Part 12 (1/2)
”Certes, a small favour to so deserving a youth. I will see to his deputy.”
”A word with you, Hastings,” said Montagu, thoughtfully, and he drew aside his fellow courtier: ”what thinkest thou of this Burgundy b.a.s.t.a.r.d's visit?”
”That it has given a peac.o.c.k's strut to the popinjay Anthony Woodville.”
”Would that were all!” returned Montagu. ”But the very moment that Warwick is negotiating with Louis of France, this interchange of courtesies with Louis's deadly foe, the Count of Charolois, is out of season.”
”Nay, take it not so gravely,-a mere pastime.”
”Hastings, thou knowest better. But thou art no friend of my great brother.”
”Small cause have I to be so,” answered Hastings, with a quivering lip. ”To him and your father I owe as deep a curse as ever fell on the heart of man. I have lived to be above even Lord Warwick's insult. Yet young, I stand amongst the warriors and peers of England with a crest as haught and a scutcheon as stainless as the best. I have drunk deep of the world's pleasures. I command, as I list, the world's gaudy pomps, and I tell thee, that all my success in life countervails not the agony of the hour when all the bloom and loveliness of the earth faded into winter, and the only woman I ever loved was sacrificed to her brother's pride.”
The large drops stood on the pale brow of the fortunate n.o.ble as he thus spoke, and his hollow voice affected even the worldly Montagu.
”Tush, Hastings!” said Montagu, kindly; ”these are but a young man's idle memories. Are we not all fated, in our early years, to love in vain?-even I married not the maiden I thought the fairest, and held the dearest. For the rest, bethink thee,-thou wert then but a simple squire.”
”But of as ancient and pure a blood as ever rolled its fiery essence through a Norman's veins.”
”It may be so; but old Houses, when impoverished, are cheaply held. And thou must confess thou wert then no mate for Katherine. Now, indeed, it were different; now a Nevile might be proud to call Hastings brother.”
”I know it,” said Hastings, proudly,-”I know it, lord; and why? Because I have gold, and land, and the king's love, and can say, as the Centurion, to my fellow-man, 'Do this, and he doeth it;' and yet I tell thee, Lord Montagu, that I am less worthy now the love of beauty, the right hand of fellows.h.i.+p from a n.o.ble spirit, than I was then, when-the simple squire-my heart full of truth and loyalty, with lips that had never lied, with a soul never polluted by unworthy pleasures or mean intrigues, I felt that Katherine Nevile should never blush to own her fere and plighted lord in William de Hastings. Let this pa.s.s, let it pa.s.s! You call me no friend to Warwick. True! but I am a friend to the king he has served, and the land of my birth to which he has given peace; and therefore, not till Warwick desert Edward, not till he wake the land again to broil and strife, will I mingle in the plots of those who seek his downfall. If in my office and stated rank I am compelled to countenance the pageant of this mock tournament, and seem to honour the coming of the Count de la Roche, I will at least stand aloof and free from all attempt to apply a gaudy pageant to a dangerous policy; and on this pledge, Montagu, I give you my knightly hand.”
”It suffices,” answered Montagu, pressing the hand extended to him. ”But the other day I heard the king's dissour tell him a tale of some tyrant, who silently showed a curious questioner how to govern a land, by cutting down, with his staff, the heads of the tallest poppies; and the d.u.c.h.ess of Bedford turned to me, and asked, 'What says a Nevile to the application?' 'Faith, lady,' said I, 'the Nevile poppies have oak stems.' Believe me, Hastings, these Woodvilles may grieve and wrong and affront Lord Warwick, but woe to all the pigmy goaders when the lion turns at bay!”
With this solemn menace, Montagu quitted Hastings, and pa.s.sed on, leaning upon Marmaduke, and with a gloomy brow.
At the gate of the palace waited the Lord Montagu's palfrey and his retinue of twenty squires and thirty grooms. ”Mount, Master Marmaduke, and take thy choice among these steeds, for we shall ride alone. There is no Nevile amongst these gentlemen.” Marmaduke obeyed. The earl dismissed his retinue, and in little more than ten minutes,-so different, then, was the extent of the metropolis,-the n.o.ble and the squire were amidst the open fields.
They had gone several miles at a brisk trot before the earl opened his lips, and then, slackening his pace, he said abruptly, ”How dost thou like the king? Speak out, youth; there are no eavesdroppers here.”
”He is a most gracious master and a most winning gentleman.”
”He is both,” said Montagu, with a touch of emotion that surprised Marmaduke; ”and no man can come near without loving him. And yet, Marmaduke (is that thy name?)-yet whether it be weakness or falseness, no man can be sure of his king's favour from day to day. We Neviles must hold fast to each other. Not a stick should be lost if the f.a.got is to remain unbroken. What say you?” and the earl's keen eye turned sharply on the young man.
”I say, my lord, that the Earl of Warwick was to me patron, lord, and father, when I entered yon city a friendless orphan; and that, though I covet honours, and love pleasure, and would be loth to lift finger or speak word against King Edward, yet were that princely lord-the head of mine House-an outcast and a beggar, by his side I would wander, for his bread I would beg.”
”Young man,” exclaimed Montagu, ”from this hour I admit thee to my heart! Give me thy hand. Beggar and outcast?-No! If the storm come, the meaner birds take to shelter, the eagle remains solitary in heaven!” So saying, he relapsed into silence, and put spurs to his steed. Towards the decline of day they drew near to the favourite palace of the Archbishop of York. There the features of the country presented a more cultivated aspect than it had hitherto worn. For at that period the lands of the churchmen were infinitely in advance of those of the laity in the elementary arts of husbandry, partly because the ecclesiastic proprietors had greater capital at their command, partly because their superior learning had taught them to avail themselves, in some measure, of the instructions of the Latin writers. Still the prevailing characteristic of the scenery was pasture land,-immense tracts of common supported flocks of sheep; the fragrance of new-mown hay breathed sweet from many a sunny field. In the rear stretched woods of Druid growth; and in the narrow lanes, that led to unfrequent farms and homesteads, built almost entirely either of wood or (more primitive still) of mud and clay, profuse weeds, brambles, and wild-flowers almost concealed the narrow pathway, never intended for cart or wagon, and arrested the slow path of the ragged horse bearing the scanty produce of acres to yard or mill. But though to the eye of an economist or philanthropist broad England now, with its variegated agriculture, its wide roads, its white-walled villas, and numerous towns, may present a more smiling countenance, to the early lover of Nature, fresh from the child-like age of poetry and romance, the rich and lovely verdure which gave to our mother-country the name of ”Green England;” its wild woods and covert alleys, proffering adventure to fancy; its tranquil heaths, studded with peaceful flocks, and vocal, from time to time, with the rude scrannel of the shepherd,-had a charm which we can understand alone by the luxurious reading of our elder writers. For the country itself ministered to that mingled fancy and contemplation which the stirring and ambitious life of towns and civilization has in much banished from our later literature.
Even the thoughtful Montagu relaxed his brow as he gazed around, and he said to Marmaduke, in a gentle and subdued voice,- ”Methinks, young cousin, that in such scenes, those silly rhymes taught us in our childhood of the green woods and the summer cuckoos, of bold Robin and Maid Marian, ring back in our ears. Alas that this fair land should be so often dyed in the blood of her own children! Here, how the thought shrinks from broils and war,-civil war, war between brother and brother, son and father! In the city and the court, we forget others overmuch, from the too keen memory of ourselves.”
Scarcely had Montagu said these words, before there suddenly emerged from a bosky lane to the right a man mounted upon a powerful roan horse. His dress was that of a substantial franklin; a green surtout of broadcloth, over a tight vest of the same colour, left, to the admiration of a soldierly eye, an expanse of chest that might have vied with the mighty strength of Warwick himself. A cap, somewhat like a turban, fell in two ends over the left cheek, till they touched the shoulder, and the upper part of the visage was concealed by a half-vizard, not unfrequently worn out of doors with such head-gear, as a shade from the sun. Behind this person rode, on a horse equally powerful, a man of shorter stature, but scarcely less muscular a frame, clad in a leathern jerkin, curiously fastened with thongs, and wearing a steel bonnet, projecting far over the face.
The foremost of these strangers, coming thus unawares upon the courtiers, reined in his steed, and said in a clear, full voice, ”Good evening to you, my masters. It is not often that these roads witness riders in silk and pile.”
”Friend,” quoth the Montagu, ”may the peace we enjoy under the White Rose increase the number of all travellers through our land, whether in pile or russet!”
”Peace, sir!” returned the horseman, roughly,-”peace is no blessing to poor men, unless it bring something more than life,-the means to live in security and ease. Peace hath done nothing for the poor of England. Why, look you towards yon gray tower,-the owner is, forsooth, gentleman and knight; but yesterday he and his men broke open a yeoman's house, carried off his wife and daughters to his tower, and refuseth to surrender them till ransomed by half the year's produce on the yeoman's farm.”
”A caitiff and illegal act,” said Montagu.
”Illegal! But the law will notice it not,-why should it? Unjust, if it punish the knight and dare not touch the king's brother!”
”How, sir?”
”I say the king's brother! Scarcely a month since, twenty-four persons under George Duke of Clarence entered by force a lady's house, and seized her jewels and her money, upon some charge, G.o.d wot, of contriving mischief to the boy-duke. [See for this and other instances of the prevalent contempt of law in the reign of Edward IV., and, indeed, during the fifteenth century, the extracts from the Parliamentary Rolls, quoted by Sharon Turner, ”History of England,” vol. iii. p. 399.] Are not the Commons ground by imposts for the queen's kindred? Are not the king's officers and purveyors licensed spoilers and rapiners? Are not the old chivalry banished for new upstarts? And in all this, is peace better than war?”
”Knowest thou not that these words are death, man?”
”Ay, in the city! but in the fields and waste thought is free. Frown not, my lord. Ah, I know you, and the time may come when the baron will act what the franklin speaks. What! think you I see not the signs of the storm? Are Warwick and Montagu more safe with Edward than they were with Henry? Look to thyself! Charolois will outwit King Louis, and ere the year be out, the young Margaret of England will be lady of your brave brother's sternest foe!”
”And who art thou, knave?” cried Montagu, aghast, and laying his gloved hand on the bold prophet's bridle.
”One who has sworn the fall of the House of York, and may live to fight, side by side, in that cause with Warwick; for Warwick, whatever be his faults, has an English heart, and loves the Commons.”
Montagu, uttering an exclamation of astonishment, relaxed hold of the franklin's bridle; and the latter waved his hand, and spurring his steed across the wild chain of commons, disappeared with his follower.
”A st.u.r.dy traitor!” muttered the earl, following him with his eye. ”One of the exiled Lancastrian lords, perchance. Strange how they pierce into our secrets! Heardst thou that fellow, Marmaduke?”
”Only in a few sentences, and those brought my hand to my dagger. But as thou madest no sign, I thought his grace the king could not be much injured by empty words.”
”True! and misfortune has ever a shrewish tongue.”
”An' it please you, my lord,” quoth Marmaduke, ”I have seen the man before, and it seemeth to me that he holds much power over the rascal rabble.” And here Marmaduke narrated the attack upon Warner's house, and how it was frustrated by the intercession of Robin of Redesdale.
”Art thou sure it is the same man, for his face was masked?”
”My lord, in the North, as thou knowest, we recognize men by their forms, not faces,-as in truth we ought, seeing that it is the sinews and bulk, not the lips and nose, that make a man a useful friend or dangerous foe.”
Montagu smiled at this soldierly simplicity. ”And heard you the name the raptrils shouted?”
”Robin, my lord. They cried out 'Robin,' as if it had been a 'Montagu I or a 'Warwick.'”
”Robin! ah, then I guess the man,-a most perilous and stanch Lancastrian. He has more weight with the poor than had Cade the rebel, and they say Margaret trusts him as much as she does an Exeter or Somerset. I marvel that he should show himself so near the gates of London. It must be looked to. But come, cousin. Our steeds are breathed,-let us on!”
On arriving at the More, its stately architecture, embellished by the prelate with a facade of double arches, painted and blazoned somewhat in the fas.h.i.+on of certain old Italian houses, much dazzled Marmaduke. And the splendour of the archbishop's retinue-less martial indeed than Warwick's-was yet more imposing to the common eye. Every office that pomp could devise for a king's court was to be found in the household of this magnificent prelate,-master of the horse and the hounds, chamberlain, treasurer, pursuivant, herald, seneschal, captain of the body-guard, etc.,-and all emulously sought for and proudly held by gentlemen of the first blood and birth. His mansion was at once a court for middle life, a school for youth, an asylum for age; and thither, as to a Medici, fled the letters and the arts.
Through corridor and hall, lined with pages and squires, pa.s.sed Montagu and Marmaduke, till they gained a quaint garden, the wonder and envy of the time, planned by an Italian of Mantua, and perhaps the stateliest one of the kind existent in England. Straight walks, terraces, and fountains, clipped trees, green alleys, and smooth bowling-greens abounded; but the flowers were few and common: and if here and there a statue might be found, it possessed none of the art so admirable in our earliest ecclesiastical architecture, but its clumsy proportions were made more uncouth by a profusion of barbaric painting and gilding. The fountains, however, were especially curious, diversified, and elaborate: some shot up as pyramids, others coiled in undulating streams, each jet chasing the other as serpents; some, again, branched off in the form of trees, while mimic birds, perched upon leaden boughs, poured water from their bills. Marmaduke, much astonished and bewildered, muttered a paternoster in great haste; and even the clerical rank of the prelate did not preserve him from the suspicion of magical practices in the youth's mind.
Remote from all his train, in a little arbour overgrown with the honeysuckle and white rose, a small table before him bearing fruits, confectionery, and spiced wines (for the prelate was a celebrated epicure, though still in the glow of youth), they found George Nevile, reading lazily a Latin ma.n.u.script.
”Well, my dear lord and brother,” said Montagu, laying his arm on the prelate's shoulder, ”first let me present to thy favour a gallant youth, Marmaduke Nevile, worthy his name and thy love.”
”He is welcome, Montagu, to our poor house,” said the archbishop, rising, and complacently glancing at his palace, splendidly gleaming through the trellis-work. ”'Puer ingenui vultus.' Thou art acquainted, doubtless, young sir, with the Humaner Letters?”