THE FAVOR OF PRINCES
The Bow bells were ringing as Francis and her escort, Lord Shrope, drew
near the city of London three days later. It was sunset and the silvery
peal of the bells was clearly borne to them upon the evening breeze.
Merrily they rang. Now wild and free; now loud and deep; now slower and
more slow until they seemed to knell the requiem of the day.
"How beautiful!" exclaimed Francis involuntarily drawing rein. "Pause, I
pray you, my lord. Do they always ring so?"
"Ay, child. Ever since and long before they sounded so musically in Dick
Whittington's ears: 'Turn again, turn again, thrice lord mayor of
London'! What think you they say? Do they bear a message to your ears?"
The girl listened intently.
"Methinks they say, 'Come not to London, Francis! Come not to London
town!' But is there not in truth amidst all their toning some melody or
chant?"
"There is, child, but not as thou hast so fancifully thought a warning to
thee. How melodious is their chime! Think the rather on that than on
aught else."
"Yes, my lord; and how wonderful is the city! Marry! whatever betides I
shall have seen London!"
She sat erect as she spoke, and drank in the scene with appreciative
eyes. Lord Shrope looked at Britain's metropolis with pride.
The last rays of the setting sun fell lingeringly upon the great city.
For great it was though it numbered but one and thirty thousand
inhabitants at this time. Paris alone excelled it in numbers. London, as
the representative of England in her supremacy of the seas, her
intellectual grandeur, and above all as the friend of those who dared to
oppose the power of Rome, London stood in the eyes of all men as the
greatest city of the world.
The towers and turrets that gleamed above the strong walls that
encircled the city; the sure gates that gave entrance thereto; the
princely palaces with their large gardens, rich porches and stately
galleries; the open fields that came up close to the walls; the distant
hills of Essex, Middlesex, Surrey and Kent covered thickly with woods;
the silvery Thames, the silent highway of the Londoners, its bosom
covered by a forest of masts and spanned by the great bridge,--even then
old,--with its gateways, towers, drawbridges, houses, mills, chapel and
wharfs; all these went to make a picture that thrilled every English
heart.
The girl looked first this way and then that as though she could never
drink her fill.
"My lord," she cried, "prithee tell me which of all those turrets is the
Tower?"
"To the east, child. The white tower that rises so majestically from the
surrounding turrets. Therein is written the whole history of England.
That is the lofty citadel which it is said the great Julius himself
raised. And yonder lies Saint Paul's. That sombre and dungeon like
stronghold is Baynard's castle. To our left is Westminster, and yon
beautiful palace is Whitehall. It is known of all men how it reverted to
the crown at the fall of Wolsey. The queen's father adorned it in its
present manner. There stands Somerset house, and yonder is Crosby. On the
bankside in Southwark are the theatres and Paris gardens where are the
bear pits. Look about thee, Francis. On every building, almost on every
stone is writ the history of our forbears. On all those walls are traces
of Roman, Briton, Anglo-Saxon and Norman. History in stone. What sermons
they might preach to us had they but tongues!"
"It is beautiful!" said Francis again.
"The bells have ceased their chiming," said Lord Shrope. "I would not
break into thy enjoyment, child, but we must hasten. Before the darkness
falls we must enter Greenwich where Elizabeth is."
With a deep drawn sigh, Francis gave one more look about her and then
they passed into the city.
Within the immediate vicinity of the walls there were many gardens and
open spaces. The houses with their fanciful gables and vanes, and tall
twisted chimneys invited and enchained the eye. The streets were narrow,
and alleys, courts and by-paths abounded in every direction. While they
were at a distance they had heard only the subdued noises of the city,
above which the bells sounded clearly. But now as they passed through the
streets their ears were assailed by the cries of the pent-house keepers,
or the noises of the apprentices as they set upon some offending
pedestrian. The din was almost indescribable. And yet in the midst of the
confusion there was music. From every barber shop came the twang of
cittern or guitar, while song burst from the lips of every tankard
bearer.
All these, with other wonders, Francis encountered as they wended their
way through alleys and byways until presently they came to London Stone.
"Now here will I dismount," cried Francis pleased and excited by all that
she had seen and heard.
"But why, child? We have not yet reached the wharf where we take the
wherry for Greenwich. Why should you pause here?"
"Because," cried the girl with a laugh, "if I cannot take possession of
the city, I can at least emulate that arch traitor, Jack Cade, and strike
my staff upon this stone." So saying she struck the ancient stone a sharp
blow with her whip.
"Beshrew me, girl!" cried the nobleman laughing, "thou shouldst in very
truth have been a boy! Marry! who but a lad would have thought on such a
thing! But hasten! The last rays of yon setting sun must see us at the
palace."
Francis remounted her palfrey, and without further incident they came to
the wharf. Leaving their horses in the charge of some of the servitors of
Lord Shrope they descended the stairs that led through one of the
numerous water gates to the river, and entered one of the wherries that
lay clustered about waiting for fares.
"See the barges," cried the girl as they shot London Bridge and passed
down the river. "How many there are!"
The bosom of the river was covered over with barges, wherries and
vessels of every description. Busy as it was fleets of swans were sailing
upon its smooth surface, the noise of their gabble mingling agreeably
with the song of the watermen.
"Yes, many;" assented Lord Shrope in answer to the girl's remark, as
retinues of barges passed them, filled with many a freight of brave men
and beautiful women. "Hearken, how the oarsmen keep time to their oars."
Francis listened with delight as the song of the wherrymen swelled in a
mighty chorus, for every boatman sang the same thing:
"Heave ho! rumbelow!"
"And the swans," she cried excitedly.
"Yes; 'tis a pleasant sight, and many have wondered that they should stay
upon the river when it is so busy, but they are kindly treated and no
harm suffered to come to them. Behold the dwellings of the nobles."
Nothing could have been more picturesque at this time than the north bank
of the Thames with its broad gardens, lofty trees and embattled turrets
and pinnacles of the palaces, each of which had its landing-place and
private retinue of barges and wherries.
"This is the Tower," said the nobleman as they drew near that grim
fortress. A low browed projecting arch, above which was a tower forming a
striking part of the stronghold, attracted the girl's attention. Steps
led up from the river to a small ricket in the arch which gave entrance
into the Tower.
"That is the Traitors' Gate," said Lord Shrope. "Through that wicket pass
all those guilty of treason."
A shudder passed over Francis as she gazed at the forbidding portals.
"Why dost thou shiver?" asked Lord Shrope kindly, as he noticed her
involuntary tremor.
"Sir," answered Francis, in mournful tones, "I fear that Tower. Something
seems to whisper me that yon grim walls and I will become better
acquainted."
"Now Heaven forfend!" ejaculated Lord Shrope. "Thy doubts of thy
reception at the queen's hands render thee fearful. Take courage, child.
All will yet be well. 'Tis not amiss that thou shouldst be doubtful, as
the issue is uncertain. Were you but as the queen thinks, and not in
masquerade, you would fare well at court. For 'tis worthy the ambition of
any young man, be his rank of the highest, or his prospects the most
brilliant, to become one of the queen's pensioners. For thus doth Her
Majesty accomplish divers things: she honoreth those who are such;
obligeth their kindred and alliance, and fortifieth herself; for none can
be brought near her person without becoming willing to lay down life
itself in her behalf."
"I should not be, were I in truth the boy she thinks me," declared
Francis.
"Subdue such spirit, girl," rebuked he. "The queen is graciousness itself
to those whom she favors, but frowardness and pertness are not to her
liking. In sooth, she tolerates them not in those near her. For thy
father's sake, have a care to thy words. The slight disfavor under which
thou dost labor will soon be overcome, I doubt not, if thou wilt show
thyself submissive to her will. But I mean not to chide thee, child, for
I know that thy maiden heart cannot but fail thee in this hour. I would,
an I could, turn thy mind to more of liking toward the queen else will
it be hard for thee to sue to her. Elizabeth is a great ruler. The land
hath never before enjoyed so much of peace and prosperity. Even her
enemies cannot gainsay this fact. But I fear that I weary thee, and thou
art troubled enough."
"Nay, my lord; I know that thou dost speak from the fulness of
experience, and therefore do thy words carry weight. I am not weary but
my heart doth fail me when I think of the queen and the court. I am but a
maiden, my lord, unlearned in the ways of courtiers, and should I fail to
find favor with the queen, who shall stand between me and her will? Who
is there who would brave her displeasure to speak one word for me? Marry!
not one!"
"Think not on that aspect, girl, an thou wouldst maintain thy spirit. He
who would achieve his end dwells not on failure. Think on thy father. For
his sake thou must get the favor of the queen. For his sake so demean
thyself that all that he hath done will be condoned. Mark thee, Francis!
There are those who whisper that he is the more inclined to Mary of
Scotland than to Elizabeth of England. There lies his danger."
"I thank you, my lord, for your words," said Francis. "Well will I heed
them. Thou hast been to me as a father in the discharge of thy duty,
though it must be irksome to thee to be burdened with so troublesome a
charge. Nathless, I thank thee for thy words and for thy care."
Her eyes filled with tears as she spoke and she turned her head quickly
that he might not see them.
"Thou art welcome to all that I have done," said Lord Shrope brusquely to
hide his feelings for he was filled with pity for the forlorn state of
the girl. "Troublesome thou hast not been, but full of courage until now.
How now? Wilt thou play the girl when thou dost wear that garb? Command
thyself, I pray, for we draw near the palace."
"'Tis true I wear this garb," sobbed Francis, "but yet I am a maiden,
with a maiden's fears and a maiden's weakness. Prithee bear with me for a
moment until I am myself again."
She gave way to the emotion that overwhelmed her, for she was wearied by
the journey, excited over the new and strange scenes of the past few
days, and overwrought with her fears. Lord Shrope bent a look of
compassion upon her, but uttered no word.
The song of the boatmen ceased as they drew near the landing stairs of
the palace. There were numerous wherries waiting to unload their human
freight, and this gave Francis time to recover her composure. So soon as
she was calm Lord Shrope motioned to the watermen and they drew up at the
stairs which led to the great gate of the palace. Courtyard and terrace
were filled with gaily-dressed ladies and nobles. Here a lady attended by
her gentlewomen traced her way delicately, a gentleman-usher making way
for her, her train upheld by a page. Then gallants ruffled along, their
attire vying with that of the ladies for brilliancy and richness. Each
courtier wore a rose behind his ear, and upon his shoes were roses also
to hide the strings. Each bore a long sword upon one side and a poniard
on the other, and behind him a body of serving men, proportioned to his
estate and quality, all of whom walked with the air of military
retainers and were armed with swords and bucklers. Laughing, jesting and
making merry, they seemed not to have a care, though many a satin doublet
and silken vest concealed a heart as full of anxiety as that of the girl
who had just come among them.
"Beshrew me, my lord," exclaimed a noble in brave attire as Lord Shrope
entered the palace yard with his charge. "Art thou come again? Methought
I heard that wast sent to France."
"And France is (Francis) here," retorted his lordship, indicating his
companion.
"Good! I' faith, very good, if Francis be his name," laughed the other.
"A proper lad, I trow. The queen hath ever an eye for beauty."
"Where is Her Grace?" questioned Lord Shrope.
"In the presence chamber," was the reply.
"Then let us hie thither," spoke my lord, and Francis hurried after him,
confused and embarrassed, as she encountered the curious gaze of the
courtiers and ladies. They passed through the lofty halls and
ante-chambers of the palace until at length they stood in the long
gallery at the upper end of which were the folding doors that gave
entrance to the presence chamber.
"Go not in, my lord," pleaded the usher of the black rod in charge of the
door. "Something hath gone amiss with Her Highness, and the moment is not
favorable."
"I thank you, Master Usher, but the queen bade me seek her instantly upon
my return," said Lord Shrope. "I needs must go to her now. Come,
Francis."
So saying he boldly entered the chamber. It was hung with magnificent
tapestries toward which Francis cast not so much as a single glance, so
intent was she upon the form which seemed to dominate the room. At one
end of the apartment was a dais upon which the queen sat under a royal
canopy, surrounded by her ministers and some courtiers. They stood about
with dismayed countenances for the queen was in a rage. She looked up as
the two entered, and stared for a moment as if seeking to know the
meaning of their entrance.
"My liege sovereign," cried Lord Shrope without waiting for the Lord
Chamberlain to announce him, "I have come. Behold here is the lad for
whom you sent me."
"Out of my sight," cried the queen angrily. "'Ods death! is there none to
keep the door that every minion that lists may enter? Out of my sight,
and plague me not with a sight of that boy. Away, varlet!"
With crestfallen visage Lord Shrope arose, bowed profoundly and hurried
Francis out of the chamber.
"I should have heeded thy warning, sir," he said to the usher. "Now I
cannot seek the queen until she bids me to her."
"What shall I do?" asked the girl almost in tears. "Whither shall I go?"
"Thou shalt come with me, my child. My lady wife will look to thy
comfort. There shalt thou abide until it shall be safe to approach
Elizabeth. Thy star is not in the ascendant."
"And I have involved thee too in Her Grace's displeasure," said Francis
with contrition.
"Nay; Elizabeth is too just to harbor ill toward me who hath but wrought
her pleasure. Though verily the humors of princes like their favors are
uncertain. But come!"