THE SHEPHERD LORD, BY JULIA CORNER, AUTHOR OF THE "HISTORICAL LIBRARY,"
ETCETERA.
It is now about four hundred years since a great feast was held at
Skipton Castle, to celebrate the birth of a son and heir to the noble
house of De Clifford. The young lord of the domain had just succeeded
to the title and vast possessions of his father, Thomas Lord Clifford,
who was killed in the battle of Saint Albans, at the beginning of the
civil wars between the rival houses of York and Lancaster, and, by his
death, his only son John, then not much more than twenty years of age,
became lord of the great manor of Skipton in Yorkshire, and of Brougham
Castle, with its wide lands, in Westmoreland, besides other castles and
estates in different parts of the Northern Counties. A rich and
powerful family were the De Cliffords, descended from Richard of
Normandy, the uncle of William the Conqueror, and the first Lord
Clifford was the father of the lady called Fair Rosamond, who lived in
the reign of King Henry the Second, and was so beautiful that it is said
in some histories of England that the queen was jealous of her, and
obliged her to take poison; but this story is now supposed to be untrue,
as there is reason to believe that Fair Rosamond became a nun and died
in a convent. The De Cliffords held the Barony of Clifford in
Herefordshire, and the extensive manor of Skipton in Yorkshire, when the
grandson of Rosamond's father married a rich heiress, who brought him
the Barony of Westmoreland, to which Brougham Castle belonged, and after
that other lords of the race acquired estates by their marriages, so
that the wealth and grandeur of the family had been continually
increasing. The wife of the present Lord Clifford, the beautiful and
accomplished Lady Margaret, was the only child, consequently the heiress
of Henry Bromflete Lord de Vesci, who was also possessed of large
estates, one of which was Londesborough in Yorkshire, so that Henry, the
hero of this tale, was born heir to great riches and honours, and in his
childhood was surrounded with all the magnificence of a royal prince,
for his father lived in kingly state, and his mother had her maids of
honour, her squires and pages, just like a queen. It was not long after
young Henry's birth that Lord Clifford removed his family from Skipton
to Brougham Castle, where two more children were born, a boy who was
named Richard, and a girl named Elizabeth. These children had their
separate nurses and attendants, as was befitting their high station, and
Henry's chief nurse, whose name was Maud, was as fond of him as if he
had been her own child, for he was a very sweet-tempered, affectionate
boy, and he loved her better than any one else in the world, except his
parents and his little brother and sister.
Lord Clifford was now very seldom at home, being deeply engaged in the
wars, but he came sometimes and stayed for a few days or weeks, as it
might be, and on these occasions Henry, as soon as he was old enough,
used to dine in the Castle hall, where not less than a hundred knights
and gentlemen, besides a great number of pages and domestics of all
kinds, sat down to dinner all together every day, for such was the
custom of those times in great families. The dinner hour was about
noon, or even earlier, when everybody belonging to the establishment
assembled in the hall, where they took their places at the board
according to their rank. At the upper end was a table raised above the
rest on a dais, for the lord of the castle and his family, with any
guests of distinction that might happen to be present, and below this
was a long oak table extending from it lengthways down the centre of the
hall, in the middle of which stood an enormous salt-cellar, as a sort of
boundary between such as were of gentle birth, and those of lower
degree; the former sitting above, the latter below the salt. The style
of living in those days would appear very uncivilised to us in this more
refined age, for the dishes were set on the board without any cloth, and
the people ate off wooden or pewter plates, and used their fingers
instead of forks, while many of the nobles would have their favourite
hounds beside them, and feed them from the table; for, as the floor was
always thickly strewed with rushes, they did not mind throwing down
pieces of meat to their dogs. However there was always great plenty,
and such a banquet was thought very grand then; and the young Henry de
Clifford, as being the eldest son, was treated with great homage by all
his father's dependents. Often, too, chiefly for his amusement,
mummers, jugglers, and tumblers were allowed to exhibit their
performances in the hall, for he took great delight in such
entertainments, and no indulgence, however costly, was thought too great
for De Clifford's heir, whose pleasure was studied by every member of
the numerous household. It was well for him that his wise and excellent
mother taught him not to be too proud of his exalted rank, or haughty in
his manners to those of humbler grade, but to be courteous and kind to
every one, even to the lowest menial, so as to gain the good-will of
all; and, as he was a very docile boy, and moreover believed that nobody
in the world was so good or so beautiful as his own dear mother, he did
not fail to profit by her gentle precepts, and become all that she could
wish. Poor boy! he little dreamed then how greatly he would stand in
need of a humble spirit, or what a sad reverse of fortune he was
destined soon to experience.
His good nurse Maud had left to go to her own home at Skipton, where she
married a shepherd belonging to the estate, and after her departure
Henry was much more with his mother, who had begun to instruct him in
such branches of learning as were considered essential to the education
of the young nobility. She taught him to play on the harp and other
stringed instruments, to recite verses, sing many of the songs she had
herself learned from the minstrels in her father's halls, and, what was
of still more importance, she was about to teach him to read, which was
not a common accomplishment in those days, for there were no printed
books in England till some time afterwards. Printing was then a new
invention, and only practised in Germany at one or two of the principal
towns, so that the only means of learning to read was from manuscripts
written by the monks, generally on parchment or vellum, and beautifully
illuminated with a border round every page, in brilliant colours
intermixed with gold. In every monastery some of the monks were always
employed in making copies of the manuscripts their libraries contained,
and others in illuminating them; but these written books were so
expensive that none but very rich people could afford to buy them. Lady
Clifford, however, possessed a few of these valuable works, and was
intending that her son, who was now in his seventh year, should begin to
study them, when a heavy blow fell upon the house of De Clifford; and
the noble youth, who was born to be a great and wealthy lord, was
reduced to the humble condition of a shepherd's boy.
Henry was very desirous to know something about the war that kept his
father so much from home, and Lady Margaret took great pains to explain
to him how it had been occasioned, and why the English people should all
be fighting against each other. She told him it was the opinion of many
persons that the king, Henry the Sixth, who was then reigning, had no
right to the crown, which belonged properly to the Duke of York, who had
come over from Ireland and raised an army for the purpose of dethroning
the sovereign, and getting himself made king in his stead. She also
told him that King Henry, though a very good man, was neither very brave
nor very clever, so that he did not take an active part in the war
himself, but trusted everything to his queen, Margaret of Anjou, a
Frenchwoman, whose bold and daring spirit enabled her to support her
husband's cause.
"But which do you think is right, mother?" said Henry.
"It is a difficult question to answer, my child; your father takes the
part of the king, or rather of the queen, for the king is now a prisoner
in the hands of his enemies. But the claim of the Duke of York is not
without foundation, and those who take his part of course believe him to
be in the right. But it is a sad thing, my Henry, that a dispute
between two princes should cause so much misery and bloodshed as has
already been occasioned by this unhappy quarrel, and it may be a long
time yet before peace is restored."
"Why do they say my father is for Lancaster and the Red Rose?"
"Because our king's grandfather, Henry the Fourth, was Duke of Lancaster
before he became king. He gained the crown by force from his cousin
Richard the Second, and although the people consented to have him for
their king, and his son Henry the Fifth after him, and now his grandson
Henry the Sixth, it does not prove that he had a right to take the crown
from Richard."
"And who is this Duke of York, mother? Why do they think he ought to be
the king?"
"To make you understand that, Henry, I must go back a little further to
the reign of Edward the Third. He, you know, was the father of that
good and brave prince Edward, whom we call the Black Prince, and who
would have been king if he had not died before his father. The Black
Prince had four younger brothers, but he had a son also, who succeeded
to the throne at the death of his grandfather. He was the Richard the
Second whose crown was taken from him by the Duke of Lancaster, his
cousin, who is, therefore, considered a usurper. This Duke of Lancaster
was also a grandson of Edward the Third, but his father was one of the
younger sons of that king; and the Duke of York, who has now come
forward to claim the crown, and stirred up all this terrible strife, is
a descendant of one of King Edward's elder sons. Do you understand all
this?"
"Yes, I think I do; but I cannot tell which is in the right after all."
"No, my dear boy, I dare say you cannot, neither can I inform you, for
there is much to be said on both sides. I do not pretend to judge
between them, I can only be grieved to see how much sorrow is caused by
the war, and wish that it was ended."
"But you have not told me now, mother, why they say my father is for the
Red Rose."
"The Red Rose, Henry, is a badge to distinguish the king's party. The
crimson rosette they all wear is meant to represent a red rose. The
friends of the Duke of York wear a white one, and from these party signs
the war has come to be called the `War of the Roses.'"
One day, soon after this conversation, it was just before Christmas, the
Lady Margaret, who often entered into the diversions of her children,
was teaching her two boys to shoot at a target in the gallery above the
hall, with a miniature bow and arrows. Some of her maidens were present
looking on at the sport, and when either of the boys shot near the mark
they clapped their hands in applause, and exclaimed, "In good truth,
that was well aimed, my Lord Henry!" or "Bravely done, my Lord Richard!
It went within a hair's breadth." And so they went on laughing and
playing for a long while, one or other of the damsels, and sometimes the
lady herself, trying their skill, the two boys being highly delighted
with the sport, when they were suddenly interrupted by the sound of the
warder's horn, and in another moment the loud, heavy tramp of many
horses was heard.
"It is my lord returned!" cried Lady Margaret. "Now, heaven be praised.
Come with me, Henry, to the gate to meet your father; and you, Cicely,
bring down Richard. He must not say we are slow to bid him welcome."
The drawbridge had been let down, the castle-gates flung wide open, and
in a few minutes the hall was filled with a host of soldiers who had
returned with their lord from the wars. The noble chief responded
lovingly to the affectionate greetings of his lady and his boys, then
left the hall with them, whilst the seneschal collected all the chief
domestics and their servitors to make ready a banquet for the unexpected
guests. A sumptuous feast was speedily prepared, and Lord Clifford,
with the Lady Margaret and his son Henry, dined in state that day--it
was for the last time--in Brougham Castle.
The joy occasioned by his return was but short-lived, for it was quickly
known that he was to depart again on the morrow, and much news was told
to the inmates of the castle by those who had newly arrived. It
appeared that the whole country was in a dreadful state. The king had
been made prisoner at the last battle, and the queen was now in the
northern counties with her son, the young prince Edward, endeavouring to
raise fresh forces. These were hard times for the poor country-people,
who suffered greatly from famine, as the soldiers were marching about in
all directions, pillaging and destroying wherever they came. Almost
every nobleman in England had joined either one side or the other, and
many men, who would much rather have stayed at home in peace with their
families, to work in the fields, or tend their flocks and herds, were
compelled to take up arms at the bidding of their lords; but the
peasantry in those days were so dependent on the nobles that every man
was obliged to obey the commands of the lord of the land whereon he
dwelt, for although the lower orders were not vassals and serfs as they
used to be in earlier times, still they were not so free as they are
now. Lord Clifford had come home chiefly for the purpose of leaving
some of his trusty followers to defend the castle in case it should be
attacked, which he thought probable, and as he had taken away all the
fighting-men, there had latterly been none left in the castle but such
as were too old or infirm to do much service. He therefore appointed a
sufficient number to remain as a guard, then prepared to bid adieu once
more to his wife and children. Lord Clifford was fierce and cruel in
the wars, but he was fondly attached to his own family, and it was
perhaps in some measure owing to his strong feelings with regard to
domestic ties, united with a natural ferocity of disposition, that made
him so unsparing towards his enemies as to obtain the name of "the
butcher," by which he is distinguished in history to this very day; for
when his father fell at the battle of Saint Albans, he made a vow that
he would revenge his death by never showing mercy to a partisan of the
house of York, and he kept that vow but too well, as you will presently
hear.
The gentle Lady Margaret watched, with a saddened heart and tearful
eyes, the hurried preparations for her husband's departure, while Henry
and Richard stood near him, gazing with childish admiration on his
stately form arrayed in armour of polished steel, over which he wore a
tabard, or short coat of crimson velvet, richly embroidered with gold,
and under its wide open sleeves the shining armour looked very splendid.
His helmet was adorned with a plume of feathers, and as he was a tall,
handsome man, no doubt he looked very magnificent in the eyes of his
children. It was the last time they ever saw him.
Brougham Castle stood on the bank of a narrow river, and its principal
entrance was an arched gateway opening to the riverside. The drawbridge
had been let down, and some of the horsemen had already passed over, and
were waiting on the opposite bank for their leader, who still lingered
to say a few more parting words to the beloved ones he was leaving
behind. The little baby girl was brought to him for a last kiss, then
he took Richard in his arms, and kissed him too, and stroking the glossy
curls of Henry's light brown hair, he said--
"I wish you were a few years older, my son, that you might go with me to
fight for your king and queen."
"I thank God that he is not old enough," returned Lady Margaret; "it is
grief enough for me to part with my husband. Oh! that these cruel wars
were over, for they bring nothing but sorrow to the land!"
"Thou hast but a faint heart, my Margaret. Our queen is a lioness
compared with thee!"
"I would not wish to resemble her then," said the lady.
"Nor would I desire that thou shouldst," replied her husband. "But keep
up a brave spirit, for thou mayest need it."
Again he embraced her lovingly, and mounting his gallant charger he rode
from the castle-gate, with about fifty knights and esquires in his
train, all well armed and mounted.
The first news that reached Brougham, was a cause of the deepest sorrow
to Lady Margaret, although it told of a great battle that had been won
by her husband's party at Wakefield, and also of the death of Richard,
Duke of York, who had fallen on the field. But it also told of a
barbarous deed done by Lord Clifford, which she was sure would turn all
hearts against him; and so it did, for it shocked both friends and foes,
and has left a blot on his name that will never be effaced.
It was after the battle was over, as he was riding towards the town to
rejoin the queen, that he overtook the young Earl of Rutland, second son
of the unfortunate Duke of York, a youth about fourteen years of age,
who had just heard of his father's fate, and, overwhelmed with grief,
was being hurried away by his tutor, Sir Robert Aspall, who had been
left in charge of him near the field of battle, to seek refuge in a
neighbouring convent. Clifford seized the affrighted boy, who fell on
his knees and begged for mercy.
"Who is he?" demanded the fierce nobleman in a thundering tone.
"He is the son of a prince who is now beyond thy power," answered the
venerable tutor. "But I pray you to spare him, for he is too young to
do hurt to thee or thy cause."
"He is a son of York, and he shall die!" exclaimed Lord Clifford,
plunging his dagger into the heart of the hapless boy, who fell dead at
his feet.
It was in consequence of this wanton act of cruelty, and of the numbers
he slew at the battle of Wakefield with his own hand, that he was
thenceforth called "the butcher," a terrible distinction, which will
cling to his memory for ever.
Lady Clifford lamented sadly over the fate of poor Rutland, for she
would have given all the wealth she had in the world, rather than her
lord should have been guilty of such a wicked deed; and when she looked
at her dear boy Henry, she wondered that the thought of his own son
should not have softened a father's heart, and prevented him from
destroying an innocent youth, even though he was the son of an enemy.
One day, soon after this news was brought, there came to the castle one
of those wandering minstrels who were in the habit of going about the
country with their harps, and were sure to find a welcome at the
mansions of the great, where, in return for a night's lodging and
entertainment, they would amuse the company with their songs and music.
Lady Clifford never went down to the great hall when her lord was away,
but confined herself to her own private apartments with her female
attendants and her children, but she readily gave permission for the
domestics to admit the minstrel for their own amusement, and right glad
they were of this indulgence, as they had spent but a dull Christmas.
"May we not go down, dear mother, to hear the minstrel play and sing?"
said Henry.
"Yes, you and Richard may go for awhile if you wish it," replied Lady
Margaret; and, sending for the old seneschal or steward of the castle,
she bade him take charge of the boys while they listened to the harper's
songs. There were not many people in the castle now, but all that were
there assembled in the hall to make merry with the new comer, except
Lady Clifford herself, and the little Lady Elizabeth. The minstrel sang
a long ballad all about the warlike achievements of the De Cliffords in
former times, filling up the pauses with the animated strains of his
harp, and when the song was done, and the servants were preparing to
dance, the boys returned to their mother, highly delighted with what
they had heard.
The next morning the seneschal came to his mistress and told her that
the minstrel begged for a private audience, as he had something of
importance to communicate, "And I think, my lady," said the old man, "it
is about our lord that he wishes to speak, for he has just come from
Wakefield."
"Then bring him hither, Hubert," said the lady, "I will hear what he has
to say."
Hubert bowed respectfully and withdrew, but soon returned with the
minstrel, who was instantly recognised by Lady Margaret as a faithful
retainer of Lord de Vesci, her father; and seeing by his looks that what
he had to communicate was for her ear only; she dismissed all who were
present, and remained alone with him.
"What is it, Rolf," she asked in alarm. "Why do you come here in
disguise? what of my father? is he well?"
"He is well, dear lady. It is not of him I came to speak. I am just
from Wakefield, and I come to warn you to watch well over your sons, for
the friends of York have sworn, one and all, to take revenge for the
death of young Rutland; and I fear me the threat points towards Lord
Clifford's children. You must not trust them out of the castle, where
for the present they are safe; but if Edward of York should be made
king, and he is more likely to succeed than his father was, I am afraid
there will be no safety for them even here. I assumed this disguise
because if it became known amongst your enemies that one of your
father's people had come from Wakefield here, they would suspect it was
to put you on your guard."
"Now heaven help me!" said the lady, "how am I to ward off this
misfortune? I must depend on you, my good and faithful Rolf, to keep
watch, and let me know should any immediate danger threaten us; and, in
the meanwhile, I will concert some plan for removing my children in case
of need."
"This I will do, lady, and as much more as may lie within my power. In
this minstrel's guise I can visit the camp of the Yorkists from time to
time, and bring you intelligence of what is passing there. They will
not know that I am one of your house, and I shall pass free."
Lady Margaret was truly grateful to the trusty Rolf, who departed from
the castle that same day; but she confided to none, except the good old
seneschal, what had been the purport of their conference. Day after day
she waited with ill-concealed dread for further tidings, and at length a
messenger came from her lord, from whom she learned that more battles
had been fought, that the king was released from prison, but that the
young Duke of York had been proclaimed king in London, by the title of
Edward the Fourth. Soon afterwards another messenger arrived with news
that King Henry and the queen were again in Yorkshire collecting more
forces, and that King Edward (for there were now two kings) was
advancing northward with a large army to oppose them. The poor women
and children from the neighbouring villages now came flocking for refuge
to Brougham Castle, which was put into a state of defence, for it was
quite certain there would soon be a great battle, and, if King Edward
should gain the day, there was but little doubt that the castle would be
besieged.
Lord Clifford was now with the king and queen in the city of York.
Their army amounted to sixty thousand men; and King Edward was coming
with about fifty thousand, so that the conflict was certain to be a very
great and terrible one. It took place at Towton, on Palm Sunday, just
four months after the battle of Wakefield, and amongst the many
thousands slain on that dreadful day was Lord Clifford, who was then
scarcely twenty-six years of age. It is needless to dwell on the grief
occasioned by these fatal tidings; it was sad to hear and sad to see.
The unhappy lady had now to think of providing for the safety of her
fatherless children, for although Rolf had promised to bring her word if
he saw they were in danger, there was no certainty of his being able to
do so, as it was possible he might have been killed himself, for she had
not heard of him. At last he came, but it was again in his adopted
character of a minstrel, and he would have had some difficulty in
gaining admittance, had it not been for the old seneschal, who guessed
his errand, and saw that he was allowed to enter, saying that, dismal as
the times were, it could be no harm to listen to a minstrel's lay.
With much caution he conducted him secretly to Lady Clifford's private
apartments, for he thought there might be some hazard in letting it
become known who he was or why he came, as among the many who were now
within the castle walls, who could say that all were true.
From Rolf's account it appeared that, after the defeat at Towton, the
queen had placed her husband, who was half imbecile, in a monastery at
Edinburgh, and fled with her son, Prince Edward, to France; while the
new king, Edward the Fourth, had taken full possession of the throne,
and was publicly acknowledged as sovereign of England. He had declared
his intention of seizing the estates of all those nobles who had fought
against him; and it was reported that he had said he would revenge the
murder of his brother, young Rutland, on Clifford's heir. Henry's life
was therefore now in danger, and Rolf had come to assist in saving him.
"Have you devised any plan, lady," said the faithful servant, "in case
of this extremity?"
"Yes, my good Rolf, I have thought of it day and night, ever since that
fatal battle. I must part from my boy. I must trust him to you. Do
you think you can convey him, without suspicion, to his nurse Maud, at
Skipton? I can depend on her to be careful of my child, and on her
husband also; but they must not remain there, they must remove to
Londesborough, and you must go yourself to my father, who is now there,
and tell him from me to provide them with a dwelling, but not to notice
the boy as his grandson, for Henry must pass for Maud's own child.
Think you, Rolf, that you can accomplish all this?"
"I will try, my lady; but we must speak of it to Lord Henry, that he may
understand his life depends on its not being known that he is Lord
Clifford's son."
"My Henry is wise beyond his years," replied the lady, "and I fear me
not that he will submit to this necessity without a murmur."
"No doubt, no doubt, dear lady; and you had better prepare him at once,
for we know not how soon the blow may come."
"My Henry," said Lady Margaret, "you are going to Skipton, to your good
nurse Maud, who will take you to Londesborough, where you must live with
her and her husband till there is peace again in the land, which we will
both earnestly pray for. And you must remember, my child, that you are
to pass for Maud's own son, and that you are to call her mother, and her
husband, Robin, the shepherd, father. I have already explained to you
what would be the terrible consequences should you ever forget this."
"I will not forget, mother; but shall I never see you there? I love
Maud very much, but not as I love you, my own dear mother!"
And the noble boy threw himself into his mother's arms, laid his head
upon her bosom, and burst into tears. She kissed him tenderly, and
endeavoured to speak cheerfully.
"My darling boy, this separation is only for the present, and I hope I
shall be able to see you sometimes, for I intend, after awhile, to live
at Londesborough, which is mine, and may some day be yours; but not yet,
not till our enemies believe that you and your brother are far away
beyond the seas; and even then, when I come to visit you, Henry, no one
must know it except ourselves and nurse; for if it came to be known that
I felt any interest about the shepherd's boy, the people might suspect
who you are, and that is what we have to guard against."
"And Richard, mother--is he to go away too?"
"Yes, Henry, I must part with you both--but your little sister I may
keep with me; it is not her life they seek. And now, my beloved child,
you understand what it is you have to do--keep up a brave heart and
endeavour not to repine at your lot, but be thankful you have not fallen
into the hands of those who would show you no mercy. But above all, my
son, put your trust in God, and pray to him that happier days may come,
when we can be together again without fear or concealment."
The next day after this conversation, Lady Clifford left Brougham
Castle, with her three children, her maid Cicely, old Hubert, and a few
trusty attendants on whose fidelity she could rely, but not even to them
did she reveal her son's destination, which was only known to her
faithful seneschal. The lady, with her maid and the children, travelled
in a litter, a sort of light van shut in with curtains, which, at that
period, when coaches were unknown, was often used by invalids and those
who did not want to travel on horseback. The litter for one person was
sometimes slung on poles and carried by men, but a large one, containing
more than one traveller, was usually mounted on wheels and drawn by
horses. It had been arranged that Rolf should meet Lady Clifford's
party in a forest, between Brougham Castle and York, and that he should
bring with him a peasant boy's coarse woollen dress, to disguise Henry
for his flight; and oh, how sad were the hearts of the mother and son
when they came in sight of the tall trees of that forest where they were
to part for they knew not how long! The path was wide enough to admit
of the vehicle, and they had not gone far when Rolf met them. He was
not in his minstrel's dress, so that the people did not know him. He
came to the side of the litter, and spoke in a low tone to the lady, who
called one of her attendants, and said to him--
"This good man brings me word that it will not be safe for us to go to
York, therefore I shall alter my course and proceed at once to the
sea-coast, and take ship for the Netherlands. He also thinks that it
would be better we should not all travel together, therefore I shall
send on my eldest son with him and Hubert. He has a conveyance waiting
close by in the forest, and when I have seen them off, I will return
here. You can, meanwhile, rest and refresh yourselves, for we have a
long day's journey yet before us."
The men, who were glad of this respite, dismounted, and began to unpack
the provisions with which they were plentifully provided, whilst the
sorrowful lady, leading her son by the hand, accompanied by Hubert,
followed Rolf, who led them to a spot quite hidden from the view of the
rest of the party, where a small cart, such as was used by the villagers
in their rural occupations, was really in waiting.
This was indeed a trying moment. The young lord was now to be
transformed into the peasant boy--his long bright curls were cut off,
his face and hands were stained with a brown liquid to make him look
sunburnt, as if he was used to work in the fields, and his rich velvet
apparel was changed for coarse homespun woollen cloth. But he cared not
what they put him on--his only thought was that he was going away from
his beloved mother, perhaps never to see her more. He clasped his arms
round her neck and clung to her sobbing, as if his heart would break,
and the tears were streaming down her cheeks too, as she fell on her
knees and murmured a prayer that heaven would watch over and protect her
fatherless boy.
"My lady--my dear lady," said old Hubert; "you must not stay here
longer--the sooner this parting is over the better it will be for you
both. Come, my Lord Henry, it is time we were moving."
So saying he gently disengaged the boy from his mother's encircling arms
and lifted him into the cart, making a private signal to Rolf to drive
away as fast as he could. He then respectfully entreated his unhappy
lady to return to her party, and she, scarcely conscious of what she was
doing, suffered him to lead her back, and as soon as he had seen her
safely placed in the litter with Cicely and the two children, he mounted
his horse and galloped off as if to join Rolf and his young charge, but
in reality to take quite another route, for Henry was to pass, during
this journey, for a poor boy whom Rolf was taking home to his native
village, and it would not have done for him to be attended by Lady
Clifford's seneschal.
It was well he had been sent away, for just about this time King Edward
caused an act of attainder to be passed against all the noblemen who had
fought for the cause of Henry the Seventh, that is, they were deprived
of their titles, and their estates were declared forfeited to the crown;
he also issued a command that the children of the attainted nobles
should be sent to London to be disposed of, as he, the king, should
think fit; and this was probably done for the very purpose of getting
Clifford's children into his power; for no sooner had Lady Clifford
taken up her abode with her father, the aged Lord de Vesci, than she was
summoned to London, and closely questioned as to what had become of her
boys. She said she had sent them out of the country, but as she had
heard nothing of them since, she did not know whether they were alive or
dead, and so the retreat of the high-born shepherd boy remained unknown.
But all the castles and broad lands that were his by right of
inheritance were given to the enemies of his family. The Barony of
Westmoreland, with Brougham Castle, was bestowed by Edward on his
brother Richard Duke of York, afterwards Richard the Third; and the
great manor of Shipton was conferred on Sir William Stanley, who, at a
later period, went over to the Lancasterian party himself, and you may
read in Shakespeare's play of "Richard the Third," that it was he who,
after the battle of Bosworth, where Richard was killed, picked up the
crown and placed it on the victor's head, saying, "Long live Henry the
Seventh!" We shall presently see what this event had to do with our
hero, Henry de Clifford.