THE DECEIVER.
The King of England remained seated for many minutes exactly where
Richard of Woodville had left him. His right hand rested on the arm of
his chair; his left upon the hilt of his dagger; and his eyes remained
fixed apparently upon the heavy building of the Abbey, such as it then
appeared, before a far successor of his added to it a structure, rich,
and perhaps beautiful in itself, but sadly out of keeping with the
rest of the pile. But Henry saw not the long straight lines of the
solemn mass of masonry; he heard not the bells chiming from the belfry
hard by: his mind was absent from the scene in which his body dwelt;
and his thoughts busy with things very different from those that
surrounded him.
On what did they rest? Over what did the spirit of the great English
monarch ponder, the very day after he had solemnly assumed the crown
and sceptre?--Who can say?
He might, perhaps, remember other days with some regret; for we can
never lose aught that we have possessed, without some mournful
feelings of deprivation returning upon us from time to time, however
great and overpowering be the compensation that we obtain; we can
never change from one state and station in our mortal course to
another without sometimes thinking of former joys, and gone-by
happiness, even though we have acquired grander blessings, and a more
expansive sphere: and oh! how great is the change, even from the
position of a prince, to that of a monarch! so great, indeed, that
none who have not known it can even divine.
He might already, perhaps, feel what a burden a crown may sometimes
become; how heavy are occasionally the gorgeous robes of state; he
might look back to the free buoyancy of his early life, and long to
roam the wide plains and fields of his kingdom alone, and at his ease.
Or he might think of friendship--and there was none more capable of
knowing and valuing it aright--and might wonder whether a monarch
could indeed have a friend; one into whose bosom he could pour his
secret thoughts, or with whose wit he could try his own, in free, but
not undignified encounter; one in whom he could trust, and with whom
he might relax, certain that the condescension of the sovereign would
not be mistaken, nor the confidence of the friend betrayed.
Again, he might ponder upon all the difficulties and pains of a royal
station: he might think, "Each of my subjects is burdened with his own
cares and anxieties, but I with the care and anxiety of the whole:" or
his mind might turn to the especial troubles and discomforts of a
monarch, and remember how many he must have to disappoint; how often
he must have to punish; how much he must have to refuse; how seldom he
might be permitted to forgive; what great works he must necessarily
leave undone; what good deeds be might be obliged to neglect; what
faults he must be called upon to overlook; what pain and grief, even
to the good and wise, a stern necessity might compel him to inflict.
He might, perhaps, think of any or all of these things, for they were
all within the grasp of his character, as Henry was peculiarly a
thoughtful monarch. We are, indeed, only accustomed to look upon him
either as a wild youth, suddenly and somewhat strangely reformed, or
as a great conqueror and skilful general, a prudent and ambitious
prince. But those who will inquire into his private life, who will
mark the recorded words that occasionally broke from his lips, trace
the causes and course of his actions, examine his conduct to his
friends, and even to his enemies, who will, in short, strip off the
monarch's robes and look upon the man, will find a meditative spirit,
though a quick one; a warm heart, though a firm one; a rich and lively
imagination, though a clear and vigorous judgment. He was not one to
take upon him the cares of government without feeling all their
weight; to regard a throne as a seat of ease and pleasure; or to
assume the grand responsibilities of sovereign power, without
examining them stedfastly and sternly, seeing all that is bright and
all that is dark therein, and feeling keenly every sacrifice for which
they call.
To love and to be beloved by a whole nation, to give and to receive
happiness by a wise government of a great people, is assuredly a
mighty recompence for all the pains of royal station; but yet those
pains will be felt hourly while the reward is afar; and the monarch's
conversation with Richard of Woodville had awakened him to some of
those evils which the wisest rule cannot entirely remedy. Almost under
the windows of his palace, on the very day of his coronation, in the
midst of rejoicing and festivity, one of his subjects, an innocent
inoffensive old man, had been brutally deprived of life by a party of
those who had been feasting at his own table; and, when he remembered
all the scenes with which the course of his early life had made him
acquainted throughout this wide land, he saw what a task it would be
to restrain the wild licence of a host of turbulent nobles, and to
bind them to submission to the laws, and to reverence for the rights
and happiness of others.
The monarch was still deep in thought when the page whom he had sent
for Sir Simeon of Roydon, returned, announcing that he was in waiting
without; and Henry at once ordered him to be admitted. The knight
advanced with courtly bows, and more than due reverence; for he was
one of those who, overbearing and haughty to their inferiors, are
always cringing and fawning towards those above them, at least until
they are detected.
But Henry came to the point at once, saying, with a stern brow, "I
hear matters regarding you, Sir Simeon of Roydon, that please me not;
and I would fain hear from your own lips, what explanation you can
give. Know, sir, that the subjects of this crown are not to be
murdered with impunity, and that sooner or later blood will find a
tongue to accuse those that spill it."
The knight turned somewhat pale under the keen eye of the King; but he
answered at once, in smooth and fluent tones, "I was not aware, Sire,
that I had done aught that should bring upon me the greatest
punishment that I could receive--that of falling under the displeasure
of your Highness; for any other infliction which might follow that
severe misfortune, would seem nothing in comparison, or light, indeed,
if by any bodily suffering I could remove the heavy weight of your
anger. May I humbly inquire what is my fault? It must be great, I am
sure, though I know it not, to make so clement a King regard his
servant so harshly."
"It is great, sir," replied Henry, who could not be deluded with fair
words. "Did you not, last night, after quitting the Hall below, cause
the death of an old man by a most brutal outrage?"
"Nay, Heaven forbid!" cried Roydon, with well-feigned surprise and
grief. "Your Highness does not, I trust, mean to say that the poor old
man is dead?"
"He was killed upon the spot, sir," answered Henry; "and I am told you
did not even stop to inquire what had been the result of your own
act."
"I will go home and have him slaughtered without delay," exclaimed
Roydon, as if speaking to himself in a paroxysm of regret.
"Have whom slaughtered?" asked the King, gazing upon him coldly; for
he began to divine the course his defence was to take.
"The brute that did it, Sire," replied the knight; "three times has
that horse nearly deprived me of life, which I heeded not much, for it
is a fine though unruly animal; but now that he has taken the life of
another, his own shall be forfeit. Scarcely had I mounted when, with
the bit between his teeth, he set off at full speed; some of my
companions galloped after to stop him, if possible, but were unable,
till a gentleman on foot, I know not who, caught the bridle in the
crowd; and I, not seeing what had befallen, rode on, keeping him in
with difficulty."
A slight smile curled the lip of the King, showing to Sir Simeon
Roydon that he was not fully believed; and a dark feeling of
anger--the rage of detected meanness--gathered itself in the inmost
recesses of his heart, with only the more bitter intensity because he
dared not suffer it to peep forth. There is nothing that we hate so
much as one whom, however much he may offend us, we cannot injure.
Vengeance is the drink by which the dire thirst of hate is often
assuaged; but if that cannot by any possibility be obtained, the
burning of the heart goes on increasing till it becomes the
unquenchable drought of fever.
The monarch answered calmly, however, and without further reproach.
"Your tale, Sir Simeon," he said, "is somewhat different from that
which previously reached my ears. I trust it can be substantiated in
all its parts; for this matter must be investigated fully. The crown
officer will, of course, do his duty by inquest upon the body. It will
be well for you to be present; and the law will then take its due
effect. Retire for a time, sir, into another chamber, and I will cause
inquiry to be made, as to when a jury will be ready to investigate the
case."
Sir Simeon of Roydon bowed with a sad and respectful countenance, and
turned towards the door; but when he reached it, the expression of his
face, now averted from the King, was very different from that which it
had been a moment before. A mocking smile sat upon his lip--the
sneering, bitter expression of a bad spirit, which has gained some
advantage over a nobler one; but it was gone again the moment he
opened the door and stood in presence of two or three attendants, who
were waiting in the ante-room. At the same instant, the voice of Henry
called the page, and Sir Simeon, pausing and seating himself, could
hear the King give orders for making the inquiries which he had
mentioned. In less than twenty minutes, the page returned and entered
the monarch's closet, after which the knight was recalled.
"I find, sir," said Henry, when he appeared again before him, "that
uncommonly quick proceedings have been taken in this case. The inquest
has sat already; and the good men have pronounced the death
accidental. So far the finding is satisfactory; but as it is clear
that the accident occurred by your furious riding of a horse which you
yourself acknowledge to be vicious and dangerous, I have to require
that you make the only compensation that can be made to the person who
I am told is this old man's grandchild. You will, therefore, go at
once to the hospital of St. James, and there, or elsewhere, when
you have found her, will pay to this poor girl the sum of fifty
half nobles, expressing your sorrow--which, doubtless, you feel
sincerely--for the evil you have occasioned."
Sir Simeon of Roydon bowed, with every appearance of respect; but
there was a scowl upon his brow; and he could not refrain from asking,
"May I inquire, Sire, whether this fine is imposed by the inquest, or
whether it be the award of your Highness; for if--"
Henry's cheek flushed, and the impetuous spirit which had made him in
early years strike the judge upon the bench, roused itself for a
moment in his heart. It was conquered speedily, however; and he
murmured to himself, "No, I will not act the tyrant. Sir Simeon," he
continued, aloud, waving his hand, "the award is mine, as you say. It
is my desire that this should be done. You will do it or not, as you
think fit, for I will not strain the laws; but if it be not done,
never present yourself before me again. That at the least I may
require, sir, though the verdict of the jury can but affect the horse
you rode."
"Your Highness did not hear me out," replied Roydon, who had now
recovered the mastery of himself; "I did but presume to ask; because
if such a fine had been imposed by the jury, I should have resisted
it, as contrary to law; but at the command of your Highness, I pay it,
not only with submission but with pleasure, as the only means I have
of showing both my regret at what has taken place, and my eager desire
to conform myself in all things to your will. Not an hour shall pass
before you are certified that I have not only obeyed, but gone beyond
your orders; and so I humbly take my leave."
The words were well and gracefully spoken; and Henry found no occasion
to complain of the knight's demeanour; but still he was not satisfied
that his obedience was the submission of the heart; for he knew right
well that fair words, ay, and fair actions, too, are often but the
cloaks of sly and subtle knavery; and the character of Sir Simeon of
Roydon was not new to him. He replied merely, "So you shall do well,
sir;" and bowed his head as a signal that he might depart.
The knight quitted his presence in no happy mood, perceiving right
well that the monarch's favour, on which he had counted much, had been
lost and not regained. He hated him for the clear sighted penetration
which had seen through his art; and he only doubted whether there was
or was not a chance of still deceiving his sovereign, and recovering
his good graces, by an appearance of zeal and devotion in obeying his
commands.
"It is worth the trial," he thought; "and it shall be tried; but I
shall soon find whether he continues to nourish such ill-will towards
me; and if he do, my course must be shaped accordingly. Curses upon
these beggarly vagrants! Who ever heard of King before who troubled
his nobility about minstrels and tomblesteres? This smacks of the
early tastes of our magnanimous monarch, whose sole delight, within
these two months, was in pot-house tipplers, and losel gamesters. He
may assume a royal port and solemn manner, if he will; but the habit
of years is not so easily conquered; and if he trip now, he is lost.
Men were tired enough of his usurping father. A new prince carries the
ever-changing multitude at his heels; but time will bring weariness,
and weariness is soon changed into disgust. We shall see; we shall
see; and the day of vengeance may come. In the meantime, of one, at
least, I have had retribution; and this other shall not long escape--a
rude, ballad-singing peasant, only fit for the brute sports of the
bull-baiting, or the fair--a very franklin in spirit, and a yeoman in
heart."
With thoughts,--which, as the reader may have perceived, had deviated
from the King to Richard of Woodville,--with thoughts wavering with a
strong inclination to bold evil, but chained down to mere knavery, for
the time, by some remaining chances of success--for strange as it may
seem, as many men are rendered cowards by hope as by fear--Sir Simeon
of Roydon pursued his way to the hospital of St. James, on foot,
having hastened to the presence of the King without waiting for his
horses. As, still in deep and angry thought, he approached the gate
and the old lodge, he raised his eyes somewhat suddenly at an
advancing step, and beheld the form of a young girl, with her long
dark eyelashes bent down till they rested on her cheek. He caught but
a momentary glance as she hurried by; but Simeon of Roydon was quick
and eager in his examination of all that is beautiful in mere form;
and that glance was sufficient to rouse no very holy feelings. The
rounded limbs, the small and delicate foot and ankle, the fine
chiseled features, the graceful easy movements, the exquisite neck and
bosom half hidden by the folds of the grey hood, were all marked in an
instant; and as she seemed alone, without defence or protection, he
hesitated for a moment whether to stop and speak to her; but while he
paused, she was gone with a quick step; the gate of the convent was
near, and, resisting the passing temptation, he walked on and rang the
bell.
The porter slowly opened the gate; and, with the tone of careless and
haughty indifference which has always marked the inferior personages
of a court--I mean the inferior in mind, more than the inferior in
rank or station--the knight said, "There was an old man killed near
this spot last night, I think?"
"There was, noble sir," answered the porter, with a low reverence to
his air of superiority; "the body has been moved to the chapel."
"I care nought about the body," rejoined Roydon. "He had a daughter or
grand-daughter or something with him; where is she?"
"She has just gone forth, noble sir," replied the porter; "you must
have passed her at the gate."
"Ha! what! a girl with a grey hood and a white coat, with some gold at
the edge?" asked the knight.
"The same, noble sir," said the old man; "poor thing, she is sadly
afflicted."
"Send her to me when she comes back, and I will comfort her," answered
the visitor in a light tone.
"Nay, sir, she is none of those, I'll warrant," replied the porter,
very little edified; "and I give no such messages here."
"Thou art a fool, old man," said Sir Simeon of Roydon. "Will she come
back hither?"
"Doubtless she will," answered the other, "for better comfort than you
can give."
"Pshaw! art thou a preacher?", demanded the knight, with a sneer. "The
comfort that I have to give is gold, by the King's command. So tell
her to come to Burwash House, close by the Temple gate, up the lane to
the left, and ask for Simeon of Roydon. If I be not within, I will
leave the money with a servant; but bid her come quickly, for I must
tell the King as soon as his bounty is bestowed. When will she be
here?"
"That I know not," answered the old man; "the prioress bade me give
her admission to the parlour whenever she came, for the ladies the
sisters have taken her case much to heart. But the young woman did not
say when she would return. Perhaps it would be better for you to leave
the money with the lady prioress herself, who would render it to her
when she sees her."
"Give advice to those who ask it, my friend," replied Roydon. "I know
best what are the King's commands and my duty; so tell her what I say
on the part of his Highness, and let her come as speedily as may be."
The knight then turned, and, with a haughty step, took his way back to
Burwash House, the London mansion of a distant kinsman, who, in
reverence of his newly acquired wealth, permitted the heir of poor
Catherine Beauchamp to inhabit it during his own absence from the
capital.
Sir Simeon of Roydon was now enjoying to the full that which he had
long earnestly desired--the prosperity of riches, which he had never
before known; for his own estate had originally been small, and had
soon been encumbered, under the influence of expensive tastes and vain
ostentation. Unchastened by adversity, unreclaimed by experience, he
was now living as much beyond his present, as he had previously lived
beyond his former, fortune; and grooms and attendants of all kinds
waited him at his dwelling, chosen from the scum of a great city,
which always affords a multitude of serviceable knaves, ready to aid
an heir to spend his inheritance, and, by obsequious compliance with
all rash or vicious desires, to secure themselves a participation in
the plunder, during the term of its existence. To some of these
worthies, whom he found in the court, he gave orders for the immediate
admission of poor Ella Brune as soon as she appeared; and then,
betaking himself to a chamber on the first floor, he occupied himself
for somewhat more than an hour in thinking over future plans, no
inconsiderable portion of which referred to the gratification of many
of the pleasant little passions, that, like strong drink, by turns
stimulate and allay the thirst of a depraved mind. Revenge--or,
rather, the gratification of hate, for revenge presupposes injury--was
predominant, though ambition had a goodly share also.
To become that for which he thought himself well fitted, but towards
which he had never hitherto been able to take one step--a great and
prominent man--was one principal object:--to take a share in the
mightier deeds of life, to rule and influence others, to command, to
be looked up to, to receive authority and wield it at will. Oh, how
often does that desire _to become a great man_ render one a little
man!--how often is it the source of littleness in those who might
otherwise be great indeed! When the greatest philosopher that modern
ages has produced declared, that "to rise to dignities we must submit
to indignities," how powerful, to debase the mightiest mind, did that
longing _to become a great man_ show itself! How constantly, through
his whole career, do we see it producing all that made him other than
great! It was, and is ever, the result of the one grand fundamental
error, the misappreciation of real greatness. And thus we desire to
become great in the eyes of other men, not in our own--to win the
applause of worms, not merit the approbation of God.
Such pitiful elevation was the only greatness coveted by him of whom
we speak; but that was not the only desire which moved him--he longed
for indulgence of every kind, from which straitened circumstances had
long debarred him--he thought of pleasures with the eagerness of a
Tantalus, who had for years beheld them close to his lip, without the
power of bringing them within his taste; and, like a famished beast,
he was ready to fall upon the food of appetite wherever it could be
found. But still cunning--both natural and that acquired from the
ready teacher of all evil to inferior minds, poverty--was at hand to
bring certain restraints, which wisdom and virtue were not there to
enforce. There was a consciousness in his breast, that too great
eagerness often disappoints its own desires, and that he was too
eager; and, therefore, he resolved that he would be cautious too. But
such resolutions usually fail somewhere; for cautiousness is a
guardian who does not always watch, when she is without the
companionship of rectitude.
Such reflections were still busily occupying his mind; and he had
arrived at sincere regret for the rash and brutal act which he had
committed the night before--not because it was evil, but because it
was imprudent--when a page opened the door, and ushered Ella Brune
into the room.
The poor girl knew not whom she was coming to see--she had taken no
note of the face or form of him whose cruel carelessness had deprived
her of the only support she had--she had not listened to the words
that passed between him and Richard of Woodville--she stood before him
unconscious that he was the slayer of her old companion. Let the
reader mark that fact well. Nevertheless, as soon as she saw him she
turned deadly pale, and her limbs trembled.
But Sir Simeon of Roydon took a smooth and pleasant tone; and as soon
as the page was gone, and had closed the door, he asked, "They gave
you my message, then, pretty maid?" At the same time he placed a stool
for her, and motioned her to be seated.
"They told me, sir," she answered in a low tone, "that you had
commands for me from the King."
"And so I have, fair maiden," replied Simeon of Roydon; "but, I pray
you, sit. This has been a sad event--I grieve for it much. I was not
aware, till this morning, that my runaway charger had done such
damage."
"And were you the man?" demanded Ella Brune, suddenly raising her eyes
to his face. As she did so, she found him gazing at her from head to
foot, taking in all the beauties of her face and form, as an
experienced judge remarks the points of a fine horse; and she drew her
hood farther over her brow, not well satisfied with the eager and
passionate look of admiration which his countenance displayed.
"I was unfortunate enough to be so," answered Roydon, perceiving her
gesture, and thinking it as well to put some little restraint upon
himself, though he never dreamed that a poor minstrel's girl could
seriously resist the solicitation of a man of wealth and station. "I
regret it deeply," he continued, "but the brute overpowered me. By the
King's commands, I bear you fifty half-nobles; here they are. And, for
my own satisfaction, I will give you the same."
As he spoke, he held out a purse to her, but Ella Brune drew back.
"The King's bounty," she said, "I will receive with gratitude; but,
from you, I will take nothing."
"And, pray, why not, sweet girl?" asked Simeon of Roydon; "the King
cannot grieve for what has happened half as much as I do, or be half
as eager to comfort and console you. Nay, sit down, and speak to me;"
and, taking her hand, he led her back to the stool much against her
will. "I would fain hear what can be done for you," he added; "I fear
you may be friendless and unprotected; and I long to make up to you,
as far as possible, for the loss you have sustained."
"I am, indeed, alone in the world," replied the fair girl; "but not
friendless, and unprotected, while I trust in God."
"Yes, but God uses human means," answered Roydon, who was every moment
growing more eager in the pursuit, which at first had been but as the
chase of a butterfly; "and you must let me be his instrument, as I
have caused, unwillingly, this evil to befal you. I have a beautiful
small cottage on my lands, where the trees fall round and shade it in
the winter from the wind--in the summer from the sun. The woodbine and
rose gather round the door, and a sparkling stream dances within
sight. There, if you will accept such a refuge, you can live in peace
and tranquillity, protected from all the harm and wrong that might
happen to you in great cities; for you are too young and too lovely to
escape wiles, and perhaps violence, if you are left without good ward,
in such resorts of men as these."
A smile came upon the lip of Ella Brune, but it was of a very mingled
and changeful expression. Perhaps the wakening of some old remembered
dream of happy days might render it at first soft and gentle; and, the
next instant, the recollection of how that dream had faded might
sadden; and then again, the transparency of his baseness mixed a touch
of scorn with it, and she answered, "That can never be, sir. I seek no
protection but that I have, and cannot accept of yours. I am able, as
I am accustomed, to guard myself, and will do so still. I think you
have mistaken me--but it matters not. I seek neither gold nor favour
from you; and, if you would make atonement for bad deeds, it must be
to God, not me."
As she spoke, she rose, and turned to quit the room; and Simeon of
Roydon hesitated for a moment whether he should not detain her by
force--for those were days of violence; and her very coldness had
rendered the passion he began to feel towards her but the more
impetuous. He remembered, however, that there might be those who
expected her return; that the place whither she had gone was known at
the monastery; and that the King's eye might be upon his conduct
towards her. These calculations passed like lightning through his
mind, and he chose his course in an instant.
"Stay!" he cried, "stay one minute more, sweet girl. I have not
mistaken you at all. I would not even force my protection on you: but,
at least, receive this; for I must tell the King that it is paid."
"His bounty," replied Ella, "I will not refuse, as I before said, and
offer him my deepest thanks; but, from you, I will receive nothing."
"Well, then, take these fifty pieces," said her companion; "they are
given by the King's command. We shall meet again, fair maid; and then,
perhaps, you will know me better."
"I seek to know no more," she answered, taking the gold he gave: "I
have known enough," and, turning to the door, she left him, murmuring
to herself, "Would that the King had sent it by other hands."
Simeon of Roydon followed her to the gates, beckoning up two
of his servants as he went. "Quick," he whispered; "you see that
girl?--follow her wherever she goes: find out her name--her
dwelling--every particular you can gather, and bring me your tidings
with all speed."