CHAPTER XIX.
What strange adventure do ye now pursue? Perhaps my succour or advisement meet Mote stead ye much.--Spenser.
A barber surgeon one day, bleeding a farrier, bound up his arm with apiece of red tape, and pinned it. The farrier went the next day toshoe one of the king of the country's horses; as he was driving thenail, the pin pricked him, the nail went too near the quick, thehorse's foot grew tender, the king went out to hunt, the horse threwhim, the king was taken up dead, and was succeeded by his son, whom heintended to have disinherited the next day for his cruel disposition.The new king cut off his subjects' heads, made continual war upon allthe states around, conquered a great many countries, gained a greatmany battles, robbed, murdered, and burned, and at last wasassassinated himself, when human nature could bear him no longer; andat the end of his reign it was computed that a hundred millions oftreasure, and twenty millions of human lives, had been wasted, by abarber pinning a piece of red tape, instead of tying it, like hisgrandfather.
"The luckiest accident for you in the world has just happened!" criedLord Darby, entering Sir Osborne Maurice's apartment two full hoursbefore the time he had appointed. "Order your men to choose your bestsuit of harness, to pack it on a strong horse, to lead your owncourser by the bridle, and to make all speed to the foot of the hillat Greenwich, there to wait till they be sent for; and you come withme: my barge waits at the duke's stairs."
"But what is the matter, my lord?" demanded Sir Osborne; "at least,tell me if my horse must be barded."
"No, no; I think not," replied the earl; "at all events, we shall findbards,[12] if we want them. But be quick, we have not a moment tolose, though the tide be running down as quick as a tankard of bastardover the throat of a thirsty serving-man; I will tell you the whole aswe go."
"Longpole," cried the knight to his follower, who, at the moment theEarl entered, was in the room, putting the last adjustment to hismaster's garments; "Longpole, quick! you hear what Lord Darby says.Take the fluted suit----"
"Oh! the fluted, the fluted, by all means," interrupted the earl, "itshows noble and knightly. So shall we go along as in a Roman triumph,with flutes before, and flutes behind. The fluted by all means, goodLongpole, and lose no time on the road: for every flagon you do notdrink, you shall have two at Greenwich. Now, Maurice, are you ready?By heaven! you make a gallant figure of it; your tailor deservesimmortality. 'Tis well! 'tis mighty well! But, to my taste, the cutsin your blue velvet had been better lined with a soft yellow than awhite; the hue of a young primrose. The feather might have been thesame, but 'tis all a taste: white does marvellous well; the silvergirdle and scabbard too! But come; we waste our moments: let two ofyour men come with us."
Lord Darby conducted his new friend to the barge, and as theyproceeded towards Greenwich with a quick tide, he informed him thatsome knights, Sir Henry Poynings, Sir Thomas Neville, and severalothers--having agreed to meet, for the purpose of trying somenewly-invented arms, the king had been seized with a desire of goingunknown to break a lance with them on Blackheath, and had privatelycommanded the Earl of Devonshire to accompany him as his aid: but thatvery morning, at his house in Westminster, the earl had slipped, andhad so much injured his leg, that his surgeon forbade his riding for amonth. "As soon as I heard it," continued Lord Darby, "I flew to hislodging, and prayed him to let me be his messenger to the king, towhich petition he easily assented, provided I set off with all speed,for his grace expects him early. Now, the moment that the king hearsthat the earl cannot ride, he chooses him another aid, and I so hopeto manage, that the choice may fall upon you. If you break a lance tohis mind, you shall be well beloved for the next week at least; andduring that time you must manage to fix his favour. But first, let megive you some small portraiture of his mind, so that by knowing hishumour, you may find means to find it."
The character which Lord Darby gave of Henry the Eighth shall here beput in fewer words. He was then a very, very different being from thebloated despot which he afterwards appeared. All his life had hithertobeen prosperity and gladness; no care, no sorrow, had called intoaction any of the latent evil of his character, and he showed himselfto those around him as an affable and magnificent prince; proudwithout haughtiness, and luxurious without vice. Endowed with greatpersonal strength, blessed with robust health, and flourishing in theprime of his years, he loved with a degree of ostentation all thosemanly and chivalrous exercises which were then at their height inEurope; and placed, as it were, between the age of chivalry and theage of learning, he in his own person combined many of the attributesof each. In temper and in manner he was hasty but frank, and had muchof the generosity of youth unchilled by adversity. Yet he was everwilful and irritable, and in his history even at that time may betraced the yet unsated luxurist, and the incipient tyrant, beginning acareer in splendour and pride that was sure to end in despotism andblood.
It may well be supposed that the knight's heart beat quickly as theboat came in sight of the palace at Greenwich. It had nothing,however, to do with that agitation which men often weakly feel onapproaching earthly greatness. Accustomed to a court, though a smallone, if Sir Osborne had ever experienced those sensations, they hadlong left him; but he felt that on what was to follow from the presentinterview, perhaps on that interview itself, depended his father'sfortune and his own; more: his own happiness for ever.
Lord Darby's rowers had plied their oars to some purpose, and beforeten o'clock the barge was alongside the king's stairs at Greenwich."Come, Sir Osborne," cried the earl; "bearing a message which hisgrace will think one of great consequence, I shall abridge allceremony, and find my way as quickly to his presence as I can."
The two young men sprang to the shore, followed by their attendants,and passed the parade, which was quite empty, the king having takencare to disperse the principal part of his court in variousdirections, that his private expedition might pass unnoticed, feelinga sort of romantic interest in the concealment and mystery of hisproceedings. The earl led the way across the vacant space to one ofthe doors of the palace, which opened into a sort of waiting hall,called the "Hall of Lost Steps," where the two friends left theirservants; and proceeding up a staircase that seemed well known to LordDarby, they came into a magnificent saloon, wherein an idle page wasgazing listlessly from one of the windows.
"Ha, Master Snell!" cried the earl; "may his grace be spoken with?"
"On no account whatever, my noble lord," replied the page, "I amplaced here expressly to prevent any one from approaching him: hisgrace is at his prayers."
"Go then, good Master Snell," said the earl, "and bid our royal masteradd one little prayer for the Earl of Devonshire, who has fallen inhis house at Westminster, and is badly hurt; and tell his grace that Ibear an humble message from the earl, who dared not confide it to acommon courier."
"I go directly, my noble lord," said the page. "The king will findthis bad news;" and making all haste, he left the room by a door onthe other side of the apartment.
"This is indeed a kingly chamber," said Sir Osborne, gazing aroundupon the rich arras mingled with cloth of gold which covered thewalls. "How poor must the court of Burgundy have seemed to the king,when he visited the Princess Regent at Lisle. And yet, perhaps, hescarcely saw the difference."
Even while he spoke, the door by which the page had gone out was againthrown open, and a tall, handsome man entered the apartment, withhaste and peevishness in his countenance. He was apparently aboutthirty years of age, broad-chested and powerfully made, muscular, butnot fat, and withal there was an air of dignity and command in hisfigure that might well become a king. He seemed to have been disturbedhalf-dressed; for under the loose gown of black velvet which he worewas to be seen one leg clothed in steel, while the other remained freeof any such cumbersome apparel. The rest of his person, as far asmight be discovered by the opening of the gown, was habited in simplerusset garments, guarded with gold, while on his head he wore asmall-brimmed black bonnet and a jewelled plume. Lord Darby and
SirOsborne immediately doffed their hats as the king entered, the youngknight not very well pleased to see the irritable spot that glowed onhis brow.
"How now, lord? how now?" cried Henry, as they advanced. "What is thisthe page tells me? Devonshire is hurt--is ill? What is it? what is it,man? speak!"
"I am sorry to be the bearer of evil news to your grace," replied LordDarby, with a profound inclination; "but this morning, as my Lord ofDevonshire was preparing to set out to render his duty to yourhighness, his foot slipped, heaven knows how! and his surgeons fear hehas dislocated one of the bones of the leg. He, therefore, beingunwilling to trust an ordinary messenger, begged me humbly, in hisname, to set forth his case before you, and to crave your graciouspardon for thus unintentionally failing in his service."
"Tut! he could not help it," cried Henry. "The man broke not his bonesand wrenched not his leg to do me a displeasure; and yet in this isFortune cross-grained; for where now shall I find an aid who maysupply his place? But, how now! What is this? Who have you with you?You are bold, young lord, to bring a stranger to my privy chamber! Ha!how now! Mother of God, you are too bold!"
Hope sickened in Sir Osborne's bosom, and bending his head, he fixedhis eyes upon the ground, while Lord Darby replied, nothing abashed bythe king's reproof--
"Pardon me, my liege; but trusting to the known quality of your royalclemency, which finds excuses for our faults, even when we ourselvescan discover none, I made bold to bring to your grace's presence thisfamous knight, Sir Osborne Maurice, who, being himself renowned inmany courts in feats of arms, has conceived a great desire to witnessthe deeds of our most mighty sovereign, whose prowess and skill,whether at the tourney or in the just, at the barriers or with thebattle-axe, is so noised over Europe, that none who are themselvesskilful can refrain from coveting a sight of his royal daring. Allowme to present him to your grace."
Sir Osborne advanced, and kneeling gracefully before the king, benthis head over the hand that Henry extended towards him; while, pleasedwith his appearance and demeanour, the monarch addressed him with asmile: "Think not we are churlish, sir knight, or that we do notwelcome you freely to our court; but, by St. Mary! such young gallantsas these must be held in check, or they outrun their proper bounds.But judge not of our poor doings by Darby's commendation: he has of asudden grown eloquent."
"On such a theme who might not be an orator?" said Sir Osborne,rising. "Were I to doubt Lord Darby, I must think that Fame herself isyour grace's courtier, acting as your herald in every court, andchallenging a world to equal you."
"Fie, fie! I must not hear you," cried the king. "Darby, come hither:I would speak with you. Come hither, I say!"
Sir Osborne drew a step back, and the king, taking the young earl intothe recess of a window, spoke to him for a moment in a low tone, butstill sufficiently loud for a great part of what he said to be audibleto the knight, especially towards the conclusion.
"A powerful man," said the king; "and, if he be but as dexterous andvaliant as he is strong, will prove a knight indeed. Think you hewould?"
"Most assuredly, my liege," replied the earl. "He is your grace's bornsubject; only, his father having fallen into some unhappy error in thereign of our last royal king, Sir Osborne has had his training at thecourt of Burgundy, and received his knighthood from the sword ofMaximilian, the late emperor."
"Good, good!" said Henry: "I remember hearing of his father; 'twaseither Simnel, or Perkyn Warbeck, or some such treasonous cause heespoused. But all that is past. Sir knight," he continued, turning toSir Osborne, "what if in my armoury we could find a harness thatwould fit you? are you minded to break a lance as consort with theking?--ha! This very morning--ay, this very hour? What say you?--ha!"
"That I should hold an honour never to be forgot, my liege," repliedthe knight. "And for the arms, my own are here in Greenwich. Theymight be brought in a moment."
"Quick, quick, then!" cried the king. "But we must be secret. Stop,stop! You go, Lord Darby. Send for the arms quick. Is your horse here,sir knight? By St. Mary, 'tis happy you came! Darby, bid them take theknight's horse into the small court, and shut the gates. Quick withhis armour! Bid them put no bards on the horses, and be secret. I'llgo arm. You arm here, sir knight. Snell! stand firm at that door; letno one pass but Lord Darby and the knight's armourer. Be quick, sirknight! I charge you be quick: and, above all, let us be secret.Remember, we will never raise our visors. These knights think of nosuch encounter, but fancy they have it all amongst themselves. Theyhave kept their just mighty secret; but we will break their lances forthem--ha!"
The king now left Sir Osborne, who, delighted with the unexpected turnwhich his humour had taken, waited impatiently for Lord Darby'sreturn, expecting every minute to see the other door open and Henryre-appear before he had even received his armour. At length, however,Lord Darby came, and with him our friend Longpole, who, as the pagewould only allow one person to enter with the earl, received that partof the armour which he did not carry himself from the attendantwithout, and then flew to assist his lord. Sir Osborne lost no time,and, expert by constant habit, he put on piece by piece with arapidity that astonished the young earl, who, accustomed alone to thetilt-yard, was unacquainted with the facility acquired by theunceasing exercises of the camp.
At length, while Longpole was buckling the last strap, the kingre-entered alone, completely armed, and with his beaver down.
"What! ready, sir knight?" cried he; "nay, 'faith, you have beenexpeditious."
"Lord bless you, sir!" cried Longpole, never dreaming that he spoke tothe king, "my master puts on his arms as King Hal took Terouenne."
"How now!" cried Sir Osborne, afraid of what might coms next; but theking held up his hand to him to let the man speak. "How is that, goodfellow?" demanded he.
"Why, he just puts his hand on it, and it is done," replied Longpole.
"Thou art a merry knave," said Henry, better pleased perhaps with theunquestionable compliment of the yeoman than he would have been withthe more refined and studied praise of many an eloquent oration. "Thouart a merry knave. Say, canst thou blow a trumpet?"
"Ay, that I can, to your worship's contentment," replied Longpole, whobegan to see by the looks of Lord Darby and his master that somethingwas wrong. "I hope I have not offended."
"No, no," answered Henry, "not in the least. Snell, fetch him atrumpet with a blanche banner. Now, fellow, take the trumpet that thepage will bring you, and, getting on your horse, follow us. When youshall come to a place where you see lists up, blow me a defiance. Hastthou never a vizard to put thy muzzle in? Darby, in that chamber youwill find him a masking vizard, so that we may not be recognised byhis face hereafter."
Longpole was soon furnished with one of the half masks of the day, thelong beard of which, intended to conceal the mouth and chin, as it hadbeen worn by the king himself, was composed of threads of pure gold,so that the yeoman bore an ample recompense upon his face for the dutythe king put him on. He would fain have had his remark upon thevizard; but beginning to entertain a suspicion of how the matterreally stood, he wisely forebore, and followed his master and LordDarby, who, preceded by the king, passed down a narrow back-staircaseinto the smaller court, wherein stood the horses prepared for theirexpedition.
All now passed in almost profound silence. The king and his aidmounted, and, followed by Longpole with his trumpet, issued forththrough two gates into the park, where, taking the wildest and mostunfrequented paths, they made a large circuit, in order that theirapproach might seem from any other quarter than the palace. Aftergaining the forest on Shooter's Hill, the king led the way through oneof the roads in the wood, to what we may call the back of Blackheath,on the very verge of which they might behold a group of gentlemen onhorseback, with a crowd of lookers-on afoot, disposed in such sort asto show that their exercises were begun. The spot which they hadchosen was a very convenient one for their purpose: shaded on thesouth by a grove of high elms, whose very situation has not beentraceable for more than two centuries,
but which then afforded a widthof shade sufficient for several coursers to wheel and charge therein,without the eyes of the riders being dazzled by the morning sunshine.At the foot of these trees extended an ample green, soft, smooth, andeven, round which the tilters had pitched the staves and drawn theropes, marking the limits of the field; and at the northern end waserected a little tent for them to arm in before, and rest after, thecourse. The four knights themselves, who had met to try their arms,together with several grooms, an armourer, a mule to bear the spears,and two horses for the armour, with their several drivers, formed thegroup within the lists, which, in the wide-extended plain whereon theystood, looked but a spot, and would have seemed still less had it notbeen for the crowd of idlers that hung about the ground, and the fourknightly pennons, which, disposed in a line, with a few yards'distance between them, caught the eye as it wandered over the heath,and attracted it to the spot by their flutter and their gaudy hues.
The king paused for a moment to observe them, and then beckoningLongpole to come up, "Now, ride on, trumpet!" cried he; "blow achallenge, and then say that two strange knights claim to break twolances each, and pass away unquestioned."[13]
At this command Longpole rode forward, and while Henry and his masterfollowed more slowly, blew a defiance on his trumpet at the entranceof the lists, and then in a loud voice pronounced the message withwhich the king had charged him.
As he finished, Henry and Sir Osborne presented themselves; and SirThomas Neville, the chief of the other party, after some consultationwith his companions, rode up and replied: "Though we are here as aprivate meeting, for our own amusement only, yet we will not refuse todo the pleasure of the stranger knights; and as there are four of us,we will each break a spear with one of the counter-party, which willmake the two lances a-piece that they require. Suffer the knights toenter," he continued to the keeper of the barrier; and Henry, with theyoung knight, taking the end of the ground in silence, waited tilltheir lances should be delivered to them.
Whether the tilters suspected or not who was the principal intruder ontheir sport matters not, though it is indeed more than probable thatthey did; for it was well known to everybody, that if Henry heard ofany rendezvous of the kind, he was almost certain to be present,either privately or avowedly; and indeed on one occasion, recorded byHall, the chronicler of that day, this romantic spirit had almost costhim dear, the sport being carried on so unceremoniously as nearly toslay the gentleman by whom he was accompanied, and to bring his ownlife into danger.
On the present occasion no words passed between the two parties, andafter a few minutes' conversation amongst the original holders of theground as to who should first furnish the course to the strangers, SirThomas Neville presented himself opposite to the king, and Sir HenryPoynings, one of the best knights of the day, prepared to run againstSir Osborne. "Now do your best, my knight," said the king to his aid;"you have got a noble opponent."
The spears were delivered, the knights couched their lances, andgalloping on against each other like lightning, the tough ash staveswere shivered in a moment against their adversaries' casques.
"Valiantly done!" said Henry to Sir Osborne, as they returned to theirplace; "valiantly done! You struck right in the groove of the basnet,and wavered not an inch. Who are these two, I wonder? They have theirbeavers down."
While he spoke the spears were again delivered; and upon what impulse,or from what peculiar feeling, would be difficult to say, but SirOsborne felt a strong inclination to unhorse his opponent; andcouching his lance with dexterous care, as far as possible to preventits splintering, he struck him in full course upon the gorget, justabove its junction with the corslet, and bore him violently backwardsto the ground, where he lay apparently deprived of sense.
By this time the king had shivered his lance, and some of theattendants ran up to unlace the fallen man's helmet, when, to hissurprise, Sir Osborne beheld the countenance of Sir Payan Wileton. Heappeared to be much hurt by his fall; but that was a thing of suchcommon occurrence in those days, that no further notice was ever takenof an accident of the kind than by giving the injured person all theassistance that could be administered at the time.
However, it may well be supposed that Sir Osborne Maurice felt noordinary interest in the sight before him. By an extraordinarycoincidence, overthrown by his hand, though without intention, andapparently nearly killed, lay the persevering enemy who had swallowedup the fortunes of his house, and had sought so unceasingly to sweepit for ever from the face of the earth; and while he lay there,prostrate at his feet, with the ashy hue of his cheek paler than ever,and his dark eye closed as if in death, Sir Osborne still thought hecould see the same determined malignity of aspect with which he haddeclared that he would found his title to the lordship of ChilhamCastle on the death of its heir.
Still holding the lance in his hand, the knight bent over the bow ofhis saddle, and through the bars of his volant-piece contemplated theface of his fallen adversary, till he began to unclose his eyes andlook around him; when Sir Thomas Neville, thinking that the strangerwas animated merely by feelings of humanity, turned to him, sayingthat Sir Payan had only been a little stunned, and would do very wellnow.
"Gentlemen," continued he, addressing the king and Sir Osborne, "wemust, according to promise, let you pass away unquestioned; but I willsay, that two more valiant and skilful knights never graced a field,nor is it possible to say which outdoes the other; but ye are worthycompanions and true knights both, and so fare ye well."
The king did not reply, lest he should be recognised by his voice; butbending low, in token of his thanks, rode out of the lists,accompanied by Sir Osborne and followed by Longpole.
"Now, by my fay, sir knight!" cried Henry, when they had once morereached the cover of the wood, "you have far exceeded my expectations;and I thank you heartily--good faith, I do!--for your aid. But I musthave you stay with me. Our poor court will be much graced by theaddition of such a knight. What say you? ha!"
"To serve your grace," replied Sir Osborne, "is my first wish; tomerit your praise my highest ambition. It is but little to say thatyou may command me when you command all; but if my zeal to obey thosecommands may be counted for merit, I will deserve some applause."
"Wisely spoken," answered the king; "we retain you for ours from thismoment; and that you may be ever near our person, we shall bid ourchamberlain find your apartments in the palace. How say you, sirknight? are you therewith contented?"
"Your grace's bounty outstrips even the swift wings of Hope," repliedSir Osborne; "but I will try to fly Gratitude against it; and though,perhaps, she may not be able to overtop, she shall, at least, soar anequal pitch."
The knight's allusion to the royal sport of falconry was well adaptedto the ears that heard it. Every one must have remarked, that whateverimpressions are intended to be produced on the mind of man are alwaysbest received when addressed to his heart through its most commonassociations. Whether we wish to explain, to convince, to touch, or toengage, we must refer to something that is habitual and pleasing; and,therefore, the use of figures in eloquence is not so much to enrichand to deck, as to find admission to the soul of the hearer, by allthe paths which its own habits have rendered most easy of access.
Thus, Sir Osborne, without knowing it, drew his metaphor from a sportin which the king delighted; and, more convinced of his zeal by thesefew words than if the young knight had spoken for an hour, the kingreplied, "I doubt ye not; 'faith, I doubt ye not. But this night wegive a mummery unto our lady queen, when I will bring you to herknowledge: 'tis a lady full of graciousness, and though 'tis I who sayit, one that will love well all that I love. But now let us haste, forthe day wears; and as you shall be my masking peer, we must think ofsome quaint disguise: Darby shall be another; and being all light offoot, we will tread a measure with the fair ladies. You are a properman, and may, perchance, steal some hearts, wherein you shall have ourfavour, if 'tis for your good advancement. But turn we down this otherpath; in that I see some strang
ers. Quick! Mary Mother! I would not bediscovered for another kingdom!"