It was the Countess' wish that the betrothal should remain secret for the
present, and therefore none but Their Majesties and Sir John de Bury were
acquainted with it. The old Knight, when approached by De Lacy on the
subject, had clapped him heartily on the shoulder.
"Take her, lad," he exclaimed; "and be worthy, even as I think you will.
The King, himself, has spoken in your behalf . . . to say naught of the
maid herself. But by St. Luke! this fortune will bring its drag. The
Countess has had too many suitors for the favored one to escape unhated.
Nay, do not shrug your shoulders . . . or, at least, there is no harm in
shrugging if your wit be keen, your dagger ever ready, and your arm
strong. Remember, De Lacy, that you are a stranger, high in favor with
the King, and that Beatrix has broad acres as well as a fair face."
"And also that there is a certain, flat-nosed, red-haired knave at large,
who, perchance, may honor me, even as he did you."
"Spare him, lad, spare him for me! . . . Yet if he should come under
your sword, put a bit more force in the blow for my sake."
"Trust me for that. . . I shall split him six inches deeper--and tell
him why as I do it."
"It will make me still more your debtor. By the Holy Evangels! if I were
assured the Abbot Aldam of Kirkstall had aught to do with that attack
upon me, I would harry his worthless old mummery shop so clean a mouse
would starve in it."
"Hark you, Sir John," said Aymer, "I may resign the Flat-Nose to you, but
I shall claim a hand in that harrying business if the time ever ripen."
"Sorry the day for the Cistercian when we batter down his gates," the old
Knight laughed, yet with a menacing ring in his words.
"Sorry, indeed, for those on the other side of the gates," came a voice
from behind the arras, and the King parted the hangings. . . . "Though
may I ask whose gates are in to be battered and for what purpose?"
"The gates of Kirkstall Abbey, under certain conditions, so please Your
Majesty," said De Bury.
Richard elevated his eyebrows ever so slightly.
"And the conditions?" he asked.
"Proof that the Abbot Aldam was concerned in a recent murderous assault
upon me, or that he harbors a certain flat-nosed ruffian who led it," Sir
John replied.
"Methinks you told me of this matter at the time," addressing De Lacy.
"Yes, my liege,--at Leicester."
Richard nodded. "Perchance, Sir John, you may solve the riddle some day,
and by way of Kirkstall: though it were not best to work sacrilege.
Mother Church is holy with us yet awhile, and must needs be handled
tenderly. Nathless, there is no hurt in keeping a close watch upon the
Cistercian."
"And if it should be that he plots treason against the King of England?"
De Bury queried.
Richard smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
"In that event," he said, "there will be a new mitre to fit at
Kirkstall. . . And mon Dieu! John, how would you like to wear it?"
De Bury raised his hands in horrified negation. "Now God forefend that
I, in my old age, should come to that. Better take De Lacy; he is young
and blithesome."
"By St. Paul! John, best not tell your niece you sought to turn De Lacy
monk!" . . . then went on: "Two days hence we fare Northward, but without
Her Majesty, who will join us later . . . at Warwick likely. To you, Sir
John, I give command of her escort . . . De Lacy, you will ride with me.
But of this, more anon," and he moved away--then stopped and said
sternly: "Sir Aymer, go to the Queen and say to her it is my command
that, until we depart, you walk with the Countess of Clare on the
terrace, or ride with her, or do whatever you two may wish." And then he
laughed.
On the following Thursday, being the thirteenth of July, Richard departed
from Windsor, and behind him rode the most imposing and gorgeous
cavalcade that ever accompanied a King of England in a peaceful progress
through his realm. There, gleamed the silver bend of Howard on its
ground of gules; the red chevron of Stafford in its golden field; the
golden fess of De la Pole amid the leopard faces; the three gold
stagheads of Stanley on the azure bend; the gold bend of Bolton, Lord of
Scrope; the gold and red bars of Lovell; the red lion of De Lisle ramping
on its field of gold; the sable bend engrailled of Ratcliffe; the red
fess and triple torteaux of D'Evereux, Lord Ferrers of Chartley; the
sable twin lions of Catesby; the golden chevron of Hungerford; the red
engrailled cross and sable water bougets of Bourchier; and a score of
others equally prominent and powerful. And with every Baron were his
particular retainers; but varying in number up to the three hundred that
wore the Stafford Knot and ruffled themselves as scarce second even to
the veterans of the King himself.
Richard was mounted on "White Surray," the famous war horse that he rode
first in the Scottish War, and was to ride for the last time in the
furious charge across Redmore Plain on that fatal August morning when the
Plantagenet Line died, even as it had lived and ruled--hauberk on back
and sword in hand. He wore no armor, but in his rich doublet and
super-tunic of dark blue velvet with the baudikin stripes on the sleeve,
he made as handsome and gallant a figure as one was wont to see, even in
those days of chivalry. And no reign, since his protonymic
predecessor's, gave promise of a brighter future. The people had
accepted him without a murmur of dissatisfaction, well pleased that there
was to be no occasion for the riot of factions and favorites that a child
King always engenders. England had known Richard of Gloucester, even
since his boyhood, as a strong man among strong men--a puissant knight,
an unbeaten general, a wise counsellor, a brilliant administrator; in all
things able, resourceful, proficient; combining, as it were, in the last
of the Angevines, all the keen statesmanship, stern will, and fiery dash
of the great House that had ruled England for three hundred turbulent
years.
Since the evening in London when Buckingham had quitted the castle in
anger at the denial of the De Bohun inheritance, the matter had not been
mentioned between them; nor did the Duke know that Richard had ever heard
of his outburst. Yet it is sure that from that moment they had
distrusted each other, though they varied not a jot their former bearing.
Stafford remained at Court in constant attendance, and the King continued
to grant him substantial favors and honors, and this day, as they rode
side by side toward Reading (as well as until Buckingham turned aside at
Gloucester for his demesne of Brecknock), the most astute observer could
not have detected in the frank cordiality of their manner, the faintest
trace of unfriendliness on the part of either.
The King had thrown aside his haughty reserve, and laughed and chatted
gayly with those about him. Toward the inhabitants, who were gathered in
crowds along the highways, he was very gracious, doffing bonnet to the
curtsies of the women, and acknowledging with a gracious sweep of his arm
and hand the respectful salutations of the men. And many were the
enthusiastic cries of "God save the King!" or "God save Your Majesty!" or
"God save King Richard!" And they came from the solitary individual as
well as from the multitude; from the laborers in the country as well as
from the tradesmen and artificers in the hamlets and small towns.
It was near evening on the twelfth day after leaving Windsor that the
tall towers of Warwick Castle loomed in the distance, the giant "Caesar"
rising high above its huge brothers, the "Gateway" and the "Grey," and
casting its grim shadow far across the country-side. During much of this
day's journey Richard had been very quiet, riding with his head sunk on
his breast; and observing this, his attendants, save only the particular
Knight of the Body on duty, gradually drew further behind so that their
talk would not annoy him. At intervals he summoned one or more of them,
but after a short time his interest waned, his abstraction returned, and
like discreet courtiers, they quickly dropped again to the rear. As they
neared the fortress he roused himself, and when the bombard on the wall
roared out the royal salute he waved his suite to him. At the same time
Sir William Catesby, who had gone on in advance from Worcester the
previous day, came galloping to meet them with Sir James Gascoyne, the
Constable of the Castle.
Richard supped alone that evening; and then for a while he paced the
floor in meditation, pausing finally at the open window. Presently he
struck the bell.
"Who waits?" he asked.
"Sir Aymer de Lacy and Sir Ralph de Wilton," replied the page.
"De Lacy," he said. . . "Come hither," as Aymer entered; "a crowded
courtyard always entertains me. . . Sometimes much may be learned from
it; and this is very active now. Have you ever seen one so bright and
busy?"
"But once before in England, Sire."
"Where?"
"At Pontefract! the night I first met the Duke of Gloucester."
"Aye, that may be true--it was crowded in those days. . . Pardieu! it is
scarce three months since then--and yet . . . Holy Paul, what, changes!"
He half closed his eyes in retrospection. . . "It is marvellous what
memory can show us in an instant," he said, and turning sharply from the
casement struck the bell again. . . "Summon the Lord Steward," he
ordered . . . then, to De Lacy, when the page had gone: "And do you
attend to what is said and pay no regard to Stanley's glances of
uneasiness. . . You understand?"