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 http://www.archive.org/details/agincourtromance01jame
 
 AGINCOURT 
 
 A ROMANCE. 
 
 By G. p. R. JAMES, Esq, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 DARNLEY," "DEL'ORME," " ARABELLA STUART,' 
 "ROSE D'ALBRET," &c. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 1844.
 
 London : 
 
 Printed by S. & J. Bkntlkt, Wilson, and Flky, 
 
 Bangor House, Shoe Lane.
 
 
 AGINCOURT, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE NIGHT RIDE. 
 
 The night was as black as ink ; not a soli- 
 tary twinkling star looked out through that 
 wide expanse of shadow, which our great Poet 
 has called the " blanket of the dark ;" clouds 
 covered the heaven ; the moon had not risen 
 to tinge them even with grey, and the sun had 
 too long set to leave one faint streak of purple 
 upon the edge of the western sky. Trees, 
 .^houses, villages, fields, and gardens, all lay in 
 -^ one profound obscurity, and even the course of 
 . the high-road itself required eyes well accus- 
 tomed to night-travelling to be able to dis- 
 "" tinguish it, as it wandered on through a rich 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 AGINCOURT. 
 
 j)art of Hampshire, amidst alternate woods and 
 meadows. Yet at that murky hour, a traveller on 
 horseback rode forward upon his way, at an easy 
 pace, and with a light heart, if one might judge 
 by the snatches of homely ballads that broke 
 from his lips as he trotted on. These might, 
 indeed, afford a fallacious indication of what 
 was going on within the breast, and in his case 
 they did so ; for habit is more our master than 
 we know, and often rules our external demean- 
 our, whenever the spirit is called to take council 
 in the deep chambers within, showing upon the 
 surface, without any effort on our part to hide 
 our thoughts, a very different aspect from that 
 of the mind's business at the moment. 
 
 Thus, then, the traveller who there rode 
 along, saluting the ear of night with scraps 
 of old songs, sung in a low, but melodious voice, 
 was as thoughtful, if not as sad, as it was in his 
 nature to be ; but yet, as that nature was a 
 cheerful one and all his habits were gay, no 
 sooner were the eyes of the spirit called to 
 the consideration of deeper things, than custom 
 exercised her sway over the animal part, and
 
 AGINCOURT. 3 
 
 he gave voice, as we have said, to the old 
 ballads which had cheered his boyhood and his 
 youth. 
 
 Whatever were his contemplations, they were 
 interrupted, just as he came to a small stream 
 which crossed the road and then wandered 
 along at its side, by first hearing the quick 
 foot-falls of a horse approaching, and then a 
 loud, but fine voice, exclaiming, " \Yho goes 
 there?" 
 
 " A friend to all true men," replied the 
 traveller ; " a foe to all false knaves. * Merry 
 sings the throstle under the thorn/ Which 
 be you, friend of the highway ? " 
 
 " Faith, I hardly know," replied the stran- 
 ger ; " every man is a bit of both, I believe. 
 But if you can tell me my way to Winchester, 
 I will give you thanks." 
 
 " I want nothing more," answered the first 
 traveller, drawing in his rein. " But Winches- 
 ter ! — Good faith, that is a long way ofi"; and 
 you are going from it, master :" and he endea- 
 voured, as far as the darkness would permit, 
 
 to gain some knowledge of the stranger's ap- 
 
 b2
 
 4- AGINCOURT. 
 
 pearaiice. It seemed that of a young man of 
 good proportions, tall and slim, but with broad 
 shoulders and long arms. He wore no cloak, 
 and his dress fitting tight to his body, as was 
 the fashion of the day, allowed his interlocutor to 
 perceive the unencumbered outline of his figure. 
 
 " A long way off ! " said the second traveller, 
 as his new acquaintance gazed at him ; " that 
 is very unlucky ; but all my stars are under 
 that black cloud. What is to be done now, I 
 wonder ? "" 
 
 " What do you want to do ?"" inquired the 
 first traveller. " Winchester is distant five and 
 twenty miles or more." 
 
 " Odds life ! I want to find somewhere 
 to lodge me and my horse for a night," replied 
 the other, " at a less distance than twenty-five 
 miles, and yet not quite upon this very spot." 
 
 "Why not Andover.?" asked his compa- 
 nion ; " 'tis but six miles, and I am going 
 thither." 
 
 "Humph !" said the stranger, in a tone not 
 quite satisfied ; " it must be so, if better cannot 
 be found ; and yet, my friend, I would fain
 
 AGINCOURT. 5 
 
 find some other lodging. Is there no inn hard 
 by, where carriers bait their beasts and fill 
 their bellies, and country folks carouse on nights 
 of merry-making? or some old hall or goodly 
 castle, where a truckle bed, or one of straw, 
 a nunchion of bread and cheese, and a draught 
 of ale, is not likely to be refused to a traveller 
 with a good coat on his back and long-toed 
 shoes ? "''' 
 
 " Oh, ay !"" rejoined the first ; " of the latter 
 there are many round, but, on my life, it will 
 be difiicult to direct you to them. The men 
 of this part have a fondness for crooked ways, 
 and, unless you were the Daedalus who made 
 them or had some fair dame to guide you by 
 the clue, you might wander about for as many 
 hours as would take you to Winchester." 
 
 " Then Andover it must be, I suppose," an- 
 swered the other ; " though, to say sooth, I may 
 there have to pay for a frolic, the score of 
 which might better be reckoned with other 
 men than myself." 
 
 "A frolic?" said his companion; "nothing 
 more, my friend ?"
 
 6 AGINCOURT. 
 
 "No, on my life!" replied the other; "a 
 scurvy froHc, such as only a fool would commit ; 
 but when a man has nothing else to do, he is 
 sure to fall into folly, and I am idle perforce." 
 
 " Well, I '11 believe you," answered the first, 
 after a moment's thought : "I have, thank 
 Heaven, the gift of credulity, and beheve all 
 that men tell me. Come, I will turn back with 
 you, and guide you to a place of rest, though I 
 shall be well laughed at for my pains." 
 
 " Not for an act of generous courtesy, 
 surely," said the stranger, quitting the half- 
 jesting tone in which he had hitherto spoken. 
 " If they laugh at you for that, I care not to 
 lodge with them, and will not put your kind- 
 ness to the test, for I should look for a cold 
 reception." 
 
 " Nay, nay, 'tis not for that, they will laugh," 
 rejoined the other, "and perhaps it may jump 
 with my humour to go back, too. If you have 
 committed a folly in a frolic to-night, I have 
 committed one in anger. Come with me, 
 therefore, and, as we go, give me some name 
 by which to call you when we arrive, that I
 
 AGINCOURT. I 
 
 may not have to throw tou into my uncle's 
 hall as a keeper with a dead deer ; and, more- 
 over, before we go, give me your word that 
 we have no frolics here, for I would not, for 
 much, that any one I brought, should move 
 the old knight's heart with aught but pleasure."" 
 
 " There is my hand, good youth,"' replied 
 the stranger, following, as the other turned his 
 horse ; " and I never break my word, whatever 
 men say of me, though they tell strange tales. 
 As for my name, people call me Hal of Had- 
 nock ; it will do as well as another." 
 
 " For the nonce," added his companion, un- 
 derstanding well that it was assumed ; " but 
 it matters not. Let us ride on, and the gate 
 shall soon be opened to you ; for I do think 
 they will be glad to see me back again, though 
 I may not perchance stay long. 
 
 ' The porter rose anon certaine 
 As soon as he heard John call.' " 
 
 " You seem learned for a countryman,"" said 
 the traveller, riding on by his side ; " but, 
 perchance, I am speaking to a clerk ? " 
 
 *' Good faith, no," replied the first way-
 
 8 AGINCOURT. 
 
 farer, " more soldier than clerk, Hal of Had- 
 nock; as old Robert of Langland says, ' I cannot 
 perfectly my Paternoster, as the priest it singeth, 
 but I can rhyme of Robin Hode and Randof 
 Earl of Chester."* I have cheered my boyhood 
 with many a song and my youth with many 
 a ballad. When lying in the field upon the 
 marches of Wales, I have whiled away many 
 a cold night with the 
 
 ' Quens Mountfort, sa dure mort,' 
 or, 
 
 ' Richard of Alemaigne, while he was king/ 
 
 and then in the cold blasts of March, I ever 
 found comfort in 
 
 ' Summer is icumen in, 
 Lhude sing cuccu, 
 Groweth sede and bloweth mede, 
 And springeth the wode nu.' " 
 
 '' And good reason too," said Hal of Had- 
 nock, " I do the same i'faith ; and when wintry 
 winds are blowing, I think ever, that a warmer 
 day may come and all be bright again. Were 
 it not for that, indeed, I might well be cold- 
 hearted;'
 
 AGINCOURT. 9 
 
 " Fie, never flinch ! " cried his gay com- 
 panion; " there is but one thing on earth should 
 make a bold man cold-hearted." 
 
 " And what may that be ? '' asked the other; 
 " to lose his dinner ?" 
 
 " No, good Hfe ! '' exclaimed the first, — " to 
 lose his lady's love." 
 
 "Ay, is it there the saddle galls?" said 
 Hal of Hadnock. 
 
 " Faith not a whit," answered his fellow 
 traveller ; " if it did, I should leave off singing. 
 You are wrong in your guess, Master Hal. I 
 may lose my lady, but not my lady's love, or I 
 am much mistaken ; and while that stays with 
 me I will both sing and hope." 
 
 "'Tis the best comfort,'' replied Hal of 
 Hadnock, " and generally brings success. But 
 what am I to call you, fair sir "^ for it mars 
 one's speech to have no name for a companion." 
 
 " Now, were not my uncle's house within 
 three miles," said the other, " I would pay 
 you in your own coin, and bid you call me 
 Dick of Andover ; for I am fond of secrets, 
 and keep them faithfully, except when they are
 
 10 AGINCOURT. 
 
 likely to be found out ; but such being the case 
 now, you must call me Richard of Woodville, 
 if you would have my friends know you mean 
 a poor squire who has ever sought the places 
 where hard blows are plenty ; but who missed 
 his spurs at Bramham Moor by being sent by 
 his good friend Sir Thomas Rokeby to bear 
 tidings of Northumberland's incursion to the 
 King. I would fain have staid and carried 
 news of the victory ; but good sooth, Sir Tho- 
 mas said he could trust me to tell the truth 
 clearly as well as fight, and that, though he 
 could trust the others to fight, he could not find 
 one who would not make the matter either 
 more or less to the king, than it really was. See 
 what bad luck it is to be a plain-spoken fellow." 
 " Good luck as well as bad,'" replied Hal 
 of Hadnock ; and in such conversation they 
 pursued their way, riding not quite so fast as 
 either had been doing when first they met, and 
 slackening their pace to a walk when, about 
 half a mile farther forward, they quitted the 
 high road and took to the narrow lanes of the 
 country, which, as the reader may easily con-
 
 AGINCOURT. 11 
 
 ceive, were not quite as good for travelling in 
 those days, as even at present, when in truth 
 they are often bad enough. They soon issued 
 forth, however, upon a more open track, where 
 the river again ran along by the roadside, 
 sheltered here and there by copses which 
 occasionally rose from the very brink ; and, 
 just as they regained it, the moon appearing 
 over the low banks that fell crossing each 
 other over its course, poured, from beneath the 
 fringe of heavy clouds that canopied the sky 
 above, her full pale light upon the whole extent 
 of the stream. There was something fine but 
 melancholy in the sight, grave and even grand ; 
 and though there were none of those large ob- 
 jects which seem generally necessary to produce 
 the sublime, there was a feeling of vastness 
 given by the broad expanse of shadow overhead 
 and the long line of glistening brightness below, 
 broken by the thick black masses of brushwood 
 that here and there bent over the flat surface of 
 the water. 
 
 " This is fine," said Hal of Hadnock. '' I 
 love such night scenes with the solitary moon
 
 12 AGINCOURT. 
 
 and the deep woods and the gleaming river — 
 ay, even the dark clouds themselves. They 
 are to me like a king's fate, where so many 
 heavy things brood over him, so many black 
 and impenetrable things surround him, and 
 where yet often a clear yet cold eftulgence 
 pours upon his way, grander and calmer than 
 the warmer and gayer beams that fall upon the 
 course of ordinary men." 
 
 His companion turned and gazed at him 
 for a moment by the moonlight, but made no 
 observation, till the other continued pointing 
 with his hand, " What is that drifting on the 
 water ? Surely 'tis a man's head ! '' 
 
 " An otter with a trout in his mouth, speed- 
 ing to his hole," replied Richard of Woodville ; 
 " he will not be long in sight. — See ! he is 
 gone. All things fly from man. We have 
 established our character for butchery with 
 the brute creation ; and they wisely avoid the 
 slaughter-house of our presence." 
 
 " I thought it was something human, living 
 or dead," replied Hal of Hadnock. " Methinks 
 it were a likely spot for a man to rid himself of
 
 AGINCOURT. 13 
 
 his enemy, and give the carrion to the waters ; 
 or for a love-lorn damsel to bury griefs and 
 memories beneath the sleepy shining of the 
 moonlight stream. The Leucadian promontory 
 was an awfal leap, and bold as well as sad 
 must have been the heart to take it ; but here, 
 timid despair might creep quietly into the soft 
 closing wave, and find a more peaceful death-bed 
 than the slow decay of a broken-heart.''"* 
 
 " Sad thoughts, sir, sad thoughts,'' replied 
 Richard of Woodville, " and yet you seemed 
 merry enough just now." 
 
 " Ay, the fit comes upon me as it will, com- 
 rade," replied the other, "and good faith I 
 strive not to prevent it. I amuse myself with 
 my own humours, standing, as it were, without 
 myself, and looking inward hke a spectator at 
 a tournay, now laughing at all I see, now ready 
 to weep ; and yet for the world I would not stop 
 the scene, were it in my power to cast down my 
 warder at the keenest point of strife, and say, 
 ' Pause ! no more !' Sometimes there lives not 
 a merrier heart on this side the sea, and some- 
 times not a sadder within the waters. At one
 
 14 AGINCOURT. 
 
 time I could laugh like a clown at a fair, and at 
 others, would make ballads to the httle stars, full 
 of sad homilies." 
 
 "Not so, I," rejoined Richard of Woodville. 
 " I strive for an equal mind. I would fain be 
 always light-hearted ; and though, when I am 
 crossed, I may be hot and hasty, ready to 
 strive with others or myself, yet, in good truth, 
 I soon learn to bear with all things, and to 
 endure the ills that fall to my portion, as 
 lightly as may be. Man 's a beast of burden, 
 and must carry his pack-saddle ; so it is better 
 to do it quietly than to kick under the load. 
 Out upon those who go seeking for sorrows, 
 a sort of commodity they may find at their 
 own door ! One whines over man's ingratitude; 
 another takes to heart the scorn of the great ; 
 another broods over his merit neglected, and 
 his good deeds forgotten ; but, were they wise, 
 and did good without thought of thanks — were 
 they high of heart and knew themselves as 
 great in their inmost soul, as the greatest in 
 the land — were they bright in mind, and found 
 pleasure in the mind's exercise, they would both
 
 AGINCOURT. 15 
 
 merit more and repine less ; ay, and be surer 
 of their due in the end." 
 
 *' By my Hfe, you said you were no clerk, 
 Richard of Woodville," cried his companion, 
 " and here you have preached me a sermon, fit 
 to banish moon-sick melancholy from the land. 
 But say, good youth, is yonder light looking 
 out of your uncle's hall window ? — There, far on 
 the other side of the stream ? *" 
 
 " No no," answered Woodville, " ride after 
 it, and see how far it will lead you. You will 
 soon find yourself neck deep in the swamp. 
 'Tis a Will-o'-the-wisp. My uncle's house 
 lies on before, beyond the village of Abbot's 
 Ann, just a quarter of a mile from the Abbey ; 
 so, as the one brother owns the hall, and 
 the other rules the monastery, they can aid 
 and countenance each other, whether it be at 
 a merry-making or a broil. Then too, as the 
 good Abbot is as meek as an ewe in a May 
 morning, and Sir Phihp is as fiery as the sun 
 in June, the one can tame the other's wrath 
 or work up his courage, as the case may be ; 
 but here we see the first houses — and lights
 
 16 AGINCOURT. 
 
 in the window, too ! Why, how now ? Dame 
 Julien has not gone to bed ; but, I forgot, 
 there is a glutton mass to-morrow, and as 
 the reeve's wife, she must be cooking capons 
 truly. But hark ! there is a sound of a cithern, 
 and some one singing. Good faith they are 
 making merry by their fire-side, though curfew 
 has tolled long since. Well, Heaven send all good 
 men a cheerful evening and a happy hearth ! 
 Perhaps they have some poor minstrel within, 
 and are keeping up his heart with kindness ; 
 for Julien is a bountiful dame, and the reeve, 
 though somewhat hard upon the young knaves, 
 is no way pinched when there is a sad face at 
 his door. Well, fair sir, we shall soon be 
 home. — A pleasant place, is home ; ay, it is 
 a pleasant place, and when far away, we think 
 of it always. God help the man who has no 
 home ! and let all good Christians befriend 
 him, for he has need." 
 
 Although Hal of Hadnock made no farther 
 observations upon his companion's mood and 
 character, there was something therein that 
 struck and pleased him greatly ; and he was
 
 AGINCOURT. 17 
 
 no mean judge of his fellow men, for he had 
 mingled with many of every class and degree. 
 Quick and ready in discovering, by small traits, 
 the secrets of that complicated mystery, the 
 human heart, he saw even in the love of 
 music and poetry, in a man habituated to camps 
 and fields of battle, a higher and finer mind 
 than the common society of the day afforded ; 
 for it must not be thought, that either in the 
 knight, or the knight's son, of our old friend 
 Chaucer, the poet gave an accurate picture of the 
 gentry of the age. That there were such, is not 
 to be doubted ; but they were few ; and the 
 generality of the nobles and gentlemen of those 
 times, were sadly illiterate and rude. The 
 occasional words Richard of Woodville let drop, 
 too, regarding his own scheme of home phi- 
 losophy, showed, his companion thought, a 
 strength and vigour of character which might 
 be serviceable to others as well as himself, in 
 any good and honourable cause ; and Hal of 
 Hadnock, as they rode on, said to himself, " I 
 will see more of this man." 
 
 After passing through the little village, and
 
 13 AGINCOURT. 
 
 issuing out again into the open country, they 
 saw by the light of the moon, now rising higher 
 and dispersing the clouds as she advanced, a 
 high isolated hill standing out, detached from all 
 the woods and scattered hedge-rows round. At 
 a little distance from its base, upon the left, 
 appeared the tall pinnacles and tower of an 
 abbey and a church, cutting dark against the 
 lustrous sky behind ; and, partly hidden by the 
 trees on the right, partly rising above them, were 
 seen the bold lines of another building in a 
 sterner style of architecture. 
 
 " That is your uncle's dwelling, T suppose," 
 said Hal of Hadnock, pointing on with his 
 hand. " Shall we find any one up ? It is hard 
 upon ten o'clock." 
 
 " Oh, no fear," replied Richard of Woodville. 
 " Good Sir Philip Beauchamp sits late in the 
 hall. He will not take his white head to the 
 pillow for an hour or two ; and the ladies like 
 well to keep him company. Here, to the left, 
 is a shorter way through the wood ; — but look to 
 your horse's footing, for the woodmen were busy 
 this morning, and may have left branches about."
 
 AGINCOURT. 19 
 
 In less than five minutes more they were 
 before the embattled gates of one of those old 
 English dwellings, half castle, half house, which 
 denoted the owner to be a man of station and 
 consideration — just a step below, in fortune or 
 rank, those mighty barons who sheltered them- 
 selves from the storms of a factious and lawless 
 epoch, in fortresses filled with an army of re- 
 tainers and dependants. As they approached, 
 Richard of Woodville raised his voice and called 
 aloud, 
 
 " Tim Morris ! Tim Morris ! " He waited 
 a moment, singing to himself the two verses he 
 had repeated before, 
 
 " ^ The porter rose again certaine 
 As soon as he heard John call ;' " 
 
 and then added, " But it will be different now, I 
 fancy ; for honest Tim is as deaf as a miller, and 
 his boy is sound asleep, I suspect. — Tim Morris, 
 I say ! — He will keep us here all night, — Tim 
 Morris I — Hotv- now, old sluggard?" he con- 
 tinued, as the ancient porter rolled back the 
 gate ; " were you snoring in your wicker-chair,
 
 20 AGINCOURT. 
 
 that you make us dance attendance, as you do 
 the country folk of a Monday morning?" 
 
 '' 'Tis fit they should learn to dance the 
 Morris dance, as they call it, Master Dick,*' 
 answered the porter, laughing and holding up 
 his lantern. " God yield ye, sir. I thought you 
 were gone for the night, and I was stripping off 
 my jerkin."" 
 
 "Is Simeon of Roydon gone, then?" asked 
 Woodville. 
 
 " Nay, sir ; he stays all night,*" answered the 
 porter. " Here, boy ; here, knave ; turn thee 
 out, and run across the court to take the horses." 
 
 A sleepy boy, with senses yet but half awake, 
 crept out from the door, and followed Richard 
 of Woodville and his companion as they rode 
 across the small space that separated the gate 
 from the Hall itself. There, at a flight of 
 steps, leading to a portal which might well have 
 served a church, they dismounted ; and, ad- 
 vancing before his fellow traveller, Richard of 
 Woodville raised the heavy bar of hammered 
 iron, which served for a latch, and entered the 
 hall, singing aloud,
 
 AGINCOURT. 21 
 
 " ' As I rode on a Monday 
 
 Between Wettenden and Wall, 
 All along the broad way, 
 I met a little man withal.' " 
 
 As he spoke he pushed back the door for Hal 
 of Hadnock to enter, and a scene was presented 
 to his companion's sight, which deserves rather 
 to begin than end a chapter.
 
 22 AGINCOURT. 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 THE HALL Ax\D ITS DENIZENS. 
 
 The hall of the old house at Dunbury, — loDg 
 swept away by the two great destroyers of 
 man's works, Time and Change, — was a spacious 
 vaulted chamber, of about sixty feet in its 
 entire length, by from thirty-five to forty in 
 width ; but, at the end next the court, a part of 
 the pavement, of about nine feet broad, and some 
 eighteen or twenty inches lower than the rest, 
 was separated from the hall by two broad steps 
 running all the way across. This inferior space 
 presented three doors ; the great one communi- 
 cating at once with the court, and two others in 
 the angles, at the right side and the left, leading 
 to chambers in the rest of the building. At 
 the further end of the hall, on the left, was 
 another small door, opposite to which there 
 appeared the first four steps of a staircase,
 
 AGINCOURT. 23 
 
 which wound away with a turn to apartments 
 above. There was a high window over the 
 principal entrance, from which the room re- 
 ceived, in the day-time, its only light ; and 
 about half way up the chamber, on the left hand, 
 was the wide chimney and hearth, with seats on 
 either side, and two vast bars of iron between 
 them for burning wood. In the midst of the 
 pavement, stood a long table w^th some benches, 
 one or two stools, and a great chair, in which the 
 master of the mansion seated himself at the 
 time of meals ; but the hall presented no other 
 ornament whatever, except a number of lances, 
 bows, cross-bows, axes, maces, and other offen- 
 sive arms, which were ranged with some taste 
 against the walls. The armoury was in another 
 part of the house, and these weapons seemed 
 only admitted here to be ready in case of imme- 
 diate need ; for those were times in which men 
 did not always know how soon the hand might 
 be called upon to defend the head. 
 
 When Richard of Woodville and his com- 
 panion entered, some six or seven large logs, I 
 might almost call them trees, were blazing on
 
 ^4 AGINCOURT. 
 
 the hearth ; and, in addition to the glare they 
 afforded, a sconce of seven burners above the 
 chimney shed a full light upon the party assem- 
 bled round the fire. That party was very nu- 
 merous, for several maids and retainers, of whom 
 it may not be necessary to speak more particu- 
 larly, were scattered round the principal perso- 
 nages, busy with such occupations for the evening 
 as were common in a rude age when intellectual 
 pursuits were very little cultivated. 
 
 The group in front, however, deserves more 
 attention, consisting of seven persons, most of 
 whom we shall have to speak of more than once 
 in the course of these pages. In the seat within 
 the chimney, just opposite the door, sat the 
 master of the mansion, a tall powerful old man, 
 who had seen many a battle-field in his day, 
 during that and the preceding reign, and had 
 borne away the marks of hard blows upon his 
 face. He was spare and large-boned in form, 
 with his hair and beard* very nearly white ; but 
 
 * The beard was, at this time, usually shaved off by the 
 Englisli nobles ; but many of the older barons still retained 
 it, and I find the mustachio very frequently in contem- 
 poraneous representations of younger knights.
 
 AGINCOURT. 25 
 
 he was hale and florid withal, and his counte- 
 nance, though strongly marked, had an expres- 
 sion of kindness and good-humour, not at all 
 incompatible with the indications of a quick 
 and fiery temper, which were to be discov- 
 ered in the sparkle of his undimmed blue eye 
 and the sudden contraction of his brow, when 
 anything surprised him. The seat on the other 
 side of the fire was not visible from the door by 
 which the two way-farers entered ; but beyond 
 the angle of the chimney, protruded into the 
 light, the arm, shoulder, and part of the head of 
 another tall old man, apparently clothed in the 
 grey gown of some monastic order. 
 
 On the left of Sir Philip Beauchamp was 
 seated a young lady, perhaps eighteen or nine- 
 teen years of age, with her arm resting on his 
 knee, and her head and figure bent gracefully 
 towards him. Her hair was as black as jet, 
 her skin soft and clear, and her complexion 
 somewhat pale, though a slight tinge of the rose 
 might be seen upon her cheek. Her eyes, 
 like 'her father's, were of a deep clear blue, 
 though the long black fringes that bordered her 
 
 TOL. I. c
 
 26 AGINCOURT. 
 
 eyelids in a long sweeping line, made them, at a 
 distance, look as dark as her hair. She seemed 
 neither above nor below the ordinary height of 
 woman ; and her whole figure, though by no 
 means thin, was slim and delicate. The small 
 exquisite foot and rounded ankle inclining grace- 
 fully towards the fire, were displayed by the 
 posture in which she had placed herself; and 
 the hand that rested on her father's knee, with 
 long fingers tapering to the point, showed in 
 every line the high Norman blood of her race. 
 
 Next to Isabel Beauchamp, the only daughter 
 of the old knight, was another lady, perhaps a 
 year younger. She was in several respects strik- 
 ingly contrasted to her fair companion, though 
 hardly less beautiful. Her hair was of a light 
 glossy brown, catching a warm gleam wherever 
 the light fell upon it, as fine as silk new spun 
 from the cone, yet curling in large bunches 
 wherever it could escape from the bands that 
 confined it. Her complexion was fair and glow- 
 ing; her cheek warm with health, and her skin 
 as soft and smooth as that of a child. To look 
 upon her at a little distance one would have ex-
 
 AGINCOURT. 27 
 
 pected to find the merry grey or blue eye, so 
 often seen in the pretty village maid, but hers was 
 dark-brown, large, and full, and soft, yet with a 
 laughing light therein that seemed to speak 
 a buoyant and a happy heart. In form she was 
 somewhat taller than the other ; but though 
 her waist looked as if it would have required no 
 giant's hand to span it round, yet there was that 
 sort of full and graceful sweep in all the lines, 
 which painters and statuaries, I believe, call 
 contour. Nought but the tip of one foot was 
 seen from beneath the long and flowing petticoat 
 then in fashion ; but even from that, one might 
 judge that nothing much more neat and small 
 ever beat the turf, except amongst the elves of 
 fairy land. Her hand rested upon a frame of 
 embroidery, at which she had been working, 
 and her head was slightly bent forward, as if 
 to hear something said by the good Abbot of the 
 convent, who sat opposite to his brother, in the 
 seat within the chimney. But between her and 
 him, was another group, consisting of three 
 persons, which somewhat detached itself from 
 the rest. Two were seated, a lady and a gentle-
 
 28 AGINCOURT. 
 
 man, and the third was standing with his arms 
 folded on his chest a little behind the others. 
 
 The backs of these three were turned towards 
 the door by which Woodville and his companion 
 entered ; and they were somewhat in the shade, 
 being placed between the lower end of the hall 
 and the light both of the fire and the sconce ; but 
 as we are now looking at the picture of the whole, 
 we may as well examine the details before we 
 proceed. 
 
 The lady bore a striking resemblance in 
 features, complexion, and form, to Isabel Beau- 
 champ, whom we have already described ; and 
 the Lady Catherine might well be taken, as 
 was often the case, for her cousin's sister. She 
 was taller, indeed, though not much ; but the 
 chief difference was in the expression of the two 
 countenances. Catherine's wanted all the gentle- 
 ness, the tenderness, the thoughtfulness, of Isa- 
 bel's. It could assume a look of playful coquetry, 
 it could seem grave, it could seem joyous ; but 
 with each expression there mingled a touch of 
 pride, perhaps, too, of vanity ; and a scornful 
 turn of the lip and well-chiseled nostril, as well
 
 AGINCOURT. ^9 
 
 as a quick flash of the eye, spoke the rash and 
 haughty spirit which too certainly dwelt within 
 her breast. 
 
 We are the slaves of circumstances from our 
 cradle ; and the mother and the nurse form as 
 much part of our fate, as any of the other events 
 which mould our character, guide our course, and 
 lead us to high station, retain us in mediocrity, 
 or plunge us into misfortune. Catherine Beau- 
 champ, Hke her cousin, was an only child, and 
 an heiress ; but her mother had brought large 
 possessions to her father, and with those large 
 possessions an inexhaustible store of pride. She 
 had looked upon herself, indeed, as her husband's 
 benefactor, for he was a younger brother, of 
 small estate ; and, after his death, she and a 
 foolish servant had rivalled each other in instil- 
 ling into her daughter's mind high notions of her 
 ovvn importance. In this, as in many another 
 thing, the mother had proved herself weak ; and 
 the spoilt child had early shown her the result of 
 her own folly. She did not live long enough to 
 correct her error, even if she had possessed sense 
 enough to make the effort ; and when Cathe-
 
 30 AGINCOURT. 
 
 rine came to the house of her uncle, as his ward, 
 her character was too far fixed to render any 
 lessons effectual, but the severe ones of the 
 world. There, then, she sat, beautiful, rich, 
 vain, and haughty, claiming all admiration as 
 her due, and believing that even her faults ought 
 to be admired for her loveliness and her wealth. 
 Beside her was placed her mother's nearest 
 relation, a distant cousin, named Simeon of Roy- 
 don. He was a tall, robust, well-proportioned 
 man of two or three and thirty years of age, 
 with a quantity of light hair close cut in front, 
 and left long upon the back of the head and 
 over the temples. His features were in general 
 good ; and what with youth and health, a florid 
 complexion, fair skin, bright keen eyes, an 
 aquiline nose, somewhat too much depressed, 
 and an air of calm self-importance and courtly 
 ease, he was the sort of man so often called 
 handsome by those who little consider or know 
 in what beauty really consists. Nothing, indeed, 
 that dress could do, was left undone, according 
 to the fashions of the day, to set off his person 
 to the best of advantage. His long limbs were
 
 AGINCOURT. 31 
 
 clothed in the light-coloured breeches and hose, 
 without division from the waist to the foot, which 
 were then generally worn by men of the higher 
 class ; but so tightly did they fit, that scarce a 
 muscle of the leg might not be traced beneath ; 
 and his coat was also cut so close to his shape, 
 that except on the chest, where perhaps some 
 padding added to the appearance of breadth, the 
 garment seemed to be but an outer skin. His 
 shoes exhibited points of at least six inches in 
 length beyond the toe ; and the sleeves of his 
 mantle, which he continued to wear even in the 
 hall, hung down till they swept the floor. He 
 wore a dagger in his girdle 'v\dth a jeweled hilt, 
 and a clasp upon his coat with a ruby set in gold ; 
 while on his thumb appeared a large signet- 
 ring of a very peculiar fashion and device. 
 
 Notwithstanding dress, however, and good 
 features, and a countenance under perfect com- 
 mand, there were certain minute, but very 
 distinct signs, to be perceived by an eye prac- 
 tised in the study of the human character, 
 which betrayed the fact, that his smooth ex- 
 terior was but a shell containing a less pleasant
 
 S2 AGINCOURT. 
 
 core. Tliere was a wandering of the eyes 
 which did not always seem to move in the 
 same orbits ; there was an occasional quiver of 
 the lower lip, as if words which might be dan- 
 gerous were restrained with difficulty ; there was 
 a look of keen, eager, almost fierce enquiry 
 when anything was said, the meaning of which 
 he did not at once comprehend ; and then a 
 sudden return to a bland and sweet expression 
 almost of insipidity, which spoke of something 
 false and hollow. He was talking to Cathe- 
 rine Beauchamp, when Richard of Woodville 
 and Hal of Hadnock entered, in gay tones, 
 often mingling a low laugh with his con- 
 versation, and eyeing his own foot and leg 
 as it was stretched out towards the fire, with 
 an air of great self-admiration and satisfaction. 
 
 The figure of the third person, who stood close 
 behind the lady — as if he had come round 
 thither and left vacant a stool which appeared 
 on the other side, to take part in her conversation 
 with Sir Simeon of Roydon — was as tall and finer 
 in all its proportions than that of the knight 
 who sat by her side. His chest was broader ;
 
 AGINCOURT. 33 
 
 his arms more muscular ; the turn of his head, 
 and the fall of his shoulders more graceful and 
 symetrical. His dark hair curled short round 
 his forehead and on his neck; his straight-cut 
 features of a grave and somewhat stern cast, 
 wore their least pleasing look when in repose ; 
 for they wanted but the fire of expression to light 
 them up in a moment, and render them all 
 bright and glowing. His eye, however, the fea- 
 ture which soonest receives that light, had in it 
 a fixed melancholy which scarcely even left it 
 when he smiled ; and now, though he had 
 come round thither to interchange a few words 
 with Catherine, his betrothed wife, and her 
 gay kinsman, Sir Henry Dacre had fallen into 
 thought again, and remained standing with his 
 arms folded on his chest, and his look fixed 
 upon Isabel Beauchamp as she leaned upon her 
 father's knee. His gaze was intense, thought- 
 ful — I might call it enquiring ; but yet it was 
 not rude, for he knew not that his eyes were 
 so firmly fixed upon her. He was buried in 
 his own thoughts; and perhaps the peculiar 
 iuvestigating expression of that look, might be
 
 34 AGINCOURT. 
 
 accounted for by supposing tliat he was asking 
 questions, difficult to solve, of his own heart. 
 
 Isabel herself did not remark that he was 
 gazing at her, for she was listening to some 
 anecdote of other days which her father was 
 telling. But the old knight did observe the 
 glance of his young friend, and he observed it 
 with pain ; yet " more in sorrow than in anger ;" 
 for there were some things for which he bitterly 
 grieved, but which could not be amended. 
 He broke off his story for a moment to mutter 
 to himself, "Poor fellow!'"' and just at that 
 instant, his eye lighted upon Richard Woodville 
 as the young traveller opened the great door of 
 the hall. His brow contracted, while perhaps one 
 might count ten, but was speedily clear again, 
 and he exclaimed laughing loud, " Ha ! here is 
 Dickon again ! I thought he would not go far." 
 
 Every one turned round suddenly ; and all 
 laughed gaily except one. But the fair girl 
 with the rich brown hair sitting next to Isa- 
 bel Beauchamp, gazed down the hall, with a 
 smile indeed, but with a kindly look gleam- 
 ing forth through her half-closed merry eyes.
 
 AGINCOURT. 35 
 
 " Ah, run-away !" cried Isabel Beauchamp, 
 still laughing ; "so you have come back P'"* 
 
 " Yes, sweet cousin," replied Richard of 
 Woodville, advancing up the hall with his com- 
 panion ; "but I have a cause. I should have 
 been half way to Winchester else. — Here is 
 a gentleman, sir," he continued, addressing his 
 uncle, " whom I have met seeking the right 
 way, and finding the wrong ; and I failed not 
 in promising him your hospitality for the 
 night." 
 
 "Right, Richard, you did right," replied 
 the old knight, raising his tall form from the 
 seat by the fire. — " Sir, you are most welcome. 
 Quick, Hugh of Clatford, leave cutting that 
 bow, and speed to the buttery and the kitchen. 
 Bid them bring wune and meat. I pray you, 
 sir, take the seat by the fire." 
 
 "Nay, not so, noble sir," replied Hal of 
 Hadnock in a courteous tone. " I am not one 
 to take the place of venerable years and high 
 renown. Thanks for your welcome, and good 
 fortune to your roof tree. I beseech you let 
 me make no confusion. I will place me here,"
 
 36 AGINCOURT. 
 
 and he drew a stool from the table, somewhat 
 nearer to the fire, and seated himself, while 
 all eyes were fixed upon him. 
 
 Richard of Woodville, too, took a better 
 view of his companion than he had hitherto 
 obtained, and that view satisfied him that he 
 had not introduced to his uncle's hall a guest 
 who, in point of rank and station at least, was 
 not well deserving of a place therein. 
 
 The stranger was, as I have already said, a tall 
 and somewhat slim young man, perhaps four or 
 five and twenty years of age, with black hair 
 and close-shaved beard, keen dark eyes, long 
 and sinewy limbs, and a chest of great width and 
 depth. His features were remarkably fine, his 
 brow wide and expansive, his forehead high, and 
 the whole expression of his countenance noble 
 and commanding. His dress was rich and costly, 
 Avithout being gaudy. His coat of deep brown, 
 covering the hips like that of a crossbowman, 
 was of the finest cloth, and ornamented 
 with small lines of gold in a quaint but not 
 ungraceful pattern. Instead of the hood, then 
 commonly worn, his head was covered with
 
 AGINCOURT. 37 
 
 a small cap of velvet, and one long pennache, or 
 feather, clasped with a large jewel ; his dagger 
 and the hilt of his sword were both studded 
 with i-ubies, and though his riding-boots of 
 untanned leather were cut square off at the toe, 
 instead of being encumbered with the long 
 points still in fashion, over them were buckled, 
 with a broad strap and flap, a pair of gilt spurs, 
 showing that he had seen service in arms, and 
 had won knightly rank. His tight-fitting hose 
 were of a light philimot, or brownish yellow, 
 colour, and round the leg below the knee was a 
 mark as if the impression of a thong, seeming to 
 prove that when not in riding attire, he was ac- 
 customed to wear shoes so long, that the horns 
 points were obliged to be fastened up by a gilt 
 chain, as was then not unusual. His manner 
 was highly courteous ; but it was remarked, 
 that at first he committed what has, in most 
 ages, been considered an act of rudeness, remain- 
 ing with his head covered some minutes after 
 he entered the hall. But at length seeming 
 suddenly to remember that such was the case, 
 he took off his cap and laid it on the table.
 
 38 AGINCOURT. 
 
 Sir Philip Beauchamp, without asking any 
 question of his guest, proceeded at once to 
 name to him the different persons assembled 
 round the fire ; but as we have already heard 
 who they were, it is needless to give a recapitu- 
 lation here. Richard of Woodville, however, 
 marked or fancied, that as the old knight pro- 
 nounced the name of Sir Simeon of Roydon, a 
 brief glance of recognition passed between that 
 personage and his companion of the road ; but 
 neither claimed the other as an acquaintance ; 
 and Woodville said nothing to call attention to 
 what he had observed. 
 
 " It will seem scarcely courteous, sir," said the 
 guest, as Sir Philip ended, "not to give you 
 my own name, though you in your hospitality 
 will not ask it ; but yet for the present, I will 
 beg you to call me simply Hal of Hadnock ; 
 and ere I go. Sir Philip, to your own ear I will 
 tell more ; and now pray let me not kill mirth, 
 or break off a pleasant tale, or stop a sweet 
 lay ; for doubtless you pass the long eves of 
 March, as did the knights and dames in our 
 old friend Chaucer's dreams.
 
 AGINCOURT. 39 
 
 " ' Some to rede old romances, 
 
 Them occupied for ther plesances, 
 Some to make verelaies and laies, 
 And some to other diverse plaies.' ** 
 
 " Nay, sir,'" answered the old knight, who 
 had glanced with a smile at his guest's gilded 
 spurs, as he gave himself the name of Hal 
 of Hadnock, " we were but talking of some 
 old deeds of arms, which, doubtless, you in 
 your career have often heard of. As to lays, 
 when my nephew Richard is away, we have 
 but little poesy in the house, except when this 
 sweet ward of mine, Mary Markham, will sing 
 us a gay ditty." 
 
 " Not to-night, not to-night," cried the lady 
 on Isabel Beauchamp's left ; "I am not in tune 
 to-night.'" 
 
 Isabel bent her head to her fair companion, 
 and whispered a word which made the blood 
 come warm into Mary Markham's cheek ; but 
 Catherine, with a gay toss of her head, and 
 a glance of her blue eye at the handsome 
 stranger, exclaimed, " I love neither lay nor 
 ballad ; they are but plain English twisted out 
 of form, and set to a dull tune."
 
 40 AGINCOURT. 
 
 *' Indeed, lady I " said the stranger, gazing 
 upon her with an incredulous smile. " I have 
 ever thought that music and verse made sweet 
 things sweeter ; and, methinks, even now, were 
 it some tender lay addressed to your bright 
 looks, you would not find the sounds so rude." 
 
 A smile passed round the little circle, but 
 did not visit the lip of Sir Henry Dacre ; and, 
 though Catherine Beauchamp laughed, with a 
 scornful smile, it seemed as if she knew not 
 well whether to look upon the stranger''s words 
 as kind or uncourteous. 
 
 " Ha, Kate, he touched you there,*" said 
 the old knight. " What think you, Abbot, has 
 not our guest judged our niece aright ?" 
 
 " I believe it is so with all ladies," answered 
 the Abbot gravely ; " they find the words of 
 praise sweet, and the words of blame bitter, 
 whether it be in song or saying. You men 
 of the world nurture them in such folly. You 
 flatter them too much, so that, like the tongue 
 of a wine-bibber, they can taste nothing but 
 what is high-seasoned." 
 
 " Faith, not a whit, reverend lord," cried
 
 AGINCOURT. 41 
 
 Hal of Hadnock gaily ; " craving your for- 
 giveness, we deal with them as Heaven in- 
 tended. Fair and delicate in mind and frame, 
 we shelter their persons from all rough winds 
 and storms, as far as may be, and their ears 
 from all harsh sounds. They were not made 
 to cope with the rough things of life ; and 
 if they find wholesome exercise for body and 
 soul, good father, in the chase and in the 
 confessional, it is as much as is needed. The 
 Church has the staple trade for truth, espe- 
 cially with ladies ; and for any laymen to make 
 it their merchandise would be against the 
 laws of Cupid's realm." 
 
 " I fear you speak lightly, my son, " said the 
 Abbot, with a good-humoured smile ; " but 
 here comes your meal ; and I will give it my 
 blessing.''' 
 
 By such words as these, the ice of new 
 acquaintance was soon broken, and, as the 
 guest sat down at the side of the long table to 
 partake of such viands as his entertainer's hos- 
 pitality provided for him, the party round the 
 fire separated into various groups. The good
 
 42 AGINCOURT. 
 
 master of the mansion approached to do the 
 honours of his board and press the stranger 
 to his food. Catherine seemed smitten with 
 a sudden fit of affection for her uncle and placed 
 herself near him, where, with no small spice 
 of coquetry, she sought to engage the atten- 
 tion of the visitor to herself Sir Henry Dacre 
 remained talking by the fire with Isabel Beau- 
 champ ; and, whatever was the subject of their 
 discourse, the faces of both remained grave, 
 almost sad ; while, at a little distance, Richard 
 of Woodville conversed in low tones with fair 
 Mary Markham, and their faces presented the 
 aspect of an April sky, with its clouds and 
 sunshine, being sometimes overshadowed by a 
 look of care and anxiety, sometimes smiling 
 gaily, as if the inextinguishable hopes of youth 
 blazed suddenly up into a flame, after burning 
 low and dimly for a while under some cold blast 
 from the outward world. 
 
 The Abbot had resumed his seat by the fire, 
 and Sir Simeon Roydon had not quitted his; 
 but the latter, though the good monk spoke 
 to him from time to time, seemed buried in
 
 AGINCOURT. 43 
 
 his own thoughts, answered briefly, and often 
 vaguely, and then fell into a reverie again, 
 turning occasionally his eyes upon his fair 
 kinswoman and the stranger, with an expression 
 of no great pleasure. 
 
 With the old knight and Catherine Beau- 
 champ, in the meanwhile, Hal of Hadnock kept 
 up the conversation gaily, seeming to find a 
 pleasure in so mingling sweet and bitter things 
 together, in his language to the lady, as some- 
 times to flatter, sometimes to pique her ; and 
 thus, without her knowing it, he contrived to 
 put her through all her paces, like a managed 
 horse, till every little weakness and fault in 
 her character was displayed, one after another. 
 
 At first. Sir Phihp Beauchamp was amused, 
 and laughed at the stranger's merry jests, 
 thinking, " It will do Kate good to hear some 
 wholesome truth from an impartial tongue ;''"' 
 but, as he saw that, whether intentionally or 
 not, the words of Hal of Hadnock had the 
 effect of bringing out all the evil points in her 
 disposition to the eyes of his guest, he grew 
 uneasy for his brother's child, and felt all her
 
 44 AGINCOURT. 
 
 faults more keenly from seeing her thus expose 
 them, in mere vanity, to the acquaintance 
 of an hour. He saw then, with satisfaction, 
 his guest's meal draw towards a close, and, 
 as soon as it was done, proposed that they 
 should all retire to rest. 
 
 There was some consideration required as to 
 what chamber should be assigned to Hal of 
 Hadnock, — for small pieces of ceremony were, 
 in those days, matters of importance, — but Sir 
 Philip Beauchamp decided the matter, by telling 
 Richard of Woodville to lead the visitor to the 
 rose-tapestry room, and to place a good yeoman 
 to sleep across his door. It was one of the 
 principal guest-chambers of the house ; and its 
 selection showed that the good knight judged 
 his nephew's fellow-traveller to be of higher 
 rank than he assumed. 
 
 Lighted by a page, Richard of Woodville 
 led the way, and entered with his companion, 
 when they reached the apartment to which they 
 had been directed. Although it was now late, 
 he remained there more than an hour, in con- 
 versation deeply interesting to himself, at least.
 
 AGINCOURT. 45 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE FOREGONE EVENTS. 
 
 " Come, Richard of Woodville," said his 
 companion, as soon as they entered the cham- 
 ber of the rose-tapestry, " let us be friends. 
 You have served me at my need ; and I would 
 fain serve you ; but I must first know how." 
 
 " Faith, sir, that is not easy," answered 
 Woodville, "for I do not know how myself." 
 
 " Well, then, I must think for you, Richard," 
 rejoined Hal of Hadnock ; " what stays your 
 marriage .'*" 
 
 Woodville gazed at him with some surprise, 
 and then smiled. " My marriage with whom ?" 
 he asked. 
 
 '' Nay, nay," answered his new friend, 
 " waste not time with idle concealments. I 
 am a man who uses his eyes ; and I can tell
 
 46 AGINCOURT. 
 
 you, metliinks, all about every one in the hall 
 we have just left." 
 
 " Well, stay yet a moment, till we can be 
 alone,*" replied Woodville ; " they will soon 
 bring you a livery of wine and manchet 
 bread." 
 
 " In pity stop them," cried Hal of Hadnock ; 
 " I have supped so late that I can take no 
 more." But, as he was speaking, a servant 
 entered with a cup of hot wine, and a small 
 roll of fine bread upon a silver plate. As 
 bound in courtesy, the guest broke off a piece 
 of the manchet, and put the cup to his lips ; 
 but it was a mere ceremony, for he did not 
 drink; and the man, taking away the rest of 
 the wine and bread, quitted the room. 
 
 '* Now, Richard, you shall see if I be right," 
 continued Hal of Hadnock. *' There is one 
 pretty maid called Mary Markham, or I heard 
 not your uncle right, whose cheek sometimes 
 changes from the soft hue of the rose's outer 
 leaves, to the deep crimson of its blushing 
 breast, when a certain Richard of Woodville is 
 near ; and there is one good youth, called
 
 AGINCOURT. 47 
 
 Richard of Woodville, who can whisper sweet 
 words in Mary Markham''s ear, while his uncle 
 holds converse with a new guest at a distance." 
 
 Woodville laughed, and made no answer; 
 and his companion went on, 
 
 " Well, then, there is a fair Lady Catherine, 
 beautiful and witty, but somewhat shrewish 
 withal, and holding her own merits as most 
 rare jewels, too good to be bestowed on ordinary 
 men ; who would have a lover, like a bird in a 
 cage, piping all day to her perfections, and would 
 think him well paid if she gave him but one 
 of the smiles or looks whereof she is bountiful 
 to those who love her not : and, moreover, there 
 is one Sir Harry Dacre, a noble knight and true 
 — for I have heard his name ere now — whom I 
 should fancy to be her husband, were it not 
 that—" 
 
 " Why should you think them so nearly 
 allied?" asked Woodville. 
 
 "Because she gave him neither word nor 
 look," replied Hal of Hadnock. '' Is not that 
 proof enough with such a dame ?" 
 
 " You have read them but too rightly," re-
 
 48 AGINCOURT. 
 
 joined Richard of Woodville, with a sigh. " He 
 is not, indeed, her hushand, but as near it as may 
 be, betrothed in infancy — a curse upon such 
 doings, that bind together in the bud two 
 flowers that but destroy each other's blossoms as 
 they grow. They are to be wedded fully when 
 she sees twenty years ; and poor Dacre, as 
 noble and as true a heart as e'er was known, 
 looks sternly forward to that day, as a prisoner 
 does to the hour of execution ; for she has 
 taught him too early, and too well, all those 
 secrets of her bosom which a wiser woman would 
 have hidden.'' 
 
 *' He does not love her, that is clear," answer- 
 ed his companion, in a graver tone than he 
 had hitherto used. " Did he never love 
 her ?" 
 
 " No, not with manly love," replied Richard 
 of Woodville. " I remember well, when we 
 were both boys together, and she as lovely a 
 girl as ever was seen, he used to be proud then 
 of her beauty, and call her his fair young wife. 
 But even then she began the lessons, of which 
 she has given him such a course, that never pale
 
 AGINCOURT. 40 
 
 student at Oxford was better indoctrinated in 
 Aristotle, than he is in her heart. Even in those 
 early days she would jeer and scoff at him, and 
 if he showed her any little tenderness, would 
 straightway strive to make him angry, would 
 pretend great fondness for some other — for me — 
 for any one who happened to he near ; would give 
 his gifts away ; admire whatever was not like 
 him. Oh, then fair hair was her delight, blue 
 eyes were beautiful. She hated him, I do believe, 
 because she was tied to him, and that was 
 the only bond upon her own capricious will ; so 
 that she resolved to use him as a boy does a 
 poor bird tied to him by a string, pulling it hither 
 and thither till its little heart beats unto bursting 
 with such cruel tyranny ! Had she begun less 
 early, indeed, her power of grieving him would 
 have been greater, for he was well inclined to 
 let affection take duty's hand, and love her if he 
 could. But she herself soon ended that source of 
 torture. She may now play the charmer with 
 whom she will, she cannot wring his heart with 
 jealousy.'' 
 
 " He does not love her, that is clear," repeated 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 AGINCOURT. 
 
 Hal of Hadnock in a still graver tone, *' but he 
 may love another."" 
 
 " Ha ! " exclaimed Woodville ; " whom 
 think you, sir ?" 
 
 " Nay,"" replied his companion, after a pause, 
 "it is not for me, my good friend, to sow suspi- 
 cious doubts or fears, where I find them not. 
 I do believe Sir Harry Dacre will do all that is 
 right and noble ; and I did but mean to say, 
 that his poor heart may know greater tortures 
 than you dream of, if, tied as he is by the act 
 of others, to a woman who will not suffer him to 
 love her, he has met, or should hereafter meet, 
 with one on whom all his best affections can be 
 placed. I say not that he has. — I only say, 
 such a thing may be." 
 
 Richard of Woodville gazed down upon the 
 rushes on the floor for several moments with a 
 thoughtful look. " I know of whom you would 
 speak,"" he said at length, " but I think, in this, 
 you have deceived yourself, sharp as your obser- 
 vation has been. Isabel has been the companion 
 of both from youth ; and to her, in early days, 
 Dacre would go for consolation and kindness,
 
 AGINCOURT. 51 
 
 when worn out by this cold, vain lady's caprice 
 and perverseness. She pitied him, and soothed ; 
 and often have I heard her try to soften Cathe- 
 rine's conduct, making it seem youthful folly 
 and high spirits ; and trpng to take the venom 
 from the wound. He looks upon Isabel as a 
 sister — nothing more — I think." 
 
 Hal of Hadnock shook his head ; and then 
 suddenly turned to another subject. " AVell," 
 he said, " you will not deny that I am right in 
 some things, and, therefore, as I am in your 
 secret, whether you will or not, now answer me 
 my question. What stays your marriage ?" 
 
 " Good sooth, I cannot tell," replied Richard 
 
 of Woodville ; '* the truth is, this dear lovely girl 
 
 came here some years gone, none knew from 
 
 whence ; but it was my uncle brought her, 
 
 and ever since he has treated her as a daughter. 
 
 All have loved her and I more than all ; but 
 
 day after day went by in sports and pleasures ; 
 
 and, in a full career of happiness, I did not 
 
 think till yesterday of risking the present by 
 
 striving to brighten the future. Last evening, 
 
 however, I said some plainer words than usual. 
 
 D 2 
 
 U. ^r ILL Ua
 
 52 AGINCOURT. 
 
 What she repHed matters not ; but I saw that, 
 afterwards, she was not so gay as usual ; and to- 
 day I took a moment, when I thought good Sir 
 PhiHp was in a yielding mood, and asked the 
 hand of his dear ward — or daughter ; for I must 
 not hide from you that men have suspicions, 
 there is blood of the Beauchamps in this 
 same lady's veins. He gave me a rough answer, 
 however ; told me not to think of her, and would 
 assign no reason why. I will not say we quar- 
 relled, for I love him too much, and reverence him 
 too much for that ; but I said in haste, that if I 
 were not to think of her, I would stay no longer 
 where suing only bred regret ; and that I would 
 seek honour if I could not find a bride. He 
 answered it was the best thing I could do ; and 
 so without more thought than to feed my horse, 
 and bid them all farewell, I put foot in stirrup 
 for my own place hard by West Meon, with 
 the intent of seeking service in some foreign 
 land, as the wars here have come to an end. 
 My good uncle only laughed at me, and told 
 them, as I mounted in the court, that Dickon 
 was out of humour, but would soon find his
 
 AGINCOURT. 53 
 
 good spirits again. I did not do so for a long 
 way, however ; but, as I went well sure of my 
 lady's grace, I began to take heart after a- while 
 and resolved that she should hear of me from 
 other shores, till I could claim her, and no one 
 say me nay." 
 
 " It was a good resolve,'' answered his com- 
 panion ; " for in such a case I know not what 
 else could be done. But whither did you 
 intend to bend your steps — to France ? " 
 
 " Nay, not to France," said Woodville ; " I 
 love not the Frenchmen. If our good king, 
 indeed, were again to draw the sword for the 
 recovery of all that sluggish men and evil times 
 have lost of our rightful lands since the Black 
 Prince's death, right willingly would I follow 
 thither to fight against the French, but not 
 serve with them." 
 
 " But his royal thoughts are turned to othei- 
 things," replied Hal of Hadnock ; " he still holds 
 the mind, I hear, to take the cross, and couch a 
 lance for the sepulchre." 
 
 " That is gone by, I am told," answered 
 Richard of Woodville ; " this frequent sickness
 
 54 AGINCOURT. 
 
 that attacks him has made him think of other 
 things, men say ; but, doubtless, you know better 
 than I do." 
 
 " Nay, I know nought about it,"' said his 
 fellow traveller ; " but it is predicted that he 
 shall die at Jerusalem." 
 
 " Heaven send it," exclaimed Woodville ; 
 " for if he live till then, his will be a long reign, 
 methinks." 
 
 ** Amen ! " rejoined the other ; " but whither 
 thought you, then, to go ? " 
 
 "^ Perchance to the court of Burgundy,'"" re- 
 plied Richard ; "or to some of those Italian 
 states, where there are ever hard blows to be 
 found, and honour to be gained by doughty 
 deeds." 
 
 " That famous land of Italy is somewhat far 
 from our poor northern isle," answered Hal of 
 Hadnock ; " especially for a lover. Methinks 
 Burgundy were best ; but, doubtless, since you 
 have come back again, your resolution has been 
 left on the road behind us." 
 
 " No, not a whit," cried Woodville ; " what 
 I judged best in haste some hours ago, I now
 
 AGINCOURT. 55 
 
 judge best at leisure. I have told Mary that I 
 go for her sweet sake, to make me a high 
 name, and with Heaven's blessing I will do 
 it." 
 
 " Well, then," answered his new friend, " if 
 such be your determination, I know some noble 
 gentlemen in the court of that same Duke of 
 Burgundy, who may aid your advancement for 
 Hal of Hadnock's sake." 
 
 Richard of Woodville smiled, replying, 
 " Doubtless, you do, fair sir ; but may I tell 
 them you sent me to them ? " 
 
 '• If you will but wait a day or two," said the 
 other, " I will write them a letter, which you 
 shall take yourself; and you will find that I have 
 bespoke you kind entertainment." 
 
 " Thanks, noble sir, many hearty thanks," 
 rejoined the old knight's nephew ; " wait for a 
 time I must, for I will not go sohtary and un- 
 prepared. I must have horses, and men, and 
 arms of the new fashion. I must also sell some 
 acres of new copse, and some tons of old wine, 
 to equip me for my own journey." 
 
 " Well, then, ere you go, you shall hear more
 
 56 AGINCOURT. 
 
 from me,"" replied Hal of Hadnock ; " and now, 
 good Richard, let us talk more of the folks in the 
 hall. I would fain hear farther. This Sir 
 Harry Dacre, his face pleases me ; there i* 
 thought and a high heart therein, or I read not 
 nature's book aright. Methinks, if he were wise, 
 he too would seek renown in arms, instead of 
 dangling at a lady's side that loves him not. 
 Perchance if he were to seem to cast her by as 
 worthless, and fix on honour for a mistress, her 
 love — for who can tell all the wild whimsies of 
 a capricious woman's heart ? — would follow 
 him." 
 
 " He might think that worse than the other," 
 said Woodville ; " I do not think he seeks her 
 love." 
 
 " There he is wrong," answered his com- 
 panion, " for it is against all rule of philosophy, 
 when we are bound by a chain we cannot break, 
 to let it rust and canker in our flesh. It is as 
 well to polish it with any soft thing we can find ; 
 and, granted that she has lost his love, 'twere 
 well he should have hers, if she is to be his 
 wife."
 
 AGINCOURT. 57 
 
 " Perhaps he may long to break the chain,'"* 
 replied Richard drily ; *' were both to seek it, 
 such contracts have been annulled by law, and 
 by the Church, ere now ; and the Pope, or at 
 least his cardinals, are not always stubborn 
 against gold and reason. But I doubt she will 
 consent,'^ he added ; " she loves a captive, and 
 if she sees he seeks his freedom, she will resist, 
 of course." 
 
 ''A most sweet temper," observed Hal of Had- 
 nock, " yet it is to be thought of; and if I can 
 help him, I will. To-morrow early, indeed, I 
 thought to speed me back to Westminster ; but 
 I will stay an hour or two and see if I cannot 
 play with a capricious lady, with art equal to 
 her own. At all events, I shall learn more of 
 what are her designs." 
 
 '' Designs ! she has none ! " exclaimed Rich- 
 ard of Woodville, " but to reign and triumph 
 for the hour. Here has been Simeon of Roy- 
 don, doing her homage for these three days, as 
 if she were the Queen of Love ; and she has 
 smiled upon him, for she still fancies she can so 
 
 give Dacre pain : but no sooner did you come, 
 
 d5
 
 58 AGINCOURT. 
 
 than she turned all the archery of her eyes on 
 you/' 
 
 "Yet left a blank target," replied Hal of 
 Hadnock ; " but of this Sir Simeon of Roydon. 
 I would have honest men beware, my good 
 friend. I know something of him/' 
 
 *' And he of you," answered Woodville. 
 
 " Ay ?" asked his companion, " what makes 
 you fancy so ? " 
 
 " Why I too am one of those who use their 
 eyes, fair sir," said Woodville. 
 
 " And not their tongues, good friend," re- 
 joined the other. " Well, you are wise. But 
 tell me, did not Sir Harry Dacre go with the 
 Duke of Clarence into France ? " 
 
 " Yes, it was there he gained his spurs last 
 year," answered Richard ; " he fought well, 
 too, at Bramham Moor, and earlier still, when 
 a mere boy, against the Scots when they last 
 
 broke in 
 
 *' ' Muchc hath Scotland forlore, 
 What at last, what hcfore, 
 And little pries wonne.' " 
 
 " I thought I had heard of him," replied Hal 
 
 of Hadnock. " However, if you hold your
 
 AGINCOURT. o9 
 
 mind to go to-morrow, we will ride together, and 
 can talk further of these matters by the way ; 
 so for the present, good night, and fair dreams 
 attend you." 
 
 " I must go and bid one of the men sleep 
 across your door," said Richard of Woodville : 
 " though this house is safe enough, yet it is as 
 well always to be careful.'^ 
 
 " It matters not, it matters not,'' answered 
 his companion. " I have never found a man, 
 against whom my own hand could not keep my 
 head or my heart." 
 
 " As for your heart, sir," rejoined Woodville 
 laughing, " you may yet find a woman who 
 will teach you better." 
 
 '* I know not,'' replied Hal of Hadnock laugh- 
 ing ; " I am strong there, too ; but no one can 
 tell what is written in the stars," and thus they 
 parted.
 
 60 AGINCOURT. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE GLUTTON MASS. 
 
 Breakfast was over, and yet, between the 
 lower edge of the sun and the gentle sweeping 
 line of the hills above which he was rising, 
 not more than two hand-breadths of golden 
 sky could be seen, for our ancestors were still, 
 at that period, a matutinal people, rising gene- 
 rally before the peep of day, and hearing the 
 birds' first song. On a large, smooth green, 
 at the back of the Hall, yet within the limits of 
 the park by which it was surrounded, with 
 Dunbury Hill and the lines of the ancient 
 invaders' camp at the top, rising still grey and 
 cold before their eyes, the group which we 
 have described in the second chapter, with 
 the exception of the Abbot, was assembled to
 
 AGINCOURT. 61 
 
 practise or to witness some of the sports of 
 the day. The ladies, having their heads now 
 covered with the strange and somewhat cum- 
 brous coifs then worn, stood upon a stone- 
 paved path, watching the proceedings of their 
 male companions ; and with them appeared good 
 Sir PhiUp Beauchamp, in a long furred gown, 
 with Hal of Hadnock, talking gaily to Cathe- 
 rine, on his right hand. 
 
 '' Well pitched, Hugh of Clatford," cried the 
 old knight, " well pitched ; a toise beyond Sir 
 Simeon." 
 
 " I will beat him by two,'" exclaimed Richard 
 of Woodville, taking the heavy iron bar which 
 they were engaged in casting. " Here goes ! " 
 and, after balancing it for a moment in his 
 hand, he tossed it high in the air, sending 
 it several yards beyond any one who had yet 
 played their part. 
 
 " Will you not try your arm, noble sir ?" 
 asked Sir Philip, turning to Hal of Hadnock. 
 
 " Willingly, willingly," rephed the guest ; 
 " but Sir Henry Dacre has not yet shown 
 his skill."
 
 62 AGINCOURT. 
 
 *' He will not do much," said Catherine 
 Beauchamp, in a low tone. 
 
 *' Fie, Kate," cried Isabel, who overheard 
 her ; " that is untrue, as well as unkind." 
 
 As she sj3oke, Dacre took the bar, which 
 bad been brought back by one of the pages, 
 and, without pausing to poise it carefully, as 
 the rest had done, cast it within a foot or two 
 of the spot which it had reached when sent 
 from the hand of Woodville. 
 
 Hal of Hadnock then advanced, looking 
 round with a gay laugh to the ladies, and say- 
 ing, '' I am upon my mettle before such bright 
 eyes. Here, boy, give me the bar." 
 
 The page placed it in his hand ; and, set- 
 ting his right foot upon the mark where the 
 others had stood, he swung himself grace- 
 fully backward and forward on one leg, for a 
 moment, and then tossed the bar in air. So 
 light, so easy, was his whole movement, that 
 no one expected to see the iron go half the 
 distance it had done before ; but, to the surprise 
 of all, it flew from his hand as if expelled from 
 some of the military engines of the day, and.
 
 AGINCOURT. b5 
 
 striking the ground full twenty paces farther 
 than it had yet done, bounded up off the sward 
 and rolled on beyond. 
 
 " Well delivered ! well delivered !" exclaimed 
 Sir Philip Beauchamp ; and the men and boys 
 around clapped their hands and cried, " Hur- 
 rah !"* 
 
 " I will send it farther or break my arm," 
 cried Richard of Woodville. 
 
 " If you do, I will beat you by a toise," 
 replied Hal of Hadnock laughing. But they 
 all strove in vain ; no one could toss the bar 
 within several yards of the stranger's mark. 
 
 " And now for a leaping bar," cried Hal 
 of Hadnock. " Oh i there stands one I see 
 by the trees. Away, Woodville ! place it how 
 high you will." 
 
 " I will beat you at that, noble sir," said 
 young Hugh of Clatford, who was reported the 
 best jumper and runner in the country. 
 
 " And should you do so, I will give you a 
 quiver of arrows with peacocks' feathers," re- 
 joined the gentleman. " Now, take it in turns, 
 I will leap last."
 
 64 AGINCOURT. 
 
 Sir Simeon Roy don declined the sport, how- 
 ever, and Sir Harry Dacre stood back ; but 
 Clatford, and others of the old knight's re- 
 tainers, took their stations, as well as Richard 
 of VVoodville ; and the bar having been placed 
 high in the notches, each took a run and leapt ; 
 some touching it with their feet, some clear- 
 ing it clean. 
 
 Hal of Hadnock then gave a gay smile to his 
 fair companions, with whom he had for the 
 time resumed his place ; and advancing at a 
 walk, as if to put the pole up higher, ' he 
 quickened his pace, at the distance of three or 
 four steps, and cleared it by several inches. 
 
 " You try him higher, Hugh,*" cried Richard 
 of Woodville laughing ; " I have done my best, 
 good faith." 
 
 "Where will you put it.?" asked the tra- 
 veller, turning to the young retainer of the 
 house. 
 
 " Oh, at the highest notch," answered Hugh 
 of Clatford, lifting up the bar ; " can you do 
 that, sir.?" 
 
 " I will see," repUed Hal of Hadnock ;
 
 AGINCOURT. 65 
 
 " stand back a bit,'' and, taking a better start, 
 he ran, and went over, with an inch to spare. 
 
 Poor Hugh was less fortunate, however, for 
 though he nearly accomplished the leap, he 
 tipped the bar with his heel, cast it down, and 
 overthrowing his own balance, fell upon his face, 
 amidst the laughter of his comrades. He rose 
 somewhat abashed, with bloody marks of his 
 contact with the ground ; but Hal of Hadnock 
 laid his hand kindly on his arm, saying, 
 
 " Thou art a nimble fellow, on my life. I 
 did not know there was a man in England could 
 go so near me, as thou hast done. Here, my 
 friend, thy sheaf of arrows is well won,'' and 
 he poured some pieces of gold into his hand. 
 
 The words were more gratifying to the good 
 yeoman than the money ; and bowing low, he 
 answered, " I was sure you were no ordinary 
 leaper, sir, for few can go higher than I can.'' 
 
 " Oh, I am called Deersfoot," repHed Hal of 
 Hadnock laughing ; " get in and wash your 
 face ; for you have done well, and need not be 
 ashamed to show it." 
 
 Some other sports succeeded ; but the
 
 66 
 
 AGINCOURT. 
 
 stranger took no further part therein, resuming 
 his place by Catherine's side, apparently greatly 
 smitten with her charms. The weak, vain, girl, 
 flattered by his attention, gave way to all the 
 coquetry of her nature, made her fine eyes use 
 their whole artillery of glances, whispered, and 
 smiled, spoke soft, and sometimes sighed ; till 
 the good old knight, Sir Philip, not the best 
 pleased with his niece's demeanour, broke off the 
 amusements of the morning, exclaiming, " To 
 the mass ! to the mass, sirs ! It is high time 
 that we were on our way." 
 
 The sports, then, immediately ceased ; and 
 passing through the great hall, the court-yard, 
 and the gates, the whole party, arranged two 
 and two, walked on amidst the neighbour- 
 ing wood towards the parish church. Hal of 
 Hadnock kept his place by Catherine's side, 
 and Sir Harry Dacre followed with Isabel ; but 
 somewhat to Richard of Woodville's annoy- 
 ance, Sir Philip Beauchamp retained Mary 
 Markham to himself, while his nephew and Sir 
 Simeon of Roydon came after, neither, perhaps, 
 in the best of humours.
 
 AGINCOURT. 67 
 
 The noble party found the church crowded 
 with the villagers, every woman having her 
 basket with her, covered with a clean white 
 napkin, but apparently crammed as full as it 
 well could be ; and Hal of Hadnock remem- 
 bered that, as his companion had said the night 
 before, this was one of the days appointed for 
 those festivals which were then called. Glutton 
 masses. 
 
 When the service was over, old Sir PhiHp 
 advanced to leave the building with his house- 
 hold, not approving the disgraceful scene that 
 was about to take place ; but Hal of Hadnock 
 whispered to his companion of the road, 
 
 " Let us stay and see. I have never witness- 
 ed one of these feats of gormandizing." 
 
 " Well, we shall save the credit of the 
 family," replied Richard of Woodville, in a low 
 tone ; " for the good priest looks upon my 
 uncle as half a Lollard, because he will not stay 
 in the church and eat till he bursts, in honour of 
 the Blessed Virgin." 
 
 Hal of Hadnock and his new friend accord- 
 ingly lingered behind ; and hardly had the
 
 68 AGINCOURT. 
 
 old knight passed through the doors, when a 
 scene of confusion took place quite indescrib- 
 able. Every one brought forward his basket. 
 Some who had lost their store, hunted for 
 it amongst the rest. Some hurried forward 
 to present, what they considered, very choice 
 viands to the priest. Many a pannier was 
 overturned ; and chickens, capons, huge lumps 
 of meat, and leathern bottles of wine, mead, 
 and ale, rolled upon the pavement. One 
 or two of the latter got uncorked, and the 
 contents streamed about amongst the napkins, 
 which several of the women were spreading forth 
 upon the ground. Knives were brandished ; 
 thumbs and fingers were cut ; one man nearly 
 poked out the eye of his better half in giving 
 her assistance, and was heartily cuffed for his 
 pains ; and a fat chorister slipped in conse- 
 quence of putting his foot upon a fine trout 
 dressed in jelly, and fell prostrate on his back 
 in the midst. The people roared, the priest 
 himself chuckled, and was a long time ere he 
 could get his flock, or his countenance, into 
 due order.
 
 AGINCOURT. 69 
 
 A song to the Virgin was then sung by way 
 of grace ; and every one fell to, with an inten- 
 tion of outdoing his neighbour. To Richard of 
 Woodville and his companion were assigned 
 the places of honour near the clergy ; and 
 the priest, looking well pleased down the long 
 aisle, literally encumbered with the prepara- 
 tions for excess, whispered to the old knighfs 
 nephew, with an air of triumph, 
 
 " Well I think we shall outdo Wallop this 
 time, at least/' 
 
 " Undoubtedly," replied Richard of Wood- 
 ville gravely ; " but I fear you will think my 
 friend and me no better than heathens, having 
 brought nothing with us either to eat or drink." 
 
 " Poo ! there is plenty ; there is plenty,"" 
 replied the good man, " and to spare. Eat 
 as hard as we can, we shall be scarcely able to 
 get through it ; and it is fitting, too, that some- 
 thing be left for the poor. We will all do our 
 best, however, and thank you for your help." 
 
 The onslaught was tremendous. One would 
 have thought that the congregation had fasted 
 for a month, so eagerly, so rapidly did they
 
 70 AGINCOURT. 
 
 devour the provisions before them; and then 
 they took to their bottles and drinking-horns, 
 and w^hen they had assuaged their thirst, re- 
 commenced the attack upon the meat with 
 renewed vigour. 
 
 Richard of Woodville, and Hal of Hadnock, 
 had soon seen enough of the glutton mass; 
 and, at a hint from his companion, the former 
 took an opportunity of whispering to the priest, 
 
 '' We must go, I fear ; lest my uncle be 
 angry at our absence." 
 
 " Well, well," said the worthy clerk, " if it 
 must be so, we cannot help it ; but "'tis a sad 
 pity, Master Richard, that so good a man as 
 the Knight of Dunbury, should be such a dis- 
 courager of pious ordinances." 
 
 '' It is, indeed," answered Woodville, in a 
 solemn tone ; " but all men have their preju- 
 dices ; and you know, father, he loves the 
 Church." 
 
 " Ay, that he does, that he does," replied the 
 other heartily ; "'he sent me two fat bucks last 
 summer." 
 
 " Oh, yes, he loves the Church, he loves the
 
 AGINCOURT. 71 
 
 Church ! " rejoined Woodville, and gliding 
 quietly down the side aisle, so that he might not 
 disturb any of the congregation in their devout 
 exercise of the jaws, he left the building, accom- 
 panied by Hal of Hadnock. 
 
 Both laughed as soon as they were out of the 
 church ; but the guest of Sir Philip Beauchamp 
 soon fell into deep thought ; and after walking 
 forward for a little distance, he observed, " It is 
 strange, how men are inclined to make religion 
 subservient to all their appetites. What are 
 such things as these? what are many of our 
 solemn customs, but the self-same idolatrous 
 rites practised by the ancient pagans, who deifi- 
 ed their passions and their follies, and then took 
 the simplest means of worshiping them ? — What 
 can be the cause of such perversity ?" 
 
 " The devil ! the devil ! '' answered Richard 
 of Woodville ; " he who leads every one on from 
 one wickedness to another ; who first teaches 
 man to infringe God''s commandment, in order 
 to gratify some desire, and then, as that desire 
 grows fat and strong upon indulgence, first per- 
 suades us that its gratification is pleasing to
 
 72 AGINCOURT. 
 
 God, and in the end makes us worship it, as a 
 God." 
 
 " But yet these same good folks fast and 
 mortify themselves at certain times," said Hal 
 of Hadnock ; *' and then carouse and revel, as 
 if they had won a right to excess." 
 
 " To make up for lost time," said Wood- 
 ville ; " but the truth is, it is like a man 
 playing at cross and pile, who when he has 
 lost one stake tries to clear off the score 
 against him by doubling the next. We have 
 all sins enough to atone for ; and we play 
 the penance against the indulgence, and the 
 indulgence against the penance. Give me the 
 man who always mortifies himself in all that is 
 wrong, who fasts from anger, malice, back- 
 biting, lying and uncharitableness, who denies 
 himself, at all times, excess in anything, and 
 holds a festival every day, with gratitude to 
 God for that which he, in his bounty, is pleased 
 to give him. But after all, it is very natural 
 that these corruptions should take place, even in 
 a faith like ours. Depend upon it the purer a 
 religion is, the more strong will be the efforts of
 
 AGINCOURT. 73 
 
 Sathanus to pervert it ; so that men may walk 
 along his broad high-road, while they think they 
 are taking the way to everlasting salvation.***' 
 
 " There is truth in that, good Richard,**' re- 
 plied his companion ; " but I fear me, you have 
 caught some of the doctrines of the Lollards, of 
 whom you were speaking."*** 
 
 " Not a whit," answered Woodville ; " I am 
 a good cathoHc Christian ; but I may see the 
 evils which men have brought into the Church, 
 without thinking ill of the Church itself, just as 
 when looking at the Abbey down yonder, I see 
 that a foolish architect from France has changed 
 two of the fine old round arches, which were 
 built in King Stephen's time, to smart pointed 
 windows all bedizened with I don't know what, 
 without thinking the Abbey anything but a very 
 fine building notwithstanding.'** 
 
 Although Richard of Woodville would not 
 admit that any impression had been made upon 
 him by the preaching of the Lollards, certain it 
 is that the teaching of Wicliff and his disciples 
 had led men generally to look somewhat nar- 
 rowly into the superstitious practices of the day, 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 AGINCOURT. 
 
 and that the minds of many were imbued with 
 the spirit of their doctrines, who, either from 
 prejudice, timidity, or conviction, would not 
 adopt the doctrines themselves. Nor was the 
 effect transitory ; for it lasted till, and prepared 
 the way for, the reformation. 
 
 In a thoughtful mood both the young gentle- 
 men proceeded on their way through the wood ; 
 and, on their arrival at the hall, found Sir Philip 
 Beauchamp, and the rest of his family and 
 guests, already seated at the early dinner of 
 those days. The old knight received their ex- 
 cuses in good part, laughed at Hal of Had- 
 nock's curiosity to see a glutton mass, and 
 insisted he should sit down and finish his meal 
 with him. 
 
 " Had you been at Andover yesterday," he 
 said, " you might have seen another strange 
 sight : the Mayor set in the stocks, and a justice 
 on either side of him."" 
 
 " Indeed ? "" cried Hal of Hadnock seriously ; 
 " that were a strange sight to see. Pray on 
 whose authority was it done ? and what was 
 the crime these magistrates committed ? "
 
 AGINCOURT. 75 
 
 " Good truth, I know not,'' answered Sir 
 Philip. " A party of wild young men, they say, 
 did it ; and, as for the crime, it is not specified : 
 but, on my life, it was justice, though of a rash 
 kind; for Master Havering, the Mayor, has 
 worked well for such a punishment; though, 
 belike, the hands that put him in, were not the 
 best fitted for the office." 
 
 '* I should think not, certainly," rephed Hal 
 of Hadnock, in the same grave tone, and with 
 an immovable countenance, though Richard of 
 Woodville, who had contrived to seat himself 
 next to Mary Markham, on the other side of 
 the board, gave him a merry glance of the 
 eye, as if he suspected more than he chose to 
 say. 
 
 When the meal was over, which was not 
 speedily, Hal of Hadnock proposed to take his 
 departure ; but Sir Philip, with all courtesy, 
 besought him, at least, to stay till the after- 
 noon meal or supper (then usually served at 
 four o'clock), with the hospitable intent of 
 urging him afterwards to spend another night 
 under his roof; and, in the meantime, he pro- 
 
 £ 2
 
 76 AGINCOURT. 
 
 mised to show him his armoury, his horses, and 
 his Hbrary ; though to say the truth, the suits 
 of rich armour were more numerous than the 
 books, and the horses more in number than the 
 people who frequented the Hbrary. Hal of 
 Hadnock, for reasons of his own, accepted the 
 invitation, and Richard of Woodville, though 
 his approaching departure was already an- 
 nounced, agreed to stay in order to bear him 
 company when he went. 
 
 I will not lead the patient reader through all 
 the rooms of the hall, or detain him with a de- 
 scription of the armoury and its contents, or 
 carry him to the stable and show him all the 
 horses of the good old knight Sir Philip, from 
 the battle horse, which had borne him through 
 many a stricken field in former days, to the 
 ambling palfrey of his daughter Isabel. Hal of 
 Hadnock, indeed, submitted to all this with a 
 good grace ; for he was a kind-hearted and con- 
 siderate person; and little doubted that his friend 
 Richard of Woodville, was employing the pre- 
 cious moments to the best advantage with fair 
 Mary Markham. To all these sights, with the
 
 AGINCOURT. 77 
 
 discussion of sundry knotty points, regarding 
 shields, and pallets, and unibers, the properties 
 of horses, and the form and extent of the mani- 
 faire, were given well nigh two hours; and, 
 when Hal of Hadnock and his noble host re- 
 turned to the great hall, they found it tenanted 
 alone by Catherine Beauchamp and Sir Simeon 
 of Roy don. 
 
 Richard and Dacre, Isabel and Mary, the 
 lady said, were gone to walk together in the 
 park; but she had waited, she added, with a 
 coquettish air, thinking it but courtesy to give 
 her uncle's honoured guest a companion, if he 
 chose to join them. 
 
 So direct an invitation was, of course, not to 
 be refused by Hal of Hadnock ; and he thanked 
 her with high coloured gallantry for her conside- 
 ration. 
 
 " Do you go too. Sir Simeon .?'" inquired Sir 
 Philip Beauchamp ; but the courtly knight re- 
 plied that he had only waited to take his leave ; 
 as he had business to transact in the neighbour- 
 hood, and must be home ere night. Before 
 Catherine and her companion set out, however,
 
 78 AGINCOURT. 
 
 Sir Simeon drew her aside, as the relationship in 
 which she stood towards him seemed to justify, 
 and spoke to her for a moment eagerly. A few 
 of his words caught the quick ear of Hal of 
 Hadnock, as he stood talking to the old knight, 
 who took care to impress him with the know- 
 ledge, that his fair niece was fully betrothed to 
 Sir Harry Dacre ; and though those words were, 
 apparently, of small import, Hal of Hadnock 
 remembered them long after. 
 
 " I will tell you all, if you come/' replied Sir 
 Simeon, to some question the lady had asked ; 
 " but mind, I w^arn you. — Will you come ? " 
 
 " I do not know,*" answered Catherine, with 
 a toss of the head ; " it is your business to wait 
 and see." 
 
 " Wait I cannot,"" rejoined the knight ; " see 
 I will ;" and the lady, turning to her uncle and 
 his companion, accompanied the latter through 
 a long passage at the back of the hall, to the 
 door which led to the ground where the sports of 
 the morning had taken place. 
 
 The park of Dunbury was very like that des- 
 cribed by old Chaucer,
 
 AGINCOURT. 79 
 
 " A parke enclosed with a wall 
 
 In compace rounde, and by a gate small, 
 Who so that would he frelie mighten gone 
 Into this parke, ywalled with grene stone. 
 ***** 
 The soile was plain, and smoth, and wondir soft, 
 All oversprad wdth tapettes that Nature 
 Had made herself, covirid eke aloft 
 With bowis grene, the flouris for to cure. 
 That in ther beautie thei mai long endure." — 
 
 The walks around were numerous and some- 
 what intricate ; and whether fair Catherine 
 Beauchamp knew or not the direction that her 
 friends had taken, she certainly did not follow 
 the path most likely to lead to where they 
 really were ; but, as she and Hal of Hadnock 
 walked along, she employed the time to the 
 best advantage in carrying on the siege of his 
 heart. He, for his part, humoured her to the 
 full, having a firm conviction that it would be 
 far better, both for Sir Henry Dacre and herself, 
 that the imperfect marriage between them should 
 be annulled at their mutual desire, than remain 
 a chain upon them, only increasing in weight. 
 It must not, indeed, be supposed that he took 
 any very deep interest in the matter ; but, as it
 
 80 AGINCOURT. 
 
 fell in his way, he was willing enough to for- 
 ward what he believed to be a noble-minded 
 man's desire for emancipation from a very bitter 
 sort of thraldom ; and it is seldom an unpleasant 
 or laborious task for a light-hearted man to sport 
 with a capricious girl. Thus went he on, then, 
 with that mixture of romantic gallantry and 
 teasing jest, which is of all things the most excit- 
 ing to the mind of a coquette, with sufficient 
 admiration to soothe her vanity, but with not 
 sufficient devotion ever to allow her to imagine 
 that her triumph is complete. Neither did he 
 let her gain any advantage ; for, though it was 
 evident that she clearly perceived the name he 
 had assumed was not his own, he gave her no 
 information, playing with her curiosity without 
 gratifying it. 
 
 " But what makes you think,"" he asked, 
 " that I am other than I seem ? Why should 
 I not be plain Hal of Hadnock, a poor gentle- 
 man from the Welsh marshes ? " 
 
 '< No, no, no,'' she said, "it is not so. A 
 thousand things prove it : first, manners, appear- 
 ance, dress. Why, are you not as fine as my
 
 AGINCOURT. 81 
 
 good cousin a dozen times removed, Sir Simeon 
 of Roydon, the pink of court gallants ? "" 
 
 *' And yet I have heard that he is not as rich 
 as an Abbot,"" replied Hal of Hadnock. 
 
 " No, in truth,'' answered Catherine. " He 
 is as poor as a verger; and, like the Curlew, 
 carries all his fortune on his back, I believe.'^ 
 
 " I suspect not his own fortune only,'' rejoin- 
 ed her companion, "but a part of other 
 men's." 
 
 " But then your knightly spurs, good sir," 
 continued Kate, returning to the point; "you 
 must be Sir Hal of Hadnock at the least. Now 
 I never heard of that name amongst our chivalry; 
 and I am deep read in the rolls of knight- 
 hood." 
 
 " Oh, I am newly dubbed," replied the gentle- 
 man laughing ; " but you shall know all some 
 day, Lady fair." 
 
 " I shall know very soon," answered Cathe- 
 rine ; " for Simeon of Roydon will tell me." 
 
 " More, perhaps, than he knows himself," 
 said Hal of Hadnock. 
 
 " Oh, he knows well enough," exclaimed
 
 82 AGINCOURT. 
 
 Catherine Beauchamp. " He has already told 
 me, that you are a man of noble birth and high 
 estate, and promised to speak the name ; but 
 I would rather owe it to your courtesy than 
 his." 
 
 " Nay, what would I not do for the love of 
 your bright eyes ?" asked Hal of Hadnock, in a 
 tone half tender, half jesting ; "methinks the 
 light in them, even now, looks like the morning 
 sun reflected from a dewdrop in a violet. But 
 why should I tell you ought ? I have been 
 warned that you are another's. Out upon such 
 cold contracts that bind unwilling hearts to- 
 gether ! It is clear, there is no great love in 
 your heart for this Sir Harry Dacre." 
 
 " Not too much to lie comfortably in a hazel 
 nut," answered Catherine. 
 
 " Then why do you not ask to have the mar- 
 riage annulled.'^" demanded her companion. 
 " There never yet was bond, in which the keen 
 eyes of the Court of Rome could not find a flaw.""' 
 
 " Why, it would grieve his proud heart 
 sadly," replied the lady; "yet I have often 
 thought of it."
 
 AGINCOURT. 83 
 
 ** If he be proud — and so he is," rejoined Hal 
 of Hadnock, " he would never refuse to consent, 
 however much it might vex him. Well, well, 
 set yourself free from him, and then you shall 
 know who I am. As for this fellow Roydon he 
 knows nothing, and will but lead you wrong; 
 but were I you, I would be a free woman ere 
 a year were over ; and then, this fair hand were 
 a prize well worth the winning to higher hearts 
 than a Dacre or a Roydon." 
 
 With such conversation they wandered on for 
 some time, without overtaking the party they 
 had come out to seek. They saw them once at 
 some distance, indeed, through the overhanging 
 boughs of an opposite alley just fringed with 
 early leaves ; but they did not hurry their pace, 
 and only met them at length at the door of the 
 hall, as they were all returning. Sir Henry Dacre 
 was then walking by Isabel's side, with his arms 
 crossed upon his chest, and his brow sad and 
 stern. As soon as he saw Catherine and her 
 companion, he fixed his eyes inquiringly upon 
 her, and seemed to mark her heightened colour 
 and somewhat excited look ; then fell into
 
 84 AGINCOURT. 
 
 thought again ; and then laid his hand npon her 
 arm, saying, " I would speak with you for a 
 moment, Kate."" 
 
 " It must not be long," she replied coldly ; 
 "for I have dipped my feet in the dew, and 
 would fain dry them." 
 
 " It shall not be long," answered Sir Henry 
 Dacre ; and he remained with her behind, 
 while the rest entered slowly. Ere they had 
 passed the door, the anxious ear of Isabel heard 
 high tones without ; and, in a few minutes, as 
 they paused for a moment in the hall, where 
 the servants were already spreading the board 
 for supper. Sir Henry entered with a hasty 
 step. 
 
 " My horse to the gate," he said, addressing 
 one of the attendants. 
 
 "At what hour, Sir Knight .^" asked the ser- 
 vant. 
 
 " Directly ! " answered Dacre ; " the men 
 can follow. Farewell, dear Isabel," he con- 
 tmued, turning to Catherine's cousin ; " I can 
 stay no longer. — Farewell Mary !" He grasped 
 Richard of Woodville's hand, but said nothing ;
 
 AGINCOURT. 85 
 
 and with a low and formal bow to Hal of 
 Hadnock, turned towards the door leading to 
 the court. 
 
 Isabel Beauchamp followed him quietly, laid 
 her hand upon his arm, and spoke eagerly, but 
 in a low tone. 
 
 " I cannot, I cannot, Isabel,'" he replied 
 aloud ; " dear girl, do not urge me. I shall forget 
 myself; I shall go mad. Excuse me to your 
 noble father — farewell ! '' and opening the large 
 door, he issued forth and closed it behind him. 
 
 Isabel Beauchamp turned with her eyes full 
 of tears ; but passing the rest silently, as if 
 afraid to speak, she hurried to her own chamber, 
 wept for a few minutes, and then sought her 
 father. 
 
 The supper that day was a grave and silent 
 meal. There was a stern cloud on old Sir 
 Philip Beauchamp's brow when he came down 
 to the hall ; and as he took his seat he asked, 
 looking round, " Where is Catherine .?" 
 
 " I know not."" answered Mary Markham ; 
 " but she went to her own chamber when she 
 came in."
 
 86 AGINCOURT. 
 
 '* Shall I seek the lady, sir ?"'' asked one of 
 the retainers of the house, from the lower part 
 of the table. 
 
 " No ! let her be,'' replied the old knight ; 
 and then he murmured, " perhaps she has still 
 some shame ; and if so, it is well." 
 
 To Hal of Hadnock his demeanour was cour- 
 teous, though so grave, that his guest could 
 not but feel that some share in the disagreeable 
 event which had evidently taken place, was attri- 
 buted to him ; and though he knew that his in- 
 tention was good, yet, like many another man, he 
 had reason to feel sorry that he had meddled in 
 other men's affairs, at all. Supper was nearly 
 over, the light was beginning to wane in the 
 sky, and the stranger was thinking it was time 
 to depart, when the porter's boy came into the 
 hall, and, approaching Richard of Woodville, 
 whispered something in his ear. 
 
 The young gentleman instantly rose and went 
 out into the court, but returned a moment after, 
 and spoke a word to Hal of Hadnock, who 
 started up and followed him. In the court they 
 found a man booted and spurred, and dusty
 
 AGINCOURT. 87 
 
 from the road, holding by the bridle a horse, 
 Avith one leg bent and the head bowed down, as 
 if exhausted by long exercise. 
 
 The man instantly uncovered his head, when 
 he saw the gentlemen appear, and throT^ing 
 down the bridle advanced a step, while Hadnock 
 gave him a quick sign, which he seemed to com- 
 prehend. 
 
 " Your presence is required immediately, sir,"''' 
 he said, without adding any name ; " your 
 father is ill — very ill, and I have lost some hours 
 in seeking you. I heard of you, however, at 
 Andover, then at the Abbey, then at the priest's 
 house in the village, and ventured on here, as 
 'tis matter of life and death."" 
 
 " You did right," said Hal of Hadnock 
 briefly, but with deep anxiety on his face. 
 " 111, say you ? very ill ? and I away ! — Why 
 I left him better." 
 
 *' One of those fits again, sir," answered the 
 man ; "for an hour he was thought dead ; but 
 had regained his speech when I set out ; yet the 
 leeches much fear — " 
 
 " I come ! I come ! " answered Hal of Had-
 
 88 AGINCOURT. 
 
 nock. " Speed on before ; I will be in London 
 ere day-break. Change your horse often, and 
 lose no time. Buy a stout horse wherever you 
 can find one, and have him ready for me on 
 Murrel green. Away, good fellow ! Say that 
 I am coming ! — Richard, I must go at once.**' 
 
 " Well, I will with you, sir," replied Richard 
 of Woodville ; " you go to bid my good uncle 
 adieu. I will order out the horses.'" 
 
 " So be it," answered Hal of Hadnock ; " you 
 shall be my guide, for I must not miss my way," 
 and, after giving the messenger some money, he 
 turned and re-entered the hall.
 
 AGINCOURT. 89 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE ASSASSINATION. 
 
 Clouds had again come over the heavens as 
 day decUned, and the hght had nearly faded 
 from the sky; but yet the horses of Hal of 
 Hadnock and Richard of Woodville, had not 
 appeared in the court-yard, and the former 
 showed great anxiety to proceed at once. His 
 gaiety was gone ; and he stood, either playing, 
 in deep thought, with the hilt of his dagger, 
 the sheath of which hung from a ring in the 
 centre of his belt, or listening for the horses, 
 with his ear turned towards the door of the hall. 
 
 " I fear, sir, the news you have received are 
 bad," said old Sir Philip Beauchamp, who, with 
 the rest of the party, had by this time risen 
 from table.
 
 90 AGINCOURT. 
 
 " A father'^s perilous sickness, noble Sir 
 Philip," answered Hal of Hadnock ; "one who 
 might have been kinder, indeed ; but still the 
 tidings must ever be sad ones to a son's heart. 
 I wonder that the horses be not ready." 
 
 " Go, Hugh, and see," replied Richard of 
 Woodville ; but a serving man, who had 
 entered the moment before, stopped the mes- 
 senger, saying, 
 
 " They will be here in a minute, sir. A shoe 
 was found loose on the gentleman's steed, and 
 John the Smith has had to fasten it." 
 
 " Well, Dick, thou goest in good earnest at 
 last," said the old knight, turning to his nephew ; 
 " and on my life I think it is the best thing thou 
 canst do. Thou art a good soldier, and wilt 
 raise thyself to renown. I need not tell thee 
 what thy duties are ; but thou must take 
 a horse and arms of thine old uncle, whom thou 
 mayest never see again, perchance. Choose 
 them for thyself, boy. Thou wilt find where- 
 withal in that purse," and he placed a full one 
 in his nephew's hand. " As my good brother, 
 the Abbot, is not here, thou must content thy-
 
 AGINCOURT. 91 
 
 self with my benison. Be it upon thee, Richard ! 
 Love thy king, thy country, and thine honour. 
 But, above all thiugs, love God, fear his anger, 
 hope in his mercy, trust in his promises, and 
 submit thine own reason in all things to his 
 word. So shalt thou prosper in this world ; so 
 shalt thou be meet for another." 
 
 The young man caught his nucleus hand and 
 kissed it ; and the old knight pressed him for a 
 moment in his arms. 
 
 " Here, Richard, take this gift of me," said 
 Isabel : " 'tis but a jewel for your baldriek.'" 
 
 Mary Markham did not speak ; but after 
 he had pressed his lips on Isabel's cheek, 
 she offered hers silently, placing a ring in his 
 hand. 
 
 " I will bear it to honour, and win you yet, 
 Mary," said Wood^dlle, in a low voice, as he 
 took his parting kiss ; and he felt that her cheek 
 was wet with tears. 
 
 " Hark ! there are the horses, noble sir," ex- 
 claimed Hal of Hadnock, turning to Sir Philip. 
 " Once more, farewell ! Your nephew shall 
 give you further news of me ; and may one daj^
 
 92 AGINCOURT. 
 
 clear me in your eyes for somewhat you have 
 thought amiss." 
 
 Then bidding the ladies adieu, he turned 
 to the hall door, and mounted, with a princely 
 largesse to the servants of the house. Richard 
 of Woodville followed, sprang on his horse'*s 
 back, and, giving one look back, rode through 
 the gates after his companion. 
 
 The wood was dark and sombre, as they pro- 
 ceeded amidst its thick coverts ; but when they 
 issued forth a faint glimmer of twilight served 
 to guide them on the way, and they quickened 
 their pace. There were lights in the windows 
 of the cottages, too, as they passed through the 
 village ; and when they reached the other side, 
 they caught a pale line of yellow light, peeping 
 out from beneath the dark clouds upon the edge 
 of the western sky, and gilding the water of the 
 stream. Riding on quickly, they had not left 
 the last house behind them five minutes, when 
 Hal of Hadnock pulled up his horse short, ex- 
 claiming, " Hark ! there is a scream ! " 
 
 '* 'Tis but a screech-owl," answered Richard 
 of Woodville : " they come forth in spring."
 
 AGINCOURT. 93 
 
 But as he spoke there was another shriek, 
 apparently before them ; and each struck his 
 horse with the spur, and dashed on. No other 
 sound met their ear, however, except what 
 seemed the distant galloping of a horse, which 
 might be but the echo of their own beasts' feet. 
 When they reached the spot where, on the pre- 
 ceding night they had seen the wild fire over 
 the moor, Hal of Hadnock again drew in his 
 rein, saying, " It came from somewhere here." 
 
 " It seemed to me near where we then were," 
 replied Richard of Woodville. " Perchance 
 'twas but some villagers got drunk at that 
 glutton mass. — See, there is the Otter again ! " 
 
 " It was a shriek of pain or terror," answered 
 his companion. *' Otter ! That is no Otter ! 
 Here, hold my horse," and springing from the 
 saddle in a moment, he dashed down the bank 
 and plunged into the river. Though shallow in 
 most places, it there formed a deep pool ; but 
 Hal of Hadnock, expert in all exercises alike, 
 struck out at once and caught the object he had 
 seen, just as it was sinking. A feeling of horror 
 and alarm seized him, as his hand grasped the
 
 94 AGINCOURT. 
 
 long hair of a woman ; but raising her head 
 above the water again, he held it gently on his 
 left arm, and with his right swam in towards 
 the shore. 
 
 " Here, help, Richard," he cried, " set the 
 horses free, and take her. 'Tis a woman ! " 
 
 Woodville was down the bank in a moment, 
 exclaiming, " Who is it ? Who is it V 
 
 " I know not," answered Hal of Hadnock, 
 raising her so far above the water, that his com- 
 panion could grasp her in his arms and lift her 
 out ; but as he himself followed, placing one 
 knee on the shore, with a sad heart, he heard 
 his companion exclaim in the accents of deep 
 grief, 
 
 " Good heaven ! it is Catherine ! " 
 
 " Quick, bear her to the nearest house," cried 
 Hal of Hadnock ; " the spark of life may be 
 still there. — I will follow with the horses." 
 
 "Up the short path to the right, lies the 
 chanter's," cried Richard, raising the unhappy 
 girl in his stout arms and running along the 
 road. 
 
 The horses were easily caught, and mounting
 
 AGINGOURT. 95 
 
 one, aud leading the other, Hal of Hadnock fol- 
 lowed, obtaining a glance of his companion just 
 as he turned from the highway, towards a spot 
 where the thatch of a small house peeped up 
 above some trees. He was at the door as soon 
 as Woodville ; and, lifting the latch, they both 
 went in. 
 
 An old man and woman were sitting before 
 the fire ; but the sudden entrance of two men 
 roused them in fear ; and, when they saw who it 
 was, and what they bore, all was eager hurry 
 and lamentation. The inanimate body of Cathe- 
 rine Beauchamp, however, was speedily laid in 
 the old chanter's bed, in the neighbouring cham- 
 ber ; and such simple means as first suggested 
 themselves, were employed to ascertain if life 
 were still within that fair and silent frame. But 
 she lay calm and still as if asleep, with her 
 features full of a sweet placidity, such as they 
 had seldom worn in life. 
 
 " It is past,"" said Richard of Woodville ; " it 
 is past. — Poor girl ! how has this happened ? 
 Ha ! there is the mark of a grasp upon her 
 throat."
 
 90 AGINCOURT. 
 
 *' See there, too,"" cried Hal of Hadnock ; 
 and he pointed with his hand to where, upon the 
 fine lawn that covered her bosom, was a faint 
 red stain, half washed out by the water of the 
 stream, as if blood had been spilt. No wound, 
 however, was to be discovered ; and while 
 the two gentlemen stood and gazed, the old 
 chanter''s sister continued, ineffectually, to em- 
 ploy every effort to reawaken the inanimate 
 frame, and the old man himself ran off to the 
 Abbey to procure farther aid. 
 
 '"Go into the other room, sirs, go into the 
 other room," said the good dame at length ; ''I 
 will take off her wet clothes. 'Tis that keeps 
 her from coming to." 
 
 Hal of Hadnock shook his head ; for he could 
 not see that pale countenance, those immovable 
 lips, those sightless eyes, without feeling sure — 
 too sure — that life had departed for ever. He 
 would not say anything, however, to discourage 
 the zeal of the poor woman ; and he according- 
 ly accompanied Richard of Woodville into the 
 chamber which they had first entered, and stood 
 with him in silent thought before the fire.
 
 AGINCOURT. 97 
 
 Neither spoke ; for the mind of each was busy 
 with sad and dark inquiries, regarding the 
 event which had just taken place ; yet neither 
 could arrive at anything like a conclusion. Was 
 it her owti act ? was it accident ? was it the 
 deed of another ? and, if so, of whom ? Such 
 were the questions which both asked themselves. 
 Both, too, entertained suspicions ; but yet they 
 did not hke even to admit those suspicions to 
 their own hearts, for how often does the first con- 
 clusion of guilt do injustice to the innocent ; but 
 while they were still in thought, the voice of 
 the chanter's sister was heard exclaiming, 
 
 " Come hither, Master Richard ! come hither ! 
 See here,"' and as they entered, she pointed to 
 the poor girPs arm, which now lay uncovered on 
 the bed-clothes, adding, " there is the grasp of 
 a hand, clear enough ! Look, all the fingers 
 and the thumb ! " 
 
 •' Stay,"' said Hal of Hadnock ; " that might 
 be mine, Richard, or yours in raising her out 
 of the stream." 
 
 " I took her by the other arm," answered 
 Richard of Woodville. 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 AGINCOURT. 
 
 " And I do not remember having touched her 
 arm at all," said Hal of Hadnock, after think- 
 ing for a moment. 
 
 " Oh, no, sirs,"" cried the old woman ; " that 
 hand must have grasped her in life ; else it 
 would not have brought the blood to the skin. 
 Hark ! there are the people coming,*" and, in 
 another minute, the good old Abbot, and four 
 or five of his monks, ran in breathless and 
 scared. 
 
 " Alas ! alas ! Richard, what is this ? "'' cried 
 the Abbot. 
 
 " A sad and dark affair, father," replied Rich- 
 ard of Woodville, while one of the monks, 
 famed for his skill in leechcraft, advanced to the 
 bed-side and put his hand upon the heart ; " I 
 fear life is extinct." 
 
 The Abbot gazed at the monk as he knelt ; 
 but the good brother slowly waved his head, 
 with a melancholy look, saying, " Yet leave me 
 and the old woman alone with her." 
 
 " I will stay and aid," replied the Abbot, 
 " I am her uncle." 
 
 All the rest withdrew ; and many were the
 
 AGINCOURT. 99 
 
 eager questions of the monks, as to how the 
 accident had happened. Richard of Woodville 
 told the tale simply as it was, the two shrieks 
 that they had heard, the discovery of the body 
 in the water, and its recovery from the stream. 
 
 " Ay, she screamed when she fell in, and 
 when she first rose," said one of the monks ; 
 " drowning people always do." 
 
 Woodville made no reply ; for he would not 
 give his own suspicions to others : but Hal of 
 Hadnock asked him in a low voice, '' Did you 
 not hear the galloping of a horse, on the other 
 side, as we came near ? " 
 
 " I did," answered Richard, in the same tone; 
 •' I did, too plainly." 
 
 In about a quarter of an hour, the Abbot 
 came forth, and all made way for him. 
 
 " What hope ? " asked Woodville looking 
 into his uncle's face for speedier information. 
 
 *' None ! " replied the Abbot ; " how has this 
 chanced, my son ? There are marks of vio- 
 lence." 
 
 The same tale was told over again ; but this 
 
 time Richard of Woodville added the fact of a 
 
 f2
 
 100 AGINCOURT. 
 
 horse'^s feet having been heard, and the Abbot 
 mused profoundly. 
 
 " I will have the body carried down to the 
 Abbey," he said at length. " You, Richard, 
 speed to my brother, and break the tidings 
 there. Come down with him to the Abbey, and 
 we will consult. Bring Dacre too.'' 
 
 " Dacre has been gone more than two hours," 
 answered Richard of Woodville ; " but I will 
 seek my uncle Philip,"*"' and he turned towards 
 the door. 
 
 Hal of Hadnock stayed him for a moment, 
 however, saying, " I must ride on, Richard. 
 You know that my call hence admits of no delay. 
 But let every one remark and remember, for this 
 matter must be enquired into, that I heard and 
 saw all that this good friend of mine did ; the 
 shrieks, the galloping of a horse, the body in the 
 water. You shall have means of finding me, too, 
 should it be needful ; and now, my Lord Abbot, 
 a sad good night. Farewell, Richard: you shall 
 hear from me soon."'' Thus saying, he quitted 
 the cottage, mounted his horse, and rode away 
 at a quick pace.
 
 AGINCOURT. 101 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE SUSPICIONS. 
 
 Upon the borders of Hampshire and Sussex, 
 but still within the former county, hes, as the 
 reader probably knows, a large tract of land but 
 Httle cultivated even now, and which, in the 
 days whereof I speak, was covered either with 
 scattered trees and copses or wild heath, having 
 various paths and roads winding through it, 
 which led now to a solitary village, with a 
 patch of cultivated land round about it, now 
 to a church or chapel in the wild, now travelled 
 on through the hills, which are high and bare, 
 to Winchester or Basingstoke. Deep sand oc- 
 cupies a great portion of the ground, through 
 which it is well nigh impossible to construct a 
 firm road ; and the whole countrv is broken
 
 102 AGINCOURT. 
 
 with wild and rapid undulations, of no great 
 height or depth but every variety of form, the 
 resort of all those rare birds, which aiforded so 
 much interest and amusement to gentle White 
 of Selbourne. 
 
 Through this rude and uncultivated tract, 
 a little before the close of day, in the begin- 
 ning of April 1413, two gentlemen clothed 
 in deep mourning of the fashion of that day, 
 rode slowly on. Both were very grave and 
 silent ; and, if the complexion of their thoughts 
 was sad and solemn, the aspect of the scene at 
 that hour, was not calculated to lighten the 
 heart, though it might arouse feelings of admi- 
 ration. The sun hung upon the edge of the 
 sky ; broad masses of cloud floated over the 
 wide expanse of azure which stretched out 
 above the wild heath ; and their shadows, as 
 they crossed the slanting rays, swept over the 
 varied surface below, casting long lines of 
 country into deep blue shade, while the rest 
 shone in the cool pale evening sunshine of the 
 yet unconfirmed spring. Each dell and pit, too, 
 at that hour, was filled with the same sort of
 
 AGINCOURT. 103 
 
 purple shadow : the brakes and banks looked 
 wilder and more strongly marked from the posi- 
 tion of the sun ; the occasional clumps of fir 
 trees cut sharp and black upon the western 
 sky ; and everything was stern and grand and 
 solemn. 
 
 Rising over one slope and descending another, 
 by paths cut imperfectly through the heath and 
 gorse, the travellers had ridden on for half 
 an hour vrithout speaking, when at length, 
 at the bottom of a deep valley, where the 
 sun could no longer be seen, and the shades 
 of evening seemed already to have fallen, they 
 stopped to let their horses drink in a large piece 
 of water, sheltered by a thick copse, and gazed 
 upon the reflection of the blue sky above and 
 the clouds floating over it. As they moved on 
 again, a large white bird started up from the 
 reeds, and flew heavily away, with its snowy 
 plumage strangely contrasting with the dark 
 back-ground of the wood and hill. 
 
 "'Tis like a spirit winging its way from 
 earth,^** said Sir Henry Dacre, following the 
 bird with his eyes. " Poor Catherine ! Would
 
 104 AGINCOURT. 
 
 that aught else had set thee free from the chain 
 that bound thee to me, but death." 
 
 " Luckless gh'l, indeed ! " replied Richard of 
 Woodville ; " from her infancy unfortunate ! 
 And yet men thought that the hand of heaven 
 had showered upon her its choicest gifts : beauty, 
 wealth, kind friends, and a noble heart to love 
 her, if she would but have welcomed it. But, 
 alas ! Harry, the crowning gift of all was want- 
 ing : a spirit that could use God's blessings 
 aright." 
 
 *'• It was more the fault of others than her 
 own," said Sir Harry Dacre, " that I do believe. 
 Her mother made her what she was ! 'Tis sad ! 
 'tis very sad, Richard, that at the period when 
 we have no power to form ourselves, each weak 
 fool who approaches us can give us some bad 
 gift which we never can cast off." 
 
 " Like the evil fairies at a child's birth," an- 
 swered Richard of Woodville ; " and certainly 
 her mother was a bad demon to her ; but still, 
 though I would not speak ill of those who are 
 gone, yet poor Kate received the gifts willingly 
 enough, destructive as they were. Would to
 
 AGINCOURT. 105 
 
 Heaven it had been otherwise ; but others en- 
 couraged her in all that was wrong, as well as 
 her mother. This mau, Roydon, was no good 
 counseller for a lady's ear." 
 
 The brow of Sir Henry Dacre grew dark as 
 night. " He is a scoundrel," he cried, "he is a 
 scoundrel ; and if ever he gives me the chance 
 of having him at my lance's point, he or I shall 
 go to that place where all men's actions are 
 made clear. — Oh ! that I knew the truth, Rich- 
 ard ! Oh ! that I knew the truth ! " 
 
 " There is one who knows it," answered 
 Richard of Woodville, " who never suffers foul 
 deeds to rest in darkness. Trust to him ; and if 
 this knave does but support his charge, perhaps 
 your lance may be the avenging instrument of 
 Heaven." 
 
 " May it be so," replied the Knight ; " but I 
 doubt it, Richard. True, he has not shown 
 himself a coward in the field ; and yet I cannot 
 but think that he is craven at heart. Saw you 
 not how carefully his letter to Sir Philip was 
 worded ? how he insinuated more than he dared 
 say } and, then, why did he not come ? — A sick-
 
 106 AGINCOURT. 
 
 ness, forsooth ! The excuse of an idle school- 
 boy. He would not face me, — that is the truth. 
 He fears me, Richard, and will not dare the test 
 of battle." 
 
 " Well, that we shall soon see,"*' answered his 
 companion ; " your messenger must be at my 
 house, by this time, with his reply." 
 
 " I trust so," said Dacre, thoughtfully ; *' yet 
 he will take time to write carefully, believe me. 
 His will be no rash epistle, written in fiery 
 anger at his cousin's death. No, no ; it will be 
 done as if a scrivener had dictated every word, 
 and in a courtly hand. But whatever he does, 
 mark me, he will leave the poison behind, and 
 so calculate as to cast suspicion over me for 
 life." 
 
 " But who suspects you, Dacre ? " asked 
 Richard of Woodville, with a smile ; " not one 
 honest man on earth. You are too well known 
 for doubts to light upon you. Does not Sir 
 Philip, her own uncle, love you as a son .? and 
 can you let the idle words of a knave, like this, 
 disturb your peace .? " 
 
 "My peace, Richard .'*" said Sir Henry Dacre
 
 AGINCOURT. 107 
 
 sadly ; '* can a high and honest heart ever feel 
 peace, so long as one doubt, one unrefuted 
 charge, casts a cloud upon it ? I would rather 
 die a thousand deaths than have men point at 
 nie, and say, ' he was suspected of a foul crime 
 against an innocent lady ; ' and besides even 
 those that I love best, those who hold me 
 dearest, may often ask themselves, ' could it be 
 true ? ' " 
 
 " Not a whit ! "" replied Woodville ; *' no one 
 will ever ask such a thing. Like a wounded 
 man, you think that every one will touch the 
 spot, and feel the pain in fancy. Cast off such 
 imaginations, Dacre ; secure in your own honour, 
 laugh suspicion to scorn, and trust to the noble 
 and the true to do justice to those who are like 
 themselves."* 
 
 " Would I could do so, Richard," said the 
 Knight ; " and it would be easy too, did we not 
 know that the wide world is so full of arrant 
 knaves, and that amongst the knaves there are 
 such hypocrites, that honesty has no touchstone 
 whereby true metal can be really known from 
 false ; and men rightly doubt the value of each
 
 108 AGINCOURT. 
 
 coin they take, so cunning are the counterfeits. 
 Hypocrisy is a greater curse to mankind than 
 wickedness; for it makes all virtue doubted, 
 and fills the bosoms of the good with suspicion, 
 from a knowledge of the feigning of the bad. 
 Besides, amongst those who hold a middle 
 course, neither plunging deep in the stream of 
 vice and wrong, nor staying firmly on the shore 
 of honour, how gladly every one attributes acts 
 to others that may out-do the darkness of his 
 own ! No, no ; suspicion never yet lighted on a 
 name that ever was wholly pure again. All T 
 ask is, to give me that man before me, let me 
 cram the falsehood down his throat, at the 
 sword's point, and wring the truth from his dying 
 lips, or let me die myself." 
 
 " Well, we shall see what he replies," answer- 
 ed Richard of Woodville, finding it useless to 
 argue farther with him ; " and if, as you sus- 
 pect, he evades the question, what think you 
 then to do?" 
 
 '' To go with you to Burgundy," answered 
 Dacre i " for I shall be, then, one fitted well to 
 take a part in civil broils — a right serviceable
 
 AGINCOURT. 109 
 
 man, where danger is rifest, ever ready to lead 
 the way in peril, having nor wife, nor relative, 
 nor friend, nor hope, nor home, to make him 
 feel the stroke that takes his life, more than the 
 scratch of a sharp thorn that tears him as he 
 passes through the wood." 
 
 " But you will surely first return," said 
 Woodville ; '' to say farewell to my good uncle, 
 and sweet Isabel ? " 
 
 " I do not know,"* replied Dacre. " Dear 
 Isabel, she tried to cheer me ; and I know 
 would not for worlds suffer doubts of me to 
 rest for an hour in her heart ; and yet they will 
 come and go, Richard, whether she will or not. 
 Each time I take her hand she '11 think of Ca- 
 therine ; and though she '11 answer boldly ' it is 
 false,' as often as suspicions rise, yet they will 
 be remembered, and rest for ever as a shadow 
 over our friendship." 
 
 " You do her wrong, Harry," answered his 
 companion. " Your mind is sickly ; and, as a 
 man in a sore disease, you see all things through 
 one pale mist. Isabel may often think of her 
 who is no more, may grieve for her, and regret
 
 1 10 AGINCOURT. 
 
 that she did not make life happier to herself and 
 others, and that she met so early and so sad a 
 death ; but she will ever call her back to mind 
 as one who wronged you, not as one wronged by 
 you : and you may be happy yet." 
 
 He spoke gravely, and Sir Henry Dacre 
 turned and gazed at him, as if for explanation 
 of his words ; but Richard said no more ; and 
 riding on in silence they soon after came to a 
 point where the road began to rise, winding in 
 slowly between two wooded hills, with a small 
 streamlet flowing on by its side. The sun was 
 sinking below the horizon, as they passed 
 through a village, with the bright blacksmith's 
 forge jutting out beyond the other buildings ; 
 and when at length they drew the rein before 
 the gate of a tall house bosomed in trees, it 
 was well nigh dark. 
 
 Several servants came instantly into the 
 court; and, giving their horses to be taken to the 
 stable, the two gentlemen entered the outer hall, 
 and thence proceeded onwards to a room beyond, 
 where they were immediately joined by a stout 
 man, habited as a courier, who placed a letter in
 
 AGINCOURT. Ill 
 
 the hand of Sir Harry Dacre without speak- 
 ing. 
 
 " So thou art back, Martiu," said the Knight, 
 while Richard of Woodville called for lights. 
 
 " Yes, noble sir," answered the servant ; 
 " but I have had to ride hard, for he kept me a 
 long time ; but that I don't wonder at." 
 
 " Indeed I "" exclaimed Sir Henry, " why 
 should he keep you long ? " 
 
 " Because he wrote a long letter, sir,'' replied 
 the man ; " he might have waited till dooms- 
 day, if he had been in my place, and I in 
 his." 
 
 " Did he look ill ? " enquired the Knight. 
 
 " Not he, sir," answered the servant, " he was 
 out goss hawking after larks when I arrived." 
 
 " The liar ! " muttered Sir Henrv Dacre ; but 
 at the same moment lights were brought in, and 
 making the messenger a sign to retire, the Knight 
 opened the letter and read. Richard of Wood- 
 ville stood by and watched him, while his fine fea- 
 tures, as he gazed intently upon the paper, as- 
 sumed first a look of scorn and then of anger ; 
 and at length he exclaimed, " As I thought,
 
 11^ AGINCOURT. 
 
 Richard,— as I thought. On my Hfe, I must be 
 an astrologer and not know it, to have read 
 this man''s conduct to the letter, beforehand. 
 Mark what he says : ' Sir Simeon of Roydon 
 brings no charge against Sir Henry Dacre, and 
 never has brought any ; but holds him as good 
 knight and true. He has, therefore, no cause 
 of quarrel with the said knight ; but, far from it, 
 wishes him all prosperity, the which Sir Henry 
 would have clearly seen, if he had read care- 
 fully the letter which Sir Simeon wrote to the 
 good knight of Dunbury, and had not looked at 
 it rashly. Therein Sir Simeon thought to do Sir 
 Henry Dacre an act of love and courtesy, by 
 pointing out — he himself nought doubting — what 
 might breed doubts in the hearts of other men, 
 regarding the manner of the death of the Lady 
 Catherine Beauchamp, in order that the good 
 knight might make such enquiries as would 
 remove all suspicion. For this cause he marked 
 what he had only learned by hear-say, that Sir 
 Henry Dacre had, as unhappily often happened, 
 a fierce quarrel with the Lady Catherine, about 
 a gentleman, it would seem, calling himself Hal
 
 AGINCOURT. 113 
 
 of Hadnock ' — Curses upon him ! *" cried Dacre, 
 breaking off." 
 
 " Nay, nay, you do him wrong,'' answered 
 Richard of Woodville ; "he sought but to 
 serve you, as I will tell you anon, Harry. But 
 read on. What says he more ? " 
 
 '• ' That Sir Harry quitted the hall in bitter 
 anger,' " continued Dacre, reading ; " ' and 
 swearing he should go mad with the lady's 
 conduct — ' Did I say so ? " 
 
 Woodville nodded his head, and his friend pro- 
 ceeded, " ' That the said Sir Henry, though his 
 house is distant but seven miles, did not reach 
 his own door till the hour of nine, and that 
 the lady came by her death between seven and 
 eight, or thereabout ; that Sir Henry's hand was 
 torn when he reached his house ; and that there 
 was a stain of blood upon the lady's throat ; that 
 there were marks of horses' feet on the opposite 
 side of the river, and across the moor towards Sir 
 Henry's dwelling, and that he himself was seen 
 of many persons wandering about near Abbot's 
 Ann and Dunbury, till dark that night ; all of 
 which points Sir Simeon Roydon doubted not,
 
 114 AGINCOURT. 
 
 in any way, could be easily explained by Sir 
 Henry Dacre, if true ; but which, perchance, 
 were untrue ; he, Sir Simeon, having heard them 
 merely from vague report and common fame ! ' 
 " Some true, some false," cried Dacre, " I did 
 tear my hand opening the gate by Clatford mill. 
 I did wander about with a heart on fire, and a 
 brain all whirling, at being made wretched by 
 another's fault ; but I was far from the village, 
 far from Abbey and Hall, before the sun went 
 down ; for I saw him set from Weyhill. — Ah ! 
 poisonous snake ! He stings and glides away 
 from the heel that would crush him. Hear 
 how he ends : ' For his own part. Sir Simeon of 
 Roydon is right well convinced, that Sir Henry 
 Dacre is pure and free of all share in the lady's 
 death ; otherwise that knioht miofht be full sure 
 he would be the first to call him to the lists, in 
 vengeance of his cousin''s death.' The scoundrel 
 coward ! But how is this, Richard ? He must 
 have spies in our houses, at our hearths. How 
 else did he gain such tidings ? Who told him of 
 the quarrel between that hapless girl and me ? 
 He was gone long before, I think ?"*'
 
 AGINCOURT. 115 
 
 " Ay, but his servants staid," replied Wood- 
 ville ; " and there was one in the hall when you 
 returned ; that black-looking silent man. Yet 
 he must have some other means of information, 
 too ; else how did he know your hand was torn ?" 
 
 " I cannot say," answered Dacre thought- 
 fully. " By heaven ! he will plant suspicion in 
 my heart, too, and make me doubt the long- 
 tried faithful fellows I have with me ; " and he 
 cast himself gloomily on a seat, and pondered in 
 silence. 
 
 The moment after there was a sound of 
 horses' feet, passing along before the house ; and 
 Richard of Woodville turned and listened, say- 
 ing, " Here is some new messenger. Were it 
 any of my own people, they would come to the 
 other gate." 
 
 After some talking in the hall without, an 
 attendant opened the door and informed his 
 young master, that there was a person without 
 who desired to see him. " He comes from West- 
 minster," added the man, " and will give neither 
 message nor letters to any but yourself, sir." 
 
 " Let him come in ! " answered Richard of
 
 116 AGINCOURT. 
 
 Woodville ; and a personage was called forward, 
 habited somewhat differently from any of those 
 whom we have already had occasion to describe. 
 He was dressed in what is called a tabard ; but 
 it must not be supposed from that circumstance, 
 that he bore the office of either herald or pursui- 
 vant, for many other classes retained that part 
 of the ancient dress, and it was officially worn 
 by the squires and many of the inferior atten- 
 dants of kings and sovereign princes, sometimes 
 over armour, sometimes without. In particular 
 cases the tabard was embroidered either with 
 the arms of the lord whom the bearer served, or 
 with his own, as a sort of coat of arms ; but was 
 frequently, especially with persons of somewhat 
 low degree, perfectly unornamented. and formed 
 of a fine cloth of a uniform colour. Such was the 
 case with the man who now appeared, this 
 loose short gown, with wide sleeves, being of a 
 bright pink hue. The linen collar of his shirt 
 fell over it ; and the part of his dress left ex- 
 posed below the knee, showed nothing but the 
 riding boots of untanned leather, drawn up to 
 their full extent. In person he was a short
 
 AGINCOURT. 117 
 
 thin young man, with a shrewd and merry 
 countenance. His hair was cut short round the 
 whole head, but left thick notwithstanding, so 
 as to resemble a fur cap, and his long arms 
 reached his knees. Without uttering a word 
 he advanced towards Richard of Woodville, 
 who had taken a step forward to receive him, 
 and drawing a packet from the bosom of his 
 tabard, he placed it in the gentleman's hand. 
 
 " From Hal of Hadnock, I suspect," said 
 Woodville, looking at him closely. 
 
 " Nay, I know not," replied the messenger ; 
 " from Hal certainly, yet no more Hal of 
 Hadnock, than of Monmouth, or Westminster, 
 or any other town of England or Wales. Read, 
 and you will see." 
 
 Richard of Woodville tore open the outer 
 cover, and took forth several broad letters, tied 
 and sealed. The first he opened, and drawing 
 near the light, perused its contents attentively. 
 
 " Hal of Hadnock," so it ran, " to Richard 
 of Woodville, greeting. Good service requires 
 good service, and honour, honour. Thus you 
 shall find, my comrade of the way, that I
 
 118 AGINCOURT. 
 
 have not forgotten you, though matters of 
 much moment and some grief, have delayed 
 a promise, not put it out of mind. You, too, 
 have doubtless had much cause for thought 
 and sorrow ; and may, perchance, have yet af- 
 fairs to keep you in the realms of England, 
 which being the case, I do not require that 
 you should lay aside things of weight, to bear 
 the enclosed to the noble Duke of Burgundy 
 or his son, and to the faithful servant of this 
 crown, Sir Philip Morgan, now at the court 
 of Burgundy ; but the letter addressed to Sir 
 John Grey, at Ghent, is of some importance 
 to himself, and should find his hands as speedily 
 as may be. If, therefore, by any chance, you be 
 minded to stay in England more than fourteen 
 days from the receipt of these, return that 
 packet by the bearer, one Edward Dyram. 
 But, if you be ready to cross the seas ere then, 
 keep the messenger with you in your company, 
 as I believe him to be faithful, and true, and 
 skilled in many things ; and he knoweth my 
 mind towards you, which is good. Neither 
 be offended at speech or jest of his, for he
 
 AGINCOURT. 1 19 
 
 hath a licence not easily bridled ; but so long 
 as he iiseth his tongue for his own conceit, so 
 long will he use his knowledge for a friend or 
 master. I give him to you ; treat him well 
 till you return him to me again ; and if there 
 be aught else that can serve you or do you 
 grace, seek me at Westminster, where you will 
 find a friend in Henry." 
 
 Richard of Woodville pondered, but testified 
 no surprise ; and, after a moment's thought, 
 put the letter in the hand of Sir Henry Dacre, 
 who read it through, with more apparent won- 
 der than his friend had expressed. *' And who 
 is this ?" he asked, when he had done. " He 
 signs himself, Henry. Can it be the Prince ?^' 
 
 " The Prince that was, the King that is," 
 replied Woodville, giving him a sign to say 
 no more before the messenger ; " and so my 
 friend, you are to be my companion over sea ?" 
 he added, turning to the latter. 
 
 " That is as you will, not as I wiU," replied 
 the man ; " if you are fool enough to quit Eng- 
 land in a fortnight, when you can stay a
 
 120 AGINCOURT. 
 
 month, I am to go with yon ; if you are wise 
 enough to stay, I am wise enough to go alone." 
 
 *' Ten days I hope at farthest shall see my 
 foot on other shores," answered Woodville ; 
 '' and pray, Master Edward Dyram, what may 
 be your capacity, quality, or degree ? for 'tis 
 fit that I should know, who it is goes with me."" 
 
 " Ned Dyram, fair sir, by your leave," re- 
 plied the messenger ; " 'tis so long since I lost 
 the last half of my first name, that I know it 
 not when I meet it ; and I should as much 
 expect my mother's ass to answer me, if I called 
 him Edward as I should answer to it myself. 
 Then, as to my capacity, it is large enough to hold 
 any man's secrets without spilling them by the 
 way, or to contain the knowledge of a Knight, 
 a Baron, and Squire, besides a clerk's and my 
 own, without running over. My chief quality 
 is to tell truth when I like it, and other men 
 do not ; and my degree has never been taken 
 yet, though I lived long enough with a doctor 
 of Oxford, to have caught that sickness had 
 it been infectious." 
 
 " I fear me, Ned Dyram," said Richard of
 
 AGINCOURT. 121 
 
 Woodville smiling, " I shall lose much time 
 with you, in getting crooked answers to plain 
 questions; but if you have puzzled your own 
 brains with logic, puzzle not mine." 
 
 " Well, well, sir,'*'' answered the other, " I will 
 be brief, for I am hungry and you are tired. 
 I am the son of a Franklin who broke his 
 heart to make me a clerk. I had, however, no 
 gift for singing, and turned my "v\dts to other 
 things. I can do what men can generally do, 
 and sometimes better than they can. I have 
 broken a man's head one day, and healed it 
 the next, for I have handled a quarter-staff 
 and served a leech. I can cast nativities, and 
 draw a horoscope ; I can make a horse-shoe 
 and sharpen a sword ; I can write court hand 
 and speak more tongues than my own ; I can 
 cook my own dinner when need be, and bake 
 or brew if the sutler or the tapster should 
 fail me." 
 
 " A goodly list of quahties, indeed,'' said 
 Richard of Woodville, " and though my house- 
 hold is not the most princely, we will find you 
 an office, Ned Dyram, which you must exer- 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 AGINCOURT. 
 
 cise with discretion ; and now as you are hun- 
 gry, get you gone to my people who will stop 
 that evil. We have supped." 
 
 The messenger withdrew; and Sir Henry 
 Dacre returned the letter which he still held 
 in his hand to Woodville, saying, " So this was 
 the Prince ? the more cruel in him to sport 
 with the peace of his father's subjects." 
 
 " Not so, Dacre," replied his friend. " I 
 told you I could explain his conduct ; and 
 it is but justice to him to do so ; for he in- 
 tended to be kind, not cruel." 
 
 Dacre shook his head gloomily. 
 
 "Well, you shall hear," continued Woodville. 
 " When I first brought him to my uncle's gate, 
 I knew not who he was ; but he had scarcely 
 entered the hall, when I remembered him. I 
 kept my own council, however, and said no- 
 thing ; but when he sought his room, I went 
 with him as you saw, and there for a whole 
 hour we spoke of those we had left below. I 
 told him nothing, Harry, for his quick eye had 
 gleaned the truth wherever it turned ; and I had 
 only to set him right on some things regarding
 
 AGINCOURT. 1^3 
 
 the past. He knew you by name, and took 
 interest in your fate as well as mine. — I would 
 fain tell you all ; but in the mood in which 
 you are, I fear that I may pain you." 
 
 " Speak, Dick, speak," answered the Knight ; 
 " have we not been as brothers since our boy- 
 hood, that you may not give me all your 
 thoughts freely? Say all you have to say. 
 Keep nought behind, if you love me ; for I 
 have grown as suspicious as the rest, and shall 
 doubt if I see you hesitate."' 
 
 ^' Well, at all risks," said Richard of Wood- 
 ville, '' it is better to give you some pain per- 
 haps, than to leave you with your present 
 thoughts. We talked then, first of myself and 
 Mary Markham, and then of you and Cathe- 
 rine. He saw you loved her not." — 
 
 '''Twas her o\\ti fault," cried Dacre : "she 
 crushed out love that might once have been 
 deep and true." 
 
 "I told him so," replied Woodville, "and 
 
 he asked why, as you both clearly wished the 
 
 bond that bound you to each other loosed, you 
 
 did not apply to the Church and the law to 
 
 g2
 
 124 AGINCOURT. 
 
 break it ? I said what perhaps had' better not 
 been said, but yet what I believed, that, if you 
 proposed it, she would not consent, for that she 
 loved to keep you as a captive, if not by love's 
 chains, by any other. He fancied, Harry, that, 
 if that incomplete union were dissolved, you 
 might be happy with another — ay, with Isa- 
 bel." 
 
 " Ha !''' exclaimed Dacre, " ha ! Have I been 
 so careless of my looks that a mere stranger 
 should — " and he bent down his brow upon 
 his hands, and remained for a moment silent. 
 Then looking up, he added, " Well, Richard, 
 I have been a fool ; but was it possible to stand 
 between a desert and a paradise, and not re- 
 gret that 1 could never pass the boundary ; to 
 look into a scene of joy and peace, and not 
 long to rest the weary heart, and cool the 
 aching brow in the calm groves, and pleasant 
 glades before me ? Who would compare those 
 two beings, and not choose between them in 
 spite of fate .'' — But what said he more ?^'' 
 
 " He thought you might be happy," an- 
 swered Woodville, " and that the only barrier
 
 AGINCOURT. 125 
 
 was one that he might prompt Catherine to 
 remove herself. For that object he humoured 
 her caprice, and played with her light vanity. 
 He told me that he would; and I saw that he did 
 so ; for his was no heart to be suddenly made 
 captive by one such as Catherine Beauchamp. 
 Besides, it was clear, his words half sweet, 
 half sour, were all aimed at that end ; for ever 
 and anon when his tone was full of courteous 
 gallantry, some sharp jest would break through, 
 as if he could not keep down the somewhat 
 scornful thoughts wuth which her idle vanity 
 moved him." 
 
 " Then I did him wrong," answered Dacre, 
 " for had he succeeded and led her to propose 
 of her own will, that our betrothing should be 
 annulled, no boon on all the earth could have 
 been equal to that blessmg. — It has turned 
 out sadly ; yet I will not blame bim ; for who 
 can tell when he draws a bowstring in the 
 dark, where the shaft may fall? But say, 
 Richard, was he aware you knew his station ?" 
 
 " I never told him," replied his friend ; " but 
 I think that he divined. You see, in his letter,
 
 126 AGINCOUllT. 
 
 that he gives no explanation. But listen, 
 Harry, will it not be better — now that we have 
 spoken freely on this theme — will it not be 
 better I say, for you to return home, let the 
 first memory of these darks days pass away, 
 and seek for happiness with one, who may well 
 make up for all that you have suffered in the 
 past;' 
 
 " What ! "" cried Dacre, ^' with this stain 
 upon my name ? Oh, no ! that dream of joy 
 is gone. — No, no, my only course is to forget 
 that there is such a thing as love on earth, or 
 to think with your friend Chaucer's lay, that 
 
 " — Love ne is in yonge folke but rage, 
 And is in olde folke a grete dotage, 
 Who most it usith, he most shal enpaire 
 For thereof cometh disese and hevinesse 
 So sorrow and care, and many a grete sicknesse, 
 Despite, debate, and angre, and envie, 
 Depraving shame, untrust, and jelousie. 
 Pride, mischefe, povertie, and wodeness." 
 
 " 'Tis the song of the cuckoo, Harry,"" re- 
 plied Woodville ; " but this sad humour, built 
 upon a baseless dream, will pass away when you 
 find that the suspicions which you now fancy
 
 AGIXCOURT. 127 
 
 in every one's heart, live but in your own 
 imagination ; and then you will answer with the 
 nightingale 
 
 " That evirmore Love his servauntes amendeth, 
 And from all evil tachis them defendeth ;" 
 
 but Time must do his own work, and till then, 
 argument is of no avail. Yet I would fain 
 not have you lose bright days with me in fo- 
 reign lands. Happy were I if I could stay 
 like you in hope, and lead the pleasant sum- 
 mer life, beneath the lightsome looks of her 
 whom I love best. Think of it, Harry, think 
 of it ; and do not rashly judge that you see 
 clear, till you have wiped the dust out of your 
 eyes." 
 
 Dacre shook his head and answered, " I will 
 to rest, Richard, such as I can find; for now 
 that I have got this craven's reply, I have no 
 further business here till I join you again upon 
 our pilgrimage. I will away to-morrow to pre- 
 pare ; but we shall meet before I go. — I know 
 my way."
 
 12S AGINCOURT. 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 THE CORONATION. 
 
 Five days after the events related in the 
 last chapter, Richard of Woodvllle leaving ar- 
 mourers and tailors busy in his house at Meon, 
 rode away for London, accompanied by two 
 yeomen, a page, and Ned Dyram, whose ta- 
 lents had not been long in displaying them- 
 selves in the service of his new master. He 
 had instructed the tailors, he had assisted the 
 armourers, he had aided to choose the horses, 
 he had drawn figures for fresh pallettes and 
 pauldrons ; and he had with his own hand ma- 
 nufactured a superb bridle and bit ornamented 
 with gilt steel plates, jesting, laughing, talking, 
 all the while, and overcoming the obstinacy 
 and the vanity of the old artificers, who would
 
 AGINCOURT. 129 
 
 fain have equipped the young gentleman who 
 employed them, in the fashions of the early 
 part of the last reign, all ne^ inventions in 
 those days travelling slowly froui the capital to 
 the country. Ned Dyram, however, had been 
 in many lands, and had accumulated, in a head 
 which possessed extraordinary powers both of 
 observation and memory, an enormous quantity 
 of patterns and designs of everything new or 
 strange, which he had seen ; and sometimes with 
 a laugh, sometimes with an argument, he drove 
 those who were inclined to resist all innova- 
 tion, to adopt his proposed improvements greatly 
 against their will. But though his tongue occa- 
 sionally ran fast, and he seemed to take a 
 pleasure occasionally in confounding his slower 
 opponents ^"ith a torrent of words, yet on aU 
 subjects but those immediately before him, he 
 kept his own counsel, and not one of the ser- 
 vants of the house, when he set out with 
 Woodville for London, was aware of who or 
 what he was, whence he came, or where he had 
 gained so much knowledge. 
 
 The first day's journey was a long one, and
 
 130 AGINCOURT. 
 
 Richard of Woodville and his train were not 
 many miles from London, when they again 
 set forth early on the following morning, so that 
 it was not yet noon, on the ninth of April, 
 when they approached the city of Westminster, 
 along the banks of the Thames. 
 
 Winding in and out through fields and hedge- 
 rows, where now are houses, manufactories, and 
 prisons, with the soft air of Spring breathing 
 upon them, and the scent of the early cowslips, 
 for which that neighbourhood was once famous, 
 rising up and filling the whole air, they came 
 on, now catching, now losing, the view of the 
 large heavy abbey church of Westminster, and 
 its yet unfinished towers of the same height as 
 the main building, while rising tall above it, ap- 
 peared the belfry of St. Stephen's chapel, with 
 its peaked roof open at the sides, displaying part 
 of the three enormous bells, one of which was 
 said (falsely) to weigh thirty thousand pounds. 
 The top of two other towers might also be seen, 
 from time to time, over the trees, and also part 
 of the buildings of the monastery adjoining the 
 Abbey ; but these were soon lost as the lane
 
 AGINCOURT. 131 
 
 which the travellers were following wound round 
 under the west side of Tote-hill, a gentle eleva- 
 tion covered with greensward, and ornamented 
 with clumps of oak and beech and fir, amidst 
 which might be discovered here and there some 
 large stone houses richly ornamented with sculp- 
 ture, and surrounded with their own gardens. 
 The lanes, the paths, the fields, were filled 
 with groups of people in their hoHday costume, 
 all flocking towards Westminster ; and what 
 with the warm sunshine, the greenness of the 
 grass, the tender verdure of the young foliage, 
 and the gay dresses of the people, the whole 
 scene was as bright and lively as it is possible 
 to conceive. At the same time, the loud bells of 
 St. Stephen's began to ring with the merriest 
 tones they could produce, and a distant " hur- 
 rah !" came upon the wind. 
 
 " Now, Ned, which is the way .'*" asked 
 Richard of Woodville, calling up his new at- 
 tendant to his side, as they came to a spot 
 where the lane divided into two branches, one 
 taking the right hand side of the hill, and one the 
 left. " This seems the nearest," he continued
 
 \32 AGINCOUllT. 
 
 pointing down the former ; " but I know 
 nought of the city." 
 
 ''The nearest may prove the farthest," repHed 
 Ned Dyram riding up, "as it often does, my 
 master. That is the shortest, good sooth ! but 
 they call the shortest often the fooFs way ; and 
 we might be made to look like fools if we took 
 it ; for though it leads round to the end of St. 
 Stephen's lane, methinks that to-day none will 
 be admitted to the palace court by that gate, 
 as it is the King''s coronation morning." 
 
 " Indeed !" said Woodville, " I knew not 
 that it was so." 
 
 " Nor I, either," answered Ned ; " but I 
 know it now." 
 
 " And how, pray .?" asked his new master. 
 
 " By every sight and sound," replied Ned 
 Dyram ; " by that girl's pink coats, by that 
 good man's blue cloak, by the bells ringing, by 
 the people running, by the hurrah we heard 
 just now. I ever put all I hear and see to- 
 gether ; for a man who only sees one thing at 
 once, will never know what time he is living in." 
 
 " Then we had better turn to the left," said
 
 AGINCOURT. 13S 
 
 Woodville, not caring to hear more of his ho- 
 mily ; "of course, if this be the coronation 
 day, I shall not get speech of the King till 
 to-morrow ; but we may as well see what is 
 going on."" 
 
 " To the left will lead you right," replied 
 his quibbling companion, '^ that is to say, to 
 the great gate before the palace court ; and 
 then we shall discover whether the King will 
 speak with you or not. Each Prince has his 
 own manners, and our's has changed so boldly 
 in one day, that no one can judge from that 
 which the lad did, what the man will do.'^ 
 
 "Has he changed much, then?" asked 
 Woodville riding on ; "it must have been sud- 
 den, indeed, if you had time to see it, ere you 
 left him." 
 
 "Ay, has he!" answered Dyram ; "the 
 very day of his father''s death, he put on not 
 the robes of royalty, but the heart ; and those 
 who were his comrades before, gave place to 
 other men. They who counted much upon 
 his love, found a cold face ; and they who 
 looked for hate, met with nought but grace."
 
 134 AGINCOURT. 
 
 " Then, perhaps my reception may not be 
 very warm,"" said Woodville thoughtfully. 
 
 "You may judge yourself, better than I can, 
 master mine," replied Ned Dyram. " Did 
 you ever sit with him in the tavern drinking 
 quarts of wine ? " 
 
 " No," answered Richard of Woodville smil- 
 ing. 
 
 " Then you shall be free of his table," said 
 Ned. " Did you ever shoot deer with him, by 
 moonlight ? " 
 
 " Never," was his master''s reply. 
 
 " Then you may chance to taste his venison !" 
 rejoined the man. "Did you ever brawl, 
 swear, and break heads for him, or with 
 him?" 
 
 " No, truly," said the young gentleman, " I 
 fought under him with the army in Wales, 
 when he and I were both but boys ; and I 
 led him on his way one dark night, two days 
 before his father died ; but that is all I know 
 of him." 
 
 " Then, perchance, you may enter into his 
 council," answered Dyram ; " for, now that he is
 
 AGINCOURT. 135 
 
 royal, he thinks royally, and he judges man 
 for himself, not with the eyes of others.''' 
 
 " As all kings should," said Richard of Wood- 
 ville. 
 
 " And few kings do," rejoined Ned. " I was 
 not so lucky ; but many a mad prank have I 
 seen during the last year ; and though he knows, 
 and heaven knows, I never prompted what 
 others did, yet I was one of the old garments 
 he cast off, as soon as he put on the new ones. 
 I fared better than the rest, indeed, because I 
 sometimes had told him a rough truth ; and 
 trust I shall fare better still, if I do his bidding." 
 
 "And what may be his bidding?'' asked 
 Richard of Woodville ; " for, doubtlesss, he 
 gave you one, when he sent you to me." 
 
 " He bade me live well and forget former 
 days, as he had forgotten them," repHed Ned 
 Dyram ; " and he bade me serve you well, 
 master, if you took me with you ; so you have 
 no cause to think ill of the counsel that he gave 
 me in your case. — But here we are, master 
 mine ; and a goodly sight it is to see." 
 
 As he spoke they turned into the wide street
 
 136 AGINCOURT. 
 
 or rather road, which led from the village of 
 Charing to the gates of the palace at West- 
 minster ; and a gay and beautiful scene it cer- 
 tainly presented, which ever side the eye turned. 
 To the north was seen the old gothic building 
 (destroyed in the reign of Edward VI.) where 
 the royal falcons were kept, and called from that 
 circumstance the Mew, while a little in ad- 
 vance, upon a spot slightly elevated, stood the 
 beautiful stone cross, one of the monuments 
 of undying regard, erected in the village of 
 Charing, by King Edward the First. To the 
 left appeared the buttery and lodge and other 
 offices of the hospital and convent of St. James's, 
 forming together a large pile of buildings, with 
 gates and arches cutting each other in some- 
 what strange confusion, while the higher sto- 
 ries, supported by corbels, overhung the lower. 
 The effect of the whole, however, massed to- 
 gether by the distance, was grand and striking, 
 while the trees of the fields, then belonging to 
 the nunnery and afterwards formed into a 
 park, broke the harsher lines and marked the 
 distances down the course of the wide road.
 
 AGINCOURT. 137 
 
 A little nearer, but on the opposite side of the 
 way, with gardens and stairs extending to the 
 river, was the palace or lodging of the Kings 
 of Scotland. The edifice has been destroyed ; 
 but the ground has still retained the name 
 which it then bore ; and many years had not 
 elapsed, at the time I speak of, since that man- 
 sion had been inhabited by the monarch? of 
 the northern part of this island, when they 
 came to take their seats in parliament in right 
 of their English feofs. Gardens succeeded, till 
 appeared, somewhat projecting beyond the line 
 of road, the old stern building which had once 
 been the property of Hubert de Burg, Earl of 
 Kent, more like a fortress than a dwelling, 
 though its gloomy aspect was relieved by a light 
 and beautiful chapel, lately built on the side 
 nearest to Westminster, by one of the Arch- 
 bishops of York. 
 
 Several smaller edifices, sometimes constructed 
 of brick, sometimes of grey stone, were seen 
 on the right and left, all in that peculiar style 
 of architecture so much better fitted to the 
 climate of northern Europe, and the character
 
 138 AGINCOURT. 
 
 of her people, than the light and graceful build- 
 ings of the Greeks, which we imitate m the 
 present day, generally with such heavy impo- 
 tence ; and still between all appeared the green 
 branches of oaks, and beeches, and fields, and 
 gardens, blending the city and the country 
 together. 
 
 Up the long vista, thus presented, were visible 
 thousands of groups on horseback and on foot 
 decked out in gay and glittering colours ; and 
 as brilliant a scene displayed itself to the south, 
 in the wide court before the palace, surrounding 
 which appeared, the venerable abbey, the vast 
 hall, the long line of the royal dwelling, the mo- 
 nastery, the chapel of St. Stephen, with its tall 
 belfry and many another tower and lofty arch- 
 way, and the old church of St. Margaret, built 
 about a century and a half before, together 
 with the lofty yet heavy buildings of the Wool- 
 staple, and the row of arches underneath. Ban- 
 ners and pennons fluttering in the wind ; long 
 gowns of monks and secular clergymen , tabards 
 and mantles of every hue under the sun ; the 
 robes and head-dresses of the ladies and their
 
 AGINCOURT. 139 
 
 women, and the gorgeous trappings of the 
 horses catching the hght as they moved hither 
 and thither, rendered the line from the Eleanor 
 cross to the palace, one living rainbow; while 
 the river, flowing gently on upon the east, was 
 covered with boats, all tricked out with stream- 
 ers and fluttering ribbons. Even the grave, the 
 old, and those dedicated to seclusion and serious 
 thought, seemed to have come forth for this 
 one day ; and, amongst the crowd, might be 
 distinguished more than one of the long grey, 
 black, or white gowns, with the coif and veil 
 which marked the nun. All seemed gay, how- 
 ever ; and nothing was heard but laughter, 
 merriment, gay jests, the ringing of the bells, 
 the sounding of clarions, and, every now then, 
 the deep tone of the organ, through the open 
 windows of the abbey, or a wild burst of mar- 
 tial music from the lesser court of the palace. 
 
 Habited in black as mourning for his un- 
 happy cousin, Richard of Woodville felt him- 
 self hardly fitted for so gay a scene ; but his 
 good mien and courteous carriage, gained him 
 many a civil word as he moved along, or per-
 
 140 AGINCOURT. 
 
 chance some shrewd jest, as the frank sim- 
 plicity of those days allowed. 
 
 " Where is the black man going ?" cried a 
 pert London apprentice ; " he must be chief 
 mourner for the dead king." 
 
 " Nay, he is fair enough to look upon, Tom,'' 
 replied a pretty girl by his side. *' You would 
 give much to be as fair."" 
 
 " Take care of my toes, master,'' exclaimed 
 a stout citizen, *' your horse is mettlesome." 
 
 " He shall not hurt you, good sir," replied 
 Woodville. 
 
 " Let me hold by your leg, sir squire," said 
 a woman near, " so shall I have a stout prop." 
 
 " Blessings on his fair good-natured face," cried 
 an old woman, " he has lost his lady, I will 
 wager my life." 
 
 " You have not much there to lose, good 
 mother," answered a man behind her. 
 
 " Well, he will soon find another lady," re- 
 joined a buxom dame, who seemed of the same 
 party, " if he takes those eyes to court." 
 
 " Out on it, master," exclaimed a man who 
 had been amusing the people round him by
 
 AGINCOURT. 141 
 
 bad jokes, *' is your horse a cut purse ? He had 
 his nose in my pouch."" 
 
 '• Where he found nothing, I dare say," an- 
 swered Woodville ; and in the midst of the peal 
 of laughter which followed from the easily moved 
 multitude, he made his way forward to the 
 gates, where he was stopped by a wooden 
 barrier drawn across and guarded by a large 
 posse of the royal attendants, habited in their 
 coats of ceremony. 
 
 " What now ? what now ? " asked one of 
 the jacks of office, with a large mace in his 
 hand, as Woodville rode up ; '' you can have no 
 entrance here, sir squire, if you be not of the 
 King's house, or have not an order from one of 
 his lords. The court is crowded already. The 
 King will not have room to pass back."" 
 
 Before his master could answer, however, 
 Ned Dyram pushed forward his horse, and 
 addressed the porter, saying, in a tone of autho- 
 rity, " Up with the barrier. Master Robert Nes- 
 enham. ^Tis a friend of the King's, for w^hom 
 he sent me — Master Richard of ^Voodville, — 
 you know the name."
 
 142 AGINCOURT. 
 
 '* That 's another affair, Ned," replied the 
 other ; *' but let me see, are not you on the list 
 of those who must not come to court ?" 
 
 " Not I," replied Ned Dyram ; " or if I be 
 you have put me on yourself, Robin ; 'tis but the 
 other day I left his Grace upon this errand.'' 
 
 " Well, come in if it be so, varlet," replied the 
 porter, lifting the barrier ; " but if you come 
 forbidden, the pillory and your ears will be ac- 
 quainted. How many men of you are there ? — 
 Stand back, fellows, or I will break your pates. 
 See, Tim, there is a fellow slipping through ! 
 Drive him back, — give him a throw, — cast 
 him over, — break his neck, — five of you, that 
 is all ? — stand back, fellows, or you shall into 
 limbo." 
 
 While the good man strove with the crowd 
 without, who all struggled manfully to push 
 through the barrier when it was open, Richard 
 of Woodville and his followers made their way 
 on into the court ; and, dismounting from his 
 horse in the more open space which it afforded, 
 he advanced towards the passage which was 
 kept clear by the royal officers, between the
 
 AGIN COURT. 143 
 
 door of the great hall aod the Abbey. At first 
 he was placed near a stout man dressed as a 
 wealthy citizen ; and he inquired of him how 
 long the King had been in the church. 
 
 " Three parts of an hour," replied the other ; 
 " did you not hear the shout and the bells begin 
 to ring ? Oh ! it was a grand sight ! There 
 was — " but the rest of what he said was drowned 
 by the noise around, aided by a loud flourish of 
 trumpets from the hall. 
 
 The crowd, however, was constantly changing, 
 and swaying to and fro ; and Woodville soon 
 found himself separated from the man to whom 
 he had spoken, by two or three of the secular 
 clergy of the city, and a somewhat coquettish 
 looking nun, who wore over her grey govm a 
 blue ribbon and a silver cross. 
 
 She turned round and looked at him with her 
 veil up, showing a very pretty face, and a pair 
 of bright blue eyes. A fat monk was behind, 
 and a man dressed as a scrivener ; but all were 
 intent upon watching the door of the Abbey, as 
 if they expected the royal procession soon to 
 reappear ; and Woodville turned his eyes
 
 144 AGINCOURT. 
 
 thither also. The next moment he heard a 
 voice pronounce his own name, and then add, 
 " Beware of Simeon of Roydon ; and let not 
 Henry Dacre fight with him.'' 
 
 Richard turned sharply round and gazed at 
 those behind him ; but he saw no face that he 
 knew, but those of Ned Dyram and one of his 
 own men. The rest of the group in his im- 
 mediate neighbourhood was composed of two 
 monks, another nun, a doctor of divinity in his 
 cope, a tall man in a surcoat of arms, and two 
 elderly ladies with portentous head-dresses, a 
 full half yard broad and two foot high. 
 
 It was a woman's voice, however, that he had 
 heard, and he enquired at once of the nearest 
 woman, " Did you speak, lady ?" 
 
 " To be sure I did," answered the good dame, 
 in a sharp tone ; " I asked my brother what the 
 hour is. No offence in that, sir, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Oh, none, assuredly,"" replied Richard of 
 Woodville ; " but I thought you mentioned 
 my name.'' 
 
 " I do not know it, young sir," replied the 
 lady ; " come away, brother, the squire is
 
 AGINCOURT. 145 
 
 saucy ;" and she and her party moved on, 
 making a complete change in the disposition 
 of the group. 
 
 In vain Richard of Woodville looked beyond 
 the little circle in which they stood ; he could 
 see no face that he knew ; and at length, 
 turning to Ned Dyram, he inquired if he had 
 heard any one mention his name. 
 
 " That good dame, or some one near her 
 certainly did," replied the man ; *' but I could 
 not see exactly who it was. — It might be the 
 other woman/' 
 
 " Was she old, too ?" demanded Woodville. 
 
 " Too old for your wife, and too young for 
 your mother,"" answered Ned, " somewhat on 
 the touch of forty years." 
 
 As he spoke there was a loud ** hurrah !" 
 from the ground adjacent to the abbey door ; 
 a true, hearty, English shout, such as no other 
 nation on the earth can give, and the royal pro- 
 cession was seen returning. All pressed as near 
 as they could ; and Richard of Woodville gained 
 a place in front, where he waited calmly, un- 
 covered, for the passing of the King. 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 AGINCOURT. 
 
 On came the train, bishops and abbots, 
 priests and nobles, the pages, the knights, the 
 bearers of the royal emblems; but all eyes 
 were turned to one person, as — with a step, not 
 haughty, but calm and firm, such as might well 
 accord with a heart fixed and confident to keep 
 the solemn vows so lately made in scrupulous 
 fidelity ; with a brow elevated by high and 
 noble purposes, more than by the splendour 
 of the crown it bore ; and with an eye lighten- 
 ing with genius and soul — Henry of Mon- 
 mouth returned towards his palace, amidst the 
 gratulating acclamations of his people. 
 
 Richard of Woodville saw Hal of Hadnock 
 in the whole bearing of the monarch, as he 
 had seen the Prince in the bearing of Hal 
 of Hadnock, and he murmured to himself, "He 
 is the same. 'Tis but the dress is altered, 
 either in mind or body. Excluded from the 
 tasks of royalty, he assumed a less noble guise ; 
 but still the man was the same." 
 
 As he thus thought, the King passed before 
 him, looking to right and left upon the long 
 lines of people that bordered his way, though,
 
 AGINCOURT. 147 
 
 marching in his state, he distinguished no one 
 hy word or gesture. His eyes, indeed, fixed 
 firmly for an instant upon Richard of Woodville, 
 and a sHght smile passed over his lip ; but he 
 went on without farther notice ; and the young 
 gentleman turned, as soon as he had gone by, 
 thinking, " I will seek some inn, and come to 
 the palace to-morrow. To-day, it is in vain." 
 
 The pressure of the multitude, however., pre- 
 vented him from moving for some time, and he 
 was forced to remain till the whole of the pro- 
 cession had gone by. He then made his way 
 out of the crowd, which gradually became less 
 compact, though few retired altogether, the 
 greater number waiting either to discuss the 
 events of the day, or to see if any other amuse- 
 ments would be afforded to the people ; but it 
 was some time before the young gentleman 
 could find his horses, for the movements of the 
 people had forced them from the place where 
 they had been left. Just as he was, at length, 
 putting his foot in the stirrup, Ned Dyram 
 pulled his sleeve, saying, " There is a King's 
 page, my master, looking for some one in the 
 
 H 2
 
 148 AGINCOURT. 
 
 crowd. Always give yourself a chance. It 
 may be you he seeks." 
 
 *' I think not," replied Richard of Woodville ; 
 " but you can join him and inquire, if you will." 
 
 The man instantly ran off at full speed ; and, 
 though soon forced to slacken his pace amongst 
 the people, he in the end reached the page and 
 asked for whom he was looking. 
 
 " A gentleman in black," replied the boy, 
 " named Richard of Woodville." 
 
 " Then there he is," answered Ned, pointing 
 with his hand to where his master stood ; and, 
 followed by the page, he walked quickly to the 
 spot. 
 
 '' If your name be Richard of AVoodville, 
 sir," said the boy, "the King will see you 
 now, while he his putting off his heavy robes 
 and taking some repose." 
 
 " I follow, young sir," replied Woodville ; 
 and, accompanying the page, he turned towards 
 the palace, while Ned Dyram, after a moment's 
 hesitation, pursued the same course as his 
 master, " in order," as he said mentally, 
 " always to give himself a chance."
 
 AGINCOURT. 149 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE DAY OF FESTIVAL. 
 
 Crossing through the great hall of the palace 
 of Westminster, where so many a varied scene 
 has been enacted in the course of English his- 
 tory, where joy and sorrow, mirth, merriment, 
 pageantry, fear, despair, and the words of death, 
 have passed for well nigh a thousand years, 
 and do pass still, Richard of Woodville fol- 
 lowed the page amidst tables and benches, 
 serving-men, servers, guards, and ushers, till they 
 reached a small door at the left angle, which, 
 when opened, displayed the first steps of a 
 small stone staircase. Up these they took 
 their way, and then, through a corridor throng- 
 ed with attendants, past the open door of 
 a large room on the right, in which mitres 
 and robes, crosses and swords of state, met
 
 150 AGINCOURT. 
 
 the young gentleman's eye, to a door at the 
 end, which the page opened. Within was a 
 small antechamber containing several squires 
 and pages in their tabards, waiting either in 
 silence, or at most talking to each other in 
 whispers. They made way for their comrade, 
 and the gentleman he brought with him, to 
 pass, and, approaching an opposite door, the 
 boy knocked. No one answered ; but the 
 door was immediately opened ; and Richard 
 of Woodville was ushered into a bedchamber, 
 where, seated in a large chair, he found the 
 King, attended by two men dressed in their 
 habits of state. One of these had just given the 
 visitor admission ; but the other was engaged in 
 pulling off the boots in which the monarch had 
 walked to and from the abbey, and in placing a 
 pair of embroidered shoes upon his feet instead. 
 
 " Welcome, Richard of Woodville," said 
 Henry, as soon as he beheld him ; "so you 
 have come to see Hal of Hadnock before you 
 depart .^" 
 
 " I have come to see my gracious Sovereign, 
 Sire," replied Woodville, advancing and bending
 
 AGINCOURT. 151 
 
 the knee to kiss his hand, " and to ^vish him 
 health and long life to wear his crown, for his 
 own honour and the happiness of his people.*" 
 
 " Nay, rise, Richard, rise," said Henry smiling 
 kindly, " no court ceremonies here. And I will 
 tell you, my good friend, that I do really be- 
 lieve, there is not one of all those who have 
 shouted on my path to-day, or sworn to sup- 
 port my throne, who more sincerely wishes my 
 prosperity than yourself. But say, did you 
 guess, that Hal of Hadnock was the Prince of 
 Wales ? " 
 
 " I knew it, Sire," replied Woodville, " from 
 the first moment you entered my uncle's hall. 
 I had served under your Grace's command in 
 Wales." 
 
 " I suspected as much," replied the monarch, 
 "from some words you let fall." 
 
 " I do beseech you. Sire, to pardon me," 
 continued Richard, " if I judged my duty 
 wrongly ; but I thought that so long as it was 
 not your pleasure to give yourself your own state, 
 it was my part, to know you only as you seemed." 
 " And you did right, my friend,'' replied
 
 152 AGINCOURT. 
 
 the King ; " but were you not tempted to 
 breathe the secret to any one — not even to 
 Mary Markham ?" 
 
 ''To no one, Sire/' answered Woodville 
 boldly, " not for my right hand, would I have 
 said one word to the best friend I had." 
 
 " You are wise and faithful, Richard of 
 Woodville," said Henry gravely ; " God send 
 me many such." 
 
 " Here is the other mantle, Sire," said the 
 attendant who was dressing him, " will you 
 permit me to unclasp that ? " 
 
 Henry rose, and the man disengaged the royal 
 mantle from his shoulders, replacing it with one 
 less heavy, while the King continued his con- 
 versation with Woodville after a momentary 
 interruption, repeating, " God send me many 
 such ; for if I judge rightly, I shall have need 
 of strong arms, and wise heads, and noble 
 hearts about me. Nor shall I fail to call for 
 yours when I have need, my friend." 
 
 " Ah, Sire," answered Woodville with a 
 smile, " as far as a true heart and a strong arm 
 may go, I can, perhaps, serve you ; but for
 
 AGINCOURT. 163 
 
 wise heads, I fear you must look elsewhere. 
 I am but a singer of songs, you know, and a 
 lover of old ballads." 
 
 " Like myself, Richard," replied Henry ; 
 "but none the worse for that. I know not 
 why, but I always doubt the man that is not 
 fond of music. 'Tis, perhaps, that I love it so 
 well myself, that I cannot but think, he who 
 does not, has some discordant principle in his 
 heart that jars with sweet sounds. 'Tis to me 
 a great refreshment also ; and when I have been 
 sad or tired with all this world's business, 
 when my thoughts have grown misty, or my 
 brain turned giddy, I have sat me down to 
 the organ and played for a few moments till 
 all has become clear again ; and I have risen as 
 a man does from a calm sleep. As for poesy, 
 indeed, I love it well enough, but I am no 
 poet ; — and yet I think that a truly great poet 
 is more powerful, and has a wider empire, 
 than a King. We monarchs rule men's bodies 
 while we live ; but their minds are beyond that 
 sceptre, and death ends all our power. The 
 poet rules their hearts, moulds their minds to 
 
 H 5
 
 154 AGINCOURT. 
 
 his will, and stretches his firm over the wide 
 future. He arrays the thoughts of countless 
 multitudes for battle on the grand field of the 
 world, and extends his empire to the end of 
 time. Look at Homer, — has not the song of 
 the blind Greek its influence yet ? and so shall 
 the verse of Chaucer be heard in years to come, 
 long after the brow they have this day crown- 
 ed shall have mouldered in the grave." 
 
 The thoughts which he had himself called up, 
 seemed to take entire possession of the King, 
 and he remained gazing in deep meditation 
 for a few minutes upon the glittering emblems 
 of royalty which lay upon the table before him, 
 while Richard of Woodville stood silent by 
 his side, not venturing to interrupt his reverie. 
 
 " Well, Richard," continued the King, at 
 length rousing himself, " so you go to Bur- 
 gundy.^ but hold yourself ready to join me 
 when I have need." 
 
 " I am always ready, now or henceforward, 
 Sire," answered the young gentleman, *' to serve 
 you with the best of my poor ability ; and the 
 day will be a happy one that calls me to you.
 
 AGINCOURT. 155 
 
 I only go to seek honour in another land, be- 
 cause I had so resolved before I met your 
 Highness, and because you yourself pronounced 
 it best for me." 
 
 " And so I think it still," rephed Henry. 
 " I would myself advance you, Woodville, but 
 for two reasons; first, I find every office near 
 my person filled with old and faithful servants 
 of the crown ; and as they fall vacant, I would 
 place in them men who have themselves won 
 renown. Next, I think it better that your 
 own arm and your own judgment, should be 
 your prop, rather than a King's favour ; and as 
 yet, there is here no opportunity. Besides 
 there are many other reasons why you will 
 do well to go, in which I have not forgotten 
 your own best interests. But keep yourself 
 clear of long engagement to a foreign Prince, 
 lest your own should need you.'"* 
 
 '' That I most assuredly will, Sire," answered 
 Richard of Woodville. " I go but to take ser- 
 vice as a volunteer, holding myself free to 
 quit it when I see meet. I ask no pay from 
 any one ; and if I gain honour or reward, it
 
 156 AGINCOURT. 
 
 shall be for what I have done, not for what I 
 am to do.'' 
 
 " You are right, you are right," said Henry ; 
 " but have you anything to ask of me ?" 
 
 " Nothing, Sire," repHed the young gentle- 
 man. " I did but wish to pay reverence to your 
 state, and thank you for the gracious letters 
 you have given me, before I went ;*" and he 
 took a step back as if to retire. But Henry 
 made a sign, saying, " Stop ! yet a moment ; 
 I have something to ask you. — Lay the gloves 
 down there, Surtis. Tighten this point a little, 
 and then retire with Baynard.'' 
 
 The attendants did as they were bid; and 
 Henry then inquired, " What of Sir Henry 
 Dacre, and of that dark evening's work at 
 which we were present ? " 
 
 " Dacre goes with me. Sire," replied Richard 
 of Woodville. 
 
 " Ha ! " exclaimed the King, " then were we 
 wrong in thinking he loved the other .?" 
 
 " Not so," answered Woodville ; " 'tis a sad 
 tale, Sire. He does love Isabel, I am sure — has 
 long loved her, though struggling hard against
 
 AGINCOURT. 157 
 
 such thoughts. But, as if to mar his whole happi- 
 ness, that scoundrel Roy don, whom you saw, 
 when informed of poor Kate's death, wrote 
 though he did not come, raising doubts as to 
 whether her fate had been accidental." 
 
 " Doubts !" cried the King. " Do you en- 
 tertain no doubts, Richard ? " 
 
 " Many, Sire," answered the youug gentle- 
 man ; '• but I never mention doubts that I 
 cannot justify by proof, and will not support 
 with my arm. But he did more; he pointed 
 suspicion at one he knew too well to be in- 
 nocent. He called up some accidental circum- 
 stances affecting Dacre — not as charges indeed, 
 but as matters of inquiry ; made the wound 
 and left the venom, but shrunk from the re- 
 sult." 
 
 *•' And what did Dacre ? " asked the King. 
 
 " Gave him the lie. Sire,"" replied Woodville ; 
 " called upon him to come boldly forward, 
 make his accusation, and support it in the lists.'' 
 
 " He avoided that, I '11 warrant," replied 
 Henry ; " I know him, Richard." 
 
 " He did so, Sire," answered the young gen-
 
 158 AGINCOURT. 
 
 tleman, "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 cre- 
 dence, then, to these cowardly charges?" in- 
 quired 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 noble 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
 
 AGINCOURT. 159 
 
 in any rash enterprise that fortune may pre- 
 sent." 
 
 " Poor man !"" exclaimed Henry, " I can well 
 understand his feelings : but God will bring all 
 things to light. Yet, tell me, Richard of Wood- 
 ville, 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 ?"
 
 160 AGINCOURT. 
 
 " 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 Rich- 
 ard 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 be- 
 tween 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 over- 
 flowed 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 ;
 
 AGINCOURT. 161 
 
 and then, changing the subject, he inquired, 
 " Is good Ned Djram with you here in West- 
 minster?" 
 
 " 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," repHed 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 to-morrow, my 
 good friend, before you go home, for I would 
 fain talk farther vrith you. It is seldom that 
 a King can meet one, with whom he can speak 
 his thoughts plainly, and I find already a dif-
 
 162 AGINCOURT. 
 
 ference that makes me sad. Command and 
 obedience, arguments of state and policy, flat- 
 tering acquiescence in my opinion whether 
 right or wrong, praise, broad and coarse, 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 gratitude for your good 
 opinion than any other favour. At the ban- 
 quet, 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
 
 AGINCOURT. 163 
 
 waiting for me, will think me long. I will 
 order you a place below ; but, mark me, Rich- 
 ard — 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 pre- 
 tence, 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.''
 
 164 AGINCOURT. 
 
 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 com- 
 mand ; 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 fol- 
 lowed by the train of high nobles and church- 
 men, 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 peacocks 
 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 some-
 
 AGINCOURT. 165 
 
 what long in passing, but that the young gen- 
 tleman'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 multitude 
 were still kept up, while the King and his 
 nobles were feasting within. 
 
 Thus, when the banquet was over, the mo- 
 narch gone from the hall, and Richard of Wood- 
 ville, with the rest of the guests, issued forth 
 into the court, he w^as 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 
 assembled round a spot in the centre, where
 
 166 AGINCOURT. 
 
 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. Butts 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 attitude for the amusement 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
 
 AGINCOURT. 167 
 
 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 multitude 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 suc- 
 cession 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 horse- 
 back ; and, as he paused here and there, gazing 
 at this or that gay party, he was t\;vice asked
 
 168 AGINCOURT. 
 
 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 per- 
 sons 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 mo- 
 dern guitar, while a girl by his side, with fine 
 features, and apparently — for the light was 
 faint — a beautiful complexion, dressed in some- 
 what strange costume, was pouring forth her 
 lay to the delighted ears of youths and maidens. 
 She had nearly finished the song when the
 
 AGINCOURT. 169 
 
 young gentleman approached; and, in a mo- 
 ment or two after, she went romid 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 sh« began another ditty in 
 honour, it would appear, of her generous auditor. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 The bark is at the shore, 
 The -vvind is in the sail, 
 Fear not the tempest's roar, 
 
 There 's fortune in the gale ; 
 For the tnie heart and kind, 
 Its recompence shall find, 
 Shall ^nn 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 live in many a tale. 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 no AGINCOURT. 
 
 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 shores thou rov'st ; 
 The nijrhtingale 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 recompence shall find, 
 Shall win praise. 
 And golden days, 
 And live in many a tale.
 
 AGINCOURT. ITl 
 
 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 under- 
 stood that, though certainly not an improvisa- 
 tion, the Terse was intended for him ; and feel- 
 ing 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 horsemen 
 came up at full gallop, and, as if for sport — pro- 
 bably under the influence of wine — rode fiercely 
 through the little circle assembled 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 bcT^^ldered, and was 
 
 knocked down and trampled by one of the 
 
 horsemen. The girl, his companion, with a 
 
 shriek, and Richard of Woodville with a cry 
 
 of indignation, started forward together ; and 
 
 I 2
 
 172 AGINCOURT. 
 
 the latter catching the horse which had done 
 the mischief by the bridh, 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 
 Roy don. But he paused not to notice him far- 
 ther, instantly turning to raise the old man, and 
 endeavouring to support him. The poor min- 
 strel's limbs had no strength, however, and fear- 
 ing that he was much hurt, the young gentle- 
 man 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.
 
 AGINCOURT. 173 
 
 Woodville was about to follow, but Sir Sim- 
 eon of Roydon who had by this time regained 
 his saddle, thrust himself in the way, saying, 
 in a fierce and bitter tone, " Richard of Wood- 
 ville, 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 mis- 
 chief 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 un- 
 seen 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.
 
 174 AGINCOURT. 
 
 " Alas ! noble 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 Wood- 
 ville, " 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 be- 
 fore 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 skil- 
 ful 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." 
 
 In the meantime, the old minstrel was 
 brought in, and laid upon the pallet in the por- 
 ter's room ; and the news of the accident hav- 
 ing spread, the lodge was speedily filled with
 
 AGINCOURT. 175 
 
 nuns having their veils down, all eagerly in- 
 quiring what had happened. 
 
 The prioress and brother Martin appeared 
 at the same moment ; and, in answer to their 
 questions, Woodville explained the facts of the 
 case ; for the poor girl, overwhelmed with grief, 
 was kneeling by her old companion's side and 
 holding a small ebony cross which she wore 
 round her neck to his motionless lips. 
 
 " Give us room, my child ! give us room," 
 said brother Martin, putting his hand kindly 
 on her shoulder ; and, having obtained ac- 
 cess to the pallet, he and the prioress pro- 
 ceeded to examine what injuries the poor old 
 man had received. Their search was short, 
 however ; for, after feeling the back of the 
 head vriih his hand, and then puttinof his 
 fingers on the pulse, the good monk turned 
 round with a grave countenance, saying, " God 
 have mercy on his soul ; for to him, has it 
 gone." 
 
 The poor singer covered her eyes with her 
 hands and sobbed bitterly. All the rest were 
 silent for a moment ; and then Richard of
 
 176 AGINCOURT. 
 
 Woodville, turning to the prioress, said in a 
 low voice, '' I will beseech you, lady, to see 
 in all charity to this poor man's interment ; 
 and that masses be said in your chapel for 
 his soul. Also, if you would, like a good Chris- 
 tian, take some heed of this poor girl, who is 
 his daughter, I suppose, I should be glad, for 
 it may better become you than me ; but what- 
 ever expense the convent may be at, I will repay, 
 though Heaven knows, I am not over rich. My 
 name is Richard of Woodville ; and to-morrow, 
 if you will send a messenger to me, I shall 
 be found at the Acorn, just beyond the Bishop 
 of Durham's lodging. You must send before 
 eight, however, or after ten ; for at eight I 
 am to be with the King." 
 
 The prioress bowed her head, saying simply, 
 " I will," and Woodville turned to depart ; 
 but the poor girl who had heard his words, 
 started up, and catching his hand, pressed her 
 lips upon it ; then knelt by the pallet again, and 
 seemed to pray. 
 
 Without farther words, Woodville quitted 
 the lodge ; the porter hurried on to open the
 
 AGINCOURT. 177 
 
 gates ; and the young gentleman went out with 
 the people who had borne or accompanied the 
 poor old minstrel thither. Just as he had 
 reached the road, however, he heard a voice 
 say, " Richard of Woodville, farewell ; and 
 remember !" 
 
 He started and turned round ; but though 
 it was a female voice that spoke, there were none 
 but men around him ; and at the same moment 
 the gate rolled heavily to. 
 
 1 5
 
 178 AGINCOURT. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE SICK MIND. 
 
 We must return, dear reader, for a short 
 time to the scenes in which our tale first began, 
 and to the old hall of the good knight of Dun- 
 bury. Richard of Woodville and Sir Henry 
 Dacre had been absent for two days upon 
 their journey to another part of Hampshire, 
 where we have shown somewhat of their course; 
 and Sir Philip Beauchamp sat by the fire medi- 
 tating, while his daughter Isabel and fair Mary 
 Markham were seated near, plying busily the 
 needle through the embroidery frame, and not 
 venturing to disturb his reverie even by whis- 
 pered conversation. From time to time, the 
 old man muttered a few sentences to himself, of 
 which the two ladies could only catch de- 
 tached fragments, such as '' They must know
 
 AGINCOURT. 179 
 
 by this time, — Dacre could not but do so, — 
 I am sure 'tis for that, — '' and several similar 
 expressions, showing that his mind was running 
 upon the expedition of his nephew and his 
 friend, in regard to the object of which neither 
 Isabel nor Mary had received any information. 
 
 It must not be said, however, that they did 
 not suspect anything; for the insinuations of 
 Sir Simeon of Roydon had been told them ; 
 and — though neither weak nor given to fear, 
 a knight'*s daughter, in a chivalrous age — Isabel 
 could not help looking forward with feelings 
 of awe, and an undefinable sinking of the heart, 
 to the events which were likely to follow. She 
 fully believed that she experienced, and had 
 ever experienced, towards Sir Henry Dacre, 
 but one class of sensations, — regard for his 
 high character and noble heart, and pity for 
 the incessant grief and anxiety which her cou- 
 sin's conduct had brought upon him from his 
 early youth. But such feelings are very treach- 
 erous guides, and lead us far beyond the 
 point at which they tell us they will stop. 
 With her, too, they had had every opportunity
 
 180 AGINCOURT. 
 
 of SO doing, for she trusted to them in full confi- 
 dence. Hers had been the task also of soothing 
 and consoling him under all he had suffered — 
 a dangerous task, indeed, for one young, kind, 
 gentle, and enthusiastic, to undertake towards a 
 man whom she admired and respected. But 
 then, they had known each other from infancy, 
 she thought ; they had grown up together like 
 brother and sister, and the tie between them 
 had only been brought nearer by the betrothing 
 of Dacre to her cousin. 
 
 Had a doubt ever entered into Isabel's mind, 
 since Catherine's death, it may be asked, in 
 regard to her own feelings towards Dacre ? 
 Perhaps it might ; but, if so, it had been 
 banished instantly; and she looked upon the 
 very thought, as a wrong to her own motives. 
 She would never suffer such a thing, she fan- 
 cied, to trouble her again. " Dacre had loved 
 Catherine — surely he had loved her; and yet — " 
 but fresh doubts arose ; and Isabel, willing to be 
 blind, still turned to other meditations. 
 
 Mary Markham, on the other hand, with 
 less cause for anxiety, and no motive for shut-
 
 AGINCOURT. 181 
 
 ting her eyes, saw more clearly and judged 
 more accurately. She knew that Isabel Beau- 
 champ loved Harry Dacre, and beHeved she 
 had loved him long, though she did her full 
 justice, and was confident that her fair com- 
 panion was as ignorant of what was in her own 
 bosom, as of the treasures beneath the waves. 
 But Mary felt certain that such was not the 
 case with Dacre in regard to his own sensa- 
 tions. She had marked his eye when it turned 
 upon Isabel, had seen the faint smile that came 
 upon his lip when he spoke to her, and had 
 observed the struggle which often took place, 
 when inclination led him to seek her society, 
 and the thought of danger and of wrong held 
 him back, — a struggle in which love had been 
 too often victorious. She doubted not, that 
 he was gone to call upon Simeon of Roydon 
 to come forward with proof of his charges, 
 or to sustain them with the lance ; and, though 
 she entertained little doubt of the issue of such 
 a combat, if it took place, she felt grieved and 
 anxious both for Isabel and Dacre. 
 
 There are some men whose native character.
 
 18^ AGINCOURT. 
 
 notwithstanding every artifice to conceal it, will 
 penetrate through all disguises, and produce 
 sensations which seem unreasonable, even to 
 those who feel them without being able to trace 
 them to their source. Such a one was Sir 
 Simeon of Roy don. He had never been seen by 
 any of Sir Philip Beauchamp's family to commit 
 any base or dishonest act ; and yet there was 
 not one in all that household, from the old knight 
 to the horse-boy, who did not internally be- 
 lieve him to be capable of every crafty knavery. 
 His insinuations, therefore, in regard to Sir 
 Henry Dacre, passed by as empty air, at least 
 for the time ; but all had, nevertheless, a strong 
 conviction on their minds, that the doubts he 
 had attempted to raise would rankle deep in 
 the heart of their unhappy object, and poison 
 the whole course of his existence, unless some 
 fortunate event were to bring to light the real 
 circumstances of poor Catherine Beauchamp's 
 death. 
 
 The whole party, then, were in a sad and 
 gloomy mood ; and even the gay, young spirit 
 of Mary Markham was clouded, as they sat
 
 AGINCOURT. 183 
 
 round the fire in the great hall, on one of those 
 April evenings when, after a day of summer 
 sunshine, chilly \^inter returns with his fit com- 
 panion, night. 
 
 As they were thus seated, however, each 
 busy with his own thoughts, the sound of 
 horses' feet in the court was heard, and, in 
 a minute after, Dacre himself entered. He 
 mounted the steps at the end of the pavement 
 with a slow pace, and every eye was turned to 
 his countenance to gather some indication from 
 his look of the state of mind in which he re- 
 turned. The old knight rose and grasped his 
 hand, asking, in a low voice, " What news, 
 Harry ? Nay, boy, you need not strive to 
 conceal it from me — I know what you went 
 for. Will the slanderer do battle?" 
 
 " No, my noble friend," replied Dacre, " he 
 is coward too, as well as scoundrel. There 
 is his craven answer : you may read it aloud. 
 The matter is now over, and that hope is 
 gone." 
 
 " You should not have done this, Harry, 
 without consulting me," said Sir Philip ; " I
 
 184 AGINCOURT. 
 
 have some experience in such things. At the 
 very last that was fought between any two 
 gentlemen of rank and station, I was judge 
 of the field, and know right well, what apper- 
 tains to knightly combat." 
 
 " Of that I was full sure," answered Dacre, 
 pressing his hand ; " and to you I should have 
 applied for counsel and aid, as soon as I had 
 brought him to the point : but I thought it 
 best to be silent till that was done. I was 
 vain, perhaps, Sir Philip, to think that these 
 dear ladies might take some interest in such 
 a matter — might feel anxious even for me ; 
 and though I knew that they would have seen 
 me go forth, with satisfaction, in defence of my 
 honour, and would have bade God speed me 
 on my course, yet it was needless to speak 
 of what was to come, till it did come — and 
 you will see, that it is to be never." 
 
 " Read it, Hal, read it," said the knight, 
 " my eyes are old." 
 
 Sir Henry Dacre read the letter, the con- 
 tents of which we have already seen, and 
 Sir Philip Beauchamp and Mary Markham
 
 AGINCOURT. 185 
 
 commented freely thereon, marking well its 
 baseness and its craft ; but Isabel remained 
 silent ; and, looking down at her embroidery, 
 her bright eyes let fall a tear. Many emotions 
 mingled to produce that drop ; she felt to her 
 heart's core how bitter it must be to live with 
 such a doubt hanging over us for ever, like 
 a dark cloud : and the repeated mention of 
 Catherine's name, called back to her mind, in 
 all its freshness, the memory of her cousin's 
 sad fate ; and she was led on to think, too, how 
 happy the wayward girl might have been, if 
 she had but known the advantages which heaven 
 had granted her. 
 
 Dacre saw the tear, and marked the silence, 
 and read neither quite aright ; for, with a 
 wounded spot in the heart, the lightest touch 
 will give torture. He sat down with the rest, 
 however ; he strove to cast off some of his 
 gloom ; he told of his journey with Richard 
 of Woodville ; and informed the old knight 
 that his late guest, Hal of Hadnock, was now 
 King of England ; but, while Sir Phihp laughed 
 heartily, and called his sovereign " a mad-head-
 
 186 AGINCOURT. 
 
 ed boy," his young friend relapsed into deep 
 meditation, and the black thought that he must 
 be for ever a doubted and suspected man, again 
 took possession of his mind. 
 
 The next morning, when he rose, he was 
 more cheerful. Sleep, which had visited his 
 eyehds only by short glimpses for the last week, 
 had, this night, stayed with him undisturbed : 
 and, what seemed to him more extraordinary 
 still, sweet dreams had come with slumber, 
 giving him back the happiness of former days. 
 He had seemed a boy again, and had wandered 
 with Isabel Beauchamp through the woods and 
 fields around ; had heard the birds sing on 
 the spray, and watched the fish darting through 
 the stream. Summer and sunshine had been 
 round their path, and that misty splendour, 
 which only is seen in the visions of the night, 
 as if poured forth from some secret source in 
 the heart of man when the pressure of all 
 external things is taken away — a slight indi- 
 cation, perhaps, of the adaptation of his spirit 
 to the enjoyments of a brighter world than 
 this. He slept longer than usual ; and, when
 
 AGINCOURT. 187 
 
 he rose, he found the old Knight and his daugh- 
 ter in the hall. 
 
 " I am going down, Harry,'** said Sir Philip, 
 "to settle a difference between some of the 
 monks and Roger Dayley of Little Ann about 
 his field. I shall find you when I come back." 
 
 "Nay, I will go with you, noble friend,"" 
 answered Dacre, " I wish to see my good 
 Lord Abbot." 
 
 " That you cannot do, unless you ride to 
 London,"^ replied the old Knight ; " he went 
 yesterday morning early to attend the King's 
 coronation. Stay with Isabel and Mary. I 
 will be back soon." 
 
 It was too tempting a proposal to be re- 
 fused ; and while Sir Philip, with a page 
 carrying his heavy sword, walked down to 
 the Abbey, Dacre remained with Isabel alone 
 in the hall. They watched her father from 
 the door till he entered the wood, and then 
 turning, walked up and down the rush-covered 
 pavement for several minutes without speak- 
 ing. Daere's heart was full of anxious thoughts ; 
 and though he much wished to fathom the
 
 188 AGINCOURT. 
 
 feelings of Isabel's heart, and discover some 
 ground for future hope, yet he dreaded to 
 find all his fears verified ; and the words trem- 
 bled at the gate of speech without obtaining 
 utterance. Isabel, however, was more confident 
 in herself and less conscious of her own sensa- 
 tions ; she saw and grieved at the state of 
 Dacre's mind, and longed to give him comfort 
 and consolation as in days of yore. Finding, 
 then, that he did not begin upon the subject of 
 his cares and sorrows, she resolved to do so 
 herself; and after a pause, during which she 
 felt agitated, and hesitated she knew not why, 
 she said, '*• I am glad to speak with you alone, 
 Harry ; for I see you are very, very sad, and 
 I would fain persuade you to take comfort.'' 
 
 " Oh, many things make me thus sad, dear 
 Isabel," replied the Knight with a faint smile ; 
 " but I will try to do better with time.*" 
 
 " Nay, Harry," she answered, " you cannot 
 conceal the cause of your sadness from me. I 
 have known you from my childhood, too well 
 not to understand it all. You were ever jea- 
 lous too much of your fame ; and now I know.
 
 AGINCOURT. 189 
 
 because this false, bad man has insinuated 
 things that never entered your thoughts, you 
 fancy people will suspect you." 
 
 " And will they not, Isabel ?" asked Dacre, 
 " I should not say, perhaps, suspect me ; for 
 suspicion is a more fixed and tangible thing 
 than that which I fear ; but will there not be 
 doubts, coming in men's mind against their will, 
 and against their reason ? Will they not from 
 time to time, when they think of Henry Dacre, 
 and this sad history, and these dark scandals — 
 will they not ask themselves, What if it were 
 really so ?" 
 
 " Oh, no, no, Harry," replied his fair com- 
 panion warmly, " none will think so who know 
 you — none will think so at all, but the base and 
 bad, who are capable of such acts themselves." 
 
 " Indeed, Isabel .'^" said Dacre ; '* and is 
 such really your belief? You know not how 
 suspicion clings, dear lady. If you stain a 
 silken garment, can you ever make it clear and 
 glossy, as once it was ? and the fame of man 
 or woman is of a still finer and frailer texture. 
 There, one spot, one touch, lasts for ever."
 
 190 AGINCOURT. 
 
 With kind and tender words, and every 
 argument that her own small experience could 
 aftord, Isabel Beauchamp tried to reassure him ; 
 and she succeeded at least in one thing — in con- 
 vincing him so far of her full confidence in his 
 honour, that he was on the eve of putting it 
 to the strongest test. The acknowledgment 
 of his love hung upon his lips, and, if then 
 spoken, might perchance, in her eagerness to 
 prove her conviction of his innocence, have been 
 met with that warm return, which would have 
 brought the best balm to his heart, although 
 the first effect upon her might have been agi- 
 tation and alarm. But ere he could utter the 
 words on which his fate depended, Mary Mark- 
 ham joined them, and he waited for another 
 opportunity. Dacre returned to his own house 
 at night ; but every-day he went over to the 
 hall, his mood varying like a changeful morn- 
 ing, sometimes sunny with hope and temporary 
 forgetfulness, sometimes all cloud and gloom, 
 when memory recalled the suspicions that had 
 been pointed at him. Those suspicions, too, 
 were frequently recalled to his mind even by his
 
 AGINCOURT. 191 
 
 own acts, for he eagerly strove to discover by 
 whose iastrumentality his whole course, on the 
 unfortunate night of poor Catherine Beau- 
 champ's death, had been conveyed to Sir Sim- 
 eon of Roydon. But by so doing, he only 
 fretted his own spirit and gained no informa- 
 tion : whoever was the spy, he remained 
 concealed. 
 
 Three or four days were thus passed before 
 he obtained any second opportunity of speaking 
 with Isabel alone ; but, on his arrival at the 
 dwelling of Sir Philip Beauchamp on the morn- 
 ing of the 9th of April, he was told by a 
 servant whom he found in the hall, that the 
 family had gone forth into the park ; and fol- 
 lowing immediately, he found Isabel sitting 
 under the trees, without companions. She 
 seemed to have been weeping, and it was a 
 pleasant task for Dacre to strive to console 
 her who had so often been his own comforter. 
 
 " There are tears in your eyes, dear Isabel," 
 he said, as she rose gracefully to meet him. 
 " "What has grieved you .^"" 
 
 "Have you not seen my father .'''"' asked
 
 192 AGINCOURT. 
 
 the lady. " Do you not know that our dear 
 Mary is going to leave us ? She goes to Lon- 
 don to-day, and he goes with her so far." 
 
 "Indeed!" exclaimed the knight; "that is 
 very sudden." 
 
 " And very sad," answered Isabel ; " the 
 hall will be melancholy enough without her 
 now, — I cannot but weep, and shall never 
 cease to regret her going." 
 
 " Nay, nay, time will bring balm, dear 
 Isabel," answered Dacre. " You have often 
 told me so." 
 
 *' And have you believed me, Harry ? " 
 answered the lady, with a faint and almost 
 reproachful smile ; " even last night, you were 
 more sad and grave than ever." 
 
 " Ay, but this is a diiFerent case," rephed 
 Dacre ; " one can lose a friend — ay, even by 
 death ; one can lose anything more easily than 
 honour and renown." 
 
 " But the loss of yours is only in your own 
 fancy, Dacre," she answered. " Who believes 
 this charge, that Simeon of Roydon dares to 
 hint, but not to avow ? Whom has it affected ?
 
 AGIN'COURT. 193 
 
 In whom do you see a change ? Surely not in 
 my father; surely not in me." 
 
 " No, assuredly, Isabel,"" he said, after think- 
 ing for a while ; " but as yet I have had no 
 occasion to make the trial. Hearken, and I 
 will put a case. Suppose, dear Isabel, that I 
 were to love ; suppose the lady that I loved 
 had heard this tale ; suppose that she had 
 loved me well before, and at her knee I were 
 now to crave the blessing of her hand ; would 
 not a doubt, would not a hesitation cross her 
 mind ? Would she not ask herself — " 
 
 *' Oh no ! " cried Isabel ; but Dacre went on, 
 not suffering her to conclude. 
 
 '' You put it not fully to your own heart, 
 dear Isabel," he said. " Suppose you were 
 that lady, suppose that all Harry Dacre's hopes 
 and happiness for life were staked on your 
 reply ; suppose that to you, who have so often 
 consoled him in affliction, calmed him in anger, 
 soothed him in anxiety, he were to say, ' Isabel 
 will you be my comforter through life, the 
 star of my existence, the recompence for all 
 I have suffered ? ' would not one thought — " 
 
 VOL. 1. K
 
 194 AGINCOURT. 
 
 Isabel trembled violently, and her cheek 
 turned ashy pale. 
 
 " It is enough," said Dacre, with a quiver- 
 ing lip ; " I am answered ! That memory 
 could never be banished from your heart. — It 
 is enough ! " 
 
 *' Oh no, no!" cried Isabel; but, as will 
 almost always happen when a word may make 
 all clear, an interruption came ; before she 
 could go on, good old Sir Philip Beau champ 
 was seen upon the steps of the house, waving 
 them to come back with a loud " Halloo !" 
 
 They both turned and walked towards the 
 hall in silence. Isabel would fain have spoken, 
 but agitation overpowered her. She wished that 
 Dacre, by a single word, would give her an 
 opportunity of reply ; but his over sensitive 
 heart was convinced of her feelings, reading 
 them all wrong ; and he would not force her 
 to speak what he thought must be painful for 
 her to utter, and for him to hear. Twice she 
 made up her mind to explain, but twice her 
 heart failed her at the moment of execution ; 
 and it was not till they were within a few steps
 
 AGINCOURT. 195 
 
 of the place where her father stood, that slie 
 could say, in a low voice, " You are mistaken, 
 Harry, indeed you are mistaken ! " 
 
 He shook his head with a bitter smile, and 
 walked on in silence. 
 
 K 2
 
 196 AGINCOURT. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE MINSTRELS GIRL. 
 
 At the hour appointed by the King, Richard 
 of Woodville arrived at the palace, and was 
 at once introduced to Henry's presence. The 
 monarch was now quite alone, and seemed in a 
 more cheerful, a less meditative mood than the 
 day before. " Well, Richard," he said, " how 
 sped you last night ? you found room in hall, 
 and a place at board, I trust ?" 
 
 '-' I did, Sire,"" replied Woodville ; " and so 
 long as I was here 'twas well ; but as I re- 
 turned homeward to my hostel, I saw that done 
 which grieved me, and would grieve your High- 
 ness too, were it told." 
 
 " Speak it, speak it," said the King. " I 
 am now in that station where every day I 
 must hear that which offends my ear, if I
 
 AGINCOURT. 197 
 
 would perform the first duty of a King and 
 render justice to my people. What is this you 
 saw?" 
 
 Briefly and accurately Richard of Wood^^ille, 
 as he had previously determined, related to 
 the monarch the facts attending the d^ath of 
 the old minstrel, by the brutal act of Sir 
 Simeon of Roydon, and his companions ; and 
 he could see Henry's brow gather into a heavy 
 frown, and his cheek flush. When he had 
 done, the King rose from his chair, before he 
 spoke, and walked twice across the small cham- 
 ber in which the young gentleman had found him. 
 
 " This is bad," he said at length ; " this is 
 bad ; but I must not interfere with the course 
 of law. The matter will be inquired into of 
 course. If the law should not punish the oflence, 
 I might myself inflict some chastisement, and, 
 by banishing this man from my court and 
 presence, mark my indignation at his rash con- 
 tempt of human life and suifering, to call it 
 nothing worse. But I have other views, 
 Richard ; and if I must strike, I would have 
 it effectually."
 
 198 AGINCOURT. 
 
 " I do not understand you, Sire/' replied 
 Woodville, seeing that the King paused. 
 
 " No, perhaps not," said Henry ; and then 
 falling into a fit of musing again, he remained 
 for more than a minute with his eyes fixed 
 upon the ground. " Call me a page," he con- 
 tinued, at length ; " I will see this Sir Simeon 
 of Roydon." 
 
 Richard of Woodville obeyed, and when the 
 boy appeared, Henry directed him in the clear 
 brief words, with which even trivial orders are 
 given by men of powerful and accurate minds, 
 to inquire of the sergeant of the gates where 
 Sir Simeon of Roydon was to be found, and 
 then to summon him immediately to his pre- 
 sence. 
 
 " He shall make some compensation to the 
 old man''s daughter, or whoever she is, what- 
 ever the law may say," the King continued, 
 turning to his companion, after having spoken 
 to the page : " but tell me, Richard, was this 
 the only adventure you met with yesterday ? 
 Ned Dyram told me, that some one had spoken 
 to you by name in the crowd, bidding you
 
 AGINCOURT. 199 
 
 not to let poor Dacre do battle with Simeon 
 of Rovdon, — she anticipated my commands it 
 would seem.*" 
 
 " She did so truly, Sire," replied Woodville ; 
 " but I could never discover who it was, though 
 she again spoke to me at the gates of the con- 
 vent as I came out." 
 
 "It is very strange,**' said the King ; " did 
 you not know the voice ?'"' 
 
 " It seemed somewhat disguised,'" answered 
 the young gentleman ; *' but still it was clearly 
 a woman's voice, and there were tones in it 
 not unfamiliar to my ear, yet not sufficiently 
 strong on recollection to enable me in any 
 way to judge who spoke." 
 
 " Have we got fairies amongst us even in 
 Westminster?" asked the monarch laughing. 
 " Well, my good friend, you have nothing to 
 do but obey your fair monitor." 
 
 " In that I shall not fail. Sire," repHed 
 Richard ; " for I shall have no cause to prevent 
 or encourage Dacre — Simeon of Roydon will 
 take good heed to that. But I trust neither 
 the lady nor your Highness will forbid my
 
 200 AGIXCOURT. 
 
 chastising this man myself, if need should be ; 
 for as I have told you, Sire, I cast him from 
 his horse last night, before his comrades ; and 
 he will seek revenge in some shape, I am sure." 
 *' To defend himself is every man''s right,'' 
 replied the King ; " but I must insist, that 
 no arranged encounter takes place between you 
 and Sir Simeon of Roy don, without your sove- 
 reign's consent."" The King spoke sternly, al- 
 most harshly ; but he added a moment after, 
 in a mild and familiar tone, " The truth is, 
 Richard, that I have resolved, as much as pos- 
 sible to put a stop, both to the trial by battle 
 and combats at outrance between my subjects. 
 The blood of Englishmen is too precious to their 
 King and their country to be shed so frequently 
 as it has hitherto been in private quarrels. The 
 evil is increasing, and if it be not stayed, a 
 time will come when every idle jest will be the 
 subject of a combat, and the man of mere brute 
 courage will venture upon any Avrong he chooses 
 to do another, because he values his life less 
 than his neighbour. Such a state shall never 
 grow up under me. The day may not be far
 
 AGINCOURT. 201 
 
 distant when, in defence of the rights of this 
 crown, I shall give every English gentleman 
 an opportunity of displaying his valour and 
 his skill ; but, till then, I will hold a strong 
 hand over quarrelsome folks. As a last re- 
 source for honour really wounded, or, under the 
 sanction of the law, for the judgment of God 
 in dark cases which human wisdom cannot de- 
 cide, I may consent that an appeal be made 
 to the lance ; but not till every other means 
 has been tried. Such is my resolution ; let 
 that suffice you ; 1 know you will obey ; and in 
 the court of Burgundy, if I hear right you will 
 have plenty of occasions, should you be too full 
 of blood, to shed it freely. I have wished to 
 give you some gift, my friend," he continued 
 in a tone of kindly condescension; "but for 
 the present, I can think of nothing better than 
 this." 
 
 He took a ring from his finger and held it 
 out to the young gentleman who stood beside 
 him, adding, " Take it, Richard ; wear it al- 
 ways ; and when you look upon it, think of 
 Hal of Hadnock. But should you at any time
 
 202 AGINCOURT. 
 
 seek auglit of the King of England, seal your 
 letter with that ring, and I will open and read 
 the contents myself, and immediately. It shall 
 go hard, but I will grant you your boon, if 
 it be such as the Richard of Woodville whom I 
 know, is likely to request. So, farewell, and 
 God speed you, and lead you to honour/' 
 
 Richard of Woodville knelt and kissed the 
 gracious Prince''s hand ; and then, retiring from 
 his presence, sped back to his inn without 
 adventure. 
 
 All traces of the last day's festival had dis- 
 appeared ; the citizens had resumed their usual 
 occupations ; the artizan had gone to his work, 
 the merchant to his warehouse, the tradesman 
 to his stall, the monk to his cloister, the priest 
 to his chapel or his church. The streets, 
 though there was many a passenger hurrying to 
 and fro, seemed almost empty, by comparison ; 
 and a scene that was in itself gay, looked dull 
 from the ^^'ant of all the glitter and pageantry 
 of the preceding afternoon. 
 
 The inn, called the Acorn, at which Richard 
 of Woodville had taken up his abode, was a
 
 AGINCOURT. ^3 
 
 low building in what we still term the Strand, 
 between the cross at Charing and a very small 
 monastery which was soon after attached to 
 the abbey of Roncesvalles in Navarre, and ac- 
 quired the name of Roncevaux. The entrance 
 to the Acorn was a tall dark arch, and as 
 soon as Richard of Woodville rode in, followed 
 by his two attendants, for Ned Dyram he had 
 not seen since the day before, the host pre- 
 sented himself, saying with a low reverence 
 and a smile, " There has been a fair maid 
 seeking you, noble sir. There have been tears 
 in her eyes too, full lately ; I hope you are not 
 a faithless Squire to make the pretty maiden 
 weep."" 
 
 " Poor thing, she has good cause," answered 
 Woodville gTavely. " She is the poor old man's 
 daughter, I suppose, who was killed by the 
 horses last night* When did she say she 
 would return ?" 
 
 *' She is here now, she is here now,"" cried 
 the host's wife from within. " How can you 
 be such a fool, Jenkyn ? I took her in till the 
 noble gentleman returned. I knew she was
 
 204 AGINCOURT. 
 
 no light o' love, but only came from foreign 
 lands/' 
 
 "I never said she was, good wife," replied her 
 husband. " Shall I bring her up, sir, to your 
 chamber ? " 
 
 " No," answered Richard, " it wants an hour 
 of dinner yet; let her come with me to the 
 hall if it be vacant." 
 
 " That it is, discreet sir," replied the host, 
 " now I warrant you," he continued murmuring 
 to himself as he walked away to call the poor 
 girl to her kind benefactor ; " he has got some 
 lady love himself, and fears it should come to 
 her ears, were he to entertain a pretty maiden 
 in his own chamber." 
 
 Perhaps some such thought might pass 
 through Richard of Woodville's mind ; but 
 certainly it would never have entered therein, 
 had it not been for the host's first suspicion ; and 
 he would have received the poor girl in his own 
 room without hesitation, though the minstrels 
 of that day and their followers, were generally 
 a somewhat dissolute and licentious race. It 
 has happened strangely, indeed, in all ages.
 
 AGINCOURT. 205 
 
 that those who follow as their profession, 
 the sweetest of arts, music, which would seem 
 intended to elevate and purify the mind and 
 heart, should be so frequently obnoxious to 
 the charge of immoral life ; but so it has been, 
 alas, though difficult to account for. 
 
 Finding his way through one or two long 
 ill-lighted passages, Richard of Woodville open- 
 ed the door of the room appropriated to the 
 daily meals of the guests and their host, and 
 had not long to wait for the object of his com- 
 passion. She was not dressed in the same 
 manner as the night before ; but still, her garb 
 was singular.* A bright red scarf, which had 
 been twined through her black hair, was no 
 longer there ; and the rich, luxuriant tresses 
 were bound plainly round her head, which was 
 partially covered also by a hood of simple gray 
 cloth. The rest of her apparel was white, 
 except at the edge of the petticoat, which came 
 not much below the knee, and was bordered 
 by two bands of gold lace. Her small, delicate 
 ankles, as fair as alabaster, were, nevertheless, 
 without covering ; and her feet were clothed in
 
 20b* AGINCOURT. 
 
 small slippers of untanned leather, trimmed and 
 tied with gold. 
 
 Bending down her beautiful head as she 
 entered, she said, " I have come to thank you, 
 noble sir." 
 
 " Nay, no thanks, my fair maiden," answered 
 Woodville, placing a stool for her to sit, as the 
 host retired. " I did but what any Christian 
 and gentleman ought to do ; so, say not a 
 word of that. But I am glad you have come, 
 for I wish much to hear more of you, and to 
 know what will become of you nowi" 
 
 " Ah ! what, indeed V said the girl, casting 
 down her eyes, which had before been fixed 
 upon the young gentleman's countenance. 
 
 " Have you no friends, no home, to which 
 you can go ?'" asked Woodville. 
 
 " In this country, no friends that would 
 receive me, no home that would be open to 
 me," replied the girl, the tears rolling over 
 the long black lashes, and trickling down her 
 cheek. " I am not given to yield to sorrow 
 thus," she added ; " had I been, it would 
 have crushed me long ago. But this last
 
 AGINCOURT. 207 
 
 blow has been heavy ; and, hke a reed beaten 
 down by the storm, I shall not raise my head, 
 till the sun shines again." 
 
 " But you are of English birth ?"" enquired 
 Richard of Woodville ; "if not, you speak 
 our tongue rarely." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I am English," she cried eagerly, 
 " English in heart, and spirit, and birth ; but 
 yet, my mother was from a distant land." 
 
 " And was that poor old man your father V 
 demanded her companion ; " come, let me hear 
 something of your former life, that I may think 
 what can be done for the future." 
 
 The girl evidently hesitated ; she coloured, 
 and then turned pale ; and Richard of Wood- 
 ville began to fear that, in the interest he 
 had taken in her, he had been made the fool 
 of imagination. " She is probably like the 
 rest," he thought ; *' and yet, her very shame 
 to speak it, shows, that she has some good 
 feelings left." 
 
 But, while he was still pondering, the girl 
 exclaimed, clasping her hands, " Oh, yes ! I 
 am sure I may tell you. You are not one
 
 208 AGINCOURT. 
 
 who — whatever might be his errors — would 
 deprive a poor old man of blessed ground to 
 rest in, or the prayers of good men for his 
 soul." 
 
 *' Not I, indeed," replied the young gen- 
 tleman ; " methinks, we have no right to carry 
 justice or punishment beyond the grave. When 
 the spirit is called to its Creator, let him be 
 judge — not man. But, speak : I do not under- 
 stand you clearly.'" 
 
 " I will make mv tale short," she answered. 
 " That old man was my father's father ; a min- 
 strel once in the house of the great Earl of 
 Northumberland — I can just remember the Earl 
 — and a gay and happy household it was. He 
 was well paid and lodged, much loved by the 
 good Lord, and wealthy by his bounty. My 
 father was stout and tall, a brave man, and 
 skilful in arms ; and he was the Percy's hench- 
 man. Once, when one of the EarFs kinsmen 
 went to the court of the Emperor, my father 
 was sent with him, I have heard ; and he re- 
 turned with my mother, a native of a town 
 called Innsbruck in the mountains. I know
 
 AGINCOURT. 209 
 
 not whether you have heard of it ; but it is 
 a fair city, in good truth." 
 
 " You have seen it, then ?" asked Richard 
 of Woodville. 
 
 " Not a year since," answered the girl ; 
 " but, to my tale. When I was still young, 
 my father fought and fell with Hotspur ; and, 
 not long after, the Duke's household was dis- 
 persed, and he himself obhged to fly to AVales, 
 or Scotland, I know not which. My mother 
 pined and died, for the people there loved not 
 a stranger amongst them ; and, after my fa- 
 ther's death, called her nought but the fo- 
 reigner. They laughed, too, at her language, 
 for she could speak but poor English ; and, 
 what between their gibes and her own grief, she 
 withered away daily, till her eyes closed. She 
 taught me her own language, however ; and 
 I have not forgot it. — She taught me her own 
 faith, too ; and I have not abandoned it." 
 ' And that was — " exclaimed Richard. 
 
 " The holy CathoHc faith !" replied the girl, 
 crossing herself ; " and nothing has ever been 
 able to turn me from it. But still, I could
 
 210 AGINCOURT. 
 
 not let it break all boiicls — could I, noble 
 sir ?" 
 
 " Perhaps not," replied Richard of Wood- 
 ville ; " but let me hear farther." 
 
 " When the Earl fled, and my mother died," 
 continued the girl, " my grandfather took me 
 with him to the town of York ; and, as he 
 was wealthy, as I have said, his kinsfolk, who 
 were many in the place, were glad to see him. 
 He was very kind to me — oh, how kind ! and 
 taught me to sing, and play on many instru- 
 ments. But there came a disciple of Wic- 
 lifFe into the town, where there were already 
 many Lollards in secret ; and the poor old 
 man listened to them, and became one of them. 
 I would not hear them ; for I ever thought of 
 my mother, and what she had taught me ; and 
 this caused the first unkind words my grand- 
 father ever gave me. He mourned for them 
 afterwards, when he found I was not undutiful, 
 as he had called me. But, in the mean time, 
 he went on with the Lollards ; till, one night, 
 as they were coming from a place where they 
 had met, a crowd of rabble and loose people
 
 AGINCOURT. 211 
 
 set upon them with sticks and stones, and 
 beat them terribly ; and the poor old man 
 was brought home, with his face and eyes 
 sadly cut. Some of the Lollards were taken, 
 and two were tried, and burnt as heretics. 
 But my grandfather escaped that fate ; for, 
 by this time, his eyes had become red and 
 fiery, and he kept close to his own house. 
 The redness at length went away — but light 
 went too ; and he was in daily fear of perse- 
 cution. One night, when he was very sad, 
 I asked him why he stayed in York, where 
 there were so many perils ; but he shook his 
 head, and answered, ' Because I am sightless, 
 my child ; and I have none to guide me.' 
 Then I asked him again, if he had not me ; 
 and if he thought I would not go with him 
 to the world's end : and I found, by what 
 he said, that he had long thought of going 
 to foreign lands, but did not speak of it, be- 
 cause he thought that, as I would not hear his 
 people, I would refuse to go. When he found 
 I was ready, however, his mind was soon 
 made up, and we went first to a town called
 
 212 AGINCOURT. 
 
 Liege, where he had a brother, and there we 
 lived happily enough for some time ; for that 
 brother, and all his family, thought on many 
 matters with him. But he heard of a man 
 named Huss, who is a great leader of that 
 sect in a country called Bohemia, and he re- 
 solved to go thither, as he was threatened with 
 persecution in Liege. We then wandered far 
 and wide through strange lands. — But why 
 should I make my tale long ? We suffered 
 many things — were plundered, wronged, per- 
 secuted, beaten ; and the money that he had, 
 began to melt away, with no resource behind ; 
 for we had heard that our own relations and 
 friends in York had pillaged his house; and 
 one had taken possession of it as his own. 
 I then proposed to him that I should sing at 
 festivals and tournaments, that he might keep 
 the little he still had against an evil day. Thus 
 we came through Germany, and Burgundy, and 
 part of France and Brabant ; and, at length, he 
 determined that he would come back to his own 
 country, which he did, only to be murdered last 
 night, for we have not been a month in England."
 
 AGINCOURT. 213 
 
 " Alas ! my poor girl," said Richard of 
 Woodville, " yours is, indeed, a sad history ; 
 and, in truth, I know not what counsel to 
 give you for the future. Alone, as you are, 
 in the world, you need some one much to 
 protect you." 
 
 "I do indeed," repHed the girl, " but I 
 have none ; and yet," she added, after a mo- 
 ment, '' these are foolish thoughts, brought 
 upon me but by grief. I can protect myself. 
 Many have a worse fate than I have ; for how 
 often are those who have been softly nurtured, 
 cast suddenly into misfortune and distress ! 
 I have been inured to it by degrees — taught 
 step by step to struggle and resist. Mine is 
 not a heart to yield to evil chances. The 
 little that I want in life, I trust, I can honestly 
 obtain ; and, if not honestly, why, I can die. 
 There is still a home for the wanderer, — there 
 is still a place of repose for the weary." But, 
 as she spoke, the tears that rolled over her 
 cheeks, belied the fortitude which she assumed. 
 
 Richard of Woodville paused and meditated, 
 ere he replied. " Stay, ' he said at length.
 
 214 AGINCOURT. 
 
 as the girl rose, and covered her head again 
 with her hood, which she had cast hack, as 
 if she were ahout to depart. " Stay ! a thought 
 has struck me. Perchance, I can call the 
 King's hounty to you. I myself am now 
 about to depart for distant lands. I am going 
 to the court of Burgundy in a few days, and 
 shall not see our sovereign again before I set 
 out ; but I have a servant, who was once the 
 King's, and he will have the means of telling 
 your sad tale." 
 
 "To the Court of Burgundy!"' exclaimed 
 the girl eagerly; "oh! that I were going thither 
 with you ! " 
 
 " That may hardly be," replied Woodville 
 with a smile, as she gazed, with her large dark 
 eyes upon his face. 
 
 *' I know it ; " she answered sighing, and 
 cast her eyes down to the ground again with 
 the blood mounting into her cheek, " yet why 
 not in the same ship ? — I have kinsfolk both 
 in Liege and in Peronne — you would not see 
 wrong done to me ? " 
 
 " Assuredly not," said the young gentleman ;
 
 AGINGOURT. 215 
 
 "but if the King can be engaged to show 
 you kindness, it will be better. What Httle I 
 can spare, my poor gir], shall be yours ; and I 
 will send this man of whom I spoke, to see 
 you and tell you more. First, however, you 
 must let me know where you are lodged, and 
 for whom he must ask, as it may be three or 
 four days before he returns from the errand, 
 he is now gone to perform.'' 
 
 " My name is Ella Brune,"" replied the girl ; 
 and she went on to describe to Richard of 
 Woodville the situation of the house in which 
 she and her grandfather had taken up their 
 abode, on their arrival in London a few days 
 before. He found from her account that it was 
 a small hostel just within the walls of the city, 
 which the old man had known and frequented 
 in former years ; that the host and his good 
 dame were kind and homely people ; and that 
 though the poor girl had remained out watch- 
 ing the corpse at the lodge of the convent, 
 she had returned that morning to explain the 
 cause of her absence, and had been received 
 with sympathy and consolation. Knowing well,
 
 216 AGINCOURT. 
 
 however, that there is a Hmit to the tender- 
 ness of most innkeepers, and that that limit 
 is seldom, if ever, extended beyond the length 
 of their guest's purse, the young gentleman 
 took three half nobles, which, to say truth, 
 was as much as he could spare, and offered 
 them to his fair companion, saying, " Trouble 
 yourself not in regard to expenses of the fune- 
 ral, Ella, or of the masses. The porter of 
 the convent has been here this morning before I 
 went out, and I have arranged all that with him." 
 
 The girl looked at the money in his hand, 
 with a tearful eye and a burning cheek ; but, 
 after gazing for a moment, she put his hand 
 gently away, saying, " No, no, 1 cannot take 
 it — from you I cannot take it." 
 
 " And why not from me ?'' asked Richard of 
 Woodville in some surprise. 
 
 She hesitated for an instant and then replied, 
 " Because you have been so good and kind 
 already. Were it from a stranger, I might — 
 but you have already given me much, paid 
 much ; and you shall not hurt yourself for me. 
 I have enough.''
 
 AGINCOURT. 217 
 
 " Naj, nay, Ella,"^ said Richard with a 
 smile. " If I have been kind, that is a rea- 
 son why you must not grieve me by refusing the 
 little I can give ; and as to what I have paid, 
 I will say to you ^vith Little John whom you 
 have heard of 
 
 " I have done thee a good turn for an 
 Quit me when thou may." 
 
 " And what did Robin answer ?" said the 
 girl, a light coming up into her eyes as she 
 forgot, for an instant, her loss and her desolate 
 situation in the struggle of generosity, which 
 she kept up against her young benefactor — 
 
 " Nay, by my troth, said Robm, 
 So shall it never be." 
 
 " It must be, if you would not pain me," re- 
 plied Richard of Woodville ; " you must not 
 be left in this wide place, my poor girl, with- 
 out friend or money."" 
 
 " Nay, but I have enough ; " she answered ; 
 " if I were tempted to take it, 'twould only be 
 with the thought of crossing the sea, which 
 costs much money, I know." 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 AGINCOURT. 
 
 "Then take it for that chance, my poor 
 Ella," replied Woodville forcing the money into 
 her hand ; " and tell me what store you have 
 got, in order that, if I have ought more to 
 spare, when I have received what my copse- 
 wood brings, I may send it to you by the 
 servant I spoke of."" 
 
 " Indeed, I know not," said Ella Brune ; 
 "there is a small leathern bag at the inn, in 
 which we used to put all that we gathered ; but 
 I thought not to look what it contained. My 
 heart was too heavy when I went back, to 
 reckon money. But there is enough to pay 
 all that we owe, I know ; and as for the time 
 to come," she added with a melancholy smile, 
 "I eat little, and drink less ; so that my diet 
 is soon paid." 
 
 Her words and manner had that harmony in 
 them, which can rarely be attained when both 
 do not spring from the heart ; and Richard of 
 Woodville became more and more interested 
 in the fair object of his kindness every moment. 
 He detained her some time longer to ask far- 
 ther questions ; but, at length the host opened
 
 AGINCOURT. 219 
 
 the door, and told him, there was a young 
 man without who sought to speak with him. 
 This interruption terminated his conversation 
 with Ella Brune ; for, drawing her hood far- 
 ther still over her face, she again rose, took 
 his hand and pressed her lips upon it. 
 
 *' The blessing of the queen of heaven be 
 upon you, noble sir,'" she said ; and then passed 
 through the door, at which the landlord still 
 stood, wondering a little at the deep gratitude 
 which she seemed to feel towards his young 
 guest. 
 
 l2
 
 220 AGINCOURT. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE DECEIVER. 
 
 The King of England remained seated for 
 many minutes exactly where Richard of Wood- 
 ville had left him. His right hand rested on 
 the arm of his chair ; his left upon the hilt 
 of his dagger; and his eyes remained fixed 
 apparently upon the heavy building of the 
 Abbey, such as it then appeared, before a far 
 successor of his added to it a structure, rich, 
 and perhaps beautiful in itself, but sadly out 
 of keeping with the rest of the pile. But 
 Henry saw not the long straight lines of the 
 solemn mass of masonry ; he heard not the 
 bells chiming from the belfry hard by : his 
 mind was absent from the scene in which his 
 body dwelt ; and his thoughts busy with things 
 very different from those that surrounded him. 
 
 On what did they rest ? Over what did the
 
 AGINCOURT. 221 
 
 spirit of the great English monarch ponder, the 
 very day after he had solemnly assumed the 
 crown and sceptre ? — Who can say ? 
 
 He might perhaps remember other days 
 with some regret ; for we can never lose ought 
 that we have possessed without some mourn- 
 ful feelings of deprivation returning upon us 
 from time to time, however great and over- 
 powering be the compensation that we obtain ; 
 we can never change from one state and station 
 in our mortal course to another without some- 
 times thinking of former joys, and gone-by hap- 
 piness, even though we have acquired grander 
 blessings, and a more expansive sphere : and 
 oh ! how great is the change, even from the 
 position of a prince, to that of a monarch ! so 
 great indeed, that none who have not known 
 it can even divine. 
 
 He might already, perhaps, feel what a bur- 
 den a crown may sometimes become ; how heavy 
 are occasionally the gorgeous robes of state ; 
 he might look back to the free buoyancy of 
 his early life, and long to roam the wide plains 
 and fields of his kingdom alone, and at his
 
 222 AGINCOURT. 
 
 ease. Or he might think of friendship — and 
 there was none more capable of knowing and 
 valuing it aright — and might wonder whether 
 a monarch could indeed have a friend ; one 
 into whose bosom he could pour his secret 
 thoughts, or with whose wit he could try his 
 own, in free, but not undignified encounter; 
 one in whom he could trust, and with whom 
 he might relax, certain that the condescension 
 of the sovereign would not be mistaken, nor 
 the confidence of the friend betrayed. 
 
 Again, he might ponder upon all the diffi- 
 culties and pains of a royal station ; he might 
 think, " Each of my subjects is burdened with 
 his own cares and anxieties, but I with the 
 care and anxiety of the whole :" or his mind 
 might turn to the especial troubles and discom- 
 forts of a monarch, and remember how many 
 he must have to disappoint ; how often he 
 must have to punish ; how much he must 
 have to refuse ; how seldom he might be per- 
 mitted to forgive ; what great works he must 
 necessarily leave undone ; what good deeds he 
 might be obliged to neglect ; what faults he must
 
 AGINCOURT. 223 
 
 be called upon to overlook ; what pain and 
 grief, even to the good and wise, a stern ne- 
 cessity might compel him to inflict. 
 
 He might perhaps think of any, or all of 
 these things, for they were all within the grasp 
 of his character, as Henry was peculiarly a 
 thoughtful monarch. We are indeed only ac- 
 customed to look upon him, either as a wild 
 youth, suddenly and somewhat strangely re- 
 formed, or as a great conqueror and skilful 
 general, a prudent and ambitious prince. But 
 those who will enquire into his private life, 
 who will mark the recorded words that oc- 
 casionally broke from his hps, trace the causes 
 and course of his actions, examine his conduct 
 to his friends, and even to his enemies, who will 
 in short strip off the monarch's robes and look 
 upon the man, will find a meditative spirit, 
 though a quick one ; a warm heart though a 
 firm one ; a rich and lively imagination though 
 a clear and vigorous judgment. He was not 
 one to take upon him the cares of government 
 without feeling all their weight ; to regard 
 a throne as a seat of ease and pleasure, or to
 
 224 AGINCOURT. 
 
 assume the grand responsibilities of sovereign 
 power, without examining them stedfastly and 
 sternly, seeing all that is bright, and all that 
 is dark therein, and feeling keenly every sacri- 
 fice for which they call. 
 
 To love and to be beloved by a whole 
 nation, to give and to receive happiness by 
 a wise government of a great people, is as- 
 suredly a mighty recompence for all the pains 
 of royal station ; but yet those pains will be 
 felt hourly while the reward is afar ; and the 
 monarch's conversation with Richard of Wood- 
 ville, had awakened him to some of those evils 
 which the wisest rule cannot entirely remedy. 
 Almost under the windows of his palace, on 
 the very day of his coronation, in the midst 
 of rejoicing and festivity, one of his subjects, 
 an innocent inoffensive old man, had been 
 brutally deprived of life, by a party of those 
 who had been feasting at his own table ; and, 
 when he remembered all the scenes with which 
 the course of his early life had made him ac- 
 quainted throughout this wide land, he saw 
 what a task it would be to restrain the wild
 
 AGINCOURT. 225 
 
 licence of a host of turbulent nobles, and to 
 bind them to submission to the laws, and to 
 reverence for the rights and happiness of 
 others. 
 
 The monarch was still deep in thought when 
 the page, whom he had sent for Sir Simeon 
 of Roydon, returned, announcing that he was 
 in waiting without ; and Henry at once ordered 
 him to be admitted. The knight advanced 
 with courtly bows, and more than due reverence, 
 for he was one of those who, overbearing and 
 haughty to their inferiors, are always cringing 
 and fawning towards those above them, at least 
 until they are detected. 
 
 But Henry came to the point at once, saying, 
 with a stern brow, " I hear matters regarding 
 you. Sir Simeon of Roydon, that please me not ; 
 and I would fain hear from your own lips, what 
 explanation you can give. Know, sir, that the 
 subjects of this crown are not to be murdered 
 with impunity, and that sooner or later blood 
 will find a tongue to accuse those that spill it."' 
 
 The knight turned somewhat pale under the 
 keen eye of the King ; but he answered at
 
 226 AGINCOURT. 
 
 once in smooth and fluent tones, " I was not 
 aware, Sire, that I had done ought that should 
 bring upon me the greatest punishment that I 
 could receive — that of falling under the displet. • 
 sure of your Highness ; for any other infliction 
 which might follow that severe misfortune, 
 would seem nothing in comparison, or light in- 
 deed, if by any bodily sufl'ering I could remove 
 the heavy weight of your anger. May I hum- 
 bly enquire what is my fault ? It must be 
 great, I am sure, though I know it not, to 
 make so clement a King regard his servant so 
 harshly." 
 
 " It is great, sir," replied Henry, who 
 could not be deluded with fair words ; " did 
 you not, last night, after quitting the hall 
 below, cause the death of an old man by a 
 most brutal outrage ?" 
 
 " Nay, Heaven forbid ! " cried Roydon, with 
 well-feigned surprise and grief. " Your High- 
 ness does not, I trust, mean to say that the 
 poor old man is dead ? " 
 
 " He was killed upon the spot, sir," answered 
 Henry ; " and I am told, you did not even
 
 AGINCOURT. 227 
 
 stop to enquire what had been the result of 
 your own act." 
 
 " I will go home and have him slaughtered 
 without delay,**' exclaimed Roydon, as if speak- 
 ing to himself in a paroxysm of regret. 
 
 " Have whom slaughtered ? "" asked the 
 King, gazing upon him coldly ; for he began 
 to divine the course his defence was to take. 
 
 " The brute that did it, Sire," repHed the 
 knight ; '' three times has that horse nearly 
 deprived me of life, which I heeded not much, 
 for it is a fine though unruly animal ; but now 
 that he has taken the life of another, his own 
 shall be forfeit. Scarcely had I mounted when, 
 with the bit between his teeth, he set off at 
 full speed ; some of my companions galloped 
 after to stop him if possible ; but were unable, 
 till a gentleman on foot, I know not who. 
 caught the bridle in the crowd ; and I, not 
 seeing what had befallen, rode on keeping him 
 iu with difficulty." 
 
 A slight smile curled the lip of the King, 
 showing to Sir Simeon Roydon that he was 
 not fully believed, and a dark feeling of
 
 2^8 AGINCOURT. 
 
 anger — the rage of detected meanness — 
 gathered itself in the inmost recesses of his 
 heart, with only the more bitter intensity 
 because he dared not suffer it to peep forth. 
 There is nothing that we hate so much as one 
 whom, however much he may offend us, we 
 cannot injure. Vengeance is the drink by which 
 the dire thirst of hate is often assuaged; but 
 if that cannot by any possibility be obtained, 
 the burning of the heart goes on increasing till 
 it becomes the unquenchable drought of fever. 
 
 The monarch answered calmly, however, and 
 without further reproach. '' Your tale, Sir 
 Simeon," he said, " is somewhat different from 
 that which previously reached my ears. I 
 trust it can be substantiated in all its parts; 
 for this matter must be investigated fully. 
 The crown officer will of course do his duty 
 by inquest upon the body. It will be well for 
 you to be present ; and the law will then take 
 its due effect. Retire for a time, sir, into 
 another chamber, and I will cause enquiry to 
 be made, as to when a jury will be ready to 
 investigate the case."
 
 AGINCOURT. 9.29 
 
 Sir Simeon of Roydon bowed with a sad and 
 respectful countenance, and turned towards the 
 door ; ,but when he reached it, the expression 
 of his face, now averted from the King, was 
 very different from that which it had been a 
 moment before. A mocking smile sat upon 
 his lip — the sneering, bitter expression of a bad 
 spirit which has gained some advantage over a 
 nobler one ; but it was gone again the mo- 
 ment he opened the door and stood in presence 
 of two or three attendants, who were waiting 
 in the ante-room. At the same instant the 
 voice of Henry called the page, and Sir Simeon 
 pausing and seating himself, could hear the 
 King give orders for making the enquiries 
 which he had mentioned. In less than twenty 
 minutes, the page returned and entered the 
 monarch's closet, after which the Knight was 
 recalled. 
 
 " I find, sir," said Henry when he appeared 
 again before him, " that uncommonly quick 
 proceedings have been taken in this case. The 
 inquest has sat already, and the good men have 
 pronounced the death accidental. So far the find-
 
 230 AGINCOURT. 
 
 ing is satisfactory ; but as it is clear that the acci- 
 dent occurred by your furious riding of a horse 
 which you yourself acknowledge to be vicious 
 and dangerous, I have to require that you 
 make the only compensation that can be made 
 to the person who I am told is this old man's 
 grandchild. You will, therefore, go at once 
 to the hospital of St. James, and there, or 
 elsewhere when you have found her, will pay 
 to this poor girl the sum of fifty half nobles, 
 expressing your sorrow — which, doubtless, you 
 feel sincerely — for the evil you have occasioned." 
 
 Sir Simeon of Roydon bowed with every 
 appearance of respect ; but there was a scowl 
 upon his brow ; and he could not refrain from 
 asking, " May I enquire, Sire, whether this 
 fine is imposed by the inquest, or whether it 
 be the award of your Highness ; for if- — "" 
 
 Henry's cheek flushed, and the impetuous 
 spirit which had made him in early years strike 
 the judge upon the bench, roused itself for a 
 moment in his heart. It was conquered speedily, 
 however, and he murmured to himself, " No, 
 I will not act the tyrant."" " Sir Simeon,'' he
 
 AGINCOURT. 231 
 
 continued aloud, waving his hand, " the award 
 is mine, as you say. It is my desire that this 
 should be done. You will do it or not as you 
 think fit, for I will not strain the laws ; but 
 if it be not done, never present yourself before 
 me again. That at the least I may require, 
 sir, though the verdict of the jury can but 
 atfect the horse you rode." 
 
 " Your Highness did not hear me out," replied 
 Roydon, who had now recovered the mastery of 
 himself ; " I did but presume to ask, because if 
 such a fine had been imposed by the jury, I 
 should have resisted it as contrary to law ; but 
 at the command of your Highness, I pay it, not 
 only with submission but with pleasure, as the 
 only means I have of showing both my regret 
 at what has taken place, and my eager desire 
 to conform myself in all things to your will. 
 Not an hour shall pass before you are cer- 
 tified that I have not only obeyed, but gone 
 beyond your orders ; and so I humbly take 
 my leave." 
 
 The words were well and gTacefully spoken, 
 and Henry found no occasion to complain of
 
 2S2 AGINCOURT. 
 
 the knight's demeanour ; tut still he was not 
 satisfied that his obedience was the submission 
 of the heart, for he knew right well that fair 
 words, ay, and fair actions too, are often but 
 the cloaks of sly and subtle knavery ; and the 
 character of Sir Simeon of Roydon was not 
 new to him. He replied merely, " So you shall 
 do well, sir ;"" and bowed his head as a signal 
 that he might depart. 
 
 The knight quitted his presence in no happy 
 mood, perceiving right well that the monarch's 
 favour on which he had counted much, had 
 been lost and not regained. He hated him for 
 the clear-sighted penetration which had seen 
 through his art ; and he only doubted whe- 
 ther there was or was not a chance of still 
 deceiving his sovereign, and recovering his good 
 graces, by an appearance of zeal and devotion 
 in obeying his commands. 
 
 " It is worth the trial," he thought, *' and it 
 shall be tried ; but I shall soon find whether he 
 continues to nourish such ill will towards me, 
 and if he do, my course must be shaped accord- 
 ingly. Curses upon these beggarly vagrants !
 
 AGINCOURT. 233 
 
 Who ever heard of King before who troubled his 
 nobility about minstrels and tomblesteres ? This 
 smacks of the early tastes of our magnanimous 
 monarch, whose sole delight within these two 
 months, was in pot-house tipplers, and losel 
 gamesters. He may assume a royal port and 
 solemn manner, if he will ; but the habit of 
 years is not so easily conquered, and, if he trip 
 now, he is lost. Men were tired enough of his 
 usurping father. A new prince carries the ever 
 changing multitude at his heels ; but time will 
 bring weariness, and weariness is soon changed 
 into disgust. — We shall see, we shall see ; and 
 the day of vengeance may come. In the mean- 
 time, of one, at least, I have had retribution ; 
 and this other shall not long escape — a rude, 
 ballad singing peasant, only fit for the brute 
 sports of the bull-baiting, or the fair — a veiy 
 franklin in spirit, and a yeoman in heart.'' 
 
 With thoughts, — which, as the reader may 
 have perceived, had deviated from the King to 
 Richard of Woodville, — with thoughts waver- 
 ing with a strong inclination to bold evil, but 
 chained down to mere knavery, for the time.
 
 234 AGINCOURT. 
 
 by some remaining chances of success — for, 
 strange as it may seem, as many men are ren- 
 dered cowards by hope as by fear — Sir Simeon 
 of Roydon pursued his way to the hospital 
 of St. James, on foot, having hastened to the 
 presence of the King without waiting for his 
 horses. As, still in deep and angry thought, 
 he approached the gate and the old lodge, he 
 raised his eyes somewhat suddenly at an ad- 
 vancing step, and beheld the form of a young 
 girl with her long dark eyelashes bent down 
 till they rested on her cheek. He caught but 
 a momentary glance as she hurried by ; but 
 Simeon of Roydon was quick and eager in his 
 examination of all that is beautiful in mere 
 form, and that glance was sufficient to rouse 
 no very holy feelings. The rounded limbs, the 
 small and delicate foot and ankle, the fine 
 chiseled features, the graceful easy movements, 
 the exquisite neck and bosom half hidden by 
 the folds of the grey hood, were all marked in 
 an instant ; and as she seemed alone, without 
 defence or protection, he hesitated, for a mo- 
 ment, whether to stop and speak to her ; but
 
 AGINCOURT. 235 
 
 while he paused, she was gone with a quick step ; 
 the gate of the convent was near, and, resisting 
 the passing temptation, he walked on and rang 
 the bell. 
 
 The porter slowly opened the gate; and, with 
 the tone of careless and haughty indifference 
 which has always marked the inferior person- 
 ages of a court — I mean the inferior in mind, 
 more than the inferior in rank or station — the 
 knight said, " there was an old man killed near 
 this spot last night, I think/' 
 
 " There was, noble sir," answered the porter 
 with a low reverence to his air of superiority, 
 " the body has been moved to the chapel." 
 
 " I care nought about the body," rejoined Roy- 
 don. "He had a daughter or grand-daughter 
 or something with him ; where is she ?" 
 
 " She has just gone forth, noble sir,*" replied the 
 porter ; " you must have passed her at the gate." 
 
 " Ha ! what a girl with a grey hood and a 
 white coat, with some gold at the edge ?" asked 
 the knight. 
 
 '' The same, noble sir," said the old man ; 
 " poor thing, she is sadly afflicted."
 
 236 AGINCOURT. 
 
 " Send her to me when she comes back, and 
 I will comfort her,'' answered the visitor in a 
 light tone. 
 
 '' Nay, sir, she is none of those. Til warrant,'** 
 replied the porter, very little edified ; " and I 
 give no such messages here." 
 
 " Thou art a fool, old man," said Sir Simeon 
 of Roydon, " Will she come back hither ? " 
 
 '' Doubtless, she will," answered the other, 
 " for better comfort than you can give." 
 
 " Pshaw ! art thou a preacher ?" demand- 
 the knight with a sneer. " The comfort that 
 I have to give, is gold by the King's command. 
 So tell her to come to Burwash-house, close 
 by the temple gate, up the lane to the left, 
 and ask for Simeon of Roydon. If I be not 
 within, I will leave the money with a servant ; 
 but bid her come quickly, for I must tell the 
 King as soon as his bounty is bestowed — 
 When will she be here ? " 
 
 " That I know not," answered the old man ; 
 *'the prioress bade me give her admission to 
 the parlour whenever she came, for the ladies, 
 the sisters, have taken her case much to heart.
 
 AGINCOURT. 237 
 
 But the young woman did not say when she 
 would return. Perhaps, it would be better for 
 you to leave the money with the lady prioress 
 herself, who would render it to her when she 
 sees her." 
 
 " Give ad\*ice to those who ask it, my friend,'' 
 repHed Roydon. " I know best what are the 
 King's commands and my duty; so tell her 
 what I say on the part of his Highness, and 
 let her come as speedily as maybe." 
 
 The knight then turned, and vtdth a haughty 
 step, took his way back to Burwash-house, the 
 London mansion of a distant kinsman, who, 
 in reverence of his newly acquired wealth, per- 
 mitted the heir of poor Catherine Beauchamp 
 to inhabit it during his own absence from the 
 capital. 
 
 Sir Simeon of Roydon was now enjoying 
 to the full, that which he had long earnestly 
 desired, — the prosperity of riches, which he 
 had never before known ; for his own estate 
 had originally been small, and had soon been 
 encumbered under the influence of expensive 
 tastes and vain ostentation. Unchastened by
 
 238 AGINCOURT. 
 
 adversity, unreclaimed by experience, he was 
 now living as much beyond his present, as he 
 had previously lived beyond his former fortune ; 
 and grooms and attendants of all kinds waited 
 him at his dwelling, chosen from the scum of a 
 great city, which always affords a multitude of 
 serviceable knaves, ready to aid an heir to spend 
 his inheritance, and, by obsequious compliance 
 with all rash or vicious desires, to secure them- 
 selves a participation in the plunder, during 
 the term of its existence. To some of these 
 worthies, whom he found in the court, he gave 
 orders for the immediate admission of poor 
 Ella Brune as soon as she appeared ; and then, 
 betaking himself to a chamber on the first 
 floor, he occupied himself for somewhat more 
 than an hour in thinking over future plans, 
 no inconsiderable portion of which referred to 
 the gratification of many of the pleasant little 
 passions that, like strong drink, by turns stimu- 
 late and allay the thirst of a depraved mind. 
 Revenge — or, rather, the gratification of hate ; 
 for revenge presupposes injury — was predomi- 
 nant, though ambition had a goodly share also.
 
 AGINCOURT. 239 
 
 To become that for which he thought him- 
 self well fitted, but towards which he had 
 never hitherto been able to take one step, 
 a great and prominent man, was one prin- 
 cipal object : to take a share in the mightier 
 deeds of life, to rule and influence others, to 
 command, to be looked up to, to receive au- 
 thority, and wield it at will. Ob, how often 
 does that desire to become a great man render 
 one a little man ! — How often is it the source 
 of littleness in those who might otherwise be 
 great indeed ! ^V^hen the greatest philosopher 
 that modem ages has produced, declared that, 
 *' to rise to dignities we must submit to indig- 
 nities," how powerful to debase the mightiest 
 mind, did that longing to become a great man 
 show itself ! How constantly, through his whole 
 career, do we see it producing all that made 
 him other than great ! It was, and is ever, 
 the result of the one grand fundamental error, 
 the misappreciation of real greatness. And thus 
 we desire to become great in the eyes of other 
 men, not in our own ; to win the applause 
 of worms, not merit the approbation of God.
 
 240 AGINCOURT. 
 
 Such pitiful elevation was the only greatness 
 coveted hy him of whom we speak : but that 
 was not the only desire which moved him ; he 
 longed for indulgence of every kind, from which 
 straitened circumstances had long debarred him ; 
 he thought of pleasures with the eagerness of a 
 Tantalus, who had for years beheld them close 
 to his lip, without the power of bringing them 
 within his taste ; and, like a famished beast, 
 he was ready to fall upon the food of appetite 
 wherever it could be found. But still, cunning 
 — both natural, and that acquired from the ready 
 teacher of all evil to inferior minds, poverty — 
 was at hand to bring certain restraints, which 
 wisdom and virtue were not there to enforce. 
 There was a consciousness in his breast, that 
 too great eagerness often disappoints its own 
 desires, and that he was too eager ; and, there- 
 fore, he resolved that he would be cautious too. 
 But such resolutions usually fail somewhere ; 
 for cautiousness is a guardian who does not 
 always watch, when she is without the com- 
 panionship of rectitude. 
 
 Such reflexions were still busily occupying
 
 AGINCOURT. 241 
 
 his mind ; and he had arrived at sincere regret 
 for the rash and brutal act which he had com- 
 mitted the night before — not because it was 
 evil, but because it was imprudent — when a 
 page opened the door, and ushered Ella Brune 
 into the room. 
 
 The poor girl knew not whom she was com- 
 ing to see : she had taken no note of the face 
 or form of him whose cruel carelessness had 
 deprived her of the only support she had ; 
 she had not listened to the words that passed 
 between him and Richard of Woodville. She 
 stood before him, unconscious that he was the 
 slayer of her old companion. Let the reader 
 mark that fact well. Nevertheless, as soon as 
 she saw him, she turned deadly pale, and her 
 limbs trembled. 
 
 But Sir Simeon of Roydon took a smooth 
 and pleasant tone ; and, as soon as the page 
 was gone, and had closed the door, he asked, 
 " They gave you my message, then, pretty 
 maid ? " At the same time he placed a stool 
 for her, and motioned her to be seated. 
 
 " They told me, sir,"" she answered, in a 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 ^42 AGINCOURT. 
 
 low tone, " that you had commands for me 
 from the King." 
 
 " And so I have, fair maiden," replied Si- 
 meon of Roydon ; " but, I pray you, sit. This 
 has been a sad event — I grieve for it much. 
 I was not aware, till this morning, that my 
 runaway charger had done such damage." 
 
 " And were you the man ? " demanded Ella 
 Brune, suddenly raising her eyes to his face. 
 As she did so, she found him gazing at her 
 from head to foot, taking in all the beauties 
 of her face and form, as an experienced judge 
 remarks the points of a fine horse ; and she 
 drew her hood farther over her brow, not well 
 satisfied with the eager and passionate look of 
 admiration which his countenance displayed. 
 
 " I was unfortunate enough to be so," an- 
 swered Roydon, perceiving her gesture, and 
 thinking it as well to put some little restraint 
 upon himself, though he never dreamed that 
 a poor minstrePs girl could seriously resist the 
 solicitation of a man of wealth and station. 
 " I regret it deeply," he continued, " but the 
 brute overpowered me. — By the King's com-
 
 AGINCOURT. 243 
 
 mands, I bear you fifty half nobles. Here 
 they are : and, for my own satisfaction, I 
 "will give you the same/'' 
 
 As he spoke, he held out a purse to her, 
 but Ella Brune drew back. " The King's 
 bounty," she said, " I will receive with grati- 
 tude ; but, from you, I will take nothing." 
 
 "And, pray, why not, sweet girl?" asked 
 Simeon of Roydon ; " the King cannot grieve 
 for what has happened half as much as I do, 
 or be half as eager to comfort and console 
 you. Nay, sit down, and speak to me ;" and, 
 taking her hand, he led her back to the stool 
 much against her will. " I would fain hear 
 what can be done for you," he added ; " I 
 fear you may be friendless and unprotected ; 
 and I long to make up to you, as far as pos- 
 sible, for the loss you have sustained." 
 
 " I am, indeed, alone in the world," replied 
 the fair girl ; " but not friendless, and unpro- 
 tected, while I trust in God." 
 
 " Yes, but God uses human means," an- 
 swered Roydon, who was every moment grow- 
 ing more eager in the pursuit, which at first had 
 
 M 2
 
 244 AGINCOURT. 
 
 been but as the chase of a butterfly ; " and 
 you must let me be his instrument, as I have 
 caused, unwillingly, this evil to befal you. 
 I have a beautiful small cottage on my lands, 
 where the trees fall round and shade it in 
 the winter from the wind — in the summer 
 from the sun. The woodbine and rose gather 
 round the door, and a sparkling stream dances 
 within sight. There, if you will accept such 
 a refuge, you can live in peace and tran- 
 quillity, protected from all the harm and wrong 
 that might happen to you in great cities ; for 
 you are too young and too lovely to escape 
 wiles, and perhaps violence, if you are left with- 
 out good ward, in such resorts of men as these." 
 A smile came upon the lip of Ella Brune, 
 but it was of a very mingled and changeful ex- 
 pression. Perhaps the wakening of some old 
 remembered dream of happy days might render 
 it at first soft and gentle ; and, the next in- 
 stant, the recollection of how that dream had 
 faded might sadden ; and then again the trans- 
 parency of his baseness mixed a touch of scorn 
 with it, and she answered, " That can never be,
 
 AGINCOURT. 245 
 
 sir. I seek no protection but that I have, and 
 cannot accept of yours. I am able, as I am 
 accustomed, to guard myself, and will do so 
 still. I think you have mistaken me — but it 
 matters not. I seek neither gold nor favour 
 from you ; and, if you would make atonement 
 for bad deeds, it must be to God, not me." 
 
 As she spoke, she rose, and turned to quit 
 the room ; and Simeon of Roydon hesitated 
 for a moment whether he should not detain 
 her by force — for those were days of violence ; 
 and her very coldness had rendered the passion 
 he began to feel towards her but the more 
 impetuous. He remembered, however, that 
 there might be those who expected her re- 
 turn ; that the place whither she had gone 
 was known at the monastery ; and that the 
 King's eye might be upon his conduct towards 
 her. These calculations passed hke lightning 
 through his mind, and he chose his course in an 
 instant. 
 
 "Stay!" he cried, "stay one minute more, 
 sweet girl. I have not mistaken you at all. 
 I would not even force my protection on you :
 
 ^46 AGINCOURT. 
 
 but, at least, receive this ; for I must tell the 
 King that it is paid." 
 
 " His bounty," replied Ella, " I will not re- 
 fuse, as I before said, and offer him my deepest 
 thanks ; but, from you, I will receive nothing." 
 
 " Well, then, take these fifty pieces," said 
 her companion ; " they are given by the King's 
 command. We shall meet again, fair maid ; 
 and then, perhaps, you will know me better." 
 
 '' I seek to know no more," she answered, 
 taking the gold he gave : " I have known 
 enough," and, turning to the door, she left 
 him, murmuring to herself, ''would that the 
 King had sent it by other hands." 
 
 Simeon of Roydon followed her to the gates, 
 beckoning up two of his servants as he went. 
 " Quick," he whispered ; " you see that girl ? 
 — follow her wherever she goes : find out her 
 name — her dwelling — every particular you can 
 gather, and bring me your tidings with all 
 speed."
 
 AGINCOURT. 247 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE HOURS OF JOY. 
 
 Probably there is a period in the hfe of 
 every one — if it be not cut short in very early 
 years, when the blossom is still upon the trees 
 of existence — in which the heart is so depressed 
 by a reiteration of those misfortunes which 
 generally come in groups, that the unexpected 
 announcement of an unnamed visitor, causes us 
 to look up with a feeling of dread, as if some 
 new sorrow were about to be added to the list 
 of those endured. But such was not yet the case 
 with Richard of Woodville, for though many 
 of the events which had lately passed, had 
 tended to make him somewhat more grave and 
 thoughtful than in younger days, yet neither 
 griefs nor anxieties, nor disappointments had been 
 heavy enough to weigh down a spirit naturally
 
 248 AGINCOURT. 
 
 buoyant. His heart might be called light and 
 free; for, though burdened with some cares, 
 and tied by the silver chain of love, yet hope, 
 bright, vigorous, rarely-tiring hope, helped him 
 to carry his load, and the bond between him 
 and sweet Mary Markham, was not one to 
 fetter the energies of his mind, or to dim the 
 brightness of expectation. But above all things 
 his bosom was perfectly free from guile ; and 
 in a house so cleanly kept, there is always 
 light, unless every window be closed by the 
 hands of death or of despair. 
 
 He looked, therefore, to see who the stranger 
 could be that asked for him, with some curi- 
 osity perhaps, but no alarm, and was surprised 
 but well pleased, when the figure of honest 
 Hugh of Clatford darkened the door. 
 
 " Ah, Hugh !" he exclaimed, "is that you ? 
 What has brought you to Westminster ? Are 
 you also going to seek service in foreign lands ?" 
 
 " Faith, sir, I know not what I am going 
 to do,*" replied the good yeoman ; "I came 
 up here with my lord, and wait his pleasure." 
 
 ** With your lord ! " exclaimed Woodville,
 
 AGINCOURT. 249 
 
 in astonishment ; " and what, in the name of 
 fortune and all her freaks, has brought my 
 uncle to Westminster ? — Was he summoned to 
 the coronation ?" 
 
 "Good truth, noble sir, I know not,'" an- 
 swered Hugh of Clatford. " He has not told 
 me why he came ; but I chanced to meet your 
 man Hob, and asked him where you were to 
 be found, but to come and see you and how 
 you fared." 
 
 "Thanks, Hugh, thanks!" replied Richard 
 
 of Woodville. 
 
 " True friend findeth true friend wherever they follow, 
 And summer 's no summer that wanteth the swallow ;" 
 
 " but whom has my uncle with him ? " 
 
 He would have fain asked if Mary Markham 
 
 was near ; but the question would not be 
 
 spoken, and Hugh of Clatford saved him the 
 
 trouble of farther enquiry. " He has brought 
 
 no one but myself," he said, " and Roger Vale, 
 
 and Martin the henchman, and one or two 
 
 lads with the horses, and a page, and the Lady 
 
 Mary—" 
 
 " Ah ! and is that sweet lady here ? " asked 
 
 >f 5
 
 250 AGINCOURT. 
 
 Woodville, in as calm and grave a tone as a 
 very joyous heart could use. " But has he not 
 brought my cousin Isabel ? " 
 
 " No, good sooth," rejoined the yeoman ; 
 " he and the Lady Mary came off in haste 
 on the arrival of a messenger from London/' 
 
 " That is strange," said Richard of Wood- 
 ville ; — but then he thought that, perchance his 
 friend Harry Dacre had sped well in his suit 
 to Isabel, and that the old knight might have 
 left her to cheer him at the hall. Nor was 
 such a course unlikely in that age; for there 
 were then fewer observances and stiff consider- 
 ations of propriety than in later days, since 
 rules and regulations more powerful, though 
 but of air, than the locks and eunuchs of an 
 Eastern harem, have tied down the most in- 
 nocent intercourse of those who love, and 
 every lady in the land is watched with the 
 dragon's eyes of parental prudence. Love was 
 then looked upon with reverence, and regarded 
 as a safeguard rather than a peril. There was 
 more confidence in virtue, more trust in honour." 
 
 After a short pause, Richard of Woodville
 
 AGINCOURT. 251 
 
 enquired where his uncle was lodged ; and to 
 the great disappointment of his host, who while 
 he was still speaking with Hugh of Clatford, 
 entered to set out the tables for the approach- 
 ing meal, the young gentleman accompanied 
 the good yeoman, fasting as he was, to visit 
 good Sir Philip Beauchamp — as he said ; but, 
 in truth, to sun himself in Mary's eyes. 
 
 Fortune, though she be a spiteful jade, will 
 occasionally favour true lovers ; and she cer- 
 tainly showed herself particularly benign to 
 Richard of Woodville in the present instance. 
 Hurrying on with Hugh of Clatford, he made his 
 way through the crowded streets of Westmin- 
 ster, till, at the outskirts of the town, near where 
 now stands George Street, he reached the gates 
 of a large house in a garden, where Sir Philip 
 Beauchamp had taken up his abode. With all 
 due reverence he asked for his uncle ; but he 
 must not be looked upon as a very undutiful 
 nephew, if we admit that he was not a little 
 rejoiced to find that the good old knight had 
 gone forth, leaving fair jNIary Markham behind. 
 
 Guided by Hugh of Clatford, who very
 
 252 AGINCOURT. 
 
 well understood all that was passing in the 
 young gentleman's heart, Richard was soon in 
 his fair lady's bower ; and certainly Mary's 
 bright face expressed quite as much pleasure 
 to see him as he could have desired. It ex- 
 pressed surprise also, however ; and after chid- 
 ing him, not very harshly, for a sweet liberty 
 he took with her arched lips, she exclaimed, 
 " But how are you here, Richard ? I thought 
 you were firm at Meon, poHshing armour and 
 trying horses." 
 
 Now Richard of Woodville, as soon as he 
 heard that Mary was in the same city with 
 himself, had formed his own conclusions in re- 
 gard to various matters that had puzzled him the 
 day before ; and he answered gaily, "What, de- 
 ceiver ! Do you think I do not know your 
 arts? You would have me believe you were 
 ignorant that I was here, and must tease your 
 poor lover twice in the course of yesterday, by 
 letting him hear your voice, yet hiding the 
 face that he loves best, from his sight ? " 
 
 " Nay, dear Richard," replied Mary with 
 a look of still greater surprise than before ;
 
 AGINCOURT. 2o3 
 
 " you are speaking riddles to me. You could 
 not hear my voice yesterday, at least in West- 
 minster, unless, indeed, it were late at night ; 
 and then it must have been in sad dolorous 
 tones ; for I was very tired. We did not 
 reach this place till three hours after dark. 
 But what is it vou mean, bv darinof to call 
 Mary a deceiver ? when you know right well, I 
 could not cheat you into thinking that I did 
 not love you, though I tried hard to look as 
 demure as a cat in the sunshine ?'''' 
 
 " Are you sincere now, Mary ? are you tell- 
 ing me the truth ?''"' asked Richard, still half 
 inclined to doubt ; but the moment after he 
 added, " Yet I know you are, my Mary 
 without guile. Truth gives you half your 
 beauty, Mary; it lights your eyes, it smiles 
 upon your lips. — Yet this is very strange ; and 
 I thought that I had discovered the key to 
 a mystery which must puzzle me still. — But 
 hear what has happened, and you shall judge ;" 
 and he proceeded to relate the injunctions which 
 had been twice laid upon him the day before, 
 by some unseen acquaintance in the crowd.
 
 254 AGINCOURT. 
 
 Mary Markham was not less surprised and 
 puzzled than himself, especially as he persisted 
 in asserting the words had been spoken by a 
 female voice. But they soon abandoned that 
 topic to turn to others of deeper interest to 
 their own two hearts : the cause of Sir Philip 
 Beauchamp's journey to the capital, and the 
 future fate of his fair companion. 
 
 *' In truth, Richard," said Mary in answer 
 to some of his questions, " I am well nigh as 
 ignorant as yourself of what is about to happen. 
 All I know is, that Sir Philip told me, I should, 
 probably, soon see my father again." 
 
 " And who is your father, my sweet Mary ?" 
 asked Woodville with a smile. 
 
 Mary gazed at him for an instant, with a 
 look of touched and gratified affection, and 
 then asked, " And did Richard of Woodville, 
 really seek poor Mary Markham's hand, then, 
 without knowing ought of her state and station ? 
 — was he willing to take her dowerless, friend- 
 less, stationless, almost nameless ? '* 
 
 *' Good faith, dear Mary,"' answered Wood- 
 ville, " I should be right glad to take you any
 
 AGINCOURT. 255 
 
 way I could get you ; and if dower, or station, 
 or friends, or ought else stand in the way, even 
 down to this pretty robe whose hem I kiss, 
 I pray you, Mary, cast it off ! I shall be right 
 glad to have you in your kirtle, if it be but of 
 hodden grey." 
 
 Mary Markham smiled and blushed ; and 
 her bright merry eyes acquired a softer and 
 more glistening light from the dew of happy 
 emotion that spangled her long eyelashes. 
 " Well, Richard," she said, " I do not love 
 you the less for that. — 'Tis a bold speech per- 
 haps, and one that I should not make ; but 
 once having owned what I feel, why should I 
 hide it now ?" 
 
 "' Fie on those who would blame you, dearest 
 lady," answered Woodville : '' who should feel 
 shame for love ? The brightest and the best 
 of human feelings, surely is no cause of shame ; 
 but we may all say with the great poet, 
 
 " sunn'is life ! O Jov 'is daughter dear, 
 Pleasaunce of love ! O godely debonaire 
 In gentle hearts aye ready to repaire, 
 O very cause of health and of gladnesse, 
 Iheried be thy might and godenesse."
 
 256 AGINCOURT. 
 
 " I cannot answer why, Richard," replied 
 Mary ; " but I know it is so, that all women feel 
 some shame to own they love ; and many affect 
 more shame than they really feel. But I will 
 hot do so, dear Richard ; for I think it is dis- 
 honesty to feign ought. I know I did feel 
 shame, when one day, as we sat beside the 
 river under the green trees, you won me to 
 say more than I ever thought I could ; and all 
 that night, when I thought upon it, my cheek 
 burned. But yet, in the moment of trial, I 
 felt bold ; and when your uncle asked me, I 
 told him all. Nor do I see why I should 
 conceal it now, even if I could, when you are 
 about to go far, and that may be your only 
 consolation in danger and in difficulty." 
 
 " It will be my strength and my support, 
 dear Mary," answered Woodville ; " and I do 
 think that if I could but win a promise from 
 you to be mine, it would so nerve my heart 
 and arm, in the hour of strife, that all men 
 should own I had won you well — Say, will 
 you promise, my sweet lady ?" 
 
 " I will promise that I will, if I may," re-
 
 AGINCOURT. 257 
 
 plied Mary; "but alas, Richard, the entire 
 fulfilment of that promise must depend upon 
 another. We poor women have but little 
 power, even over our own fate and persons ; 
 but I will love none but you, Richard, wherever 
 I go ; and you will not doubt that love, though 
 it be spoken so freely ?*" 
 
 " Nay, heaven forbid ! " said Richard of 
 Woodville ; " and were it not that you are 
 my uncle's ward, I would put that love, dear 
 Mary, to the proof, by asking you to fly with 
 me and seek out some friendly priest who 
 would bind our fate so fast together, that it 
 would take greater power than any one in the 
 land can boast, to sever it again. But I would 
 not be ungrateful to one who has been a father 
 to me." 
 
 " Nor must I be ungrateful, either to him, 
 or to my own father, Richard,'' replied Mary 
 Markham : " you would not love me long if I 
 could be so." 
 
 '• I know you cannot, Mary," answered her 
 lover ; " but tell me who he is, Mary, that I 
 may try to win him to hear my suit — I knew
 
 25S AGINCOURT. 
 
 not that your father was alive — unless, indeed, 
 the idle gossip — but no more of that. Who- 
 ever he be, I will trust to merit his esteem, 
 and surely his daughter's love will be no bad 
 commendation to him. I have hopes, too, of 
 advancement, if ambition be his passion, such, 
 indeed, as I have never had before. The King 
 — he who was with us not a month ago as Hal 
 of Hadnock — " 
 
 "Ay, Dacre told us who he was," cried 
 Mary Markham. 
 
 "The King, he shows me great favour," 
 continued Woodville, "and has given me let- 
 ters to many at the court of Burgundy, pro- 
 mising to send for me, too, as soon as he 
 has service for me here. With a true heart, 
 and no unpractised hand, I do not fear that 
 I shall fail of winning honour ; and though I 
 be but a poor gentleman, yet as I do know that 
 riches or poverty would make no difference in 
 Mary Markham to me, so I cannot believe that 
 it will change me in her eyes."" 
 
 " Oh no ! " she answered, but then added 
 with a sigh, " but my father, Richard. — It is
 
 AGINCOURT. 259 
 
 loDg since I have seen him, yet he was kind 
 and noble, just and true, if I remember right. I 
 recollect him well, with his grey hair, changed 
 more by sorrow than time. I thought you knew 
 the whole, for Isabel does; but I promised 
 faithfully not to speak of my fate or his to any 
 one, for reasons that he judged sufficient, when 
 he gave me into good Sir Phibp's charge ; and I 
 must not break my word even for you, Richard/' 
 
 " Well, it matters not," answered Wood- 
 ville ; " certainly I would fain know who he 
 is, for then I might court him as a lover 
 does his bride, for Mary's sake ; but yet you 
 must keep your promise to him, and to me 
 too ; and whenever you are free to speak, you 
 must give me tidings, dear girl ; for in all the 
 thousand chances of this world, I might mar my 
 own hopes, even while seeking to fulfil them.'* 
 
 " I will, I will,*" replied Mary Markham : 
 " but hark ! I hear your uncle's step, Richard. 
 I will but add one word more to cheer you. 
 Perhaps, if I judge right, we may not be so 
 long ere we meet again, as you suppose, — and 
 now, God prosper you, my own true squire."
 
 260 AGTNCOURT. 
 
 As she spoke the good okl knight, Sir Philip 
 Beauchamp, entered the room with a grave 
 and somewhat perplexed air. It soon became 
 evident, however, that whatever annoyed or 
 embarrassed him, it was not the presence of 
 his nephew ; for he greeted him kindly, holding 
 out his hand to him, saying, " Ay, you here 
 foolish boy ! — still the moth and the candle ! 
 But if you needs must love, why, let it lead 
 you to honour and renown. What brought 
 you to London ? To buy arms .?" 
 
 " No, sir, to see the King," replied his ne- 
 phew. '* He sent me a messenger, bearing let- 
 ters for me to the court of Burgundy, and gave 
 me to understand that I might come to visit 
 him if I would. '■' 
 
 The old knight, in his meditative mood, 
 seemed to catch some of Woodville*'s words 
 and miss the others. " Letters to the court 
 of Burgundy," he said. " Well, from Harry 
 of England, they should smooth thy path, boy. 
 Would to Heaven, you two were not lovers ! — 
 Not that I would speak ill of love ; His the 
 duty of every gentleman to vow his service to
 
 AGINCOURT. 261 
 
 some fair lady. At least, as it was so in my 
 yomig day ; but we have sorely declined since 
 then — sorely, sorely nephew, of mine ; and love 
 was then quite a different affair from now, 
 when it must needs end in marriage, or worse. 
 It was a high and ennobling passion in those 
 times, leading knights and gentlemen to seek 
 praise and do high deeds ; not for their own 
 sakes, but for the honour of the ladies whom 
 they served, nor requiring reward even from 
 them, but for pure and high affection, and the 
 pleasure of exalting them. Thus many a man 
 loved a lady — either placed far above him, or re- 
 moved from his reach by being wedded to an- 
 other — without sin, or shame, or presumption ; 
 for love as I have said, was a high and en- 
 nobhng feeling in those days, which taught men 
 to do what is right, not what is wrong." 
 
 " Well, my noble uncle," replied Richard of 
 Woodville, " and so it may be now ; and it 
 will have the same effect with me. But one 
 thing I do know, that I would rather do high 
 deeds to exalt my own wife, than another man's : 
 I would rather serve a lady that I may win.
 
 262 AGINCOURT. 
 
 than a lady I have no right to seek. Methinks 
 it is both more honest and more safe ; and by 
 God"'s blessing I will win her too, if I live 
 long enough and have fair play." 
 
 The old knight smiled. '* Thou art a jest- 
 ing coystrel, Dickon,'' he said ; " and yet not 
 a bad man at arms either. But times are 
 changed I tell thee, and not for the better. 
 Thou thinkest according to the day, and can- 
 not understand the past. — When goest thou 
 over seas, boy .?"" 
 
 " In a few days, sir," answered Richard of 
 Woodville. '' I think before a week be out." 
 
 Mary Markham's cheek turned a little pale ; 
 and the old knight meditated for a moment 
 or two, after which he asked his nephew when 
 he intended to quit London. Richard replied 
 that he went on the following morning ; and 
 Sir Philip, who had found a sad vacancy in 
 the hall since Richard had left them for a time, 
 and poor Catherine for ever, required that he 
 should stay and keep them company for the 
 rest of the day. 
 
 " Heaven knows, my poor Mary," he said
 
 AGINCOURT. 263 
 
 " how loDg we may have to remain in this place ; 
 and we shall soon find it dull enough. The 
 people whom I expected to meet, have not yet 
 appeared, and no tidings of them have come ; so 
 we may as well keep this idle boy to make us 
 merry ; and if he must go buy arms or lace jer- 
 kins for the court of Burgundy, why we will go 
 with him to Gutherun's Lane and the Jury ; and 
 you shall ride your white palfrey for once along 
 Cheape, with your gay side-saddle quilted with 
 gold ; though in my young days — before King 
 Richard married Anne of Bohemia — never a 
 lady in the land saw so fooHsh a contrivance." 
 
 It may well be supposed that neither Mary 
 Markham nor Richard of Woodville was very 
 much averse to such a proposal ; and the rest 
 of the day passed in that April-mom happi- 
 ness which all must have felt, ere parting with 
 those we love ; when the cloudy thought of the 
 dreary morrow, comes hourly sweeping over 
 the sunshine of the present, yet making the 
 light seem more bright for the passing shadow. 
 More than once, too, the lovers were left for 
 a while alone ; and everv moment added to
 
 264 AGINCOURT. 
 
 their sweet store of vows and promises. Much 
 was also told that they had not had time to tell 
 before, though it was still spoken in rambling 
 and unconnected form : the one predominant 
 feeling always intruding, and calling their 
 thoughts and words back to what was passing 
 in their own hearts. 
 
 How many bittter moments pay for our sweet 
 ones in this life ; and yet how willing are we all, 
 to make the purchase, whatever be the price ! 
 The ambitious spirit of enjoyment is upon us, 
 and we must still enlarge the sphere of our de- 
 light, though — as when a conqueror stretches 
 the bounds of his empire, and thereby only 
 exposes a wider frontier to attack — each new 
 hope, each new pleasure, each new possession, 
 but lays us open to loss, regret, and disappoint- 
 ment. It is a sad view of human hfe ; but 
 Richard of Woodville and Mary Markham 
 found its truth when they came to feel how 
 much more bitter was their parting, for the few 
 sweet hours of happiness they had enjoyed.
 
 AGINCOURT. ^5 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE WRONG. 
 
 The sun, scarce a hand's breadth above the 
 sky, was nevertheless shining with beams as 
 bright and warm as in the snnimer, when 
 Richard of Woodville mounted his horse in the 
 courtyard of the inn at Charing, and followed 
 by his two yeomen and his page, rode out, after 
 receiving the valedictory speeches of the host 
 and hostess, who, with a little crowd, composed 
 of drawers and maidens, and some of their 
 other guests, watched his departure, and com- 
 mented upon his strong yet graceful limbs, 
 and his easy management of his charger, prog- 
 nosticating that he would prove stout in battle 
 field, and fortunate in hall and bower. Near 
 the fine chaste cross at Charing, — which stood 
 hard by the spot where the grand libel upon 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 26'6 AGINCOURT. 
 
 British taste, called Trafalgar Square, now 
 stands — Woodville paused for a moment, and 
 letting his eye run past its grey fretwork, 
 gazed down in the direction of the palace and 
 the abbey, hesitating whether he should take 
 the shorter road by the convent of St. James, 
 or, once more passing through Westminster, 
 ride under the windows of fair Mary Mark- 
 ham, for the chance of one parting glance. I 
 need not tell the reader how the question 
 was decided ; but as he turned his horse's 
 head towards the palace, he saw a female 
 figure standing upon the lower step of the 
 cross, with the hood, then usually worn by 
 women when out, drawn far over the face. 
 The beautiful form, however, the small foot 
 and ankle appearing from beneath the short 
 kirtle, and the wild peculiar grace of the atti- 
 tude, taken together, showed him at once that 
 it was poor Ella Brune ; and he was riding for- 
 ward to speak with her, when she herself ad- 
 vanced and laid her hand upon his horse's neck. 
 " I have been watching for you, noble sir,*" 
 she said, "to bid you adieu before you part,
 
 AGINCOURT. 267 
 
 and to give you thanks from a poor but true 
 heart." 
 
 " Nay, you should not have waited here, 
 Ella," he replied ; ** why did you not come to 
 the inn?" 
 
 "I did, yesterday at vespers," answered the 
 girl, " but you were abroad ; and the people 
 laughed as if I had done a folly. Your men 
 told me, however, you were going this morning 
 at daybreak, and so I waited here ; for I would 
 fain ask you one boon." 
 
 " And what is that, Ella ?" enquired Wood- 
 ville ; " if it be possible to grant, it shall not 
 be refused ; for I have so little to give, that I 
 must be no niggard of what I have." 
 
 *' You can grant it," repHed the girl, with 
 a bright smile ; " and you will be a niggard 
 indeed if you do not : for it is what can do 
 you no harm, and may stead me much in case 
 of need. It is but to tell me, whither you 
 go, and when, and how." 
 
 " That is easily said, my fair maiden," an- 
 swered Woodville. " I go first to my own 
 
 place at Meon ; then to the Court of Burgundy, 
 
 N 2
 
 2G8 AGINCOURT. 
 
 at the end of six days ; and, as I would not 
 cross through France, I go by sea from Dover 
 to a town called Nieuport, on the coast of 
 Flanders ; — But say, is there ought I can do 
 for you before I send the man I told you of, 
 to give you what little assistance I can ?" 
 
 " Send him not, send him not," cried the 
 girl ; '' I am now rich — almost too rich, thanks 
 to your generous interference with our good 
 King. He sent me a large sum, by the hands 
 of the bad knight who killed the poor old man." 
 
 "Ay!" said Richard of Woodville, "and 
 did you see this Sir Simeon of Roydon, my poor 
 Ella ? — Beware of him ; for he is not one to 
 understand you rightly I fear." 
 
 " I am aware of him," answered the minstrel's 
 girl; "and I abhor him. He is a dark fear- 
 ful man — but no more of that — I shall never 
 see him more I trust, for his eyes chill my 
 blood. He looked at me as I love not men 
 should look — not as you do, kindly and piti- 
 fully — but I know not how ; it can be felt, not 
 told." 
 
 " I understand you, Ella," replied Richard
 
 AGINCOURT. 269 
 
 of Woodville ; " and his acts are like his looks. 
 He has made more than one unhappy heart 
 in many a cottage that once was blythe. I 
 grieve the King sent him to you.^"* 
 
 " Oh, 'twill do no harm," cried the girl. " I 
 shall not long be here ; and I know him well. 
 Would that I were not a woman !" 
 
 " What, would you avenge the wTong he 
 did on that sad evening ?^' asked Woodville, 
 with a smile to think how feeble that small 
 hand would prove in strife. 
 
 "No, not for that," she replied; "for I 
 would try to forgive — but if I were not what 
 I am, you would take me with you in your train ; 
 and then I should be safe and happy." 
 
 " I trust you may be so still, even as a wo- 
 man, poor girl," answered Richard of Wood- 
 ville ; and, after a few more words of kind- 
 ness and comfort, he bade her adieu. Ella 
 Brune's bright eyes glistened; and, perhaps, 
 she found it difficult to speak the parting words, 
 for she said no more ; but catching her young 
 protector's hand, she pressed her lips upon it, 
 and drew back to let him pass.
 
 270 AGINCOURT. 
 
 It was impossible for Richard of Woodville 
 not to feel touched and interested; but he 
 was not one to mistake her. He knew — not 
 indeed by the hard teaching of experience, but 
 by the intuitive perception of a feeling heart — 
 how the unfortunate cling to those who show 
 them kindness, and could distinguish between 
 the love of gratitude, and that of passion. 
 He had purposely spoken gently and tenderly 
 to her ; and, in proportion as he could do little 
 to afford her substantial aid, had tried to make 
 his words and manner consoling and strength- 
 ening — and he thought, " If any one had acted 
 so to me, I should feel towards him as this 
 poor girl now feels in my case. Heaven guard 
 her, poor thing, for hers is a sad fate !" 
 
 In such meditations, he rode on ; but we 
 will not at present follow him on his way, 
 turning rather to poor Ella Brune, who stood by 
 the cross gazing after him, till his horse taking 
 a road to the right, about two hundred yards 
 before it reached the palace gate, was soon 
 hidden by the trees just at the entrance of the 
 town of Westminster.
 
 AGINCOURT. 271 
 
 With a deep sigh, she then bent her steps 
 along the road leading by the bank of the 
 river towards the gate of the Temple, which 
 was still in a somewhat ruinous state from the 
 attack made upon it in 1881. As she went, 
 she looked not at the houses and gardens on 
 either side — she marked not the procession 
 which came forth with cross and banner from 
 the convent on the right, nor the gay train 
 that issued out of the gates of a large embat- 
 tled house on the left ; but separating herself 
 from the people, who turned to gaze or has- 
 tened to follow, she made her way on, seeking 
 the little inn where she dwelt. 
 
 There were two other persons, however, who 
 followed the same course — men with swords 
 by their side, and bucklers on their shoulder, 
 and a snake embroidered on the mourning 
 habits that they wore. But Ella saw them 
 not ; she was too deeply occupied with her own. 
 dark thoughts. She seemed alone in the wide 
 world — more alone than ever, since Richard of 
 Woodville had left the capital ; and to be so 
 is both sad and perilous. How strange, how
 
 272 AGINCOURT. 
 
 lamentable it is that society, that great wonder- 
 ful confused institution, springing from man's 
 necessity for mutual aid and support, provides 
 no prop, no stay for those who are left alone 
 in the midst of it ; none to counsel, none to 
 help, none to defend against the worst of all 
 evils, temptation to vice. Of the body it takes 
 some care ; we must not cut, we must not strike 
 the flesh ; we must not enthral it ; we must 
 not kill. But we may wound, injure, destroy 
 the spirit if w^ can, even at our pleasure. For 
 substantial things, we multiply regulations, 
 safe-guards, penalties ; for the mind, on which 
 all the rest so much depends, we provide none. 
 The philosophy of legislation has yet a great step 
 to advance — a step perhaps that may never — 
 perhaps that can never — be taken, though of one 
 thing we may be sure, that till the great Euto- 
 pian dream is realized, and either by education 
 or some other means, a safeguard is provided 
 for the minds of men as well as their bodies 
 and their property, all the iron laws that can 
 be enacted, will prove insufficient for the pro- 
 tection of those more tangible things which
 
 AGINCOURT. 273 
 
 we think most easily defended. To regulate 
 and guard the mind, especially in youth, is 
 to turn the river near its source, and to ensure 
 that it shall flow on in peace and bounty to 
 the end ; but to leave it unguided, and yet by 
 law to strive to restrain man's actions, is to 
 put weak floodgates against a torrent that we 
 have suff'ered to accumulate. But no more of 
 this. Perhaps, what has been already said, is 
 too much, and out of place. 
 
 Yet to return, it is strange and sad that 
 society does afford no stay, no support, to 
 those who are left alone in the wide world ; 
 nay more, that to be so left, seems in a great 
 degree to sever the bond between us and society. 
 " He must have some friends. Let him apply to 
 them,'"* we are apt to say, whenever one of these 
 solitary ones comes before us, and whether it 
 is advice, assistance, or defence that is needed. 
 " He must have some friends !" — It is a phrase 
 in constant use ; and, in our own hearts, we 
 go on to say, "if he have not, he must have 
 lost them by his own fault ;" and yet how 
 many events may deprive man, and much
 
 274 AGINCOURT. 
 
 more frequently woman, of the only friends 
 possessed ! 
 
 Poor Ella Brune felt that she was indeed 
 alone ; that there was no one to whom she 
 could apply for anything that the heart and 
 spirit of the bereaved and desolate might need. 
 She knew that had she been a leper, or halt, 
 or blind, or fevered, she could have found those 
 who would have tended, cured, supported her ; 
 but there was no comfort, no aid, for her lone- 
 liness ; and scorn, or coldness, or selfish passion, 
 or greedy knavery, would have met het, had 
 she asked any one in the wide crowd through 
 which she passed, " Which way shall I turn 
 my footsteps ? how shall I bend my course 
 through life ?" 
 
 She felt it deeply, bitterly, and, as I have 
 said, walked on full of her own sad thoughts, 
 while the numbers round her grew less and less. 
 At length, in the sort of irregular street that 
 even then began to stretch out from the edge of 
 Farringdon without the walls, into the country 
 towards Charing, she was left with none near 
 her but the two men of whom we have spoken,
 
 AGINCOURT. 275 
 
 and an old woman, walking slowly on before. 
 The men seemed to notice no one, and con- 
 versed with each other in an under tone, till 
 in the midst of the high way, a little beyond 
 St. Clemenfs well, one or two small wooden 
 houses appeared built in the middle of the high 
 road, with the end of a narrow lane leading 
 up to the old Temple in Oldbourne, and the 
 House of the Bishop of Lincoln. There, how- 
 ever, one of them advanced a step, and spoke 
 a word to Ella Brune over her shoulder. 
 
 " Whither away, pretty maiden ? '" he said ; 
 *' are you not going to see the batch of country 
 nobles who have come up to do homage ? " 
 
 *' I am going home," answered Ella Brune 
 gravely ; " and want no company ;" and she 
 hurried her pace to get rid of him. The next 
 instant the other man was by her side, and 
 taking her arm roughly, he said, " You must 
 come with us first, our lord wishes to speak 
 with you.*" 
 
 Ella Brune struggled to disengage herself, 
 saying, "Let me go, sir; if your lord wishes 
 to speak with me, it must be at some other
 
 276 AGINCOURT. 
 
 time. I have people expecting me hard by, — 
 let me go, I say." 
 
 " Ay, we know all about it," rejoined the 
 man, still keeping his hold, and drawing her 
 towards the mouth of the lane. " You live 
 at the Falcon, pretty mistress ; but you must go 
 with us first." 
 
 The sounds behind her, had caused the old 
 woman to turn round the moment before, and, 
 seeing Ella struggling to free herself from the 
 man who held her, she turned to remonstrate, 
 exclaiming, " What are you about, sirs ? Let 
 the young woman go ! " 
 
 " Get you gone, old beldame ! " cried the 
 other man, thrusting her back. What is it 
 to you ? " and at the same time he seized Ella 
 by the other arm, and hurried her on in spite 
 of her resistance. 
 
 " Beldame, indeed ! " exclaimed the old wo- 
 man, gazing after them ; " Marry, thou art 
 not civil. If thou callest me so, I will call thee 
 Davy.* I will see whither they go, however ;" 
 
 * A common expression of the lower classes of Lon- 
 doners in old times.
 
 AGINCOURT. 277 
 
 and thus saying, at the utmost speed she 
 could master, she followed the men who were 
 dragging poor Ella Bnme along, calling in vain 
 for help, for the houses in that part of the 
 suburb were few, and principally consisted 
 either of the large gothic mansions of the no- 
 bility, shut in within their own gates and 
 surrounded by gardens, or the inns of prelates, 
 isolated in the same manner. Whither they 
 were dragging her, the old woman could not 
 divine ; for she thought it unlikely that any of 
 the persons who dwelt in that neighbourhood 
 would sanction such a violent act. Ella herself, 
 however, knew right well, for she had taken 
 the same road the day before on her brief 
 visit to Sir Simeon of Roydon. Peril and 
 wandering, and sad chances of various kinds, 
 such as seldom are the lot of one so young, 
 had taught her to remark every particular 
 that passed before her eyes with a precision 
 which fixed things in her memory that might 
 have escaped the sight of others ; and she 
 had seen the snake embroidered on the breast 
 and back of the knight's servants, and recog-
 
 278 AGINCOURT. 
 
 nised the badge instantly on those who held 
 her. 
 
 As she expected, the men stopped at the 
 gates of the house which were open, and 
 dragged her into the court ; but her cries and 
 her resistance ceased the moment she had 
 reached that place, for she knew that they were 
 both in vain, and made up her mind from that 
 moment to the course which she had to pursue. 
 
 *' Ha, ha ! pretty maiden," said the man 
 who had first spoken to her. " You are now 
 willing to go, are you ? Our lord is not lightly 
 to be refused a visit from any fair dame. — 
 Come, come, I can manage her now, Pilcher ; 
 you stay at the foot of the stairs. Will you 
 come willingly, girl, or must we carry you ?" 
 
 "" I will come," answered Ella Brune ; " not 
 willingly, but because I must ;" and, with the 
 man still holding her by the arm, she mounted 
 one of the flights of stairs which led straight 
 from the court yard to the rooms above. Fol- 
 lowing a long corridor or gallery, lighted by a 
 large window at the end, the man led her from 
 the top of the stairs towards the back part
 
 AGINCOURT. 279 
 
 of the house, and, opening a door on the right, 
 bade her go in. After one hasty glance 
 around, which showed her that it was vacant, 
 she entered the small cabinet which was before 
 her; and the door was immediately shut and 
 locked. She now found herself in a dark and 
 gloomy chamber, which probably had been ori- 
 ginally intended either for secret conferences, 
 or for a place of meditation and prayer, where 
 the eye could not distract the mind by catching 
 any of the objects without ; for the only window 
 which it possessed was so high up in the wall, 
 that the sill was above the eyes of any person 
 of ordinary height. There was but one door too 
 — that by which she had entered, and the whole 
 of the walls of the room was covered with 
 black oak, of which also the beams overhead 
 were formed. A few chairs and a small table 
 composed the only furniture which it contained ; 
 and Ella paused in the midst, leaning upon 
 the table in deep thought. Her mind, indeed, 
 was bent only on one point. What were the 
 purposes of Sir Simeon of Roydon, she did not 
 even ask herself; for she knew right well that
 
 280 AGINCOURT. 
 
 they were evil. Nor did she consider what 
 she should answer, or how she should act ; 
 for a strong and resolute mind judges and de- 
 cides with a rapidity marvellous in the eyes 
 of the slow and hesitating; and her deter- 
 mination was already formed. Her only en- 
 quiry was, what were the means of escape from 
 the chamber in which she had been placed, 
 what was its position in regard to the apart- 
 ments which she had visited on the previous 
 day, and which had appeared to be those 
 usually occupied by Roydon himself. 
 
 After thinking for some moments, and retra- 
 cing with the aid of memory every step she had 
 taken in the house, both on that morning and 
 the day before, she judged, and judged rightly, 
 that the chamber in which she had seen the 
 knight, must join that in which she now stood, 
 though she had reached it by another entrance. 
 The sound of voices, which she soon after heard 
 speaking in a different direction from the gal- 
 lery, confirmed her in that belief; for, though 
 she could not distinguish any of the words, she 
 felt convinced that the tones were those of Sir
 
 AGINCOURT. 281 
 
 Simeon of Roydon and of the man who had 
 brought her thither. 
 
 At length the speakers ceased, a door opened 
 and shut, and then the key was turned in the 
 lock of that which gave entrance to the room 
 where she was confined. As she expected, the 
 next moment Simeon of Roydon stood before 
 her, bearing a sort of laughing triumph in his 
 face, which only increased her abhorrence. He 
 was advancing quickly, as if to take her hand ; 
 but she drew back with her eyes fixed upon 
 him, saying, '^ Come not too near, sir. I am 
 somewhat dangerous at times, when I am 
 offended." 
 
 " Why, what folly is this, my sweet Ella !" 
 said the knight, " my people tell me that you 
 have resisted like a young wolf.'"* 
 
 ** You may find me more of a wolf than you 
 suppose," replied Ella Brune coldly. 
 
 " Nay," answered Sir Simeon, " we have 
 ways of taming wolves ; — but I seek nothing 
 but your good and happiness, foolish girl. Is 
 it not much better for you to live in comfort 
 and luxury, with rich garments, and dainty
 
 282 AGINCOURT. 
 
 food, and glowing wine, to lie soft, and have 
 no task, but to sing and play and please your- 
 self, than to wander about over the wide world, 
 the sport of 'prentices, or the companion of 
 ruffians ?'" 
 
 " There are ruffians in all stations," rejoined 
 Ella Brune ; " else had I not been here." 
 
 The cheek of the knight glowed with an 
 angry spot ; but then again he laughed the 
 moment after, in a tone more of mockery than 
 of merriment, saying, '' We will tame thee, 
 pretty wolf, we will tame thee. Thou showest 
 thy white teeth ; but thou wilt not bite." 
 
 *' Be not sure of that," answered Ella Brune. 
 " I know well how to defend myself should 
 need be, and have done so before now." 
 
 " Well, we will see," replied Sir Simeon ; 
 '' it takes some time to break a horse or hound, 
 or train a hawk ; and you shall have space 
 allowed you. All soft and kindly entertainment 
 shall you have. With me shall you eat and 
 drink and talk and sing, if you will. You shall 
 have courtship like a lady of the land, to try 
 whether gentle means will do. But mark me.
 
 AGINCOURT. 283 
 
 pretty Ella, if they will not we must try others. 
 I am resolved that you shall be mine by force, 
 if not by kindness."" 
 
 " You dare not use it," answered Ella Brune. 
 
 " And why not ?" demanded the knight, with 
 a haughty smile. " I have done more daring 
 things than vanquish a coy maiden." 
 
 " I know you have,*" said Ella Brune, in 
 a grave and fearless tone ; " but I will tell 
 you, why not. First because, whatever be 
 your care, it would come to the King's ears, 
 and you would pay for it with your head. Next, 
 because I carry about me wherewithal to de- 
 fend myself;" and putting her hand into her 
 bosom, she drew forth a small short broad- 
 bladed knife in a silver case. '• This is my only 
 friend left me here," she continued, " and you 
 may think perchance, most gallant knight and 
 warrior upon women, that this, in so weak a 
 hand as mine, is no very frightful weapon. 
 But let me tell you, that it was tempered in 
 distant lands. Ay, and anointed too ; and you 
 had better far give your heart to the bite of 
 the most poisonous snake that crawls the val-
 
 284 AGINCOURT. 
 
 ley of Egypt, than receive the lightest scratch 
 from this. The hilt is always at hand ; so be- 
 ware ! " 
 
 " Oh ! we have antidotes," replied the 
 knight ; " antidotes for everything but love, 
 sweet maid : and I swear, by your own bright 
 eyes, that you shall be mine — so 'tis vain to 
 resist. You shall have three days of tender- 
 ness ; and then I may take a different tone." 
 
 As he spoke, some one knocked for the 
 second time : the first had been unheeded. 
 The knight turned to the door and opened it, 
 demanding impatiently, "What is it ?" 
 
 " The Lord Combe and Sir Harry Alsover 
 are in the court, desiring to speak with you," 
 replied the servant who appeared. 
 
 " Well, take them up to the other cham- 
 ber," answered the knight ; and, without saying 
 more to his fair captive, he quitted the room, 
 and once more locked the door. 
 
 The moment he was in the corridor, how- 
 ever, he stopped, saying, in a meditative tone, 
 " Stay, Easton." He hesitated for an instant, 
 asking himself whether it were worth his while
 
 AGINCOURT. 2S5 
 
 to pursue this course any farther, for a low 
 uaiustrel girl, against such unexpected resist- 
 ance. 
 
 The hand of heaven, almost always, in 
 its great mercy, casts obstacles in the way of 
 the gratification of our baser passions, which 
 give us time for thought and for repentance ; 
 so that, in almost every case, if we commit 
 sin or crime, it is with the perverse determi- 
 ination of conquering both impediments and 
 conviction. Conscience is seldom, if ever, left 
 unaided by circumstances. But the wicked 
 find, in those very circumstances which oppose 
 their course, motives for pursuing it more 
 fiercely. 
 
 " No !" said Sir Simeon of Roydon to him- 
 self. " By — ! she shall not conquer me ! 
 — Tell the King.? — She shall never have the 
 means ; for I will either tame her, till she 
 be but my bird to sing what note I please, 
 or I will silence her tongue effectually. To 
 be conquered by a woman! — No, no! She 
 is very lovely ; and her very Hon look is worth 
 all the soft simpering smiles on earth. — Hark
 
 286 AGINCOURT. 
 
 ye, Easton : there is a druggist, down by the 
 Vintry, with whom I have had some deaUngs 
 in days of yore. This girl has a poisoned 
 dagger about her, which must be got from 
 her. 'Tis a marvel she used it not on you, 
 as you brought her along, for she drew it 
 forth on me but now. The man's name is 
 Tyler ; and he would sell his soul for gold. 
 Tell him that I have need of some cunning 
 drug to make men sleep — to sleep, I say — 
 understand me, not to die : to sleep so sound, 
 however, that a light touch, or a low tone, 
 would not awaken them. It must have as 
 little taste as may be, that we may put it in 
 her drink, or in her food ; and then, while she 
 sleeps, we '11 draw the lion's teeth. — He will 
 give you anything for a noble ;"" and, after 
 these innocent directions, the knight betook 
 himself to the chamber whither he had di- 
 rected his friends to be brought, and was soon 
 in full tide of laughter and merriment at all 
 the idle stories of the Court.
 
 AGINCOURT. 287 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE REMEDY. 
 
 Nearly opposite to the old half mined gate 
 of the Temple, there commenced, in the days 
 I speak of, a very narrow lane which womid 
 up northward till it joined the place now called 
 Holborn, passing in its course, under the walls 
 of the inn, or house, of the Bishop of Lin- 
 coln, round his garden wall, and through the 
 groimds of the old Temple house, inhabited by 
 the Knights Templars, before they built a 
 dwelHng for themselves by the banks of the 
 Thames. This Temple house, still called the 
 Old Temple in the reign of Henry V., had 
 been abandoned by the brethren in the year 
 1184, or there about. For some time it was 
 used, to lodge any of the fraternity who might 
 visit England from foreign countries, when
 
 288 AGINCOURT. 
 
 the new building was too full to afford them 
 
 accommodation ; but gradually this custom 
 
 ceased, even before the suppression of the 
 
 order, and at its dissolution the Old Temple 
 
 fell into sore decay. When the lands of the 
 
 Templars were afterwards granted to the 
 
 Knights of St. John, certain portions of the 
 
 building, and several of the out-buildings were 
 
 granted by them to various artizans, who found 
 
 it more convenient to carry on their several 
 
 pursuits beyond the actual precincts of the City 
 
 of London. One large antique gate, of heavy 
 
 architecture, with immense walls^ and with 
 
 rooms in either of the two towers which flanked 
 
 the lane I have mentioned, was tenanted by an 
 
 armourer, who had erected his stithy behind, 
 
 and who stored his various completed arms in 
 
 the chamber on the right of the gate, where 
 
 the porter had formerly lodged. Over the 
 
 window of this room was suspended, under a 
 
 rude penthouse of straw to keep it from the 
 
 rain, a huge casque, indicative of the tenant's 
 
 profession ; and, at about eight o'clock of the 
 
 same morning on which Richard of Woodville
 
 AGINCOURT. 289 
 
 quitted London, a little cavalcade, consisting of 
 a tall gaunt old man on a strong black horse, 
 a young lady on a white genet, and three stout 
 yeomen, rode slowly up to the gate-house and 
 drew their bridles there, pausing to gaze for 
 a moment or two through the deep arch at 
 the forge beyond, where the flame glowed and 
 the anvil rang, throwing a red glare into the 
 shadowy doorway and drowning the sound of 
 the horses' feet. 
 
 "Halloo ! Launcelot Plasse !" cried old Sir 
 Philip Beauchamp, in as loud a tone as he 
 thought needful to call the attention of the 
 person he wanted ; " halloo ! " 
 
 But the Cyclops within went on with their 
 hammering ; and after another ineffectual effort 
 to make them hear, the good knight called up 
 his men to hold the horses, and lifting Mary 
 Markham as lightly to the ground as if she had 
 been but the weight of a feather, he said, "We 
 must go in and bellow in this deaf man's ear, 
 till we outdo his own noise. Stay here, Mary, 
 I will rouse him ;" and, advancing through the 
 open gate, he seized the bare arm of the 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 ^90 AGINCOURT. 
 
 armourer, exclaiming, " What, Lauiicelot ! 
 would'st thou brain me ? — Why, how now, 
 man, has the roaring of thine own forge deaf- 
 ened thee ?" 
 
 The elderly white-headed man to whom he 
 spoke, turned round and gazed at him, leaning 
 his strong muscular arm upon his hammer, and 
 wiping the drops from his brow. " By St. 
 .Tude ! " he cried, after a moment's consider- 
 ation, " I think it is Sir Phihp Beauchamp. 
 Yet your head is as white as the ashes, and 
 when I knew him it was a grizzled black, like 
 pauldrons traced with silver lines ; and you are 
 mighty thin and bony, for stout Sir Philip, 
 whose rio'ht hand would have knocked down 
 
 o 
 
 an ox !" 
 
 " Fifteen years, Launcelot ! fifteen years," 
 answered the knight ; " they bend a stout 
 frame, as thou beatest out a bit of iron ; and, 
 if my head be white, thy black hairs are more 
 easy to be counted than found. Yet both our 
 arms might do some service in their own way 
 
 yet." 
 
 " Well, I am glad to see you again, noble
 
 AGINCOURT. 291 
 
 knight,"" replied the armourer, " though I 
 
 thought that it would be no more, before you 
 
 and I went our ways to dust. But, what lack 
 
 you ? There must be some wars toward, to 
 
 bring an old knight to the stithy ; for well I 
 
 wot, you are not going to buy a tilting suit, or 
 
 do battle for a fair lady. — God send us some 
 
 good wholesome wars right soon ! We have 
 
 had nothing lately, but the emprise of the Duke 
 
 of Clarence. King Harry the fourth got tired 
 
 of his armour ; pray Heaven, his son love the 
 
 weight better, or I must let the forge cool, and 
 
 that were a shame." 
 
 " Nay, 'tis not for myself," replied Sir Philip. 
 
 " I have more arms, Launcelot, than ever I 
 
 shall don in life again. My next suit — unless 
 
 the King make haste — will be in the chancel 
 
 of the church at Abbot's Ann. What I 
 
 want is for my nephew, Dickon of Wood- 
 
 ville ; he is going to foreign lands in search of 
 
 renown ; and I would fain choose him a suit 
 
 myself, for you know I am somewhat of a 
 
 judge in steel." 
 
 " You were always accounted so, noble sir," 
 
 o 2
 
 ^92 AGINCOURT. 
 
 replied the armourer, with a grave and import- 
 ant face ; " and, if you had not been a knight, 
 might have taken my trade out of my hands. 
 But whither does Childe Richard go ? We must 
 know that, for every land has its own arms ; 
 and it would not do to give him for Italy, what 
 is good for France, nor for Palestine what would 
 suit Italy." 
 
 The old knight informed him that his ne- 
 phew was first to visit Burgundy ; and the ar- 
 mourer exclaimed with a well satisfied air, 
 " Then I can provide him to a point ; for I 
 have Burgundian arms all ready, even to flam- 
 ing swords, if he must have them ; but 'tis a 
 foolish and fanciful weapon, far less serviceable 
 than the good straight edge and point. But 
 come, Sir Philip, let us go into the armoury. 
 'Tis well nigh crammed full, for gentlemen 
 buy little ; and yet I go on hammering with 
 my men, till I have put all the money that I 
 got in the wars, into arms." 
 
 Thus saying, he covered himself with the 
 leathern jerkin which he had cast off while 
 at work, and returned with his old acquaint-
 
 AGINCOURT. 293 
 
 ance to the room in which the various pieces of 
 armour that he kept readj , were preserved. Sir 
 PhiUp called Mary Markham to assist in the 
 choice ; but it soon became evident to both, that 
 no selection could be made in good Launcelot 
 Plasse's armoury ; for not only was the room, 
 to their eyes, as dark as the pit of Acheron, 
 but the armour was piled up in such confused 
 heaps, that it was hardly possible to take a 
 step therein, without stumbling over breast-plate 
 or bascinet, pauldrons or brassieres. 
 
 " Fie, Launcelot, fie ! "" cried Sir Philip, 
 " this is a sad deranged show. Why, a stout 
 man-at-arms always keeps his armour in array."' 
 
 '* When he has room and time, Sir Philip," 
 answered the man ; " but here I have neither. 
 However, you and the fair lady, go forth under 
 the arch, and I will bring you out what is 
 wanted. Here, knave Martin," he continued, 
 caUing one of his men from the forge, " bring 
 out the great bench, and set it under the gate 
 quick .' — What is your nephew's height, Sir, 
 
 Philip r 
 
 " What my own used to be," replied the
 
 294 AGINCOURT. 
 
 old kuight ; " Six feet and half an inch ; and 
 there is his measure round the waist." 
 
 The bench was soon brought forward, being 
 nothing else than a large solid table of some 
 six inches thick ; and by it Sir Philip Beau- 
 champ and fair Mary Markham took their 
 station, while Launcelot Plasse, with the aid 
 of one of his men, dug out from the piles with- 
 in, various pieces of armour which he thought 
 might suit the taste of his old customer, laying 
 them down at the door to be brought forward 
 as required. The first article, however, that 
 he carried to the bench, was a cuirass of one 
 piece, evidently old ; for not only was it some- 
 what rusty about the angles, but in the centre 
 there was a large rough-edged hole. 
 
 " Why, what is this ?" exclaimed Sir Philip, 
 *' this will never do — "" 
 
 " Nay, it has done, and left undone enough," 
 replied the armourer. " I brought it but to 
 show you. In that placcate was killed Harry 
 Hotspur. I do not say that was the hole that 
 let death in ; for men aver that it was a stab 
 in the throat with a coustel when he was down
 
 AGINCOURT. 295 
 
 that slew him ; but the blow that made that 
 bore him to the gromid, otherwise Shrewsbury 
 field might have gone differently. Now I will 
 fetch the rest. — You see, fairest lady, what 
 gentlemen undergo for the love of praise, and 
 your bright eyes." 
 
 Thus saying, he took back the breast-plate and 
 brought forward, supported on his arm, one of 
 the bascinets or casques worn in the field which 
 were lighter and considerably smaller than the 
 jousting helmets. It was of a round or globular 
 shape, with a small elevation at the top, in 
 which to fix the feathers then usually displayed ; 
 and on the forehead was a plate or band of 
 white enamel, inscribed with the words, " Ave, 
 Maria." Sir Philip Beauchamp made some 
 objections to the form ; but Mary Markham, 
 after she had read the inscription, pronounced 
 in favour of the bascinet ; and the armourer 
 himself had so much to say of its defensive 
 qualities, of the excellent invention of making 
 the ventaille rise by plates from below, and 
 of the temper of the steel, that Sir Philip, 
 after having examined it minutely, waived his
 
 296 AGINCOURT. 
 
 objections. The price being fixed, the body 
 armour to match was brought forward, piece 
 by piece, and laid upon the bench. It was 
 of complete plate, as was now the custom of 
 the day, but yet many pieces of the old chain 
 hauberk were retained to cover the joinings of 
 the different parts. Thus beneath the gorget, 
 or camail, which covered the throat, was a sort 
 of tippet formed of interlaced rings of steel, to 
 hang down over the cuirass and afford addi- 
 tional protection ; while at the same time from 
 the tassets which terminated the cuirass, hung a 
 broad-edge of the same, to complete their 
 junction with the cuissards, or thigh pieces. 
 
 This arrangement pleased the old knight very 
 much ; for it was a remnant of the customs of 
 ancient times, when he himself was young, and 
 which totally disappeared before many years 
 were over ; but with the cuirass, he quarrelled 
 very much, exclaiming, " What, will men never 
 have done with their idle fancies ? 'Tis bad 
 enough to divide the breast-plate into two, and 
 hang the lower part to the upper by that red 
 strad and buckle ; but what is the use of
 
 AGINCOURT. 297 
 
 sticking out the breast, like that of a fat- 
 cropped pigeon ?'' 
 
 " It gives greater use to the arms, noble sir," 
 replied Launcelot Plasse, " and turns a lance 
 much easier from being quite round. Besides, 
 it is the fashion of the court of Burgundy ; and 
 no noble gentleman could appear there well with- 
 out. The palettes, too, you see, are shaped like 
 a fan, and gilt with quaint figures at the corners. 
 It cost me nine days to make these palettes 
 alone and the genouilHeres which have the same 
 work upon them. Then the pauldrons — see how 
 they are artfully turned over at the top of the 
 shoulder with a gilt bordure/' 
 
 " And pray, what may that be for ?'' de- 
 manded the old knight ; "we had no such 
 tricks in my days to make a man look like 
 a Cray- fish." 
 
 " That is to give the arm fuller sweep and 
 sway, either with axe or sword,"" answered 
 the armourer. " You can thus raise your hand 
 quite up to your very crest, which you could 
 never do before, since pauldrons were in- 
 vented.""
 
 298 AGINCOURT. 
 
 " We used to give good stout strokes in the 
 year eighty," rejoined Sir Philip Beauchamp, 
 " as you well know, Master Launcelot. But 
 hoys must have boys'* things — so let it pass ; 
 but, what between one piece and another, it 
 will take a man an hour to get into his har- 
 ness, with all these buckles and straps. But 
 I will tell you what. Master Launcelot, I will 
 have no tuilles over the cuissards ; they were 
 a barbarous and unnatural custom, and very 
 inconvenient too. I was once nearly thrown 
 to the ground in Gascony, by the point catch- 
 ing the saddle as I mounted." 
 
 " Oh ! they are quite gone out of use," 
 replied the armourer ; " and we now either 
 make the tassets long, or add a guipon of 
 mail, coming down to the thighs." 
 
 The jambes or steel boots, the sollerets or 
 coverings for the feet, the brassards, gauntlets, 
 and vamb races were then discussed and pur- 
 chased, not without some chaffering on the 
 part of the old knight, who was a connoiseur 
 in the price as well as in the fashion of arm- 
 our ; but Launcelot Plasse had so much to
 
 AGINCOURT. 299 
 
 say in favour of his commodities, that he ob- 
 tained very nearly the sum he demanded. 
 
 He then proceeded to prove to Sir Phihp 
 Beauchamp, that the suit would not be com- 
 plete without the testiere, the chanfron, and 
 the manefaire and poitral of the horse to corre- 
 spond ; and, though his customer was not in- 
 chned to spend any more money, yet a soft 
 word or two from Mary Markham won the 
 day for the armourer, and he was directed 
 to bring forth the horse armour for inspection. 
 
 While he and his men were busy fulfilling 
 this command, the old knight turned, hearing 
 some one speaking eagerly, and apparently im- 
 ploringly, to his attendants ; and, seeing an 
 old woman poorly dressed conversing with 
 them, he enquired, " What does the woman 
 want, Hugh?" 
 
 '' Ah ! noble sir,*" replied the old dame, " if 
 you would but interfere, it might save sin and 
 wrong. I have just seen a poor girl dragged 
 away by two men up to a house in the lane, 
 called Burwash-house, where they have taken 
 her in against her will.""
 
 SOO AGINCOURT. 
 
 " Ha !" cried Sir Philip Beaucliamp ; "why, 
 he is an old and reverend man, my good Lord 
 of Burwash, and will not suffer such things 
 in his mansion. I will send up one of the 
 men to tell him." 
 
 " The noble lord is not there, fair sir," re- 
 plied the woman ; " but he has lent his house 
 to some gay knight, whose men do what they 
 please with the poor people. 'Tis but yester- 
 day my own child was struck by one of them." 
 
 " If there be wrong done, you must go to 
 the officers of the duchy, good woman," an- 
 swered the knight, whose blood was cold with 
 age, and who could be prudent till he was 
 chafed. " I will send one of the yeomen with 
 you, to get you a hearing. These things should 
 be amended ; but when Kings' sons will beat 
 the citizens, and brawl in Cheape, there is 
 no great hope." 
 
 " Good faith. Sir Philip ! " cried the arm- 
 ourer, who had just come forth, bearing the 
 manefaire upon his arm, " if it be the Duke 
 of Clarence you speak of, and his brother John, 
 'twas they got beaten, and did not beat. We
 
 AGINCOURT. 301 
 
 Londoners are sturdy knaves, and take not 
 drubbings patiently, whether from lord or 
 prince." 
 
 " And you are right, too,'" replied the old 
 knight ; " men are not made to be the sport 
 of other men. But what 's to be done about 
 this girl, Launcelot ? You know the customs 
 here better than I do. The good woman says 
 they have carried a girl off against her will to 
 Burwash-house here, hard by." 
 
 " Why, that 's the back of it," cried Launce- 
 lot Plasse. " The old lord is not there, but 
 in his stead one Sir Simeon of Roydon, who, 
 if I mistake not, will never win much renown 
 by stroke of lance. — Wait a minute, my good 
 woman, till I have sold my goods, and then I 
 and my men will go up with you, and set the 
 girl free, or it shall go hard, if you are certain 
 she was taken against her will ? " 
 
 " She shrieked loud enough to make you all 
 hear," replied the old woman. 
 
 " I thought there was a noise when we were 
 hammering at the back piece," observed one of 
 the men.
 
 302 AGINCOURT. 
 
 ••* I heard nothing," said Launcelot Plasse. 
 
 *' Oh, go at once, go at once," cried Mary 
 Markham ; " you know not how she may be 
 treated. We can wait till you return. Send 
 the men with them, dear Sir Philip." 
 
 " I will go myself, Mary," replied the knight. 
 " Come along, my men, leave one with the 
 horses, and the rest follow." 
 
 " I am with you, Sir PhiHp," cried the 
 armourer. " Bring your hammers, lads, we 
 will make short work of oaken doors." 
 
 But ere Sir Philip Beauchamp had taken 
 two steps up the lane, the casement of a large 
 window in the house which had been pointed 
 out, was thrown suddenly open, and a woman's 
 head appeared. The sill of the window was 
 some twelve or fourteen feet from the ground ; 
 but to the surprise of all, without seeming to 
 pause for a moment, the girl whom they beheld, 
 set her foot upon it, caught the iron bar which 
 ran down the middle of the casement, seemed 
 to twist something round it, and then suffered 
 herself to drop, hanging by her hands, first 
 from the bar, and then from a scarf.
 
 AGINCOURT. 303 
 
 She was still some five or six feet from the 
 ground, however ; and Mary Markham, who had 
 been watching eagerly, clasped her hands and 
 turned away her head. Sir Philip Beauchamp, 
 and the men who accompanied him paused, 
 and they could hear a voice from within ex- 
 claim, " Follow her like light, by the back 
 door ! She will to the King, and that were 
 ruin. — What fear you, fool ! — She has broken 
 the dagger in the lock, do you not see ? " 
 
 As he spoke the girl, after a momentary 
 hesitation, during which she hung suspended 
 by the hands, wavering with the motion which 
 she had given herself in dropping from above, 
 let go her hold, and sank to the ground. For- 
 tunately the lane was soft and sandy ; and she 
 fell hght, coming down indeed, upon one knee, 
 but instantly starting up again unhurt. 
 
 She then gazed wildly round her for an in- 
 stant, and put her hand to her head, as if ask- 
 ing herself whither she should fly ; but the sight 
 of the old knight and his companions, and the 
 sound of an opening door on the other side, 
 brought her indecision quickly to an end, and
 
 304 AGINCOURT. 
 
 running rapidly forward she cast herself at Sir 
 Philip Beauchamp's feet, embracing his knee, 
 and crying, '' Save me, save me, noble sir !"" 
 
 At the moment she reached the good old 
 man, two stout fellows who had rushed from a 
 door in the wall and followed her at full speed, 
 were within two paces of her ; and one of them 
 caught her by the arm, even at the knight's 
 feet, as he was in the act of commanding him 
 to keep aloof. 
 
 '' Stand back, fellow," thundered Sir Philip 
 Beauchamp, with the blood coming up into his 
 withered cheek ; and the next moment, in the 
 midst of an insolent reply, he struck the knave 
 in the face with his clenched fist, knocking him 
 backwards all bloody on the ground. 
 
 The other man, who had more than once 
 accompanied Sir Simeon of Roy don to Dunbury, 
 and recognised its lord, slunk back to the house, 
 stopped some others who were following, and 
 then hastened in, to tell his master, in whom 
 Ella Brune had found a protector. 
 
 The man who had been knocked down, 
 rose, gazed fiercely at the knight, and then
 
 AGINCOURT. 305 
 
 looked behind him for support ; but seeing his 
 companions retreating, he too retrod his steps, 
 not without muttering some threats of ven- 
 geance ; while the old armourer cried after 
 him, " Never show your faces again in the 
 lane, knaves, or we will hide you back like 
 hounds, or pound you like strayed swine/'' 
 
 In the meanwhile Sir Phihp had raised up the 
 poor girl; and Mary Markham was soothing 
 her tenderly, as Ella, finding herself safe, gave 
 way to the tears which her strong resolution had 
 repressed in the actual moment of difficulty and 
 danger. 
 
 " Come, come, do not weep, poor thing," 
 said the knight, laying his large bony hand 
 upon her shoulder. " We will take care of 
 you. Who is it that has done this ? " 
 
 " A bad man, called Simeon of Roydon," 
 replied Ella Brune, ^nping away the tears. 
 
 " We know him," said Mary Markham in a 
 kindly tone ; " and do not love him, my poor 
 girl." 
 
 " And I have cause to love him less, noble 
 lady," replied Ella Brune, waving her head
 
 306 AGINCOURT. 
 
 mournfully. 'Tis but two nights ago he killed 
 the last friend I had ; and now, he would have 
 wronged me shamefully." 
 
 "Killed him I'' exclaimed Mary, "what! 
 murdered him ?" 
 
 " 'Twas the same as murder," replied the 
 girl ; "he rode him down in a mad frolic — 
 a poor blind man. He is not yet in his grave." 
 
 " Come, come — be comforted," said Sir Phi- 
 lip. " Let us hear how all this chanced." 
 
 " We will be your friends, poor girl," added 
 Mary Markham ; and then, turning to the 
 old knight, she asked in a low tone, " can we 
 not take her home with us ? " 
 
 Sir Philip gazed at the minstrel's girl from 
 head to foot, and then shrugged his shoul- 
 ders slightly with a significant look, as he re- 
 marked her somewhat singular dress. 
 
 " Nay, nay," said Mary Markham in the 
 same low tone ; " do not let that stop you, noble 
 friend. There may be some good amongst 
 even them." 
 
 " Well, be it as you will, Mary," answered 
 the old knight ; "she must be better than
 
 AGINCOURT. 307 
 
 she looks, to do as she has done. Come, poor 
 thing — you shall go home with us, and there 
 tell us more. Wait till I have finished the 
 purchase of this harness, and we T\'ill go along 
 back to Westminster ; though how to take 
 you through the streets in that guise, I do 
 not well know." 
 
 " Get a boat, sir, at a landing by the Tem- 
 ple," said Launcelot Plasse, " and send the 
 horses by land.'"* 
 
 " A good thought," replied the knight ; and 
 thus it was arranged, the whole party return- 
 ing to the armourer's shop, and thence, after 
 the bargain was made and all directions were 
 given, proceeding to the water-side, where a 
 boat was soon procured, which bore them 
 speedily to the landing-place at Westminster. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
 
 London : 
 
 Printed by S. & J. Bextley, Wilson, and Fley, 
 
 Bangor House, Shoe Lane.
 
 i/^.G I NCpURT^ 
 
 ■ ^0 14)11 OK • *• 
 
 V^^r' "darnlk^" 
 
 1\ TUKVF W'l 
 
 vol.. 1,
 
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 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
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