CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
THE DAY AFTER AGINCOURT.
"Urbs Coelestis! Urbs Beata! Super petram collocata, Urbs in portu satis tuto, De lonquinquo te saluto; Te saluto, te suspiro, Te affecto, te requiro."
Fourteen years had passed away since the burning of the Lady Marnell. Anew king had risen up, who was not a whit less harshly inclined towardsthe Lollards than his predecessor had been. This monarch, Henry theFifth, of chivalrous memory, was riding over the field of Agincourt, theday after the battle, surrounded by about twenty of his nobles. Behindthe nobles rode their squires, and all around them on the field lay thedead and dying.
"Saw you yonder knight, Master Wentworth," inquired one of the squiresof his next neighbour, "that we marked a-riding down by the woody knollto the left, shortly afore the fight? I marvel if he meant to fight."
"He had it, if he meant it not," answered the other; "the knight, youwould say, who bore three silver arrows?"
"Ay, the same. What befell him?"
"A party of French skirmishers came down upon him and his squire, andthey were both forced to draw sword. The knight defended himself like agallant knight, but--our Lady aid us!--they were twelve to two, orthereabouts: it was small marvel that he fell."
"He did fall? And the squire?"
"The squire fought so bravely, that he earned well his gilded spurs.[Gilded spurs were the mark of a knight.] He stood over his master wherehe fell, and I trow the French got not his body so long as the squirewas alive; but I saw not the end of it, for my master bade me thence."
"I pray you," interposed a third squire, "wit you who is yon youth thatrideth by the King's left hand?"
"The tall, pale, fair-haired youth on the white horse."
"He."
"That is the Lord Marnell--a new favourite."
"The Lord Marnell! Is he a kinsman of the Lady Marnell, who--"
"Hush! Yes, her son."
"His father is dead, also, then?"
"His father was beheaded about twelve years gone, on account of havingtaken part in a rebellion, got up by the friends of King Richard; but itwas said at the time privily, that an' he had not been suspected ofLollardism, his part in the rebellion might have been forgiven."
"Where, then, dwelt this youth, his son?"
"In the North, I ween, somewhere, with his grandmother, who hath diednot long since. Then the young Lord came down to seek his fortune inLondon and the King's Grace saw him, and fancied him."
The squires' conversation, and themselves as well, came to a suddenstop, for the King and his suite had halted in front of them.
Almost in their way, on the ground lay a wounded man. His visor wasraised, and his face visible; but his surcoat was slashed and coveredwith mire and blood, so that the eye could no longer discern the deviceembroidered on it. A scallop-shell fastened to his helmet, intimatedthat he had at some past time been a pilgrim to the shrine of SaintJames of Compostella; while the red cross upon his shoulder was anindisputable indication that he "came from the East Countrie." His agewould have been difficult to guess. It did not seem to be years whichhad blanched the hair and beard, and had given to the face a wearied,travel-worn look--a look which so changed the countenance from what itmight otherwise have been, that even
"--The mother that him bare, If she had been in presence there, She had not known her child." Marmion.
Close to the dying man lay, apparently, his squire--dead; and beside himwas a shield, turned with its face to the ground.
"The very same knight whom we saw a-riding down the knoll!" said one ofthe squires, with an oath. A man was thought very pious in thefourteenth and fifteenth centuries if he did not swear pretty freely."At least I ween it be the same--I should wit well the shield an' Icould see it."
King Henry and his nobles were attentively contemplating the woundedknight.
"Light down, my Lord Marnell," said the King, "and see what is thedevice upon yon shield. We would know which of our faithful servants wehave unhappily lost."
As the King spoke, the eyes of the dying man suddenly turned to GeoffreyMarnell, who sprang lightly from his horse to fulfil the royal order.He knelt down by the shield, and lifted it up to examine the arms; andas he turned it, the well-known cognisance of Pynson of Pynsonlee--thethree silver arrows--met his eye. An exclamation of mingled sorrow andsurprise burst from Geoffrey's lips.
"Who is he?" said Henry, eagerly.
"Sir Richard Pynson of Pynsonlee, an't please your Grace."
"Ha! the Lollard knight!" cried the King. "Better he than another! Ihad bruit of him, and, truly, I looked to have him to the stake when heshould return from his Eastern travel. It is well."
The King and his suite rode on; but Geoffrey was not one of them. Hehad thrown down the shield, and had turned to the dear friend of hisyouth, who lay dying before him.
"Richard! dear, dear Richard!" he said, in trembling accents. "How cameyou here? Have you only come home to die? O Richard, die not just now!But perchance it were better so," he added, in a low tone, recallingthe cruel words of the King. "Is it thus that thy God hath granted theethat which thou requestedst, and hath not let thee pass through thefiery trial?"
As Geoffrey thus bemoaned the fate of his old friend, he fancied that hesaw Richard's lips move, and he bent his head low to catch his lastwords. Faintly, but audibly, those two last words, so full of meaning,reached his ear. And the first of the two was "Margery!" and the last"Jesus!"
The tears fell from Geoffrey's eyes, as he softly kissed the pale browof the dead; and then, remounting his horse, he galloped after the King.There was no need of his remaining longer; for he could do nothing morefor Richard Pynson, when he had clasped hands with Margery Lovell at thegates of the _Urbs Beata_.
THE END.
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