The next day the royal train set forth from Pontefract, and ere mounting,
James presented his young kinsman to the true Joan Beaufort--fair-haired,
soft-featured, blue-eyed, and with a lovely air of graciousness, as she
greeted him with a sweet, blushing, sunny smile, half that of the queen
in anticipation, half that of the kindly maiden wishing to set a stranger
at ease. So beautiful was she, that Malcolm felt annihilated at the
thought of his blunder of last night.
As they rode on, James was entirely occupied with the lady, and Malcolm
was a good deal left to himself; for, though the party was numerous, he
knew no one except the Duke of Bedford, who was riding with the King and
Lord Warwick, in deep consultation, while Sir Nigel Baird, Lord Marmion,
and the rest were in the rear. He fell into a mood of depression such as
had not come upon him since he passed the border, thinking himself
despised by all for being ill-favoured and ill-dressed, and chafing,
above all, at the gay contempt he fancied in young Ralf Percy's eye. He
became constantly more discontented with this noisy turmoil, and more
resolved to insist on returning to the peaceful cloister where alone he
could hide his head and be at rest.
The troop halted for what they called their noon meat at the abode of a
hospitable Yorkshire knight; but King Henry, in order that the good
gentleman's means should not be overtasked, had given directions that
only the ladies and the princes should enter the house, while the rest of
the suite should take their meal at the village inn.
King James, in attending to Joan, had entirely forgotten his cousin; and
Malcolm, doubtful and diffident, was looking hesitatingly at the gateway,
when Ralf Percy called out, 'Ha! you there, this is our way. That is
only for the royal folk; but there's good sack and better sport down
here! I'll show you the way,' he added, good-naturedly, softened, as
most were, by the startled, wistful, timid look.
Malcolm, ashamed to say he was royal, but surprised at the patronage, was
gratefully following, when old Bairdsbrae indignantly laid his hand on
the rein. 'Not so, Sir; this is no place for you!'
'Let me alone!' entreated Malcolm, as he saw Percy's amazed look and
whistle of scorn. 'They don't want me.'
'You will never have your place if you do not take it,' said the old
gentleman; and leading the trembling, shrinking boy up to the door, he
continued, 'For the honour of Scotland, Sir!' and then announcing Malcolm
by his rank and title, he almost thrust him in.
Fancying he detected a laugh on Ralf Percy's face, and a sneer on that of
the stout English porter, Malcolm felt doubly wretched as he was ushered
into the hall and the buzz of talk and the confusion made by the
attendance of the worthy knight and his many sons, one of whom, waiting
with better will than skill, had nearly run down the shy limping
Scotsman, who looked wildly for refuge at some table. In his height of
distress, a kindly gesture of invitation beckoned to him, and he found
himself seated and addressed, first in French, and then in careful
foreign English, by the same lady whom he had yesterday taken for Joan of
Somerset, namely, Esclairmonde de Luxemburg.
He was too much confused to look up till the piece of pasty and the wine
with which the lady had caused him to be supplied were almost consumed,
and it was not till she had made some observations on the journey that he
became at ease enough to hazard any sort of answer, and then it was in
his sweet low Scottish voice, with that irresistibly attractive look of
shy wistful gratitude in his great soft brown eyes, while his un-English
accent caused her to say, 'I am a stranger here, like yourself, my Lord;'
and at the same moment he first raised his eyes to behold what seemed to
him perfect beauty and dignity, an oval face, richly-tinted olive
complexion, dark pensive eyes, a sweet grave mouth smiling with
encouraging kindness, and a lofty brow that gave the whole face a
magnificent air, not so much stately as above and beyond this world. It
might have befitted St. Barbara or St. Katherine, the great intellectual
virgin visions of purity and holiness of the middle ages; but the
kindness of the smile went to Malcolm's heart, and emboldened him to
answer in his best French, 'You are from Holland, lady?'
'Not from the fens,' she answered. 'My home lies in the borders of the
forest of Ardennes.'
And then they found that they understood each other best when she spoke
French, and Malcolm English, or rather Scotch; and their acquaintance
made so much progress, that when the signal was again given to mount, the
Lady Esclairmonde permitted Malcolm to assist her to her saddle; and as
he rode beside her he felt pleased with himself, and as if Ralf Percy
were welcome to look at him now.
On Esclairmonde's other hand there rode a small, slight girl, whom
Malcolm took for quite a child, and paid no attention to; but presently
old Sir Lewis Robsart rode back with a message that my Lady of
Westmoreland wished to know where the Lady Alice Montagu was. A gentle,
timid voice answered, 'O Sir, I am well here with Lady Esclairmonde. Pray
tell my good lady so.'
And therewith Sir Lewis smiled, and said, 'You could scarcely be in
better hands, fair damsel,' and rode back again; while Alice was still
entreating, 'May I stay with you, dear lady? It is all so strange and
new!'
Esclairmonde smiled, and said, 'You make me at home here, Mademoiselle.
It is I who am the stranger!'
'Ah! but you have been in Courts before. I never lived anywhere but at
Middleham Castle till they fetched me away to meet the Queen.'
For the gentle little maiden, a slender, fair-haired, childish-faced
creature, in her sixteenth year, was the motherless child and heiress of
the stout Earl of Salisbury, the last of the Montacutes, or Montagues,
who was at present fighting the King's battles in France, but had sent
his commands that she should be brought to Court, in preparation for
fulfilling the long-arranged contract between her and Sir Richard Nevil,
one of the twenty-two children of the Earl of Westmoreland.
She was under the charge of the Countess--a stately dame, with all the
Beaufort pride; and much afraid of her she was, as everything that was
shy or forlorn seemed to turn towards the maiden whose countenance not
only promised kindness but protection.
Presently the cavalcade passed a gray building in the midst of green
fields and orchards, where, under the trees, some black-veiled figures
sat spinning.
'A nunnery!' quoth Esclairmonde, looking eagerly after it as she rode
past.
'A nunnery!' said Malcolm, encouraged into the simple confidingness of a
young boy. 'How unlike the one where my sister is! Not a tree is near
it; it is perched upon a wild crag overhanging the angry sea, and the
winds roar, and the gulls and eagles scream, and the waves thunder round
it!'
'Yet it is not the less a haven of peace,' replied Esclairmonde.
'Verily,' said Malcolm, 'one knows what peace is under that cloister,
where all is calm while the winds rave without.'
'You know how to love a cloister,' said the lady, as she heard his soft,
sad tones.
'I had promised myself to make my home in one,' said Malcolm; 'but my
King will have me make trial of the world first. And so please you,' he
added, recollecting himself, 'he forbade me to make my purpose known; so
pray, lady, be so good as to forget what I have said.'
'I will be silent,' said Esclairmonde; 'but I will not forget, for I look
on you as one like myself, my young lord. I too am dedicated, and only
longing to reach my cloistered haven.'
She spoke it out with the ease of those days when the monastic was as
recognized a profession as any other calling, and yet with something of
the desire to make it evident on what ground she stood.
Lady Alice uttered an exclamation of surprise.
'Yes,' said Esclairmonde, 'I was dedicated his my infancy, and promised
myself in the nunnery at Dijon when I was seven years old.'
Then, as if to turn the conversation from herself, she asked of Malcolm
if he too had made any vow.
'Only to myself,' said Malcolm. 'Neither my Tutor nor the Prior of
Coldingham would hear my vows.' And he was soon drawn into telling his
whole story, to which the ladies both listened with great interest and
kindness, Esclairmonde commending his resolution to leave the care of his
lands and vassals to one whom he represented as so much better fitted to
bear them as Patrick Drummond, and only regretting the silence King James
had enjoined, saying she felt that there was safety and protection in
being avowed as a destined religious.
'And you are one,' said Lady Alice, looking at her in wonder. 'And yet
you are with _that_ lady--' And the girl's innocent face expressed a
certain wonder and disgust that no one could marvel at who had heard the
Flemish Countess talk in the loudest, broadest, most hoydenish style.
'She has been my very good lady,' said Esclairmonde; 'she has, under the
saints, saved me from much.'
'Oh, I entreat you, tell us, dear lady!' entreated Alice. It was not a
reticent age. Malcolm Stewart had already avowed himself in his own
estimation pledged to a monastic life, and Esclairmonde of Luxemburg had
reasons for wishing her position and intentions to be distinctly
understood by all with whom she came in contact; moreover, there was a
certain congeniality in both her companions, their innocence and
simplicity, that drew out confidence, and impelled her to defend her
lady.
'My poor Countess,' she said, 'she has been sorely used, and has suffered
much. It is a piteous thing when our little imperial fiefs go to the
spindle side!'
'What are her lands?' asked Malcolm.
'Hainault, Holland, and Zealand,' replied the lady. 'Her father was
Count of Hainault, her mother the sister of the last Duke of Burgundy--him
that was slain on the bridge of Montereau. She was married as a mere
babe to the Duke of Touraine, who was for a brief time Dauphin, but he
died ere she was sixteen, and her father died at the same time. Some say
they both were poisoned. The saints forfend it should be true; but thus
it was my poor Countess was left desolate, and her uncle, the Bishop of
Liege--Jean Sans Pitie, as they call him--claimed her inheritance. You
should have seen how undaunted she was!'
'Were you with her then?' asked Alice Montagu.
'Yes. I had been taken from our convent at Dijon, when my dear brothers,
to whom Heaven be merciful! died at Azincourt. My _oncles a la mode de
Bretagne_--how call you it in English?'
'Welsh uncles,' said Alice.
'They are the Count de St. Pol and the Bishop of Therouenne. They came
to Dijon. In another month I should have been seventeen, and been
admitted as a novice; but, alack! there were all the lands that came
through my grandmother, in Holland and in Flanders, all falling to me,
and Monseigneur of Therouenne, like almost all secular clergy, cannot
endure the religious orders, and would not hear of my becoming a Sister.
They took me away, and the Bishop declared my dedication null, and they
would have bestowed me in marriage at once, I believe, if Heaven had not
aided me, and they could not agree on the person. And then my dear
Countess promised me that she would never let me be given without my free
will.'
'Then,' said Alice, 'the Bishop did cancel your dedication?'
'Yes,' said Esclairmonde; 'but none can cancel the dedication of my
heart. So said the holy man at Zwoll.'
'How, lady?' anxiously inquired Malcolm; 'has not a bishop power to bind
and unloose?'
'Yea,' said Esclairmonde, 'such power that if my childish promise had
been made without purpose or conscience thereof, or indeed if my will
were not with it, it would bind me no more, there were no sin in wedlock
for me, no broken vow. But my own conscience of my vow, and my sense
that I belong to my Heavenly Spouse, proved, he said, that it was not my
duty to give myself to another, and that whereas none have a parent's
right over me, if I have indeed chosen the better part, He to whom I have
promised myself will not let it be taken from me, though I might have to
bear much for His sake. And when I said in presumption that such would
lie light on me, he bade me speak less and pray more, for I knew not the
cost.'
'He must have been a very holy man,' said Alice, 'and strict withal. Who
was he?'
'One Father Thomas, a Canon Regular of the chapter of St. Agnes, a very
saint, who spends his life in copying and illuminating the Holy
Scripture, and in writing holy thoughts that verily seem to have been
breathed into him by special inspiration of God. It was a sermon of his
in Lent, upon chastening and perplexity, that I heard when first I was
snatched from Dijon, that made me never rest till I had obtained his
ghostly counsel. If I never meet him again, I shall thank Heaven for
those months at Zwoll all my life--ere the Duke of Burgundy made my
Countess resign Holland for twelve years to her uncle, and we left the
place. Then, well-nigh against her will, they forced her into a marriage
with the Duke of Brabant, though he be her first cousin, her godson, and
a mere rude boy. I cannot tell you how evil were the days we often had
then. If he had been left to himself, Madame might have guided him; but
ill men came about him; they maddened him with wine and beer; they
excited him to show that he feared her not; he struck her, and more than
once almost put her in danger of her life. Then, too, his mother married
the Bishop of Liege, her enemy--
'The Bishop!'
'He had never been consecrated, and had a dispensation. That marriage
deprived my poor lady of even her mother's help. All were against her
then; and for me too it went ill, for the Duke of Burgundy insisted on my
being given to a half-brother of his, one they call Sir Boemond of
Burgundy--a hard man of blood and revelry. The Duke of Brabant was all
for him, and so was the Duchess-mother; and though my uncles would not
have chosen him, yet they durst not withstand the Duke of Burgundy. I
tried to appeal to the Emperor Sigismund, the head of our house, but I
know not if he ever heard of my petition. I was in an exceeding strait,
and had only one trust, namely, that Father Thomas had told me that the
more I threw myself upon God, the more He would save me from man. But
oh! they seemed all closing in on me, and I knew that Sir Boemond had
sworn that I should pay heavily for my resistance. Then one night my
Countess came to me. She showed me the bruises her lord had left on her
arms, and told me that he was about to banish all of us, her ladies, into
Holland, and to keep her alone to bear his fury, and she was resolved to
escape, and would I come with her? It seemed to me the message of
deliverance. Her nurse brought us peasant dresses, high stiff caps,
black boddices, petticoats of many colours, and therein we dressed
ourselves, and stole out, ere dawn, to a church, where we knelt till the
Sieur d'Escaillon--the gentleman who attends Madame still--drove up in a
farmer's garb, with a market cart, and so forth from Bruges we drove. We
cause to Valenciennes, to her mother; but we found that she, by
persuasion of the Duke, would give us both up; so the Sieur d'Escaillon
got together sixty lances, and therewith we rode to Calais, where never
were weary travellers more courteously received than we by Lord
Northumberland, the captain of Calais.'
'Oh, I am glad you came to us English!' cried Alice. 'Only I would it
had been my father who welcomed you. And now?'
'Now I remain with my lady, as the only demoiselle she has from her
country; and, moreover, I am waiting in the trust that my kinsmen will
give up their purpose of bestowing me in marriage, now that I am beyond
their reach; and in time I hope to obtain sufficient of my own goods for
a dowry for whatever convent I may enter.'
'Oh, let it be an English one!' cried Alice.
'I have learnt to breathe freer since I have been on English soil,' said
Esclairmonde, smiling; 'but where I may rest at last, Heaven only knows!'
'This is a strange country,' said Malcolm. 'No one seems afraid of
violence and wrong here.'
'Is that so strange?' asked Alice, amazed. 'Why, men would be hanged if
they did violence!'
'I would we were as sure of justice at my home,' sighed Esclairmonde.
'King Henry will bring about a better rule.'
'Never doubt,' cried Salisbury's daughter. 'When France is once subdued,
there will be no more trouble, he will make your kinsmen do you right,
dear demoiselle, and oh! will you not found a beauteous convent?'
'King Henry has not conquered France yet,' was all Esclairmonde said.
'Ha!' cried the buxom Countess Jaqueline, as the ladies dismounted,
'never speak to me more, our solemn sister. When have I done worse than
lure a young cavalier, and chain him all day with my tongue?'
'He is a gentle boy!' said Esclairmonde, smiling.
'Truly he looked like a calf turned loose among strange cattle! How gat
he into the hall?'
'He is of royal Scottish blood,' said Esclairmonde 'cousin-german to King
James.'
'And our grave nun has a fancy to tame the wild Scots, like a second St.
Margaret! A king's grandson! fie, fie! what, become ambitious,
Clairette? Eh? you were so occupied, that I should have been left to no
one but Monseigneur of Gloucester, but that I was discreet, and rode with
my Lord Bishop of Winchester. How he chafed! but I know better than to
have _tete-a-tetes_ with young sprigs of the blood royal!'
Esclairmonde laughed good-humouredly, partly in courtesy to her hoyden
mistress, but partly at the burning, blushing indignation she beheld in
the artless face of Alice Montagu.
The girl was as shy as a fawn, frightened at every word from knight or
lady, and much in awe of her future mother-in-law, a stiff and stately
dame, with all the Beaufort haughtiness; so that Lady Westmoreland gladly
and graciously consented to the offer of the Demoiselle de Luxemburg to
attend to the little maiden, and let her share her chamber and her bed.
And indeed Alice Montagu, bred up in strictness and in both piety and
learning, as was sometimes the case with the daughters of the nobility,
had in all her simplicity and bashfulness a purity and depth that made
her a congenial spirit with the grave votaress, whom she regarded on her
side with a young girl's enthusiastic admiration for a grown woman,
although in point of fact the years between them were few.
The other ladies of the Court were a little in awe of the Demoiselle de
Luxemburg, and did not seek her when they wished to indulge in the gossip
whose malice and coarseness she kept in check; but if they were anxious,
or in trouble, they always came to her as their natural consoler; and the
Countess Jaqueline, bold and hoydenish as she was, kept the license of
her tongue and manners under some shadow of restraint before her, and
though sometimes bantering her, often neglecting her counsel, evidently
felt her attendance a sort of safeguard and protection.
The gentlemen were mostly of the opinion of the Duke of Gloucester, who
said that the Lady Esclairmonde was so like Deborah, come out of a
Mystery, that it seemed to be always Passion-tide where she was; and she,
moreover, was always guarded in her manner towards them, keeping her
vocation in the recollection of all by her gravely and coldly courteous
demeanour, and the sober hues and fashion of her dress; but being aware
of Malcolm's destination, perceiving his loneliness, and really attracted
by his pensive gentleness, she admitted him to far more friendly
intercourse than any other young noble, while he revered and clung to her
much as Lady Alice did, as protector and friend.
King James was indeed so much absorbed in his own lady-love as to have
little attention to bestow on his young cousin, and he knew, moreover,
that to be left to such womanly training as ladies were bound to bestow
on young squires and pages was the best treatment for the youth, who was
really thriving and growing happier every day, as he lost his awkwardness
and acquired a freedom and self-confidence such as he could never have
imagined possible in his original brow-beaten state, though without
losing the gentle modesty and refinement that gave him such a charm.
A great sorrow awaited him, however, at Leicester, where Easter was to be
spent. A messenger came from Durham, bringing letters from Coldingham to
announce the death of good Sir David Drummond, which had taken place two
days after Malcolm had left him, all but the youth himself having well
known that his state was hopeless.
In his grief, Malcolm found his chief comforter in Esclairmonde, who
kindly listened when he talked of the happy old times at Glenuskie, and
of the kindness and piety of his guardian; while she lifted his mind to
dwell on the company of the saints; and when he knew that her thoughts
went, like his, to his fatherly friend in the solemn services connected
with the departed, he was no longer desolate, and there was almost a
sweetness in the grief of which his fair saint had taken up a part. She
showed him likewise some vellum pages on which her ghostly father, the
Canon of St. Agnes, had written certain dialogues between the Divine
Master and His disciple, which seemed indeed to have been whispered by
heavenly inspiration, and which soothed and hallowed his mourning for the
guide and protector of his youth. He loved to dwell on her very name,
Esclairmonde--'light of the world.' The taste of the day hung many a pun
and conceit upon names, and to Malcolm this--which had, in fact, been
culled out of romance--seemed meetly to express the pure radiance of
consolation and encouragement that seemed to him to shine from her, and
brighten the life that had hitherto been dull and gloomy--nay, even to
give him light and joy in the midst of his grief.
At that period Courts were not much burdened with etiquette. No feudal
monarch was more than the first gentleman, and there was no rigid line of
separation of ranks, especially where, as among the kings of the Red
Rose, the boundaries were so faint between the princes and the nobility;
and as Catherine of Valois was fond of company, and indolently heedless
of all that did not affect her own dignity or ease, the whole Court,
including some of the princely captives, lived as one large family,
meeting at morning Mass in church or chapel, taking their meals in
common, riding, hunting, hawking, playing at bowls, tennis, or
stool-ball, or any other pastime, in such parties as suited their
inclinations; and spending the evening in the great hall, in conversation
varied by chess, dice, and cards, recitals of romance, and music,
sometimes performed by the choristers of the Royal chapel, or sometimes
by the company themselves, and often by one or other of the two kings,
who were both proficients as well with the voice as with the lute and
organ.
Thus Malcolm had many opportunities of being with the Demoiselle of
Luxemburg: and almost a right was established, that when she sat in the
deep embrasure of a window with her spinning, he should be on the
cushioned step beneath; when she mounted, he held the stirrup; and when
the church bells were ringing, he led her by her fair fingers to her
place in the nave, and back again to the hall; and when the manchet and
rere supper were brought into the hall, he mixed her wine and water, and
held the silver basin and napkin to her on bended knee, and had become
her recognized cavalier. He was really thriving. Even the high-spirited
son of Hotspur could not help loving and protecting him.
'Have a care,' said Ralf to a lad of ruder mould; 'I'll no more see that
lame young Scot maltreated than a girl.'
'He is no better than a girl,' growled his comrade; 'my little brother
Dick would be more than a match for him!'
'I wot not that,' said Percy; 'there's a drop of life and spirit at the
bottom; and for the rest, when he looks up with those eyes of his, and
smiles his smile, it is somehow as if it were beneath a man to vex him
wilfully. And he sees so much meaning in everything, too, that it is a
dozen times better sport to hear him talk than one of you fellows, who
have only wit enough to know a hawk from a heron-schaw.'
After a grave Easter-tide spent at Leicester, the Court moved to
Westminster, where Henry had to meet his parliament, and obtain supplies
for the campaign which was to revenge the death of Clarence.
There was no great increase of gaiety even here, for Henry was extremely
occupied, both with regulating matters for government during his absence,
and in training the troops who began to flock to his standard; so that
the Queen complained that his presence in England was of little service
to her, since he never had any leisure, and there were no pastimes.
'Well, Dame,' said Henry, gaily, 'there is one revel for you. I have
promised to knight the Lord Mayor, honest Whittington, and I hear he is
preparing a notable banquet in the Guild Hall.'
'A city mayor!' exclaimed Queen Catherine, with ineffable disgust. 'My
brothers would sooner cut off his _roturier_ head than dub him knight!'
'Belike,' said Henry, dryly; 'but what kind of friends have thy brothers
found at Paris? Moreover, this Whittington may content thee as to blood.
Rougedragon hath been unfolding to me his lineage of a good house in
Gloucestershire.'
'More shame that he should soil his hands with trade!' said the Queen.
'See what you say when he has cased those fair hands in Spanish gloves.
You ladies should know better than to fall out with a mercer.'
'Ah!' said Duke Humfrey, 'they never saw the silks and samites wherewith
he fitted out my sister Philippa for the Swedes! Lucky the bride whose
wardrobe is purveyed by honest Dick!'
'Is it not honour enough for the mechanical hinds that we wear their
stuffs,' said Countess Jaqueline, 'without demeaning ourselves to eat at
their boards? The _outrecuidance_ of the rogues in the Netherlands would
be surpassing, did we feed it in that sort.'
''Tis you that will be fed, Dame Jac,' laughed Henry. 'I can tell you,
their sack and their pasties, their march-pane and blanc-manger, far
exceed aught that a poor soldier can set before you.'
'Moreover,' observed Humfrey, 'the ladies ought to see the romaunt of the
Cat complete.'
'How!' cried Jaqueline, 'is it, then, true that this Vittentone is the
miller's son whose cat wore boots and made his fortune?'
'I have heard my aunt of Orleans divert my father with that story,'
murmured Catherine. 'How went the tale? I thought it folly, and marked
it not. What became of the cat?'
'The cat desired to test his master's gratitude, so tells Straparola,'
said the Duke of Orleans, in his dry satirical tone; 'and whereas he had
been wont to promise his benefactor a golden coffin and state funeral,
Puss feigned death, and thereby heard the lady inform her husband that
the old cat was dead. "_A la bonne heure_!" said the Marquis. "Take him
by the tail, and fling him on the muck-heap beneath the window!"'
'Thereof I acquit Whittington, who never was thankless to man or brute,'
said King Henry. 'Moreover, his cat, or her grandchildren, must be now
in high preferment at the King of Barbary's Court.'
'A marvellous beast is that cat,' said James. 'When I was a child in
Scotland, we used to tell the story of her exchange for a freight of gold
and spices, only the ship sailed from Denmark,'
'Maybe,' said Henry; 'but I would maintain the truth of Whittington's cat
with my lance, and would gladly have no worse cause! You'll see his cat
painted beside him in the Guild Hall, and may hear the tale from him, as
I loved to hear him when I was a lad.
"Turn again, Whittington,
Thrice Lord Mayor of London town!"
I told my good old friend I must have come over from France on purpose to
keep his third mayoralty. So I am for the City on Thursday; and whoever
loves good wine, good sturgeon, good gold, or good men, had best come
with me.'
Such inducements were not to be neglected, and though Queen Catherine
minced and bridled, and apologized to Duchess Jaqueline for her husband's
taste for low company, neither princess wished to forego the chance of
amusement; and a brilliant cavalcade set forth in full order of
precedence. The King and Queen were first; then, to his great disgust,
the King of Scots, with Duchess Jaqueline; Bedford, with Lady Somerset;
Gloucester, with the Countess of March; the Duke of Orleans, with the
Countess of Exeter; and Malcolm of Glenuskie found himself paired off
with his sovereign's lady-love, Joan Beaufort, and a good deal overawed
by the tall horned tower that crowned her flaxen locks, as well as by
knowing that her uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, the stateliest,
stiffest, and most unapproachable person in all the Court, was riding
just behind him, beside the Demoiselle de Luxemburg.
Temple Bar was closed, and there was a flourish of trumpets and a parley
ere the gate was flung open to admit the royal guests; but Malcolm, in
his place, could not see the aldermen on horseback, in their robes of
scarlet and white, drawn up to receive the King. All that way up
Holborn, every house was hung with tapestry, and the citizens formed a
gorgeously-apparelled lane, shouting in unison, their greetings attuned
to bursts of music from trumpets and nakers.
Beautiful old St. Paul's, with the exquisite cross for open-air preaching
in front, rose on their view; and before the lofty west door the princely
guests dismounted, each gentleman leading his lady up the nave to the
seat prepared in such manner that he might be opposite to her. The
clergy lined the stalls, and a magnificent mass was sung, and was
concluded by the advance of the King to the altar step, followed by a
fine old man in scarlet robes bordered with white fur, the collar of SS.
round his neck, and his silvery hair and lofty brow crowning a face as
sagacious as it was dignified and benevolent.
It seemed a reversal of the ordinary ceremonial when the slender agile
young man took in hand the sword, and laid the honour of knighthood on
the gray-headed substantial senior, whom he bade to arise Sir Richard
Whittington. Jaqueline of Hainault had the bad taste to glance across to
Humfrey and titter, but the Duke valued popularity among the citizens,
and would not catch her eye; and in the line behind the royal ladies
there was a sweet elderly face, beautiful, though time-worn, with blue
eyes misty with proud glad tears, and a mouth trembling with tender
exultation.
After the ceremony was concluded, King Henry offered his hand to the Lady
Mayoress, Dame Alice Whittington, making her bright tears drop in glad
confusion at his frank, hearty congratulation and warm praise of her
husband; and though the fair Catherine could have shuddered when Sir
Richard advanced to lead her, she was too royal to compromise her dignity
by visible scorn, and she soon found that the merchant could speak much
better French than most of the nobles.
Malcolm felt as averse as did the French princesses to burgher wealth and
splendour, and his mind had not opened to understand burgher worth and
weight; and when he saw the princes John and Humfrey, and even his own
king, seeking out city dames and accosting them with friendly looks, it
seemed to him a degrading truckling to riches, from which he was anxious
to save his future queen; but when he would have offered his arm to Lady
Joan, he saw her already being led away by an alderman measuring at least
a yard across the shoulders; and the good-natured Earl of March, seeing
him at a loss, presented him to a round merry wife in a scarlet petticoat
and black boddice, its plump curves wreathed with geld chains, who began
pitying him for having been sent to the wars so young, being, as usual,
charmed into pity by his soft appealing eyes and unconscious grace; would
not believe his assertions that he was neither a captive nor a
Frenchman;--'don't tell her, when he spoke like a stranger, and halted
from a wound.'
Colouring to the ears, he explained that he had never walked otherwise;
whereupon her pity redoubled, and she by turns advised him to consult
Master Doctor Caius, and to obtain a recipe from Mistress--she meant
Dame--Alice Whittington, the kindest soul living, and, Lady Mayoress as
she was, with no more pride than the meanest scullion. Pity she had no
child--yet scarce pity either, since she and the good Lord Mayor were
father and mother to all orphans and destitute--nay, to all who had any
care on their minds.
Malcolm was in extreme alarm lest he should be walked up to the Lady
Mayoress for inspection before all the world when they entered the Guild
Hall, a building of grand proportions, which, as good Mistress Bolt
informed him, had lately been paved and glazed at Sir Richard
Whittington's own expense. The bright new red and yellow tiles, and the
stained glass of the tall windows high up, as well as the panels of the
wainscot, were embellished with trade-marks and the armorial bearings of
the guilds; and the long tables, hung with snowy napery, groaned with
gold and silver plate, such as, the Duke of Orleans observed to
Catherine, no citizens would dare exhibit in France to any prince or
noble, at peril of being mulcted of all, with or without excuse.
On an open hearth beneath the louvre, or opening for smoke, burnt a fire
diffusing all around an incense-like fragrance, from the logs, composed
of cinnamon and other choice woods and spices, that fed the flame. The
odour and the warmth on a bleak day of May were alike delicious; and King
Henry, after heading Dame Alice up to it, stood warming his hands and
extolling the choice scent, adding: 'You spoil us, Sir Richard. How are
we to go back to the smoke of wood and peat, and fires puffed with our
own mouths, after such pampering as this--the costliest fire I have seen
in the two realms?'
'It shall be choicer yet, Sir,' said Sir Richard Whittington, who had
just handed the Queen to her seat.
'Scarce possible,' replied Henry, 'unless I threw in my crown, and that I
cannot afford. I shall be pawning it ere long.'
Instead of answering, the Lord Mayor quietly put his hand into his furred
pouch, and drawing out a bundle of parchments tied with a ribbon, held
them towards the King, with a grave smile.
'Lo you now, Sir Richard,' said Henry, with a playful face of disgust;
'this is to save your dainty meats, by spoiling my appetite by that
unwelcome sight. What, man! have you bought up all the bonds I gave in
my need to a whole synagogue of Jews and bench of Loin-bards? I shall
have to send for my crown before you let me go; though verily,' he added,
with frank, open face, 'I'm better off with a good friend like you for my
creditor--only I'm sorry for you, Sir Richard. I fear it will be long
ere you see your good gold in the stead of your dirty paper, even though
I gave you an order on the tolls. How now! What, man, Dick Whittington!
Art raving? Here, the tongs!'
For Sir Richard, gently smiling, had placed the bundle of bonds on the
glowing bed of embers.
Henry, even while calling for the tongs, was raking them out with his
sword, and would have grasped them in his hand in a moment, but the Lord
Mayor caught his arm.
'Pardon, my lord, and grant your new knight's boon.'
'When he is not moon-struck!' said Henry, still guarding the documents.
'Why, my Lady Mayoress, know you what is here?'
'Sixty thousand, my liege,' composedly answered Dame Alice. 'My husband
hath his whims, and I pray your Grace not to hinder what he hath so long
been preparing.'
'Yea, Sir,' added Whittington, earnestly. 'You wot that God hath
prospered us richly. We have no child, and our nephews are well endowed.
How, then, can our goods belong to any save God, our king, and the poor?'
Henry drew one hand over his eyes, and with the other wrung that of
Whittington. 'Had ever king such a subject?' he murmured.
'Had ever subject such a king?' was Whittington's return.
'Thou hast conquered, Whittington,' said the King, presently looking up
with a sunny smile. 'To send me over the seas a free man, beholden to
you in heart though not by purse, is, as I well believe, worth all that
sum to thy loyal heart. Thou art setting me far on my way to Jerusalem,
my dear friend! Thank him, Kate--he hath done much for thine husband!'
Catherine looked amiable, and held out a white hand to be kissed, aware
that the King was pleased, though hardly understanding why he should be
glad that an odour of singed parchment should overpower the gums and
cinnamon. This was soon remedied by the fresh handful of spices that
were cast into the flame, and the banquet began, magnificent with
peacocks, cranes, and swans in full plumage; the tusky bear crunched his
apple, deer's antlers adorned the haunch, the royal sturgeon floated in
wine, fountains of perfumed waters sprang up from shells, towers of
pastry and of jelly presented the endless allegorical devices of mediaeval
fancy, and, pre-eminent over all, a figure of the cat, with emerald eyes,
fulfilled, as Henry said, the proverb, 'A cat might look at a king;' and
truly the cat and her master had earned the right; therefore his first
toast was, 'To the Cat!'
Each guest found at his or her place a beautiful fragrant pair of gloves,
in Spanish leather, on the back of which was once more embroidered, in
all her tabby charms, the cat's face. Therewith began a lengthy meal;
and Malcolm Stewart rejoiced at finding himself seated next to the Lady
Esclairmonde, but he grudged her attention to her companion, a slender,
dark, thoughtful representative of the Goldsmiths' Company, to whom she
talked with courtesy such as Malcolm had scorned to show his city dame.
'Who,' said Esclairmonde, presently, 'was a dame in a religious garb whom
I marked near the door here? She hooked like one of the Beguines of my
own country.'
'We have no such order here, lady,' said the goldsmiths, puzzled.
'Hey, Master Price,' cried Mistress Bolt, speaking across Malcolm, 'I can
tell the lady who it was. 'Twas good Sister Avice Rodney, to whom the
Lady Mayoress promised some of these curious cooling drinks for the poor
shipwright who hath well-nigh cloven off his own foot with his axe.'
'Yea, truly,' returned the goldsmith; 'it must have been one of the
bedeswomen of St. Katharine's whom the lady has seen.'
'What order may that be?' asked Esclairmonde. 'I have seen nothing so
like my own country since I came hither.'
'That may well be, madam,' said Mistress Belt, 'seeing that these
bedeswomen were first instituted by a countrywoman of your own--Queen
Philippa, of blessed memory.'
'By your leave, Mistress Bolt,' interposed Master Price, 'the hospital of
St. Katharine by the Tower is of far older foundation.'
'By _your_ leave, sir, I know what I say. The hospital was founded I
know not when, but these bedeswomen were especially added by the good
Queen, by the same token that mine aunt Cis, who was tirewoman to the
blessed Lady Joan, was one of the first.'
'How was it? What is their office?' eagerly inquired Esclairmonde. And
Mistress Bolt arranged herself for a long discourse.
'Well, fair sirs and sweet lady, though you be younger than I, you have
surely heard of the Black Death. Well named was it, for never was
pestilence more dire; and the venom was so strong, that the very lips and
eyelids grew livid black, and then there was no hope. Little thought of
such disease was there, I trow, in kings' houses, and all the fair young
lords and ladies, the children of King Edward, as then was, were full of
sport and gamesomeness as you see these dukes be now. And never a one
was blither than the Lady Joan--she they called Joan of the Tower, being
a true Londoner born--bless her! My aunt Cis would talk by the hour of
her pretty ways and kindly mirth. But 'twas even as the children have
the game in the streets--
"There come three knights all out of Spain,
Are come to fetch your daughter Jane."
'Twas for the King of Castille, that same Peter for whom the Black Prince
of Wales fought, and of whom such grewsome tales were told. The pretty
princess might almost have had a boding what sort of husband they had for
her, for she begged and prayed, even on her knees, that her father would
leave her; but her sisters were all espoused, and there was no help for
it. But, as one comfort to her, my aunt Cis, who had been about her from
her cradle, was to go with her; and oft she would tell of the long
journey in litters through France, and how welcome were the English
tongues they heard again at Bordeaux, and how when poor Lady Joan saw her
brother, the Prince, she clung about his neck and sobbed, and how he
soothed her, and said she would soon laugh at her own unwillingness to go
to her husband. But even then the Black Death was in Bordeaux, and being
low and mournful at heart, the sweet maid contracted it, and lay down to
die ere she had made two days' journey, and her last words were, "My God
hath shown me more pity than father or brother;" and so she died like a
lamb, and mine aunt was sent by the Prince to bear home the tidings to
the good Queen, who was a woeful woman. And therewith, here was the
pestilence in London, raging among the poor creatures that lived in the
wharves and on the river bank, in damp and filth, so that whole
households lay dead at once, and the contagion, gathering force, spread
into the city, and even to the nobles and their ladies. Then my good
aunt, having some knowledge of the sickness already, and being without
fear, went among the sick, and by her care, and the food, wine, and
clothing she brought, saved a many lives. And from whom should the
bounties come, save from the good Queen, who ever had a great pity for
those touched like her own fair child? Moreover, when she heard from my
aunt how the poor things lived in uncleanness and filth, and how, what
with many being strangers coming by sea, and others being serfs fled from
home, they were a nameless, masterless sort, who knew not where to seek a
parish priest, and whom the friars shunned for their poverty, she devised
a fresh foundation to be added to the hospital of St. Katharine's in the
Docks, providing for a chapter of ten bedeswomen, gentle and
well-nurtured, who should both sing in choir, and likewise go forth
constantly among the poor, to seek out the children, see that they learn
their Credo, Ave, and Pater Noster, bring the more toward to be further
taught in St. Katharine's school, and likewise to stir poor folk up to go
to mass and lead a godly life; to visit the sick, feed and tend them, and
so instruct them, that they may desire the Sacraments of the Church.'
'Ah! good Flemish Queen!' cried Esclairmonde. 'She learnt that of our
Beguines!'
'If your ladyship will have it so,' said Mrs. Bolt; 'but my aunt Cicely
began!'
'Who nominates these bedeswomen?' asked Esclairmonde.
'That does the Queen,' said Mistress Bolt. 'Not this young Queen, as
yet, for Queen Joan, the late King's widow, holds the hospital till her
death, unless it should be taken from her for her sorceries, from which
Heaven defend us!'
'Can it be visited?' said Esclairmonde. 'I feel much drawn thither, as I
ever did to the Beguines.'
'Ay, marry may it!' cried delighted Mrs. Bolt. 'I have more than one
gossip there, foreby Sister Avice, who was godchild to Aunt Cis; and if
the good lady would wish to see the hospital, I would bear her company
with all my heart.'
To Malcolm's disgust, Esclairmonde caught at the proposal, which the
Scottish haughtiness that lay under all his gentleness held somewhat
degrading to the cousin of the Emperor. He fell into a state of gloom,
which lasted till the loving-cup had gone round and been partaken of in
pairs.
After hands had been washed in rose-water, the royal party took their
seats in barges to return to Westminster by the broad and beautiful
highway of the Thames.
Here at once Alice Montagu nestled to Esclairmonde's side, delighted with
her cat gloves, and further delighted with an old captain of trained
bands, to whose lot she had fallen, and who, on finding that she was the
daughter of the Earl of Salisbury, under whom he had served, had launched
forth by the hour into the praises of that brave nobleman, both for his
courage and his kindness to his troops.
'No wonder King Henry loves his citizens so well!' cried Esclairmonde.
'Would that our Netherlandish princes and burghers could take pride and
pleasure in one another's wealth and prowess, instead of grudging and
fearing thereat!'
'To my mind,' said Malcolm, 'they were a forward generation. That city
dame will burst with pride, if you, lady, go with her to see those
bedeswomen.'
'I trust not,' laughed Esclairmonde, 'for I mean to try.'
'Nay, but,' said Malcolm, 'what should a mere matter of old rockers and
worn-out tirewomen concern a demoiselle of birth?'
'I honour them for doing their Master's work,' said Esclairmonde, 'and
would fain be worthy to follow in their steps.'
'Surely,' said Malcolm, 'there are houses fit for persons of high and
princely birth to live apart from gross contact with the world.'
'There are,' said Esclairmonde; 'but I trust I may be pardoned for saying
that such often seem to me to play at humility when they stickle for
birth and dower with the haughtiest. I never honoured any nuns so much
as the humble Sisters of St. Begga, who never ask for sixteen
quarterings, but only for a tender hand, soft step, pure life, and pious
heart.'
'I deemed,' said Malcolm, 'that heavenly contemplation was the purpose of
convents.'
'Even so, for such as can contemplate like the holy man I have told you
of,' said Esclairmonde; 'but labour hath been greatly laid aside in
convents of late, and I doubt me if it be well, or if their prayers be
the better for it.'
'And so,' said Alice, 'I heard my Lord of Winchester saying how it were
well to suppress the alien priories, and give their wealth to found
colleges like that founded by Bishop Wykeham.'
For in truths the spirit of the age was beginning to set against
monasticism. It was the period when perhaps there was more of license
and less of saintliness than at any other, and when the long continuance
of the Great Schism had so injured Church discipline that the clergy and
ecclesiastics were in the worst state of all, especially the monastic
orders, who owned no superior but the Pope, and between the two rivals
could avoid supervision altogether. Such men as Thomas a Kempis, or the
great Jean Gerson, were rare indeed; and the monasteries had let
themselves lose their missionary character, and become mere large farms,
inhabited by celibate gentlemen and their attendants, or by the
superfluous daughters of the nobles and gentry. Such devotion as led
Esclairmonde to the pure atmosphere of prayer and self-sacrifice had well-
nigh died out, and almost every other lady of the time would have
regarded her release from the vows made for her its her babyhood a happy
escape.
Still less, at a time when no active order of Sisters, save that of the
Beguines in Holland, had been invented, and when no nun ever dreamt of
carrying her charity beyond the quadrangle of her own convent, could any
one be expected to enter into Esclairmonde's admiration and longing for
out-of-door works; but the person whom she had chiefly made her friend
was the King's almoner and chaplain, sometimes called Sir Martin Bennet,
at others Dr. Bennet, a great Oxford scholar, bred up among William of
Wykeham's original seventy at Winchester and New College, and now much
trusted and favoured by the King, whom he everywhere accompanied. That
Sir Martin was a pluralist must be confessed, but he was most
conscientious in providing substitutes, and was a man of much thought and
of great piety, in whom the fair pupil of the Canon of St. Agnes found a
congenial spirit.