CHAPTER XII.
In a small, but rich and beautiful, Gothic chamber, splendidlydecorated, and splendidly furnished, sat a gentleman, in the veryprime of life, at a table covered with manifold papers. His dress wasgorgeous; but the eye rested hardly for a moment on the splendour ofhis apparel, for there was something in his countenance which at oncefixed all attention upon itself. The features were delicate andbeautiful, the eyes dark, keen, and expressive. The lips were somewhatthin, and apparently habitually compressed, though when they partedthey showed a row of teeth as white as snow. The long dark brown hairwas of silky fineness and gloss, bending in graceful waves about abrow broad, high, and majestic, which would have been perfect in form,had not habit or nature stamped a wrinkled frown upon it, while somelong lines, the traces of deep thought, furrowed the wide expansewhich age had not yet had time to touch. He was in the prime of life,the early prime, for he had not yet seen three and thirty years, andnot a particle of bodily or mental energy had been lost; but yet hisform did not give any promise of great strength, for he was somewhatbelow the middle height, and the limbs seemed small and delicate. Oneshoulder was rather higher than the other, but not so much so as to bea striking deformity; and the left arm seemed somewhat smaller thanits fellow. No means had been taken to conceal these defects; and yethe might have passed anywhere for an exceedingly good-looking man, hadit not been for a certain expression of fierce and fiery passion whichoccasionally came into his countenance, blending strangely with thelook of sarcastic acuteness which it usually bore. It was upon hisface at that moment, as he read a letter before him; but it passedaway speedily, and it was with a bitter smile he said--speaking tohimself, for there was no one else in the room--
"Not know? He must be made to know! We will pluck the heart of thistreason out;" and he wrote a few words hastily on the back of theletter which he had been reading.
Then, however, he paused, laid his finger on his temple, and thoughtdeeply for a minute or two. "No," he said at length, "no! It must bepassed over. If they catch him in the abbey, the lad's fault shall bepassed over. He has served the purposes of a decoy--done good servicewithout knowing it; and we will not kill the bird that lures the gameto us, though it little thinks that it betrays its fellows--perhapsimagines it is serving them, not us. I have heard there was friendshipbetween the bishop and his father; and we must alienate no friendsjust now.--Friends!" he continued, with a bitter sneer. "What arefriends? I know but one, whom men can ever count upon; and he dwellshere;" and at the same time he laid his hand significantly on his ownbroad forehead.
He then took the pen again, and struck out the words he had written onthe paper, pushed it aside, raised another, and, after glancing overit, clapped his hands, exclaiming--
"Without, there!"
A servant instantly appeared; and the king, for it was Richardhimself, demanded--
"Did you not tell me that this man, John Radnor, had been killed by afail from his horse?"
"Yes, sire," answered the servant, "so the posts say, who brought yourgrace the news that the earls of Richmond's fleet had been dispersed.He was found dead upon the road, but with his purse and papers allsecure, so that they could not be thieves who slew him."
"I trust there are few such left in the land," said Richard. "I havedone something already to crush the lawless spirit engendered in thiscountry by long turbulence and domestic strife; and I will trample outthe last spark ere I have done. By Christ, the name of thief shall beunknown in the land if I live long enough.--I grieve for this man," hecontinued, musing. "He was a serviceable knave, and one to whosedexterity we could trust instructions somewhat difficult to write, andyet not make him an ambassador.--Send Sir John Thoresby to me," hecontinued, "and as soon as Sir Charles Weinants comes, give himadmission."
With a low reverence, the man withdrew; and the king busied himselfwith the papers again, till the door opened and a gentleman in blackentered the room.
"Let those be answered, Sir John," said the king, pushing some lettersto him, "and take order that lodging and entertainment be prepared atYork for the Princess Countess of Arran. Send off too, by a privatehand, which can be trusted, a letter to the king her brother, greetinghim well from us, and telling him that the secret note, sent with theletters of the countess, has been received. Bid him set his mind atease, for that the matter is very sure, and that, search as she will,search will be fruitless, so that she can come safely.--Have you seenthe queen?"
"I passed her but now, your grace, in the hall," replied thegentleman; "and she enquired if there were any news from Middleham.She seemed much alarmed on account of the prince's illness."
"Oh, it is nothing, it is nothing," answered the king. "It will soonpass. Children are well and ill in a day. The next post will bring usnews that he is better; but women are full of fears. Yet it is strangewe have not heard to-day. I will go and see her, while you writehere;" and, with a slow pace and thoughtful air, he quitted the room.
At the end of a short corridor, Richard opened a door, which gave himadmission to a large old hall, in one part of which were seatedseveral young ladies of high family, working busily at embroideryframes. At one of the tall arched windows, gazing out on the prospectbelow, with a look of restless anxiety on her face, stood the fair andunfortunate daughter of the earl of Warwick, his youngest and his bestbeloved, whom, with the prophetic spirit of parental affection, he hadendeavoured in vain to hide from the pursuit of him who never set hiseyes upon an object without sooner or later attaining it. She wasrichly dressed, according to the mode of those times; and her slightfigure and her fair face still retained many traces of that delicateand feminine beauty which had once so highly distinguished them.
The instant she heard her husband's step, she turned quickly roundwith a timid and inquiring glance; but Richard was in one of hismilder moods. The subject of his thought and hers was one of commonaffection; and he advanced tenderly towards her, and took her in hisarms, saying--
"I have heard nothing, Ann; but cast these fears from your mind. Itrust that this is nothing but one of those sicknesses of childhoodwhich come and pass away like spring showers."
The tears came into the queen's eyes, rising from very mingledemotions. Her apprehension for her child, her husband's tenderness,the feeling perhaps of her own failing health, the recollections ofearly years, all moved her heart; and yet she feared that her emotionsmight rouse an impatient spirit in Richard's breast.
It was not so, however; and, pressing her somewhat closer to him, hesaid--
"Well, well, wipe away your tears, love. If we hear not better tidingsto-day, thou shalt go to Middleham, and I will go with thee."
"Thanks, my gracious lord, thanks," replied the queen. "Perhaps it isbut a weak woman's fears for her only one, that so sink my spirit; butI feel to-day a sort of awe, as if of approaching fate."
"You give way, you give way," said Richard with a slight touch ofimpatience. "However, there is good news abroad. This rash exiled earlof Richmond, whom you have heard of, doubtless, has seen his Bretonships--which the good doating duke now bitterly regrets he lenthim--dispersed and broken by a heavy tempest; and he himself has slunkback to St. Maloes; but I have already limed some twigs for this lightbird, which will yet stick to his feet; and he may find conveyanceinto England more speedy, though not so prosperous as that which hehas been contriving for himself.--How now, Lovel? You look perilousgrim, as if you and your cognizance had changed countenances."
"I grieve to be the bearer of bad tidings, gracious sire," repliedLord Lovel, to whom these words were addressed, and who had enteredthe room the moment before. "I did not know that either of your graceswere here, and was hastening to your closet."
"But the news, the news," cried Richard, eagerly. "Heavy tidings growdoubly weighty by long carrying. Out with them, man. Is there a newinsurrection in the west?--Has Richmond landed?--Speak, speak atonce!"
"I had better have your grace's private ear for a few minutes,"replied Lord Lovel, in a low and ver
y sad tone, at the same timegiving a glance towards the queen. Her eyes were fixed upon his face,and she caught the expression at once.
"My boy," she exclaimed. "He is worse. He is hopeless--I see itthere--I see it there;" and she pointed with her hand to his face.
Richard gazed at him in profound deathlike silence, with his browknitted over his fine keen eyes, and the thin pale lip quiveringfearfully. It was a terrible thing to see the traces of such deep andunwonted emotion on that powerful and commanding countenance; andLovel felt almost afraid to proceed. Richard tried to speak, but, forthe first time in life, his voice found no utterance; and all he coulddo was to make a vehement sign for his favourite to go on.
"Alas, sire," said Level, in a tone of unfeigned anguish, "your worstfears are, I grieve to say--"
"No, no," cried Richard, in a broken voice, grasping his arm as if hewould have sunk the fingers into the flesh. "No, no, not theworst--not the worst!--He is very ill, you would say--the physicianshave no hope--but we will find more, wiser, skilfuller! There aresimples of great power--there are--there are--no, not dead, notdead--no, not dead, not dead!--Oh, Jesu!" and he fell headlong to theground.
The unhappy queen stood with her hands clasped together, her eyes bentupon the floor, not a trace of colour in her cheeks or lips. She movednot, she spoke not, she wept not, she uttered no cry, but remainedstanding like a statue where the words had reached her ears with allthe terrible anguish of the moment concentrated in her heart.
In the meantime, the embroidery frames were cast away. Her ladiesgathered round her, and drew her gently to her chair of state, inwhich they placed her unresisting; but there she remained, preciselyas they had seated her, with her eyes still bent down, and her lipsstill motionless. At the same time, Lovel raised the king, and calledloudly for assistance. Attendants hurried in, and amongst them themessenger from Middleham, who had brought the tidings of the youngprince's death, and had been left at the door by Lord Lovel, when heundertook to communicate the sad intelligence. But it was long ereRichard could be brought to himself; and then he sat where they hadplaced him, rubbing his brow with his hand, and muttering brokensentences to himself. At length he looked up, and gazed with a curiouswild expression of countenance--still shrewd, still cunning, buthardly sane; and then he laughed aloud, and, rising from his chair,exclaimed:
"Why, this is well. Why, this is mighty well! We'll march ten thousandmen on York, to-morrow, and then to Middleham.--We'll have cannon too,ay, cannon too, lest the usurper should refuse to give up the boy.Why, he is the son of a king, a prince--a prince, I tell you, Lovel,the dog--Ha, ha, ha! That was a merry distich--
'The cat, the rat, and Lovel, the dog, Rule all England under the hog.'
But we paid the poet handsomely. Kings should be always bountiful topoets. Good Sir John Collingburn, he little thought that he should behanged for the cat, drawn for the rat, and quartered for Lovel thedog--Ha, ha, ha! It is very good."
At that moment, the queen's lips moved; and, raising her eyes towardsheaven, she began to sing a sweet and plaintive air, in a very musicalvoice:
"The castle stood on a hill side, Hey ho, hey ho, And there came frost in the summer tide, Hey ho, the wind and the snow.
"A boy looked from the casement there, Hey ho, hey ho, And his face was like an angel's fair; Hey ho, how the violets grow.
"The snow, it fell on his golden hair, Hey ho, hey ho, And the wind has blighted the flower so fair, Hey ho, the flower's laid low."
"I think I'll go to bed, ladies. It is growing dark; but this nightgear is somewhat stiff and cold, and I think it is dabbled withblood--Blood, blood, blood! Yes it is blood!" and she uttered a loudscream. [2]
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[Footnote 2: For an account of the terrible effect--approaching tomadness--of the death of Edward, Prince of Wales, upon Richard III.and his queen, see the history of Croyland Abbey.]
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In the midst of this distressing scene Lord Lovel stood like onebewildered; and he noted not that, while the king was speaking,another person, none of the ordinary attendants had entered the room.Now, however, Sir Charles Weinants pulled him by the sleeve, saying,in a low voice: "I ought to speak with the king immediately; but heseems in no fit state, my lord. What is all this?"
"Hush, hush," said Lovel, in a whisper. "Go into the closet. I willcome and speak with you, for I have full instructions. The king isindisposed, with the sad news from Middleham. He will soon be better.I will join you in a minute. Your business will bear no delay."
Thus saying, he turned to the king again; and Sir Charles Weinants,with a slow and quiet step, crossed the hall, and, proceeding throughthe short corridor I have mentioned, reached the king's closet. Hethere found Sir John Thoresby, writing diligently; and the lattermerely raised his head for an instant, gave a brief nod, and resumedhis occupation. Sir Charles Weinants, ever discreet, walked to thewindow, and looked out; for, as I have before said, there weremanifold papers and letters on the table, and he knew that it wasdangerous even to let the eye pause upon any of Richard's secrets. Hewaited there with persevering patience, saying not a word to Sir JohnThoresby, and never turning round his head, till Lovel entered theroom, at the end of about ten minutes, and boldly dismissed thesecretary for a few moments.
"Now, Sir Charles," said the king's favourite. "His grace, thankHeaven, is somewhat better, and will soon be well. We have persuadedhim to let blood; for his spirits are too much oppressed. This is asevere blow, the death of the young prince, and will make many changesin the realm. You received the king's letter?"
"In safety, my good lord," replied Sir Charles, "but not the letterwhich was to have followed, informing me whether the Duke of Bretagnewould receive me on this errand or not."
"How is that?" exclaimed Lord Lovel. "We sent it to York, thinking tofind you there;" and he laid his hand upon his brow and thought."Ratcliff, in his last letter, received but this morning, assured methat he had sent it on to you at Tamworth, by a trusty messenger, whowas passing from Scotland to the king. Now it should have reached yousome days ago, for Ratcliff thought we were at Coventry, and hisletter to me has gone round."
"It never reached me, my lord," replied Sir Charles Weinants, "and yetI made known my name and quality wherever I came, and bade my servantswatch well, in order that no news from the court might miss me."
"It must be inquired into," replied Level; "but in the mean time youmust hasten your departure; for I have seen the reply from Bretagne,and you will be received with all favour. Monsieur Landais is fullygained; and all that is required is some one to confirm the king'spromises, and give an earnest of his goodwill towards the duke. Youmust set out this very night. I trust by that time his grace will bewell enough to see you himself and give you his last instructions; forhis is not a mind to bend long, even under the burden cast upon it."
These words seemed intended to conclude the conversation; but SirCharles Weinants still stayed and mused. At length he looked up inLovel's face with a smile, saying, "I always love to be successful inmy negotiations; and methinks this young vapouring earl may takefright when he hears of my coming. Were it not better to go with themost perfect secrecy?"
"Nay, that would be hardly possible," answered Lovel; "but we havebeen thoughtful. You must go in some sort as a fugitive. A report hasalready been spread that you are suspected by the king. Measures willbe taken to strengthen the belief; and, while you bear full powers ashis envoy, and the money for Landais, you must quit the court suddenlyby dark; and with a small train affect to seek refuge in Britanny. Thenews of your disgrace has gone before; but good Monsieur Landais ismade aware of the truth, and prepared to receive you."
Sir Charles Weinants was not altogether well pleased with thearrangement; but he was discreet--very discreet; and he did not thinkfit to make any objection. However, he knew there could be no harm inestablishing a claim where none previously existed; for he was wellawar
e that great men are ever ready enough to deny a claim, whether itexists or not. He therefore said quietly, "The king's will, of course,I submit to without a murmur, my good lord; but it is a veryunpleasant sort of reputation for an ambassador to appear with, thatof a fugitive and a traitor; and I trust that his grace will, rememberthat I take upon myself such a character solely in obedience to hiscommands."
"You shalt not be forgotten, Sir Charles," replied Lovel,entertaining, but not uttering, precisely the same sentiment which wasafterwards boldly propounded by a vast-minded but little-spirited mannamely, that "to submit to indignities is the way to rise todignities."
"The king never neglects," he said, "those who place themselves inpainful situations for his service. And now, Sir Charles, prepare,prepare--but quietly; never forgetting that your preparations are tobe those of a fugitive. The ambassador is to come after, you know.When you have Harry of Richmond firm in your grasp, the splendour ofyour train shall efface the memory of its scantiness now. Hark! Thereis the king's voice, and his step coming hither. Do not wait or takeany notice. I dare say the barber is here to bleed him."[3]
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[Footnote 3: Richard's attempt to obtain possession of the person ofRichmond by bribing Landais, the duke of Britanny's minister, is toowell known to need particular notice.]
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The next instant Richard entered the closet, and Sir Charles Weinantspassed him, bowing low and reverently. But the king took no farthernotice of him than merely by giving a slow and inquiring glance, fromunder his bent brows, at the face of his envoy; and then seatinghimself in a chair, he suffered one of two persons who followed himinto the room to withdraw his arm from his doublet, thebarber-surgeon, who was close behind, directing the valet particularlyto give him the left arm, as that was nearest to the heart. Theservant then held a silver basin, while the operator made hispreparations and opened a vein. During all this time Richard utterednot a word, but sat with his brows contracted, and his dark thoughtfuleyes fixed upon vacancy, till the sombre red bleed began to flow forthfrom the vein; and then he turned his look upon the stream, and seemedto watch it curiously. At length, he lifted his right hand to hishead, saying, "I am better--open the window. Give me air;" and theservant instantly hurried to obey his commands. The barber sufferedthe blood still to flow on, for a little while, and then bound up theking's arm.
"I am better," said Richard. "I am better;" and, stretching forth hishands, he added, in an imperative tone. "Leave me--all leave me! I ambetter--I would be alone."
The whole party hastened to obey, and, as soon as they were gone,Richard, the iron-spirited relentless Richard, placed his hands beforehis eyes, and wept. It is a terrible sight to see a man weep at anytime. What must it have been to see tears forced from such a heart asRichard's!