From this moment Gloucester moved with no uncertain nor halting steps
toward the object of his ambition. With the death of Hastings was
removed the only man in England who might have blocked his purpose
through either power or ability; and he and Buckingham were left free
to play out to its end the wonderful game that won a kingdom without a
single disturbance or the drawing of a sword. The moves followed one
another in bewildering rapidity, yet with such consummate skill, that
when in the great chamber of Baynard's Castle the final offer of the
Crown was made, and the Lord Protector with seeming diffidence accepted
it on Stafford's urging, it appeared but a natural consequence of
spontaneous events, brought about only by the force of circumstances
and through no deliberate human agency.
In some of these events Sir Aymer de Lacy was an actor, while in others
he was but a spectator or bore no part at all. From the grim
death-scene in the Tower he had gone back to Crosby Hall and a long
talk with Sir John de Bury, wherein he learned what had brought the old
Knight so hastily to London and the Lord Chamberlain to the block; and
which, ere nightfall, was to send Sir Ralph de Wilton galloping back to
Pontefract, bearing an order constituting the Earl of Northumberland
Lord High Steward, and directing the trial of Rivers, Grey and Vaughan
for the same crime that had proven Hastings' doom: conspiracy against
the Lord Protector. He had chanced to ride by St. Paul's Cross while
Dr. Shaw was in the midst of his sermon on "Bastard slips shall not
take deep root." He had gone with Buckingham to the Guild Hall two
days later; had listened with strong approval to the speech wherein
Stafford boldly advocated the setting aside of the young Edward in
favor of his uncle; and had lent his own voice to the cry: "King
Richard! King Richard!" He had witnessed the tender at Baynard's
Castle and the halting acceptance by the Duke--had heard the heralds
proclaim the new King in the streets of London--and had seen him ascend
the marble seat at Westminster and begin the reign that promised so
bright a future. He had ridden in the cavalcade that accompanied the
King from the Tower on the Saturday preceding the formal coronation,
and had formed one of the throng that participated in the gorgeous
ceremony of that July Sunday, when all the power of England's nobility
passed from the Palace to the Abbey to honor him who was to be the last
of his Line.
Never for generations was England to see such a gathering of her Peers
and Barons and Churchmen as walked in that procession. There, was the
huge Northumberland, fresh from Pontefract--where but a week aback he
had sent Rivers and his friends to the headsman--now bearing Mercy's
pointless sword; Stanley (his peace made by empty words) with the Mace;
Suffolk with the Sceptre; Norfolk, Earl Marshal of the Realm, with the
Crown; and Richard himself, in purple gown and crimson surcoat; the
Bishop of Durham on his right and the Bishop of Bath on his left; and
behind him, bearing his train, the Duke of Buckingham. . . And then
the Queen's attendants: Huntington with her Sceptre; Lisle with the Rod
and Dove; Wiltshire with her Crown. She, herself, paler than pearls
and fragile as Venetian glass, yet calm and self-contained, moved
slowly in the heavy royal robes; and after her walked Margaret,
Countess of Richmond and mother of him who next would wear the crown,
the usurping Tudor.
And then the throne was reached--the music swelled in solemn
chorus--the aged Primate raised the crown and placed it on Richard
Plantagenet's head--the "Te Deum" rolled out in thunderous tones--and a
new King reigned in England.
It was in the late afternoon of the following day that De Lacy,
strolling along Bishopgate Street, chanced upon Sir John de Bury near
the White Hart Inn, the newest and most popular hostelry in London.
"By St. Luke," Sir John exclaimed, "you are a welcome sight. Come and
drink a measure of Burgundy, and I will tell you a bit of news."
They pushed their way through the motley throng in the main room and,
coming upon the landlord, were conducted with many bows and smiles to a
retired corner and in a moment the wine was set before them. Sir John
lifted high the vessel and watched the heavy liquid fall. Then taking
a sip he let it run slowly down his throat.
"Not bad, by half," he said, smacking his lips with the air of a
connoisseur, and drained his cup at a draught. "What think you of the
Coronation?"
"It was a noble spectacle, and a proper act for England."
"Aye, it was--yet I would that Hastings and not Stanley had borne the
Mace."
"And that Stanley had been sent in Hastings' place to Chapel Green?" De
Lacy asked.
"By St. Luke, yes!" said Sir John instantly; then he leaned over and
put his hand on Aymer's shoulder--"and truly, it was a gallant thing
you and De Wilton did that mournful morning. Has Gloucester--the King,
I mean--said aught to you of it, or has it not reached his ears?"
De Lacy laughed. "He knew it ere he left the Tower, but he found no
fault with us."
"And if I know Richard, he liked you both the better for it. . . Here,
fellow, another measure of wine, and see that it be of the same
barrel. . . These rogues need watching else will they serve poorer
stuff the second time, as you have likely noticed."
"Human nature, and innkeepers' nature in particular, does not change
between Dover and Calais; yet they would hardly do us the discourtesy
to think that our heads muddled so easily."
"Nay, lad, I was but following my motto that it is better to warn
before the fight than after."
"Did you warn before the fight in Yorkshire?"
"By St. Luke! there was the fitting moment for the motto, but the
villains would give me no breathing space to speak. And that reminds
me: do you recall the smooth-tongued Abbot of Kirkstall?"
"In truth, I do," said Aymer. "The most inquisitive monk I have
chanced upon in many a day."
"Well, the notion grips me hard that the Abbot Aldam could tell some
tales about that little incident, and violate no secret of confessional
either. There have been strange rumors lately touching his Abbey and
the style of servitors it employs at times."
"Then we at least decreased their numbers--but one escaped, if I
remember rightly," Aymer replied.
"Aye--one; but it is enough. Some day I may chance upon him and
then . . . I shall know the story."
"Can you recognize the rogue?"
"Instantly. I marked him well, for I had wounded him in the face by a
thrust he turned but half aside. A short, thick-set, red-haired knave,
with a nose as flat as a sword blade."
"I shall not forget," said Aymer, "and mayhap I may find the story for
you. But it occurs to me you spoke of a bit of news."
"By St. Luke, yes! I nigh forgot it, yet it would have mattered
little. It is only that I ride North two days hence."
"To Craigston Castle?"
"The same, unless I meet with misadventure on the way."
"In the guise of a flat-nosed, red-haired knave," said Aymer with a
laugh.
"A pleasant misadventure, truly! Though, were there any likelihood of
that, you would best accompany me and save me from the rogue a second
time."
"Nay, my lord, an old bird is not caught twice in the same snare. I
scarce fancy you will be surprised a second time, or that he will again
venture voluntarily within your reach."
"Then you may not be persuaded to go with me?"
De Lacy shook his head. "I fear I am not open to persuasion; I could
not leave the Court at present."
"It is a pity," said Sir John, as he flung the score on the table and
arose, "for I had thought the Countess of Clare might like to have you
with us. But of course, if the King cannot spare you, there is an end
to the matter."
De Lacy looked at the old Knight quizzically for an instant and then
laughed frankly.
"It was not fairly done, Sir John," he said; "you caught me foul--you
asked first, and reasoned only after I was helpless."
"Well, there is no crime in reconsidering. Will you come?"
"If the King will grant me leave, I shall fare with you."
"With me or with the Countess?" Sir John laughed.
Upon leaving De Bury, Sir Aymer de Lacy bent his steps to Baynard
Castle, where the King had come that evening.
At the main door he encountered the Duke of Buckingham in company with
Sir William Stanley and was passing them with a courteous salutation
when Stafford caught his arm.
"Here, De Lacy," he exclaimed--and Aymer saw he was excited and angry,
"you know all the facts! Tell Sir William who is most responsible for
the crowning of Gloucester . . . who sent him message to
Pontefract . . . who joined him at Northampton . . . who has done all
the open work here in London?"
"Nay, Stafford," broke in Stanley, "be not so wrathful. Doubtless His
Majesty will be most fair and liberal in the matter. Give him time to
feel his crown."
"Time!" retorted the other. "Time! He has had time and to spare. Am
I not co-heir to De Bohun through Aleanore, Hereford's daughter, and
will Richard of Gloucester think to retake what Henry of Monmouth
abjured? By the Lord Omnipotent, let him dare it!"--and with a
fiercely menacing gesture he stalked into the courtyard, and springing
to horse rode noisily away followed by his attendants.
"His Grace appears a trifle annoyed," said De Lacy.
Sir William Stanley shrugged his shoulders. "It would seem so; yet it
were unwise to parade it. However, Buckingham was ever hasty of
temper."
"Nathless, the question was embarrassing and I would not care to answer
it before a Stanley," Aymer reflected, as he ascended the stairs to the
presence chamber.
Baynard Castle, though large and roomy for a nobleman's town residence,
was not suited to the needs of a monarch, and as the Court was about to
move from Westminster to Windsor, Richard had brought only a few of his
favorite Knights and personal attendants with him for the short time he
intended to tarry in London. When De Lacy entered the Hall, Richard
was not in presence, and lounging at ease on the numerous bancals were
some of the minor officers of the Household. He made his way by them
to join a group that was gathered about the Duke of Norfolk, when
immediately there was a touch upon his arm, and a page summoned him to
the King.
Richard was standing at an open window that overlooked the courtyard.
He turned as De Lacy entered and demanded abruptly:
"What said Buckingham and Stanley yonder?"
Aymer was too used, by this time, to Richard's ways to be surprised,
and he repeated the conversation as accurately as his memory held it
and without comment.
The King listened with half-closed eyes, an inscrutable smile upon his
lips.
"It may happen, De Lacy," he said, "that there will come a time when
you must choose between Henry Stafford and Richard Plantagenet."
"Not so, Sire," Aymer replied. "As against Your Majesty there can
never be a choice for me."
Richard looked him straight in the eyes. "I believe it," he said. "I
would there were more De Lacys."
Aymer bowed low. "Your Majesty is very gracious; and it encourages me
to prefer a request."
"Say on, sir," the King said kindly.
"I would ask a few weeks' leave from Court."
"Wherefore?"
"To accompany Sir John de Bury to Craigston; and to stop at my own
castle of Gaillard on my return."
Richard laughed lightly. "It is granted, and may success attend you,"
he said. "And by St. Paul! if you win the Countess you shall wed her,
else I am not King of England."
De Lacy blushed like a girl, and the King laughed more heartily.
"Methinks Sir John is friendly to you," he added, "and in that you are
very fortunate. But you have rivals in plenty, so watch them
carefully. Remember, I do not make the match, but should you two wish
it, none shall make it otherwise."
"Perchance some day I may remind Your Majesty of those words," said De
Lacy.
"And shall find me ready to fulfill them, though I bring an army at my
back. . . If need be, you are now excused from attendance until you
return, but report to me to-morrow night; I may have some service for
you on the journey. . . Announce me."
Swinging back the door, Aymer lifted the arras.
"The King!" he heralded.
Instantly quiet reigned and every one sprang to his feet and uncovered.
"Be seated, gentlemen," said the King. . . "Ah! Norfolk, a word with
you," he said, and led the way to a large window in a far corner of the
apartment.
"Well, Howard," said he, "the break with Stafford nears--though it
comes quicker than I had thought. Were you here when he left me?"
"In sooth, yes, and he was wildly angry. He overtook the younger
Stanley at yonder door and his words were high enough to carry back,
though not distinguishable."
"I know their import. De Lacy met him in the courtyard, and was
appealed to to tell who made Gloucester King."
"The man is a fool or crazy," the Duke exclaimed; "and thrice so to
make a Stanley his confidant. Methought he would have got a little
wisdom lately by association with Your Majesty."
"Nay, Stafford has no statecraft in him and can learn none."
"Yet it would seem he deems himself a second Kingmaker," the Earl
Marshal remarked sententiously.
"Let him beware then lest he meet a Warwick's death--or one less noble."
"But, Sire, do you trust entirely this De Lacy if Buckingham grow
discontent? Was he not first vouched for by him?"
"Did you ever hear of a De Lacy untrue to England's King?"
"By the Rood, no! they were ever stanch for him who wore the
crown--even as Howard has been."
"And I trust De Lacy as I trust Howard," with the winning smile he
could use so well when he wished.
The old Peer bent knee and made to kiss the royal hand.
"Not so, John," said Richard, raising him; "let that go save where
ceremony demand it. Your honest grip makes faith enough for
Gloucester."
After some serious consultation Norfolk took his leave, and Richard,
passing on to his apartments and to the window that overlooked the
courtyard, watched him ride off to his own abode. Then with serious
face he turned away.
"Norfolk and Surrey are trustworthy," he said half aloud, "but who else
of the Peers? . . . By St. Paul! it would seem well to finish Edward's
business of snuffing out the old Nobility. Yet I have no Teuton and
Tewkesbury to work an opportunity, nor are the Yorkists united behind
me. . . It is a hard problem; and the way through is far from
clear. . . Buckingham--the Stanleys--Northumberland--all their
friends--I trust them not . . . yet must favor them with power that ere
long may work my ruin. . . It has become fashionable in England it
would seem, since the Second Richard's time, to crown a new King ere
the old one died. It was so with him of Bordeaux--of Windsor--and my
own dear nephew--and pardieu! it may be the same with me. Yet, no! By
St. Paul, no! If that time ever come, there shall be a change in the
fashion: when the new King feels his crown, Richard of Gloucester will
be dead."