*CHAPTER IV.*
*WHAT CAME OF SELF-WILL.*
"Are not the worst things that befal us here, That seem devoid of meaning, or contain The least of love and beauty, those from which The heavenly Alchemist extracts the gold That makes us rich?" --REV. HORATIUS BONAR.
It was not in the old Castle in Sussex, the ancient home of the Earls ofArundel, that little Roger Mortimer found his home at first. The Earlwas about to reside for a time in Town. His city residence, BermondseyHouse, was situated on Fish Wharf, near to that delicious part of theCity of London now known as Billingsgate. It may be safely assertedthat no member of the English peerage would be likely to select thislocality in the present day for the site of his town house. But, fivehundred years ago, matters were very different, and the banks of theriver near London Bridge were pleasant and airy places. This was, infact, a fashionable part of the City: and here the premier Earl ofEngland held his court, almost rivalling that of the sovereign incostliness and magnificence. Little Roger, for the past year acomparatively lonely child, found himself suddenly transported into themidst of a large and lively family. Liveliness was not, indeed, acharacteristic of the Countess, a near relative of Roger, for her fatherand his grandfather were sons of one mother. She was a calm,imperturbable specimen of humanity, who spoke, moved, and thought, in aslow, self-complacent style, which would have sent an impatient personinto a passion.
The Earl was almost the antipodes of his wife. The Fitzalans of Arundelwere anything but faultless persons as a rule, but too much slowness andcaution were assuredly not among their failings. He was an extremelyclever man, gifted with much originality of conception, as well astalent in execution: not unamiable to those whom he loved, but capableof intense harshness, and even cruelty, where he hated. Energetic evento passion in everything which he did, a "whole man" to the one thing atthe one moment, capable of seeing very far into that which he chose tosee, but of being totally blind to that which he did not. Richard, Earlof Arundel, was one of the last men to whom such a charge as RogerMortimer ought to have been entrusted.
The family of this dissimilar pair amounted to five in number whenlittle Roger joined them. These were, Richard, a youth of sixteenyears; John, aged fourteen; Elizabeth, aged ten, and already married toRoger's cousin, William de Montacute; Alice, aged five; and Joan, agedthree. Both the boys were too old for Roger to feel much sympathy withthem, or they with him; while the girls, both as being younger, and asbeing girls, were in his eyes beneath his notice. He therefore remaineda speckled bird in the family, instead of amalgamating with it; a factwhich drew him closer, despite all inequalities of position, to the oneboy whom he did like, Lawrence Madison, the only one of his oldacquaintances who was permitted to accompany him to Bermondsey House.The Earl had meant to cut all the old ties; but little Roger pleadedhard for the retention of Lawrence, alleging truthfully that he playedat soldiers with him. It was just because this one item was so utterlyinsignificant that the Earl permitted it to escape the general doom: andthereby, little as he knew it, rendered inoperative all the rest of hiscautionary arrangements. It was Lawrence who helped Roger more than anyone else to keep true to his grandmother's early teaching. When Rogerwent astray, Lawrence either refused aid altogether, or went only so faras he thought right, and then stood like a granite rock, immovable bycommands or entreaties. When the former was less obstinate, and morecapable of being influenced, the look of earnest remonstrance inLawrence's eyes or even his disapproving silence, were often enough toturn away the versatile and sensitive mind of Roger from a project ofdoubtful character. The little servant did not appear to care for hardepithets, passionate words, or even blows, to which naughty Rogersometimes descended when his temper got the better of him: but he didcare deeply to see his little master do right and grow wiser. Theinfluence of the young Arundels--which was small, since Roger neverliked any of them--was often bad, and always doubtful: but Lawrencecould be relied upon as a force ever on the side of right, or at leastof that which he believed to be so.
It was Alice, the little girl of five years old, who had been solemnlyaffianced to young Roger Mortimer. She was the only one of the childrenwho in character resembled her mother, nor was this resemblance perfect.It made her physically idle, and mentally dull; but it did not save herfrom that moral intensity which was the characteristic of the Arundelfamily. In her, instead of expending itself in mental and physicalenergy as it did with most of them, it formed a most unhappy combinationwith those features inherited from her mother. Passionate with apassion which was weakness and not strength, with an energy which wasdestructive and not constructive, with a capacity for loving whichcentred in herself, and a perversity of will which only served to leadastray, she went to wreck early, a boat with no compass and no rudder.It was well for Roger Mortimer that however men might think to order hisfuture life, God had not destined Alice of Arundel for him.
It is scarcely necessary to say that notwithstanding the unctionwherewith the Earl had expatiated to Guenllian on his possession of aFrench Bible, he did not see the least necessity for bringing Roger incontact with that volume. He had indeed come upon certain passagestherein which he theoretically regarded with reverence as "good words,"but which he was nevertheless far from elevating into rules for hisdaily conduct. It never occurred to him that his Bible and his life hadanything to do with one another. He would have thought it as reasonableto regulate his diet by the particular clothes he wore, as to guide hisactions by that compilation of "excellent matter" upon which he lookedas supremely uninteresting and hardly intended for laymen.
About a week had elapsed since Roger became an inmate of the Earl'shousehold. He and Lawrence slept in a small turret chamber, with ayoung priest, by name Sir Gerard de Stanhope, whom the Earl hadappointed governor of his youthful ward. The boys, who went to bedearlier than the governor, very frequently employed the interval beforehis arrival, not in sleep, but in confidential conversation--the rathersince it was the only time of day when they could talk together withoutfear of being overheard.
"Lolly!" said Roger on the night in question. He lay in a blue silk bedembroidered with red and gold griffins; Lawrence in a little plaintrundle-bed which was pushed under the larger one in the day-time.
"My Lord?" obediently responded Lawrence.
"How doth this place like thee?"
"Please it your Lordship, it liketh me reasonable well," answeredLawrence, in a tone even less decisive than the words.
"It liketh me unreasonable ill," returned Roger in a voice wherein nowant of decision could be traced.
"What ails you thereat, my Lord?"
"Lolly, I like nobody here but thee."
"That grudgeth me, my Lord." By which Lawrence meant to say that he wassorry to hear it. "Loves not your Lordship neither my Lord nor my Lady?"
"My Lord's a big lion, and they sometimes bite and claw you. And myLady's a hen, and all she cares for is to snuggle her in the sand andcluck. Beside, she's a woman, and women be no good. I would there hadbeen some lads."
"So there be, saving your Lordship's pleasure."
"They aren't lads, they are men. My Lord Richard were not so ill, if hewere younger, but he is a grown man: and as to my Lord John, he dothnought but make mowes[#] at me. I tell thee, Lolly, there is nobodyhere, out-taken[#] thyself, that I would buy for a farthing."
[#] Grimaces.
[#] Except.
"Truly, I am sorry your Lordship is of such ill cheer."
"Lolly, what was it--didst hear?--that my Lord spake to Sir Gerard,mighty low, when thou and I were going forth of the chamber thismorrow?"
"I heard not all of it," said Lawrence. "Only it was somewhat touchingMistress Wenteline, that had desired your Lordship to be well learned inthe French Bible."
"Doth he look to cause me learn long tasks thereout by heart?" askedRoger, with a wry face. "I reckoned thou shouldst hear, for thou wertnearer than I."
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"In no wise, my Lord, so far as I might hear, for he bade Sir Gerardhave a care you touched it not."
"Then I'll read it right through!" cried Roger with childish perversity."That cannot be an ill deed, for my Lady my grandmother was set to haveme do the same."
Lawrence made no reply.
Though nothing on earth would have drawn the confession from him, yetfor all his expressed contempt for women, little Roger sorely missedGuenllian. She had been his virtual mother for so long that, suddenlydeprived of her, he felt like a chicken roughly taken from under thebrooding wings of the hen. He was far more inclined to respect herwishes than he would have been had she remained with him: and there wasalso a certain zest added by the instinctive knowledge that what wasgood in the eyes of Guenllian was not unlikely to be bad in those of myLord Arundel. Little Roger felt as if he had the pleasure of doingwrong, without the conscientious reaction which usually followed.
The impulsive little mind was made up that he would read that FrenchBible. That it was locked up in a tall press, at least four feet abovehis reach, was rather an additional incentive than a hindrance. To bealways on the watch for a possible leaving about of the keys formed anobject in life; and the subsequent scaling of the shelves like a cat wasdecidedly a pleasure to be anticipated. The keys were in charge of SirGerard, who was the Earl's librarian; and he put them every nightbeneath his pillow. He need not have taken the precaution, so far asRoger was concerned; for to possess himself of the keys by theft wouldhave been utterly dishonourable and unchivalrous in the eyes of thefuture knight. Yet with odd inconsistency--are we not all guilty ofthat at times?--he had no such scruple as to possessing himself of theBible, if he could only find the keys. But weeks went on, and thishoped-for discovery had not been made.
It came suddenly at last, when one morning the Earl had occasion to sendfor Sir Gerard in haste, at a moment when that gentleman, having justfinished his dressing, was about to put the usual contents into hispockets. He left the articles lying on the table, and hurriedly obeyedthe summons: which he had no sooner done than the small Earl of Marchpounced upon the keys. He had been watching the process withconsiderable fluttering of his little heart; the next moment the key ofthe press was slipped off the ring, and was safe at the bottom of hispocket. Lawrence looked on with very doubtful eyes, the expression ofwhich was easily read by Roger.
"Now, Loll, hold thy peace!" said he, though Lawrence had not uttered aword. "I must have it, and I will!"
It will easily be surmised that Roger's ambition involved no particulardesire of learning, least of all the study of divinity. The delight ofoutwitting the Earl and Sir Gerard was great; and the pleasure of doingsomething that Guenllian and his grandmother had wished him to do,deprived the action of all wrong in his eyes, and added to it asentimental zest. Had the two motives been weighed in a balance, thefirst would have proved the heavier.
The press containing the Bible stood in a large room which opened offthe hall. The expedition to secure it must remain a futuregratification for the present. If only Sir Gerard would not miss thekey! Was it safe to carry it in Roger's pocket? Roger consultedLawrence, who agreed with him that it was a serious risk to run. Headvised its restoration, but to that hypothesis his young master wouldnot listen for a moment.
The study of the garden wall now became sensationally interesting;likewise of sundry old trees within the enclosure. The alternativesseemed to have equal chances of adoption, when a little hole wasdiscovered in the wall, at the further end of the garden, delightfullyhidden by a small loose stone which just fitted nicely into the crevice.The key was safely concealed, and Roger, with the most angelic innocenceof face, returned to the house to repeat his Latin lesson to Sir Gerard.
Roger had been taught that to hide any thing from his confessor was asin of the most deadly type. Conveniently for him, his confessor was nothis tutor Sir Gerard, but the Earl's family chaplain, Friar ThomasAshbourne, a fat sleepy old priest, who never inflicted a penance thathe could help, and was more frequently than not employed in mentalwool-gathering during the process of confession, merely waking up topronounce the absolution at the close. It was not at all difficult toget on the blind side of this comfortable official, especially if amorning could be selected when his thoughts were likely to bepreoccupied with some subject interesting to himself.
Roger, having a very good idea what interested Dan Thomas, laid a trapto catch him for the next occasion of shrift. In order to do this, hehad first to catch the cook: and for that purpose, he must angle withthe master of the household, who happily for his object was agood-natured man, and liked children. Running through a gallery withthe hope of discovering him, he nearly fell over the person for whom hewas searching.
"Nay, now! what make you here, my Lord?"
"O Master Wynkfeld! I was a-looking for you. Pray you, let us have acapon endored[#] this even for supper, with _sauce Madame_."
[#] Larded.
The master of the household laughed. "At your Lordship's pleasure. Iwist not you loved capon so dear."
Nor did he: but Dan Thomas did. Little Roger stood on tiptoe, andpulled down the master to whisper in his ear.
"Look you, Dan Thomas loveth a capon thus dressed, and I would have himdo a thing for me that I wot of."
"Oho! is that it?" laughed the master. "Then be your Lordship assuredDan Thomas shall have the capon."
"With _sauce Madame_, look you!"
"With _sauce Madame_: good."
"But don't you tell!"
"Tell! Not I," responded the amused and good-humoured master: andlittle Roger scampered off.
An hour later, my Lord of March was summoned to be shriven. Havingknelt down in the confessional, and gabbled over the formal prelude tothe effect that he confessed his sins, not only to God, but to the mostblessed Lady St. Mary, to my Lord St. John the Baptist, my Lords SaintsPeter and Paul, and all the saints and saintesses in Heaven, littleRoger added at the conclusion, all in a breath, as if it were part ofthe _Confiteor_,--
"Father, I begged Master Wynkfeld to have for supper a capon endored,with _sauce Madame_, by reason I knew you loved it thus."
"That shall scantly be amongst thy sins, my son," answered Friar Thomas,jovially. "I thank thee: but keep thee now to the matter in hand."
Roger was doing that much more strictly than was ever supposed by FriarThomas, who was the most unsuspicious of men. He proceeded at once tothe catalogue of his sins, satisfied that they would now receive smallattention from the confessor. In silence, with as much rapidity and inas low a voice as he dared without exciting suspicion, Roger accusedhimself of having taken a key from the table and hidden it in the wall.What key it was, he was not careful to state; if the confessor wished toknow that, he could ask him the question. But at this point Roger'sheart gave a bound, for he was asked a question.
"Thou hiddest _what_ in the wall?"
"A key," mumbled Roger.
"A pea!" repeated the Friar, misunderstanding him, and not having muchcare to investigate. "No need to confess such like small matter, myson. Didst thou name _sauce Madame_ to Master Wynkfeld?"
"Oh yes, Father, twice over!" answered Roger eagerly.
"Good lad. Now keep thee to thy confession."
Which Roger diligently did for the rest of the time, and then, absolvedand "clean shriven," ran back to Lawrence in the highest glee.
"Now, Lolly, my sins be all clean gone. Go thou to shrift, and get ridof thine; and then, as soon as ever we can, we'll have yon big book."
It was about a week later that the desired opportunity at last occurred.The Earl had carried away Sir Gerard--for what purpose Roger neitherknew nor cared--and he and Lawrence had been bidden to play in thepress-chamber, and be good boys till they were called to supper. Nosooner were they safely shut in than Roger indulged in a gleefulchuckle.
"Look, Lolly!" said he, holding up the key. "I heard my Lord say to myLady that he should not be home ere supper-time, and I thought we m
ighthave luck, so I ran and fetched the key. Now for it! Set me that settleunder the press."
"But your Lordship cannot climb up yonder!" responded Lawrence, as heobeyed.
"I can do what I will!" said Roger stubbornly. "Nay, but look how thepress boweth outward! How shall you pass the same?"
The press, which was itself of wood, was built into the wall, in such amanner that the upper half projected further than the lower.
"Dost think a wooden press shall master _me_? I'll show him I'm hismaster!"
Roger sprang upon the settle, set one foot upon a carved boss, andclimbed up with sufficient agility till he was stopped by theprojection. No efforts could get him any higher. He returned to thesettle, looking considerably discomfited.
"I'll have it yet!" said he. "See, Lolly--if I could catch yonder greatbrass rod that sticketh out, I am sicker[#] I could climb up by that Ishall jump for it."
[#] Certain.
"Eh, good lack! do not so, my Lord! you shall hurt yourself greatly, ifyou have not a care."
"Thou go whistle for a fair wind! Here goes!" And little Roger,gathering all his forces, gave a wild upward leap from the settle,intent on catching the brass rod which was part of the ornamentation ofthe press, and was not very firmly fixed. To Lawrence's surprise, hecaught it; but the next moment the end of the rod came out in his hand,and the natural result followed. Down came the rod, and down cameRoger, overturning the settle, and bringing his head into violentcontact with the floor. There he lay stunned, with Lawrence looking athim in a terrible fright.
"Gramercy, what a to-do is here!" said the voice of Master Salveyn atthe door. "Were ye not bidden be good lads til!---- Mercy, Saint Mary!my Lord bleeds! How happened this?"
Lawrence tremblingly replied that he had been climbing, and had fallen.His own nerves had received a much worse shock than those of Salveyn.
"Good lack, will lads ever be out of mischief?" demanded that gentleman."Shut them up in a chamber where you should think none ill could hapthem short of earth-moving,[#] and ere you shall well have turned yourback, they shall be killing either themselves or one another! Run thouto call Mistress Grenestede, while I bear my young Lord to his chamber."
[#] Earthquake.
Lawrence rushed off for the middle-aged and useful person in question,the children's nurse, governess, prescriber, chemist, confectioner, andgeneral factotum: and in a few minutes Roger was laid in bed, andMistress Grenestede was bathing his injured head with warm water. Sheimproved the occasion by giving a lecture to Lawrence--who did not needit--on imprudence and rashness. But when time went on, and her littlepatient did not return to consciousness, Mistress Grenestede began tolook uneasy. A whispered consultation with Salveyn resulted in thesending of a varlet on some errand. Another half-hour elapsed withoutchange, and then Lawrence, standing beside his master's bed, half hiddenby the curtain, heard somebody say, "He is come." A step forward toenable him to see who it was, and a smothered exclamation of pleasurebroke from him. Master Salveyn was ushering in a priest in long blackrobe--all physicians were priests at that date--and though the new-comerfailed to recognise Lawrence, the boy knew him.
"Father Robesart! God be thanked!"
The priest heard him, and turned towards him.
"Who art thou, my son?"
Lawrence's delight overcame his shyness.
"Father Robesart, wit you not me? I am Lawrence, son of Nicholas,tanner, in the huts at Usk, that went away these two years gone. I badeyou farewell in the church aisle, and you blessed me, and told me Ishould pass word to you never to go any whither that I had not firstasked our Lord to be with me."
"Good, my son. I remember thee now, and will have more talk with theeanon. Now let me look on the sick child. Is it my little Lord ofMarch?"
"That is he, good Father."
"How gat he this hurt?"
Mistress Grenestede and Master Salveyn knew so little about it thatLawrence was called forward to say what he knew. His instinct told himthat it would be best to confess the whole truth to Father Robesart,which he did, thereby calling up a look on the face of his old friendwhich was a mixture of amusement and pity.
"Poor child!" he said softly, when Lawrence's story was told,--ratherastonishing Mistress Grenestede, that one of the first nobles in Englandshould be thought or called a poor child.
"Please it you, Father, did my Lord a wrong thing herein?" askedLawrence, timidly.
"I fear he did, my son."
Mr. Robesart said no more, but proceeded to his professional duties.When he had finished his examination of the patient, and had given hisinstructions to Mistress Grenestede--which involved some learnedreferences to the occultation of certain beneficent planets bymalevolent ones, and hints that the herbs prescribed were to be gatheredwith reference to the position of the sun with respect to the Zodiac--hecalled Lawrence out into the ante-chamber.