Chapter 8

"Now are you one after my own soul," exclaimed De Wilton. "Up with the White Boar banner! Hurrah for King Richard the Third!"

"But that I knew Sir Aymer de Lacy and Sir Ralph de Wilton to be loyal subjects of Edward the Fifth, so long as he be King of England, I should be obliged to commit you both to yonder tower," said the stern, calm voice of the Duke of Gloucester behind them.

Both Knights sprang to their feet and uncovered. De Wilton was confused and could make no reply. De Lacy, however, was not so easily disconcerted and, despite the censure in the words, he felt that they were not grave offenders.

"If an honest desire to see the Duke of Gloucester King of England be a crime," he answered, bowing low, "then we both are guilty. Yet plead we in clemency, that we shall follow only where the White Boar leads."

The severe lines of Richard's mouth relaxed a trifle.

"Let me caution you," he said, and the chill was gone from his voice, "talk not treason so publicly; even stones have ears at times. I go now to the Council; await me here or in the inner chapel."

"What think you of it?" asked De Wilton.

"Enough to make me glad I refused your wager; there is something brewing."

"Whatever it be I hope it will come quickly," said Sir Ralph with half a sigh. "This is not like the old days when Edward held his state here. Many is the time I have seen this great place bright with women's faces and ringing with their laughter; the ramparts crowded, and scarce a shady seat but held a fair dame and gallant lover. Where are now the sweet voices and the swishing gowns? Gone--maybe, forever; Elizabeth is in sanctuary a mile up yonder stream, and Edward is too young to mate at present."

"Perchance the Duchess of Gloucester may come here and revive it all."

De Wilton shook his head. "Richard seems to have small love for this old pile of stone; and besides he ceases to be Lord Protector when the King is crowned."

"In truth!" exclaimed De Lacy. "What then will he be?"

"Duke of Gloucester and uncle to His Majesty."

The two men looked at each other and smiled.

Neither had observed an elderly Knight in dusty riding dress and long boots hurrying down the courtyard, until he had passed them; then De Lacy sprang up and hastened after.

"Sir John de Bury," he called; "stop and speak to a friend."

The other whirled around.

"De Lacy!" he exclaimed; "by St. Luke, I am overjoyed to see you, I seek the Duke--get me an audience at once."

"Come," said Aymer, and they hastened to the White Tower.

Just as they reached the upper landing the door of the great council chamber opened and Gloucester came out, followed by Buckingham.

"Ha, De Bury! what brings you in such haste?" Richard demanded. "What is amiss in the North?"

"It may be much and it may be little, so please you," said Sir John, removing his bonnet and bowing slightly.

"Follow me," said the Duke, and descending to the second floor they entered the small room next the chapel, leaving De Lacy on guard without.

Slowly the minutes passed. Once Aymer heard Buckingham's voice raised as though in sharp argument. Then it ceased abruptly, and he knew that Richard had silenced him. A little later Stafford laughed, and this time was joined by De Bury. At length, the door opened and Gloucester called him:

"Summon twenty of the guard," he said. "Lead them hither yourself."

At the outer door De Lacy came upon Raynor Royk.

"Twenty of the guard instantly," he ordered.

From across the courtyard De Wilton had seen Aymer, and he was already sauntering toward him. De Lacy motioned for him to make haste. "It has come," he said, as De Wilton joined him.

"Oh, has it! Well, it took you long enough to find it, surely. And may I ask, what has come?"

"The next move in the Duke's game."

"In sooth! When--what--how?"

"Now, my dear Sir Ralph. The how is yonder with Raynor Royk. If you wish to know the what, come with me."

Up the stairway Royk led his men, following close after the two Knights. On the second landing the Protector was waiting.

"Now, attend," he said to De Lacy. "I return to the Council. You will bring the men up very quietly and post them without. The instant I strike on the table, fling open the door and arrest every man. Do you yourself stand in the passage and stop any that would escape. Let none use weapon unless necessary . . . but if an axe were to fall by accident upon either Stanley or Ely, no punishment would follow," and he smiled significantly.

"I think I understand," said De Lacy; and Richard, carelessly brushing a bit of dust from his black doublet, turned away.

Raynor Royk chuckled when he learned the orders.

"I will attend to Stanley myself," he said. "My axe arm at times has an ugly habit of sudden weakness when the weapon is swung high."

De Lacy nodded. "Get yourself into position," he replied shortly; for, of a truth, he little liked the business. Yet there might be no delay, and he followed after the soldiers with De Wilton at his side.

Raynor massed his men before the door and he himself was close against it with his hand upon the latch. From within came numerous voices; presently these were silent and the Protector spoke in angry tones, though what he said De Lacy could not distinguish. Then a single voice replied, and De Wilton had scarce time to whisper, "Hastings," when the signal came.

With a crash, Raynor Royk hurled back the heavy door, and the soldiers rushed in.

Around the long table in the center of the apartment were gathered the members of the Council, and at its foot stood the Duke of Gloucester, one hand upon his dagger, the other pointing at the Lord Chamberlain. In an instant Hastings was seized by two of the soldiers, and all was wild confusion.

Lord Stanley, divining some sinister design as Raynor Royk sprang toward him with upraised weapon, sought safety in a sudden and inglorious dive under the table. Yet quick as he was, the old retainer was quicker. His heavy axe came down with a sweep, and never more would the fickle Stanley have played the dastard had not a carved chair arm stayed, for an instant, the weapon's fall. Ere it had shorn its way through the oak, Stanley was safe from death, though the edge scraped his head glancingly, sending the blood flying and leaving him unconscious on the floor.

The Bishop of Ely escaped the axe aimed at him by a hurried retreat to the rear of the room out of the general melée; for he was shrewd enough instantly to comprehend that, while there might be fatal danger to him in the crowd, there was but little when he stood aloof: God's Bishops were not wont to be murdered deliberately in public. Yet it did not save him from arrest, for Raynor glanced at the Protector, and reading the order in his face stalked back and clapping Morton on the shoulder said gruffly: "Come, Lord Bishop."

The whole affair was over almost as quickly as begun, and the Duke of Gloucester never so much as changed position during the tumult, save to lower the hand that had menaced Hastings. Then, when all the counsellors were crowded together and surrounded by the soldiers, he spoke quietly, addressing Raynor Royk:

"Commit the Archbishop of York, the Bishop of Ely, and Lord Stanley to the Garden Tower. See that Stanley's hurts be dressed. Release the others, save the traitor Hastings. Him conduct to the Chapel Green, and let his head be stricken from his fell carcass without delay, save for absolution if he so desire it. . . Gentlemen, attend me."

Adjusting his cloak the Protector quitted the apartment and in silence descended to the courtyard. There he drew his arm within Stafford's, and dismissing the others proceeded slowly toward the royal lodge at the southeast angle of the fortress.

"Verily will this day live in England's history," said De Wilton. "Stoney Stratford was but a game of marteaux beside it."

"But when ends it?" said De Lacy solemnly.

"Yonder, on the throne in Westminster," De Wilton replied, almost in a whisper.

"Nay, I mean the final end. Methinks I hear the rattle of armor and the splintering of spears."

At that moment the file of soldiers emerged from the White Tower with Lord Hastings in their midst, walking with the same grace and ease of carriage that always distinguished him, his face calm and serene. As his eyes fell upon the two younger Knights, who were moving slowly toward the river gate, he said a word to Raynor Royk, and the column halted. Raising his voice, that had rung over so many stricken fields, leading the very flower of York's chivalry, he called:

"Be Lacy! De Wilton! . . . Will you not," as they hurried to him, "by your oath of pity and humility, accompany me to the block? It is hard enough, God knows, that one who has both rank and blood should die without trial or legal judgment; yet that none but hirelings should be with me at the end is inhuman beyond measure. Look at yonder sycophants, who but an hour ago hung upon my slightest gesture, now hurrying from me as though I had the plague."

"Whatever we can do, my lord," said De Lacy, "pray command. I would we had power to stay your doom."

Hastings smiled sadly. "I shall not detain you long. Lead on, my man."

It was but a step to the Chapel, and seeing that neither block nor headsman was in waiting he shrugged his shoulders and laughed sarcastically:

"Not honored even by the usual participants," he remarked. "Yon log of timber and a common axe must serve the purpose. A strange undoing for one who has ridden boot to boot with Edward . . . a Lord Chamberlain and Captain of Calais."

"My Lord of Hastings!" said Raynor Royk, with doffed bonnet and in a voice so changed from its usual gruffness that De Lacy and De Wilton both marked it with surprise, "it grieves me ill that I, who have followed the Sable Maunch so oft in battle, should lead you to your death. Yet I may not shirk my duty, as you, great warrior as you are, well know. But if there be aught I can do to aid you, that touches not mine honor (for, my lord, we have what we call honor as well as those who wear the yellow spurs), speak but the word."

Hastings stepped forward and placed his hand upon the old retainer's shoulder. "My good fellow," he said gravely, "there are many with golden spurs who are far less worthy to wear them than are you. Not always does honor, nay nor chivalry either, dwell beneath the banner or pennon of the Knight. Permit me a word apart with these kind friends."

For answer, Raynor Royk gave a sharp order and the soldiers drew out of earshot.

"Need I say to you, Sir Aymer de Lacy, and you, Sir Ralph de Wilton," said Hastings, "how deeply I appreciate your great kindness in coming with me here. Place yourselves in my position and you will know the comfort you have given me. It would be foolish to say I am willing to die; I love life as well as any man; yet bear me witness that I meet my doom as becomes a Peer of England. I have but two requests to make of you, my friends--for though you both are of Gloucester's Household, yet have you been friends to me this day, as Knight to Knight, for you owe me no obligation. I ask that when yonder deed be done you recall to the Lord Protector his brother Edward's dying wish that I might lie by his side in Windsor Chapel. And lastly, I pray you bear to my sweet Countess the assurance of my endless love and adoration. Give her this ring and (pressing it to his lips) say that it bears my dying kiss. Tell her"--and his voice broke, and for the first time in this man's life tears started to his eyes and trickled down his ruddy cheeks--"tell her that my last thought was of her . . . tell her that I wish not Heaven save it bring her dear face to me." He mastered his emotion. "Farewell, my friends," extending his hands, and they silently grasped them, "may God, in His Providence, grant you a kinder death than mine."

Then with placid face and voice he turned to Raynor Royk, who stood leaning on his axe in evident distress of mind.

"I am at your service, my good man," he said. "Dispatch the business quickly and do not, I pray you, bungle it at the stroke."

Removing his handsome cloak, he opened his doublet at the neck, and with quiet dignity walked to the piece of heavy timber that had been used in repaving the Chapel only the previous day, and which lay across the green. Raynor Royk made a motion, and a tall soldier stepped forth. Hastings knelt as the man stopped beside him and drew back his doublet, baring his neck for the blow.

"Strike true, fellow," he said, and calmly placed his head upon the timber's end.

XII

THE KING'S WORD

From this moment Gloucester moved with no uncertain nor halting steps toward the object of his ambition. With the death of Hastings was removed the only man in England who might have blocked his purpose through either power or ability; and he and Buckingham were left free to play out to its end the wonderful game that won a kingdom without a single disturbance or the drawing of a sword. The moves followed one another in bewildering rapidity, yet with such consummate skill, that when in the great chamber of Baynard's Castle the final offer of the Crown was made, and the Lord Protector with seeming diffidence accepted it on Stafford's urging, it appeared but a natural consequence of spontaneous events, brought about only by the force of circumstances and through no deliberate human agency.

In some of these events Sir Aymer de Lacy was an actor, while in others he was but a spectator or bore no part at all. From the grim death-scene in the Tower he had gone back to Crosby Hall and a long talk with Sir John de Bury, wherein he learned what had brought the old Knight so hastily to London and the Lord Chamberlain to the block; and which, ere nightfall, was to send Sir Ralph de Wilton galloping back to Pontefract, bearing an order constituting the Earl of Northumberland Lord High Steward, and directing the trial of Rivers, Grey and Vaughan for the same crime that had proven Hastings' doom: conspiracy against the Lord Protector. He had chanced to ride by St. Paul's Cross while Dr. Shaw was in the midst of his sermon on "Bastard slips shall not take deep root." He had gone with Buckingham to the Guild Hall two days later; had listened with strong approval to the speech wherein Stafford boldly advocated the setting aside of the young Edward in favor of his uncle; and had lent his own voice to the cry: "King Richard! King Richard!" He had witnessed the tender at Baynard's Castle and the halting acceptance by the Duke--had heard the heralds proclaim the new King in the streets of London--and had seen him ascend the marble seat at Westminster and begin the reign that promised so bright a future. He had ridden in the cavalcade that accompanied the King from the Tower on the Saturday preceding the formal coronation, and had formed one of the throng that participated in the gorgeous ceremony of that July Sunday, when all the power of England's nobility passed from the Palace to the Abbey to honor him who was to be the last of his Line.

Never for generations was England to see such a gathering of her Peers and Barons and Churchmen as walked in that procession. There, was the huge Northumberland, fresh from Pontefract--where but a week aback he had sent Rivers and his friends to the headsman--now bearing Mercy's pointless sword; Stanley (his peace made by empty words) with the Mace; Suffolk with the Sceptre; Norfolk, Earl Marshal of the Realm, with the Crown; and Richard himself, in purple gown and crimson surcoat; the Bishop of Durham on his right and the Bishop of Bath on his left; and behind him, bearing his train, the Duke of Buckingham. . . And then the Queen's attendants: Huntington with her Sceptre; Lisle with the Rod and Dove; Wiltshire with her Crown. She, herself, paler than pearls and fragile as Venetian glass, yet calm and self-contained, moved slowly in the heavy royal robes; and after her walked Margaret, Countess of Richmond and mother of him who next would wear the crown, the usurping Tudor.

And then the throne was reached--the music swelled in solemn chorus--the aged Primate raised the crown and placed it on Richard Plantagenet's head--the "Te Deum" rolled out in thunderous tones--and a new King reigned in England.

It was in the late afternoon of the following day that De Lacy, strolling along Bishopgate Street, chanced upon Sir John de Bury near the White Hart Inn, the newest and most popular hostelry in London.

"By St. Luke," Sir John exclaimed, "you are a welcome sight. Come and drink a measure of Burgundy, and I will tell you a bit of news."

They pushed their way through the motley throng in the main room and, coming upon the landlord, were conducted with many bows and smiles to a retired corner and in a moment the wine was set before them. Sir John lifted high the vessel and watched the heavy liquid fall. Then taking a sip he let it run slowly down his throat.

"Not bad, by half," he said, smacking his lips with the air of a connoisseur, and drained his cup at a draught. "What think you of the Coronation?"

"It was a noble spectacle, and a proper act for England."

"Aye, it was--yet I would that Hastings and not Stanley had borne the Mace."

"And that Stanley had been sent in Hastings' place to Chapel Green?" De Lacy asked.

"By St. Luke, yes!" said Sir John instantly; then he leaned over and put his hand on Aymer's shoulder--"and truly, it was a gallant thing you and De Wilton did that mournful morning. Has Gloucester--the King, I mean--said aught to you of it, or has it not reached his ears?"

De Lacy laughed. "He knew it ere he left the Tower, but he found no fault with us."

"And if I know Richard, he liked you both the better for it. . . Here, fellow, another measure of wine, and see that it be of the same barrel. . . These rogues need watching else will they serve poorer stuff the second time, as you have likely noticed."

"Human nature, and innkeepers' nature in particular, does not change between Dover and Calais; yet they would hardly do us the discourtesy to think that our heads muddled so easily."

"Nay, lad, I was but following my motto that it is better to warn before the fight than after."

"Did you warn before the fight in Yorkshire?"

"By St. Luke! there was the fitting moment for the motto, but the villains would give me no breathing space to speak. And that reminds me: do you recall the smooth-tongued Abbot of Kirkstall?"

"In truth, I do," said Aymer. "The most inquisitive monk I have chanced upon in many a day."

"Well, the notion grips me hard that the Abbot Aldam could tell some tales about that little incident, and violate no secret of confessional either. There have been strange rumors lately touching his Abbey and the style of servitors it employs at times."

"Then we at least decreased their numbers--but one escaped, if I remember rightly," Aymer replied.

"Aye--one; but it is enough. Some day I may chance upon him and then . . . I shall know the story."

"Can you recognize the rogue?"

"Instantly. I marked him well, for I had wounded him in the face by a thrust he turned but half aside. A short, thick-set, red-haired knave, with a nose as flat as a sword blade."

"I shall not forget," said Aymer, "and mayhap I may find the story for you. But it occurs to me you spoke of a bit of news."

"By St. Luke, yes! I nigh forgot it, yet it would have mattered little. It is only that I ride North two days hence."

"To Craigston Castle?"

"The same, unless I meet with misadventure on the way."

"In the guise of a flat-nosed, red-haired knave," said Aymer with a laugh.

"A pleasant misadventure, truly! Though, were there any likelihood of that, you would best accompany me and save me from the rogue a second time."

"Nay, my lord, an old bird is not caught twice in the same snare. I scarce fancy you will be surprised a second time, or that he will again venture voluntarily within your reach."

"Then you may not be persuaded to go with me?"

De Lacy shook his head. "I fear I am not open to persuasion; I could not leave the Court at present."

"It is a pity," said Sir John, as he flung the score on the table and arose, "for I had thought the Countess of Clare might like to have you with us. But of course, if the King cannot spare you, there is an end to the matter."

De Lacy looked at the old Knight quizzically for an instant and then laughed frankly.

"It was not fairly done, Sir John," he said; "you caught me foul--you asked first, and reasoned only after I was helpless."

"Well, there is no crime in reconsidering. Will you come?"

"If the King will grant me leave, I shall fare with you."

"With me or with the Countess?" Sir John laughed.

Upon leaving De Bury, Sir Aymer de Lacy bent his steps to Baynard Castle, where the King had come that evening.

At the main door he encountered the Duke of Buckingham in company with Sir William Stanley and was passing them with a courteous salutation when Stafford caught his arm.

"Here, De Lacy," he exclaimed--and Aymer saw he was excited and angry, "you know all the facts! Tell Sir William who is most responsible for the crowning of Gloucester . . . who sent him message to Pontefract . . . who joined him at Northampton . . . who has done all the open work here in London?"

"Nay, Stafford," broke in Stanley, "be not so wrathful. Doubtless His Majesty will be most fair and liberal in the matter. Give him time to feel his crown."

"Time!" retorted the other. "Time! He has had time and to spare. Am I not co-heir to De Bohun through Aleanore, Hereford's daughter, and will Richard of Gloucester think to retake what Henry of Monmouth abjured? By the Lord Omnipotent, let him dare it!"--and with a fiercely menacing gesture he stalked into the courtyard, and springing to horse rode noisily away followed by his attendants.

"His Grace appears a trifle annoyed," said De Lacy.

Sir William Stanley shrugged his shoulders. "It would seem so; yet it were unwise to parade it. However, Buckingham was ever hasty of temper."

"Nathless, the question was embarrassing and I would not care to answer it before a Stanley," Aymer reflected, as he ascended the stairs to the presence chamber.

Baynard Castle, though large and roomy for a nobleman's town residence, was not suited to the needs of a monarch, and as the Court was about to move from Westminster to Windsor, Richard had brought only a few of his favorite Knights and personal attendants with him for the short time he intended to tarry in London. When De Lacy entered the Hall, Richard was not in presence, and lounging at ease on the numerous bancals were some of the minor officers of the Household. He made his way by them to join a group that was gathered about the Duke of Norfolk, when immediately there was a touch upon his arm, and a page summoned him to the King.

Richard was standing at an open window that overlooked the courtyard. He turned as De Lacy entered and demanded abruptly:

"What said Buckingham and Stanley yonder?"

Aymer was too used, by this time, to Richard's ways to be surprised, and he repeated the conversation as accurately as his memory held it and without comment.

The King listened with half-closed eyes, an inscrutable smile upon his lips.

"It may happen, De Lacy," he said, "that there will come a time when you must choose between Henry Stafford and Richard Plantagenet."

"Not so, Sire," Aymer replied. "As against Your Majesty there can never be a choice for me."

Richard looked him straight in the eyes. "I believe it," he said. "I would there were more De Lacys."

Aymer bowed low. "Your Majesty is very gracious; and it encourages me to prefer a request."

"Say on, sir," the King said kindly.

"I would ask a few weeks' leave from Court."

"Wherefore?"

"To accompany Sir John de Bury to Craigston; and to stop at my own castle of Gaillard on my return."