THE WHITE LION OF MARCH SHAKES HIS MANE.
"And what news?" asked Hastings, as he found himself amidst the king's
squires; while yet was heard the laugh of the tymbesteres, and yet
gliding through the trees might be seen the retreating form of Sibyll.
"My lord, the king needs you instantly. A courier has just arrived
from the North. The Lords St. John, Rivers, De Fulke, and Scales are
already with his highness."
"Where?"
"In the great council chamber."
To that memorable room [it was from this room that Hastings was
hurried to execution, June 13, 1483] in the White Tower, in which the
visitor, on entrance, is first reminded of the name and fate of
Hastings, strode the unprophetic lord.
He found Edward not reclining on cushions and carpets, not womanlike
in loose robes, not with his lazy smile upon his sleek beauty. The
king had doffed his gown, and stood erect in the tight tunic, which
gave in full perfection the splendid proportions of a frame
unsurpassed in activity and strength. Before him, on the long table,
lay two or three open letters, beside the dagger with which Edward had
cut the silk that bound them. Around him gravely sat Lord Rivers,
Anthony Woodville, Lord St. John, Raoul de Fulke, the young and
valiant D'Eyncourt, and many other of the principal lords. Hastings
saw at once that something of pith and moment had occurred; and by the
fire in the king's eye, the dilation of his nostril, the cheerful and
almost joyous pride of his mien and brow, the experienced courtier
read the signs of WAR.
"Welcome, brave Hastings," said Edward, in a voice wholly changed from
its wonted soft affectation,--loud, clear, and thrilling as it went
through the marrow and heart of all who heard its stirring and trumpet
accent,--"welcome now to the field as ever to the banquet! We have
news from the North that bids us brace on the burgonet and buckle-to
the brand,--a revolt that requires a king's arm to quell. In
Yorkshire fifteen thousand men are in arms, under a leader they call
Robin of Redesdale,--the pretext, a thrave of corn demanded by the
Hospital of St. Leonard's, the true design that of treason to our
realm. At the same time, we hear from our brother of Gloucester, now
on the Border, that the Scotch have lifted the Lancaster Rose. There
is peril if these two armies meet. No time to lose,--they are
saddling our war-steeds; we hasten to the van of our royal force. We
shall have warm work, my lords. But who is worthy of a throne that
cannot guard it?"
"This is sad tidings indeed, sire," said Hastings, gravely.
"Sad! Say it not, Hastings! War is the chase of kings! Sir Raoul de
Fulke, why lookest thou so brooding and sorrowful?"
"Sire, I but thought that had Earl Warwick been in England, this--"
"Ha!" interrupted Edward, haughtily and hastily, "and is Warwick the
sun of heaven that no cloud can darken where his face may shine? The
rebels shall need no foe, my realm no regent, while I, the heir of the
Plantagenets, have the sword for one, the sceptre for the other. We
depart this evening ere the sun be set."
"My liege," said the Lord St. John, gravely, "on what forces do you
count to meet so formidable an array?"
"All England, Lord of St. John!"
"Alack! my liege, may you not deceive yourself! But in this crisis it
is right that your leal and trusty subjects should speak out, and
plainly. It seems that these insurgents clamour not against yourself,
but against the queen's relations,--yes, my Lord Rivers, against you
and your House,--and I fear me that the hearts of England are with
them here."
"It is true, sire," put in Raoul de Fulke, boldly; "and if these--new
men are to head your armies, the warriors of Towton will stand aloof,
--Raoul de Fulke serves no Woodville's banner. Frown not, Lord de
Scales! it is the griping avarice of you and yours that has brought
this evil on the king. For you the commons have been pillaged; for
you the daughters of peers have been forced into monstrous marriages,
at war with birth and with nature herself; for you, the princely
Warwick, near to the throne in blood, and front and pillar of our
time-honoured order of seigneur and of knight, has been thrust from
our suzerain's favour. And if now ye are to march at the van of war,
--you to be avengers of the strife of which ye are the cause,--I say
that the soldiers will lack heart, and the provinces ye pass through
will be the country of a foe!"
"Vain man!" began Anthony Woodville, when Hastings laid his hand on
his arm, while Edward, amazed at this outburst from two of the
supporters on whom he principally counted, had the prudence to
suppress his resentment, and remained silent,--but with the aspect of
one resolved to command obedience, when he once deemed it right to
interfere.
"Hold, Sir Anthony!" said Hastings, who, the moment he found himself
with men, woke to all the manly spirit and profound wisdom that had
rendered his name illustrious--"hold, and let me have the word; my
Lords St. John and De Fulke, your charges are more against me than
against these gentlemen, for I am a new man,--a squire by birth, and
proud to derive mine honours from the same origin as all true
nobility,--I mean the grace of a noble liege and the happy fortune of
a soldier's sword. It may be" (and here the artful favourite, the
most beloved of the whole court, inclined himself meekly)--"it may be
that I have not borne those honours so mildly as to disarm blame. In
the war to be, let me atone. My liege, hear your servant: give me no
command,--let me be a simple soldier, fighting by your side. My
example who will not follow?--proud to ride but as a man of arms along
the track which the sword of his sovereign shall cut through the ranks
of battle! Not you, Lord de Scales, redoubtable and invincible with
lance and axe; let us new men soothe envy by our deeds; and you, Lords
St. John and De Fulke, you shall teach us how your fathers led
warriors who did not fight more gallantly than we will. And when
rebellion is at rest, when we meet again in our suzerain's hall,
accuse us new men, if you can find us faulty, and we will answer you
as we best may."
This address, which could have come from no man with such effect as
from Hastings, touched all present. And though the Woodvilles, father
and son, saw in it much to gall their pride, and half believed it a
snare for their humiliation, they made no opposition. Raoul de Fulke,
ever generous as fiery, stretched forth his hand, and said,--
"Lord Hastings, you have spoken well. Be it as the king wills."
"My lords," returned Edward, gayly, "my will is that ye be friends
while a foe is in the field. Hasten, then, I beseech you, one and
all, to raise your vassals, and join our standard at Fotheringay. I
will find ye posts that shall content the bravest."
The king made a sign to break up the conference, and dismissing even
the Woodvilles, was left alone with Hastings.
"Thou hast served me at need, Will;" said the king. "But I shall
remember" (and his eye flashed a tiger's fire) "the mouthing of those
mock-pieces of the lords at Runnymede. I am no John, to be bearded by
my vassals. Enough of them now. Think you Warwick can have abetted
this revolt?"
"A revolt of peasants and yeomen! No, sire. If he did so, farewell
forever to the love the barons bear him."
"Um! and yet Montagu, whom I dismissed ten days since to the Borders,
hearing of disaffection, hath done nought to check it. But come what
may, his must be a bold lance that shivers against a king's mail. And
now one kiss of my lady Bessee, one cup of the bright canary, and then
God and Saint George for the White Rose!"