Chapter 7

Resistance was utterly hopeless, and without a further word the Earl remounted; and Grey taking place beside him they passed slowly toward the rear. Presently, as they neared the end of the long column, a hundred men detached themselves from the line and fell in behind them. Rivers observed it with a smile, half sad, half cynical.

"They honor us, at least, in the size of our guard," he remarked to Grey; then turned to Ratcliffe. "May I inquire our prison, Sir Richard?"

"Certainly, my lord; we ride to Pontefract."

"Whence two of us shall ne'er return," said the Earl, with calm conviction. "May the Good Christ watch over Edward now."

X

THE LADY MARY CHANGES BADGES

Five weeks had expired since the _coup d'etat_ at Stoney Stratford and Richard was now Lord Protector of the Realm. Before his dominating personality all overt opposition had crumbled, and with Rivers and Grey in prison, the Queen Dowager in sanctuary at Westminster, and Dorset and Edward Woodville fled beyond sea the political horizon seemed clear and bright.

Meanwhile, the Duchess of Gloucester and her Household had come to London and were settled at Crosby Hall in Bishopgate Street. When they neared the Capital, the Duke and a few of his chosen Knights had ridden out into the country to meet them; and Sir Aymer de Lacy had gone gayly and expectantly, thinking much of a certain fair face with ruddy tresses above it. Nor had he been disappointed; and it was her pleasant, half-familiar greeting that lingered in his mind long after the words and sweet smile of the Duchess were forgotten. He had tarried beside the Countess' bridle until the Hall was reached; and as she seemed quite willing for him to be there, he had been blind to the efforts of others to displace him. With Selim she had been openly demonstrative, welcoming him with instant affection and leaning over many times to stroke him softly on the neck or muzzle. Once, as she did it, she shot a roguish smile at his master, and he had nodded and answered that again he was wishing he were a horse--whereupon she deliberately repeated the caress, glancing at him the while, sidelong and banteringly. But when he would have pursued the subject further, she crushed him with a look, and then for the remainder of the ride held him close to commonplaces.

And if De Lacy thought to have again the delightful associations and informal meetings that had obtained at Pontefract, he quickly realized his error. There, the Household was relatively small, and life had run along in easy fashion. He had seen the Countess daily--had walked or ridden with her as his duties permitted, and every evening had attended in the presence chamber and gossiped with her for a while. Those few days of unhampered intimacy had let them know each other better than months of London would have done. Lord Darby had been his only active rival, and even he was not there constantly. But in the Capital it was otherwise. Scores of Knights, young and old, now sought her favor and were ever in attendance. Indeed half the eligible men at Court were her suitors, and the feeling among some of the more impetuous had reached a point where it needed only the flimsiest of excuses for such an exchange of cartels as would keep the lists at Smithfield busy for a week. But through it all, the Countess moved with calm courtesy and serene unconcern. She had her favorites, naturally,--and she made no pretense otherwise,--but that reduced not a whit the fervor of the others. Like the dogs in the dining hall, they took the scraps flung to them, and eagerly awaited more.

And the Lady Mary Percy gibed sweetly at them all, and at the Countess, too; but she gibed most at Sir Aymer de Lacy.

"You are a rare wooer, surely," said she one day, as the Lord of Ware bore the Countess off to his barge for a row on the Thames. "You had your chance at Pontefract and . . . yonder she goes! One would never fancy you were bred in France."

"Nor that you were really a sweet-tempered and charming demoiselle," Sir Aymer answered good-naturedly.

She laughed merrily. "One might think I were jealous of the Countess?"

"Yes . . . or of the Earl of Ware."

"Or of all the others who hang about her," she added.

De Lacy looked down at her with an amused smile.

"Methinks Ware is enough," he said, with calm assertion.

She tossed her head in quick defiance. "Your penetration, Sir Aymer, is extraordinary--when it concerns others," she retorted.

"And when it concerns myself?"

She answered with a shrug.

He went over and leaned on the casement beside her.

"Just how stupid am I?" he asked.

She turned and measured him with slow eyes. "I am not sure it is stupidity," she remarked; "some might call it modesty."

He laughed. "And which does the Lady Mary Percy call it?"

"I can tell you better a year hence."

"Why so long a wait?"

"You will then have won or lost the Countess."

He shook his head dubiously.

"How will that decide the matter?" he asked.

She smiled. "Because only stupidity can lose."

He looked at her curiously and in silence, a quicker beat at his pulse and she read his thoughts.

"Oh, I am betraying no confidences," she said. "Your lady gives none--save possibly to the Duchess. But I have been of the Household with Beatrix for two years and------"

"And . . . what?" he inflected.

"You can guess the rest--if you are not stupid," she said, turning away.

But he stayed her. "My barge is at the landing. Shall we follow . . . the others?" he suggested.

She hesitated--then, catching up a cloak and scarf that lay on a couch, she nodded acquiescence.

"Up stream or down?" he asked, as he handed her in and took place beside her.

"Up," she said.

"Give way," he ordered, and the eight oars that had been raised high in salute dropped as one, and they shot out into the stream.

The Lady Mary settled herself among the cushions, one arm thrown carelessly around the awning post.

"What nonsense it is," she remarked presently.

De Lacy nodded. "Doubtless--but what?"

"This foolish dissimulation we all play at; . . . this assumed indifference which deceives no one. Here are we, barging together on the Thames, when you would rather have the Countess . . . and I would rather have Ware."

"But would they rather have us?"

"I am quite sure she would, and" . . . holding up a hand and slowly flashing the rings . . . "I think he would, too."

"If you happen to know which way they went," De Lacy laughed, "we might follow and suggest an exchange."

She sat up smartly. "Come," said she, "come; if you will venture it with the Countess, I will with Ware."

He smiled. "I thought you gave me a year wherein to prove my stupidity."

"But would it be stupidity--might it not be rare brilliancy--a master stroke?" She flashed the rings again. "Lord Darby would risk it were he in like case."

"Nay, Darby is no fool."

"True enough--yet, neither is he afraid to brave the hazard; he is a hard fighter, in love as well as war."

"I find no fault with him for that," De Lacy answered, "so long as he fight fair."

She gave him a quick glance of interrogation.

"Would you trust him to fight fair?" she asked.

"I usually trust every man of noble birth until experience prove him undeserving."

"And you have had no experience with Darby?"

"No--not yet."

A sly smile crossed her lips and she was about to comment further, when Lord Ware's barge suddenly swung out from behind a large vessel and met them.

"We are going to the Tower," the Countess called. "Will you not meet us there?"

The rowers backed water instantly, and the two boats drifted slowly past each other.

"We will join you very shortly," Lady Mary answered--then smiled at De Lacy.

The Earl of Ware looked curiously at the Countess.

"Now why this sudden notion for the Tower?" he asked, when the barges had drawn apart. "But a moment since and you declined to stop there and preferred to stay afloat."

"A moment since is far aback with a woman," the Countess laughed--"nor had I then seen the Lady Mary."

"Nor the Knight with her," said Ware sententiously.

She made no answer, save to look him in the face with calm composure.

"Who is this De Lacy," the Earl asked with, a supercilious shrug; "one of the new nobility?"

A faint smile came into her eyes.

"New? May be, my lord--the term is but relative--yet _I_ would scarce call him so: his ancestor came with Norman William and built Pontefract."

"So . . . one of old Ilbert's stock. Well, even a Ware may not cavil at that blood . . . though it is passing strange I never heard of him until within the week."

"Strange for him or for you?" she asked.

"For me, of course--seeing that he has been so much at Court." The tone was bantering, yet the sarcasm was deliberately veiled.

She turned upon him rather sharply.

"My lord," said she, "if you would criticise Sir Aymer de Lacy, do not, I pray, make me your confidant. He is my good friend."

"And you like him . . . well?" he questioned.

"Aye, that I do," she retorted instantly. "It is a pity his sort are growing scarce."

"His sort!" the Earl inflected. "In family, mean you, or in looks?"

"In manners, mainly."

The Earl shrugged his shoulders. "French training," he drawled. "There never was one came from that Court but caught you all with his bow and talk."

"Perchance, my lord, it has never occurred to you that, save in him she wed, a woman cares only for a man's manners and his speech."

"And what does she care for in him she weds?"

"Ask her whom you wed."

"And what, think you, will the bride of this De Lacy find in him beneath his bow and speech?"

She turned and looked him in the eyes.

"An English gentleman--a trusty Knight," she answered.

He laughed--and now his air was light and merry.

"Believe me, my lady, I have no quarrel with your De Lacy," he said; "I, too, like him well. But I envy him his champion. Marry, how you rapped me with voice and eye. I wonder, would you do the same for me?"

"Yes, for you . . . and the Lady Mary."

"And why the Lady Mary?" he asked, after a pause.

"If you do not know, then there is no 'why,'" said she, facing about and looking up stream. "However, she is coming and, perchance, can answer for herself. Shall I ask her . . . or will you?"

The touching of the boat just inside the St. Thomas Gate saved him an answer. Giving the Countess his hand he aided her to alight, and almost immediately De Lacy's barge ran in; and, he and Lady Mary disembarking, the four sauntered across the vast courtyard toward the royal lodge.

As they turned into one of the shaded walks the Earl of Ware, who chanced to be a pace in advance, suddenly halted and drew aside, his bonnet doffed, his attitude deeply respectful.

"The King!" exclaimed De Lacy, and they all fell back.

A slender, fair-haired boy was coming slowly down the path, one hand on the neck of a huge mastiff, whose great head was almost on a level with his shoulder. His dress was rich, but very simple--black velvet and silk from head to foot, save the jeweled dagger at his hip and the blue ribbon of the Garter about his knee. His bearing was wondrous easy, and there was a calm dignity about him most unusual in one so young. It may have been the innate consciousness of his exalted rank that raised the thirteen-year-old boy to the man, and made his majesty sit so naturally upon him; or it may have been that the resemblance he bore to his imperious father carried with it also that father's haughty spirit; but, whatever it was, there could be no mistaking that Edward the Fifth was a true heir of the Plantagenets, the proudest and bravest family that ever sat a throne.

He was unattended, save by the dog, and as he passed he smiled a courteous greeting.

"God save Your Majesty!" said the two Knights, bowing with bent knee, while the Countess and Lady Mary curtsied low.

He turned slightly and smiled at them again, then proceeded on his way, as unruffled as a man of thrice his age.

"A brave youth," said Sir Aymer de Lacy, gazing after him.

"Aye," the Earl answered, "brave in person and in promise--yet prone to melancholy, it is said; a queer trait in a child."

"Inherited?" De Lacy asked.

Ware shrugged his shoulders. "Doubtless--almost anything could come through Jacquetta of Luxembourg."

Meanwhile the Countess and Lady Mary had gone on together, leaving their escorts to follow, and presently they turned toward the wharf.

"What say you," the Earl asked as they neared the gate, "what say you to--an exchange of companions?"

"I am willing," De Lacy answered instantly, thinking of Lady Mary's words, "and so is------" then he stopped; that was not for him to tell Ware, and doubtless she had been only jesting. "Suppose you suggest it to the Lady Mary," he ended.

The Earl gave him an amused smile. "Suppose you suggest it to the Countess."

Then both laughed.

Ware rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "We might suggest it to them both together," he said.

"How, for instance?"

"Why . . . just intimate casually that . . . that . . . that . . . we would . . . you know."

"No," said Aymer, "I do not."

Ware pondered a space. "We might put them in the wrong boats--by accident, of course."

"And have them get out the instant we get in."

"Then it passes me," said the Earl. "I have supplied the idea; it is for you to execute it."

De Lacy shook his head. "It is too deep for me; had I a week I might contrive a plan."

"I presume we will go back as we came," the other commented. "Marry, what a brave pair we are!"

As they reached the landing, their barges, that lay a little way down stream, swung around and came quickly up to the gate. The Earl's entered first, and as he was about to proffer his hand to the Countess to aid her to embark, the Lady Mary stepped quickly into the boat, and giving him a smile of bewitching invitation sank languidly among the cushions. For an instant he was taken aback; but, with a sharp glance at De Lacy, he sprang aboard, and the oars caught the water.

The Countess watched them as they sped through the gate and away, then turned to De Lacy with a roguish look and eyes half veiled.

"It seems, Sir Aymer, it is for you to take me back to the Hall," she said.

XI

ON CHAPEL GREEN

On the following morning Sir Aymer de Lacy again sought the Tower; but this time he went alone. The hour was early, yet the place was full of life; there was to be a state council at nine, and the nobility were assembling to greet the Lord Protector when he should arrive. For although the young King occupied the royal apartments and was supposed to hold the Court therein, yet, in fact, the real Court was at Crosby Hall, where the Duke resided and whither all those that sought favor or position were, for the nonce, obliged to bend their steps.

Indeed, at this time, Richard was, in all but name, the King of England; and on this very day, ere the hour of noon had passed, was the name also to turn toward him, and through the first blood shed by his new ambition was he to progress to the foot of the throne, the steps of which were to prove so easy to his feet.

Just in front of the Wakefield Tower De Lacy came upon Sir Robert Brackenbury, now Constable of the Fortress, and paused for a word with him. Then sauntering slowly toward the Chapel, he took possession of a bench from which he could observe those who crossed the courtyard between the St. Thomas Gate and the White Tower. A moment later, Sir Ralph de Wilton came swinging along the walk and De Lacy hailed him.

"Tarry with me till the Council has gathered," he said. "Here come their reverences of York and Ely."

Scarcely had the churchmen entered the White Tower, when along the same path came two others, bound also for the council chamber.

The one on the right, the Garter about his knee, with the keen, grey eyes, sharp, clear, Norman features, and well-knit, active frame, was William, Lord Hastings; gallant knight, brave warrior, wise counsellor and chosen friend of the mighty Edward. His long gown and doublet were of brilliant green velvet, with silk trunks and hose to match; his bushy brown hair was perfumed and dressed with exquisite care; from his bonnet of black velvet trailed a long white ostrich plume pinned by three huge rubies; at the richly chased gold belt dangled a dagger, the scabbard and hilt glistening with jewels, and his fingers flashed with many rings. It was the typical costume of a courtier of the Plantagenets--fops in dress and devils in battle.

His companion was utterly dissimilar. His garments were of sober black, without ornament or decoration, and no ring shone on his fingers. His sandy hair was cut rather shorter than was wont, and there was no mark of helmet wear along the brow or temples. His frame was neither active nor powerful, and his walk was sedate, almost to preciseness. His countenance was peculiar, for in it there was both cunning and frankness: cunning in the eyes, frankness in the mouth and chin; a face, withal, that would bear constant watching, and that contained scarce a trace of virility--only a keen selfishness and a crafty faithlessness. And of a verity, if ever a human visage revealed truly the soul within, this one did; for a more scheming sycophant, vacillating knave and despicable traitor than Thomas, Lord Stanley, England had not seen since the villain John died at Newark.

"A powerful pair," said De Wilton, "yet a strange companionship--one rather of accident than design, I fancy. There is little in either to attract the other, nor is it any secret that the Lord Chamberlain does not love the fickle Stanley."

"No more does Stanley love him, nor any living creature, for the matter of that," said Sir Aymer. "It passes me why the Lord Protector trusts him."

"Pardieu!" exclaimed De Wilton, "the Duke may use him; he will never trust him. He knows the truckler of old--the first to greet Warwick when he came to lead Henry from the Tower; the loudest for Edward when Barnet's day was done."

"Well, mark me," said De Lacy, with lowered voice, "yonder false lord will be a troublesome counsellor, even if he be not a faithless baron. I would have none of him."

"_Bon jour, mes amis_!" Hastings called out in hearty greeting. "Has the Protector arrived?"

"No, my lord," returned De Wilton, as he and De Lacy arose; "he was engaged, and may be a trifle late for the council."

"Who has preceded us?" said Stanley; and in contrast to the melodious voice of the Lord Chamberlain his tones were like melting ice.

"Only the Lord Chancellor and the Bishop of Ely."

"Then, Hastings, we shall have time to discuss further the matter I touched on a moment since," said Stanley, making as though to go on.

"As you will," Hastings answered indifferently, and without moving, "but believe me, my lord, it will boot little what may be the record. Eleanor and Katharine Neville were sisters, true enough, but Eleanor is dead and you have wed a second time; while Katharine still chatelaines my castles of Ashby and Calais. The matter has been left to her sweet judgment, and her wish is my decision. It is quite needless to debate the subject further."

Aymer caught the quick look of resentment that flashed through Stanley's eyes, but Hastings missed it, for he had turned and was gazing toward the royal lodge.

And Stanley, with that cool indifference to aught but expediency which characterized his whole life, let the curt speech pass, seemingly unheeded.

In a moment the Lord Chamberlain said courteously, as though regretful for his recent abruptness:

"Well, my lord, shall we proceed? It will be well for the Council to be assembled when Richard comes."

"In truth, yes," said Stanley suavely; and bowing stiffly to the two young Knights, the traitor of Bosworth linked arms with Hastings and went on toward the White Tower.

"Did you mark that?" De Wilton queried; "and evidently it was a matter of some moment since Hastings has submitted it to his wife."

"There are more than royal prerogatives at issue these days," replied De Lacy, "and private grievance may work deep into the greater game."

"It will be the only way by which the Stanley can be led to bear a part," said De Wilton sententiously. "He savors more of the shops in the Cheap yonder than of Castle or Court."

"And hence the pity that he has such power of rank and wealth behind him with his new Countess, the Beaufort heiress."

"Aye--and what is worse, in her and her son lie the last hope of Lancaster."

"You mean the Earl of Richmond?" said Aymer. "I saw him a year or more ago at the Court of Blois. His appearance gave little promise of kingly blood or spirit."

"Nathless, my good friend, our own Duke of Gloucester would give a few hides of land to have that same Earl safe within these walls. York sits not firm on England's throne while the Tudor lives in freedom."

"It is a shrewd test of Stanley's faith--his step-fathership to this Richmond," De Lacy observed.

"Of a truth, yes; and one that will find him wanting if the trial ever come. Had not His late Majesty died so suddenly, this Margaret would have had a brood of treasons hatched ready for the occasion; and I doubt not that she and her adherents are, even now, deep in plottings with the Welsh and France's King."

"With Stanley's knowledge?"

De Wilton's only answer was a shrug and a jerk of his head toward the river.

"Here are two more of the Council," he remarked; and the Duke of Buckingham came rapidly up the path in company with Lord Lovel.

"Are we late or early?" Buckingham called.

"Late for Stanley and Hastings and their reverences of York and Ely," said Aymer, "but early for the Lord Protector."

"Did the Chamberlain and Stanley come together?" Lovel asked.

"They did, my lord."

"And their humor?"

"Not the most sympathetic. They were not entirely agreed about some matter the Lord Hastings had submitted to his Countess, and that she had decided, seemingly, against Stanley's wishes."

"It is the old matter of the Neville sisters that cropped up even in Bonville's time," said Buckingham. "The more Stanley urges that now, the better it will fit our purpose. Come, let us stimulate the dispute if occasion offer," and with a sarcastic laugh he turned away.

"Methinks, my Lord of Buckingham," observed De Wilton, when he and De Lacy were again alone, "that you will scarce find another Rivers in either Hastings or Stanley. It requires a master hand to play Stoney Stratford twice in six short weeks."

"No need for another seizure, I fancy," said De Lacy. "Richard's power is secure now and the King will be crowned on St. John's Day."

De Wilton looked at him thoughtfully. "It is strange, Sir Aymer, that you, who have lived under The Fell Louis, should not look deeper into the minds of men. St. John's Day is but nine days hence, yet will I wager you ten good rose nobles it brings no coronation with it. I know"--as De Lacy regarded him incredulously--"that the council has so fixed it--that the ceremonies have been arranged--that the provisions for the banquet have been ordered--and that the nobility are gathering from all England, yet none the less will I make the wager."

De Lacy was silent for a bit. Then he spoke:

"It would be foolish to pretend I do not catch your meaning, but I had never faced the matter in that light. In France there may be strife of faction, plottings and intrigues and blood-spilling for position in the State; yet is the Crown ever secure. The struggle is but for place near the Throne, never for the Throne itself. . . Naturally, I appreciate our need for a strong King at this crisis. Edward is but a child, and York's grip on the Crown may grow perilously lax, or even slip entirely. With Gloucester it would be different. His hand is not likely to loosen if once it grasp the sceptre. I shall not take your wager. It would be against my own heart. If Richard's aim is England's Throne, my poor arm is at his service."