I cannot say, distinctly, what roused me next morning. My faculties
were all in a maze, my body cramped and stiff as old leather--no doubt
due to the wetting of the previous evening, or my hard couch--while
the darkness bewildered and numbed my mind. Yet, indeed, I awoke, and,
after all, that was the great thing. I awoke and yawned, and feebly
stretched my dry and aching arms--good heavens! how the pain did fly
and shoot about them!--and rolled my stiff and rusty eyeballs, and
twisted that pulsing neck that seemed in that first moment of returning
life like a burning column of metal through which the hot river of my
starting blood was surging in a hissing, molten stream. I stretched,
and looked and listened as though my faculties were helpless prisoners
behind my numb, useless senses; but, peer and crane forward as I would,
nothing stirred the black stillness of my strange bed-chamber.
Nothing, did I say? Truly it was nothing for a time, and then I could
have sworn, by all the rich repository of gods and saints that the
wreck of twenty hierarchies had stranded in my mind, that I heard a
real material sound, a click and rattle, like metal striking stone,
this being followed immediately by a star of light somewhere in the mid
black void in front. Fie! ’twas but a freak of fancy, the stretching of
my cramped and aching sinews, but a nucleus of those swimming lights
that mocked my still sleepy eyes! I covered them with my hands and
groaned to be awake; I strove to make point or sense out of the wild
flood of remembrance that ebbed and flooded in thunderous sequence
through my head; and then again, obtrusive and clear, came the click!
click! of the unseen metal, and the shine of the great white planet
that burned in the black firmament of my prison behind it.
I staggered to my feet, stretching out eager hands in the void space to
touch the walls, and tried to move; and, as I did so, my knees gave way
beneath me; I made a wild grasp in the darkness, and fell in a loose
heap upon the littered, dusty floor. Lord! how my joints did ache! how
the hot, swift throes that monopolized my being shot here and there
about my cramped and twitching limbs! I rolled upon the dust-dry earth
of that gloomy chamber and cursed my last night’s wetting; cursed the
salt-sea spray that could breed such fiery torments; and even sent to
Hades my errand and my scrip of victory, the which, however, I was
cheered to note, in its bronze case now and then, with a movement or
a spasm of pain, knocked against my bare ribs as though to upbraid me
as a laggard embassy for lying sleeping here while all men waked to
know my tidings. I rose again, with rare difficulty but successfully
this time, and peered and listened till the dancing colors in my eyes
filled the empty air with giddy spinning suns and constellations, and
the making tide of wakefulness, flooding the channels of my veins,
cheated my ears to fancy some hideous storm was raging up above, and
thunderbolts were tearing shrieking furrows down the trembling sides
of mountains, and all the rivers of the world (so hideous was that
shocking sound) were tumbling headlong in wild confusion into the void
middle of the world.
I stuffed my ears and shut my eyes, and turned sick and faint at that
infernal tumult. My head spun and throbbed, and my light feet felt the
world give under them. I had nearly fallen, when once again, just as
my spinning brain was growing numb, and the close, thin air of that
place failed to answer to the needs of my new vitality, there came
that click! click! again, and the blessed white star that followed
it. This time that gleam of hope was broad and strong. On either side
as it shone, white zigzag rays flew out and stood so written upon
the black tablet of my prison. Ah! and a draught of nectar, of real,
divine nectar, of sweet white country air, came in from that celestial
puncture!
I leaped to it and knelt, and put my thirsty lips to that refulgence
and drank the simple ambient air that came through, as though I were
some thirsty pilgrim at a gushing stream. And it revived me, cooling
the rising fever of my blood, and numbing, like the sweet sedative
it was, the pains, that soon ran less keen and throbbed less strong,
and, in a few more minutes, went gently away into the distance under
its beneficent touch. Mayhap I fainted or slept for some little time,
overwhelmed by the stress of those few waking moments. When I looked up
again all was changed. I myself was new and fresh, and felt with every
pulse the strong life beating firm and gentle within me; and my prison
cell--it was no more a prison!
There was a gap bigger than my fist where the star had been, with great
fissures marking the outline of one of the stones that had supported
the topmost slab, and through the gap a peep of countryside, of yellow
grass, and sapphire sea, of pearly waves lisping in summer playfulness
around a golden shore, and overhead a sky of delightful blue.
I was grateful, and understood it all. The storm had gone down during
the night and the sun had risen; these were good folk outside, who, by
some chance, knew of my sheltering-place and had come early to release
me--a happy chance indeed! And it was their strong blows and crowbars
working on my massive walls that let in the light, and--none too
soon--refreshed me with a draught of outer air. Fool that I was to let
an uneasy night and a salt-sea soaking cloud my wit!
I was so pleased at the prospect of speedy release that I was on the
point of calling out to cheer my lusty friends at their work and show
the prisoner lived. But had I done so this book had never been written!
That shout was all but uttered--my mouth was close to the orifice
through which came the pleasant gleam of daylight, when voices of men
outside speaking one to another fell upon my ear.
“By St. George,” I heard one fellow say, “and every fiend in hell! they
who built this place surely meant it to last to Judgment! Here we have
been heaving at it since near daylight and not moved a stone.”
“Ah! and if you stand gaping there,” chimed in another, “we’ll not
have moved one by Tuesday week. On, you log! let’s see something of
that strength you brag of--why, even now I saw a shine and twinkle in
the opening there. This crib may prove the cradle of our fortunes, may
make us richer men than any strutting sheriffs, and recompense us for
a dozen disappointments! To it again; and you, Harry, stand ready with
the wedges to put them in when we do lift.”
I pricked my ears at this, as you will guess, for there was no mention
of me expectant, and only talk of wealth and recompense. I listened,
and heard the sulky workman take again his crowbar. I heard him call
for a drink, and the splash of the liquid into the leathern cup sounded
wonderfully clear in my silent chamber; then, as though in no hurry to
fall on, he asked, “What of the spoil we have already, mates? A sight
of those baubles would greatly lighten our labor, I think.”
“Now, as I had a man for my father,” burst out the first speaker,
“never did I see so small a heart in so big a body! Show him the swag,
Harry! rattle it under his greedy nose! and when he has done gloating
on it perhaps he’ll turn to and do something for a breakfast!”
At this there was a pause and a moving of feet, as though men were
collecting round some common object. Then came the tinkle of metals,
and, by Jove! I had not yet forgotten so much of merchant cunning in
my soldiering but that I recognized the music of gold and silver over
the base clink of lesser stuff. They tried, and sampled, and rung those
wares over my head; and presently he who was best among them said:
“A very pretty haul, mates, and, wisely disposed of, enough to furnish
us well, both inside and out, for a long time. These circlets here are
silver, I take it, and will run into a sweet ingot in the smelting-pot.
Yon boss is a brooch, by the pin, and of gold; though surely such a
vile fashion was never forged since Shem’s hammer last went silent.”
“What, gold, sir!”
“Ah! what else, old bullet-costard? Dost thou think I come round and
prize cursed devil-haunted mounds for lumps of clay? The brooch is
gold, I say; and the least of these trinkets” (whereon there came a
sound like one playing with bracelet and bangle)--“the worst of them
white silver. To it, then, good fellows, again! Burst me this stony
crypt, and, if it prove such a coffer as I have right to hope, before
the day is an hour older, you shall down to yonder town and there get
drunk past expectation and your happiest imaginings.”
So, my friends, I mused, ’tis not pure neighborliness that brings you
thus early to my rescue! Never mind; many a good deed has been done
in search of a sordid object, and whether you come for me or gold, it
shall vantage me alike. I will lend a hand on my side, since it were a
pity to keep this big fellow from his breakfast longer than need be.
While they plied spade and lever outside, I scraped below, and put
in, as well as I was able, a stone wedge now and then, whenever their
exertions canted the great stone a little to one side or the other.
The interest of all this, and because I was never apt in deceit, made
me somewhat reckless about showing too soon at the narrow opening, and
presently there came a guttural cry above, and a sound as though some
one had dropped a tool and sprung back.
“Hullo! stoutheart,” called the captain’s voice, “what now? Is it
another swig of the flask you want to swell your shallow courage, or
has thy puissant crowbar pierced through to hell?”
“Hell or not,” whined the fellow, “I do think the fiend himself is in
there. I did but stoop on a sudden to peer within, and may I never
empty a flagon again but there was something hideous moving in the
crypt! something round and shaggy, that toiled as we toiled, and pushed
and growled, and had two flaming yellow eyes----”
“Beast! coward! Oh, that I had brought a man instead of thee! ’Twas
gold you saw--bright, shining metal--think, thou swine, of all it will
buy, and how thou may’st hereafter wallow in thy foul delights! And
wilt thou forego the stuff so near? Gods! I would have a wrestle for it
though it were with the devil himself! Give me the crowbar.”
Apparently the captain’s avarice was of stouter kind than the yeoman’s,
for soon after this the stone upright began to give, and I saw the
moment of my deliverance was near. Now, I argued to myself, these
gentlemen outside are obvious rogues, and will much rather crack me on
the head than share their booty with such a strange-found claimant,
hence I must be watchful. Of the two under-rogues I had small fear,
but the captain seemed of bolder mold, and, unless his tongue lied, had
some sort of heart within him. So I waited watchful, and before long
a more than usually stalwart blow set the stone off its balance. It
slipped and leaned, then fell headlong outward with a heavy thud, and,
turning over on its side, rolled to the edge of the slope, and there,
revolving quicker and more quickly, went rumbling and crashing down
through the brambles into the valley a quarter of a mile below. As it
fell outward, a blaze of daylight burst upon my prison, and, with a
shout of joy, the foremost of the rogues dashed into my cell. At the
same moment, with such an old British battle yell as those monoliths
had not heard for a thousand years, but sorely dazed, I sprang forward.
We met in mid career, and the big thief went floundering down. He was
up again in a moment, and, yelling in his fear that the devil was
certainly there, rushed forth--I close behind him--and infected his
timorous comrade, and away they both went toward the woods, racing in
step and screaming in tune, as though they had practised it together
for half a lifetime. The fellows fled, but their leader stood, white
and irresolute, as he well might be, yet made bold by greed; and for a
moment we faced each other--he in his greasy townsman finery, a strong,
sullen thief from bonnet to shoe, and I, grim, gaunt, and ragged,
haggard, wild, unshorn, standing there for a moment against the black
porch of the old Druid grave-place--and then, wiping the sunshine from
my dazzled eyes and stooping low, I ran at him! Many were the ribbons
and trinkets I had taken long ago at that game. I ran at him, and threw
my arms round his leather-belted middle, and, with a good Saxon twist,
tossed his heels fairly into the air and threw him full length over my
shoulder. He fell behind me like a tree on the greensward, while his
head striking the buttress of a stone stunned him, and he lay there
bleeding and insensible.
“Hoth! good fellow,” I laughed, bending over him, “I am sorry for that
headache you will have to-morrow, but before you challenge so freely to
the wrestle you should know somewhat more of a foeman’s prowess!”
When I turned to the little heap of spoil the ravishers of the dead
had gathered and laid out on a cloth upon the stones, at once my mood
softened. There in that curious pile of trinkets were things so ancient
and yet so fresh that I heaved a sigh as I bent over them, and a whiff
of the old time came back--the jolly wild days when the world was young
rose before me as I turned them tenderly one by one. There lay the
bronze nobs from a British shield, and there, corroded and thin, the
long, flat blade that my rugged comrades once could use so well. There
was the broken haft of a wheel-scythe from a chief’s battle-car, and,
near by, the green and dinted harness of a war-horse. Hoth! how it took
me back! how it made me hear again in the lap of the soft Plantagenet
sea and all the insipid sounds of this degenerate countryside the
rattle and hum of the chariots as we raced to war, the sparkle and
clatter of the captains galloping through the leafy British woods, and
then the shout and tumult as we wheeled into line in the open, and,
our loose reins on the stallions’ necks and our trembling javelins
quivering in our ready hands, swept down upon the ranks of the reeling
foeman!
There again, in more peaceful wise, was a shoulder-brooch some British
maid had worn, and the wristlet and rings of some red-haired Helen
of an unfamous Troy. There lay a few links of the neck-chains of a
dust-dead warrior, and there, again, the head of his boar-spear. Here
was the thin gold circlet he had on his finger, the rude pin of brass
that fastened his colored cloak and the buckle of his sandal. Jove! I
could nearly tell the names of the vanished wearers, I knew all these
things so well!
But it was no use hanging over the pile like this. The ruffian I had
felled was beginning to move, and it served no purpose to remain:
therefore--and muttering to myself that I was a nearer heir to the
treasure than any among those thieves--I selected some dozen of the
fairest, most valuable trinkets, and put them in my wallet. Then,
feeling cold--for the fresh morning air was thin and cool here, above
the sea--the best coat from the ragged pile the rogues had thrown
aside, to be the lighter at their work, was chosen, and, with this on
my back, and a stout stave in my hand, I turned to go. But ere I went I
took a last look round--as was only natural--at a place that had given
me such timely shelter overnight. It was strange, very strange; but my
surroundings, as I saw them in the white daylight, matched wondrous
poorly with my remembrance of the evening before! The sea, to begin
with, seemed much farther off than it had done in the darkness. I have
said that when I swam ashore my well-remembered British harbor had,
to my eyes, silted up wofully, so that the knoll on which Blodwen’s
stockades once stood was some way up the valley. But small as the
estuary had shrunk last night, I had, it seemed, but poorly estimated
its shrinkage. ’Twas lesser than ever this morning, and some kine were
grazing among the yellow kingcups on the marshy flats at that very
place where I could have sworn I came ashore on the top of a sturdy
breaker! The greedy green and golden land was cozening the blue channel
sea out of beach and foreshore under my very eyes; the meadow-larks
were playing where the white surf should have been, and tall fern and
mallow flaunted victorious in the breeze where ancient British keels
had never even grated on a sandy bottom. I could not make it out,
and turned to look at the tomb from which I had crept. Here, too, the
turmoil of yestere’en and my sick and weary head had cheated me. In the
gloom the pile had appeared a bare and lichened heap washed out from
its old mound by rains: but, Jove! it seemed it was not so. I rubbed
my eyes and pulled my peaked beard and stared about me, for the crypt
was a grassy mound again, with one black gap framed by a few rugged
stones jutting from the green, as though the slope above it had slipped
down at that leveler Nature’s prompting, and piled up earth and rubbish
against the rocks, had escaladed them and marched triumphant up the
green glacis, planting her conquering pennons of bracken and bramble,
mild daisy and nodding foxglove, on that very arch where, by all the
gods! I thought last night the withering lightning would have glanced
harmless from a smooth and lichened surface. Well, it only showed how
weary I had been; so, shouldering my cudgel, and with a last sigh cast
back to that pregnant heap of rusty metal, I turned, and with fair
heart, but somewhat shaky limbs, marched off inland to give my wondrous
news.
How pleasant and fair the country was, and after those hot scenes of
battle, the noise and sheen of which still floated confusedly in my
head, how sweetly peaceful! I trod the green, secluded country lanes
with wondrous pleasure, remembering the bare French campagnas, and
stood stock-still at every gap in the blooming hedges to drink the
sweet breath of morning, coming, golden-laden with sunshine and the
breath of flowers, over the rippling meadow-grass! In truth, I was more
English than I had thought, my step was more elastic to tread these
dear domestic leas, and my spirits rose with every mile simply to know
I was in England! And I--a tough, stern soldier, with arms still red
to the elbow in the horrid dye of war, and on a hasty errand, pulled
me a flowering spray from the coppices, and smiled and sang as I went
along, now stopping in delighted trance to hear out the nightingale
that, from a bramble athwart the thicket path, sang most enrapturedly,
and then, forgetful of my haste, standing amazed under the flushed
satin of the blooming apples. “Jove!” I laughed, “here is a sweeter
pavilion than any victor prince doth sleep in! Fie! to fight and bleed
as we do yonder, while the sweetness of such a tent as this goes all to
waste upon the wind!” and I sat and stared and laughed until the prick
of conscience stirred me and, reluctant, I passed on again. Then over
a flowery mead or two, where the banded bees swung in busy fashion at
the lilac cuckoo-flowers, and the shining dewdrops were charged with
a hundred hues, down to a sunny, babbling brook that sparkled by a
yellow ford. There I would stand and watch the silver fingers of the
stream toy and tug the great heads of nodding kingcup, watch the flash
of the new-come swallow’s wing, as he shot through the byways between
the mallows, and be so still that e’en the timid water-hen led out
her brood across the freckled play of sunshine on the water, and the
mute kingfisher came to the broken rail and did not fear me. “Surely a
happy stream,” I thought, “not to divide two princely neighbors! What
a blessed current that can keep its native color and chatter thus of
flowers and sunshine, while yon other torrent runs incarnadine to the
sea--a corpse-choked sewer of red ambition!”
Then it was a homestead that, all unseen, I paused by, watching the
great sleek kine knee-deep in the scented yellow straw, the spangled
cock defiant on the wall, the tender doves a-wooing on the roof-ridge,
and presently the swart herdsman, with flail and goad, come out from
beneath his roses and stoop and kiss the pouting cherry lips of the
sweet babe his comely mate held up to him. “Jove!” I meditated, “and
here’s a goodly kingdom. Oh that I had a realm with no politics in it
but such as he has!” and so musing I went along from path to path and
hill to hill.
At one time my feet were turned to a way-side rest-house, where a jug
of wine was asked for and a loaf of bread, for you will remember that
saving a handful of dry biscuit, which I broke in my gauntlet palm and
ate between two charges, I had not broken fast since the morning before
Crecy. The master of the tavern took up the coin I tendered and eyed
it critically. He held it in the sun, and rung it on a stone and spat
upon it, then, taking a little dust from the road, rubbed diligently
until he came down through the green sea-slime to the metal below. It
was true-coined, plump, and full, though certainly a trifle rusty; and
this and my grim, commanding figure in his doorway carried the day. He
brought me wine and cheese and bread, whereon I sat on a corner of the
trestle table munching them outside in the sun under shadow of my broad
felt yokel hat, with the quaint inn sign gently creaking overhead, and
my moldy, sea-stained legs dangling under me.
I was in a good mood, yet thoughtful somehow, for had not the King
especially warned me not to part lightly with the precious news
wherewith I was freighted? And if so be that I must be reticent in this
particular, yet again my heart was surely too full of my victorious
errand to let me gossip lightly on trivial matters; thus my bread was
broken in abstracted silence, and, when my beaker went now and again
into the shade of my hat-brim, I drank mutely and proffered no sign
of friendship to those other country wayfarers who stood about the
honeysuckled doorway eyeing me askance after the manner I was so used
to, and whispering now and then to one another.
I sat and thought how my errand was to be most speedily carried out,
for you see I might trudge days and days afoot like this before good
luck or my own limbs brought me to the footstool of Edward’s Royal
wife, and gave me leave to burst that green and rusty case that, with
its precious scroll, still dangled at my side. I had no money to buy a
horse--the bangles taken from the crypt-thieves would not stand against
the value of the boniest palfrey that ever ambled between a tinker’s
legs--and last night’s infernal wetting had made me into the sorriest,
most moldy-looking herald that ever did a kingly bidding. Surely, I
thought, as I glanced at my borrowed clay-stained rustic cloak, my
cracked and rotten leather doublet, my tarnished hose all frayed and
colorless, my shoon, that only held together, methought, by their
patching of gray sea-slime and mud, surely no one will lend or loan me
anything like this; they will laugh at my knightly gage of honorable
return, and scout the faintest whisper of my errand!
Thus ruefully reflecting, I had finished my frugal luncheon, yet still
scarce knew what to do, and maybe I had sat dubious like that on the
trestle edge for near an hour, when, looking up on a sudden, there was
a blooming little maid of some three tender years standing in the sun
staring hard upon me, her fair blue eyes ashine with wonder, and the
strands of her golden hair lifting on the breeze like gossamers in
June. She had in one rosebud hand a flower of yellow daffodil, and in
fault of better introduction proffered it to me. My stern soldier heart
was melted by that maid. I took her flower and put it in my belt, and
lifted the little one on my knee, then asked her why she had looked so
hard at the stranger.
[Illustration: She proffered it to me]
“Oh!” she said, pointing to where some older children were watching all
this from a safe distance, “Johnnie and Andrew, my brothers, said you
were surely the devil, and, as they feared, I came myself to see if it
were true.”
“And am I? Is it true?”
“I do not know,” said the little damsel, fixing her clear blue eyes
upon mine--“I do not know for certain, but I like you! I am sorry
for you, because you are so dirty. If you were cleaner I could love
you”--and very cautiously, watching my eyes the while, the pretty babe
put out a petal-soft hand and stroked my grim and weathered face.
I could not withstand such gentle blandishment, and forgot all my
musings and my haste, and kissed those pink fingers under the shadow
of my hat, and laid myself out to win that soft little heart, and won
it, so that, when presently the wondering mother came to claim her own,
the little maiden burst into such a headlong shower of silver April
tears that I had to perjure myself with false promises to come again,
and even the gift of my last coin and another kiss or two scarce set me
free from the sweet investigator.
But now I was aroused, and stalked down the green country road full of
speed and good intention. I would walk to the Royal city, since there
were no other way, and these fair shires must have grown expansive
since the olden days if I could not see a march or two while the sun
was up. Eastward and north I knew the Court should lie, so bent my
steps through glades and commons with the midday sun behind my better
shoulder. But the journey was to be shorter than seemed likely at the
outset. After asking, to no purpose, my road of several rustics, a
venerable wayfarer was chanced upon, ambling down a shady gully.
This quaint old fellow sat a rough little steed, one, indeed, of the
poorest-looking, most knock-kneed beasts I had ever seen a gentleman
of gentle quality astride of. And, in truth, the rider was not better
kept. He wore a great widespreading cloak of threadbare stuff, falling
from his shoulders to his knees in such ample folds that it half hid
the neck and quarters of his steed. Below this mantle, splashed with
twenty shades of mud and most quaintly patched, you saw the pricks of
rusty iron spurs on old and shabby leather boots, and just the point
of a frayed black leather scabbard peeping under his stirrup-straps.
The hat he wore was broad-brimmed and peaked, and looked near as old
as did its wearer. Under that shapeless cover was a most strange face.
I do not think I ever saw so much and various writ upon so little
parchment as shone upon the dry and wrinkled surface of that rider’s
features. There were cunning and closeness on it, and yet they did
not altogether hide the openness of gentle birth and liberal thought.
Now you would think to watch those shrewd, keen eyes a-glitter there
under the penthouse of his shaggy eyebrows, he was some paltry trader
with a vision bounded by his weekly till and the infruct of his lying
measures, and then anon, at some word or passing fancy, as you came
to know him better, ’twas strange to see how eagle-like those optics
shone, and with what a clear, bright, prophetic gaze the old fellow
would stare, like a steersman through the dim-lit gloom of a starry
night, over the wide horizon of the visionary and uncertain! He
could look as small and mean about the mouth as a usurer on settling
day; and then, when his mood changed, and he fell thoughtful, the
gentle melancholy of his face--the goodly soul that spoke behind that
changeful mask, the strange dissatisfaction, the incompleteness, the
unhappy longing for something unattainable there reflected, made you
sad to look upon it!
I overtook this quaint rider as he rode alone, my active feet being
more than a match for the shaky limbs of that mean beast he sat upon,
and, coming alongside, observed him unnoticed for a minute. Truly as
quaint a fellow-traveler as you could meet! His head was sunk, and his
grizzled white beard fell over his chest: his eyes were fixed in vacant
stare on some vision of the future; and his lips moved tremulously now
and again as the thoughts of his mind escaped unheeded from between
them. Was he poet? Was he seer? Was it a black past or a red, rosy
future the old fellow babbled of? Jove! I was not in very good kind
myself, and I fancy I had read now and again, in the wonder of those
who saw me, that my face had a tale to tell. But, by the great gods! I
was neat and pretty-pied beside this most rusty gentleman; my face was
as void as a curd-fed bumpkin’s, compared to those eloquently absent
eyes, that fine, mean profile, there, in the slouch of the big hat, and
those busy lips!
“Good-morning, Sir!” I said; and as the old man looked up with a start
and saw me, a stranger, walking by his side, all the fervor and the
fancy died from off his face, the fine features shut upon themselves;
and there he was, the meanest, shallowest, most paltry-looking of old
rogues that had ever pulled off a cap to his equal!
He returned my first light questionings with a sullen suspicion,
which gradually thawed, however, as his keen scrutiny took,
apparently, reassuring stock of my face and figure, and we spoke, as
fellow-travelers will, for a few moments on the roads, the weather, and
the prospect of the skies. Then I asked him, with small expectation of
much advantage in his answer, “which was the best way to Court.”
“There are many ways, my son,” he said. “You may get there because of
extreme virtue, or on the introduction of peculiar wickedness.”
“Ah! but I meant otherwise----”
“Shining wisdom, they say, brings a man to Court--or should. And,
God knows, there is no place like Court for folly! If thou art very
beautiful thou may come to it, and if thou art as ugly as hell they
will have thee for a laughing-stock and nine-days’ wonder. Anaximander
went to Court because he was so wise, and Anaxippus because he was so
foolish; Diphilus because he was so slow in penmanship, and Antimachus
because he wrote so much and swift. Ah, friend! many are the ways.
Polypemon lived by plunder, and, because he was the cruelest thief that
ever stripped a wanderer by green Cephisus, he came under the notice of
kings and gods; ay, and Clytius is famous because he was so faithful;
and the patriotic Codrus because he bared his bosom to the foe, and
Spendius for a hundred treacheries, and----”
“No! no!” I cried, “no more, Sir, I entreat. I did not mean to play
footpad to thy capacious memory, and rob your mind of all these just
comparisons, but only to ask, in ordinary material manner, which was
the best way to the palace, which the nearest road, the safest footpath
for a hasty stranger to our good Queen’s footstool. I have a Royal
script to deliver to her.”
“What, is it the Queen you want to see? Why, I am bound that road
myself, and in a few minutes I will show you the pennons glancing among
the trees where they be camped.”
“Where they be camped?” I exclaimed in wonder. “I thought that was many
a mile from here--in fact, Sir, in the great city itself, and yet you
say a few minutes will show us the Royal tents.”
“Oh, what a blessed thing are youthful legs! And were you off to
distant Westminster like that, good fellow, ‘to see the Queen,’
forsooth, with nothing in thy wallet, and as little in thy head?” And
the old man eyed me under his slouching cap with a mixture of derision
and strange curiosity.
“I tell you, Sir,” I answered, “I come on hasty business; I am a
messenger of the utmost urgency, and if I am afoot instead of mounted
it is more misfortune than inclination. What brings the Queen, if,
indeed, we are so near her, thus far afield?”
“Praise Heaven, young man, there is no one who knows less of the
goings and comings of her and hers than I do. I hate them,” he said
sourly; “a lying swarm of locusts round that yellow jade they call a
Queen--a shallow, cruel, worthless crew who stand in the way of light
and learning, and laugh the poor scholar out of face and heart!” And,
muttering to himself, my companion relapsed into a moody silence as we
breasted the last rise. But on a sudden he looked up with something
like a smile wrinkling his withered cheek, and went on: “But you do
not laugh--you have some bowels of compunction within you--you can be
as civil to a threadbare cloak as to a silken doublet. Gads! fellow,
there is something about thee that moves me very strangely. Art thou of
gentle quality?”
“I have been of many qualities in my time, Sir.”
“So I guessed, and something tells me we shall see more of one another.
There is a presence about thee that makes me fear--that puts a dread
upon me, why I know not. And then, again, I feel drawn to thee by a
strong, strange sense, as the Persian says one planet is drawn toward
another.”
I let the old fellow ramble on, paying, indeed, but cold notice to
his chatter, since all my thoughts were on ahead, and when at last we
came out of the hazel dingles, there, sure enough, down in the valley
was a white road winding among the trees, and a stately park, a goodly
house of many windows, and amid the fair meadows among the branches
shone the white gleam of tents, and overhead the flutter of silken tags
and gonfalons, and now and then there came the glint of steel and
gold from out that goodly show, and the blare of trumpets, and more
softly on the afternoon air the shout of busy marshals, the neighing of
steeds, and the low murmur of many voices.
Oh, it was a pretty scene to see the tender countryside so fresh and
green, and the rolling meadows at our feet dusted thick with gold
and silver flowers all blended in a splendid web of tissue under the
shining sun. And there the flush of blossom on the orchards streaked
the fair valley like a sunset cloud, and here the bronze of budding
oaks lay soft in the hollows, while overhead the blue canopy of the sky
was one unbroken roof from verge to verge.
We two looked down upon that scene of peace with different feeling for
a space, then, making my friendly salutation to the dreamy pedant,
“Here, Sir,” I said, “I fear we part forever.”
“Not so,” he said: “we shall meet once more, and soon.”
“Well! well! Soon or distant, we will meet again in friendship,” and,
with a wave of the hand, off I set, delighted to think chance had so
favored me, and all impatient to tell my news. I did not stop to look
to left or right, but down the glen I ran into the valley, scaring
the frightened sheep and oxen, and stopping not for fence or boundary
until the broad road was reached, and all among the groups of gaping
countrymen and busy lackeys leading out the steeds to water in the
meadows round the Royal camp, I slackened my pace. The broad park gates
were open, and inside, amid the oak-trees around the great house, gay
confusion reigned. There, on one hand, were the fair white tents bright
with silk and golden trappings, and, while a hundred sturdy yeomen were
busy setting up these cool pavilions, others spread costly rugs about
their porches, and displayed within them lordly furniture enough to
dazzle such rough soldier eyes as mine. There in long rows beneath
the branches were ranked a wondrous show of mighty gilded coaches with
empty shafts a-trail, all still dusty from the road, and hurrying
grooms were covering these over for the night, while others fed and
tended a squadron of sleek, fat horses, whose beribboned manes and
glistening hides so well filled out struck me amazed when I recalled
those poor, ragged, muddy chargers whereon we had borne down the hosts
of Philip’s chivalry two days before. All about the green were groups
of gallant gentlemen and ladies, and I overheard, as I brushed by, some
of them speaking of a splendid show to be given that night in the court
of the great house near by, and how the proud owner of it, thus honored
by the great Queen’s presence, had beggared him and his for many a
day in making preparation. It was most probable, for the white-haired
seneschal was tearing his snowy locks, entreating, imploring, amid a
surging, unruly mass of porters, cooks, and scullions, while heaps of
provender, vats of wine, and mighty piles of food for men and horses,
littered all the rearward avenues.
But little I looked at all these things. Clad like many another
countryman come there to see the show (only a little more ragged and
uncouth), I passed the outer wickets, and, skirting the groups of
idlers, strode boldly out across the trim inner lawns and breasted the
wide sweep of steps that led to the great scutcheoned doorway. All down
these steps gilded fellows were lolling in splendid finery, who started
up and stared at me, as, nothing noticing their gentle presence, now
hot upon my errand, I bounded by. At top were two strong yeomen, gay
in crimson and black livery, of most quaint kind, with rampant lions
worked in gold upon their breasts, and tall, broad-bladed halberds in
their hands. They made a show of barring the way with those mighty
weapons; but I came so unexpected, and showed so little hesitation,
they faltered. Also, I had pulled off my cap, and better men than they
had stepped back in fear and wonder from a glance of that grim, stern
face that I thus did show them. Past these, and once inside, I found
the Queen was receiving the country-folk, and up the waiting avenue of
these good rustic lieges I pushed, brushing through the feeble fence
of stewards’ marshaling-rods held out to awe, and, nothing noticing a
score of curly pages who threw themselves before me, I burst into the
presence chamber. Hoth! ’Twas a fine room, like the mid-aisle of a
great cathedral, and all around the walls were banners and bannerets,
antlers of deer, and goodly shows of weapons, and suits of mail and
harness. And this splendid lobby was thronged with courtiers in silks
and satins, while ruffs and stocks and mighty collarets, and pearls and
gems, and cloth of gold and sarsanet glittered everywhere, and a gentle
incense of lovely scents mingled with a murmur of courtly talk went
up to the fair carved oaken ceiling. Right ahead of me was a splendid
crimson carpet of wondrous pile and softness, and at the far end of
that stately way a daïs, and on it, lightly chatting amid a pause in
the Royal business--the Queen!
She was not the least what I had looked for. I had pictured Edward’s
noble dame, the daughter of the knightly house of Hainault, as pale and
proud and dark--the fit wife to her warlike husband, and a meet mother
to her son. But this one was lank and yellow, comely enough no doubt
and tall, with a mighty proud light in her eyes when occasion served,
and a right royal bearing, yet still somehow not quite that which I
expected. What did it matter? Was it not the Queen, and was not that
enough? Gods! What should it count what color was her hair, since my
master found it good enough? And, in truth, but I had something to say
would bring the red into those lackluster cheeks, or Philippa were
unlike all other women. Therefore, with a shout of triumph that shocked
the mild courtiers, brandishing my precious script above my head, I
leaped forward, and, dashing up that open crimson road, ran straight to
the footstool of the Royal lady, and there dropping on one knee:
“Hail! Royal mother,” I cried.
“Thanks!” she said sardonically, as soon as she regained her composure.
“Thanks, gentle maid!”
“Madam,” I cried, “I come, a herald, charged with splendid news of
conquest! But one day since, over in famous France, thy loyal English
troops have won such a victory against mighty odds as lends a new
luster even to the broad page of English valor. But one day since, in
your noble General’s tent----”
But by this time all the throng of courtiers had found their tongues,
and some certain quantity of those senses whereof my sudden entry had
bereft them. While a few, who caught the meaning of my word, and,
stopping not to argue, thought it was the news indeed of a victory
that glittering Court had long hoped for, broke out into tumultuous
cheering--waving scarf and handkerchief, and throwing wide the
lattices, that the common folk without might share their noisy joy,
those others who stood closer around, and saw my ragged habiliments,
could not believe it.
“You a herald!” exclaimed one grizzled veteran in slashed black velvet
over pearly satin. “You a messenger chosen for such an errand! Madam,”
he cried, drawing out a long rapier from its velvet case, “it is some
madman, some brain-sick soldier. I do implore your Grace to let me call
the guards.”
“An assassin! an assassin!” cried another. “Run him through, Lord
Fodringham! Give him no chance or parley!”
“’Tis past belief!” exclaimed a dainty fellow, all perfumed lace and
golden chains. “Such glad tidings are not trusted to base country curs.”
“A fool!” “A rogue!” “A graceless villain!” they shouted. “Stab him!
drag him from the presence! Fie upon the billmen to let such scullions
in upon us!” And thick these pretty peers came clustering on me, the
while their ladies screamed, and all was stormy tumult.
Up, then, I jumped to my feet, and hot and wrathful, shaking my
clenched fist in the faces of those glittering lords, broke out: “By
the bright light of day, Sirs, he who says I have a better here in
this hall, lies--lies loud and flatly. Do you think, because I come
clad like this, you may safely spend your shallow wit upon me? I tell
you all, pretty silken spaniels that you are! you, Fodringham, with
the gilded toothpick you miscall a sword! you there, Sir, who reek
of musk and valor! and all you others, who keep so discreetly out of
arm’s reach!--I tell you every one that, in court or camp, in tilt
or tourney, I am your mate! Ah, Sirs, and this rusty country smock,
blazoned by miry ways and hasty travel; this muddy tabard here, because
’tis upon a herald’s breast, is more honorable wear than any silken
surtout that you boast of. Gods, gentlemen! if so there be that any
one here in truth misdoubts it, let me entreat his patience; let me
humbly crave the boon that he will hold his mettled valor in curb just
so long as I may render that message which I surely have at this Royal
footstool, and then, on horse or foot, with mace or sword, I will show
him my credentials!” But none of that glittering throng had aught to
say. Those bold, silken lordlings pushed back in a wide circle from
where I stood, fierce and tall in my muddy rags, and fumbled their
golden dagger-knobs, and studied with drooped heads the dainty silk
rosettes upon their cork-heeled shoes.
After waiting a moment, to give their valor fair chance of answering,
I turned disdainfully from them, and, bending again to fair Queen
Philippa, “Madam,” I said, “these noisy boys make me forget the smooth
reverence that I owe your Grace, yet surely the noble daughter of
Hainault will forgive a hasty word spoken in defense of soldier honor?”
“I know nothing, good fellow,” replied the Queen, eyeing her
discomfited nobles with inward glee, “of thy Hainault, but I like thy
outspokenness extremely. By Heaven! you make me think it was some time
since I last saw a man about me.”
“And have I leave to do my mission, noble lady?”
“Ay, Sir, to it at once! We care not how you come, or who you are,
or for the exact condition of your smock, so that you bring news of
victory.”
“But, Madam,” put in Fodringham, “it is not safe--he has some desperate
purpose----”
“Silence!” shouted the Queen, springing to her feet and stamping a
pretty foot, cased in a dainty pearl-encrusted slipper--“silence,
I say, Lord Fodringham, and all you other peers who make our
presence-chamber like a bear-pit: silence! or by my father’s heart I
will cure him of insolence who speaks again for once and all.” And the
sallow virago, flushing like an angry yellow sunset, with her fierce
gray eyes agleam, and her thin lips stern-set, one white hand clutching
the high carved arm of her daïs, and the other set like white ivory on
the jeweled handle of her fan, scowled round upon her courtiers.
They knew that proud termagant too well to meet her eye, and having
stared them all into meek silence she let the yellow flush die from her
cheek, and turning to me she said: “Now, fellow, to thy errand.”
“Then, sovereign lady,” I began, “but two days since, in France, the
English troops, fair set upon a sunny hillside, were attacked by a vast
array of foemen, and thanks to happy chance, to thy princely General’s
captainship, and to the incredible valor of thy lieges, they were
victorious!”
“Now may the dear God who rules these things accept my grateful and
most humble thanks!” And the proud Queen, with bright moisture in her
eye, looked skyward for a moment, and was so moved with true joy and
pleasure in her country’s conquest that thereon at once she went up
most mightily in my esteem.
“Most welcome of all heralds,” she went on, “how fared the English
leader in that desperate fight? If aught has happed to Lord Leicester,
it will spoil all else that you can say.”[4]
[4] The Earl of Leicester, in the spring of 1586, had command of the
English forces in Flanders, and news of the great victory which he
constantly promised but never achieved was daily expected.
I did not quite catch the name she mentioned under breath, but I
thought it was the Royal mother asking how my noble young master had
prospered, so I spoke out at once.
“Madam, he is unhurt and well! It is not for me, a humble knight,
to praise that shining star of honor, but he for whom thou art so
naturally solicitous” (here the Queen blushed a little and looked down,
while there was a scarce-suppressed laugh among the fair damsels behind
me), “he, Madam, has done splendid deeds of valor. Three times, noble
Queen, right along the glittering front of France he charged, three
times he pierced so deep into that sea of steel that he near lay hands
upon their golden lilies in mid-host. The proud Count of Poligny fell
before him, and the Lord of Lusigny was overthrown in single combat;
Besançon and Arnay went down under his maiden spear; he pulled an
ancient crest from the Bohemian eagle in mid-battle. In brief, Madam,
a more valorous knight was never buckled into armor; he was the prop
and pillar of our host, and to him this victory is as largely due as it
is to any.”
“Herald,” said the Queen, with real gratitude and pleasure in her voice
again, “indeed your news is welcome. There was nothing I had rather
than such a victory, and because ’tis his, because it will stifle the
envious clamor of his enemies, and embolden me to do that which I hope
to. Oh! your news fills up to overflowing the measure of my joy and
satisfaction!” And the fair lady bent her head and fell into a reverie,
like a maid who cogitates upon the prowess of an absent lover.
So far the woman--then the Queen came back, and lifting her shapely
head, with its high-piled yellow hair, laced with strings of amethyst
and pearl, and well set off by the great stiff-starched ruff behind,
she asked:
“And my dear English nobles, and my stout halberdiers and pikemen--God
forgive me that I should forget them!--how told the fight upon them? My
heart bleeds to think of the odds you say they did withstand.”
“Be comforted, fair Sovereign! The tide of war set strong against our
enemies, our palisades and trenches were well laid; the keen English
arrows carried disaster far afield on their iron points ere the battle
joined; the great host of France fell by its own mightiness; and
victory, this time at least, shall wring but few tears from English
maids or matrons.”
“Heaven be truly thanked for that!”
“Indeed, Madam”--so I went on--“none of great account fell those few
hours since. Lord Harcourt I saw bear him like the bold soldier that he
was, and when the battle faded into evening he it was who marshaled
our scattered ranks and set the order for the night.”
“Who did you say?”
“Harcourt, lady, thy bold captain. And Codrington, too, was
redoubtable, and came safe from the fight. Chandos dealt out death to
all who crossed his path, like an avenging fury, yet took no scratch.
Hot Lord Walsingham swept like an avalanche in spring through the
close-packed Frenchmen, yet lives to tell of it, and old Sir John
Fitzherbert, when I left the field--his white beard all athwart his
shredded broken armor--was cheering loudly for our victory, the while
they lapped him up in linens, for a French axe had shorn his left arm
off at the shoulder. All have taken dints, but near all are safe and
well.”
“’Tis strange,” said the Queen, thoughtfully, “’tis strange I know so
few of these. I have a Harcourt, but he is not warlike; and cunning,
cruel Walsingham lives in the north, and sits better astride of a
dinner-stool than a charger. Codrington and Fitzherbert leading my
troops to war! Here, let me see thy script: it may explain.” And she
held out her jeweled hand.
Thereon a strange uneasiness possessed me, and seemed to cloud my
honest courage. What was it? What had I to fear? I did not know. And
yet my strong fingers, that never wearied upon a hilt though the day
were ne’er so long, trembled as I slung round my pouch, and my heart
set off a-beating with craven fear, as it had never beat before in
sack or mêlée. It was too foolish; and, a little angry at the blood
that ran so slowly in my veins, and the heavy sense of evil that sat
on me all of a sudden, I pulled the metal letter-case from my wallet,
and burst the seal and pressed the lid. The wallet split from side to
side as though the stout leather were frail paper, and the strong metal
crumbled in my fingers like red, rotten touchwood.
I stared at it in amazement. What could it mean? Then shook the thin,
rusty fragments from my hand, and, putting on a bold face I did not
feel, drew out the parchment from the strangely frail casing, brushed
off the dust and litter, and handed it to the Sovereign.
“Lady,” I said in a voice I fain would have made true and clear, “there
is the full account, and though seas have stained it, and rough travel
spoiled the casing, as you saw, yet have I made all diligence I could.
It was yesterday morning King Edward gave me that, and ‘Take it,’ he
said, ‘as fast as foot can go to sweet Queen Philippa, my wife. Say
’twas penned on battlefield, and comes full charged with my dear and
best affections.’ Thus, Madam, have I brought it straight to thee from
famous Crecy, and here place it, the warrant of my truth, in Queen
Philippa’s own hand.” And then I gave her the scroll.
Jove! how yellow and tarnished it did look! The frail silk that bound
it was all afray and colorless; and the King’s great seal, that once
had been so cherry-red, was bleached to sickly pallor! The Queen took
it, and while I held my breath in nameless terror she turned it over
and slowly round about, and stared first at me, and then at that fatal
thing. She begged a dagger from a courtier at her side, and split the
binding, and unfolded that tawny scroll that crackled in her fingers,
it was so old and stiff, and read the address and superscription; and
then, all on a sudden, while a deathlike silence held the room, she
turned her stern, cold eyes, full of wrath and wonder, to me kneeling
there, and burst out:
“Why, fellow! what mummery is all this? Philippa and Crecy? Why, thou
incredible fool! Philippa of Hainault has been dust these twenty
generations; and Crecy--thy ‘famous Crecy’--was fought near three
hundred years ago! I am Elizabeth Tudor!”
Slowly I rose from my feet and stared at her--stared at her in
the hush of that wondering room, while a cold chill of fear and
consternation crept over my body. Incredible! “Crecy fought three
hundred years ago!”--the hall seemed full of that horrible whisper,
and a score of echoes repeated, “Queen Philippa has been dust these
twenty generations, and Crecy--thy famous Crecy--was fought near
three hundred years ago!” Oh, impossible--cruel--ridiculous!--and
yet--and yet! There, as I stood, glaring at the Queen with strained,
set face, and clenched hands, and heaving breath, gasping, wondering,
waiting for something to break that hideous silence or give the lie to
that accursed sentence that still floated round on the ambient air,
and took new strength from the disdainful light in those clustering
courtier eyes, and their mocking, scornful smiles--while I waited I
remembered--by all the infernal powers I remembered--my awakening, and
all the things I should have noted and had not. I recalled the bitter
throes that had wracked my stiff joints in the old British grave as
never mortal rheums yet twisted common sinew and muscle. I recalled
the long labor of the crypt thieves, and the altered face of rocks and
foreshore when my eyes first lit upon them after that long sleep. The
very April season that sorted so ill with the August Crecy left behind
took new meaning to me now all on an instant; and my ragged, crumbling
raiment, in shreds and tatters, so ruinous as never salt spray yet made
a good suit in one mortal evening, the strange garb and speech of those
I met, and then this tawny, handsome, yellow lioness on the throne
where should have been a pale, black Norman girl. Oh! hell and fiends!
But she spoke the truth. I had lain three hundred years in Ufner’s
stones, and with a wild, fierce cry of shame and anger, one long yell
of pain and disappointment, I tore the cursed wallet from my neck and
hurled it down there savagely at her feet, and turned and fled! Past
the startled courtiers--past the screaming groups of laced and ruffled
women--out! out! through the long line of feeble wardens; out between
the glistening lowered halberds of the guards, down the white shining
steps, an outcast and a scoffing-point, down into the road I ran,
under a thousand wondering eyes, as fast as foot could go--not looking
where or how, but seeking only the friendly cover of solitude and the
fast-coming evening, and then, at length, worn out and spent--so sick
in mind and heart I could scarce put one limb before another, I sank
down on a grassy bank, a mile out of sight and sound of that fatal
camp, and dropped my head into my hands and let the fierce despair and
the black, swelling loneliness well up in my choked and aching heart.