A spirit fit to start into an empire,
And look the world to law.
He, full of fraudful arts,
This well-invented tale for truth imparts--Dryden.
We must now for a while change our place of action, and endeavour to
carry the mind of the reader from the sweeter and more tranquil scenes
of Richmond Park, one of the most favoured residences of Henry the
Eighth, to York Place, the magnificent dwelling of that pampered child
of fortune, Cardinal Wolsey.
His progress, his power, and his fall; his arrogance, his splendour,
and his vices; all the many changes that may be traced to his
government of the realm, or to his artifices with the king, and of
which to this day we feel the influence--changes which, though
beneficial in their effects, like many of our most excellent
institutions, originated in petty passions or egregious errors; in
short, all his vast faults and his vast powers have so often called
the eyes of the world to the proud prelate, that he seems hardly one
of those remote beings which the cloud of past centuries has shadowed
with misty indistinctness. His image, as well as his history, is
familiar to the mind's eye. He lives, he moves before us, starting out
from the picture of the times of old to claim acquaintance with our
memory, as something more tangibly real than the vague, undefined
forms that float upon the sea of history. Such skilful pens also have
depicted him in every scene and situation, that it becomes almost
unnecessary, and, perhaps, somewhat presumptuous, to say more
concerning him than that which strictly interweaves itself with the
web of this tale.
York Place, which, as every one knows, was afterwards called
Whitehall, though it offered an appearance very different from the
building at present known by that name, stood nearly on the same spot
which it now occupies. Surrounded by splendid gardens, and ornamented
with all that the arts of the day could produce of luxurious or
elegant, so far from yielding in any degree to the various residences
of the king, it surpassed them all in almost every respect. The
combination, also, of ecclesiastical pomp with the magnificence of a
lay prince, created in the courts and round the gates of the palace a
continual scene of glitter and brilliancy. Whether it were deputations
from abbeys and monasteries, the visits of other bishops, the
attendance of noblemen and gentlemen come to pay their court, the halt
of military leaders with their armed bands, prepared for service and
waiting for command, still bustle, activity, and splendour were always
to be met with in the open space before the building on every morning
when the fineness of the weather permitted such display. There were to
be seen passing to and fro the rich embroidered robes of the clergy,
in all the hues of green and purple and of gold; the splendid liveries
of the cardinal's own attendants, and of the followers of his
visitors; the white dresses of the soldiery, traversed with the broad
red cross of England; the arms of the leaders, and the many-coloured
housings of the horses; while above the crowd was often displayed the
high-wrought silver cross or the glittering crook of bishop or mitred
abbot, borne amongst banners, and pennons, and fluttering plumes.
It was on a morning when the scene before the palace was full of more
than usual life, owing to the arrival of the cardinal the night before
from York (which was, be it remarked, one day earlier than he had been
expected), that Sir Payan Wileton rode through the crowd to the grand
entrance. He was followed by ten armed attendants, the foremost of
whom were Cornishmen, of that egregious stature which acquired for
their countrymen in the olden time the reputation of sprouting out
into giants. These two Sir Payan had sent for expressly from his
estates in Cornwall, not without a purpose; and now, having dressed
them in splendid liveries, he gave orders for his train to halt at
such a distance as to be plainly visible from the windows of the
palace.
Dismounting from his horse at the door, he gave him to his page, and
entering the hall passed through the crowd of attendants with which it
was tenanted, and mounted the grand staircase with that sort of slow,
determined step which is almost always to be found in persons whose
reliance on their own powers of mind is founded in long experience and
success.
The number of people whom he met running up and down the wide
staircase, with various papers in their hands, announced at once the
multitude of affairs which the cardinal was obliged to despatch after
his long absence at York, and foreshowed some difficulty in obtaining
an audience. Here was a sandalled monk, slowly descending from what
seemed some disappointed suit; there, a light courtier hurrying
forward in fear of being too late; now, the glad look of a satisfied
applicant; now, the vexed mien of one whose expectations were delayed;
while, ever between, the familiar servants of the place glided to and
fro on their various errands, passing coldly amongst that crowd of
throbbing bosoms as beings apart, whose feelings had no community with
the hopes, the fears, the wishes, and all the thronged emotions which
were then excited or destroyed.
Following one of these into the waiting-hall at the top of the
staircase, Sir Payan found it crowded almost to suffocation with
persons staying for an audience, either from Wolsey himself or from
one of his secretaries. Above their heads appeared a misty atmosphere
of condensed human breath, and all around was heard the busy buzz of
many voices murmuring in eager but whispered consultation.
The hall was a large chamber, cutting directly through the centre of
the house, with a high Gothic window at each end, to the right and
left of which, at both extremities, appeared a door. The one opposite
to that by which Sir Payan entered stood open, though a small wooden
bar prevented the entrance of the crowd into the room beyond, which
was occupied by six or seven ordinary clerks, busily employed in
filling up various papers, and speaking from time to time to the
persons who presented themselves on business. At each of the doors, at
the other end of the room, stood an usher with his rod and a marshal
with his staff, opposing the ingress of any but such as the highest
rank or personal interest entitled to enter beyond the porch of the
temple; for there the right-hand path led to the privy chambers of
Wolsey himself, and the left to the offices of his principal
secretaries. It was round this left-hand door that the crowd took its
densest aspect; for many, who were hopeless of obtaining a hearing
from the cardinal himself, fondly flattered themselves that their
plaint or petition might reach his ear through his secretary, if,
either by bribe or flattery, they could secure the interest of the
secondary great man.
Winding in and out through the meandering path left by the various
groups in the hall, Sir Payan approached the door which led to the
cardinal's apartments, and demanded admission. There was something in
his tone which implied right, and the usher said, if he would give his
name he would inquire, though an applicant who had remained long
unlistened to audibly murmured his indignation, and claimed to be
admitted first.
Sir Payan turned to look at him while the usher was gone, and at once
encountered the eyes of a near neighbour of his own, who, under his
fostering care, had dwindled from a rich landholder to a poor farmer,
and thence had sunk to beggary, while his possessions, one by one, had
merged into the property of Sir Payan, which, like the Norwegian
whirlpool, seemed to absorb everything that came within its vortex. No
sooner did the old man's eyes fall upon his countenance, and behold
who it was that kept him from the light, than, giving way to his rage,
he clasped his hands, and, stamping upon the ground, cursed him before
all the multitude, with the energy of despair.
Sir Payan cast upon him a cold look, mingled of pity and contempt, and
passed through the door, which the usher now held open for his
entrance. The room at which he arrived was a large ante-room, occupied
by various groups of lords and gentlemen attached to the household of
the cardinal, who, prouder than royalty ever needs to be, would at
least be equal with the king himself in the rank of his various
officers. These were scattered about in various parts of the room
talking with the select visitors whom the ushers had permitted to
enter, or staring vacantly at the figures on the rich tapestry by
which they were surrounded, wherein, though scrutinised a thousand
times, they still found sufficient to occupy their idle eyes, while
waiting till the minister should go forth. With almost every one he
saw Sir Payan was in some degree acquainted; but in their bow or
gratulation, as he passed, there was none of the frank, cordial
welcome of regard or esteem: it was simply the acknowledgment of a
rich, powerful man, whose only title to reverence was in his influence
and his wealth.
About the centre stood Lord Darby, and to him Sir Payan approached
with a "Good morrow, my good lord!"
"Sir!" said the earl, looking him steadfastly in the face for a
moment; then, turning on his heel, he walked to the other end of the
room. Nothing abashed, Sir Payan kept his ground, tracing the young
lord with his eyes, in which no very amicable expression was visible;
and then, after a moment, he approached a small table, near the door
of the minister's cabinet, whereat was seated a clerk, whom, as it so
happened, Sir Payan himself had recommended to the cardinal.
"Can his grace be spoken with, Master Taylor?" demanded the knight, as
the clerk bowed low at his approach.
"He is busied, honoured sir," replied the man, with a second profound
reverence, "in conversation with the prior of his abbey of St. Albans
on matters of deep importance----" A loud laugh from the chamber
within reached Sir Payan's ear, through the door by which he stood;
but he took no notice of this comment on the important business which
Wolsey was transacting, and the clerk went on. "I am sorry to say,
sir, also, that there are five or six persons of distinction who have
waited on his grace's leisure for near an hour."
"But the cardinal sent for me," said Sir Payan; "and besides----" And
he whispered something to his former servant which seemed convincing.
In a minute or two after, the door opened, and the prior of St. Albans
issued forth. Rustling up to the table in his rich silk robes, he said
to the clerk, in a low and important voice, "His grace commands you to
send in the person of the highest rank that came next."
"Well, holy father," said the clerk rising; and then, appearing to
search the room with his eyes, he waited till the prior was gone,
when, turning to Sir Payan, he added in a loud voice, "Sir Payan
Wileton, the lord cardinal is waiting for you."
The knight instantly proceeded to the door, which was opened by one of
the ushers who stood near; and passing on, he found himself directly
in the presence of the cardinal, who, seated in a chair of state,
waited the next comer, with a countenance prepared to yield a good or
bad reception, according to his rank and purpose.
He was, at that time, not apparently much above fifty-five; tall,
erect, and dignified; with a face replete with thought and mind, and a
carriage at once haughty and graceful. His dark eye was piercing and
full of fire; and lurking about the corners of his mouth might be seen
the lines of unbounded pride, striven against and repressed, but still
existing with undiminished force. The robes of bright scarlet satin,
which he wore without any other relief than a tippet of rich sables,
made his cheek look almost ashy pale; and the shade of the broad hat
which covered his brow gave an air of pensive solemnity to his
features, which, joined with the fire of his eye, the pride of his
lip, and the knowledge of his power, invested his presence with an
impressiveness not devoid of awe.
As Sir Payan entered, Wolsey's brow gradually contracted into a frown;
and fixing his glance full upon him, he let him stand for several
moments before he motioned him to a seat. At length, however, he
spoke.
"Sir Payan Wileton," said he, "I have sent for you to speak on many
subjects that may not be very agreeable for you to discuss. However,
as they concern the welfare of society and the fame of the king's
justice, they must be inquired into; nor must any man's rank or wealth
shelter him from the even eye of equity."
"Your grace hardly does me justice," replied Sir Payan, resolving to
keep to vague professions till he had ascertained, as far as possible,
what was passing in Wolsey's mind. "Had I been unwilling to discuss
any part of my conduct with your grace, should I have importuned your
gates every day for the last week in hopes of your return? and if, on
the most minute investigation, I found any of my acts which would not
meet the eye of equity itself, should I voluntarily present myself
before the Cardinal of York?"
"You were sent for, Sir Payan," replied Wolsey. "Last night the
messenger set out."
"By your grace's pardon," said the knight, "if you but calculate, you
will find that I could not have come from a far part of Kent in so
short a space of time. It is true that I have received the packet, but
that was only by sending last night to know if you had then returned.
My servant met your messenger at the very door, and received the
letter intended to be sent to Chilham. But every day, as I have told
your grace, since I have risen from a bed of sickness, where a cross
accident had thrown me, I have not ceased to seek your presence on
business of some import."
Wolsey, long accustomed to encounter every species of wily art, was
not to be led away by the exhibition of a new subject; and pursuing
his first object, he proceeded:--
"We will speak of that anon. At present, it is my task to inform you,
sir, that various are the complaints, petitions, and accusations
against you, that daily reach my hand. And many prayers have been
addressed to his royal grace the king, by the very best and noblest of
the land, to induce him to re-establish the house of Fitzbernard in
the lordship and estates of Chilham Castle. All these things have
led me to inquire--as indeed is but my duty as chancellor of this
kingdom--into the justice of your title to these estates, when I find
that the case stands thus: the Earl of Fitzbernard, in the last year
of his late majesty's reign, was accused by those two infamous
commissioners, Empson and Dudley, and was, upon the premises,
condemned to the enormous fine of one hundred thousand pounds, under
the penal statutes; and, as a still further punishment for some words
lightly spoken, the king, then upon his death-bed, recalled the
stewardship of Dover Castle, which involved, as was supposed, the
forfeiture of Chilham Castle and its lands. Was it not so?"
"It was so far, your grace," replied Sir Payan; "but allow me to
observe----"
"Hush!" said the cardinal, waving his hand; "hear me, and then your
observations, if you please. Such being the case, as I have said, and
the wide barony of Chilham supposed to be vacant, the stewardship of
Dover Castle, with those estates annexed, is bestowed upon you: how,
or why, is not very apparent, though the cause alleged is service
rendered in the time of Perkyn Warbeck. Now it appears, from some
documents placed in the hands of Lord Dacre, of the north, by the Duke
of Buckingham, that Chilham Castle was granted to Fulbert de Douvre,
at a period much subsequent to the grant of the stewardship of Dover;
that it was totally distinct, and held by tenure of chivalry, in fee
and unalienable, except under attainder or by breach of tenure. What
say you now, Sir Payan?"
"Why, simply this, your grace," replied Sir Payan, boldly: "that the
good Duke of Buckingham--the noble Duke of Buckingham, as the commons
call him--seems to be nearly as much my good friend as he is to the
king, his royal master, or to your grace;" and, knitting his brow and
clenching his teeth, he fixed his eyes upon the rose in his shoe,
remaining sternly silent, to let what he had said, and what he had
implied, work fully on the mind of the cardinal.
Wolsey's hatred to the princely Buckingham was well known, and Sir
Payan easily understood that hatred to be the most maddening kind,
called jealousy; so that not a word he had said but was meted to the
taste and appetite of the cardinal with a skilful hand. The minister's
cheek flushed while the knight spoke; and when, after implying by
tone, and look, and manner, that he could say more, Sir Payan suddenly
stopped, and bent his eyes upon the ground, Wolsey had nearly burst
forth in that impatient strain of question which would have betrayed
the deep anxiety he felt to snatch at any accusation against his noble
rival. Checking himself, however, the politic churchman paused, and
seemed to wait for some further reply, till, finding that Sir Payan
still maintained his silent attitude of thought, he said--
"Have you any reason, sir, to suppose that the duke is ill-disposed
towards his grace the king? Of myself I speak not. His envy touches me
not personally; but where danger shows itself towards our royal
master, it becomes a duty to inquire. Your insinuations, Sir Payan,
were strong: you should be strongly able to support them."
"I know not, your grace," replied the knight, with the unhesitating
daring that characterised all his actions, "how far a man's loyalty
should properly extend; but this I know, that I am not the tame and
quiet dog that fawns upon the hand that snatches its mess from before
its muzzle. What I know, I know; what I suspect remains to be proved;
but neither knowledge, nor suspicion, nor the clue to guide judgment
through the labyrinth of wicked plotting, will I furnish to any one,
with the prospect before my eyes of being deprived, for no earthly
fault, of my rightful property, granted to me by the free will of our
noble king Henry the Seventh."
An ominous frown gathered upon Wolsey's brow, and fain would he have
possessed the thunder to strike dead the bold man who dared thus to
withhold the information that he sought, and oppose him with
conditions in the plenitude of his power.
"You are gifted with a strange hardihood, sir," cried he, in a voice,
the slight trembling of whose tone told the boiling of the soul
within. "Did you ever hear of misprision of treason--say?"
"I have, your grace," replied Sir Payan, whose bold and determined
spirit was not made to quail even before that of Wolsey. Acting,
however, coolly and shrewdly, he was moved by no heat as was the
cardinal; and though calculating exactly the strength of his position,
he knew that it was far from his interest to create an enemy in the
powerful minister, who, sooner or later, would find means to avenge
himself. At the same time, he saw that he must make his undisturbed
possession of Chilham Castle the price of any information he could
give, or that he might both yield his secret and lose his land. "I
have heard, your grace," he said, "of misprision of treason, but I
know not how such a thing can affect me. First, treason must be
proved; then it must be shown that it was concealed with full
knowledge thereof. Doubts and suspicions, your grace knows, are not
within the meaning of the law."
Sir Payan paused, and Wolsey remained in silence, as if almost
disdaining to reply. The knight clearly saw what was passing in his
mind, and continued, after an affectation of thought, to give the
appearance of a sudden return of affectionate submission to what he
was about to say.
"But why, your grace, why," cried he, "cast away from you one of your
most faithful servants? Why must it be, when I have waited at your
door day after day, to give you some information, much for the state's
and for your grace's benefit to know, that the very first time I am
admitted to your presence, I find my zeal checked and my affection
cooled by an express intention to deprive me of my estates?"
"Nay, Sir Payan," said Wolsey, glad of an opportunity of yielding,
without compromising either pride or dignity, "no such intention was
expressed. You have mistaken entirely: I only urged these reasons,
that you might know what had been urged to me; and I was about to put
it to you what I could do if the young Lord Darnley came over to this
country and claimed these estates; for, probably, the old earl will
not have energy enough to make the endeavour. What could I do, I say?"
"Let him proceed by due course of law, my lord," replied Sir Payan,
the calculation in whose mind was somewhat to the following effect,
though passing more rapidly than it could when embodied in
words:--"Before his claim is made in law (thought he) he shall taste
of the axe of the Tower, or I am mistaken. However, I will not let
Wolsey know who he is, for then my interest in the business would be
apparent, and I could claim no high recompense for ridding myself of
my own enemy. No; I will crush him as Osborne Maurice, a perfect
stranger to me: then will my zeal seem great. Pride will prevent him
from owning his name till the death; and if he does own it, his coming
here concealed, joined to the crimes that I will find means to prove
against him, shall but make him appear the blacker." Such was the
train of thought that passed instantly through his mind; while, with
an affectation of candour, he replied, "Let him proceed by due course
of law, my lord; then, if he succeed, let him have it, in God's name.
All I ask is, that your grace will not moot the question; for one word
of the great Wolsey throws more weight into one or other of the scales
of justice than all the favour of a dozen kings."
Wolsey was flattered, but not deceived. However, it was his part not
to see, at least for the time; and though he very well understood that
Sir Payan would take special means to prevent the young lord from
seeking justice by law, he replied, "All that I could ever
contemplate, Sir Payan, was to do equal right to any one that should
bring his cause before me. It is not for me to seek out occasions for
men to plunge themselves in law; and be you very sure, that unless the
matter be brought before me in the most regular manner, I shall never
agitate the question, which is one that, even should it be discussed,
would involve many, many difficulties. From what I say now you may
see, sir, that your haste has hurried you into unnecessary disrespect,
which, heaven knows, I feel not as regards my person, but as it
touches my office I am bound to reprove you."
"Most deeply do I deplore it," replied Sir Payan, "if I have been
guilty of any disrespect to one whom I reverence more than any other
on the earth; but I think that the information which I have to
communicate will at least be some atonement. I have then, my lord," he
proceeded, lowering his voice--"I have then discovered, by a most
singular and happy chance, as dangerous a conspiracy as ever stained
the annals of any European kingdom; and I hold in my hand the most
irrefragable proofs thereof, together with the names of the principal
persons, the testimony of several witnesses which bears upon the
subject, and various letters which are in themselves conviction. I
will now, with your grace's leave----"
At that moment one of the ushers opened the door of the cabinet, and
with a profound reverence informed Wolsey that the Earl of Knolles
desired to know when he could have an audience, as he had been waiting
long without.
"Ha! What!" exclaimed the cardinal, his eye flashing, and his lip
quivering with anger at the interruption; "am I to be disturbed each
moment? Tell him I cannot see him; I am busy; I am engaged; occupied
on more important things. Were he a prince I would not see him. And
you, beware how you intrude again! Now, Sir Payan, speak on. This is
matter of moment indeed. What was the object of this conspiracy?"
"Nothing less, I can conceive, my lord, than to make the commons
dissatisfied with the government under which they live; to incite them
to various insurrections, and, if possible, into general rebellion,
under favour of which my Lord Duke of Buckingham might find his way to
the throne: at least, there are fixed his eyes."
"Ha, ha! my proud Lord of Buckingham!" cried Wolsey, with a triumphant
smile. "What! hast thou wired thine own feet? But you say you have
proofs, Sir Payan. We must have full proof; but you are not a man to
tread on unsteady ground: your proofs are sure?" he reiterated, with a
feverish sort of anxiety to ascertain that his rival was fully in his
power.
"In the first place, read that, my lord," said Sir Payan, putting in
his hand one out of a bundle of papers that he had brought with him.
"That is the first step."
"Why, what is this?" cried Wolsey. "This is but 'the deposition of
Henry Wilson, of Pencriton, in the duchy of Cornwall, who maketh oath
and saith, that the prisoner Osborne Maurice, _alias_ Sir Osborne
Maurice, is the man whom he saw at the head of the Cornish miners in
insurrection, on the 3rd of January last, and who incited them, by
cries and words, to burn and destroy all that came in their way, till
they should have satisfaction in everything that they required; but
for the further acts of the said Osborne Maurice, he, the deponent,
begs leave to refer to his former depositions, taken before Sir John
Balham, knight, of the city of Penzance, in Cornwall; only upon oath
he declareth, that the said Osborne Maurice, now present, is the
ringleader or conductor of the mob mentioned in his former deposition,
in witness whereof----' Ha!" said Wolsey, thoughtfully; "there is one,
I find, of this same name, Sir Osborne Maurice, who, during my
absence, has crept into the king's favour. Surely it may be the same!"
"On my life, my lord, the very same!" replied Sir Payan. "'Twas but
the morning before last, that, at the justs at Richmond, I saw him
with our noble king, his chosen companion, with the Duke of Suffolk,
to keep the barriers against all comers; and there he ruffled it
amongst the best, swimming, as 'twere, on the top of the wave."
"Then will we lay this on his head," said Wolsey, placing his
forefinger emphatically on the paper, "and that shall sink him. But
how does this touch the Duke of Buckingham?"
"Your grace shall hear," replied Sir Payan. "This Wilson, who made
the deposition you there hold, came to me one day in the last of
March--you must know he is my bailiff--and told me a sad story of his
woeful plight; how in a cottage hard by he had met the man whom he had
seen burn down his father's house in Cornwall, and who was there
employed in the same devilish attempt to instigate the peasants to
revolt. Wilson, it seems, accused him; whereon, being a most powerful
and atrocious traitor, he struck the bailiff to the ground, and left
him for dead. This being sworn on oath before me, as a magistrate, I
sent forth and had the villain arrested, after a most desperate
struggle. With the intention of sending him to Cornwall, I had him
committed to the strong room of the manor; but somehow, during the
night, he contrived to escape through a window, and made his way to
the court----"
"But still, Sir Payan," interrupted the cardinal, "this does not
implicate the Duke of Buckingham, who, as I have good reason to
believe, is but a scant lover of our royal king, and towards myself
bears most inveterate malice. I have heard many a rumour of his plots
and schemes. But it is proof, Sir Payan; it is proof that we must
have."
"And proof your grace shall have," replied the knight, counting the
hatred that Wolsey bore towards the duke as his own gain, and enjoying
the inveteracy of his malice not only with the abstract satisfaction
of fellow-feeling, but as a fisherman delights to see the voracious
spring of the trout at the fly he casts before his snout. "Let your
grace listen to me; for my story, though somewhat long, is
nevertheless conclusive. This Osborne Maurice, in his escape, left
behind him the leathern horsebags with which he rode when he was
taken, and, in my capacity as magistrate, I made free to open
them----"
"You did right, you did right!" cried Wolsey, almost forgetting his
dignity in eagerness. "What did you find? Say, Sir Payan! What did you
find?"
"I found several letters from his grace the Duke of Buckingham,"
answered Sir Payan, "being principally written to bring this Sir
Osborne Maurice to the knowledge of persons about the court,
recommending him as one that _may be trusted_. Your grace will mark
those words, '_may be trusted_.' But amongst the rest was one which
shows for _what_ he may be trusted. Behold it here, my lord! You know
the duke's hand and style;" and he presented the letter to Wolsey.
The cardinal snatched it eagerly; but remembering himself, he turned
more composedly to the address, and read, "'Sir John Morton.' Ah!"
cried he. "So! an old Perkyn Warbeckist! the last I believe
alive. But for the contents: '_Trusty and well-beloved friend!_
'--um--um--um--'_everlasting friendship!_--of course, one traitor
loves another. But let us see. How! the daring villain! '_to
inform you, that before another year arrive, my head shall be the
highest in the realm, at least so promises Sir Osborne Maurice, whose
promises, as you know, are not such as fail!_' Ha, Sir Payan! ha! Did
you read it? This is treason, is it not? By my life, the duke's own
hand! But what says he farther? Ha! '_The butcher's cur Wolsey has
long wanted the lash, and he shall have it soon_.' See you how rank is
his malice! We will read no farther. This condemns him; and as for Sir
Osborne Maurice, to-night he shall have his lodging in the Tower."
"Though other proof might be deemed superfluous," said Sir Payan,
"yet, my lord, when I came to the part where he calls your grace a
butcher's cur" (and the knight dwelt somewhat maliciously on the
words), "my zeal and affection for your grace's service made me
instantly resolve to track this Osborne Maurice on his journey, after
escaping from prison. In person I could not do it, for a fall from my
horse laid me in my bed for three weeks. But I took care that it
should be done, and found that he returned straight to my Lord of
Buckingham's; from thence he went to the Benedictine Abbey at
Canterbury, where he seems to have been sent to escort a Lady Katrine
Bulmer to the court. Then, passing by Rochester, he had an interview
with the chief of the rioters at Hilham Green. Your grace will be at
no loss to know how, and by whom, that memorable tumult was
instigated. There he pretended to save a good simple priest from the
mob; but, by the clergyman's own account, they gave him up at a single
word from this Maurice, which shows what was his influence with them;
for they were, the moment before, about to hang the man they yielded
so quietly after. The priest is at my lodging here. This was the
traitor's last adventure before arriving at the court, where, either
by some sorcery or other damned invention, he has bewitched the better
judgment of the king, so that none is so well loved as he. Perhaps he
waits but an opportunity to put his dagger in our royal master."
"Heaven forbid!" cried Wolsey. "We will instantly set off for
Richmond. Without there! Let the barge be prepared directly: Sir
Payan, you have saved the realm, and may claim a high reward."
"The reward I most affect," replied the knight, in a well-acted tone
of moderation, "is simply to remain in quiet possession of that which
I have. Life is now wearing with me, your grace, and I covet not
greater charges than those which I enjoy. Let me but be sure of them."
"Rest tranquil on that point," replied Wolsey. "I will look thereto."
"There are, indeed," continued Sir Payan, "some hereditary estates,
which, though they should be mine, are held by another; and on that
score I may claim your grace's assistance before I endeavour to
recover them; for I put my whole actions in your grace's hands, that,
like a mere machine, I may move but as you please."
"What estates are these, Sir Payan?" demanded Wolsey, with something
very nearly approaching to a smile, at the peculiar line of the
knight's cupidity. "If they be truly yours, doubt not but you shall
have them."
"They are those estates in Cornwall," replied the knight, "lately held
by my cousin, the Earl de Grey, which have since passed to Constance,
his daughter; though, by all custom of succession, according to their
tenure, I hold them to pass directly in the male line."
"Nay, nay, Sir Payan," cried Wolsey, with a curl of his lip; "this is
too much! Constance de Grey is my ward, and shall not lose her estates
lightly. She is, indeed," added he, thoughtfully, and speaking to
himself more than to the knight, though not a word was lost to his
attentive ears; "she is, indeed, somewhat wilful. That letter, in
which she refuses to wed her cousin, though calm and humble, was full
of rank obstinacy. The fear of losing her estates, however----. But we
shall see. Sir Payan, I must hold my opinion suspended till such time
as you lay before me some proofs of the matter. And now tell me: think
you, in this plot of Buckingham's, is there any other person of high
rank implicated? Indeed there must be, for he would never undertake
such daring schemes without some sure abettors. Sir Payan, these lords
are all too proud. We must find means to humble them. It may be as
well to let this arch-traitor Buckingham proceed for some short time,
till we find who are his accomplices. But, for this Sir Osborne
Maurice, he shall to the Tower to-night, for therein is the king's
life affected."
"Might it not be better, in your grace's good judgment," said Sir
Payan, "to take the duke's person at once? For assuredly, as soon as
he hears that his minion is committed, he will become alarmed, and
find security in some foreign land."
"He shall be so well watched," said Wolsey, closing his hand tightly,
as if he grasped his enemy, "that were he no larger than a meagre
ermine, he should not escape me. No; we must let him condemn himself
full surely. But, Sir Payan, are you prepared to accompany me to
Richmond?"
"If by any chance this Maurice were to see me with your grace,"
replied Sir Payan, "he would lose no time, but fly instantly, before
you had speech of his grace the king. If you think it necessary, my
lord, that I should attend you, it may be well to arrest the traitor
immediately on your arrival."
"Nay, nay, nay!" said Wolsey, shaking his head. "You know not Henry,
Sir Payan; he is hard and difficult to rule, and, were I to arrest Sir
Osborne, would take for insult what was meant as a service. But you
shall not go: there is, indeed, no need. These papers are quite
enough, with the testimony of the priest. Let him be sent down
post-haste to Richmond after me."
"He shall, my lord," replied Sir Payan. "But one word more, your
grace. If the Duke of Buckingham be condemned, his estates, of course,
are forfeited to the crown. Near me lies his beautiful manor of the
Hill, in Kent, and I know your grace will not forget your faithful
servants." Wolsey paused, and Sir Payan went on. "To show how
constantly present your grace is to all my thoughts, you told me some
time ago that you desired to have two of the tallest men in the realm
for porters of the gate. Cast your eyes through that window, my lord,
and I think you will see two that no prince in Europe can match in his
hall."
No service that Sir Payan could have rendered, either to the state or
to himself, would have given half so much pleasure to Wolsey as the
possession of the two gigantic Cornishmen we have before mentioned;
for, amongst all his weaknesses, his passion for having tall men about
him was one of the most conspicuous. As soon as for a moment or two he
had considered them attentively through the window, and compared them
with all the pigmy-looking race around, he thanked Sir Payan with
infinite graciousness for his care; and hinted, though he did not
promise, that Buckingham's manor in Kent might be the reward. While he
yet spoke, a gentleman-usher entered, to announce that the barge was
ready; and, giving some more directions to Sir Payan, in regard to
sending the priest, Wolsey rose to proceed on his journey. The
procession, without which he never moved, was already arranged in the
ante-chamber, consisting of marshals and gentlemen-ushers, with two
stout priests bearing the immense silver crosses of his archbishopric
and his legacy; and the moment he moved towards the door, the ushers
pressed forward, crying, "On before, my lords and masters! on before!
Make way for the lord cardinal! Make way for my lord's grace! On
before! on before!"
Wolsey immediately followed, and proceeded to his barge; while Sir
Payan returned to his own house in Westminster, and despatched the
priest to Richmond, after which he sat himself down to write. What he
did write consisted of but a few lines, but they were of some import;
and as soon as they were finished, he entrusted them to one of his
shrewdest and most assured servants, with many a long direction, and
many an injunction to speed.