Come back with me, dear reader, come back with me both in time and
space; for we must return to the morning before, and to the little
hill-top--not far from the spot where the road to Tamworth and to
Fazely separates--over which, at that time, spread brown turf, green
gorse, and a few patches of stunted heath, with here and there a
hawthorn, rugged and thorny, like a cankered disposition. There is a
man on horseback at the top of the mound; and he looks, first eagerly
towards Tamworth, then at the sun, just rising over the distant
slopes. Lo, two or three horsemen coming on the road from Tamworth!
All stop but one, and turn back. The one comes forward at fiery speed,
quits the road, gallops up the hill, and stands fronting the other.
"Good morrow, my Lord Fulmer," said Chartley. "I am here alone. No one
knows of my being here. You have brought men with you along the road."
"They have gone back to Tamworth," replied Lord Fulmer, with a look of
fierce satisfaction upon his brow. "I take no advantage, Lord
Chartley. It is quite satisfaction enough to me to have you here at my
sword's point, without my seeking to punish you otherwise. Come, draw,
my lord, and take your last look of earth; for either you or I quit
not this spot alive."
"On horseback, then?" said Chartley. "So be it;" and he drew his
sword.
Lord Fulmer wheeled his horse a little, to gain ground, and then
spurred furiously on his adversary, his strong charger coming forward
with tremendous force. Chartley's was a lighter horse, but far more
agile; and, knowing that it would not stand the shock, he drew the
right rein, and struck the beast's flank with the left spur. The horse
passaged suddenly to the right; and Lord Fulmer was borne past, aiming
a blow at Chartley's head as he went. The other, however, parried it
with a cool smile, and then wheeling suddenly upon him, in a manner he
had learned in other lands, met him, in the act of turning, and,
striking him in the throat with the pommel of his sword, hurled him
backwards out of the saddle.
The moment this was done, he sprang to the ground; but Fulmer was
already on his feet, and ready to attack his adversary sword in hand.
"A pitiful mountebank's trick," he cried, "unworthy of a knight and
gentleman."
"I would fain spare your life, boy," cried Chartley, somewhat angry at
his insulting words.
"I will not hold it at your pleasure," returned Fulmer, attacking him
furiously, with his dagger in one hand, and his sword in the other.
The combat was now somewhat more equal, though Chartley was the
stronger man, and the better swordsman; but, to use a common
expression, he gave many a chance away, unwilling that men should say
he had slain Lord Fulmer, to obtain his contracted bride. For several
minutes he stood upon the defensive, watching an opportunity to wound
or disarm his foe. But even a calm and patient spirit, which
Chartley's was not, will get heated under strife like that. Soon he
began to return the blows, and the contest waxed fierce and strong;
but, even in his heat. Chartley forgot not his skill; and Fulmer did.
A conviction, a dark and fearful conviction, which vanity had hidden
from him before, that he was no match for the man to whom he was
opposed, began to mingle with his anger. The blows that fell about him
like rain, the thrusts that he could hardly parry, confused his mind
and dazzled his sight. He was driven round and round, back upon the
side of the hill, where the footing was unsteady; and then suddenly he
felt his guard beat down; a strong grasp was laid upon his throat, and
once more he was hurled prostrate on the turf. His sword was lost, the
hand which held his dagger mastered, and, when he looked up, he saw
the blade of Chartley's _miséricorde_ raised high and gleaming above
his head. Chartley paused for an instant. The better spirit came to
his aid; and, still holding tight the fallen man's left wrist, with
his knee upon his chest, he brushed back the curls of hair from his
own forehead, with the hand that held the dagger. At that instant he
heard a sound behind him, which, in the eagerness of the strife, he
had not before noticed, and in an instant his arms were seized.
Shaking off the grasp laid upon him, as he started up, he turned
fiercely and indignantly round. Ten or twelve men on foot and
horseback were now around him; and, with a withering glance at Lord
Fulmer, who by this time had risen on his knee, Chartley exclaimed,
"Cowardly traitor, is this your good faith?"
"On my honour, on my soul!" exclaimed Lord Fulmer, rising and passing
his hand across his eyes, as if his sight were dim, "I have no share
in this. These people are none of mine."
"What would you, sirs?" exclaimed Chartley, as the men advanced towards
him again, "Keep back, for I am not to be laid hands on lightly."
"Stay, stay," cried one of the men on horseback, riding forward. "Your
name is Lord Chartley, or I much mistake--nay, I know it is; for I
have seen you often at the court. Yield to the king's officer. I am
commanded to apprehend you, and carry you to the nearest post of the
royal troops. We have pursued you hither from St. Clare, and have come
just in time, it seems. Do you yield, my lord, or must I use force?"
Resistance was in vain; and, with a heavy heart, Chartley replied, "I
yield, of course, to the king's pleasure. What have I done that should
cause his grace to treat me thus?"
"He was informed, my lord," replied the officer, "that you were
leading your men straight to the army of the rebel Richmond."
"Or rather, you should say, straight towards the forces of the good
Lord Stanley. Upon my life 'twill make a goodly tale, to hear that the
king imprisons those who go to meet his foes, and honours those who
run away before them."
"There are some other matters too against you, sir," replied the
officer. "Reports have come from a good man, lately the bailiff of the
abbey of St. Clare, tending to show that you have had schemes in hand,
contrary to the king's good pleasure. If you were going to Lord
Stanley, however, in that matter you can soon exculpate yourself, as
into his hands I shall deliver you, his being the nearest force at
this moment. Pray mount your horse, my lord. Some one take up his
sword and give it me."
During all this time, Lord Fulmer had stood by, with his eyes bent
down and his arms folded; but now, as if with a sudden emotion, he
started forward to Chartley's side, exclaiming, "Upon my honour and my
conscience, I have had nought to do with this."
Chartley sprang into the saddle, and gave him a look of scorn, saying,
"My noble lord, it is mighty strange they should know the day, and
hour, and place where to fall on me, many against one. Had I not come
hither to meet you, they would have found me with good three hundred
spears, and might have bethought them once or twice, before they
judged it fit to tell me such a tale. Now, sir, which way? I am your
humble varlet."
"To the right," said the officer; and the whole party moved on upon
the road to Atherston.
Chartley was in no mood for conversation; but with his head bent, and
his heart full of bitter disappointment, he rode slowly forward with
the soldiers, half inclined, at the turning of every road they passed,
to put spurs to his horse, and see whether he could not distance his
captors. But, as if judging that such an attempt was likely, wherever
an opportunity presented itself, one of the soldiers rode forward to
his right hand or his left; and he saw that several of the footmen,
who were archers, kept their bows bent and their arrows on the string.
At length there was a sound of horse, coming at a quick pace behind;
and a party of some two hundred men, all clad in glittering armour,
and bearing a banner at their head, rode by at a rapid trot, going in
the same direction as themselves, and only turning their heads to look
at the small party as they passed by.
The officer, however, who rode by Chartley's side, instantly shouted
loudly, "Lord Stanley, Lord Stanley!" and then spurred on. Chartley
saw him speak to a gentleman at the head of the other troop, who
seemed to wait and to listen with impatience; for his gestures were
quick and sharp, and he soon rode on again. The officer immediately
returned, and, ordering the archers to follow as speedily as they
might, he said, "Now, my lord, we must gallop forward to Atherston."
He then put his troop at once into a more rapid pace, and rode after
the body of horse which had gone on.
"Did Lord Stanley say aught regarding me?" asked Chartley, when they
had nearly overtaken the others.
"Ay, my lord, he did," replied the officer, in a gruff tone. "He said
your men opposed the passage of his force through Fazely this morning,
but that he had driven them out, and let them go, for, friends or
enemies, 'twas no matter, they were but a handful."
"'Twas by no orders of mine," answered Chartley. "Had I been there, it
would not have happened."
"That you must explain yourself, my lord," answered the officer. "I
only do my duty, and that with no good will."
At the pace they went, a very short space of time brought them to
Atherston; and at the door of an old-fashioned inn, which then stood
there, and in which Chartley had lodged for some weeks, Lord Stanley
sprang to the ground, saluted by a number of gentlemen and soldiers,
by whom the little town was already occupied. He spoke for a moment or
two to one of them, and then entered the inn, saying aloud, "That will
do--only set a guard;" and the gentleman whom he addressed immediately
advanced to the spot where Chartley still sat upon his horse, saying,
"Your lordship must follow me. I am sorry that I must place a guard
over you."
"Can I not speak with Lord Stanley?" demanded Chartley.
"Not at present, my good lord," replied the gentleman. "He is full of
business. The king marches from Leicester to-morrow; and we must not
be tardy."
Chartley made no reply, but followed in bitter silence, passing
through the groups of gazing idlers round the inn-door, to a room up
one flight of stairs, where some of his own servants used to sleep.
There he was left alone, with the door locked and barred upon him. A
moment after, he heard the tread of a sentry, and then the voice of
some one speaking from a window to a person in the street, and saying,
"Hie away to the king, and tell him you have caught him. Beseech his
grace to send me orders what I am to do with him, for I have no
instructions. Add that I will send in our muster-roll to-night."
Chartley mused over what he heard. The words evidently applied to him;
and he asked himself what would be the result of the message. The fate
of Gray, Vaughan, Hastings, Rivers, Buckingham, warned him of what was
likely to befall him; short shrift and speedy death. All the bright
visions had vanished; the gay and sparkling hopes that danced in his
bosom on the preceding night were still. If death is terrible, how
much more terrible when he comes to put his icy barrier between us and
near anticipated joys. Chartley could have died in the field with
hardly a regret, but the cold unhonoured death of the headsman's axe,
the inglorious unresisting fall, it was full of horrors to him. Yet he
nerved his spirit to bear it as became him; and he communed with and
schooled his own heart for many a live-long hour. The minutes crept on
minutes, the shadow wandered along the wall, a thunderstorm closed the
day, and the rain poured down in torrents. Chartley marked not the
minutes, saw not the shadow, hardly heard the storm that raged
without. He thought of Iola; and he asked his heart, "What will become
of her?"
They brought him food; but he hardly tasted it, and wine, but he knew
there was no consolation there; and when the sun went down, he crossed
his arms upon his chest, and, gazing forth from the window, said to
himself, "Perchance it is the last that will ever set for me."
Shortly after, alight was brought him; and he asked if he could get
paper and pen and ink; but the man went away, saying he would see, and
did not return.
The whole night passed. There was no bed in the room; and though once
or twice his eyes closed in sleep for a few minutes, with his arms
leaning on the table, yet it was but to wake up again with a start.
The next morning, dawned fair, but for some hours no one came near
him. At length food was again brought, but the man who carried it
either would not or could not answer any questions, and the day rolled
on, chequered by sounds and sights in the streets, such as commonly
are heard and seen in a small town filled with soldiery.
It was a long and weary day, however; and Chartley's heart fell under
the most wearing of all things--unoccupied solitude; but, at length,
the sky grew grey, and night and darkness came on.
Nearly an hour then passed in utter silence; and the whole house
seemed so quiet that Chartley could hardly imagine that Lord Stanley
and his train still remained there. But at the end of that time he
heard a quick step, the challenge of the sentry at his door, and then
the pass-word, "The Crown." The next instant the door opened, and Lord
Stanley himself appeared.
There was but slight acquaintance between him and Chartley; and his
brow was thoughtful and anxious, boding no good, the young nobleman
thought.
"I grieve, my lord," he said, closing the door behind him, "that it
has not been in my power to see you sooner, and grieve still more to
be your jailer; but I have no choice, and better perhaps it is that
you should fall into my hands than those of an enemy."
"Much better," answered Chartley, courteously; "but imprisonment is
hard at any time; and now I have a pass under your own hand sent me by
a mutual friend. I beseech you to think of this circumstance, and not
to detain me here, to my peril and great loss of time."
Lord Stanley seemed a good deal agitated, by feelings he did not
explain; for he walked once or twice up and down the room without
reply; and Chartley went on to say, "I have not mentioned this pass,
or the letter which accompanied it, to any one, lest by so doing I
might injure you much, and a cause I have much at heart."
Stanley approached close to him, and laid his hand upon his arm,
replying with great earnestness, but in a very low tone, "My dear
lord, I freely tell you, that I would let you escape within half an
hour, were the danger only to myself; but the truth is, my son's life
is in peril. The king keeps him as a hostage at the court. He is never
for a moment out of some one's sight, and if I but trip in the
hazardous path I have to tread, I am made childless in an hour. But
tell me, my good lord, how happened it that your men refused me a
passage through Fazely yesterday?"
"I know not," answered Chartley; "some foolish mistake, I suppose, for
I myself was not present;" and he proceeded to relate all that had
occurred to him since he left Fazely.
"'Tis most unfortunate," said Stanley; "but still, till the very last
moment, I must either obey the orders of the king, whatever they may
be, or be the murderer of my own child. If he should bid me put you in
still stricter confinement, or send you on at once to him--which were
indeed ruin to my hopes for you--yet I must obey. The mere confinement
here is no great evil. Your men have by this time joined the earl of
Richmond; and though, doubtless, you would wish to lead them yourself,
yet, if you lose glory, you will escape some danger and hard blows."
"Ay, my good lord," said Chartley, "but there are other perils too.
What if Richard orders you to put me to death?"
"You must have form of trial," said Stanley.
"None was granted to Buckingham, nor to many another I could name,"
answered the young nobleman.
"Now God forfend," cried his companion; "but yet, my lord, think what
a son's life is to a father; and judge in my situation what I could
do. Hark!" he added, "there is a horse's feet below. Perchance it is
the messenger returned. We shall soon know."
An interval of gloomy silence succeeded, each listening with anxious
and attentive ear. They could hear some words spoken, but could not
distinguish what they were. Then came a step upon the somewhat distant
stairs, and then in the passage. The sentry gave the challenge; and
some one, in a rough loud tone, demanded to speak with Lord Stanley,
adding, "They say he is up here."
Stanley instantly rose and went out, and Chartley could hear him
demand, though in a low voice, "Well, what says the king?"
"As to the musters, my lord, he says that noon to-morrow will be time
enough," replied the same rough tone; "and as to the prisoner, he
says, 'Strike off his head before breakfast; there are proofs of
treason against him.'"
Stanley muttered something to himself which Chartley did not hear, and
then came a pause; but at length the steps were heard receding, and
Lord Stanley did not again appear.
"It is determined," said Chartley to himself. "Well, death can come
but once. What matters it, the axe, or the spear point? but yet, poor
Iola! This room is very hot, I shall be stifled here, and disappoint
them;" and, walking to the window, he threw it open and looked out.
The room was a considerable height above the street, and to leap or
drop from it might have risked the breaking of a leg or of a neck.
Nevertheless, Chartley perhaps might have tried it, but there was a
still more serious impediment. Two sentinels were stationed at the
door, and walked up and down before the house, passing and repassing
beneath his window. There were numerous groups, too, talking together
in the narrow road, notwithstanding the darkness of the night, which,
though fair and starlit, was quite moonless. A lantern passed along
from time to time, and Chartley easily conceived that there would not
be much repose in Atherston till dawn. The hope of escape faded.
In a few minutes the sound of horses' feet was heard at some distance.
They came nearer and nearer, and Chartley could just see the figures
of three mounted men ride up to the house, and there draw in the rein.
The foremost, without dismounting, asked the sentry, "Is the Lord
Stanley quartered here?"
"Yes," replied the man; "but he is gone to repose, I think."
"Tell him I am a messenger from his brother, bringing news of
importance, which must be delivered to himself alone," said the other.
As he spoke he began to dismount slowly; and while one of the two men
who accompanied him took the bridle, the third sprang with great
alacrity to hold the stirrup, showing, as Chartley thought, reverence
somewhat extraordinary for a mere messenger. The soldier at the door
called out somebody from within, who seemed to be a domestic servant
of Lord Stanley's; and the moment the man beheld the messenger's face,
he said, "Oh, come in, sir, come in. My lord will see you instantly."
The stranger followed him into the house, while his two companions
walked his horse up and down the road.
About half an hour elapsed ere the messenger came out again; and then,
springing on his horse at once, he rode away at a quick pace.
A few minutes after this, Chartley's dark reveries were interrupted by
two men bringing in a truckle bed, for there had been none in the room
before. One of them was a servant of the inn, whom the young lord knew
well by sight, and had been kind to. The man, however, took not the
least notice of him, any more than if he had been a stranger; and,
saying to himself, "Fortune changes favour," the young nobleman turned
to the window again.
A minute or two sufficed to set up the bed in its place; and then the
servant of the inn said to the other man, "Go fetch the blankets and
the pillow; they are at the end of the passage, I think."
The moment he was gone and the door closed, the man started forward
and kissed Lord Chartley's hand.
"Comfort, comfort, my lord," he said. "The headsman may sharpen his
axe, but it is not for you. Look under the pillow when I am gone; keep
your window open, and watch. But do not be rash nor in haste. Wait
till you have a signal;" and then, starting back to his place, he
began to stretch the cross bars of the bed out a little farther.
A minute or two after, the other man returned loaded with bedding,
which was soon disposed in order; but just as they were retiring
again, the servant of the inn seemed to see something amiss about the
pillow, and returned for an instant to put it straight, after which
the two left the room together. The key was turned, the bolt was shot,
and Chartley, putting his hand under the pillow, drew forth a billet,
folded and sealed. It bore no address, and contained but few words.
They were as follows:
"The sentinels at the gate will be removed at midnight. Blankets and
sheets have made ropes before now; and a grey horse, whose speed you
know, stands half a mile down the road. Turn to the right after your
descent. Before you go, in justice to others, burn the pass and the
letter which came with it; and, if you understand these directions,
extinguish your light at eleven."
"Who could the letter come from?" Chartley asked himself. "It was
neither the handwriting nor the composition of an inn chamberlain,
that was clear," and, taking out the pass, he compared the writing of
the two. There was a very great similarity.
Chartley's heart beat high again, but, as he gazed upon the two
papers, the clock struck ten. "Two long hours!" he thought, "two long
hours!" How wearisome seemed the passing of the time. But it did pass;
and when he calculated that eleven o'clock was drawing near, he
approached the pass to the flame of the lamp. It caught and burned;
but ere the whole was consumed, there came across the prisoner's mind
a doubt--a suspicion. It was the only hold he had upon Lord Stanley; a
paper which proved that nobleman had connived at his march to join the
earl of Richmond; a paper which he dared not order to be taken from
him by force lest it should discover its own secret. The next instant,
however, nobler thoughts succeeded. "Away, injurious suspicions!" he
said, and, casting the paper down upon the floor, he suffered it to
consume, and then trampled out the sparks with his foot. The letter
from Richmond, which had accompanied it, shared the same fate; and
then he waited and watched for the stroke of eleven. It was longer
than he had thought it would be; and at length he began to fancy that
the clock had stopped.
Presently after there was a stroke of the hammer on the bell; another,
and another, and another. The tale was complete, and he blew out the
light. Then, placing himself at the window, he watched. The road was
now nearly deserted. In a house opposite there was a candle burning,
but it was extinguished in a few minutes. A small body of soldiers
passed along with measured tramp. Next came a drunken man, brawling
and shouting till his voice was lost in the distance. A deep silent
pause succeeded. Chartley could have counted the beatings of his own
heart. Then a man passed by, singing a low plaintive air in a sweet
voice, and his footfalls sounded as if he were somewhat lame. After
that there was another longer pause, and all was still again. Then
came a little noise in a distant part of the inn, which soon subsided,
and silence reigned supreme. It lasted long; and Chartley, thinking
the hour must be near, tied the clothing of the bed together, and
fastened the end to a hook and bar fixed into the wall for the purpose
of suspending a sconce. It was but a frail support for the weight of a
strong man; but he thought, "It will break the fall at least." When
that was done, he sat down in the window seat again, and watched. Oh,
the slow minutes, how they dragged along. At length the clock struck
twelve, and still the sentinels paced up and down. Three minutes had
perhaps elapsed, though to him they seemed many; and then the great
door of the inn opened, and a voice said, "Guard dismissed! quarters,
twenty-two. Roll call at dawn!"
There was a clatter of arms, and then side by side the soldiers
marched up the town. He waited till their tramp could no more be
heard, then put his head to the door of the room, and listened. Some
one was breathing heavily without, as if in sleep. Approaching the
window softly, he drew forward the end of the sort of rope he had
formed, cast it over, and mounted on the window seat. Then, holding
fast with both hands, he contrived to grasp one of the knots with his
feet, and slid part of the way down. He loosened one hand, then the
other, and then freed his feet. Still the hook and bar held firm, and
a moment after his feet touched the ground.
There was a light burning in a room below, but no one stirred; and,
passing quietly all along the front of the house, he soon accelerated
his pace, and, almost at a run, reached the verge of the little town.
The moon peeped up above the edge of the slope, and Chartley looked
eagerly forward. There seemed some dark object under a group of trees
about three hundred yards in advance. He thought it looked like a
horse, but as he came nearer he saw two, and paused for an instant;
but the moment after came a low sweet whistle, like the note of a
bird, and he went on.
Beneath the shade of the trees he found his own horse and another
standing, and a man holding the bridles of both. With a wild feeling
of liberty Chartley, without putting foot in stirrup, vaulted on the
noble beast's back; and it gave a neigh of joy, as if it felt that its
lord was free again.
Then, drawing forth his purse, the young nobleman would have rewarded
the man who held the charger; but, in a voice Chartley seemed to know,
he said, "Wait, my lord, wait, I go with you to guide you. You go to
Tamworth, is it not?"
"To Lichfield, to Lichfield," said Chartley; and he spurred on upon
the road which he knew right well. They rode on, the man following
some way behind, till Atherston was left afar, and the chance of
pursuit became less and less. At the distance of about four miles from
the little town, Chartley was overtaken by his follower, who had put
his horse into a gallop, to catch the fleeter beast which the young
nobleman was riding.
"To the left, my lord," he said, "to the left, if you must needs to
Lichfield, though the earl's army is at Tamworth. The small bridle
paths save us a mile and a half, and will not be bad now."
"Who are you?" asked Chartley, turning his horse into a narrow lane,
to which the man pointed. "I know your voice, surely."
"Poor Sam the piper," answered the man, "though now rich, and no
longer the piper. Now you marvel how I should have been pitched upon
to guide you; but that is soon explained. I was sent over by one you
know well, to bear some news to the Lord Stanley, and there I heard
what was likely to befall you. I would have found means to get you
out, if Heaven had not put it in the good lord's mind to be kindly
himself; but as I was recommended to him as a man of discretion, who
could be trusted, and as I caught a glance of the good earl of
Richmond going in, and told the Lord Stanley so, he might think that
it would be well to employ me in what would put me out of the way."
"The good earl of Richmond!" exclaimed Chartley; "has he been with the
Lord Stanley?"
"Ay, this very night," replied the other, "with nought but two grooms
in company, which shows that he knows his game is very sure."
Chartley mused as he sped onward; for though few doubted, except the
one who might have been expected to doubt most, that secret
intelligence existed between Richmond and his step-father, yet the
young nobleman had not imagined so bold a step as a personal
conference would be ventured by either.
It was still dark when he arrived at Lichfield; and Chartley spent
more than half an hour in awakening the sleepy ostlers from their
beds, and obtaining some accommodation at the principal inn, for there
were, at that time, two in the good town. No information could he
procure either regarding Iola or his men; for there had been so many
persons passing to and fro within the last eight-and-forty hours, that
no description served to distinguish one from another. There was no
lady lodging in the inn, however, one of the ostler's assured him,
except "the fat canoness of Salisbury;" and as to the troops, they had
all marched out of the town, and gone to Tamworth. Forced to be
satisfied with this small intelligence, Chantey gave orders that his
good guide should be well taken care of, and that he himself should be
awakened at sunrise; and he then cast himself down upon a bed. For the
greater part of two nights and two days he had not closed an eye; and,
notwithstanding much love and some anxiety, drowsiness overpowered him
in a moment; the many busy thoughts which were whirling through his
brain grew confused and indistinct, and he slept.
From a deep, dead, heavy slumber, he woke with a start, and gazed
around. The room was full of light. Sounds of busy life made
themselves heard on all sides. There was a girl crying water-cresses
in the street, and people laughing and talking in the full-day bustle
of the world, while a creaking wood-cart wended slowly along, singing
its complaining song. It was evident that he had been forgotten; and,
going to the door, he called loudly for the chamberlain.
The man declared that he knew not any one was sleeping in that room,
but informed him it was well nigh ten o'clock, which was confirmed the
moment after by the church clock striking. No other information could
he afford, but that no lady was in the house, except the fat canoness;
and Chartley instantly set out to inquire at the other inn. There he
was likewise disappointed; and to every place where he was likely to
gain intelligence he went in vain. We all know how much time may be
occupied in such searches; and at that period Lichfield was full of
monasteries and convents, at each of which Chartley applied. At only
one of them did he gain any indication of the course of the fair
fugitive. It was a small community of hospitable nuns, where the
withered portress informed him that three ladies had slept there the
night before, and she did think that one of them had come up to the
gates with an odd-looking brown man.
"We do not lodge men," she said, "and so he went somewhere else; but
the lady we took in; and she, and the servant, for so he seemed, went
away at ten this morning."
Chartley demanded eagerly whither they had gone; and the old sister
replied, "To Coventry, I believe. All the three ladies went to
Coventry, to get out of the way of the war; for they said there would
be a battle to-day. Have you heard of such a thing, young gentlemen?"
Chartley replied he had not; but the good woman's words threw his mind
upon another train of thought, and he hurried back to the inn.
He leaned his head upon his hand, and meditated. "A battle, and I not
present? That must never be. Yet Richmond was at Tamworth last night,
and Stanley at Atherston. It can hardly have been fought. Yet it may
be ere nightfall. It is now near four; and many a field has been
fought and won, in the hours of daylight that are left." Thus he
thought, and then, starting up, he called aloud, "Drawer Drawer! Bring
me some wine and bread. Bid them prepare my horse instantly, and call
the man who came with me hither."
The wine and bread were brought, and Sam was soon in the young lord's
presence.
"Here, my good friend," said Chartley, giving him some gold. "You have
served me well, on this and other occasions, as I learn. I will reward
you further if I live. Now I must away to Tamworth; for I hear there
will be a battle soon, if it be not already fought; and I would not,
for one half a world, be absent."
"Nor I either, my good lord," replied Sam. "I have always prayed to
see another battle, ere I died; and now I've a good chance, which I
will not lose. So, with your leave, I'll ride with you."
"Be it as you like," replied Chartley. "But keep me not; for I depart
as soon as I have quitted my score."
One cannot always get out of an inn, however, as soon as one likes;
and in those days all things moved more slowly than they do now. There
is nothing in which the advance of society is seen so much as in
facilities; and there were few of them in Europe at that period. Men
were often a month going the distance they would now travel in two
days; and at every step of the road some drag or another was put upon
the wheels of progress. The score was five minutes in reckoning,
although the items were but few. The horse was not ready when this was
done, and more time elapsed. Both the ostlers had gone out to see a
procession of grey friars; and the bit and bridle were not to be
found. In all, half an hour was consumed; and then Chartley set off,
and rode to Tamworth with speed.
When he entered the little town, all seemed solitary. The setting sun
shone quietly through the deserted street. Not a cart, not a waggon
was to be seen; and a dog that came out of one of the houses, and
barked at the heels of the horses, was all the indication of life
within the place.
"They have marched out, sir," said Sam, who followed him close behind;
"and all the good folks have gone after them to see the sport."
"Then there has been no battle yet," answered Chartley; "but we must
find out which way they have gone. There is a man talking with some
women down that road. Ride down and gather news, while I go on to the
inn, the Green Dragon, there, and order some provender for the
horses."
Before Sam returned, Chartley learned that Richmond, with his small
army, had marched towards Market Bosworth. "He won't get there without
a fight," said the elderly host, who had come out at his call, "for
King Richard is at the Abbey of Merrival. God help the right!"
"Did you chance, mine host," demanded Chartley, without dismounting,
"to see with the earl's army the bands of the Lord Chartley?"
"To be sure, to be sure," answered the host. "They are joined with Sir
John Savage's men. They marched in the rearguard."
Chartley asked their colours and ensigns; and the old man answered
readily, showing that in reality he knew nothing about them, and,
after feeding his horses, Chartley rode on towards Bosworth.
As the young nobleman advanced, he met numerous groups of Tamworth
people returning to the town at nightfall; and from them he obtained
information sufficient for his guidance. The two armies, he found,
were in presence, and a battle on the following day was certain.
Richard's head-quarters were at the Abbey of Merrival; but Richmond
had pitched his tent in the field. The number of the king's army was
greatly exaggerated, and many of the men shrugged their shoulders, as
they spoke of Richmond's force, evidently judging that his cause was
hopeless.
"He had better have waited a day or two," said an elderly man, riding
on a cart, which had apparently conveyed some of the baggage of the
army; "for people were flocking to him very fast; but, fighting now,
he will be overwhelmed; and, if I were you, young gentleman, I would
keep myself from others' ill-luck."
"I should deserve bad luck myself if I did," replied Chartley, and
rode on.
Night now fell heavily; but soon after a noise began to be heard.
First came a murmur, like that of the distant sea; and then, as the
young nobleman spurred forward, louder sounds separated themselves
from the indistinct buzz. Voices shouting, ringing laughter, and the
clang of arms were heard. Twice, too, there was the blast of a
trumpet, but that was more distant; and Chartley found that he must be
approaching the rear of Richmond's host.
Small as was the force with which the earl had landed in England, and
small as it was still, when he encamped on Bosworth field, it had not
failed to attract, as it marched on, a number of the idle, the
dissolute, and the greedy, in even a greater proportion than is
usually the case. The camp was kept clear by sentinels; but, for full
half a mile before he could see a tent, Chartley passed through
innumerable groups of men and women, and even children, from Tamworth
and Lichfield, and as far as Shrewsbury. He had no difficulty in
passing the sentinels, however, though he had not the word; for, to
say truth, they kept no very strict watch, and his appearance was
passport sufficient.
When he had entered the little camp he inquired for his own men in
vain for nearly an hour. It was too dark to see the colours, or the
ensigns of the different leaders, though most of them had a banner or
a pennon pitched before his tent; and along the whole of the left wing
of the army he passed without gaining any intelligence. At length some
one told him that a body of horse, which had joined the earl at
Tamworth, was encamped on the extreme right, near a morass. "There
where you see those fires," said the man; "for they brought no tents
with them, and have cut down the apple trees in a goodman's orchard to
keep themselves warm."
Chartley turned his horse thither, and rode on quickly; but at the
first fire he came to, he found no faces round it which he knew; and
the men took little notice of him. As he drew near the second,
however, a man who was sitting by it turned his head, and then,
starting on his feet, waved his steel cap in the air, crying out
aloud, "Here is my lord!"
Instantly the whole body sprang up, with a shout of gratulation; and
in a minute after the master of the young lord's household, and
several of the leaders of his bands, had gathered round his horse.
Chartley's first inquiries were with regard to Iola; but the account
of the master of his household satisfied him that she had taken her
way to Lichfield, accompanied by Ibn Ayoub alone. He thought it
strange, indeed, that she should have gone on to Coventry; but he
doubted not that something had occurred which he knew not of, to make
her decide upon such a course. The old man went on to explain that,
following the directions contained in the letter which his lord had
left with him, the soldiers, on being expelled from Fazely by the
troops of Lord Stanley, had immediately gone to join the forces of the
earl of Richmond.
"We were in sad alarm about you, my lord," he continued; "but, thank
God, here you are safe. Would it were so with good Sir William Arden
too."
"Ha, have you news of him?" demanded Chartley.
"Ay, my lord, sad news," replied the old man. "Two men, who came over
to join us from the enemy, about an hour ago, tell me that he was
caught upon the road, stealing a nun from a convent; that he and his
men turned and fought like tigers, while she and a woman who was with
her made their escape. I said it was nonsense, for Sir William was
always a very sober and discreet gentleman, rather rough with his
tongue, but a good man at heart. One of the men, however, swears it is
true, declares that he kept guard over him himself, in the king's camp
out there, and that his head is to be struck off to-morrow morning,
between the two armies."
"Are the men here?" demanded Chartley.
"Yes, my noble lord," replied the other.
"Then bring them to me," said Chartley; and, dismounting from his
horse, he seated himself by the fire.