In the Painted Chamber of the Palace of Westminster the Court was
gathered. Through the great long room, amid the soft light of scores
upon scores of candles, moved the gorgeously attired throng--waiting
for the King whose usual hour of entrance was long since past. And
curiosity was rife, and uneasiness in the atmosphere.
For the times were sadly unsettled; and among those who had for an
instant hesitated between Tudor and Plantagenet--and their number was
not small--there was grave anxiety, lest their faint loyalty had come
to Richard's ears. And to such it was scarce a comforting reflection
that, in Exeter, the headsman had just done his grim work upon St.
Leger; albeit he were husband of the King's own sister. If he were
condemned for treason, even though it were open and notorious, who that
were tainted ever so slightly were likely to be spared?
But all the while, the ladies laughed and chatted gayly, and the
knights bowed and smiled and answered back in kind; and the throng as a
whole seemed to be without a shred of care.
At one group of young matrons there was much merriment; and as Lord
Darby chanced to stroll by, they hailed him banteringly, inviting him
to join them. But he declined with sarcastic pleasantry.
"Fie, sir! It was not a gallant speech," cried the Lady Strange, with
a toss of her golden locks; "and if your tongue be as acid always,
there is small wonder that rumor gave another precedence in the favor
of the Countess of Clare."
Darby halted and bowed low and long--very low and very long.
"Your ladyship does me too much honor," he said, with well assumed
humility, "in even thinking of the Countess of Clare and my poor self
in the same moment."
"Doubtless I do--since your devotion was too feeble even to send you to
her rescue."
"And now you do me deep injustice; I sought the Countess from the day
following the abduction until all hope was gone. Methinks alas! she
has long since been gathered with the Saints."
The Countess of Ware--the Lady Mary Percy that was--laughed with gibing
intonation.
"There is one, at least, who has not ceased to hope and to search," she
said.
"And has been as successful as myself," he retorted, nor hid the sneer.
"But if he find her?"
Darby shrugged his shoulders. "Think you there is recognition in the
spirit world?"
"Then you actually believe the Countess dead?" the Lady Lovel asked.
"Beyond all question, madam. It is near three months since the
abduction and a trace of her has yet to be discovered;" and was going
on when the Countess of Ware stopped him.
"Can you tell us what detains the King?" she asked.
"I have no notion," he replied. "I saw him an hour or so ago and he
was in the best of health and humor."
"Your news is stale," she laughed; "a King's humor an hour old is very
ancient."
"True," said Darby, "true indeed, yet here comes one who can doubtless
answer fittingly. . . Sir Ralph, what delays His Majesty?"
But De Wilton looked him straight in the face, and with never a word in
reply, passed on.
And at that moment the Black Rod entered, and behind him came the King.
Save for the crimson lining of his short gown, he was clad in white
from head to foot, an ivory boar with eyes of rubies and tusks of
sapphires, pinned the feather in his bonnet, about his neck hung the
George, and his only weapon was the diamond hilted dagger at his
girdle. With it he toyed, looking neither to the right nor to the
left, nor yet to the front; but rather at the mental picture of one
engrossed in thought.
Slowly and with the impressive dignity that was the natural heritage of
the Plantagenets, he mounted the steps to the Throne and turning faced
his Court; and all bowed low, and then in silence waited, while his
dark eyes searched them through.
"You may take your places, my Lord Cardinal and Lord Chancellor," he
said. "Her Majesty will not join us until later."
Bowing in response, the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of
Lincoln assumed their stools on the third step of the dais; and the
crowd, released from the ceremonial calm, began to buzz softly with
conversation, though without taking eye from the King. And they turned
quickly dumb again as Richard raised his hand.
"We will have to beg your kind indulgences if, for a while, we delay
the games and the dance," he said. "It is a most unhappy chance upon
this evening of all others, when we are about to celebrate our safe
return from rebellious war, that there has come to us evidences of
foulest crime and darkest treason by one high in rank and station, and
who is, even now, within sound of my voice."
Over the Court ran a shiver of apprehension; and men eyed one another
with misgiving and drew within themselves; while the women, with faces
suddenly gone white and lips a tremble, clutched the hands of those
most dear, as though to shield them from the doom about to fall. For
green in the memory was Hastings, and Rivers, and Buckingham, and St.
Leger, and the stern suddenness of their taking off.
"Perchance, it were more suitable," the King went on, "that matters of
such import be deferred to the quiet of the council chamber and the
Court of the Lord High Steward; and in particular, that there should be
none of the gentler sex in presence. Yet for reasons which to me seem
adequate and proper, I have determined otherwise. He who is charged
with these crimes is now among you; and by you, my lords and my ladies,
shall he be adjudged. Stand forth, Henry, Lord Darby of Roxford."
The gasp that soughed through the room as Richard spoke the name was
far more of relief than of wonder, and instantly all eyes sought the
accused.
And he met them with a shrug of indifference and a smiling face. And
down the aisle that opened to him he went--debonair and easy--until he
stood before the Throne. There he bent knee for an instant; then,
erect and unruffled, he looked the King defiantly in the eye.
"Here stand I to answer," he said. "Let the charges be preferred."
Richard turned to the Black Rod.
"Summon the accusers," he ordered.
As the Usher backed from the room, there arose a hissing of whispers
that changed sharply to exclamations of surprise as in formal tones he
heralded:
"Sir John de Bury! Sir Aymer de Lacy!"
The elder Knight leaned on the other's arm as they advanced; but
dropped it at the Throne and both made deep obeisance. An impatient
glance from the King brought instant quiet.
"Sir John de Bury and Sir Aymer de Lacy," he, said, "you have made
certain grave accusations touching Henry, Lord Darby of Roxford. He
stands here now to answer. Speak, therefore, in turn."
De Bury stepped forward and faced Darby, who met him with folded arms
and scornful front.
"I charge Henry, Lord Darby," he said, "with having abducted and held
prisoner, in his castle of Roxford and elsewhere, my niece, the Lady
Beatrix de Beaumont, Countess of Clare."
A cry of amazement burst from the Court, but Richard silenced it with a
gesture.
"You have heard, my lord," he said. "What is your plea?"
"Not guilty, Sire."
At a nod from the King, De Lacy took place beside Sir John.
"I charge Henry, Lord Darby of Roxford," he cried, "with high treason,
in that he aided and a betted the Duke of Buckingham in his late
rebellion, and stood prepared to betray his Sovereign on the field of
battle."
"You hear, my lord," said the King. "What is your plea?"
But Darby did not answer; and for a while Richard watched him
curiously, as with half-bared dagger and lips drawn back in rage, he
glowered upon De Lacy, forgetful of all things save his hate. And so
imminent seemed the danger, that Aymer put hand to his own poniard and
fell into the posture to receive attack. And doubtless there, before
the Throne itself, would these two men have fought to the death for
very lust of the other's blood, had not the clear, stern voice of the
King aroused them, like cold water in a sleeping face.
"Do you not hear, Lord Darby? We await your plea!"
"Not guilty," Darby answered in tones husky with rage. "And I demand
wager of battle, as against the foul charge of this foreign slanderer
and liar."
"I pray you, my Liege, to grant it to the traitor," said De Lacy
eagerly.
But Richard waved him back. "The wager is refused. By the evidence
shall the judgment be. Proceed, Sir Aymer de Lacy, we will hear you
first."
The Knight drew a packet from his doublet.
"I offer herewith," he said, "the dying statement of Henry Stafford,
late Duke of Buckingham, touching the part taken in his rebellion by
the accused."
"I object to it!" Darby cried.
"For what reason?"
"Because its execution has not been proven; and because, even if
genuine, it is incompetent as being by a condemned traitor."
"Let me see the paper," said the King. . . "It is regular, on its
face--signed by Stafford under his own seal and attested by Sir Richard
Ratcliffe and Sir John Kendale. Do you wish their testimony?"
Lord Darby bowed.
"Sir Richard Ratcliffe and Sir John Kendale," the King said, as they
stood forth, "do you each testify on honor that these are your
respective signatures, and that you saw Henry Stafford sign and affix
his seal hereto?"
"We do, upon our knightly honor," they replied.
"It would appear, Sir John, that the body of this document is in your
handwriting."
"It is, Your Majesty. I wrote it at request of Stafford and at his
dictation."
"Where?"
"In his room in the Blue Boar Inn in the town of Salisbury."
"When?"
"On the afternoon of the second day of November last. When the Duke
had signed it he went direct to execution."
"And this document?" the King questioned.
"Was kept by me until presented to Your Majesty that same evening; and
by your direction deposited among your private papers, whence I took it
a few minutes since to give to Sir Aymer de Lacy."
Another murmur of astonishment went up from the Court, but died quickly
under Richard's glance.
"Methinks, my lord," he said addressing Darby, "the paper has been
sufficiently proven and is competent as a dying declaration of a
co-conspirator. Therefore, we admit it. . . Read it, my Lord
Chancellor."
The Bishop arose and spreading out the parchment began:
"I, Henry Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, being about to suffer on the
block (which even now stands ready before my window) do hereby make,
publish and declare this as and for my dying declaration; trusting that
thereby I may be of service to one who, though my foe in war, has been
my friend in peaceful days, and now, as well, when all others have
forsaken and betrayed me--and may, at the same time, bring to justice a
pair of caitiffs. By these presents, do I denounce and proclaim Henry,
Lord Darby, and John Morton, ycleped Bishop of Ely, as perjured and
forsworn traitors to Richard, King of England, as well as betrayers of
their plighted faith to me. Further, do I hereby admonish Richard
Plantagenet that this Darby (whom I have but this hour observed among
his forces in this town) and the aforesaid priest, Morton, are the
instigators of my rebellion; that these two aided me in all the
scheming of the plot; that to Darby was assigned the proclaiming of
Henry Tudor in Yorkshire and the North; and that, within one week of
the day set for the rising, he was at Brecknock and completed the final
details. That he was a double traitor I knew not until I saw him here
in the courtyard this day. Also, I denounce----"
"Stay, my Lord Bishop!" the King interjected. "Read no further for the
present."
"Since when, I pray, Sire, has it become the law of England to admit
only such part of a paper as may suit the prosecution's plan?" Darby
cried.
"You wish it read entire?" Richard asked.
"Marry, that I do. Since I am already judged, it can work me no hurt."