"Paul! Is it really you? Now indeed I feel that I have reached my
native land again. O Paul, I have wearied sorely for you. Why
followed you not me to France, as we planned? Every day I looked
for tidings of you, and none came. But this meeting atones for
all."
It was the bright dawn of an Easter day, and Paul, after a night's
hard riding, stood within the precincts of the Abbey of Cerne, not
far from the seaport of Weymouth. His hands were closely grasped in
those of young Edward, who was looking into his face with beaming
eyes.
It was no longer the fugitive Edward of the winter months, but a
royally equipped and accoutred youth, upon whose noble face and
figure Paul's eyes dwelt with fond pride. Weary and tempestuous as
had been the voyage from France to England--a voyage that had
lasted seventeen days, in lieu of scarce so many hours--yet the
bright face of the Prince of Wales bore no signs of fatigue or
disappointment. The weary days of waiting were over. He and his
mother had come to share his father's royal state, and drive from
the shores--if he came--the bold usurper who had hitherto triumphed
in the strife of the Roses. His heart beat high with hope and lofty
purpose; and in joy at the eager welcomes poured upon him by the
friends and warriors who came flocking to his standard he forgot
all the doubts and fears of the past, and looked upon himself as
the saviour of his country, as indeed he was regarded by all his
party.
The old comrades and friends looked each other well over with
smiling glances, and it seemed as if Edward marked in Paul as much
change in the outward man as he had done in the prince.
"By my troth, Paul, fair fortune has smiled upon you since last we
met. And the gold spurs of knighthood too--nay, now, what means
that, good comrade? Were we not to have knelt side by side to
receive that honour? Have you outstripped me from the first?"
"Pardon, my dear lord," answered Paul, blushing and smiling; "I
would sooner have received the honour at your hands than at those
of any other. But I was summoned to London, so soon as my wounds
were healed, by the great earl; and your royal father himself gave
me audience, to ask news of you (for it became known that you had
visited the realm by stealth); and after I had told him all my
tale, he with his own hand bestowed that honour upon me. Then the
noble earl made over to me a fair manor in the west country, which
I have not yet visited, but which has put money once more into my
purse. And here am I, your grace's loyal servant, to ask no better
than to follow and fight for you until the crown is safely placed
upon your head."
And he bent the knee and pressed his lips upon the prince's hand.
But Edward raised him, and linked his arm within that of his old
companion, walking with him along the pleasant green pathway of the
Abbey mead, not content till he had heard every detail of that
which had befallen Paul, from the moment they had parted up till
the present, and listening with intense excitement to his account
of what had befallen him in the robbers' cave, and how he had
escaped from thence, and had been tended and protected at Figeon's
by the kindly and honest folks there.
"When I am king," said young Edward, with flashing eyes, "I will go
thither again, and reward them royally for all they have done for
you and me. I am glad they loved me still, Lancastrian though they
knew me at last to be. Oh, if they were willing to follow my
fortunes and own me as their king, methinks others will not be far
behind! And, God helping me, I will try to show them what manner of
man a king should be."
For it had been fully recognized upon all hands now that the
prince's father was absolutely incapable of more than the name of
king, and it was well known that the prince was to be the real
ruler, with the name of regent, and that it would be his hands or
his mother's that would sway the sceptre of power, should the
Lancastrian cause triumph in the struggle.
And no thought of aught but victory had as yet found place in young
Edward's heart. Was not the great invincible earl fighting on their
side? And had he not already placed Henry once more upon the
throne, not to be again deposed so long as he had a soldier left to
fight for him?
But Paul's heart was scarce so light, although the sight of the
prince awakened his loyal enthusiasm.
"O my lord, if you had but come sooner--had come before the proud
son of York had landed, and drawn to his standard a host of
powerful followers! I know not how it is, but his name is a magnet
that strangely stirs the hearts of men. Ere I left London I heard
that the rival armies were closely approaching each other, and that
the battle might not be much longer delayed. I knew not whether to
fly to welcome you, or to stay and draw the sword on your behalf,
and strive to be the one to bring to you the glorious news of
victory. I cannot think but what the great earl will again be
victorious; but the despatches he intrusted to me, with commands to
hasten westwards to try and meet you on your landing, will tell you
more of the chances of war than I can do. Men's mouths are full of
rumours. One knows not how to sift the false from the true. But the
men of London--ay, there is the peril--they all stand sullen when
we of the Red Rose pass by, and scarce a voice calls 'God save the
king.' If Edward of York were to succeed in reaching the city--"
"But he must not--he shall not--he cannot!" cried young Edward,
with flashing eyes. "What! shall the proud crest of my great
father-in-law stoop before the traitorous host of York? Fie on
thee, Paul! talk not to me of defeat. Nay, after we have heard the
holy mass of this glad Easter day, let us rather to horse and
away--you and I together, Paul, as we have done times before--and
let us not draw rein till we ride into the victorious camp of the
king my father, and hear the glad welcome we shall receive from his
brave host.
"O Paul, I have had my moments of doubt and desponding, but they
are all past now. I come to claim my kingdom, and to place a crown
upon the brow of my lovely bride. Ah, I must present you to her--my
gentle Lady Anne. I wot she will not be far off She will be seeking
for me, as is her fashion if we are long apart. She must thank you
herself for all that you have done and suffered for me. You will
feel yourself a thousandfold repaid when you have heard her sweet
words of recognition."
And in effect, as they turned once more toward the Abbey, Paul saw
approaching them the slight and graceful figure of a young girl, in
the first blush of maiden bloom and beauty, her face ethereally
lovely, yet tinged, as it seemed, with some haunting melancholy,
which gave a strange pathos to its rare beauty, and seemed almost
to speak of the doom of sorrow and loss already hanging over her,
little as she knew it then.
The solemn troth plight which had passed between her and young
Edward was almost equivalent to the marriage vow that would shortly
bind them indissolubly together, and their love for each other was
already that of man and wife. As the gentle lady listened to the
eager tale poured out by Paul, she stretched out her hand to him,
and when he would have bent the knee she raised him up with sweet
smiles, and told him how her dear lord had always praised him as a
very brother, and the type of all that was faithful and true in
comrade. Such words from such lips brought the boyish blush to
Paul's cheeks, and he stumbled bashfully over his undying
protestations of loyalty.
Then, as they reached the refectory, which had been allotted by the
monks to their noble guests, he stopped short and fell upon his
knees; for in a tall and stately figure advancing to meet them he
recognized the great queen he had not seen since he was a child,
and scarce dared to raise his eyes to note the ravages that sorrow
and care had made upon that princely visage, or the silver
whiteness of the locks, covered for the most part by the tall,
peaked headdress of the day.
The queen recognized Paul at once from the strange likeness to her
own son, and her welcome was kindly given. But she was anxious and
preoccupied, having but risen from the perusal of the despatches
Paul had brought; and although her natural courage and hopefulness
would not permit her to despond, she could not but admit that
danger menaced the cause of the Red Rose, whilst she realized, as
her young son could not do at his age, how utterly disastrous would
be a single victory of the enemy at such a juncture.
The fortunes of the rival houses were trembling in the balance. The
first decisive, advantage to either would give a prestige and
fillip to that cause which might be absolutely fatal to the hopes
of the other. If it were true that some battle were being fought or
about to be fought that very day, such a battle might be either the
death blow to all their hopes or the earnest of a final triumph
nigh at hand.
It was a strange Easter Day for the party at the Abbey. The mass
was quickly followed by the arrival of loyal adherents from the
surrounding country, who had heard of the landing of the
long-expected party from France, and flocked eagerly to pay their
homage to the queen and the prince, and look upon the fair face of
the Lady Anne, whose position as Warwick's daughter and Edward's
bride alike made her an object of the greatest interest and a
person of importance. Paul was deeply enamoured of the gentle and
lovely lady, and received many marks of favour from her hands. He
was given a post about the young prince, and kept close at his side
the whole day.
It was inspiriting indeed to hear the loyal protestations of the
friends who kept flocking all day to join their standard, and there
was no riding forth to London for prince or attendant so long as
the light lasted.
"But tomorrow morn we will sally forth ere it well be day," said
Edward, in low tones, as they parted for the night. "My heart tells
me that something of note has occurred this very day. We will be
the first to bring the news to my mother. Be ready with a couple of
horses and some few men-at-arms ere the sun be well risen over yon
ridge, and we will forth to meet the messengers of victory, and
bring them back with us to tell their welcome news."
Paul had forgotten his vague fears in the gladness of the present,
and scarce closed his eyes that night, thinking of the coming
triumph for the prince he loyally loved. He was up and in the
saddle with the first glimmering light of day, and by the time that
the rosy glow of dawn was transforming the fair world of nature and
clothing it with an indescribable radiance of gossamer beauty, he
and the prince were already a mile from the Abbey, galloping along
in the fresh morning air with a glad exultation of spirit that
seemed in itself like a herald of coming triumph.
"The very heavens have put on the livery of the Red Rose!" cried
Edward gaily, as he pointed to the vivid red of the east; and Paul
smiled, and tried to banish from his mind the old adage learned at
his nurse's knee, to the effect that a red morn was the herald of a
dark and dreary day.
They had ridden a matter of some five miles forth in the direction
of the great road to London--as it was then considered, though we
should scarce call the rude tracks of those days roads--when the
quick eye of Paul caught sight of a little moving cloud of dust,
and he drew rein to shade his eyes with his hand.
Edward followed his example, and together they stood gazing, their
hearts beating with sympathetic excitement. How much might the next
few moments contain for them of triumph or of despair! for from the
haste with which these horsemen rode, it was plain they were the
bearers of tidings, and if of tidings, most likely those of some
battle, in which the King Maker and the king he had first made and
then driven away would stand for the first time in hostile ranks.
Together they had been victorious; what would be the result when
they met as foes?
Nearer and nearer came the riders, looming through the uncertain
morning mist, and emerging thence two jaded, weary figures, their
horses flecked with foam, nostrils wide, chests heaving, showing
every sign of distress; and Paul, recognizing in one of the riders
a follower of the Earl of Warwick, called upon him by name, and bid
him speak his tidings.
"Lost--lost--all lost!" cried the man, addressing himself to Paul,
unconscious of the identity of his companion; "the battle is fought
and lost. The armies met on Barnet Heath. The Earl of Warwick, the
great earl, was there slain. His Majesty King Henry is again a
prisoner in the hands of Edward of York. Today he makes his
triumphant entry into London, which will open its gates to him with
joy and receive him as king."
Paul sat rigid and motionless as he heard these words. He did not
dare to look at young Edward, who sat beside him as if turned to
stone. The second messenger, who had had a moment to draw breath
whilst his fellow had been speaking, now broke in with his share of
the terrible news. He had seen the prodigies of valour performed by
the mighty earl. He had witnessed the death of that warrior--such a
death as was fitting for one of his warlike race. The testimony of
eyewitnesses could not be doubted. The fatal day had again been
hostile to the cause of the Red Rose, and the mournful cry of those
who had seen and shared in the fight, as they fled pellmell from
the field, had been, "Lost--all lost! the House of Lancaster is
utterly overthrown!"
Mournfully the little procession turned itself and rode back to the
Abbey. Edward had not spoken one word all this time, and the
messengers, who had now learned who he was, fell to the rear, and
observed an awed silence. But their tale had been told. They had
said enough. The worst was made known, and not even Paul dared
venture a word of consolation, or seek to know what was passing in
the mind of the prince, whose fair inheritance seemed thus to be
slipping away.
Excitement, uncertainty, and suspense seemed in the very air, and
even before the silent little troop reached the courtyard of the
Abbey eager forms were seen hurrying out, and the tall and stately
figure of the royal Margaret stood outlined in the doorway. Perhaps
something in the very silence and confused looks of the little
group told a tale of disaster, for the queen came hurrying down the
steps with whitening face, and her son sprang from his saddle and
put his arm about her, as if to support her in the shock which
could not but fall upon her now.
"Tell me all," she whispered hoarsely. "Do not keep me in suspense.
Speak, I command you, my son."
"A battle has been fought--and lost," answered Edward, speaking
mechanically. "Our ally and friend the Earl of Warwick was killed
in desperate fight. My father is a prisoner in the enemy's hands.
Edward of York is even now making his triumphant entry into London,
which will receive him with open arms."
Edward said no more; he had indeed told all his tale, and it had
been enough for the unhappy woman, who had landed on English soil
so confident of victory. She gave one short, low cry, a convulsive
shudder passed through her limbs, and she fell senseless to the
ground. That cry found its echo upon the pale lips of another--one
who had closely followed the queen to learn the tidings of the
travellers; and Edward turned to catch his bride in his arms,
whilst her tears rained down fast as she heard how her noble father
lay dead upon the fatal field that had lost her lord his crown, and
had dashed to the ground the warmest hopes of the Red Rose.
"Let us to ship again," said Margaret, as she recovered from her
long swoon. "The cause is lost without hope. Warwick is slain. Whom
have we now to trust to? Let us back to France, and hide our
dishonoured heads there. My father's court will receive us yet, and
perchance we may in time learn to forget that we were ever princes
and sovereigns."
Strange words, indeed, from the haughty and warlike Margaret; but
at that moment her proud spirit seemed crushed and broken, and it
was young Edward who answered her with words of hope and courage.
"Nay, mother," he said, "let it not be said of the House of
Plantagenet that they turned their backs upon the foe, and fled
disgracefully, leaving their followers to butchery and ruin. It
might have been well for us never to have disturbed again the peace
of this realm; but having summoned to our banner the loyal
adherents of the Red Rose, it is not for us to fly to safety, and
leave them to the wrath and cruelty of Edward. No; one battle--one
defeat--does not lose us our cause. My father lives; shall we leave
him to linger out his days in hopeless captivity? I live; have I
not the right to strike a blow for the crown to which I was born?
"Courage, sweet mother. You are a king's daughter. You have led men
to victory before. Say not--think not--that all is lost. Let us win
the crown of England by the power of the name and of the righteous
cause we own, and henceforth shall no man say that a subject crowns
and dethrones England's monarch at his will."
These words, seconded and echoed by those of many a gallant knight
and noble, raised Margaret's broken spirit, and she began once more
to hope. That day they journeyed by rapid stages to Beaulieu Abbey,
a very famous sanctuary in those days, the ruins of which may still
be seen in the New Forest; and there the party found the widowed
Countess of Warwick, who had landed at Portsmouth before the royal
party had reached Weymouth, and had just heard of her terrible
loss. To have her daughter with her once again, and to mingle their
tears together, was some consolation, both for the countess and the
Lady Anne; but others had sterner work before them than weeping
over past misfortunes, and as soon as the retreat of the royal
Lancastrian became generally known, many stanch adherents flocked
to tender their allegiance and promise fealty to the cause.
Foremost amongst these was the young Duke of Somerset, whose family
had ever been stanch to the Red Rose, as well it might. Some of the
unpopularity Margaret of Anjou had early won for herself at the
English court was due to her confidence in and affection for
Somerset, and his son might well be ardent in her cause.
Margaret herself was still sunk in unwonted depression, but the
representations of the fiery young duke did much to give her heart.
With him came Jasper Tudor, the king's half brother, and they drew
glowing pictures of the loyalty of the western counties; and of
Wales, where a large band of troops was mustering for her support;
and represented that if she could but effect a junction with them,
the whole country would soon be hers, and she would be able to
dictate terms to the enemy at the gates of London.
Margaret's elastic temper rose with the encouragement thus
received, and Edward's heart beat high with hope. The party began
their westward march, and through the bright days of April and May
they rode through the smiling land, receiving welcome and adulation
from all, and reinforcements to their little band from every town
through which they passed. Small wonder was it that they learned to
feel confident of ultimate success. The young prince, with Paul at
his side, would ride through the ranks of his followers day by day,
speaking bright, brave words to all he passed, and winning the
hearts of his troops as perhaps only the young and frank-hearted
and unspoiled can do. To him it seemed almost more like a triumphal
progress than a recruiting march.
But Margaret's brow was often dark with anxiety. She knew the
temper of the bold Edward of York, as she called him, whom the
world still spoke of as king; and she knew that he would be upon
their track. Any day they might see his banners threatening their
rear, and still the Welsh army was at some distance; and until a
junction could be effected, even their lives could scarce be called
safe.
Then at Gloucester a serious check met them. The place was held for
the king's brother, and the gates were resolutely closed against
her. It was here that she had reckoned upon crossing the deep and
treacherous waters of the Severn, and to be thus foiled might mean
the ruin of the enterprise. The sheltering mountains of Wales were
already in sight; but how was she to reach them if the passage of
the river were denied her?
Paul had gone forth alone that day, and had not been present when
the queen had ridden herself to the fortified gates to demand an
entrance, which had been firmly and respectfully declined her. But
he had learned tidings which disquieted him not a little, and it
was at full gallop that he dashed back into the ranks, and sought
the prince himself, who was looking with darkening brow upon the
frowning battlements of the unfriendly city.
"My liege, it brooks not this delay," he cried, reining up beside
Edward, and speaking in rapid whispers. "The army of York is scarce
a score of miles away, and in hot pursuit after us. They have had
certain news of our movements, and unless we can push on across the
river and meet our friends there, we shall be taken in the rear,
and at sore disadvantage. It behoves us to strain every nerve to
reach our friends before our foes are upon us."
"I doubt not that," answered Edward calmly, yet with a look which
Paul did not understand; "but the wide river runs before us, and
the bridge is barred to us. Unless we reduce first this noble city,
we must turn and face the foe and fight him at sore odds."
A look of dismay crossed Paul's face as he heard this piece of
news, and he silently followed the prince at his bidding to the
spot where the leading nobles and generals were gathered together
in warm debate. The news that Edward was just upon them ran like
wildfire through the ranks, and all the most experienced leaders,
including the royal Margaret herself, were of opinion that it would
be better not to run the risk of a battle, but retire rapidly and
stealthily from their present position, and not encounter the onset
of Edward's veteran troops, flushed with victory and thirsting for
blood, until their hardy mountain allies had contrived to join
them.
But there is something revolting to young and ardent spirits in the
thought of flight, and the Duke of Somerset was eager for the fray.
He argued that an easy victory must be theirs if they did but act
boldly and hastened to the attack. To fly were fatal; their troops
would become disheartened and melt away. Their foes would openly
triumph, and all men would be drawn to them. Edward's soldiers,
weary with long marching, would be taken by surprise. It were a
thousand times better to risk the fight than to play the coward at
so critical a juncture.
And these impetuous words carried the younger spirits along with
them. The prince drew his sword, and riding through the ranks,
asked if the soldiers would choose to fight or fly. There could
scarce be more than one reply to such an appeal so made. They drew
their swords and vowed to live or die with him, and the enthusiasm
of the moment was such that all were carried away; and orders were
instantly given for a march upon Tewkesbury, where it was thought
a spot might be found which would give them advantages for the
coming struggle.
The troops had had a long march earlier in the day, but they
traversed the ten miles which lay between them and Tewkesbury with
cheerful alacrity. Paul and the prince rode side by side in the van
of the advancing host, and Edward looked straight before him with
glowing eyes, as if he felt that a crisis of his fate were at hand.
"At last, my good Paul, we are riding forth to try conclusions with
the world, as we have purposed so long to do," he said, with a
strange, flashing smile. "In faith I am glad that the hour of
action is come. Ere another sun is set some blow shall have been
struck which shall set the crown of England upon some one head more
firmly than ever it has been set before. God grant the cause of
right may triumph! But whichever way the conflict goes, I pray that
this distracted land may find peace and rest, and that I may be
either a victor in the strife, or may find a soldier's grave. Paul,
will you give me your promise, trusty comrade, that ere I fall
alive into the hand of the foe, you will bury your knightly sword
in my heart yourself? It were the part of a true brother to save me
from the fate of my patient father. He has borne dethronement and
captivity; but methinks I should pine and die, and I would far
rather--"
He gave Paul an expressive glance; but the young knight answered
gravely and steadfastly:
"My liege, ask me not that beyond my power to grant. We may not
without sin raise our hands against the Lord's anointed, and I may
not do the thing you ask. Death or captivity I will gladly share
with you, or spend every drop of my blood to save you; but more
than this no loyal knight may promise. Forgive me, my liege, if I
offend in this."
But Edward held out his mailed hand with his own bright, sweet
smile, grasping that of Paul, which he held in his own as he spoke.
"You are in the right, Paul, you are in the right. Perchance it
were a coward thought; for should not a prince be ready for any
blow of adverse fortune? But ride you into the battle beside me.
Let us fight side by side, even as we have always hoped to do. I
would that you were in very truth my brother, as in love you have
long been. And if I fall whilst you escape, be it your office to
break the tidings to my mother and my gentle Anne; for methinks,
were it told them suddenly or untenderly, their hearts would break
with the sorrow."
Paul gave this pledge willingly, though it scarce seemed possible
to him that he should live to carry such tidings, seeing he would
die a thousand deaths to save his prince from the foeman's steel.
And then, with grave faces but brave hearts and unclouded brows,
the comrades rode side by side into the town of Tewkesbury, whilst
the army intrenched itself on the summit of a small eminence called
the Home Ground, not half a mile away.
Already the rival army was mustering, and the Yorkist troops
occupied the sloping ground to the south, that went by the name of
the Red Piece. The Lancastrians had the best of the situation, as
they were established amongst trenches and ditches, partly real and
partly artificial; which would render any attack by the enemy
difficult and dangerous.
"I trow it would be hard to drive from this ground these brave men
thus posted," said Edward to Paul, as the two rode round the camp
at the close of the day. "They have only to stand firm and hold
their position, and all will be well. Oh that the night were past,
and that a new day had come! I would I could see the end of this
struggle. I would the veil of the future might be for one moment
lifted."
But the future keeps its secrets well--well for us it is so--and
the youthful and high-spirited young prince saw not the black cloud
hanging already upon him. The soldiers greeted him with cheers and
blessings; the generals bent the knee to him, and vowed to die to
win him back his crown. The light of the setting sun illumined the
field so soon to be red with human blood, and the vesper bell from
the church hard by rang out its peaceful summons.
Edward looked round him, and laid his hand affectionately on Paul's
shoulder.
"This is a fair earth," he said dreamily. "I wonder what the world
beyond will be like, for those who leave this behind, as so many
will do tomorrow."
Paul spoke not a word, but returned the look with one infinitely
loving, and together the two rode back to the town.