"He did so, Sire," answered the young gentleman; "he declared he had no accusation to bring--held Dacre to be good knight and true; but still kept his vague insinuations forward in view, as things that he mentions solely because it would be satisfactory to the knight himself to clear up whatever is obscure."

"And does the Lady Isabel give any credence, then, to these cowardly charges?" inquired the King.

"Oh! no, Sire," replied Woodville, warmly. "She has known Harry Dacre from her infancy; and those who have, are well aware that, though quick in temper, he is as kind as the May wind--as true and pure as light. But Dacre is miserable. He thinks, that, henceforth, the finger of suspicion will be pointed at him for ever; he sees imaginary doubts and dreads in every one's heart towards him; he feels the mere insinuation, as the first stain upon a high and n.o.ble name. It weighs upon him like a captive's chain; he cannot break it or get free--it binds his very heart and soul; and, casting all hope and happiness behind him, he is resolved to go and peril life itself in any rash enterprise that fortune may present."

"Poor man!" exclaimed Henry, "I can well understand his feelings: but G.o.d will bring all things to light. Yet, tell me, Richard of Woodville, do your own suspicions point in no particular direction?--have you no doubts of any one?"

"Perhaps I have, Sire," answered Woodville; "but I will beseech your Highness to grant me one of two things--either, to appoint a day and hour where, in fit lists and with arms at outrance, I may sustain my words to the death; or do not ask me to make a charge which I can support with no other proof than my right hand."

"I understand you, Richard," said the King, "and I will ask no farther. Your course is a just one; but I trust, and am sure, that heaven will not witness such deeds as have been done, without sending punishment. We both think of the same person, I know; and my eye is upon him. Tell me, however, one thing,--does not Sir Simeon of Roydon inherit the estates of this poor Lady Catherine?"

"He does, Sire, and is already in possession," replied Woodville.

"He is here at the court," rejoined the King, "and I shall show him favour for her sake."

Richard of Woodville gazed at the monarch in surprise, but a slight smile curled Henry's lip; and, although he gave no explanation of the words which he had spoken in a grave tone, his young companion was satisfied.

"I always love to get at the heart of a mystery," continued the King, seeing that Richard remained silent; "and I should much like to know, if you can tell me, what was the cause of that furious quarrel which took place between Sir Henry Dacre and this unhappy lady, just before he went? I fear I had some share in it."

"You were but the drop, Sire, that overflowed the cup," replied Woodville; "it had been near the brim for several days before; but what was said I know not. Remonstrance upon his part, and cutting sneers on hers, as usual, I suppose; but he has never told me."

Henry mused for a moment at this reply; and then, changing the subject, he inquired, "Is good Ned Dyram with you here in Westminster?"

"He is in the Hall below, Sire," answered Woodville; "and a most useful gift has he been to me already."

"A loan, Richard, a loan!" cried the King; "I shall claim him back one of these days, after he has served you in Burgundy. You will find he has faults as well as virtues; so have an eye to correct them. But even now, as the country folk say, I have a mind to borrow my own horse. I want his services for three days, if you will lend him to me--You are not yet ready to set out?"

"Not yet, Sire," replied Woodville; "but, in one week more, I hope to be on the sea."

"Well, then, send the man up to me, and he shall rejoin you in four days," answered Henry; "but let me see you tomorrow, my good friend, before you go home, for I would fain talk farther with you. It is seldom that a King can meet one with whom he can speak his thoughts plainly; and I find already a difference that makes me sad. Command and obedience, arguments of state and policy, flattering acquiescence in my opinion, whether right or wrong, praise, broad and coa.r.s.e, or neat and half concealed,--of these I can have plenty, and to surfeit; but a friend, into whose bosom one can pour forth one's ideas without restraint, whether they be sad or gay, is a rare thing in a court. So, for the present, fare-you-well, Richard. You will stay here for the banquet in the Hall, of course; and let me see you to-morrow morning, towards the hour of eight."

Richard of Woodville, as he well might, felt deeply gratified at the confidence which the King's words implied, and he answered, "I will not fail, Sire, to attend you at that hour, with more grat.i.tude for your good opinion than any other favour. At the banquet, I will try to find a place, and will send Ned Dyram to you. Will you receive him now?"

"Yes, at once," replied the King; "for, good faith! these lords and bishops who are waiting for me, will think me long. I will order you a place below; but, mark me, Richard--if you meet Simeon of Roydon, seek no quarrel with him; and lay my commands upon Sir Henry Dacre, that he do not, on any pretence, again call him to the lists, without my knowledge and consent. As to Ned Dyram, he shall rejoin you soon.

There is no way in which he may not be useful to you; for there is scarce an earthly chance for which his ready wit is not prepared. I met him first, studying alchemy with a poor wretch who, in pursuit of science, had blown all his wealth up the chimney of his furnace, and could no longer keep this boy. I found him next in an armourer's shop, hammering at hard iron, and thence I took him. He has a thousand qualities, some bad, some good. I think him honest; but his tongue is somewhat too free; and that which the wild Prince might laugh at, might not chime with the dignity of the crown. He will learn better in your train; but at the present I have an errand for him--so send him to me quickly."

Richard of Woodville bowed and withdrew; and, finding his way down to the Hall, he called Ned Dyram,--who was in full activity, aiding the royal officers to set out the tables,--and told him to go directly to the King. The man laughed, and ran off to fulfil the command: and about three quarters of an hour elapsed before the monarch appeared in the hall, which by that time was nearly filled with guests, invited to the banquet. He was followed by the train of high n.o.bles and churchmen, whom Woodville had seen waiting in a chamber above; and the numerous tables, which were as many as that vast building could contain, were soon crowded.

It would be dull to the reader, were I to give any account of a mere ordinary event, such as a royal feast of those days--were I to tell the number of oxen and sheep that were consumed--the capons, ducks, geese, swans, and peac.o.c.ks, that appeared upon the board. Suffice it, that one of the royal servants placed Richard of Woodville according to his rank; that the banquet, with all its ceremonies, was somewhat long in pa.s.sing, but that the young gentleman's comfort was not disturbed by the sight of Simeon of Roydon, who, if he were in the Hall, kept himself from Richard's eyes. The lower part of the chamber was filled with minstrels, musicians, and attendants; and music, as usual, accompanied the feast; but ever and anon, from the court before the palace and the neighbouring streets, were heard loud shouts, and laughter, and bursts of song, showing that the merriment and revelry of the mult.i.tude were still kept up, while the King and his n.o.bles were feasting within.

Thus, when the banquet was over, the monarch gone from the Hall, and Richard of Woodville, with the rest of the guests, issued forth into the court, he was not surprised to find a gay and joyous scene without, the whole streets and roads filled with people, and every one giving himself up to joy and diversion. The gates of the court were thrown open, the populace admitted to the very doors of the palace, and a crowd of several hundred persons a.s.sembled round a spot in the centre, where a huge pile of dry wood had been lighted for the august ceremony of roasting an ox whole, which was duly superintended by half a dozen white-capped cooks, with a whole army of scullions and turnspits. b.u.t.ts of strong beer stood in various corners; and a fountain, of four streams, flowed with wine at the side next to the Abbey. In one spot, people were jostling and pushing each other to get at the ale or wine; in another, they were dancing gaily to the sound of a viol; and further on was a tumbler, twisting himself into every sort of strange att.i.tude for the amus.e.m.e.nt of the spectators. Loud shouts and exclamations, peals of laughter, the sounds of a thousand different musical instruments playing as many different tunes, with voices singing, and others crying wares of several sorts, prepared for the celebration of the day, made a strange and not very melodious din; but there was an air of festivity and rejoicing, of fun and good humour, in the whole, that compensated for the noise and the crowd.

Richard of Woodville had given orders for his horses to be taken to an inn at Charing, while waiting in the Hall before the banquet; and he now proceeded on foot, through the crowd in the palace courts, towards the gates. It was a matter of some difficulty to obtain egress; for twilight was now coming on, and the mult.i.tude were flocking from the sights which had been displayed in the more open road to Charing during the last two or three hours, to witness the roasting of the ox, and to obtain some of the slices which were to be distributed about the hour of nine.

At length, however, he found himself in freer air; but still, every four or five yards, he came upon a gay group, either standing and talking to each other, or gathered round a show, or some singer or musician. It was one constant succession of faces; some young, some old, some pretty, some ugly, but all of them strange to Richard of Woodville. Nevertheless, more than once he met the same merry salutations which he had been treated to when on horseback; and, as he paused here and there, gazing at this or that gay party, he was twice asked to join in the dance, and still more frequently required to contribute to the payment of a poor minstrel with his pipe or cithern.

The minstrels were not, indeed, in those days at least, a very elevated race of beings; their poetical powers, if they ever in this country possessed any, had entirely merged in the musical; and, though they occasionally did sing to their own instruments, or to those of others, the verses were generally either old ballads, or pieces of poetry composed by persons of a higher education than themselves.

Nearly opposite the old dwelling of the kings of Scotland, Woodville's ear caught the tones of a very sweet voice singing; and, approaching the group of people that had gathered round, he saw an old man playing on an instrument somewhat like, but greatly inferior to a modern guitar, while a girl by his side, with fine features, and apparently--for the light was faint--a beautiful complexion, dressed in somewhat strange costume, was pouring forth her lay to the delighted ears of youths and maidens. She had nearly finished the song, when the young gentleman approached; and, in a moment or two after, she went round with a cap in her hand, asking the donations of the listeners.

Woodville had been pleased, and he threw in some small silver coin, more than equal to all that the rest had given; and, resuming her place by the old man's side, she whispered a word in his ear, upon which he immediately struck his instrument again, and she began another ditty in honour, it would appear, of her generous auditor:--

SONG.

The bark is at the sh.o.r.e, The wind is in the sail, Fear not the tempest's roar, There's fortune in the gale; For the true heart and kind, Its recompence shall find, Shall win praise, And golden days, And live in many a tale.

Oh, go'st thou far or nigh, To Palestine or France, For thee soft hearts shall sigh, And glory wreath thy lance; For the true heart and kind, Its recompence shall find, Shall win praise, And golden days, And five in many a tale.

The courtly hall or field, Still luck shall thee afford; Thy heart shall be thy shield, And love shall edge thy sword; For the true heart and kind, Its recompence shall find Shall win praise, And golden days, And live in many a tale.

The lark shall sing on high.

Whatever sh.o.r.es thou rov'st; The nightingale shall try, To call up her thou lov'st; For the true heart and kind, Its recompence shall find, Shall win praise, And golden days, And live in many a tale.

In hours of pain and grief, If such thou must endure.

Thy breast shall know relief, In honour tried and pure; For the true heart and Kind, Its recompence shall find, Shall win praise, And golden days, And live in many a tale.

And Fortune soon or late, Shall give the jewell'd prize; For deeds, in spite of fate, Gain smiles from ladies' eyes; And the true heart and kind, Its recompense shall find, Shall win praise, And golden days, And live in many a tale.

The song was full of hope and cheerfulness; and though the melody was simple, as all music was in those days, it went happily with the words. Richard of Woodville well understood, that though certainly not an improvisation, the verse was intended for him; and feeling grateful to the girl for her promises of success, he drew forth his purse, and held out to her another piece of money. She stepped gracefully forward to receive it, and this time extended a fair, small hand, instead of the cap which she had before borne round the crowd; but just at that moment, a party of hors.e.m.e.n came up at full gallop, and, as if for sport--probably under the influence of wine--rode fiercely through the little circle a.s.sembled to hear the song.

The listeners, young and active, easily got out of the way; but not so the old minstrel, who stood still, as if bewildered, and was knocked down and trampled by one of the hors.e.m.e.n. The girl, his companion, with a shriek, and Richard of Woodville, with a cry of indignation, started forward together; and the latter, catching the horse which had done file mischief by the bridle, with his powerful arm forced it back upon its haunches, throwing the rider to the ground with a heavy fall.

As the man went down, his hood was cast back, and Woodville beheld the face of Simeon of Roydon. But he paused not to notice him farther, instantly turning to raise the old man, and endeavouring to support him. The poor minstrel's limbs had no strength, however, and fearing that he was much hurt, the young gentleman exclaimed, "Good heaven!

why did you not get out of their way?"

The old man made no answer; but the girl replied, wringing her hands--"Alas! he is blind!"

"Let us bear him quick to some hospital!" said Richard; "he is stunned. Who will aid to carry him?"

"I will, sir!--I will!" answered half-a-dozen voices from the crowd; and the old minstrel was immediately raised in the arms of three or four stout young men, and carried towards the neighbouring nunnery and hospital of St. James's, accompanied by his fair companion.

Woodville was about to follow, but Sir Simeon of Roydon, who had by this time regained his saddle, thrust himself in the way, saying, in a fierce and bitter tone--"Richard of Woodville, I shall remember this!"

"And I shall not forget it, Simeon of Roydon," replied the other, hardly able to refrain from punishing him on the spot. "Get thee hence! Thou hast done mischief enough!"

The knight was about to reply; but a shout of execration burst from the people, and, at the same moment, a stone, flung from an unseen hand, struck him on the face, cutting his cheek severely, and shaking him in the saddle. His companions, alarmed at what they had done, had already ridden on; and, seeing that he was likely to fare ill in the hands of the crowd, Roydon put spurs to his horse, and galloped after them, muttering curses as he went.

Richard of Woodville soon overtook the little party which was hurrying on with the injured man to the lodge of the monastery, and found the poor girl weeping bitterly.

"Alas! n.o.ble sir!" she said, as soon as she saw him, "he is dead! He does not speak!--his head falls back!"

"I trust not--I trust not!" answered Woodville. "He is but stunned, probably, by the blow, and will soon recover."

She shook her head mournfully; and the next moment, one of the young men, who had taken up the old man's cithern, stepped forward before the rest, and rang the bell at the gate of the nunnery. It was opened instantly, and Woodville briefly explained to the porter what was the matter.

"Bring him in here," said the old man; "we will get help. The good prioress is skilful at such things, and brother Martin still more so; and he is nearest, for the monk's lodging is only just below there.

Let one of the men run down and ask for brother Martin."