as 
 often rejected its jurisdiction. On the 27th of January he was sentenced to be 
 Deheaded ; which sentence was accordingly executed on the 3Oth, on a scaffold 
 erected in the street before the Palace of Whitehall.
 
 Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle, 
 Through brazen trumpets send the breath of parle 
 
 Into his ruiu'd ears, and thus deliver 
 
 RICHARD THE SECOND, 
 
 THE beautiful valley of the Wye is a spot with which most 
 probably few of the readers of these tales are unacquainted. 
 The country between Ross and Chepstow presents a succession 
 of fine scenery, which for variety and beauty is perhaps nowhere 
 to be equalled within the same distance. Tourists have been 
 much divided as to the spot which is entitled to claim the supe- 
 riority. Some have decided in favour of the steeps of Windcliffwith 
 their coronet of richly variegated wood, and the extensive prospect 
 which they command of the fertile valley at their feet, the junction 
 of the Wye with the Severn in the middle distance, and the 
 boundless ocean itself terminating the horizon. Others prefer the 
 seclusion and solemnity of Tintern ; the grey but graceful pillars 
 of the monastic ruin, seeming to hallow the lovely scenery in the 
 Aiidst of which it stands ; the woods which embosom it, the hills 
 which screen it from the wind, and the river which murmurs at its 
 feet, reflecting its mouldering and ivy-mantled form from its un- 
 ruffled bosom. Perhaps, however, if we examine the subject 
 impartially, wa shall come to the conclusion that the vicinity ol. 
 Goodrich Castle is to be preferred to all its sister beauties on the 
 banks of the Wye. The artist probably would not agree in this 
 estimate, but the artist (with reverence be it spoken,) too seldom
 
 GOODRICH CASTLE. 563 
 
 yields up his mind to the uncontrolled influence of the scene, to 
 be the best judge on such a subject. He is thinking, not how the 
 landscape looks before him, but how far it can be made available 
 for the purposes of his art. Painting, with all its divine attributes, 
 is the most limited of all the arts. There are many splendid 
 landscapes to which the powers of a Lorraine would be inadequate, 
 and which could not be transferred to the canvas ; but which' 
 nevertheless, awaken in the mind more intense sensations of ad- 
 miration than other celebrated scenes which have been selected 
 and immortalized by the artist. One of these is the spot to which 
 we have alluded. We have said that the pencil cannot delineate, 
 and we therefore shall not attempt to describe it : but it is an ex- 
 quisite assemblage of all that is most fascinating to the eye and to 
 the mind, of rock, wood, water, ruin, meadow, mountain, and 
 wild heath. 
 But time 
 
 " Has moulded into beauty many a tow*r, 
 
 Which, when it frown'd with all its battlements, 
 
 Was only terrible." 
 
 At the period to which the following narrative refers, this place 
 presented an appearance very different from what it does at present. 
 The now mouldering turrets of the castle were then manned with 
 many an intrepid warrior ; cannon were pointed from the walls, 
 where now the ivy clings and the bat builds undisturbed ; and the 
 deep moat, at present choked up with forest trees, was then filled 
 with water, and guarded by a drawbridge, which was lowered but 
 seldom, and with extreme caution. 
 
 The castle was at this time obstinately defended by the Governor, 
 Sir Henry Lingen, at the head of a small but gallant body of cava- 
 liers, against the attacks of the Parliamentary army commanded 
 by Colonel Birch. The determined valour of the besieged, and 
 the almost impregnable strength of the fortress, had already cost 
 the assailants, in men and ammunition, more than, in the opinion 
 of the best informed military judges, the place was worth ; and 
 Birch at length determined to sit down quietly before the castle, 
 and trust to the power of that slow but omnipotent ally Famine, 
 
 002
 
 564 GOODRICH CASTLE. 
 
 to subdue the resolution of the garrison, whose provisions were 
 known to be nearly exhausted. Some feeling of compassion, 
 mixed, doubtless, with no small portion of apprehension as to the 
 consequences to themselves of this protracted siege, prompted the 
 Parliamentary leaders to send various messages to the Governor, 
 offering advantageous terms of capitulation, all of which were, 
 however, indignantly rejected by Lingen. On one occasion, a 
 cavalier on the ramparts called to the pioneers at work in the 
 mines, and said they cared not for being blown up ; they could 
 from the sky laugh at the flourishing of the Roundheads. 
 
 This state of things had continued for some time, when, on the 
 morning of a fine day in July, 1646, a person armed from top to 
 toe, and well mounted, was seen, preceded by a flag of truce, and 
 followed by three horsemen, to issue from the Warren of Walford, 
 belonging to the noted Colonel Kyrle, a fortified mansion, where 
 Birch had fixed his head-quarters, and take the road which led to 
 Goodrich Castle. 
 
 It was not long ere they arrived before the gate and sounded a 
 parley. A few signals passed between the warder and the interior 
 guard, the portcullis was drawn up, and the party entered the 
 castle. They were speedily assisted from their saddles, and 
 ushered into a great hall, where they found themselves in the 
 presence of the Governor, surrounded by about twenty of the 
 superior officers of the garrison. The leader of the visiting party 
 raised his visor, and was immediately recognised as the son of the 
 commander of the besieging army. 
 
 " Captain Birch," said the Governor, as he bowed to his guest 
 ..vith that courtesy for which he was celebrated, " I heartily bid you 
 welcome ; but if your object in coming here to-day be similar to 
 that which procured me the honour of your last visit, you will 
 pardon me for saying that you might have spared yourself an un- 
 necessary journey." 
 
 " Sir Henry Lingen," answered Birch, " it is true that my errand 
 is now somewhat different from that which last led me hither ; but 
 being here, I cannot avoid once more pressing upon your attention 
 the impropriety, and indeed the absurdity, of wasting the lives of
 
 GOODRICH CASTLE. 565 
 
 brave men in a fruitless struggle, which cannot be protracted at the 
 farthest beyond a few days." 
 
 " You talk, Captain Birch," returned Lingen, " in a way which 
 proves how ignorant you and the persons from whom you came 
 are, as to the resources of the castle, and the gallantry and resolu- 
 tion of the gentlemen by whom I am surrounded (turning to his 
 officers), who are determined to defend it to the uttermost." 
 
 As Sir Henry Lingen spoke, his faltering voice and emaciated 
 features too plainly indicated the resistless agency of famine; and 
 the keen apprehension of Birch detected in the gloomy silence of 
 most, and the but half-suppressed murmurs of many, to whom the 
 Governor's appeal had been addressed, that the resources of the 
 castle were in a very different state from that which Lingen would 
 induce him to believe. A few swords, however, flew from their 
 scabbards, in token of the determination of those who wielded 
 them to act up to the spirit of their leader's declaration. 
 
 " Sir Henry," said Birch, as a smile, in which, however, there 
 was more of compassion than of scorn, played over his dark 
 features, " I perceive as plainly as yourself what will be the result 
 of our late interviews. We are at present, however, simply in- 
 structed by our commander, Colonel Birch, to claim from you the 
 person of his ward and niece, who has eloped from his charge, and, 
 as he is informed, taken refuge in the fortress at present under your 
 orders. Although the unhappy circumstances of the times have 
 compelled two brave and honourable men to range under hostile 
 banners, he presumes that Sir Henry Lingen is the last man in the 
 three kingdoms to encourage the tearing asunder of domestic ties, 
 or the violation of natural duties." 
 
 " Colonel Birch," answered the Governor, " knows enough of 
 Sir Henry Lingen, to feel well assured of the truth of the assertion 
 which you have just made, and so insidiously applied. Tell him, 
 however, that during the long period in which I enjoyed the 
 friendship of the late Mr. Birch, although he died before these 
 unhappy troubles broke out, I never found him, by word or deed 
 betray a sentiment which could be construed into an accordance 
 with such principles as his brother has lately chosen to adopt ; and
 
 566 GOODRICH CASTLE. 
 
 that, in rescuing his daughter, who has voluntarily put herself 
 under my protection, from the authority of a person professing 
 such principles, and who, moreover, would force her into a match 
 to which she has an invincible repugnance, however estimable 
 (bowing as he spake these words) the object of his choice may be 
 in other respects I do not conceive that I encourage either the 
 tearing asunder of domestic ties, or the violation of natural duties." 
 
 " Your friend, as you term him," said Birch, " on his death-bed 
 left his daughter to the guardianship of his brother." 
 
 " That brother," retorted Lingen, " was then a loyal subject of 
 King Charles, and had not made war upon his countrymen." 
 
 " You are an ingenious casuist, Sir Henry ; but you will pardon 
 me if, without impeaching your veracity, I venture to say that you 
 may probably mistake for an attachment to certain principles, a 
 predilection for the interests of your own kinsman !" 
 
 The Captain's eye, as he uttered these words, glanced with a 
 peculiar expression upon a young man to the right of Lingen, who 
 had been among the few who had so ardently supported the de- 
 fiance of the Governor. The object of this glance was not slow 
 in acknowledging its reference to himself. 
 
 " Nay, sir," he exclaimed, as he checked the ready reply of the 
 Governor, " this quarrel is my own. Captain Birch, although the 
 blood in your veins is the last which I would wish to shed not- 
 withstanding your alliance with those unhappy men who are the 
 cause of all our country's misery yet your presumptuous preten- 
 sions to the hand of a lady who rejects, who scorns you, and the 
 calumnious aspersion which you have just now cast upon the 
 motives of my honoured kinsman, call for immediate chastisement. 
 There is my glove ; and if you dare take it up, here (drawing his 
 sword) is that which shall make you repent your insolence !" 
 
 The features of Birch, except that they were lightened for a 
 moment by a contemptuous smile, remained perfectly unchanged, 
 as with one hand he took up the challenger's gage, and with the 
 other unsheathed his weapon. Sir Henry Lingen, however, inter- 
 posed. " Clifford," he said, in a determined tone, " I command 
 you to respect the rights of hospitality and the faith of truce.
 
 GOODRICH CASTLE. 567 
 
 Captain Birch, I charge you not to forget the peaceable character 
 in which you presented yourself at these gates, and under the 
 sanction of which you have been admitted. For myself, I can 
 readily pardon your personal insinuations ; and as to the object of 
 your embassy, tell your leader, that while Goodrich Castle is under 
 my command, Alice Birch may rely upon finding protection within 
 its walls," Birch bowed slightly as he withdrew from the presence 
 of the Governor. " We shall meet again," whispered Clifford, as 
 he passed him. " Doubt not that," answered Birch, grasping his 
 hand ; and that hostile pressure was returned with a fervoui 
 which perhaps the grasp of friendship never equalled. Shortly 
 afterwards was heard the tramp of their horses' hoofs crossing the 
 drawbridge, and then the heavy creaking of the chains, as the 
 portcullis was once more lowered to forbid the ingress of hostile 
 visitors. 
 
 " It is in vain, Clifford ; it is in vain!" said Sir Henry Lingen, 
 when the retirement of his officers had left him alone with his 
 nephew ; " our ammunition is nearly exhausted, and our provisions 
 are still more scant ; not enough, indeed, to distribute to the garri- 
 son anything like even the slender ration which was dealt out to 
 them yesterday. You perceived that, with the exception of your- 
 self, my sons, and the gallant Vaughan, none of my officers are 
 disposed to hold out any longer, and that they could not even 
 conceal their disaffection in the presence of our arch enemy. The 
 refusal to deliver up his niece will, I have no doubt, exasperate 
 Birch, and, combined with the intelligence which his son will com- 
 municate, induce him to make an immediate attack, the success of 
 which appears inevitable. I shall stand out as long as I find any 
 one to support me ; but if it comes to the worst, I shall be able to 
 make tolerable terms for myself, and for all but you and Alice. A 
 price being set upon your head, in conseqeence of your being im- 
 plicated in the King's escape to Newark, it would not be in the 
 power even of Birch, were he so inclined, to save you ; and Alice 
 would be forced into a marriage with this man, who, with all his 
 plausible exterior, and unquestionably soldier-like qualities, I know 
 to be brutal, sanguinary, and fanatical. My valet, Simpson, who
 
 568 GOODRICH CASTLE. 
 
 was for twenty years a servant in this castle, while in the possession 
 of good old Sir Hugh Stanton, will show you a way by which you 
 may escape unobserved, and afterwards meet you at the ferry with 
 means of transporting you across the Wye to Ragland Castle. I 
 will delay the surrender as long as possible, that your escape may 
 not be discovered till you are beyond the reaMi of pursuit." 
 
 "And why not, my noble uncle, seek safccy with us ?" 
 
 " Nay, I must not desert my men. I have still a hope, although 
 indeed a forlorn one. of being able to keep the castle, and at any 
 rate my authority and management will be essential in procuring 
 honourable terms of capitulation for them, while the escape of all, 
 by the means proposed to you, would be impracticable. Find 
 Alice, to whom Simpson has already communicated my design ; 
 lose no time in leaving the castle, and God speed you !" 
 
 Clifford wrung his uncle's hand in token of gratitude and affec- 
 tion ; and with tears in his eyes bade him farewell. 
 
 Alice Birch had just entered her nineteenth year, and was en- 
 dowed with all those perfections, both mental and personal, which 
 have been the property of the heroines of romance from time 
 immemorial. At her father's house she had often met Sir Henry 
 Lingen and his nephew, Charles Clifford ; with the former of Avhom, 
 Mr Birch, a gentleman of family and fortune in Gloucestershire, 
 had been a fellow-collegian. 
 
 The merits of Clifford soon made an impression on the suscep- 
 tible bosom of Alice. He was nearly three years her senior, of 
 approved bravery and personal beauty, and versed in all the 
 learning and accomplishments of the time. A mutual attachment 
 was the consequence, which, although it had not yet been so far 
 avowed as to call upon Mr. Birch for an expression either of 
 dissent or approval, was not, there is every reason to believe, 
 opposed to his wishes. His death, however, soon took place, and 
 Alice was put under the guardianship of her uncle, a sour Puritan, 
 in whose character for honour and integrity his brother, neverthe- 
 less, placed the greatest confidence. A short time, however, 
 effectually unmasked him. Desirous of securing his brother's 
 estates in his own family, he was anxious to force upon Alice a
 
 GOODRICH CASTLE. 569 
 
 marriage with his son ; and when the civil war broke out, and the 
 party to which he attached himself gained the ascendant, he did 
 not scruple either as to the decorum or the legality of the means 
 which he made use of to accomplish his darling project. Alice 
 was dragged in the train of her uncle, whose busy fears would not 
 allow him to leave her behind him, when he went to lay siege to 
 Goodrich Castle. Here she contrived to effect her escape, if such 
 it could be called, into the beleaguered fortress, whose surrender 
 in the course of a few days was deemed a matter of certainty. 
 
 Under these circumstances, it will be readily believed that when 
 Clifford entered her apartment, he discovered in her no inclination 
 to oppose the plan which had been laid down for her deliverance. 
 He found her ready equipped for the journey, while Simpson was 
 fortifying himself for it with the best fare which the larder of the 
 castle, in a state so nearly approaching to exhaustion, could supply. 
 Indeed, both the Governor and his nephew had contributed from 
 their own scanty store, in order to furnish out such a meal as 
 should put Simpson in good humour with the service which he had 
 to perform. 
 
 " Dearest Charles," said Alice, " behold me ready to encounter 
 all hazards in your company. Simpson, lead on !" 
 
 " Nay, not so fast, young lady ! the palfrey is not yet saddled, 
 and it will be ill watting at the outlet of the subterraneous passage 
 longer than is necessary." 
 
 " Well, well ! we are at your disposal," said the lady; "but me- 
 thinks I could echo the wish of Imogen, ' Oh ! for a horse with 
 wings !' " 
 
 " Trust me, Alice," said Clifford, smiling, "a tight stirrup, and 
 a keen spur, will be of more avail than the pinions of Pegasus 
 himself! But, good Simpson, despatch your meal as quickly 
 as possible. Sir Henry told me that everything was in readi- 
 ness." 
 
 Another and another mouthful were taken, with even more de- 
 liberation than would have been necessary under circumstances of 
 much less moment, before the carnivorous serving-man, either by 
 word or deed, showed the least attention to Clifford's importunities.
 
 S-n GOODRICH CASTLE. 
 
 He then, with a slow and cautious step, moved on, bidding them 
 follow him, which they did with much more alacrity than seemed 
 agreeable to him, on account probably of the number of his years, 
 or the fulness of his meal. Having led them to a remote part of the 
 castle, they arrived at a small door, so concealed by being in a 
 dark part of the passage, that it was scarcely discernible. Here, 
 Simpson, after trying various keys, found that he had left the only 
 one which could be of any service to them, behind him. " Curse 
 on you for a dilatory dotard !" exclaimed Clifford, " hasten for it ; 
 and should you not use a little more expedition, though I shall 
 not honour you with the discipline of my sword, do not expect 
 equal immunity from my cudgel !" 
 
 The old man left them muttering his discontent. Clifford, 
 vexed and mortified himself, had much to do to support the sinking 
 spirits of Alice. His threats, however, were apparently not 
 without their effect upon Simpson, who returned as soon as 
 they could reasonably expect. The door being unlocked, they 
 descended a flight of steps for a considerable time, and long before 
 they reached the bottom, they had lost the light of day. A faint 
 glimmering induced them to hope that they were approaching the 
 outlet, but it turned out to be only the lantern of one of the sen- 
 tinels, of whom there were twelve, placed at various intervals 
 within earshot of each other, to guard this secret entrance to the 
 Castle. The approach of any enemy, should he be able to discover 
 this entrance through accident, or the treachery of any person ac- 
 quainted with it, could thus be speedily discovered, and commu- 
 nicated to the inhabitants of the Castle, in time to enable them to 
 guard the inner entrance to the passage from surprise, even should 
 the outer one be forced. 
 
 In this manner the fugitives traversed the length of nearly half 
 a mile, now ascending, now descending, and now treading a level 
 plain. At length they arrived at a flight of steps which led to a 
 door in the roof, and before which an armed sentinel, furnished 
 with a lamp, was pacing. Here Simpson took his leave, promising 
 to meet them at the ferry, which was near three miles from the 
 mouth of the cavern, but telling them that they need not travel at
 
 GOODRICH CASTLE. 57Z 
 
 the pace with which they had hurried through the passage, unless 
 they could discover any advantage in being there long before him, 
 and that they would find Sir Henry Lingen's page with the palfrey, 
 soon after getting clear of the cavern. The sentinel then unclosed 
 the trap-door, when Clifford and Alice found themselves in a thick 
 wood, which they had entered from the hollow of an enonnous 
 oak, in the bottom of which was the trap-door, which had just 
 closed behind them. 
 
 By certain marks carved on the bark of the trees, with which 
 Lingen had made him acquainted, Clifford tracked his way through 
 this otherwise pathless forest, and at length found himself at its 
 outskirts. Here he perceived the palfrey held by a young man, 
 who, as soon as he saw them, made eager signs to them to quicken 
 their pace. 
 
 " Ye have been long coming, Sir, as though this were a time 
 to toy with a fair lady, when Birch reckons your blood as 
 already red upon his weapon. I set out long after you, and took 
 a much more circuitous route through the windings of the secret 
 passages, for my steed would find the road which you have come 
 but a sorry one, and yet I am here before you." 
 
 "That tedious fool, Simpson, delayed us; but let us lose no 
 more time in words." 
 
 Clifford and the page assisted Alice to mount the saddle ; the 
 former got up before her ; and then, after waving his hand to the 
 page, who immediately disappeared in the thickest of the forest, 
 he plunged his spurs into the courser's side, and made the best of 
 his way towards the ferry. 
 
 The day had changed from fine to stormy ; and the rain, ol 
 which they had not felt much while in the forest, was now pouring 
 in torrents ; while the swollen Wye, whose banks they were travers- 
 ing, was foaming furiously as they passed. They had not pro- 
 ceeded far before they were alarmed by the appearance of an 
 armed horseman, who occupied the centre of the road before them. 
 Although he seemed startled and chagrined to see them, he ad- 
 vanced rapidly towards them, while applying a bugle to his mouth, 
 he made the valley ring with its echoes.
 
 S?a GOODRICH CASTLE. 
 
 " Curse on ye ! are ye here so soon, and my tardy villains not 
 arrived ? but this right arm will suffice to do the work." 
 
 Thus saying, while with one hand he again applied the bugle to 
 his mouth, with the other, which held his weapon, he made a 
 furious lunge at Clifford, who, however, parried the blow, and 
 '/etreated a few paces. 
 
 "Captain Birch," he said, (for he soon recognised his rival,) "is 
 this honourable, like a highwayman to waylay me, or courteous to 
 assault me while protecting a lady ?" 
 
 " Talk ye of honour, coward ! who are deserting your comrades 
 in their last extremity, and flying from the consequences of your 
 own challenge ? die !" 
 
 While uttering these words, he renewed his attack yet more 
 furiously ; and rage, as well as the necessity for self-defence, gave 
 redoubled vigour to Clifford. With one arm twined round the 
 almost lifeless form of Alice, and with the other aiming at the 
 heart of Birch, he waged for a long time a very unequal combat 
 The horse of the latter, however, stumbling, precipitated its rider 
 to the ground. Clifford was on the point of generously waiving 
 this advantage, and dismounting ; but his adversary, with the 
 speed of lightning, recovered his legs ; then foaming with fury and 
 covered with mire, he advanced, and would have sheathed his 
 sword in the bowels of Clifford's horse. Clifford, perceiving his 
 object, struck him a deadly blow on the head, which cut through 
 his helmet, and made a deep incision on his temple. The un- 
 happy man uttered a dreadful groan, and fell lifeless to the earth. 
 
 Clifford, gasping for breath, and covered with the blood both of 
 his opponent and himself, perceived, nevertheless, the necessity 
 for immediately resuming his journey. The consciousness of this 
 necessity also operated upon the weak frame and shattered spirits 
 of Alice more effectually than the utmost skill or care could pos- 
 sibly have done, and they were both speedily remounted, and on 
 their way to the ferry. Clifford now began to doubt the fidelity of 
 Simpson, and to suspect that his hesitation and delay had their 
 origin in a cause less venial than the cravings of his stomach. It 
 was evident that Birch expected them, and that, had they been
 
 GOODRICH CASTLE. 573 
 
 much later, they would not have encountered him alone. Still the 
 long-tried fidelity of Simpson, who had been the confidential 
 servant both of his uncle and Sir Hugh Stanton, and who had 
 fought gallantly with the former at Edgehill and Marston, rendered 
 it very difficult to suspect him of treachery. 
 
 These thoughts agitated the mind of Clifford, and kept him in 
 a very torturing state of uncertainty, while he impelled his jaded 
 steed towards the ferry. When arrived there, his heart sunk 
 within him at beholding nought but the foaming Wye lashed into 
 fury by the wind, and swollen by the excessive rains, without any 
 trace either of Simpson or his boat 
 
 " Alice," he said, " the Fates make war against us. There is 
 no peace or safety here. The headsman's block will be my por- 
 tion, and the dungeons of Goodrich or Chepstow will be yours." 
 
 " We shall find peace, if not safety, Clifford," returned Alice, " in 
 the bed of yonder Wye." 
 
 Clifford grasped her hand fervently. "Nay, one chance re- 
 mains for us yet. Our steed may bear us to the opposite bank, 
 and then let Birch and his myrmidons howl over their disap- 
 pointed malignity. But hark ! I hear Simpson's voice." 
 
 The trampling of horses was indeed heard, and Simpson's voice 
 enforcing the necessity of speed. A light broke on the faces of 
 Clifford and Alice as they turned round to hail their deliverer; 
 bu-t it was changed to the blackness of despair when they saw, at 
 the distance of about fifty yards from them, Simpson and Colonel 
 Birch riding abreast of each other, and followed by six horsemen. 
 Clifford plunged his spurs into his courser's flanks, and impelled 
 him to the water's edge. The horse, however, terrified at the 
 appearance of the foaming river, reared and backed, and had 
 nearly thrown his rider. A yell of savage exultation burst from 
 the lips of Birch, who was now within hearing ; but what was his 
 astonishment at seeing the lovers dismount, and after tenderly 
 embracing each other, disappear in the foaming torrent. Once 
 the mounting wave raised them on its bosom towards the skies- 
 then subsided and closed over them for ever ! 
 
 That evening, 315! July, Goodrich Castle surrendered, and only
 
 374 GOODRICH CASTLE. 
 
 four barrrels of powder were found left The lives of Sir Henry 
 Lingen and his officers and soldiers were guaranteed to them ; but 
 they were all declared prisoners of war, to be at Colonel Birch's 
 disposal. 
 
 It is said that to this day the spirit of Alice and Clifford haunt 
 the ruined towers of Goodrich, and are heard in every storm, 
 shrieking on the swollen waters of the Wye. The vicinity of the 
 fatal spot is carefully shunned on the anniversary of their catas- 
 trophe ; and a peasant more hardy than his comrades, who once 
 ventured there on that day, is reported to have seen a horseman, 
 with a female behind him, vainly urging his steed to cross the 
 river. The terrified spectator hastened home to his companions, 
 and the tale which he told heightened and confirmed the religious 
 awe with which that spot has been ever since regarded, and which 
 has kept it sacred from the intrusions of mortal footsteps on the 
 day in question.
 
 : ^JJ/i.Wl. 
 
 . 
 
 ^ l^cjenfo of fUitfefraci 
 
 T- 
 
 Come mourn, come mourn for me, 
 
 You loyal lovers all, 
 Lament my loss in weedes of woe 
 
 Whom griping griefe doth thrall. 
 
 THE BRIDE'S BURIAL. 
 
 WHEN the war between the Royalists and the Parlia 
 mentarians had been brought to an end, by the subjection 
 of all places and persons that had held for the King, and when the 
 hopes of the partisans of the latter had been rendered desperate 
 by his imprisonment in the Isle of Wight, those officers and 
 gentlemen who had served under his banners, while there was 
 any service to perform, betook themselves generally to their 
 habitations, in the several counties, where they lived quietly and 
 privately, unmolested by the prevailing party. When the Par- 
 liament had finished the war, they reduced and slighted the 
 inland garrisons, the maintenance of which was very costly ; yet 
 by the influence of some persons interested, or in consideration of 
 the strength and importance of the place, they still kept a garrison 
 in Pontefract Castle, a noble Royalty and palace belonging to 
 the Crown, and then part of the Queen's jointure. The situation 
 in itself was very strong, no part being commanded by any other 
 ground; the mansion very large, with all offices suitable to a 
 princely seat; and though built very near the top of a hill, so that 
 it had the prospect of a great part of the West Riding of York- 
 shire, and of Lincolnshire and Nottinghamshire, yet it was
 
 576 A LEGEND OF PONTEFRACT. 
 
 plentifully supplied with water. Colonel Cotterell, the governor 
 of the Castle, exercised a very severe jurisdiction over his neigh- 
 bours of those parts, which were inhabited by many gentlemen 
 and soldiers who had served the King throughout the war, and 
 who were known to retain their old affections, though they lived 
 quietly under the present government. Upon the least jealousy 
 or caprice, these men were frequently sent fcr, reproached, and 
 sometimes imprisoned by the governor in this fortress. When 
 there appeared some hopes that the Scots would raise an army 
 for the relief and release of the King, Sir Marmaduke Langdale, in 
 his way to Scotland, visited and conferred with some of his old 
 friends and countrymen, who now lived quietly within some 
 distance of Pontefract, concerning the fortress and the garrison, 
 the place being well known. He assured them that it was the 
 determination of the principal persons of the kingdom of Scotland 
 to make an effort for the deliverance of the King ; that they had 
 invited him (Sir Marmaduke) to co-operate with them ; and that, 
 in consequence of such invitation, he was then going thither. 
 They agreed, that when it should appear that an army was raised 
 in Scotland upon that account, which must draw down the 
 Parliament's army into the other northern counties, and when 
 there should be risings in the other parts of the kingdom (which 
 the general disaffection and discontent, besides some particular 
 designs, made of very probable occurrence,) then those gentlemen 
 should endeavour to surprise the Castle of Pontefract ; and after 
 making themselves strong in it, and furnishing it with provisions 
 to endure some restraint, they should draw as formidable a force 
 to their aid as those counties would yield. This scheme being 
 approved, they arranged such a mode of correspondence with Sir 
 Marmaduke as enabled them frequently to give him an account 
 of their proceedings, and to receive his directions relating to 
 tiiem. In this disposition they continued quiet, as they had 
 always been, and the governor of the castle conducted himself 
 towards them with less of his accustomed jealousy and hostility. 
 
 Besides maintaining a garrison in Pontefract Castle, Cromwell, 
 who well knew the dissaffected spirit of the inhabitants, kept up
 
 A LEGMD OP PONTEFRACT. 577 
 
 a considerable army in those parts, whose head-quarters were at 
 Doncaster, under the command of Colonel Rainsborough. This 
 officer stood high in the favour of his general ; was bold and 
 daring, and fit to be entrusted with the most desperate undertakings, 
 and was the man to whom the Independent party always intended 
 to commit the superintendence of the maritime affairs, when a 
 convenient opportunity should offer for dismissing the Earl of 
 Warwick, Rainsborough having been bred to the sea-service, 
 and being perfectly acquainted with its duties. 
 
 Sir Richard Shirley was a great landowner, and the proprietor 
 of a splendid mansion in the neighbourhood of Pontefract. His 
 family had been greatly distinguished for their loyalty, and he only 
 succeeded to the estates by reason of the deaths of his father and 
 his elder brother, while fighting in the ranks of the Royalists at 
 the battle of Edge Hill. He himself espoused the same cause 
 with the utmost zeal and gallantry, until the fatal battles of 
 Newbury, Marston Moor, and Naseby, and the treacherous sur- 
 render of the king's person by the Scots, convinced him that the 
 affairs of the Royalists were desperate, and he retired, chagrined 
 and mortified, to his estate in Yorkshire, where he was permitted 
 to reside unmolested, but under the strict surveillance of the 
 Governor of Pontefract, and Colonel Rainsborough. The per- 
 sons who had entered into the compact, which we have mentioned, 
 with Sir Mr.rmaduke Langdale, were very anxious to get this 
 gentleman to join in their scheme, whom his ancient lineage, 
 large possessions, and personal reputation, as well as the enthu- 
 siastic devotion of his numerous tenantry to his fortunes, rendered 
 a very important ally. 
 
 " Sir Knight," said the principal mover in the confederacy, a 
 gentleman of Yorkshire, of the name of Cartwright, " the capture 
 of the fortress of Pontefract will form a rallying point for the 
 King's friends, revive the hopes of thousands, and stimulate 
 generous spirits in other parts of the country to follow our example 
 and attempt similar enterprises." 
 
 " But know you not," said the knight, smiling, " the dark saying 
 relative to the destinies of our house, which has induced my
 
 578 A LGMD Of 
 
 ancestors for the last three centuries to avoid all contact with 
 Pontefract or its fortunes ? 
 
 " When the heir of Shirley scales Pontefract wall, 
 Then shall the race of Shirley fall, 
 And the rank grass grow in Pontefract Hall." 
 
 " I have heard of such a saying," answered Cartwright, " but 
 1 never heard that the enlightened mind of Sir Richard Shirley 
 placed any faith in a ridiculous tradition, which took its rise in 
 an age of superstition and ignorance, and has been handed down 
 to posterity by the folly and credulity of the vulgar." 
 
 "Thou art right, Cartwright, thou art right!" said Shirley; 
 " my mind is, I believe, sufficiently bright to show me my way 
 clearly through the fog and mist of ancient traditions ; but, in 
 truth, I cannot see my way quite so clearly through your hopeful 
 scheme for surprising the castle. I have, I fear, already witnessed 
 the total wreck of the King's fortunes, and have had many occa- 
 sions for observing the large and useless sacrifices of life and 
 property which have been made in enterprises such as that which 
 you have in hand, and must therefore decline becoming a party 
 in it" 
 
 A motive, however, which Shirley did not avow was supposed 
 to have no slight influence in determining him. The gallant knight, 
 after escaping the sword of Mars, had been transfixed by the arrow 
 of Cupid. The T^ady Isabella Vere was, like himself, the last relic 
 of an ancient and illustrious house. Her father and her brothers 
 had all died in the service of the King, and the family estates, 
 which were declared forfeited to the nation, had been bestowed 
 upon Colonel Rainsborough, as a reward for his services to the 
 Parliament. The Colonel had not yet entered upon his new 
 property, and the Lady Isabella still remained in possession. 
 Rainsborough, however, preferred a claim which was to her still 
 more odious than that to her patrimony. He became her wooer, 
 and offered to settle upon her the inheritance of her forefathers, 
 on condition that along with this boon, she would accept his 
 hand. A more ill-assorted union could scarcely be imagined than
 
 A LEGEND Of POXTEFRACT. 579 
 
 that here proposed. Isabella was scarcely twenty years of age, 
 of a fair and delicate complexion, of a slight and somewhat fragile 
 form, but one which seemed the very personification of grace and 
 elegance : light blue eyes, long flowing flaxen ringlets, and a voice 
 whose softest tone thrilled to the very heart of the hearer ; her 
 mind was moreover richly furnished. She was a zealous Royalist, 
 and, like all her family, not only a staunch Episcopalian, but 
 shrewdly suspected of having a secret leaning towards the hated 
 tenets of the Church of Rome. 
 
 Rainsborough was of a bulky but strong and well-knit figure, 
 somewhat under the middle size; his features were harsh and 
 stern, but wonderfully expressive of the decision, boldness, and 
 energy of his character; his brows were black and bushy, his 
 complexion of a dark, lurid red ; and his eye, small, black, bright, 
 and continually glancing to and fro, seemed the appropriate 
 symbol of the mingled bitterness, malignity, acuteness, and activity 
 of his mind. He was above fifty years of age, and, as the reader 
 will guess from the post which he occupied, one of the most 
 zealous Independents and determined antimonarchists in the 
 nation. He was also a gallant soldier, a strict disciplinarian, and 
 a severe moralist ; but at the same time sanguinary and ferocious, 
 a pitiless enemy, and a tyrannical master and commander. With 
 these contrasts of person, character, and age, it is not to be 
 wondered at that the high aristocratical heiress received the pro- 
 position of the Roundhead Colonel with abhorrence and disgust. 
 Her heart, too, was devoted to Sir Richard Shirley, and the 
 importunities of Rainsborough only determined her to hasten the 
 period at which she would seal the happiness of her more favoured 
 lover. At length, on one occasion, when the solicitations of the 
 Colonel had been more urgent than ever, and he had even de- 
 scended to threaten her with beggary and ruin if she did not 
 accede to his proposal, she told him that he might seize on her 
 estates as soon as he pleased, for that tyranny and oppression had 
 made them his ; but that her heart was Sir Richard Shirley's, and 
 that in three days her hand would be his also. With malice and 
 fury in his heart and his looks. Rainsborough rushed from her 
 p p a
 
 5 So A LEGEND OF PONTEFRACT. 
 
 presence, and bent his steps towards Pontefract Castle, to seek 
 the commiseration and counsel of the Governor. 
 
 There remains one more personage to be introduced to the 
 notice of our readers. Colonel John Morice, when a very young 
 man, and at the beginning of the war, had been an officer in some 
 regiment of the King's. He afterwards, " out of the folly and 
 impatience of his youth," according to Clarendon, but, in fact, 
 from a conviction that the civil and religious liberties of the nation 
 were menaced by the arbitrary proceedings of Charles and his 
 favourites, and never anticipating that the opponents of govern- 
 ment would go to their subsequent excess of violence and 
 fanaticism, had quitted the royal service, and engaged himself in 
 the army of the Parliament. His courage, talents, and agreeable 
 and engaging manners, not only made him a very acceptable 
 accession to the cause of the revolters, but procured him a 
 colonelcy in their forces; and, being anxious to distinguish 
 himself, he undertook many enterprises of great peril, and per- 
 formed actions of extraordinary valour. A more intimate 
 acquaintance with his new associates, however, disgusted him, 
 and he began to think that the liberties of the nation stood in 
 even greater peril from their proceedings than from those of the 
 royalists. 
 
 After the new modelling of the army of which Oliver Cromwell 
 became the actual, although Fairfax remained the ostensible, head 
 and the introduction of a severer discipline, his life of great 
 licence kept not his reputation with the new officers ; and being a 
 free speaker and censurer of their affected behaviour, they left 
 him out in their composition of the new army, but with many 
 professions of kindness and respect for his eminent courage, which 
 they assured him that they would find some occasion to employ 
 and reward. He was a gentleman of a competent estate ; and as 
 he had grown older, he had heartily detested himself for having 
 quitted the King's service, and had resolved to take some reason- 
 able opportunity to wipe off that blemish, by a service that would 
 redeem him, and so was not troubled at being set aside by the 
 new general, but betook himself to his estate, enjoyed his old
 
 A LEGEND OF PONTEFRACT. 591 
 
 humour, which was cheerful and pleasant, and made himself most 
 acceptable to those who were most trusted by the Parliament, and 
 who thought that they had dismissed one of the best officers that 
 they had, and were sorry for it. 
 
 He now, as a country gentleman, frequented the fairs and 
 markets, and conversed with equal freedom with all his neighbours, 
 of what party soever they had been, and renewed the friendship 
 he had formerly held with some of those gentlemen who had 
 served the King. 
 
 But no friendship seemed to be so dear to him as that of ths 
 Governor of Pontefract Castle, who delighted so much in his 
 company that he made him remain with him sometimes a week 
 and more at a time in the castle, when they always lay together in 
 one bed. Morice, however, knew that the Governor, although he 
 professed, and might even entertain, a great personal attachment 
 to him, had been active in procuring his removal from the army, 
 as one whose carnal and unregenerate spirit did not fit him to 
 hold a command in that saint-like body. Stung, therefore, by the 
 affront offered him, although happy to have an opportunity of 
 once more serving the cause which he had deserted, and prompted 
 by both motives to join in the enterprise for surprising the castle, 
 he entered into communication with Hugh Cartwright, the prime 
 mover of the conspiracy, and told him that he would undertake 
 to surprise that castle whenever they should think the season ripe 
 for it. Cartwright, who knew him very well, believed him so 
 implicitly, that he told his companions that they need not trouble 
 themselves with contriving the means to surprise the place, which, 
 by trusting too many, would be liable to discovery ; but that he 
 would take that charge upon himself by a way that they need not 
 inquire into, but which he assured them should not fail. They all 
 very willingly put themselves under his direction, which they knew 
 he would not have assumed unless he felt sufficiently confident 
 Of the success of the undertaking. Morice was now more 
 frequently with the Governor, who never thought himself well 
 without him. He always told him that he must have a great care 
 of his garrison, and be assured that he had none but faithful men
 
 S8a A LEGEND OF PONTEFRACT. 
 
 in the castle, for that he was confident that some men who lived 
 not far off, and who many times came to visit him, had some 
 designs upon the place. Morice would then, as it were in confi- 
 dence, mention the names of Cartwright and many other persons 
 to him ; some were those very men with whom he communicated, 
 and others were men of another temper and most devoted to the 
 Parliament. "Trouble not yourself, my good Cotterell," he 
 would say to the Governor, " concerning these machinations. I 
 have found out a false brother among them, from whom I am sure to 
 have seasonable advertisement, and I can at any time, within a few 
 hours' notice, bring you forty or fifty good men into the castle to 
 reinforce your garrison when there shall be occasion." He would 
 show the Governor a list of such men as would be always ready, 
 and would sometimes bring some of these men with him, and tell 
 the Governor before them, that those were in the list he had given 
 him of the honest fellows who would stick to him in case of need; 
 others would accidentally tell Cotterell that they had enlisted 
 themselves with Colonel Morice to come to the castle whenever 
 he should call or send for them. All these men, thus enlisted, 
 were persons very notorious for the bitterness and malice which 
 they entertained towards the King, not one of whom did Morice 
 ever intend to make use of. 
 
 This wily intriguer made himself very familiar with the soldiers 
 of the castle, and used to play and drink with them ; and when he 
 lay there, would often rise in the night and visit the guards, and 
 by that means would sometimes make the Governor dismiss and 
 discharge a soldier whom he did not like, under pretence of his 
 always finding him asleep, or of some other fault that could not 
 be inquired into. Then he would commend some other to him 
 as very fit to be trusted and relied upon, and by this means he had 
 great power and influence in the garrison. The Governor received 
 several letters from his friends in the Parliament, and in the 
 country, warning him to take care of Colonel Morice, who, they in- 
 formed him, had resolved to betray him, and had been seen in the 
 company of Cartwright and of other persons who were generally 
 esteemed most malignant, and had great intrigues with them. All
 
 A LEGEND OF PONTEFKACT. 583 
 
 this intelligence was, however, previously well known to the 
 Governor ; for Morice was never in the company of the con- 
 federates, though with all the show of secrecy, in the night, or in 
 places remote from any house, but he always told the Governor 
 of it, and of many particular passages at those meetings ; so that, 
 when these letters came to him he showed them to Morice, and 
 then both of them laughed at the intelligence. After this, Morice 
 would frequently call for his horse and return home, telling his 
 friend, that though he had, he was sure, no mistrust of his friend- 
 ship, and knew him too well to think him capable of such 
 treachery, yet that he should not for his own sake be thought to 
 slight the information, which would make his friends the less care- 
 ful of him, that they were right in giving him warning of those 
 meetings, which, if he had not known himself, would have been 
 very worthy of his suspicion. He would therefore forbear coming 
 to the castle again till the jealousy of friends would be over who 
 would know of this and be satisfied with it. No power of the 
 Governor's could ever prevail with him at such times to tarry in 
 the castle, but he would be gone and stay away till he was after 
 some time sent for again with importunity, the Governor desiring 
 his counsel and assistance as much as his company.* 
 
 Such was the state of aftairs in the castle of Pontefract and its 
 neighbourhood, on the morning that Sir Richard Shirley arrived at 
 the mansion of the De Veres to claim the fair hand of the heiress 
 of that ancient and honourable andomce wealthy house. " Believe 
 me, sweet Isabella," he said, "though this is not the time to 
 attempt anything in the cause of our royal master, that the period 
 will arrive when the diadem shall once more sparkle OH his brows, 
 and when these fair domains of thy forefathers shall be restored to 
 their rightful heiress." 
 
 "Thy love, Sir Knight," said the lady, blushing, "is a dominion 
 extensive enough for the desires of Isabella Vere. The spirits of 
 my forefathers will rest in peace, though the step of the stranger 
 profanes their halls though the form of the stranger presses their 
 
 Clarendon.
 
 1*4 A LEGEND OF PONTEFRACT. 
 
 pillows though the laugh of the stranger echoes at their social 
 hearths, and his glass goes round at their festive board." 
 
 These words were uttered in such a tone of solemnity and 
 feeling, as convinced the knight that his fair bride suffered more 
 in departing from that venerable mansion which had been occupied 
 by her ancestors for many generations, than she chose to express. 
 "Sweetest !" he said, as he kissed away the falling tear that had 
 gathered in her eye, "let us away to Shirley Priory the minister 
 of Heaven awaits to link us in those holy bonds which man cannot 
 rend asunder." 
 
 At that moment the noise, as of a conflict, was audible from a 
 distant part of the house, and presently the heavy tramp of foot- 
 steps was heard distinctly resounding through the hall, and 
 approaching the door of the chamber in which the lovers sat. 
 Soon afterwards the door flew open, and twelve men, armed with 
 swords and pistols, entered the apartment, in the foremost of whom 
 Sir Richard Shirley recognized Colonel Cotterell, the governor of 
 Pontefract Castle. 
 
 "What means this intrusion, Colonel?" said the Knight indig- 
 nantly, while his hand instinctively grasped his sword. 
 
 " No intrusion in the world, good Sir Richard," said the Governor 
 coolly; "and as for your bodkin, you may spare yourself the 
 
 trouble of drawing it, for behold ," pointing his pistol at the 
 
 knight, while a ferocious grin discomposed the gravity of his own 
 features. 
 
 " Ruffian and traitor ! crop-eared villain !" exclaimed Shirley. 
 
 " Good words, good words, Sir Knight ! or again, I say, behold !' ; 
 returned Cotterell, once more pointing his pistol. 
 
 "Gallant men!" said Shirley, approaching trie Governor's 
 followers, " may I crave of you an explanation of this uncourteous 
 riddle ? You surely know your duties too well, as English citizens 
 and soldiers, to countenance and second this man in any act of 
 lawless violence which he may purpose to commit." 
 
 "Sir Richard Shirley," said Cotterell, with the same impertur- 
 bable coolness, " you know that I am empowered to administer 
 martial law in this district ; and if you attempt to obstruct me in
 
 A LLGEND OP POXTEFRACT. 5*3 
 
 the execution of my duty, or to seduce my men, knight as you are, 
 your gilt spurs shall not save your heels from dangling from the 
 first tree in Shirley Park. I come hither to take possession of this 
 fair mansion and its demesnes, in the name of that gallant soldier 
 of his country, and that honoured servant of the Lord, Colonel 
 Rainsborough." 
 
 " Dear Sir Richard !" exclaimed Isabella, trembling, and clinging 
 to her lover's arms, " obstruct him not ; he has authority from 
 persons who, though wicked and barbarous as himself, are far too 
 powerful for us to contend against. Let him possess himself of 
 the ancient heritage of the De Veres ; but, may the insulted spirits 
 of its former occupiers haunt his pillow as long as his unhallowed 
 grasp is upon it !" 
 
 " Fair lady," said Cotterell, " even curses become your pretty 
 mouth so well, that I must forgive that sin ; but it is my duty 
 farther to take such care of you, and place you under such holy 
 and religious teaching, that you will see the error of your ways, 
 and learn to eschew the profanations and vanities in which you 
 have been brought up : I have authority not only to take possession 
 of the heritage of the De Veres, but of the heiress also." 
 
 "Man !" exclaimed Shirley, "art thou mad, or is it a part of 
 thy commission to drive me so ?" 
 
 " Neither, neither," said the Roundhead ; " but I am authorized, 
 since madmen are dangerous characters, to take such measures as 
 shall prevent those in whom I discover symptoms of insanity from 
 disturbing the peace of the Commonwealth." 
 
 "Insolent varlet!" exclaimed Shirley, unsheathing his sword. 
 " Beware, Sir Knight !" said the Governor, cocking his pistol ; 
 "I see indications of mental aberration in your eye. Take the 
 advice of a physician well skilled in cases such as yours." 
 
 " Dunghill ! dirt I" said Shirley ; " do you mean to persist in 
 attempting to possess yourself of the person of this lady ?" 
 
 " As sure as God is in Heaven, and as you will shortly be there 
 unless you speedily alter your conduct, I do," said the Governor. 
 *' Then strike at her through my heart I" said Shirley, advancing, 
 and brandishing his sword.
 
 $86 A LEGEND OF PONTEFRAC T. 
 
 " Amen ! amen !" said Cotterell, discharging his pistol ; and the 
 ball would certainly have entered the knight's heart, had he not, 
 as he vehemently rushed towards Cotterell, suddenly stumbled 
 and fallen ; and, as he brandished his weapon above his head, 
 received it in his sword arm. The sword dropped from his hand, 
 and uttering a dreadful groan, he sunk with his face towards 
 the earth. 
 
 " He 's slain ! he 's slain I" shrieked Isabella, as she threw herself 
 upon the body. " Nay, nay, Madam," said Cotterell, " 'tis not so ; 
 these malignants, I very believe, bear charmed lives. Remove 
 her, fellows, remove her gently, if you can, but at any rate, 
 remove her ; so, Ezekiel Wellbeloved, hold her arms. These tears 
 will speedily be dried. Good Morice, I leave six of my fellows 
 with you, to take possession of the mansion. Look to this wittol 
 Knight's wound ; 'tis but a scratch, I believe. His folly deserved 
 a more complete reward." 
 
 Thus saying, the Governor and six of his troop departed with 
 the Lady Isabella in their custody, whose tears and shrieks had as 
 little effect in softening the hearts of her captors, as her feeble 
 strength in resisting their violence. The rest of his followers re- 
 mained behind with Shirley, one of whom, raising him from the 
 ground, assisted him to a couch. "You are hurt, Sir Knight," 
 said he, " but not dangerously." The ball had struck him in the 
 arm, but had not lodged there, and the blood was flowing copi- 
 ously. His attendant bound up the wound, and was speedily 
 assisted in his kind offices by the domestics and the family surgeon, 
 who, soon after the departure of Cotterell, entered the apartment. 
 The surgeon prescribed rest and quiet as the specifics most likel 
 to conduce to convalescence. " Rest !" exclaimed the sufferer 
 " how can I enjoy rest, while Isabella is in the hands of thes 
 inhuman ruffians ? Whither have they borne her ?" 
 
 " To Pontefract Castle," said he, who seemed to be the leader 
 of the troopers whom the Governor had left behind. 
 
 " To Pontefract Castle !" groaned Shirley ; " then are we both 
 indeed lost !" 
 
 " Good friends," said the leader, addressing the troopers and
 
 A LEGEND OF PONTEFRACT. 587 
 
 the servants, " give me leave awhile. I would address a few words 
 in private to the Knight." The troopers bowed in respectful ac- 
 quiescence and retired, having first, by a significant motion of their 
 swords, induced the servants to do the same. 
 
 " What say you now, Sir Knight ?" asked the leader ; " will 
 you assist the Cavaliers in their scheme for gaining possession of 
 the castle ?" 
 
 " Ha !" said the knight, in a tone of surprise, raising his head, 
 and gazing stedfastly in the face of the querist ; " who are you, 
 that ask me such a question ?" 
 
 " One, Sir Knight," replied the other, " deeply pledged to the 
 same project, and who will never cease his exertions till it is 
 accomplished." 
 
 " Away, away !" said Shirley ; "thou mockest me, or thou thirstest 
 for my blood, and wouldst lure me into this plot and then betray 
 me. How am I to believe, that one who has even now been so 
 active in the service of the Governor of Pontefract, is in league 
 with his bitterest enemies ?" 
 
 " The masked battery, Sir Richard, is the most destructive ; 
 read and be satisfied." Thus saying, he put a small billet, directed 
 to Shirley, into his hand, which he recognised as the writing of 
 Cartwright. He opened it and read, " You may trust him." 
 
 "And who then are you?" asked Sir Richard, in a tone of 
 anxiety and surprise. 
 
 " I am Colonel Morice," returned the other. 
 
 " Colonel Morice !" exclaimed Shirley ; " the bosom-friend of 
 Cotterell the sharer of his bed the counseller of his intrigues 
 the leader of his excursions : it is not possible !" 
 
 " It is as true," said Morice, " as that the Lady Isabella Vere is 
 by this time safely immured within the four strong walls of Fonte- 
 fract. Will you join those gallant servants of King Charles in 
 that enterprise, by the success of which alone her rescue can be 
 effected ?" 
 
 " I will ! I will !" said the knight, with so much vehemence, 
 that all his remaining strength seemed exhausted in giving utterance 
 to his determination.
 
 58* A LEGEND OF PONTEFRAC1 . 
 
 "Then remain tranquil for a few days," said Monce. " :\Ty 
 power extends to granting you permission to reside here for a 
 short period, until you can with safety be removed. In the mean- 
 time, I will communicate to Cartwright and the other Cavaliers, 
 the intelligence of your accession to our plot ; and shortly, very 
 shortly, good Sir Richard, I hope to see the Lady Isabella Vere 
 restored to your embrace." Shirley wrung his new friend's hand 
 in token of acquiescence in his arrangement, and then the latter 
 took his departure for Pontefract Castle. 
 
 " Ellis," said Colonel Morice, as he crossed the court of guard, 
 to one of the soldiers, " ye know your cue." 
 
 " Fear me not, Colonel," said Ellis ; " only place me in that 
 post, and my part in the scheme shall be performed to your 
 heart's content." 
 
 " Your reward shall be ample, my gallant friend !" said Morice ; 
 " and King Charles's livery will be a more becoming covering for 
 such a stalwart frame and loyal heart as thine, than the dis- 
 honourable badges of these round-pated traitors. I go to the 
 Governor to concert the necessary arrangements ; for he, although 
 unconsciously, must be one of the principal agents in the execution 
 of our plot." 
 
 " Thrice welcome, good Morice !" said the Governor, as the 
 Colonel entered his apartment : " yet I was but even now told," 
 he added, smiling, " that I was only working my own destruction 
 in bidding thee welcome. Ezekiel Wellbeloved has just sent me 
 word from De Vere manor, that he was accidentally an auditor of 
 a most traitorous and wicked conversation between you and Sir 
 Richard Shirley, which had for its subject no less a project than 
 that of rescuing the Lady Isabella from my custody, and placing 
 Pontefract Castle in the hands of the Cavaliers." 
 
 Morice started at this intimation, for he had not the slightest 
 suspicion that his conversation with the knight had been overheard. 
 The Governor, however, fortunately, did not notice his emotion ; 
 and Morice, as soon as he had recovered from his surprise, replied, 
 " It is most true, my dear Cotterell. The train which I have been 
 so long laying, is fired at last. The wittol knight, like a bee-stung
 
 A LEGEND Of PONTEFRACT. 589 
 
 cull-dog, has jumped headlong into the lion's jaws. The abduction 
 of the Lady Isabella has goaded him to madness ; and I have 
 persuaded him, as the only means of procuring her rescue, to join 
 in the plot which the Cavaliers have been so long brooding over, 
 for surprising the castle." 
 
 " And of which plot," said the Governor, laughing, " thou, 
 Morice, art the great head and instigator ?" 
 
 " Even so, good Governor !" said Morice, joining in the laugh. 
 " How wilt thou stare, when thou seest me by thy bed-side, hold- 
 ing my pistol to thy head, and shouting ' Thou art my prisoner !' 
 But this Knight has, as 1 tell thee, rushed into the lion's jaws : 
 we must let him go on till he has sufficiently committed himself, 
 and then denounce him to the Lord-general. The gates of Shirley 
 Priory will then speedily be decorated with the head of their brain- 
 less proprietor, and the broad acres attached to them will be divided 
 between those good servants of the Commonwealth, John Morice, 
 and Charles Cotterell, in recompense for their timely and important 
 intelligence." 
 
 "My better angel !" said the Governor, embracing him, "go on 
 and prosper in your scheme, and make such arrangements in the 
 castle, and with the garrison, as you think will best conduce to its 
 successful issue." 
 
 " I have but one alteration to propose, Governor, in your arrange- 
 ments," said Morice ; " this Wellbeloved, who seems so eagle- 
 eyed in detecting the treachery of others, is himself, as I am well 
 informed, a traitor of the deepest dye, and has engaged to deliver 
 up the castle to Cartwright and the Cavaliers. This man is one of 
 the sentinels stationed at the outward eastern wall, a post where you 
 require, more than at any other, men on whose fidelity you can 
 depend. Let him be removed to some station in the interior of 
 the castle, and put in his place, Ellis, one of the stoutest and 
 honestest soldiers in the garrison. If this man proves false, then 
 believe that John Morice is as great a traitor as Ezekiel Well- 
 beloved represents him to be." 
 
 " It shall be as thou sayest, Morice," replied Cotterell ; " I will 
 but give directions for escorting the Lady Isabella to the quarters
 
 590 A LEGEND OF PONTEFRACT. 
 
 of Colonel Rainsborough at Doncaster, and will then see Ellis 
 placed in the post of Wellbeloved." 
 
 " 'Sdeath, man !" exclaimed Morice, alarmed at the intimation of 
 the Governor, " thou must not be so hasty. Detain the Lady 
 Isabella in the castle for a month, or at least a week. If you send 
 her to Doncasier to-day, the peasantiy, who are now exasperated 
 and indignant at her seizure, will be up in arms, and endeavour to 
 intercept her on the road, when, even should they be unsuccessful, 
 much riot and commotion will be excited, for which the Parliament 
 will not thank us very heartily, when they learn that the cause of 
 all was a love-affair of Colonel Rainsborough's. Guard her closely 
 for a short time, till the discontent of the peasantry is abated and 
 their watchfulness laid asleep, and then we may easily and quietly 
 rid ourselves of her." 
 
 " Colonel Rainsborough " said Cotterell. 
 
 "Tut, man!" interrupted Morice, "Colonel Rainsborough's 
 private interests must yield to the general good. Should Sir 
 Richard Shirley hear that his bird is flown, he will not care about 
 getting possession of the cage ; and then this goodly scheme that 
 we have been concocting for cutting off an unnecessary head, 
 and dividing between us some hundreds of the fattest acres in 
 Yorkshire, tumbles to pieces like a house of cards." 
 
 " I must write, then, to Colonel Rainsborough ?" said Cotterell. 
 
 " Write, man ! ay, write, and speedily ; and tell him," he added, 
 as the Governor left the apartment and closed the door behind 
 him, " what an ass's head thou wearest upon thy shoulders." 
 
 It took a full week after the occurrence of the incidents which 
 have just been narrated, to recover Sir Richard Shirley from the 
 effects of his wound, and to mature the plans of the conspirators. 
 At length a night was fixed upon, on which a body of five hundred 
 men, composed chiefly of the tenantry of Cartwright and Shirley, 
 should approach the castle, on that part of the eastern wall where 
 Ellis was stationed inside as sentinel. Ellis was to provide a ladder 
 of rope, which he was to let down, by which means Cartwright, 
 Shirley, and about a dozen of the most determined of their fol- 
 lowers, were to ge* over the wall, where they were to be joined by
 
 A LECEttD OP POXT&FRACT. 591 
 
 ivtorice. This part of their scheme accomplished, they wer: to 
 proceed to the court of guard, overpower the guard, which con- 
 sisted but of three men, and then open the castle gates to the main 
 body of their companions. Morice had managed to protract the 
 departure of the Lady Isabella from the castle to Doncaster, (a 
 measure which the Governor was very anxious to carry into speedy 
 effect,) until the day after the night on which he hoped to put the 
 Cavaliers in possession of the Castle, and Shirley of his betrothed 
 bride. The only difficulty they had to encounter was the vigilance 
 of Anderson, the other sentinel oa the eastern wall, of whose 
 bravery and watchfulness Cotlereil had so high an opinion, that 
 Morice found it impossible to induce the Governor to place any 
 other person in his post. He at length, however, succeeded in 
 persuading Cotterell, that as this was the last night of the Lady 
 Isabella's residence in the castle, extraordinary care should be taken 
 to prevent her escape, and that the services of Anderson might be 
 that night much better employed than at the eastern wall, where 
 Ellis was sufficient to perform every duty, by watching outside the 
 chamber of the Lady Isabella. To this arrangement the Governor 
 consented, but on the condition that three or four times in the 
 course of the night, Anderson should repair to his accustomed post 
 at the eastern wall, to see that all was right, and then return to his 
 charge on the outside of the lady's chamber. Morice, therefore, 
 took care that the assault upon the castle should take place at a 
 period as remote as possible from the times stipulated for thest 
 visits of Anderson to the scene of the intended op'erations. 
 
 In the meantime, the Lady Isabella was kept closely confined 
 to her chamber ; for Cotterell dreaded even the sympathy of the 
 domestics of the castle for the altered fortunes of the heiress of 
 De Vere. " Was it not enough to seize the poor lady's lands," 
 muttered the grey-headed porter, "but that her goodly person 
 must be immured in this gloomy fortress, and then given up to the 
 gloomier custody of Michael Rainsborough ?" The huntsman 
 declared that her form was statelier than the noblest deer that he 
 had ever started in the forest ; and the falconer, that her eye was 
 brighter than the proudest falcon's that ever soared frc.u (fat fat
 
 5"2 A LEGEND 
 
 of an emperor. But the person who seemed most deeply to 
 sympathise with the fair captive, was a tender-hearted damsel, who 
 was appointed to wait upon her during her incarceration. Annette, 
 previous to the reception of the Lady Isabella into the castle, had 
 attracted all eyes, and won all hearts that approached the fortress , 
 and now that she felt eclipsed by the more powerful charms of 
 the prisoner, she could even forgive that flagitious female crime, 
 superior beauty, since she knew that one heart that of John 
 Anderson, the sentinel remained constant to her. Her com- 
 passion for Isabella increased to a tenfold degree when she learned 
 that it was intended to force her into an union with Colonel Rains- 
 borough, with whose person and character she was well acquainted, 
 and for both of which she had an equal abhorrence. It was, there- 
 fore, with streaming eyes and a bleeding heart that she informed 
 the lady, after about a fortnight's residence in the castle, that she 
 was on the next day to be removed to Doncaster, for the purpose 
 of being placed under the guardianship of Colonel Rainsborough. 
 
 " Is there no hope, Annette ; no chance of escaping ?" asked 
 Isabella. 
 
 "Alas, madam ! the walls are high and well guarded ; the sen- 
 tinels are vigilant and active, and there is, moreover, a guard 
 to be placed at your chamber-door this night, in order to cut off 
 tb'j slightest chance of your effecting your escape. There is yet 
 oi,e hope, nevertheless," she added, hesitatingly. 
 
 " Name it, sweet girl !" said Isabella ; " enable me but to escape 
 once more the infliction of an interview with this detested Rains- 
 borough, and I will give thee At least," she added, after a 
 
 short pause, and in a desponding tone, " thy reward shall be as 
 rich as the disinherited Isabella Vere can make it." 
 
 " Sweet lady !" said Annette, " I will ask for no reward but the 
 joy of knowing that you are safely liberated from the clutches of 
 Rainsborough and his myrmidons. John Anderson, who is to keep 
 guard at your chamber-door this night, is a kind-hearted lad, and 
 is (a deep blush suffused her features as she spoke) not one v ho 
 is accustomed to look at a pretty face and bright oyes with ;> 
 difference."
 
 A LF.GEND OF PO.VTEFRACf. 593 
 
 "Haste thee to him, my good girl !" said Isabella, taking a rich 
 chain of pearls from her neck, and thrusting it into Annette's 
 hands; "give him this, and tell him that his reward shall be 
 doubled if he will but aid me in effecting my escape from this 
 horrible place. Tell him that Sir Richard Shirley (here it was the 
 Lady Isabella's turn to blush) will not fail to reward the deed 
 nobly, however limited the means of Isabella Vere may be. Tell 
 him, too, that sooner or later King Charles will come to his own 
 again, and that then the services of those who have helped his 
 loyal followers in their adversity will not be forgotten." 
 
 Annette darted from the chamber, holding the lady's precious 
 gift in her hand ; and soon after returned, leading in the stout 
 form of John Anderson. The sentinel made a profoundbow; and the 
 lady, bending her beautiful eyes upon him, began to explain the 
 cause of her having solicited this interview. The result will be 
 communicated to the reader in a subsequent part of this narrative. 
 
 At about an hour before midnight, the Cavaliers started from 
 Shirley Priory, for the purpose of putting into execution their 
 project for surprising the castle. The day, which had been cloudy 
 and tempestuous, was followed by a night of comparative calm- 
 ness. The heavy rains had ceased to fall ; but the trees and the 
 bushes, having been saturated by the moist element, had hoarded 
 the relics of the shower, which they now distilled upon the Cava- 
 liers as they passed. The wind no longer blew with the violence 
 of a hurricane, but made a low, melancholy moaning, which struck 
 on the ear of Shirley as ominous of an unprosperous issue to his 
 enterprise. The clouds were driving rapidly through the sky; 
 and the pale moon, breaking at intervals from behind them, threw 
 a fitful and uncertain light upon the adventurers, and compelled 
 them, by its unwelcome splendour, sometimes to seek the shadow 
 of the trees, which on the left hand skirted the road that led to 
 the eastern wall of the castle. There they crept cautiously along, 
 fearful lest a steel morion or a sword should glisten in the betray- 
 ing light, until the clouds once more veiled the midnight orb ; and 
 then they again emerged into the broad road, and careful only that 
 their footsteps should be, as nearly as possible, inaudible, picked 
 
 ENG. Q Q
 
 594 A LEGEND OF PONTEFRACT. 
 
 their way with watchful eyes and ears, firm but cautious steps, and 
 anxious and agitated but undaunted hearts. As the moon gleamed 
 on the castle wall, they beheld the ladder of ropes already placed 
 there for their ascent. They could see, too, their ally, Ellis the 
 sentinel, pacing slowly backwards and forwards on his post ; and 
 they also saw with equal satisfaction, that the other sentinel, Ander- 
 son, who was not privy to their plot, was absent. Shirley now placed 
 a bugle to his mouth, and blew so low and faint a note that the 
 sound could not have been caught by any but one that was 
 anxiously watching for it. The note was immediately answered 
 by another, equally low and faint, from the sentinel on the walls. 
 "All's right, Shirley," said Cartwright; "1 will now therefore wheel 
 round to the great gate of the castle with the main body of our 
 followers ; and do you, with these twelve, scale the walls. As soon 
 as you have mastered the guard and opened the gates to us, we 
 shall be prepared to rush in and complete the enterprise which 
 you have begun." 
 
 Shirley wrung his friend's hand, and each proceeded in silence 
 to execute his own part of the adventure. The heavens were en- 
 veloped in total darkness as the knight approached the wall ; and 
 the little party was obliged to pause some minutes, until a gleam 
 of moonlight should once more indicate to them the ladder by 
 which they were to ascend. At length the wished-for blaze illumi- 
 nated the entire wall. " By Heaven !" exclaimed Shirley, " our 
 friend Morice has been better than his promise. There are two 
 ladders, although I only observed one when we first came in sight 
 of the castle. " Do thou, Capel," he added, addressing one of his 
 followers, " with these six men, mount the first ladder which we 
 beheld ; myself with the others will find our way over the wall by 
 the second." 
 
 Thus saying, he began to mount the wall, being once more; 
 involved in total darkness. A heavy shower of rain, too, now 
 began to fall, and made his footing slippery and uncertain ; he, 
 however, clung fast to the ropes, and was rapidly approaching the 
 summit of the wall, when he heard one of the soldiers who pre- 
 ceded him exclaim, " Betrayed, betrayed ! Anderson is at his
 
 A LEGEND OF PONTEFRACT. .^5 
 
 post ! " At that moment the moon again steeped the whok- wall in a 
 flood of splendour ; and Shirley, looking up, beheld Ellis welcoming 
 Capel and his companions at the top of the other ladder ; while on 
 that part of the wall where he was to make his own ascent stood a 
 soldier, whose movements and gestures, although they indicated 
 that he was not privy to their scheme, showed rather a person 
 stricken with alarm at their presence, than one who should him- 
 self fill them with apprehension. He appeared to be about 
 to descend the ladder when the moonlight enabled him to 
 recognise the intruders. Uttering a tremendous shout, or 
 rather scream, he darted back as soon as he beheld them, and ran 
 along the wall. "By Heaven!" exclaimed Shirley, rushing past 
 his own soldier, who had preceded him, and pursuing Anderson, 
 " he will alarm the guard ! He must be silenced, although it be 
 at the expense of his life." The pursuer gained ground on the 
 pursued, and at length clutched him in his sinewy grasp. " Be 
 silent, or thou diest !" said Shirley. " Ha ! Sir Richard Shirley," 
 exclaimed the soldier, in a tone of vociferous surprise. " Knowest 
 thou me?" said the knight; "then thy intelligence has doomed 
 thee, even though thy clamour could have been pardoned. Down, 
 down ! to silence and to death !" Thus saying, he seized the 
 soldier in his arms, and with herculean strength flung him over the 
 battlements. One long, loud shriek burst from the unhappy 
 man as he was falling ; and after an interval of a few seconds, 
 his body was heard to dash violently upon the pavement of the 
 yard below. 
 
 Sir Richard Shirley shuddered, and stopped his ears. "Twas 
 a fearful necessity," he said, as he joined his comrades : " Heaven 
 have mercy on his soul ! Draw in the ladder and let us descend, 
 lest this man's noise should have roused the Governor." They 
 lost no time in descending, and at length reached the ground, but 
 not until they saw lights glancing in various parts of the castle, 
 and heard the sentinels passing the word of alarm from their 
 various posts. 
 
 " Hasten, hasten !" exclaimed Morice, whom, together with 
 Ellis, Capel, and their other friends, they found below ; "let us
 
 S95 A L&GEND OP PONTZFRACT. 
 
 hasten to the court and seize upon the guard ! The Governor is 
 roused, but we can yet reach the court of guard before any one 
 else ; and if we can open the gates to our friends ere the Governor 
 arrives there, then the castle is our own. What unlucky chance 
 could have brought the ill-fated Anderson to the wall?" 
 
 " I knew not that he was there," said Ellis, " or that there was 
 any other ladder than my own on the wall, until a sudden gleam 
 of moonlight showed him to me descending it." 
 
 By this time they had reached the court and rushed upon the 
 guard, who, being only three in number, and stupefied by the 
 suddenness of the assault, immediately surrendered. The porter, 
 who sat by them, was then compelled to unbar and unlock the 
 great gate of the castle, and let down the drawbridge, while Morice 
 held his sword to his throat. Cartwright and above five hundred 
 men immediately rushed into the court of guard, almost at the 
 same moment that the Governor and about twenty of the garrison 
 entered it from the interior of the castle. The latter were im- 
 mediately surrounded and overpowered ; and Morice, walking up 
 to the Governor, said : " Colonel Cotterell, you are my prisoner !" 
 
 "You jest, friend Morice," said Cotterell; "you cannot be so 
 black a traitor!" 
 
 . "Traitor! sayest thou, Governor ?" returned Morice ; " nay, now 
 it is thou that jestest ! If I have been a traitor, it has been not 
 to thee, but to my friends here, Sir Richard Shirley and Mr. Cart- 
 wright ; for I made you acquainted with all the details of the plot, 
 and the names of the parties implicated. Nevertheless, one thing 
 is certain that the castle is now mine, and that you are my 
 prisoner. I owe you, however, many good offices, and will take 
 care to procure your pardon from the King. Now, Sir Richard 
 Shirley, it is time that you, as a true knight, proceed to set free 
 the fair and oppressed lady whom this foul Paynim has immured 
 in. his enchanted castle. Proceed we to her dungeon. I will be 
 your guide." 
 
 Thus saying, Morice led the way to the chamber of the Lady 
 Isabella, followed by Sir Richard and two or three of the parties 
 engaged in that night's enterprise ; who, being tenants of the De 
 Vcre estates, were anxious to be assured of the safety of their
 
 A LEGRNE> OF PONTEFRACT. 597 
 
 mistress. The tumult appeared to ha\ e aroused the lady ; for 
 they found her chamber door opened, and herself seated at a small 
 table with her back towards them. Shirley stole softly behind 
 her, and Morice followed him at a distance of a few paces, anxious 
 to participate in the delight of the lovers at being thus restored to 
 each other. The knight gently touched her on the shoulder. She 
 started, and turning round, showed him features to which he was 
 totally a stranger, but in which the astonished Morice recognised 
 the bushy eyebrows, the war-grained cheek, and the black beard 
 of Anderson, the sentinel. Morice started back as though he had 
 seen a spectre. " What am I to understand !" he exclaimed ; 
 " can I believe my senses ? Shirley, I thought you told me that 
 this man was slain ?" 
 
 " What mean you ?" asked Shirley, his lip quivering and his face 
 turning as pale as ashes. 
 
 " 'Tis Anderson," said Morice, " whom you told me you had 
 precipitated from the eastern wall." 
 
 " Pardon me, noble Colonel," said Anderson, in a tone of 
 mingled gratulation and compunction, " 'tis the first act of 
 disobedience that John Anderson ever committed. I can listen 
 unmoved to the roar of artillery, but not to a lady's sighs : I can see, 
 without flinching, the blood of brave men moistening the plain j 
 but I dare not look on the tears streaming down a fair cheek !" 
 
 " Cut short thy prating, dotard !" said Morice, in an agony of 
 anxiety. " What means this unseemly metamorphosis ?" 
 
 " Then you must know, noble Colonel," said Anderson, " that 
 (1.2 distress of the young lady at the prospect of being given up on 
 the morrow to Colonel Rainsborough so melted my heart, that I 
 consented to exchange habiliments with her, and sent her to occupy 
 my place as sentinel on the eastern wall ; furnished, moreover, with 
 a ladder of ropes, to enable her to make her escape from the 
 castle to Shirley Priory." 
 
 " Look to the knight," exclaimed Morice, as he saw the un- 
 happy Shirley falling backwards, with a face bloodless and ghastly 
 as the features of the dead. The attendants rushed forwards, and 
 received his sinking weight in their amis. 
 
 The Maircissement was now completed by a pnrtv of soldiers,
 
 508 A LEGEND OF PONTEFRACT, 
 
 who entered the apartment bearing the dead body of the person 
 whom Shirley had precipitated from the wall. The corpse was 
 fearfully shattered and mangled by the fall ; but, notwithstanding 
 this disfigurement and the soldier's dress which she wore, Morice 
 had no difficulty in recognising the features of Isabella Vere. A 
 convulsive shudder ran through his frame, and a groan burst from 
 his heart, which was echoed by all present as he stooped to gaze 
 on the yet bleeding relics of this ill-starred fair one. " Unhappy 
 Shirley !" he exclaimed ; " the ways of Heaven are inscrutable. 
 J ust at the moment that thou hadst hoped to clasp thy loved one 
 to thy heart, thou findest thine own hand mysteriously imbrued in 
 her blood. Bear him away, while yet he remains insensible, lest 
 the first object recognised by his reviving eyes should be this 
 fearful spectacle." 
 
 The whole of that night Shirley remained in a death-like trance, 
 and indicated only by his low, faint breathing that the vital spark 
 within was not extinct. On the morning he opened his eyes, but 
 they were lustreless and meaningless. His speech was rambling 
 and incoherent, and his once fine and expressive features wore a 
 melancholy look of blank vacuity. Many years rolled over his head 
 before he sunk into his grave ; but his mind never returned to its 
 dwelling, and the last gaze from the eyes of the last of the Shirleys, 
 before they were closed for ever, was the wild and wandering stare 
 of a maniac. Long before that event took place, the Castle of 
 Pontefract had been retaken by the Republicans under General 
 Lambert, and its once aspiring towers razed to the ground ; so 
 uhat the ominous prediction which was mentioned in an eaily part 
 .if this narrative was literally fulfilled : 
 
 " When the heir of Shirley scales Pontefract wall, 
 Then shall the race of Shirley fall, 
 And the rank grass grow in Pontefract hall." 
 
 THE E.VP. 
 
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 University of California 
 
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