RICHARD. A horse!--A horse!--my kingdom for a horse!
CATESBY......My lord, I'll help you to a horse. --RICHARD III.
Our travellers were in the act of passing a small thicket of trees close
by the roadside, when the first living being presented himself whom
they had seen since their departure from Cumnor Place. This was a stupid
lout, seemingly a farmer's boy, in a grey jerkin, with his head bare,
his hose about his heels, and huge startups upon his feet. He held by
the bridle what of all things they most wanted--a palfrey, namely, with
a side-saddle, and all other garniture for a woman's mounting; and he
hailed Wayland Smith with, “Zur, be ye zure the party?”
“Ay, that I be, my lad,” answered Wayland, without an instant's
hesitation; and it must be owned that consciences trained in a stricter
school of morality might have given way to an occasion so tempting.
While he spoke, he caught the rein out of the boy's hand, and almost at
the same time helped down the Countess from his own horse, and aided
her to mount on that which chance had thus presented for her acceptance.
Indeed, so naturally did the whole take place, that the Countess, as it
afterwards appeared, never suspected but that the horse had been
placed there to meet them by the precaution of the guide or some of his
friends.
The lad, however, who was thus hastily dispossessed of his charge, began
to stare hard, and scratch his head, as if seized with some qualms of
conscience for delivering up the animal on such brief explanation. “I
be right zure thou be'st the party,” said he, muttering to himself, “but
thou shouldst ha zaid BEANS, thou knawest.”
“Ay, ay,” said Wayland, speaking at a venture; “and thou BACON, thou
knowest.”
“Noa, noa,” said the lad; “bide ye--bide ye--it was PEAS a should ha
said.”
“Well, well,” answered Wayland, “Peas be it, a God's name! though Bacon
were the better password.”
And being by this time mounted on his own horse, he caught the rein of
the palfrey from the uncertain hold of the hesitating young boor, flung
him a small piece of money, and made amends for lost time by riding
briskly off without further parley. The lad was still visible from the
hill up which they were riding, and Wayland, as he looked back, beheld
him standing with his fingers in his hair as immovable as a guide-post,
and his head turned in the direction in which they were escaping from
him. At length, just as they topped the hill, he saw the clown stoop to
lift up the silver groat which his benevolence had imparted. “Now this
is what I call a Godsend,” said Wayland; “this is a bonny, well-ridden
bit of a going thing, and it will carry us so far till we get you as
well mounted, and then we will send it back time enough to satisfy the
Hue and Cry.”
But he was deceived in his expectations; and fate, which seemed at first
to promise so fairly, soon threatened to turn the incident which he thus
gloried in into the cause of their utter ruin.
They had not ridden a short mile from the place where they left the
lad before they heard a man's voice shouting on the wind behind them,
“Robbery! robbery!--Stop thief!” and similar exclamations, which
Wayland's conscience readily assured him must arise out of the
transaction to which he had been just accessory.
“I had better have gone barefoot all my life,” he said; “it is the Hue
and Cry, and I am a lost man. Ah! Wayland, Wayland, many a time thy
father said horse-flesh would be the death of thee. Were I once safe
among the horse-coursers in Smithfield, or Turnbull Street, they should
have leave to hang me as high as St. Paul's if I e'er meddled more with
nobles, knights, or gentlewomen.”
Amidst these dismal reflections, he turned his head repeatedly to see by
whom he was chased, and was much comforted when he could only discover
a single rider, who was, however, well mounted, and came after them at
a speed which left them no chance of escaping, even had the lady's
strength permitted her to ride as fast as her palfrey might have been
able to gallop.
“There may be fair play betwixt us, sure,” thought Wayland, “where there
is but one man on each side, and yonder fellow sits on his horse more
like a monkey than a cavalier. Pshaw! if it come to the worse, it will
be easy unhorsing him. Nay, 'snails! I think his horse will take the
matter in his own hand, for he has the bridle betwixt his teeth. Oons,
what care I for him?” said he, as the pursuer drew yet nearer; “it is
but the little animal of a mercer from Abingdon, when all is over.”
Even so it was, as the experienced eye of Wayland had descried at a
distance. For the valiant mercer's horse, which was a beast of mettle,
feeling himself put to his speed, and discerning a couple of horses
riding fast at some hundred yards' distance before him, betook himself
to the road with such alacrity as totally deranged the seat of his
rider, who not only came up with, but passed at full gallop, those
whom he had been pursuing, pulling the reins with all his might, and
ejaculating, “Stop! stop!” an interjection which seemed rather to
regard his own palfrey than what seamen call “the chase.” With the same
involuntary speed, he shot ahead (to use another nautical phrase) about
a furlong ere he was able to stop and turn his horse, and then rode back
towards our travellers, adjusting, as well as he could, his disordered
dress, resettling himself in the saddle, and endeavouring to substitute
a bold and martial frown for the confusion and dismay which sat upon his
visage during his involuntary career.
Wayland had just time to caution the lady not to be alarmed, adding,
“This fellow is a gull, and I will use him as such.”
When the mercer had recovered breath and audacity enough to confront
them, he ordered Wayland, in a menacing tone, to deliver up his palfrey.
“How?” said the smith, in King Cambyses' vein, “are we commanded to
stand and deliver on the king's highway? Then out, Excalibur, and tell
this knight of prowess that dire blows must decide between us!”
“Haro and help, and hue and cry, every true man!” said the mercer. “I am
withstood in seeking to recover mine own.”
“Thou swearest thy gods in vain, foul paynim,” said Wayland, “for I
will through with mine purpose were death at the end on't. Nevertheless,
know, thou false man of frail cambric and ferrateen, that I am he, even
the pedlar, whom thou didst boast to meet on Maiden Castle moor, and
despoil of his pack; wherefore betake thee to thy weapons presently.”
“I spoke but in jest, man,” said Goldthred; “I am an honest shopkeeper
and citizen, who scorns to leap forth on any man from behind a hedge.”
“Then, by my faith, most puissant mercer,” answered Wayland, “I am sorry
for my vow, which was, that wherever I met thee I would despoil thee of
thy palfrey, and bestow it upon my leman, unless thou couldst defend it
by blows of force. But the vow is passed and registered, and all I
can do for thee is to leave the horse at Donnington, in the nearest
hostelry.”
“But I tell thee, friend,” said the mercer, “it is the very horse on
which I was this day to carry Jane Thackham, of Shottesbrok, as far as
the parish church yonder, to become Dame Goldthred. She hath jumped out
of the shot-window of old Gaffer Thackham's grange; and lo ye, yonder
she stands at the place where she should have met the palfrey, with
her camlet riding-cloak and ivory-handled whip, like a picture of Lot's
wife. I pray you, in good terms, let me have back the palfrey.”
“Grieved am I,” said Wayland, “as much for the fair damsel as for thee,
most noble imp of muslin. But vows must have their course; thou wilt
find the palfrey at the Angel yonder at Donnington. It is all I may do
for thee with a safe conscience.”
“To the devil with thy conscience!” said the dismayed mercer. “Wouldst
thou have a bride walk to church on foot?”
“Thou mayest take her on thy crupper, Sir Goldthred,” answered Wayland;
“it will take down thy steed's mettle.”
“And how if you--if you forget to leave my horse, as you propose?” said
Goldthred, not without hesitation, for his soul was afraid within him.
“My pack shall be pledged for it--yonder it lies with Giles Gosling,
in his chamber with the damasked leathern hangings, stuffed full with
velvet, single, double, treble-piled--rash-taffeta, and parapa--shag,
damask, and mocado, plush, and grogram--”
“Hold! hold!” exclaimed the mercer; “nay, if there be, in truth and
sincerity, but the half of these wares--but if ever I trust bumpkin with
bonny Bayard again!”
“As you list for that, good Master Goldthred, and so good morrow to
you--and well parted,” he added, riding on cheerfully with the lady,
while the discountenanced mercer rode back much slower than he came,
pondering what excuse he should make to the disappointed bride, who
stood waiting for her gallant groom in the midst of the king's highway.
“Methought,” said the lady, as they rode on, “yonder fool stared at me
as if he had some remembrance of me; yet I kept my muffler as high as I
might.”
“If I thought so,” said Wayland, “I would ride back and cut him over the
pate; there would be no fear of harming his brains, for he never had
so much as would make pap to a sucking gosling. We must now push on,
however, and at Donnington we will leave the oaf's horse, that he may
have no further temptation to pursue us, and endeavour to assume such a
change of shape as may baffle his pursuit if he should persevere in it.”
The travellers reached Donnington without further alarm, where it became
matter of necessity that the Countess should enjoy two or three hours'
repose, during which Wayland disposed himself, with equal address and
alacrity, to carry through those measures on which the safety of their
future journey seemed to depend.
Exchanging his pedlar's gaberdine for a smock-frock, he carried the
palfrey of Goldthred to the Angel Inn, which was at the other end of the
village from that where our travellers had taken up their quarters. In
the progress of the morning, as he travelled about his other business,
he saw the steed brought forth and delivered to the cutting mercer
himself, who, at the head of a valorous posse of the Hue and Cry, came
to rescue, by force of arms, what was delivered to him without any
other ransom than the price of a huge quantity of ale, drunk out by his
assistants, thirsty, it would seem, with their walk, and concerning
the price of which Master Goldthred had a fierce dispute with the
headborough, whom he had summoned to aid him in raising the country.
Having made this act of prudent as well as just restitution, Wayland
procured such change of apparel for the lady, as well as himself, as
gave them both the appearance of country people of the better class; it
being further resolved, that in order to attract the less observation,
she should pass upon the road for the sister of her guide. A good but
not a gay horse, fit to keep pace with his own, and gentle enough for
a lady's use, completed the preparations for the journey; for making
which, and for other expenses, he had been furnished with sufficient
funds by Tressilian. And thus, about noon, after the Countess had been
refreshed by the sound repose of several hours, they resumed their
journey, with the purpose of making the best of their way to Kenilworth,
by Coventry and Warwick. They were not, however, destined to travel far
without meeting some cause of apprehension.
It is necessary to premise that the landlord of the inn had informed
them that a jovial party, intended, as he understood, to present some
of the masques or mummeries which made a part of the entertainment with
which the Queen was usually welcomed on the royal Progresses, had left
the village of Donnington an hour or two before them in order to
proceed to Kenilworth. Now it had occurred to Wayland that, by attaching
themselves in some sort to this group as soon as they should overtake
them on the road, they would be less likely to attract notice than if
they continued to travel entirely by themselves. He communicated his
idea to the Countess, who, only anxious to arrive at Kenilworth without
interruption, left him free to choose the manner in which this was to
be accomplished. They pressed forward their horses, therefore, with the
purpose of overtaking the party of intended revellers, and making the
journey in their company; and had just seen the little party, consisting
partly of riders, partly of people on foot, crossing the summit of a
gentle hill, at about half a mile's distance, and disappearing on
the other side, when Wayland, who maintained the most circumspect
observation of all that met his eye in every direction, was aware that
a rider was coming up behind them on a horse of uncommon action,
accompanied by a serving-man, whose utmost efforts were unable to keep
up with his master's trotting hackney, and who, therefore, was fain
to follow him at a hand gallop. Wayland looked anxiously back at these
horsemen, became considerably disturbed in his manner, looked back
again, and became pale, as he said to the lady, “That is Richard
Varney's trotting gelding; I would know him among a thousand nags. This
is a worse business than meeting the mercer.”
“Draw your sword,” answered the lady, “and pierce my bosom with it,
rather than I should fall into his hands!”
“I would rather by a thousand times,” answered Wayland, “pass it through
his body, or even mine own. But to say truth, fighting is not my best
point, though I can look on cold iron like another when needs must be.
And indeed, as for my sword--(put on, I pray you)--it is a poor Provant
rapier, and I warrant you he has a special Toledo. He has a serving-man,
too, and I think it is the drunken ruffian Lambourne! upon the horse on
which men say--(I pray you heartily to put on)--he did the great robbery
of the west country grazier. It is not that I fear either Varney or
Lambourne in a good cause--(your palfrey will go yet faster if you urge
him)--but yet--(nay, I pray you let him not break off into a gallop,
lest they should see we fear them, and give chase--keep him only at the
full trot)--but yet, though I fear them not, I would we were well rid
of them, and that rather by policy than by violence. Could we once reach
the party before us, we may herd among them, and pass unobserved, unless
Varney be really come in express pursuit of us, and then, happy man be
his dole!”
While he thus spoke, he alternately urged and restrained his horse,
desirous to maintain the fleetest pace that was consistent with the
idea of an ordinary journey on the road, but to avoid such rapidity of
movement as might give rise to suspicion that they were flying.
At such a pace they ascended the gentle hill we have mentioned, and
looking from the top, had the pleasure to see that the party which had
left Donnington before them were in the little valley or bottom on the
other side, where the road was traversed by a rivulet, beside which was
a cottage or two. In this place they seemed to have made a pause, which
gave Wayland the hope of joining them, and becoming a part of their
company, ere Varney should overtake them. He was the more anxious, as
his companion, though she made no complaints, and expressed no fear,
began to look so deadly pale that he was afraid she might drop from her
horse. Notwithstanding this symptom of decaying strength, she pushed on
her palfrey so briskly that they joined the party in the bottom of the
valley ere Varney appeared on the top of the gentle eminence which they
had descended.
They found the company to which they meant to associate themselves in
great disorder. The women with dishevelled locks, and looks of great
importance, ran in and out of one of the cottages, and the men stood
around holding the horses, and looking silly enough, as is usual in
cases where their assistance is not wanted.
Wayland and his charge paused, as if out of curiosity, and then
gradually, without making any inquiries, or being asked any questions,
they mingled with the group, as if they had always made part of it.
They had not stood there above five minutes, anxiously keeping as much
to the side of the road as possible, so as to place the other travellers
betwixt them and Varney, when Lord Leicester's master of the horse,
followed by Lambourne, came riding fiercely down the hill, their horses'
flanks and the rowels of their spurs showing bloody tokens of the rate
at which they travelled. The appearance of the stationary group around
the cottages, wearing their buckram suits in order to protect their
masking dresses, having their light cart for transporting their scenery,
and carrying various fantastic properties in their hands for the more
easy conveyance, let the riders at once into the character and purpose
of the company.
“You are revellers,” said Varney, “designing for Kenilworth?”
“RECTE QUIDEM, DOMINE SPECTATISSIME,” answered one of the party.
“And why the devil stand you here?” said Varney, “when your utmost
dispatch will but bring you to Kenilworth in time? The Queen dines at
Warwick to-morrow, and you loiter here, ye knaves.”
“In very truth, sir,” said a little, diminutive urchin, wearing a vizard
with a couple of sprouting horns of an elegant scarlet hue, having,
moreover, a black serge jerkin drawn close to his body by lacing,
garnished with red stockings, and shoes so shaped as to resemble cloven
feet--“in very truth, sir, and you are in the right on't. It is my
father the Devil, who, being taken in labour, has delayed our present
purpose, by increasing our company with an imp too many.”
“The devil he has!” answered Varney, whose laugh, however, never
exceeded a sarcastic smile.
“It is even as the juvenal hath said,” added the masker who spoke first;
“Our major devil--for this is but our minor one--is even now at LUCINA,
FER OPEM, within that very TUGURIUM.”
“By Saint George, or rather by the Dragon, who may be a kinsman of the
fiend in the straw, a most comical chance!” said Varney. “How sayest
thou, Lambourne, wilt thou stand godfather for the nonce? If the devil
were to choose a gossip, I know no one more fit for the office.”
“Saving always when my betters are in presence,” said Lambourne,
with the civil impudence of a servant who knows his services to be so
indispensable that his jest will be permitted to pass muster.
“And what is the name of this devil, or devil's dam, who has timed her
turns so strangely?” said Varney. “We can ill afford to spare any of our
actors.”
“GAUDET NOMINE SIBYLLAE,” said the first speaker; “she is called Sibyl
Laneham, wife of Master Robert Laneham--”
“Clerk to the Council-chamber door,” said Varney; “why, she is
inexcusable, having had experience how to have ordered her matters
better. But who were those, a man and a woman, I think, who rode so
hastily up the hill before me even now? Do they belong to your company?”
Wayland was about to hazard a reply to this alarming inquiry, when the
little diablotin again thrust in his oar.
“So please you,” he said, coming close up to Varney, and speaking so as
not to be overheard by his companions, “the man was our devil major, who
has tricks enough to supply the lack of a hundred such as Dame Laneham;
and the woman, if you please, is the sage person whose assistance is
most particularly necessary to our distressed comrade.”
“Oh, what! you have got the wise woman, then?” said Varney. “Why, truly,
she rode like one bound to a place where she was needed. And you have a
spare limb of Satan, besides, to supply the place of Mistress Laneham?”
“Ay, sir,” said the boy; “they are not so scarce in this world as your
honour's virtuous eminence would suppose. This master-fiend shall spit a
few flashes of fire, and eruct a volume or two of smoke on the spot, if
it will do you pleasure--you would think he had AEtna in his abdomen.”
“I lack time just now, most hopeful imp of darkness, to witness his
performance,” said Varney; “but here is something for you all to drink
the lucky hour--and so, as the play says, 'God be with Your labour!'”
Thus speaking, he struck his horse with the spurs, and rode on his way.
Lambourne tarried a moment or two behind his master, and rummaged his
pouch for a piece of silver, which he bestowed on the communicative imp,
as he said, for his encouragement on his path to the infernal regions,
some sparks of whose fire, he said, he could discover flashing from him
already. Then having received the boy's thanks for his generosity he
also spurred his horse, and rode after his master as fast as the fire
flashes from flint.
“And now,” said the wily imp, sidling close up to Wayland's horse,
and cutting a gambol in the air which seemed to vindicate his title to
relationship with the prince of that element, “I have told them who YOU
are, do you in return tell me who I am?”
“Either Flibbertigibbet,” answered Wayland Smith, “or else an imp of the
devil in good earnest.”
“Thou hast hit it,” answered Dickie Sludge. “I am thine own
Flibbertigibbet, man; and I have broken forth of bounds, along with my
learned preceptor, as I told thee I would do, whether he would or not.
But what lady hast thou got with thee? I saw thou wert at fault the
first question was asked, and so I drew up for thy assistance. But I
must know all who she is, dear Wayland.”
“Thou shalt know fifty finer things, my dear ingle,” said Wayland;
“but a truce to thine inquiries just now. And since you are bound for
Kenilworth, thither will I too, even for the love of thy sweet face and
waggish company.”
“Thou shouldst have said my waggish face and sweet company,” said
Dickie; “but how wilt thou travel with us--I mean in what character?”
“E'en in that thou hast assigned me, to be sure--as a juggler; thou
knowest I am used to the craft,” answered Wayland.
“Ay, but the lady?” answered Flibbertigibbet. “Credit me, I think she IS
one and thou art in a sea of troubles about her at this moment, as I can
perceive by thy fidgeting.”
“Oh, she, man!--she is a poor sister of mine,” said Wayland; “she can
sing and play o' the lute would win the fish out o' the stream.”
“Let me hear her instantly,” said the boy, “I love the lute rarely; I
love it of all things, though I never heard it.”
“Then how canst thou love it, Flibbertigibbet?” said Wayland.
“As knights love ladies in old tales,” answered Dickie--“on hearsay.”
“Then love it on hearsay a little longer, till my sister is recovered
from the fatigue of her journey,” said Wayland; muttering afterwards
betwixt his teeth, “The devil take the imp's curiosity! I must keep fair
weather with him, or we shall fare the worse.”
He then proceeded to state to Master Holiday his own talents as a
juggler, with those of his sister as a musician. Some proof of his
dexterity was demanded, which he gave in such a style of excellence,
that, delighted at obtaining such an accession to their party, they
readily acquiesced in the apology which he offered when a display of his
sister's talents was required. The new-comers were invited to partake
of the refreshments with which the party were provided; and it was with
some difficulty that Wayland Smith obtained an opportunity of being
apart with his supposed sister during the meal, of which interval he
availed himself to entreat her to forget for the present both her
rank and her sorrows, and condescend, as the most probable chance of
remaining concealed, to mix in the society of those with whom she was to
travel.
The Countess allowed the necessity of the case, and when they resumed
their journey, endeavoured to comply with her guide's advice, by
addressing herself to a female near her, and expressing her concern for
the woman whom they were thus obliged to leave behind them.
“Oh, she is well attended, madam,” replied the dame whom she addressed,
who, from her jolly and laughter-loving demeanour, might have been the
very emblem of the Wife of Bath; “and my gossip Laneham thinks as little
of these matters as any one. By the ninth day, an the revels last so
long, we shall have her with us at Kenilworth, even if she should travel
with her bantling on her back.”
There was something in this speech which took away all desire on the
Countess of Leicester's part to continue the conversation. But having
broken the charm by speaking to her fellow-traveller first, the good
dame, who was to play Rare Gillian of Croydon in one of the interludes,
took care that silence did not again settle on the journey, but
entertained her mute companion with a thousand anecdotes of revels, from
the days of King Harry downwards, with the reception given them by
the great folk, and all the names of those who played the principal
characters; but ever concluding with “they would be nothing to the
princely pleasures of Kenilworth.”
“And when shall we reach Kenilworth? said the Countess, with an
agitation which she in vain attempted to conceal.
“We that have horses may, with late riding, get to Warwick to-night, and
Kenilworth may be distant some four or five miles. But then we must
wait till the foot-people come up; although it is like my good Lord of
Leicester will have horses or light carriages to meet them, and bring
them up without being travel-toiled, which last is no good preparation,
as you may suppose, for dancing before your betters. And yet, Lord help
me, I have seen the day I would have tramped five leagues of lea-land,
and turned on my toe the whole evening after, as a juggler spins a
pewter platter on the point of a needle. But age has clawed me somewhat
in his clutch, as the song says; though, if I like the tune and like
my partner, I'll dance the hays yet with any merry lass in Warwickshire
that writes that unhappy figure four with a round O after it.”
If the Countess was overwhelmed with the garrulity of this good dame,
Wayland Smith, on his part, had enough to do to sustain and parry the
constant attacks made upon him by the indefatigable curiosity of his
old acquaintance Richard Sludge. Nature had given that arch youngster a
prying cast of disposition, which matched admirably with his sharp wit;
the former inducing him to plant himself as a spy on other people's
affairs, and the latter quality leading him perpetually to interfere,
after he had made himself master of that which concerned him not.
He spent the livelong day in attempting to peer under the Countess's
muffler, and apparently what he could there discern greatly sharpened
his curiosity.
“That sister of thine, Wayland,” he said, “has a fair neck to have been
born in a smithy, and a pretty taper hand to have been used for twirling
a spindle--faith, I'll believe in your relationship when the crow's egg
is hatched into a cygnet.”
“Go to,” said Wayland, “thou art a prating boy, and should be breeched
for thine assurance.”
“Well,” said the imp, drawing off, “all I say is--remember you have kept
a secret from me, and if I give thee not a Roland for thine Oliver, my
name is not Dickon Sludge!”
This threat, and the distance at which Hobgoblin kept from him for the
rest of the way, alarmed Wayland very much, and he suggested to his
pretended sister that, on pretext of weariness, she should express a
desire to stop two or three miles short of the fair town of Warwick,
promising to rejoin the troop in the morning. A small village inn
afforded them a resting-place, and it was with secret pleasure that
Wayland saw the whole party, including Dickon, pass on, after a
courteous farewell, and leave them behind.
“To-morrow, madam,” he said to his charge, “we will, with your leave,
again start early, and reach Kenilworth before the rout which are to
assemble there.”
The Countess gave assent to the proposal of her faithful guide; but,
somewhat to his surprise, said nothing further on the subject, which
left Wayland under the disagreeable uncertainty whether or no she had
formed any plan for her own future proceedings, as he knew her situation
demanded circumspection, although he was but imperfectly acquainted with
all its peculiarities. Concluding, however, that she must have friends
within the castle, whose advice and assistance she could safely trust,
he supposed his task would be best accomplished by conducting her
thither in safety, agreeably to her repeated commands.